Month: July 2019

Blackberry Bliss Smoothie and Berrilicious Blackberry Salad Dressing–Simple Summer Satisfaction

by stephsimply, posted in Recipes

 

            “I really am a smoothie person.  I love making a morning smoothie and then will drink some coffee and will not eat at all before lunch.”—Gwyneth Paltrow

img_9158
Sip and savor this summer sensation while blackberries are still in season. In the morning, and/or after a hard workout, enjoy the blissfulness of solid nutrition, not to mention great taste!

          

  “From salad dressings all blessings flow.”—Paul Newman

 

img_9045
Enjoy blackberries as a salad topper, or as a salad dressing!

 

            Depending upon where you live in North America, blackberry season may have come and gone, or you are still anticipating the berry-ful bounty of blackberries. In fact, our family spent the weekend, one year, at Canaan Valley, WV, in late July, when blackberries were just coming into season, well past the time they would have been available back home. Additionally, I can recall visiting PEI and New Brunswick, Canada, during July, but during different years, and sadly learning that local blackberries would not be available until mid- to late August, well past the time of our respective vacations. 

 

            Why do I love blackberries so much? Perhaps, it is because it links me to childhood summer memories.  Ironically though, I would have never eaten a raw blackberry, much less my Grandmother Helen’s family beloved blackberry cobbler as a child! I did, however, love the smell of the fresh berries as Papaw brought them into the house; the stories he would tell of the wars he waged with insects, heat, and thorns; and, I loved the way family, from as far away as Texas, would visit Grandmother’s house every July for a piece of that delicious smelling, warm cobbler topped with ice cream that slowly seeped into nooks, crannies, and crevices–creating a purple pool of creaminess that made my relatives, especially those ever-so-cool older cousins, smile and laugh as they teased Grandmother good-naturedly.

 

 

 

Unfortunately, this is not Grandmother’s variation of cobbler. Her cobbler would have been served in a white with a bit of navy trim Correlle brand bowl. Grandmother’s cobbler would have been baked in a 9 x 12 heavy duty baking pan with the fruit (mixed with a whole lot of sugar)and the top would have been like a traditional pie crust rolled out in a rectangle instead of a circle.
Grandmother and Papaw setting table for a family dinner.

 

            It wasn’t until I was a “mature” first year teacher, living with my Grandparents, that I came to try, and ultimately love blackberries.   Moving in with my grandparents at the ripe old age of 21 was, at the time, a challenge; however, now, I look back on that time period with great fondness.  While I do have certain regrets about this period of my life, I appreciate the love, security, and flexibility my grandparents provided me during those early adult years.

 

img_9038
As a child, I would have never eaten blackberries, much less top a morning bowl of muesli with it!

 

            While Papaw was not an adventurous eater, Grandmother and I shared our love of exploring new foods with one another. In fact, it was seated in her kitchen where I would learn to eat foods that I had never before touched as a child. Maybe it was those Kentucky cooking skills she enthusiastically wanted to share with me, or perhaps it was all of the wonderful smells that filled her kitchen, day in and day out.   Then again, maybe I just opened my mind, and, consequently, my taste buds. Whatever it is was, I learned to love blackberry cobbler, and, a whole host of other traditional, and no-where-near traditional, Kentucky (think Appalachian) foods, thanks, in large part, to Helen, my grandmother. From green bean casserole to broccoli casserole; from sliced and salted summer tomatoes (always beefsteak) to good ol’ half-runner green beans cooked with some form of pork; and, from stir-fried veggies and rice (I purchased a wok while living with my grandparents.) to rice cakes spread with natural, freshly ground peanut butter (at the newfangled nut-butter grinder located inside a fancy, newly opened Kroger grocery), topped with a bit of locally made sorghum; Grandmother and I ate and sampled, in our minds anyway, great food. 

 

 

 

My grandparents, Chester “Check” and Helen Slater.
Grandmother Helen, at my childhood home kitchen.
Papaw and me in his driveway next to his house. In the background are those hills he would climb in order to find the blackberries.
Papaw in his living room during on Christmas Eve.

 

            Two food items Grandmother never made were smoothies and salad dressings.  In fact, it has only been in the past couple of years that I have started experimenting with creating these items.  That said, I know if I had been creating smoothies and/or salad dressings in Grandmother’s kitchen, she would have been right there, in her designated kitchen chair, watching me work, asking me questions, and ready to be the first one to taste each new creation. Even now, there are numerous times that I think of Helen as I go about experimenting in my own kitchen and wish she were still around to sample, advise, and, of course, enjoy right along with me.  

 

 

 

Store blackberry smoothie in container for later use if not going to consume immediately. Just remember to shake well before enjoying.

Grandmother Helen would have loved trying both my blackberry smoothie and salad dressing.

 

            I can hear her, in my mind’s ear, “Oh, Stethie, that looks good!  What did you put it in?” Furthermore, in my mind’s eye, I can see her tasting both of these recipes, rolling that first taste around her tongue to get all the flavors as she muttered, “Hmm . . .” and then, smiling at me, teeth purple from the blackberries and eyes radiating with both love and joy—one foodie to another– “Maybe I’ll have just a little bit more of that, Stethie, but not too much.”

 

img_9171
I would have loved to have served up this salad of dark greens, granny smith apple, diced tomato, walnuts and my freshly made blackberry vinaigrette to Grandmother Helen. If I had had avocado on hand at the time this photo was take, it would be a delicious addition to this salad, especially when making the oil free version.

 

        And, I’d probably retort, good-naturedly, “Grandmother, do you want a small portion, or a Grandmother-Helen-size “small” portion?” Then, we’d both have a good laugh, she’d allow me to serve her, and then we’d sit diagonally from one another–at that table with it’s red checked table cloth– and savor our food together.

 

img_9169
I’d give anything to sit across from my kitchen table, as I’m doing here after teaching at Brown Dog Yoga, and sharing a nutrient rich and tasty blackberry smoothie with my grandmother!

 

            The following recipes are fairly flexible and can be altered based upon your preferred tastes and textures.  Play around with ingredients, amounts, as well as combinations. Make these recipes your own.  

 

 

 

Ingredients for blackberry vinaigrette.
Optional ingredients for blackberry smoothie.
More ideas for add-ins to my blackberry smoothie recipe.

 

            From my home to yours, I wish you healthy, happy, homemade meals as well as wonderful food memories!

Store

 

 

img_9170
Shake up the smoothie if made in advance, before sipping up.

 

Blackberry Bliss Smoothie

(Serves 1, but can easily be doubled or even tripled)

 Ingredients:

 1-cup blackberries, fresh or frozen

1-cup liquid (milk or plant milk, pomegranate juice, or water)

2 medjool dates (pitted), or ½ banana, or  ½ cup peaches, mango, or another type of berry

½ cup frozen riced cauliflower (my secret way to sneak in veggies early into the day)

½ teaspoon vanilla

Optional Add-ins: protein powder, nut butter, and/or 1 tablespoon of the following: chia seeds, flax seeds, or hemp hearts 

 Directions:

 In a high-speed blender, add in ½ -cup liquid of choice.

Add in blackberries, fruit of choice, cauliflower, and vanilla.

Add any optional ingredients.

Top off with rest of liquid.

Blend until smooth.

Serve immediately, or store in a container for up to 3 days in refrigerator.

Shake well before drinking a smoothie that has been stored.

 

 

Ingredients for blackberry vinaigrette.
Place all ingredients for blackberry vinaigrette in high speed blender.
Add more water, or reduce amount of water, in order to reach desired thickness.
This vinaigrette is a dark, lush colored dressing.
Once mixed to desired thickness, pour into a container for storage in refrigerator.

Berrylicious Blackberry Vinaigrette

(Makes enough 2-4 individual salads, and can easily be doubled, if desired.

 Ingredients:

 1-cup blackberries

1 medjool date (pitted)

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

2 tablespoons pomegranate juice

2-4 tablespoons water (depending upon desired thickness)

½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

¼ – ½ teaspoon (or more) of salt free seasoning, i.e. Mrs. Dash

¼ teaspoon salt, optional

¼ teaspoon onion powder, optional

**If you’d like the mouthfeel, and/or taste of a fat, add-in 1-2 tablespoons cashew butter, tahini, or a quality olive oil.

 Directions:

 In a high-speed blender, place in all ingredients.

Blend until well smooth.

Check thickness and water accordingly.

Serve immediately over a fresh green salad, and/or store unused portion in refrigerator.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rootbound: A Lesson in Limiting Beliefs

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings, Yoga

            “You can do it, you can undo it, and you can do it differently.”—Sri Swami Satchidananda

 

            “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”  Romans 12:2

 

            I smiled as I took in the view of the 17 plants, nearly two flats, of ajuga, often known as carpet bugleweed. It is a beautiful ground cover that, well, carpets land by underground runners that root the plant into the surrounding soil.  Ajuga is perfect for crowding out weeds; it thrives in poor soil, doesn’t need regular attention, possesses a colorful, shiny foliage, and it’s late spring to early summer bluish to purple blossoms are bee, butterfly, and bird favorites.  In fact, our beloved dog, Rusty, who has since passed over to his eternal yard, loved to sit in the middle of the ajuga blooms, snatch the bees into his mouth, and eat them! (He always was a one-of-kind dog!) Shaking my head out of the Rusty-reverie, I settled down to the business of planting.

 

img_2693
Rusty, on our front porch, after snatching all the bees current in the late spring ajuga, looking pitifully up at John, my husband, as if to ask, find more bees for me–I just can’t help myself.

 

            Sliding on my purple gardening gloves, I glanced around at the bright begonias and geraniums that were recently potted, pruned, and plucked of dead or yellowing leaves and buds. The new plants’ cheery reds and glossy greens radiated with the joy of roots freed to spread, expand, and grow.  It was as if they came home from a hard day of work at the green house, put on their comfy pants, and sighed an audible, “Ah . . . .”   

 

58475702058__637c23fe-ddf8-41f0-b12a-f28aeb4fcaeb
Free from the constraints that once held them firmly in place, the roots are free to explore and expand beyond their former boundaries.

 

            Grabbing a trowel, I went to work.  Digging holes 8-12 inches wide, not too deep, I began by persuasively coaxing each plant out of its pot. Once out, I observed that the roots were tightly bound.  In fact, it took quite a bit of hand strength to pry and unbind the roots for planting—so tightly were they clinging to their former pot shape in which they were contained.  As I developed a planting rhythm–digging holes, vigorously shaking free plant from pot, firmly clasping and pulling apart bound roots, gently placing in prepared hole, tucking in soil over and around roots—my mind, like the newly planted ajuga roots, was free to expand and roam.  That’s when Divine Providence began to trowel up a lesson for me.

 

58475707442__54a23736-e8d1-4a04-b99b-065b71a24d7a
17 newly planted ajuga, also known as carpet bugleweed, have room to carpet new territory and explore new space because their roots are no longer tightly contained in pint-sized containers.

 

            Many people, myself included, become root bound by limiting beliefs about self, faith life, career path, education, community, and so forth. Often, these beliefs are seeded in early childhood by well-meaning adults and the knowledge those adults possessed at the time. These views are sometimes further propagated by schools, churches, and/or societal “norms’—again functioning with the best information these groups have at the time.  Additionally, the soil, or culture, into which we are planted, may not be as fertile as others—either damp with too much emotion, or dry and devoid of all support. Thus, we can become bound up by beliefs, attitudes, and even tenets that keep us from thriving with the unbridled vibrancy I noticed in the flowers planted days earlier. 

 

img_9089
This plant only had one way to grow as it was in a crowded flat in a container the size of a school lunch milk carton tightly surrounded by other like plants. It will be interested to watch its shape change and shift over the coming months.

 

            Ironically, even when planted into new circumstances with nurturing support that welcomes new thinking, new ways of being, new ways of expressing, living, loving, learning, and so forth, internally we are still remain bound, restricted, and constrained.  Whether intentional or not, the pot into which we grew, so tightly bound us, that we may not realize the expansion and possibilities that wait for us if we would only allow our roots to release the shape into which they so tightly grip. 

 

img_9108
Despite their freedom, these ajuga roots still hold tightly to the shape of the former container that limited their scope.

 

            In order to get each ajuga plant out of its container, I had to robustly shake it free.  Once free, the roots remained in the exact shape of the pot from which it came. In fact, in order to get the roots to release their grasp of this shape required forcible, almost violent, pulling apart. Once broken free though, the roots seemed to comfortably sink and settle into their new environment with relative ease. And, isn’t that like life?

 

img_9111
In order to free the roots, I had to forcibly pull apart the bound ball of roots to allow them to properly develop runners and expand into new, more natural way, of living.

 

            For some of us, it takes a negative, blunt force experience, or even trauma, to break us free from our tightly bound self-imposed constraints.  However, for others, it’s as simple as waking up one day and realizing what Satchidananda was saying in the quote above, we can recognize that we are living one way, because at one time, it seemed right for us, but it now no longer fits our need for growth.  Therefore, it is within our power to undo past paths, and expand in a new direction, keeping in mind the lessons from the past.   

 

img_9082-1
While this is the perfect size container at the time of planting, eventually, this plant will begin to outgrow this container, and will require new territory in which to expand its need for growth–just like humans.

 

            Like the newly planted ajuga, begonias, and geraniums around my porch, we can choose to unbind our roots, prune off the decaying, limiting beliefs, and allow our minds to be renewed–transforming and beautifying, not just our own life, but all of humanity in a new way.  While the ajuga only produces flowers once per year, its blooms not only beautify the location in which it is planted, but also its flowers attract bees, butterflies, birds, and on the rare occasion a random dog, from miles away–taking bits of its beauty with them wide and far.  Furthermore, even once their flowers are gone, the plants’ foliage seems to take on a whole new sheen of color and vibrancy as if they glow from not only giving back to the world at large, but from the new found freedom of their underground runners use in order to expand—allowing them to cover more ground and offer up new shoots of growth—and new possibilities for replanting and expanding.

 

                        We can choose to release and prune decaying and limiting beliefs. 

 

            May our roots be unbound, so that we can cover more ground, offering more love, beauty, and peace to the world. Heaven knows the world could use it!

 

            

img_9087img_9105

 

Backwoods Blackberry Boogie: Lessons on Connectedness

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

            “When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is.”—Mary Oliver

             “ . . .purple as the stain blackberries leave on the lips, on the hands, . . .”—Marge Piercy

 

            “Ouch!”

 

            Smack.  Rub. Brush.

 

            “Ow!”

 

            Whack.  Ruffle. Shake.

 

            “Ah, dang it!”

 

            Wipe. Smear.  Reach.

 

            I smile as I decide to give my shenanigans a name, the “Backwoods Blackberry Boogie”.  Truth-be-told, while I should be in the woods, I am actually standing in our yard. Several years ago, a bird must have “dropped” a special package amongst the shrubs planted along one side of our home; and now, some years later, we have a large blackberry bush blossoming each July just around the corner from my front door.

 

            Should we have cut it down?  Probably. Perhaps, we should have dug it out instead.  Then again, there were always chemicals we could have use; and yet, we did not.  Lazy? Not really. Distracted? Certainly. Distracted with life—caring for loved ones; working long hours while juggling a few part-time gigs; and, spending time with our child—initially running with all of her sports/activities of high school, to now, making the four hour drive each way to her college several weekends per year . . . the list goes on. Bottom line, we no longer should live on five acres of land, much less own a large yard; and so, a blackberry bush grows in one small part of it.

 

img_9014 

 

            Whether the choice was intentional or not, the point is moot now; and honestly, we don’t have the heart to uproot, cut down, or destroy our yard-growing blackberry bush.  Most likely, it will come down at some point—either by us or future owners—but, for now, blackberry juice, which ironically looks like blood—will not be on my hands. Well, actually it is on my hands, but not due to the death of the bush.

 

       While I did have blackberry juice stains on my hands, it was NOT from killing the wild bush in our yard.

 

            If a big ol’ blackberry bush is gonna grow wildly in my side yard, to the scorn of aesthetics—I can only imagine what a realtor would think—then, I am going to at least make the most of its brambles. When life gives you lemons, or in this case blackberries, why not make blackberry cobbler, right?  Therefore, in the cool shade of a quiet July 4th evening, well before the noise and mayhem of fireworks, I peacefully, well as peacefully as one can be in blackberry bramble, picked berries.

 

            As I live alongside a main route in Lawrence County, OH, the late afternoon/early evening hours are typically filled with the sounds of cars zooming by as residents traverse home from work, head to town for dinner or errands, and even zip down the road for a summer joy ride.  However, on this night, there was little to no traffic, allowing bird song, insect buzz, and the mewing of the neighbor’s cat to provide a soothing sort of lullaby as I piddled, prodded, and picked. My mind floated, like a lotus flower on pond water, despite distractions from the prickling thorns and the overbearing bites of the aggressive blood sucking summer bullies.

 

 

 Picking blackberries

One by one

Thinking of him.

Papaw taught me

How it was done.

Not in the heat 

Of the summer sun, but

Early morn’ or evenin’ cool.

Pick ‘em ripe and

Leave a few

For feathered friends—

They gave ‘em to you

 

Plucking blackberries.  

One by one.

Carefully selectin’

The darkest of clusters

Purple blemish on hands.

Blood blots on limbs.

Mosquitoes buzz and bite.

Birds scare and scatter

While a nearby rabbit skitters.

Plunk, plink, plop

Bowl fills.

Did I leave enough?

 

Cleaning blackberries.

One by one

Thinking of her.

Grandmother taught me

How it was done.

Search for crawling critters and

Random leaves or stems.

Add some sugar.

Bake it up.

Summer bursting,

Exploding with goodness

Memories in my mouth.

 

             Divine Providence served up part fruitful lesson and part sweet memory on that evening that continues to linger in my mind as a sip of good wine on the tongue.   Sure, there are the obvious lessons of thorny times; brambly messes of unexpected life events; and the fruits produced by our labors. However, beyond that, at least for me, there was the lesson of connectedness—not only to my past, but also to nature, my life, and the roots of my faith.

 

          The thorns and bramble of blackberries are often like the thorns and bramble of life.

 

            My grandparents, the three that I knew well, were deeply influential in my life in their own unique ways. While I spent more time with my maternal side, all three planted within me the belief of God and the magic of summer that our Creator provided.  From summer church revivals to extended summer sleepovers at one of their houses; from the proper time to pick a tomato to green bean stringing techniques; from flower watering to bird watching; from garden planting to good ol’ Appalachian summer cookin’; and, from berry pickin’ to pie or cobbler bakin’, they taught me that summertime was God’s magical show for adults and kids alike to savor, sip, and share.  

 

Rinsing batches of blackberries in the kitchen sink when I noticed a hitchhiker that I had to send back outside!

 

            A bird drops a seed.  One tiny seed. The rains come, and frost covers. The sun warms, and a sprout grows.  The mower misses, and the busy family doesn’t notice. Bees flit about its early blooms.  Slowly, quietly it grows, rooting, spreading, and sprouting—just like my faith, just like my grandparents’ love, and just like life.

 

            As I rinsed the blackberries carefully, their astringent, but sweet, aroma rising from the sink, I plucked a fat berry from the colander and plopped it into my mouth. I bite.  Juice explodes upon my tongue. I am again a child–drifting between–Grandmother’s kitchen as she prepared to bake a cobbler, humming a hymn, while Papaw could be heard in the basement below, hand-cranking ice cream; and then over the hill to my Mamaw’s front porch after she’d watered her multihued zinnias and gathered their seeds, the squeak of the to and fro of the green and white metal glider, upon which we sat, provided the ambient seasonal sound, and the scent of her baby powder mixed with her VO5 hair product filled my nostrils as we waited for the fireflies to dance, and listened for the whisperings of God. 

 

As a child, I would have never eaten blackberries, much less top a morning bowl of muesli with it!

         Blackberries in grain-free granola and topped with chia and flax seeds with a splash of non-dairy milk.

 

          I thoughtfully chew the berry, closing my eyes, knowing at that very moment, birds are once more nibbling away at the remaining blackberries in my yard, and somewhere, in a Raceland, KY, cemetery, rest in peace all of my beloved grandparents eternally bird-watching, cradled in the arms of the Creator.  My heart burst with connectedness, and I offered up a prayer of gratitude.

 

            Who knows, whenever we do leave this house, maybe the next owners will keep the blackberry bush too?

img_9045

Blackberries and hemp hearts on a freshly made garden salad, drizzled with fresh made Dijon Date Dressing. 

 

 

 

 

 

            

 

            

 

The Sweetness Follows–the Story of Healing

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

            “Love one another and help others to rise to the higher levels, simply by pouring out love.  Love is infectious and the greatest healing energy.”—Sai Baba

 

            “You enjoy the white writing because there is a black board behind it.”—Sri Swami Satchidananda

 

abc books chalk chalkboard
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

           As a young girl, and later, as a newly minted educator, I savored the look, feel, and sound of printing neatly, and as precisely as possible, on a clean, black board.  I wrote slowly and meticulously because I did not want to have to erase a mistake. Erasing meant a fine white cloud would not allow the writing to pristinely stand out against the dark background. However, the immaculate look of the black board never lasted long—not with students to teach.  Eventually, the board became overcast, gray, and dull by day’s end, requiring a fresh shower of water to wipe the slate clean.

 

antique blackboard blank chalk
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

            I have been reminded of chalkboard writing this past week as I have watched my vibrant, gregarious daughter, Madelyn, succumb to the darkness of the painful healing required of a tonsillectomy as an adult.  She had been warned that the procedure came with a difficult recovery. However, she moved forward with her commitment to the procedure and the promise it offered of improved health. As is often the case in life though, knowing that an event will be grueling, and actually experiencing the pain in real time, are two different matters.

 

            Without going into great detail, I have watched her suffer through what appears to be excruciating tenderness, gurgling/choking sounds during fits of sleep, fever spikes, chills, flashes of heat, and the rejection of most forms of liquids and food.  She’s given up on Percocet, the prescribed, temporary form of pain management as it knocks her into a sleep-induced fog, but doesn’t seem to reduce the pain much. Instead, she relies on acetaminophen, which dulls the pain, but never fully allows it to abate. The usual offerings, recommended by well-intended people, such as popsicles, Gatorade, and ice cream are either too acidic—which sets her throat “on fire”; or, in the case of ice cream, offers too much milk fat—causing her to cough, which is not only painful, but can also cause her scabs to come off too soon.  Even her favorite soft foods, such as pudding, mashed potatoes, and noodle soup are all irritating and difficult to swallow according to Maddie. Therefore, I am often coaxing her just to eat a small something in order to take the prescribed steroids.

 

 

Photo by Donald Tong on Pexels.com
Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

 

            Meanwhile, John and I do what we can to make her comfortable and distracted from the pain.  Caring for sick adult child, however, is different than when she was little. Gone are the days of pulling her into my arms, cradling her closely, gently swaying back and forth, humming, and using a free hand to lovingly stroke her hair off her forehead as if the action was a sacred healing ritual.  Instead, I now try to balance not hovering in an overprotective/reactive manner, with being an available and present source of compassion, concern, and consolation. Furthermore, I find myself imploring Divine Providence for the wisdom to know when to encourage her to push and persevere through the hurt versus when to back off and let her be.  I want to make her feel better, but experience has also taught me there is growth in the anguish of the ache.

 

            Like the classroom black board of years ago at the beginning of the day, Maddie’s life board has barely begun to be written upon.  She will have to endure repeated erasings/do-overs, clouds of confusion, and experience the dullness of the drills demanded by her own education/training.  The spring showers and the new blossoms of her budding career and new way of living will come, but not without the dust, dark, and dimness of the work and pain required to achieve her future adventure.

 

 

 

            One of the tenants that my faith, my yoga practice, and life experience teaches me is that nothing is permanent.  Nothing. Not my body, not my various life roles, not my home, not my job, not my circumstances, and certainly not the challenges and pain.  Change, and the temporary nature of circumstances, whether perceived as good or not so good, is the one real constant. One cannot get the satisfying white writing on the chalkboard without the dark side; there is no real joy filled experience without sadness; and, of course, there is no healing without pain.

 

 

 

            Two weekends ago, we stayed in Cincinnati for two nights celebrating Maddie’s 20th birthday.  My brother, Scott, and his husband, Mywon, joined us for both days; whereas my mom, and Mywon’s mom, were only able to spend Saturday with us in order to see the production of Maddie’s childhood favorite, Cats.  We gathered for meals, relished the joy of the theater, and shared numerous laughs. We immersed ourselves in the bliss of the moment—no work, no studying, and no real challenges.  And yet, even with all of the happiness of the moment, life still managed to dose out a few challenges, difficulties, and discomforts. Ironically though, as I look back through the pictures, it appears to be a picture-perfect weekend.

 

 

 

            This past week, as I attempted to offer comfort to Maddie by means of foot, neck, and/or back rubs, a song, “The Sweetness Follows,” by R.E.M., repeatedly echoed in my mind.  The enigmatic lyrics and haunting cello music, I have read, are one of the most misinterpreted songs by fans. Regardless of the true meaning of the lyrics as intended by the songwriters, I believe there is a reason this song, and in particular, its title, became an earworm in my mind’s ear . . .   

 

            My dear, darling daughter, the sweetness will follow.  No, you will never be able to avoid the pitfalls, pains, and problems of life, but there is always sweetness following, even within a seemingly unrelenting, difficult situation. Life requires perseverance, fortitude, and sometimes even, doggedness, especially as a woman, but there is a sweetness to savor.  Messy—Neat; Stormy—Calm; Exhausted—Energetic; Black—White; and yes, Pain—Ease. You cannot have one without the other. Therefore, look for the sweetness—the sweetness in an unexpected gesture; a kind word; a stranger’s smile; a friend’s visit, call or text; and even in a caring caress and touch of a loved one . . .

 

            While I cannot take away the painful events of life, may you always have the ability to find the sweetness . . . for it will eventually follow.  

            

img_8920

          Maddie and my Mom having a little fun in honor of Maddie’s birthday!

 

img_8922

I cannot recall photo-bombing a picture before, but in the frivolity of the moment, I hopped into view.  Fortunately, there’s another photo of this beautiful moment of my brother and mom without me!

 

img_8915

LOL In the age of selfies, I still haven’t mastered it, probably because I do not take selfies that often.  Maddie laughs (and I am sure rolls her eyes) whenever I attempt to do a selfie with her when she is home, then she grabs my phone, and takes the picture for me as was the case here!