I love walking thru fall leaves.
Not just walking thru them, but really kicking them up into the air, like wanting to see them fall again and again – to float gently down, swaying this way and that, living a little poetry for a minute, something myriad generations before had admired and enjoyed.
I sincerely thank whoever discovered the muffin.
There is something really irresistible about a muffin – all kinds of muffins.
Others may love their croissant, but I love my muffin.
Right away, I think of muffins wrapped in red and white checked gingham in a honey-colored wicker basket. I think of New England or charming European villages with fresh baked breads. I think of the open hearth, with a log fire, at the center of a home.
It’s so primal – food – eating – our daily bread.
I’m here today with Matt Del Rosario. Matt, I met you at the Newtown Senior Center. Unexpected, unannounced. I was there for something totally different, and you walked in, and invited a group of us to join you in a class. Could you please tell us about that class. It was the most amazing moment experienced in about a thousand years.
Thank you so much. So the class that you got experience is called Hula Noho, which is a seated Hula class, or a Hawaiian form of storytelling through dance and music.
Artwork by Bruce Zboray www.bruce-zboray.artistwebsites.com
I am drawn to thin books. Books you can read in one or two sittings. With pictures or a fancy border – like an ancient manuscript – decorated. And a hard cover with cloth, where you can feel the weave.
Others may enjoy epic novels of a thousand pages – not I. Maybe it’s me wanting to “know” the whole book at once – no need of bookmarks for me.
In the age of COVID-19, scientists have been much in the news. Let's think for a minute or two about how they do what they do.
I believe in the scientific method. It is the nearest thing I have to a religious belief. But the scientific method is not really a faith because there are countless examples of its success. Faith requires the capacity to believe in something for which there is no evidence.
Whenever I paint something: the walls of a room, a piece of furniture, an oil painting – I really look forward to seeing it again when it is dry. It’s like God, time, something unseen needs to intervene to finish it.
It’s not done until it’s really all done.
The same with gluing something together – next day, all those pieces are one whole thing again. The same with waiting for the scrapbook page to dry or waiting for pottery to bake.
Now, some people would rather wait for some muffins to bake far more than some pottery to bake. I understand this well.
Have you ever felt that your life was completely out of control? So out of control that you thought you would never get it back again? That's what drug addiction can do. I've been there. It was a long time ago but it changed my life.
In my case, the drug was Xanax. Xanax is a benzodiazepine, a class of super-addictive medications used to treat anxiety. Valium, Lorazepam, and Klonopin are other benzodiazepines. Xanax was prescribed for me by a doctor who did not take the time to explain how to use it. By misusing it, I became addicted.
Do we change as we get older or do we stay the same? There are many possible answers to this question and maybe there's a unique answer for every person who makes it into retirement.
This year, on my birthday, I joined the ranks of old geezerdom. I don't feel any different than I did before, and I didn't even realize I had attained that distinction until a friend a year or two my senior welcomed me to the ranks.
Sometimes knowing you have a choice isn’t obvious. Sort of, “What, I can choose?”
I do not read the newspapers, nor watch the news.
I choose my reality.
I sometimes imagine myself in a place of turmoil like Jerusalem. I stand there, eyes closed, with ripples of “illumination” going out from me, as if a pebble were tossed in a pond. Every second, going out hundreds of miles.
Then, at the same time, I picture myself in the center of China, doing the same.
In summers, during most of high school and college, I worked in a summer camp. My assignment was, pretty much, to protect and entertain a cottage full of three-to-five-year-olds. It was such fun that I decided I’d like to teach children as a career.
After graduating from the university, our certificates covered: nursery, kindergarten, and grades 1-8.
As luck would have it, before graduation I was hired to teach in my hometown. The year was 1969, a year of many problems and few jobs. So this was a blessing.