the sacred ordinary

Meal planning at my house goes like this:

1) What would be low fat and low carb

2) that’s easy and fast

3) not too expensive

4) vegetarian, organic, seasonal, and local

5) that might be in the pantry

6) and use up stuff from the freezer like frozen green bean water

7) or shrimp shells (the vegetarian kind)

This is crazy making. So crazy making that tonight I’m going back to basics.

What goes with wine?

We have a room that is free of furniture, which a friend playfully named Diane’s Reiki Hut.  The room is painted green and blue with a touch of silver trim.  Occasionally I unfold a massage table in this room for reiki.

Think of it as a prayer room.  A place for spiritual practice – yoga, tai chi, meditation, reiki – whatever.  There are no pictures on the walls.  The zen emptiness makes it flexible.

I feel slightly guilty about staking claim to this grand piece of household real estate. Particularly since I don’t really use the room for reiki, yoga, meditation, tai chi or prayer.

Lately I’ve been thinking of changing the room to an In-House Art Gallery for my art work.  I plan to specialize in ironing boards.  These ironing boards will be mosaics of mixed media – everything from graffiti to cross-stitch.  And once I figure out how to make them, they will be fantastic.  I’m also planning multi-use of the room for actual ironing.

My husband and son have other ideas.

There has been on-going conversation about the purchase of a large flat screen TV. The sticking point in this ten-year conversation has been location.  Husband and Son are now zeroing in on The Reiki Hut.

So, I’m flexing the muscle of my imagination.  Could a large screen inspire and motivate the art projects?  When visitors come to the gallery we could display an artsy digital ironing board.  In the morning I could stream a yoga class for home practice.   During reiki sessions the screen could display a slide show of the reiki teacher lineage.  Images of Usui, Takata, and on through Rowland, Gleekel and Heath would beam their shining faces, each in turn.

Sacred Space Hits The Digital Age?

Frightening.

I’ve lived in Washington, D. C. for 28 years and have never seen a president or a first spouse.  Everyone in my family has run into these celebrities.  They’ve been to White House egg rolls, watched royal daughters dropped off at school and been annoyed by buzzing presidential limos.

You never know when a motorcade is going to pass by.

Last night Mel and I went on an IPA research mission.  First we stopped at Uptown Tap House for Devil’s Backbone 8 Point IPA.    Then to Glen’s Garden Market for Baltimore Washington Beer Works’ Tell Tale Heart.  The evening ended at Pizza Paradiso where we had Three Star Brewing Company’s Sea Change (from a wooden cask – this makes all the difference.  I can attest to wood inspired overtones of vanilla and crème.)

On the walk home, (yes we could still walk) we were forced to wait behind police tape beside the Washington Hilton.  Connecticut Avenue was closed to traffic.   My husband, the old hand at presidential sightings, rolled his eyes, feigning boredom and annoyance.  Even though the walk home was delayed and I really needed to use the bathroom I was not bored or annoyed.  I wanted to see the president.

I’m not a political person.  Most of the time I manage to vote – thanks to peer pressure.  Only recently have I learned the difference between donkeys and elephants, and my friends make sure I understand which team we root for.   The president is a figure-head – an actor.   But still, I’d like to see him in person.

Michelle got out of the limo.  Nearby demonstrators held up signs and voiced objections about an obtuse issue.  I wasn’t going to let them do that to My Figurehead!  I applauded the first lady.  (My husband thought I was possessed.)   I applauded alone.  I didn’t care.  Surprised and confused by my feelings of….??? …princess-projection???…heaven forbid, patriotism???  I was caught up by feeling for the First Lady who speaks out for healthy lifestyles, cares about the nation’s children and families, visits hospitals, wears Lands End sweater sets, grows vegetables, and keeps bees which produce honey, from which her chefs make White House Beer.

It’s a wonderful country.  Cheers!

I enjoy reading and eating at the same time.  No insult to author, cook, farmer or fruit.  It’s simply a double pleasure.

However today, reading the opening pages to Jamaica Kincaid’s “See Now Then” and eating an utterly delicious bowl of cottage cheese with avocado, I had to put one of them down.  The double deliciousness overwhelmed me.

First I attended to the bowl of luscious green and white food.

And then continued turning pages of words at the kitchen counter.

Next year I’ll do something easier, like give up looking in the bathroom mirror.

We had more than one morning when my frustrated husband reminded me, “It’s still Lent!”

Kindness Practice did help to loosen my purse strings though.  I’ve been planning a trip to visit  old friends and teachers.  But of course, that’s kindness to myself as well.  As kindness always is.

When I was a kid I always went to the neighbor’s for Snow Day Bisquick Pizza.  After lunch we played Parcheesi or drew pictures.  At nightfall we walked our dogs in the snowy quiet.

Tonight our neighbor will join us for cold beer by the fire.  We’ll have roasted cauliflower, curried spinach and jeera aloo.

– which has nothing to do with kindness, but it certainly is nice.

Back in the day when kindergarten ended at noon and five-year-old children walked home on their own, I met an angel named Jenny.

As I left Miss Cotrell’s class, it was raining hard, and I struggled to carry both an umbrella and the morning’s art work.  A gust of wind blew my precious picture into a puddle and I howled as though I’d lost my first-born.

Jenny, also a kindergartener, picked up my first-born, took me by the hand, and walked me home.  I was awed by her kindness and no less by the confidence with which she navigated this foreign country –  a block she had never visited.  Jenny handed me over to my mother, who with great care, took out wooden clothes pins and hung my picture up to dry.

And ever since that day, I have loved the name Jenny.

First step will be remembering the kindness thing.  I need tassels on my garment or a string around my finger.

I decide to put something around my neck –  some childish plastic beads from the thrift store.  The weight at my throat can remind me to say kind things.

Naturally I’m rushing to get to yoga on time.  How am I going to practice kindness in a hurry?  I say a quick hello to the homeless guy at the bus stop. This is not a good start.

Today’s yoga teacher, “Bobbie”, is not my favorite.  Her rough-edged coaching rattles my inner-peace, and I usually avoid unnecessary interaction with her.  But today I’m practicing kindness.

I smile, look into her eyes, and say, “Hello, Bobbie.”

She looks into my eyes and replies, “I really like your necklace.”

Thirty years ago a classmate spoke one sentence that lodged in my memory.

Betsy Calhoun delivered the words in her honey-coated southern drawl, “If I ever had to preach a sermon, it would be on simple kindness.”

Alarming thoughts. “Preach a sermon?” “Simple Kindness?”

Well, Betsy, this Lent’s for you.  I’m embarking on 40 Days of Kindness.  My husband, usually supportive of my little projects can hardly contain his enthusiasm this year.

Three rules:

1. I do not promise to always be kind.
2. I promise to think about kindness.  (even though it’s day one and the very idea of is making me tired)
3. I’ll try on some special kindness shoes each day and see how they fit.

What are y’all doing this year for Lent?

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see previous years’ 40 day blogs:

http://beautyasspiritualpractice.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/ash-wednesday-buddha-2/

http://www.40daysofyoga2011.blogspot.com/2011/03/day-one-ash-wednesday.html

I used to play an old clunker piano for children’s services. A small Steinway grand, the piano had been donated to the church by a professional musician. As a professional musician myself, it was obvious why the instrument had been given away. With tone like a wooden xylophone and a keyboard cover that spontaneously dropped on players’ hands, I fantasized about shoving it down the stairs and watching keys and hammers shatter to bits.

When the new piano came, the clunker was traded for parts. Piano movers came to take it to the glue factory, and sadness caught me by surprise. Grief is more complicated when loved ones have wobbly relationships.

This morning Vehicles for Change came to pick up the Monte Carlo.  This car had been a burden. No one drove it, but we had to maintain insurance and registration.  The brakes didn’t work, it wouldn’t start, and it had two years of crud on the exterior.

But really it was a good car. It had been well-cared-for.  (back when my mother owned it that is.)  A good tune up and it’s going to be fine transportation for someone.

I’ll try to remember that when I see the empty parking spot.