March 2019 – Steph Simply

Springtime Strawberry Smoothie

March 28, 2019March 27, 2019 by stephsimply, posted in Recipes

“Blueberries, strawberries and blackberries are true superfood. Naturally sweet and juicy, berries are low in sugar and high in nutrients—they are among the best foods you can eat.”—Joel Fuhrman

“Sometimes you’ve got to grab an apple—or grapes, or strawberries. Something that’s healthy but maybe a little bit more adventurous, if you can see fruit as adventurous.”—LL Cool J

Quincey Mullins, 6th grader, at St. Joseph Catholic Middle School.

“Here you go, Mrs. Hill. They are from Florida. My parents thought you’d enjoy them!”

I glanced up from my computer to see Quincey, a 6th grader in my homeroom class. She smiled broadly and handed me a clamshell box of red ripe strawberries. Sure, enough, there was a sticker on the top boasting the berries had been recently picked in Florida.

“Wow, Quincey! This is a first; I’ve never before had a student give me strawberries. They are one of my favorite fruits! I cannot thank your parents and you enough! I will definitely put these to good use!”

I said all of this as I gave her a sidearm hug. It was such a touching gift.

“I know you like to eat healthy, and we thought you’d like them,” Quincey added as her eyes sparkled with pride.

The gift of Florida strawberries from Quincey.

Boy, do I ever like strawberries! In fact, I love all berries, but there is something about spring-ripened strawberries. Depending upon where you live, strawberries are now in season, or they will be in season within the next month or two. This means they will be priced ready to sell and at their tastiest.

One of the freshest and tastiest ways to acquire strawberries is to actually go to a local farm that allows you pick your own. There is nothing like smelling the sweetness of the berries and the tang of the earth in the damp early morning as you stoop down to pick those luscious berries. However, if there is not a pick-your-own-strawberries-farm near you, one visit to the local farmers’ market, roadside market, or even local grocery store will often offer a plethora these garnet-colored jewels.

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

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Strawberries are high in fiber and many nutrients. One cup of strawberries has about fifty calories and over a gram of protein but only has half a gram of fat. Strawberries are full of Vitamin C. In fact, one cup of these red succulent orbs possesses 150% of your daily-recommended dose of this vial vitamin. Further, strawberries are full of antioxidants, which are important for neutralizing cancerous free radicals as well as reducing inflammation, including inflammation caused by gout and arthritis.

If that’s not enough, strawberries also are a source of both magnesium and potassium—important for lowering blood pressure. They are a good source of folate. Plus, strawberries are great for brain, eye, and immune system healthy. Clearly, strawberries, like all forms of berries, are bursting with natural sweetness and are nutritional powerhouses!

strawberries and blueberries on glass bowl — Photo by Susanne Jutzeler on Pexels.com

These vibrantly red berries, as in all berry varieties, are easily incorporated into a wide variety of recipes. Strawberries’ sweet versatility makes it easily incorporated into baked goods, salads—fruit and veggie based, parfaits, ice cream—dairy and nondairy variations, jams/jellies/preserves, and so much more. In fact, I am sharing the strawberry smoothie recipe I created for those beautiful berries from Quincey. My smoothie recipe creates an easy way to add these spring seasonal favorites to your diet.

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I, personally, loved making this smoothie for breakfast—often making it the night before. I’ve even made several in one setting, as I did when Quincey gave me the box of strawberries, and stored them in the freezer to make the most of the fresh berries’ ripeness. Then, I moved one from my freezer to refrigerator each afternoon/evening before, and grabbed it on the way out the door to school!

Consider trying this recipe with your next purchase of fresh strawberries. It’s chocked full of all sorts of goodness that is sure to be a tasty and nutritional sound start to your day. You’ll power through your morning running on high nutritional-octane!

From my home to yours, I wish you happy, healthy, and homemade smoothies!

P.S. Thank you, Miss Quincey, for the strawberries as well as the inspiration for this recipe!

Spring Strawberry Protein Smoothie

Serves 1

Ingredients:

½ to 1-cup (70-140 mg) strawberries (fresh or frozen)

½ to 1 cup (43-85 mg) riced cauliflower (best if frozen)

1 serving of favorite protein powder

1-teaspoon chia seeds

1-teaspoon ground flax seeds

1-teaspoon hemp hearts

1-cup favorite liquid (water, milk or plant-based alternative)

My basic ingredients, except for chopped walnuts, those are optional.

Optional Add-ins:

½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract (or other favorite extract)

1 tablespoon walnuts (These are especially nice if eating as a smoothie bowl.)

1 teaspoon or packet of favorite sweetener (stevia, honey, maple syrup, etc.)

1-teaspoon favorite greens powder (Amazing Grass variations, i.e. Organic Supergreens Powder)

1-2 teaspoon cocoa powder

Dash of sea salt

Directions:

In a blender or large blender cup, add ingredients in the order listed.

Add in any optional ingredients.

Blend until smooth.

Serve immediately or store in fridge up to 2 days; or, freeze until needed and thaw overnight in fridge!

Sip, savor, and enjoy the springtime goodness!

Birdsong: A Tune of Spring Renewal

March 21, 2019March 20, 2019 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“The Sun after the rain is much beautiful than the Sun before the rain.”—Mehmet Murat IIdan

“Give food to the birds, you will then be surrounded by the wings of love, you will be encompassed by the joys of little silent heart!”—Mehmet Murat IIdan

“There’s the robins,” my husband said recently in a singsong voice typically reserved for animals. It is such a simple phrase that hearkens back to my childhood; and yet, plants me in the here and now.

Before meeting John, there were two men in my life who introduced me to nature, my Papaw, as I called him, and my Dad. As a child, I spent quite a bit of time with my grandparents. Papaw loved to watch the birds. He usually kept a bird feeder year round in his backyard, just outside the kitchen window. During the winter months, he was often known to go outside and chase away the blue jays.

“The meanest bird there ever was,” he was fond of explaining.

Ah, but the arrival of the robins got Papaw jazzed.

“Stethie,” as he called me, “spring’s not too far off when the robins come back.”

He would linger over the draining rack as he dried dishes that my grandmother washed. Steam would be rising over the chilled window panes of glass as his eyes twinkled watching the robins.

“Lookie how red the breast is on that one.”

“Notice how they sing even though it is still cold.”

“Notice, look, lookie-here . . .”

My Dad was also fond of birds, but he would sometimes take my siblings and me “on the hill,” as we called it, for Sunday afternoon walks especially in the spring and fall. He would encourage us to notice the trees—their leaf shape, their bark texture; notice the moss—where it grew, how it felt, the different ways it could look; pick up and examine the seeds and nuts that were tossed pell-mell; notice the early spring flowers poking through the detritus of the forest floor . . .

“Did you hear the woodpecker?” Dad would ask us. “Let’s see if we can find it,” as our eyes scanned the tree arms above.

Therefore, on a recent night this past mid-March week, as John, my husband, and I sat on the front porch enjoying the warmth, the sunshine, and the birds, my mind drifted to those feathered friends of Papaw and the hilltop hikes with my dad.

“Listen to the robins sing, Steph.”

“Look at those two robins in the grass fighting for mating rites.”

I sighed, taking it all in.

The multi-layered, billowy clouds above; the willows’ early greenings; the skeleton appendages of the other trees, full of dark buds just waiting to burst through; the bite of the breeze that caused John and me to shiver; it was all so glorious and grounding during the midst of a difficult week.

“Look!” I exclaimed to John.

“There’s a bluebird couple!”

“No wait, there’s four blue birds on the line!”

You have to look closely. Three of the four bluebirds are in this image. We always look forward to their return.

As I crept from one end of the porch to the other, in order to capture a picture of them, I happened to see another bird couple, house finches, in our lilac bush. I motioned for John to come look, but he didn’t notice.

Therefore, I tried to gain his attention with a whispered, “Psst!”

While it did gain John’s attention, it was too much noise. A flash of both bright and dull cobalt blue fluttered into flight; followed in suit by a flicker of pinkish red and gray, one more vibrantly colored than the other.

House finches, can be seen, if you look closely, singing in our lilac bush.

Returning to my chair, John said, “Look, Steph, aren’t those gold finches with the dipping and darting flight you like so well?”

Our conversation and observations continued until the growling of stomach told me, we needed to eat the dinner already prepared and staying warm in the kitchen. John lingered a bit longer as I reluctantly, and yet, joyfully, parted from my porch perch. My soul felt grounded and renewed from those 30 or so minutes of observing, noticing, and listening—and, all those other verbs of nature-love Papaw and Dad taught.

Walking into the entrance of my home, I shook my head. Oh, how both Papaw, now in his eternal spring; and Dad, wintering in the Florida sunshine, would have enjoyed such natural theater of that evening. How very marvelous and precious the season of spring has become! What a gift of time John and I shared on that rare March evening surrounded by hints of spring. Such a metaphor for life . . ..

“God, make me brave for life: oh, braver than this. Let me straighten after pain, As a tree straightens after the rain, shining and lovely again.

God, make me brave for life; much braver than this. As the grass lifts, let me rise From sorrow with quiet eyes, knowing Thy way is wise.

God, make me brave, life brings Such blinding things. Help me to keep my sight; Help me to see aright That out of dark come light.”—Grace Noll Crowell

Come Back to Your Breath: A Return to Meditation

March 14, 2019March 12, 2019 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings, Yoga

“Breathing in, I am aware of my body. Breathing out, I release the tension in my body.”—Thich Nhat Hanh

“Mindfulness is the energy that helps us recognize the conditions of happiness that are already present in our lives. You don’t have to wait ten years to experience this happiness. It is present in every moment of your daily life.”—Thich Nhat Hanh

“Come back to your breath.”

It was a simple direction, but powerful nonetheless. I was in the middle of a fairly intense yoga class. Could the instructor read my mind because I had wandered into thoughts; and thinking, for me, can be a source of positivity or, as is more often the case, a source of negativity and defeat.

As seen on Instagram at thichnhathanh.bot

I often give a similar instruction when I am teaching yoga.

“Focus on your breath. If thoughts enter your mind, brush them away as if they are food crumbs on the table of your mind.”

And yet, how very often do I practice this? How often do I ruminate on lists of things to do for school and other work, for home, for my daughter, for my husband, for when-I-get-home, for when-the-weekend-gets-here . . . On and on the mental post-it notes stick in my mind in the same way they adorn my work desk, my notebooks, and sometimes throughout my home. Must do, gotta remember, can’t forget . . .Oh, those lists; and I haven’t even made it to the lists of worries; the lists of things for which I should feel guilty; the lists of oh-I-wish-I-would-have-thought-to-do . . .. All this mental inventory and babble!

Like the lists that adorn my notebooks, kitchen counters, and work desk, my mind is often filled with post-it notes of mental lists.

Of all people, I should know better! After all, I spent a large portion of 2018 in yoga teacher training (YTT), which had a huge emphasis on mindfulness and meditation. In fact, during this time period, I was an avid meditator with a daily practice emphasizing breath work. As a matter of fact, I had a couple of years of meditation under my belt before starting YTT, and yet, here I was standing in a yoga class with my monkey mind as it dashed, darted, and dipped.

Momentarily, my racing mind, as if it were a bird in flight alighting upon a tree limb, landed on a phrase by Thich Nhat Hanh, the author of hundreds of books on mindfulness and meditation. In fact, at the end of my YTT training, each student, in our group of 20, received a mini-book with excerpts from his numerous books.

“This is an in-breath. This is an out-breath.”

Both the book and the heart were gifts from my instructors at the end of YTT training at Brown Dog Yoga. They are on my work desk as a reminder of what I had not been doing for nearly 3 months.

As I repeated those words, my awareness shifted its focus to my breath. So simple, yet so energy shifting. Without realizing it, I lost the words as I continued to follow the breath—which of course is the point. Lose the words along with the chattering thoughts. Albeit, it was brief, because my mind is so addicted to its thoughts, worries, and fears. However, with the brevity came the recognition that in order to be of service to others, as well as myself, I needed to return to a regular mindfulness practice–one that included more meditation.

Yes, I had a whole routine of prayers, petitions, and points of focus that I did daily each time I drove first thing in the morning. I mean, I even turn the radio off for heaven’s sake to ensure my mind is not distracted, so I can fully concentrated on my murmurings. Plus, each week at mass, I also wholly devote myself to prayers and meditations—ok, ok, semi-wholly . . . ok, more like, well, like the squirrels that scamper throughout our school’s grounds skittering around from one thought to the next. Truth be told, I had been lying to myself for several month as guilt washed over me. Great, another point to add to list of things for which to feel guilty!

Time to get back on the proverbial wagon. After honest reflection, I realized I could not make meditation-time another item on my many running post-it lists of things-to-do-for-the-day. It would then run the risk of becoming a daily point of pressure for which to create an excuse for not doing—I don’t have time for twenty minutes, so why bother at all? What could I do then?

“Come back to your breath.”

Wait, could it really be that simple? What if I set a timer for five minutes in the morning before showering? Then, for five minutes sit and focus on breathing-in and breathing-out; and, actually practice what I preach. If . . .I mean, when, because I do know my mind . . .when thoughts enter my mind, I push them away as if they are food crumbs on the mind of my table—just for five minutes; or three minutes, if need be.

Could I set a time for five minutes and meditate?

As I write this, I am three days in to this practice. Ironically, I ended up sitting all three days for 10-15 minutes focusing on the breath and pushing away those pesky mental post-it notes of thoughts. Afterwards, I have felt more grounded, focused, and less anxious. Oh-to-be-certain, all those lists were still there! However, for the time that I focused on the in-breath and the out-breath, they did not exist. And, that, for now, is good enough. That said, I fully recognize that there will be days when five minutes will be all that I manage, but this is how one returns to a habit that has been lost—at least how I know I can realistically.

There are numerous apps and youtube videos on meditations that can be of great assistance. . .if I would actually use them!

In fact, this simple practice of focusing on breathing in and breathing can be accomplished anywhere, even at those dang-blasted red lights that prevent me from getting home quickly after a long day away. As Hanh points out, “The in-breath can be a celebration of the fact that you are alive, so it can be very joyful.” And, while there are numerous other benefits from a regular meditation practice supported by science that can be found with a quick click of computer keys, I’ll start with a bit more joy!

An image my daughter, Madelyn, painted for me several years ago when she was just starting to explore painting–which is a form of mindfulness–and, when I first began to dabble in meditation.

An OM, given to me by a dear friend, adorns my kitchen, and it serves as a reminder of the importance of meditation on the mind, heart, and soul.

Life, Like Lightening, Strikes Quickly

March 7, 2019March 7, 2019 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Here hyacinths of heavenly blue, shook their rich tresses to the morn.”—James Montgomery

“Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.”—Marcus Aurelius

Tuesday morning. It was John’s birthday—my husband of nearly thirty years. We had celebrated his sister, Jacki’s, and his birthdays earlier in the week, but as I wished him a “Happy Birthday” that morning, I was struck by the number of birthdays we had celebrated together in our marriage. Later, that same day at school, when one of our much younger co-workers asked if John was 49 years old and holding, the look of amazement in her eyes when he stated he was 57, struck me as ironic. John and I were once the young staff members; now we are the veterans. The realization of this notion did not fully sink in . . .yet.

Mike McCabe, left; John, center; and Steve McCabe, right pictured together at their annual get-together always right around John’s birthday. They have all been friends since high school.

Thursday afternoon. As I was waiting for a fitness class to start at Brown Down Yoga, I looked around the room. There were women of all ages present, but I was struck by a pair of younger women who were clearly, based upon their conversation, teachers. My eyes kept being drawn to how very young they looked. Surely, they were not old enough to have a college degree, much less already be current educators. Then, from a deep cavity of personal recollections, I inwardly smiled as I recalled the fact the fact that I had been like them at one time in my life. In fact, during my first year as a teacher at a local high school, many staff members, who did not know me, would ask for my hall pass. What a memory!

A picture of me from my third or fourth of year of teaching.

Friday morning. Our priest, Monsignor Dean, walked behind the pulpit to speak. The school had surprised him with a gift after our weekly mass (church service) in honor of his 67th birthday. He spoke with a clear voice, but his face was unmistakably caught in a reverie. His words were full of sentiment and wistfulness.

Monsignor described celebrating his first birthday in Huntington. He had been in third grade, and was home sick with the mumps—quite a disappointment for a young lad on such a highly anticipated event. His dad gave him a hyacinth that year. With great emotion, he described how on his walk over to the church that morning he passed a hyacinth, newly sprouting from the ground and was reminded of his dad as well as the bittersweet taste of the passage of time. I swallowed hard as I felt the powerful implication of this words when he added, “It seems like that was only yesterday when Dad gave me that flower.”

A hyacinth just outside one of the church doors.

After mass, I found a hyacinth outside one of the church doors.

Saturday morning. I held and read the three names I was given: Hospitalman Luke Emch, KIA 03/02/20017; Lance Corporal Matthew A. Snyder, KIA 03/03/2006; and, Sergeant Joshua V. Youmans, KIA 03/01/2006. I listened as other voices took turns reading 33 more names of women and men killed in action on March 1-3 since 2011 in the circle of remembrance. We were all preparing, in some way, to participate in an over 3-½-mile run/walk of the wear blue: run to remember Ashland community monthly outing. These names would be carried in our hearts as we took purposeful steps in honor and remembrance of their ultimate sacrifice. Once more I felt the constriction of my throat as I fought back the emotion.

*wear blue: run to remember* Ashland community for March: Front Row–Sandy Mers, Carrie Kyne, Kathy Dingess-Akers with Gus; Back Row–Debbie Davis, Melissa Colyer, Josh Skeens, Valerie Carson, me, Mark Gaffney, & Peyton Gaffney

Who was I to complain about the quick passage of time? Their families would give nearly anything to have more time to spend with their fallen loved one, no matter how many gray hairs or wrinkles acquired along the way. How fortunate I was to be alive; to be present in that moment; to have spent nearly 30 years of marriage with my husband; to have both of my parents and step-parents alive; to have all of my siblings still alive; to have a beautiful daughter in college; to be able to work and contribute to society and my local community in a meaningful way . . .how very fortunate, indeed.

Me with my daughter, Madelyn, on her most recent visit home from college.

A couple of hours later. Driving home from Ashland on US 52 I was struck by the number of times I had traversed this route over the years from age four until now—nearly fifty years of traveling this road. Memories of driving to and from holiday and birthday celebrations in order to be with grandparents and extended family; church events; numerous visits to our pediatrician when I was a kid; years of driving to and from Ohio University; anticipating my latest haircut as I drove to Ironton; dates between my now husband and me . . . .how many more miles will I travel this route until it is my last?

Then, the song came on. “Lightning Crashes,” by Live—the haunting imagery; its striking lyrics; the emotional voice . . . and, that is when the tears could no longer be held back. It was a song from oh-so-long-ago. A song I often played when I first started writing in my forties to begin to crawl out of the deep despair of depression into which I had fallen after the death of one of my precious kindergarten students—the exact same age as my daughter. I thought of his final trip down this highway. My mind raced to the final mile of the men and women whose names I had read just hours ago. What was their final mile? Was there an angel with each of them as they crossed over, calming their fear? I would like to believe this is true.

I thought of the loved ones I have already lost in this life. My dear grandparents and sweet mother-in-law, uncles, aunts, neighbors, friends . . . Do they know I still think of them? Do they know they mattered? And, in the end, will my life have mattered?

Tears flowed. The miles rolled. Life streams through my clasping hands.

“Oh now feel it, comin’ back again/ Like a rollin’, thunder chasing the wind/Forces pullin’ from/The center of the earth again/I can feel it.”—Lyrical excerpt from “Lightning Crashes” as performed by Live

More images from the wear blue: run to remember Ashland community March event