Plain Vanilla

I remember hanging off the front on the shopping cart while my mom looked down into the ice cream freezer at the grocery store.  I recall her being hit with a trifecta of emotions—a mix of awe, confusion, and disgust—when I suggested “vanilla” as today's flavor of choice.  I knew better than to suggest something so ordinary.  My mom had raised my sister and I, consciously or not, to believe that you do not select vanilla when pecan praline, rocky road,  blueberry cheesecake, or gooey chocolaty something or other is also on sale.  I don’t think my mom meant it as an allegory or life-lesson, but doubtless the ice cream choosing experience had that effect on me.  My "take away" was that vanilla was simple and plain and boring, and that it would be a far better idea, and a better bargain, to have something snazzy and full of stuff.  As we grew older, my sister and I came to embrace that in life, as in ice cream, butter brickle or other fancy flavors are superior to plain vanilla.

Well, today, in the middle of winter, I bought vanilla ice cream.  Yes, mother, plain vanilla. 

Not french vanilla, vanilla bean, or the double vanilla and homemade vanilla that now grace our grocery display cases; just, “vanilla.” 


And, having made such a selection (and partaken of the same), I challenge anybody to convince me of the inferiority or dullness of plain vanilla—in the ice cream world, or in the bigger metaphor of life.  Chocolate peanut butter and mocha almond fudge are yummy; a scoop of bubble gum or rainbow sherbet is a welcome treat; and, how could ya go wrong with cookies ‘n cream or coffee.  But, if you’ve got to choose a flavor for every day, I’d say vanilla is quite nice.  So it is in life, as in ice cream, I say.

Oh for the love of plain vanilla days--the perfunctory, uneventful days that involve a healthy body and mind, employment, food, fresh air, peace, and being loved.   For me, plain vanilla is waking up with Atticus and Catcher sprawled across my legs in bed, a cup of brewed coffee and maybe even a bit of the Today Show as we anticipate the day ahead.

Then, its morning chores, followed by a run, sweeping the floor, hours in front of the computer, followed by a walk with the dog, breathing fresh air, and coming in to a warm house to partake of microwaved leftovers in front of the TV, a few hours of legal/crime dramas at night, then teeth brushing, face washing, the same bed, and an alarm clock going off in the morning with the same items on the agenda.For me, on the plain vanilla days, I often think maybe I’m missing out on something, should or could have a more interesting life, or am just plain boring or lazy...maybe, what I should be thinking is simply that I have a pretty good life.  Vanilla, most of the time, but scrumptious nonetheless.

For many, plain vanilla may be getting kids ready for school, taking them to and from activities, going to the office, coming home, making dinner, tucking everyone in, answering emails, paying bills, doing laundry, then hitting the bed only to wake up to do it all again tomorrow, maybe topped with the chocolate sauce of a kids’ basketball game, or a birthday party, but still, pretty vanilla.  Maybe it's reading, correspondence, walks, visits with the neighbors, trips to the doctor, knitting, and wishing for more companionship.  Maybe it's not blue skies, flying kites, or great adventures; but, rather, dirty ol' snow, grey skies, dreary days, and scooping manure...but it's still health, peace, and fresh air.

On a plain vanilla day, I worry about eating too much, not having too little.  I stress about getting enough exercise rather than the hours I’ll have to walk to get clean water and carry back home.  A plain vanilla day for me involves a healthy body and mind, getting wood to warm the house, and peaceful surroundings.   Ah, the luxuriousness of vanilla.  Something to be savored.

 Indeed, there will always be days where I crave, and choose, chocolate peanut butter, daiquiri ice, or chocolate chip mint, but, that doesn’t take anything away from my belief that life, and the freezer section, would be in a sad state without just vanilla. 

Plain vanilla is darn good. And there are many who envy plain vanilla days (much more, vanilla ice cream).

My precious neighbors said goodbye to their twelve year old granddaughter, Haley, last week.  She had been battling leukemia for much of her short life, with her sister and parents doing and giving everything they possible could to help her to win…and to enjoy the sort of vanilla life that most children get to live every day.  For Haley, the everyday consisted of hospitals, needles, tests, treatments, weakness, nausea, and things I can’t even begin to imagine.  That was her vanilla.  I didn’t know Haley, but I am confident she is trying all good flavors of ice cream these days.  And she reminds me that my run-of-the-mill vanilla days taste pretty good in the scheme of things. 

When I stopped by to see Haley’s grandma today, she gave me a copy of this poem that Haley had written, and I love the innocence, simplicity, and beauty of it:

"Peace is like a swim on a warm day.  Peace looks like a sunset on a warm day.  It sounds like a dolphin squeaking, and it can be beautiful, but peace is always sweet."

Yes, peace is sweet.  Sweet like vanilla ice cream, perhaps. 
I’ll take my plain vanilla days anytime…they are delectable.  Though, I've got to admit, I don't mind a chocolate peanut butter day every once in awhile.

Would It Be Enough?

Credit: WalkingInFaith

One Day

I stumbled upon this encouraging website ( http://lifevestinside.com/ ) this morning--another example of ambitious people trying to make--strike that--making the world a better place in their own little ways.  I really like their "Act of the Day" daily challenges, like today's: "Give someone the benefit of the doubt - it will be the greatest gift they ever receive....things aren't always as they seem - don't be so quick to judge."  The Kindness Boomerang Video is a tad on the cheesy side but well intentioned, and done to the tune of one of my all time favorite songs, One Day.  Okay...it's cheese overload so you better grab yourself a sleeve of Ritz before pressing play; but, until the world is a place where a person can go out and capture the message from five minutes of real life, its cheese or famine. 

Seems there are so many out there--even most of us perhaps--who have these great aspirations, who want to be nice, who want the world to be kind, who want to make a difference for good, and yet somehow we just don't seem to make it happen, particularly not in obvious, recordable ways like we feel we should.  If I were to start philosophizing in this blog on this subject, as I so often do silently within the confines of my mind, well...let's just say this blog would get very, very long and quite possibly not make much sense.  So I'll just skip to the conclusion of all the long conversations with myself that go on in this crazy head of mine.  Actually, I'll do one better.  I'll recast the conclusion as my goals for the New Year.  Being couched in the form of "don't," "never" and "always," they probably go against all rules about goal setting, but perhaps my resolution for this year will be just that--to break a few more "rules:" 

Never weary of giving, forgiving, doing good, being kind, loving others, or wanting to do so.

Never cease believing that the world can be a better place and that I can make it so in some way.

Believe.  Believe in others.  Believe in love.  Believe in the present and the future.

Believe that "getting the short end of the stick" is actually the best gift.

Find the good.  Give grace. 
Do everything out of love.

Be grateful, be humble, be gracious, be amazed.  Always.  In everything.

Never grow frustrated and never give up when realizing at the end of each day
just how short I have fallen of my aspirations. 

Try again, fail again, fail better.

Remember that lots of little things add up to big things.

Picture Perfect.

About a month ago I thought about what I would like to do to celebrate my birthday this year.  Only one thing came quickly to mind—have a Dungeness crab dinner at my house with some of my favorite people.  The calendar fit perfectly.  I could have the dinner on Saturday, December 3^rd.  I quickly sent out an evite, but knowing it was the first weekend of the holiday party season, I expected many invitees to hold out on their RSVP to see if they got a better invite, or to have committed already to a competing event. I didn’t promote it as a birthday party for a number of reasons, namely, because it wasn’t; it was my birthday present.

To my great surprise, nearly everyone responded promptly and the replies were “yes.”  That alone was a birthday boost enough.  Then, there was the night itself, last night.  A picture perfect night.  So perfect, in fact, that not a photo was taken.  And for good reason.  A picture may be worth a thousand words, but, a thousand words would not be enough to describe the moments of last night, as I saw and felt them.

It was not perfect night in the “Martha Stewart” sense, but it was flawless.  You know, the kind of flawless:  twelve matching place settings, and four of the everyday; seating for ten at the table, so six guests sit at the island; announcing dinner is served only to realize that the asparagus hadn’t been steamed.  But there were plenty of moments of which even Martha would have been proud:  the beauty of 30 pounds of fresh Dungeness crab situated on a white platter, waiting to be cracked at the red-clothed, candle-lit table; Natalies’ mazurka; peanut butter pies from the Lowe ladies; Rhonda’s super yummy dip; Denise’s perfectly spiced and sugared pecans; fresh lemons and strawberries; drawn butter.

Not all of my favorite people were there or even invited, but all of those who were there were among those I cherish most.  Most of these people had never met each other before; they were all friends of mine, but not of one another.  Yet, these people seemed genuinely interested in getting to know each other, and to find out why I found each of them so special, and that, to me, was such an honor and awesome thing. 

These people will have no idea how much their company last night meant to me.  I felt as much warmth, joy, and contentment in the twinkly light, firelit room, as I think I ever have.  I may have been the hostess, but, somehow I found myself completely relaxed and feeling like the guest of honor.

It was the perfectly imperfect kind of a dinner party where it makes no difference how perfect or imperfect anything is because there is so much love in the room.  Oh, the joy that I felt at preparing for dinner, serving those guests, and watching them interact and, ostensibly, enjoy themselves.  It was the perfect gift for me; they were the perfect gifts, and crazily, they probably didn't even realize it. 

My picture perfect evening, without a single photo to show for it.  You know it’s a good evening, when the moments are so precious that you refuse to miss or disrupt any of them just to snap a photo.

Thanks to the delightful mix of friends who gave me just what I needed to make year 38 better than year 37, and here’s to always having more friends than place settings and more photo-worthy moments, than photos.

Leaving It All Behind

I don’t know why the leaves change their color in the fall.  Even less do I understand why, after working all season long to grow the flittering objects of breathtaking color, at what seems to be the height of their beauty, the tree lets them go…Or, maybe it’s the leaves that decide to go, I don’t know which it is.  Either way, there’s a certain poignancy about it, I think.

Maybe trees don’t have emotions, but it still seems so amazing to me how they can start out each season with nothing, then quietly with unassuming conviction, they bud and bloom, turn to the most magnificent shades of yellow, orange, red and everything in between, sharing their beauty, asking nothing in return, and only a few short months later to graciously shed nearly every last one of those things they have worked all year to create.  No complaints, no remorse, no questioning the purpose or wisdom of at all.  No dreading or worrying about whether they will be cold in the winter, have enough rain and sun in the spring, be able to fight off the bugs and disease in the summer, or be as beautiful in the autumn as they have in years past.

Sometimes the leaves seem to be anxious to move on, to confetti cover the grass, to decorate sidewalks, to provide entertainment for little kids, to experience a new part of life.   

Others grip to their limbs, trying to hang on as long as they can.  They don’t want to let go and the trust the wind to take them where it will.  To move on to a different stage of life, whatever it holds. 

Once they let go, they learn that their beauty is not lost when they leave that branch.  Their life is not about to end.  And certainly before they get washed into gutters, thrown into the yard waste, weathered by rain, snow, and trampled, they will encourage the sort of awe and reflection that can only nature can…

Maybe the trees welcome being rid of the extra baggage, like that feeling of lightness and rejuvenation that you get after a new haircut.  Maybe others know that in a matter of days they will be getting new clothes, more in fashion for the season… at least for Cle Elum.

After a lovely couple of days in Seattle, I arrived home to this.

Whatever it is, the way that the trees can go from seemingly bare, lifeless sticks to bundles of varied shades of green, to the coup de grace explosion of inimitable color in the fall, only to let it all go and start again each year, inspires me. 

Hunt and Harvest

You know you’ve “arrived” when the ladies of the Swauk-Teanaway Grange invite you to help serve ham, eggs, and pancakes at the annual Hunter’s Breakfast.

I doubt that these eggs came from happy, cage free chickens, but maybe next year I'll have enough clout to be responsible for purchasing the eggs.  Ah, the irony--humanely raised cage-free chickens responsible for the eggs at the Hunter's Breakfast.  For those interested, the US Human Society and the United Egg Producers reached an agreement whereby both organizations will support—and work together toward enactment of—federal legislation to afford certain protections to all U.S. egg laying hens.  As a result I-1130  won't be on Washington's ballot this year.

Like it or not, hunting is pretty big in these parts, and the all-you-can-eat Hunter’s Breakfast is the place to be on opening weekend of rifle season in Upper Kittitas County.  So it was last weekend.  And, it was a beautiful reminder that, as much as life has changed and continues to change, some things still haven’t changed all that much.

As my life goes, a stint at the Hunter’s Breakfast would be enough of an honor and an event for a Saturday in October.  But last weekend had even more in store…a visit from the Ringers.

It was a perfect fall day, sunny and brisk, and just right for doing Suncadia’s annual Harvest Fest up in style. 

We reaped a good harvest, and we managed an eventful and fulfilling Saturday without the help of any of the typical crutches of cell phones, ipods, ipads, and television.

It was only fitting, then, that on Sunday morning we invoked the help of modern-day technology, GPS, and satellites for a geocaching adventure. While mom (Jalleen) slept, George, Devon and I set out to look for loot.

And we scored big.



We were four for five in our finds...AND we scored a rubber chicken.

Atticus went 0 for 5, but he didn't have GPS.

The doings of little things last weekend was a little bit of heaven on earth.  We met the world with laughter on our faces and love in our hearts, and we approached the night with the exhaustion and joy that comes from days lived simply, fully, and well. 

Happy Friday!  My goal for this weekend...a bit more sowing, a bit less reaping, a bit more living in line with the following words:

Remember to be gentle with yourself and others. We are all children of chance and none can say why some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the [October]sun. Care for those around you. Look past your differences. Their dreams are no less than yours, their choices no more easily made. And give, give in any way you can, of whatever you posses. To give is to love. To withhold is to wither. Care less for your harvest than for how it is shared and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace.

                                                                                                            ~ Kent Nerburn

Present.

A pretty average day yesterday, with a little of this and a little of that, and plenty of thinking about things I should be doing, things I'd rather be doing, and things that I would do if or when this, that, or the other happens.  Moments of looking at my watch, checking in on how much longer til  "the moment" anticipated.  Moments of completing mundane task with my mind set on "the next thing."

For all my life I’ve struggled with living in the moment, or even more so, being “fully present” in the moment.  I know it is the right way to live; yet, as is true of most aphorisms, believing it to be true doesn’t often make one any more likely to live by it.  Particularly for me--the queen of giving advice that I don't follow myself.

Even when the moment is perfect, the company splendid, and the whole world seemingly at peace, I will recognize and appreciate the preciousness and joy of the moment—or the fact that I should be doing it—only to have my mind and heart start focusing on the imminence of its ending—the moment when the company will tire and ready to go home, how long til the heavy winds come up, the yellow jackets invade, the “other shoe” drops.

Everyone always said to enjoy being a kid, how nice it was; yet, I couldn’t wait to grow up.  I liked school, but school was just a stepping stone to getting into the college I wanted.  I remember the four years of college that everybody said would be the best time of my life; and, despite that being true, most of the time I was focused on finishing the project, reading the books, writing the next paper, wondering and preparing for what would come next.  At a point, I actually was thinking how nice it would be to have job and money, instead of books to read and papers to write; university was less about the experience and learning than it was about preparing for what would come next.  Putting in long hours as a law associate and working my socks off was for the purpose of making partner, not because I really was enjoying what I was doing.  Of course, as soon as I made partner, I was on to "the next thing."

Why this tendency, this impatience, this always looking ahead for something more, better?  Why am I so bad at being in the moment, and being fully present with my mind at rest, my eyes and ears wide open and my heart fully alert to what, who, and everything going on at that moment?  Why always so goal oriented, so destination focused, only to reach the destination and be ready to pack up and head back home?

I suppose there is something aspirational and good about the imminence of tomorrow, or events of the future.  but, at the end of the day, I have to believe that too often, in my life at least, whatever good there is in “looking forward”—in hope, if you would—is outweighed by loss, waste, or apparent forgettableness (forgettability?) of today.  The realization that I did not live in the moment enough, that I am no living in the moment enough, is pretty tragic, particularly once the moment is gone—quite likely not even captured by photographs. 

Today, most of the day, I followed my normal pattern of multitasking and anticipating the next thing.  There were moments, though--precious moments--where I was present and took in, with laser focused attention, the present moment and all that it had to offer.  I was inspired to take some photos.

They have no idea that I am on my way to turn on the irrigation.  And, that is just fine, they have no need to worry.  By the time I get to the hydrants, the birds have moved on to their next moment. 

And there is something about moments where I'm present that can't be put into words.

The moment, this moment, is all we really have for certain.  There is no certainty of the next moment or what lies within it.  The next moment, if we are so lucky as to have it, may not be what we were expecting--be that good or bad.

Top left--Enjoying the moment...unaware of the imminent invasion by Atticus.

I think one of the reasons I love nature and my animals so much is because it seems they are so much better than I at "being fully present."

Always in the moment.

Escape to the River with "Uncle Bill" and Atticus' best friends.

I remember this moment.  I didn't want to be anywhere else, and I wasn't.

My friend, Bill Johnson, took this photo and it may be my all time favorite.  I see this photo and I can feel that moment.

So, as I embark upon another day--or another moment--I will be mindful of what my good friend Gandhi told me:


I do not want to foresee the future. I am concerned with taking care of the present.
God has given me no control over the moment following.

And then, in rare form, he allowed me to add a "but."   But God has given me this moment.   I'm living it.