| This poem beautifully illustrates the universal principle of local food. Food memories and experiences across space and time have a common language.
Have a wonderful week everyone!
“Market Day” by Linda Pastan from Carnival Evening. © Norton, 1998. From the Writer’s Almanac, June 22nd 2017
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My mother went to work each day
in a starched white dress, shoes
damped to her feet like pale
mushrooms, two blue hearts pressed
into the sponge rubber soles.
When she came back home, her nylons
streaked with runs, a spatter
of blood across her bodice,
she sat at one end of the dinner table
and let us kids serve the spaghetti, sprinkle
the parmesan, cut the buttered loaf.
We poured black wine into the bell
of her glass as she unfastened
her burgundy hair, shook her head, and began.
And over the years we mastered it, how to listen
to stories of blocked intestines
while we twirled the pasta, of saws
teething cranium, drills boring holes in bone
as we crunched the crust of our sourdough,
carved the stems off our cauliflower.
We learned the importance of balance,
how an operation depends on
cooperation and a blend of skills,
the art of passing the salt
before it is asked for.
She taught us well, so that when Mary Ellen
ran the iron over her arm, no one wasted
a moment: My brother headed straight for the ice
Our little sister uncapped the salve.
And I dialed the number under Ambulance,
my stomach turning to the smell
of singed skin, already planning the evening
meal, the raw fish thawing in its wrapper,
a perfect wedge of flesh.
From the Writer’s Almanac http://writersalmanac.org/page/3/
This is the perfect poem for today, Amani’s birthday. Happy 22nd Birthday my baby. May we all celebrate “this green, this life.”
“The First Green of Spring” by David Budbill from Moment to Moment: Poems of a Mountain Recluse. © Copper Canyon Press, 1999. From Writer’s Almanac on April 27th, 2017 |
Enjoy this yoga AND a food poem celebrating moderation. May we all have the wisdom to “savor every bite of grub with equal gratitude.”
“The Necessary Brevity of Pleasures” by Samuel Hazo from A Flight to Elsewhere. © Autumn House Press, 2005. From the Writers Almanac on April 25, 2017.
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I am fighting a battle; I fear I am losing. It started as a cute blossom filled spring-time allergy that morphed into an angry full-blown, noisy nose blowing, scratchy throat coughing, body aching, ugly cold. I continue to fight with a steady stream of tea, oregano drops, and uplifting mantras like “I am healthy and happy…I am healthy and happy….I breathe freely and efficiently”…. to no avail.
This situation comes at a most inconvenient time while I’m trying to learn how to breathe. You heard me….I’m trying to learn how to breathe. Sure, I know how to automatically breathe, but not as efficiently, smoothly and mindfully as I’d like. I’m reading The Yoga of Breath by Richard Rosen. I have yet to work on the suggested practices because….you know…my current battle with snot.
Why do I need to learn how to breathe better? Rosen writes,
She [The efficient breather] breathes slowly, which streamlines the breath, with the free and easy movement of diaphragm, engaging the entire torso (in fact the entire body). She mostly breathes through the nose, which filters, warms or cools as needed, and humidifies the breath. Nose breathing naturally slows the exhale, because the nostrils offer more resistance o the breath than the mouth, and gives the lungs enough time to extract the maximum amount of oxygen and energy from each breath. With the correct proportion of oxygen and carbon dioxide in the body, which dilate the blood vessels, blood and oxygen circulate smoothly and easily through the efficient breather’s body and brain. The full excursion of the diaphragm and the well-toned abdominals massage internal organs, like the heart and intestines, and so improve digestion and elimination. Efficient breathing activates the parasympathetic branch of the autonomic nervous system and the relaxation response. In all, the efficient breather is much calmer, more clearheaded, and probably healthier and happier, than her inefficient friend.
At the moment, I am clearly not an efficient breather. I can feel the shallowness of my breath that makes me feel anxious and annoyed with myself. Perhaps, my current battle makes me appreciate the need for slow, sustained breathing more than I would otherwise.
Maybe I have better motivation to breathe my best when I can.
I learned about Richard Rosen on the Yoga Land Podcast. Thank you, Andrea Ferretti!! Check it out at https://www.acast.com/yogaland/richardrosenonlookingbacktogoforward
Wishing all of you smooth breathing,
Wobblyogi
“Be Kind” by Michael Blumenthal from No Hurry. © Etruscan Press, 2012. From the Writers Almanac April 12th, 2017 |
Here is the meditation that helped me emotionally survive a weekend of dance competition. Almost.
Our late start Saturday morning thankfully gave me time to sit for 20 minutes.
The solidity of the floor is always best for a long straight spine but hotel room carpets always feel threatening to me. So, I sat comfortably on the pillowy bed. I closed my eyes and felt my breath. Then I started to listen for all the noises around me, loud and quiet. The hum of machines, slamming doors, cars passing on the road, people talking, water running, children running, As my mind noticed all the noises, I quietly said to myself, “There is noise but I am still. There is noise but I am still. There is noise but I am still.” I didn’t have to be moved by the noise and sensory chaos. I tried to memorize the feeling of noticing noise without the need to be moved by it. The feeling of being the calm center of a storm, the feeling of channeling Aristotle’s unmoved mover.
I sat in my pillow nest enjoying the quiet center of a noisy day.
The 20 minutes made a world of a difference sitting in the loud auditorium. There is noise but I am still.
I thought I won the day. I defeated the fatigue of watching dance all day. I was confident of my yogic super powers.
The awards began past 10:00 pm that evening. After 15 minutes I folded and found myself hunched over as if child’s pose. My serenity lost.
I wasn’t ready for the repetitive, auction-like rush of words and numbers. I couldn’t just tune out, after all I was waiting to hear about how our dancers did. What to do? How can I be aware and engaged but not burdened and fatigued?
What helped was commiserating with other moms just as tired and invested as I was. It didn’t take away our fatigue but the jokes, sighs and laughter sure made it bearable. Sometimes meditation works and sometimes we just need to laugh with a friend to get through difficult hours of waiting.
Next competition I’m going in with all the support I can muster: snacks, meditation and friends.
May I focus beyond my achy back, hungry tummy and overloaded eyes and ears to be in the present and enjoy our girls dance through the long days with grace, skill and beauty.
Wishing you all laughter and quiet, as needed,
Wobblyogi
That’s my dance baby flying strong in the air. Proud mom moment 🙂
Last weekend our yoga book club met to talk, practice, eat, watch a documentary and talk some more. The three hours flew by. Jacqueline lead us through a beautiful asana practice inspired by mantras from the book. We talked about the difference between ambition and greed, between pain and suffering. We talked about what we liked about the book and what we didn’t like. We talked beyond the book about the challenges of a home practice, about how we came to join the book club. We watched and talked about the documentary: Yoga Is. It was movie night, book club and tea time rolled into one. What a wonderful way to spend a Spring Sunday afternoon!
Usually after practice we rush back to our respective lives. What a welcomed treat to sit and laugh with my fellow yogis.
Our snack menu included items to balance Spring Kapha flavored with heat building spices of ginger and black pepper.
All of the snacks were easy to assemble. The most “cooking” I did was the tofu scramble. The “heat inviting” meal ironically required very little fire to prepare.
Here are a few directions.
For the Corn Tacos (less gluten and dairy helps balance Kapha): Break up a box of extra firm tofu. Add any spice mix of your choice to the broken up pieces. I used a spring spice mix with turmeric, fennel, cumin, ginger, black pepper and chili powder. Heat a tablespoon of oil in a wide pan or wok. Add tofu. Let it dry out and even brown on one side before you move the pieces around. You can take the tofu out of the pan or just have it waiting on one side of the pan, while you wilt some greens (spinach, arugula, chard). You can also add onions or garlic, if you like. I didn’t. Once wilted, toss greens with tofu and your filling is done!Warm some corn tortillas with ghee, butter or an oil of your choice. Add filling. Maybe top with shredded carrots or avocado slices. Enjoy.
The stuffed dates were simply crystallized ginger and almonds pulsed together into a grainy consistency. Stuff the mixture into de-seeded Medjool dates.
The cucumber slices were just that. Sliced cucumbers topped with hummus and sprinkled with feta.
The roasted chickpeas (deep frying is tastier but not very healthy) were drained canned chickpeas, tossed with vinegar, oil and a spice mix (I used the same spring spice mix as the tofu) and baked at 400 degrees until crispy. Between 30-40 minutes. During cooking you’ll need to moves the peas around to get an even bake. That’s it.
The spiced tea was regular tea with milk, a touch of sugar, spiced with ginger and black pepper.
If you couldn’t join us, I hope you can find the time to enjoy the book, the movie and the snacks with your friends. Next time, join us.
Looking forward to our next book club meeting in late summer,
The Wobblyogi
http://www.judithhansonlasater.com/lly2/
My favorite Ayurveda Cookbook is this one by Kate O’Donnell. I modified the taco recipe offered in this book. It has many other recipes that are easy to to prepare and have easy to find ingredients. O’Donnell reminds us that Ayurvedic cooking is not limited to Indian food!
I myself am an ex-wife and I’m also the wife cooking dinner during an ex-wife phone call. I feel the discomfort of intrusion from both perspectives. It is the unwelcome reminder that I am not the center of anyone’s universe as young love believes. I feel the pang of the poem and its wisdom of being the other woman either on the phone or cooking. In this case, is cooking an escape or a grounding in reality? Maybe both?
While I mince an onion, he talks with her,
planning their son’s bar mitzvah, sounding
so familiar, so nuts and bolts. Turning up the gas flame,
I sauté the onion translucent. Butter sizzles, foams,
as they go over the invitation list, names I’ve never heard.Adding a cup of Arborio, I think of white rice
thrown high in the air by the fistful. I pour
two glasses of chardonnay, one for the risotto,
one for myself, sip, then gulp. Blend.The band, flowers, menu?
Heady, I stare at the recipe to orient myself, to understand
what I am doing: Add broth, cup by cup, until absorbed.
Add Parmesan. Serve immediately.The word immediately catches my eye,
but their conversation continues, then his son
gets on the line and hangs up on him,
as I stir and stir, holding the wooden spoon.“Making Risotto for Dinner When His Ex-Wife Calls” by Kendra Tanacea from A Filament Burns in Blue Degrees. © Lost Horse Press, 2017.
From the Writer’s Almanac March 31, 2017
Tonight we find them again,
parked under the stars
(no one ever
eats inside in Heaven),
beeping the tired carhop
with her pageboy and mascara
for a paper boat of French fries
drenched in sauce,
a smashed hamburger baptized
with spices.
They’re sixteen and in love;
the night is hot,
sweet and tangy on their tongues.
Why do we stop?
They’re in Heaven, after all,
listening to the fry cook
in the kitchen
with his savory benedictions,
the AM radio playing
“Love Me Tender,” “Peggy Sue,”
unperturbed by the future with its
franchises and malls, its
conglomerates and information
highways. Is there something
we would tell them?
Here in Hamburger Heaven where
the nights go on forever,
where desire’s resurrected
and every hunger’s filled?
Wait! Do we call out?
But now they’ve seen us
close behind them with our
fervent “Thou Shalt Nots,”
our longings glaring in
the rearview mirror.
And they’ve turned on
the ignition
and they’ve floored it
and are gone.
“Hamburger Heaven” by Ronald Wallace from For a Limited Time Only. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2008.
The Hungry Philosopher 