My honey’s favorite pastime is lawn blowing. In some cultures this is a social event. The men like to drink, joke and participate in good natured odds making; they enjoy the camaraderie while the wives or girlfriends watch, chat and sometimes participate.
Before I played, as a date I rated it low on the scale of spending time with someone I care about. Turns out I was wrong. A social date is similar to interval training; I enjoyed short spurts of heart thumping romance when he put his arms around me to demonstrate the perfect technique for throwing the ball or when his eyes sought mine to give me a silent message.
He teased me into a game, his skill against my beginners’ luck. I have just one rule, he can’t be so condescending to just let me win. No matter how frustrated I become to work for it or it’s just not exciting. His friends joined the action by saying I would win and trying to break his concentration. I didn’t have anything to prove except that I could become a worthy opponent.
He tossed out the ball-bearing sized ball and I stepped to the line holding a yellow grapefruit-sized ball. I tossed it trying to get it to land as close to the smaller ball as possible. The trick is to use physics to an advantage, minimize rolling and maximize friction. I landed eight inches away. Good, but not great.
He needed to land closer or hit my ball or the smaller ball way. He tossed a green ball and it rolled to snuggle up to the target. Since his throw would be the last in the round, he had the advantage. My chance was to move his ball away from the target. My aim was good and his ball rolled off the court and mine stayed near the target. His turn; he had no choice except getting rid of my ball. Smack. My ball flew off the court.
His friends congratulated him. I couldn’t resist a jab. “Maybe if it wasn’t ladies first I would have won.” I issued the challenge, he accepted. During the game, I learned how to use two balls for strategy because that’s how he won again.
He left me no choice. I had to cheat. By distracting him I won one round. Not to be outdone all the women joined in. A sustainable relationship benefits from the village and a little (ahem) friendly competition can be quite romantic.
THE END
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Sharing a Date with Nursing Home Residents
Hailing from a military lineage of service to this country, I enjoy spending time with veterans. When we go to a nursing home, my honey plays the guitar and sings some of the residents’ favorite songs; I encourage the residents to talk about their lives and I listen. These men and women reminisce and share stories. One gentleman adopted me for almost an hour. He’d ask me questions about my love and compare places we’ve been to find similarities.
A person doesn’t need to approve o war to respect veterans. To simply forget or disregard the time and effort expended in serving our country is to diminish a part of who a person is. Not to be outdone, one of the ladies at my table said she never served in the military but she helped with morale during WWII. With a teasing twinkle in her eye she told me, “I’m in a wheelchair today because I would go to the dances and dance until the music ended just to remind the boys to come home.” Then she danced to celebrate the end of the war.
Veterans need to feel special and not just on one or two days of remembrance during the year. Some would rather forget things they’ve experienced. Some brag about mischief perpetrated and voice pride at having been in a certain place during a historic moment. Most are humble when thanked for service to country.
On the way home, my honey and I extended our joy by swapping stories to relive the visit. Friends and foes are all humans caught on opposing sides of ideology. When the conflict is over, each person deserves the opportunity to tell his or her story and to be listened to and respected.
THE END
A person doesn’t need to approve o war to respect veterans. To simply forget or disregard the time and effort expended in serving our country is to diminish a part of who a person is. Not to be outdone, one of the ladies at my table said she never served in the military but she helped with morale during WWII. With a teasing twinkle in her eye she told me, “I’m in a wheelchair today because I would go to the dances and dance until the music ended just to remind the boys to come home.” Then she danced to celebrate the end of the war.
Veterans need to feel special and not just on one or two days of remembrance during the year. Some would rather forget things they’ve experienced. Some brag about mischief perpetrated and voice pride at having been in a certain place during a historic moment. Most are humble when thanked for service to country.
On the way home, my honey and I extended our joy by swapping stories to relive the visit. Friends and foes are all humans caught on opposing sides of ideology. When the conflict is over, each person deserves the opportunity to tell his or her story and to be listened to and respected.
THE END
Saturday, November 15, 2008
For the Love of a Peacock Round-up
Animal shelters and sanctuaries run under not-for-profit status face issues beyond just surviving budget crises caused by relying on donations; they may not be able to afford enough staff to meet work needs. Animals require a lot of daily care: fresh bedding, stalls or habitats cleaned, regular feeding, exercise and health/medical care. Being short staffed doesn’t leave a lot of extra time for fence and structure repair, filling potholes in roads and servicing equipment.
We chose to volunteer at a small local shelter one weekend. Our chores for the day allowed us to work side-by-side. Hot dusty work is always easier with companionship. Unfortunately I’m always the true story behind a joke. One of the pigs saw me as a novice to break in or just bruise if possible.
When I carried the bucket to fill his water dish into his stall, he crowed me against the wood slats and held me there before easing away just far enough for me to feel safe. He ran toward the water dish, so I thought Buddy was just eager for a drink. Nope. He rushed me, caught my left leg and knocked me over. Slosh. Water covered me from visor cap to muddy jeans. My honey laughed until buddy turned toward him.
Four o’clock in the afternoon came way too quickly for the owners. “Would you mind staying a few more minutes? If all of us work together, we should be able to move the peacocks to their new pen.”
These peacocks did not walk docile in single file to their new digs. Two strutted with fans spread wide as models showing off the latest fashion, forward and then turned to go backstage in the first pen. AHHH! The other two took off in opposite directions and needed to be chased down and encouraged to return by flapping towels. With two people in charge of the gates we still left it open and let one escape back into the yard. Forty-five minutes later, ten people managed to her four peacocks into their new pen.
We ended up sweaty, grimy and exhausted and we loved it. That was just one day. The owners do similar chores every day and still must find time for administrative and fundraising duties. They need volunteers. To help, call local shelters and sanctuaries to ask about volunteer opportunities or to donate money or supplies. They need help year round so put your money or time to back up your values.
THE END
We chose to volunteer at a small local shelter one weekend. Our chores for the day allowed us to work side-by-side. Hot dusty work is always easier with companionship. Unfortunately I’m always the true story behind a joke. One of the pigs saw me as a novice to break in or just bruise if possible.
When I carried the bucket to fill his water dish into his stall, he crowed me against the wood slats and held me there before easing away just far enough for me to feel safe. He ran toward the water dish, so I thought Buddy was just eager for a drink. Nope. He rushed me, caught my left leg and knocked me over. Slosh. Water covered me from visor cap to muddy jeans. My honey laughed until buddy turned toward him.
Four o’clock in the afternoon came way too quickly for the owners. “Would you mind staying a few more minutes? If all of us work together, we should be able to move the peacocks to their new pen.”
These peacocks did not walk docile in single file to their new digs. Two strutted with fans spread wide as models showing off the latest fashion, forward and then turned to go backstage in the first pen. AHHH! The other two took off in opposite directions and needed to be chased down and encouraged to return by flapping towels. With two people in charge of the gates we still left it open and let one escape back into the yard. Forty-five minutes later, ten people managed to her four peacocks into their new pen.
We ended up sweaty, grimy and exhausted and we loved it. That was just one day. The owners do similar chores every day and still must find time for administrative and fundraising duties. They need volunteers. To help, call local shelters and sanctuaries to ask about volunteer opportunities or to donate money or supplies. They need help year round so put your money or time to back up your values.
THE END
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Concert in the Park
Parks were once a convivial place where people could meet, chat, buy trinkets and enjoy food. A festive occasion with music, kids running around dancing and the family pets sniffing around for abandoned morsels. Concerts in the park revive community spirit to rival the medieval square is sponsored by the cultural districts and other sponsors with. Some are more organized than others with more festivities and some focus on just just the concert.
This means bringing blankets, pillows, lawn chairs, a picnic lunch, perhaps a flying disk or ball to keep the kids and dogs busy and a crank-up flashlight to add magic to the darkness. People arrive early to stake out their territory by placing a blanket on the ground or lawn chairs and relying on the honor system to ensure the claimed space is saved for the concert.
On the last Friday in August, the climax and last breath of the concerts in the park season, one couple arrived with beach chairs, a table and a cooler filled with wine, cheese, crackers and fruit. A man set up a stand and strung a double hammock with pillows. My honey and I brought our folding loveseat and an extra large quilt.
I made a vegan Panini sandwich with almond spread, fresh tomatoes and basil, sautéed squash, onions and eggplant. To drink I put my mint limonada (think fresh squeezed limeade or a mojito sans alcohol) in a thermos. With cloth napkins and glass tumblers we could have been dining at a fine restaurant if that restaurant surrounded each table with live entertainment.
So maybe it wasn’t stare-into-each-others’-eyes and absorb glowing love romance; it was better with vibrant energy, the approval of the community and a chance to huddle (I mean snuggle) together under the quilt when the temperature dropped as soon as the sun slid behind the rocky crags presiding over the park. He put his arm around me. Romance benefits from a community for nurturing.
THE END
This means bringing blankets, pillows, lawn chairs, a picnic lunch, perhaps a flying disk or ball to keep the kids and dogs busy and a crank-up flashlight to add magic to the darkness. People arrive early to stake out their territory by placing a blanket on the ground or lawn chairs and relying on the honor system to ensure the claimed space is saved for the concert.
On the last Friday in August, the climax and last breath of the concerts in the park season, one couple arrived with beach chairs, a table and a cooler filled with wine, cheese, crackers and fruit. A man set up a stand and strung a double hammock with pillows. My honey and I brought our folding loveseat and an extra large quilt.
I made a vegan Panini sandwich with almond spread, fresh tomatoes and basil, sautéed squash, onions and eggplant. To drink I put my mint limonada (think fresh squeezed limeade or a mojito sans alcohol) in a thermos. With cloth napkins and glass tumblers we could have been dining at a fine restaurant if that restaurant surrounded each table with live entertainment.
So maybe it wasn’t stare-into-each-others’-eyes and absorb glowing love romance; it was better with vibrant energy, the approval of the community and a chance to huddle (I mean snuggle) together under the quilt when the temperature dropped as soon as the sun slid behind the rocky crags presiding over the park. He put his arm around me. Romance benefits from a community for nurturing.
THE END
Friday, November 7, 2008
How Much Can We Adapt
To find a little culture and a lot of nature, we went to the Saguaro National Park to the west of Tucson to view the petroglyphs and pictographs left by earlier inhabitants. We followed the deeply rutted unpaved dirt track in our tiny 4-WD to find the parking are where we could park and take the short hike on the designated trail to Signal Hill to view the pictures.
We took many pictures of the swirls, animal stick figures, wheels and other patterns either carved into the rock or painted on. The white contrasted the brown of the stone. We planned ahead to arrive early enough in the day to avoid the worst of the heat. People around us complained how hot the desert was and about the lack of shade.
The desert is all about contrasts; searing days, frigid nights, minimal water and still thriving and abundant life. Taking lessons from desert dwellers could be a good lesson in adaptability. Instead of forcing a natural habitat to us as humans, we need to learn the techniques for adapting to our environment. We must conserve resources, know survival techniques for making the most of water and food and to modify our activity to appropriate times of the day.
Climate change is seen in the history of the desert southwest which has at various times been a lush natural and agricultural oasis with plentiful water. Native people flourished and when conditions became tougher with climate changes they abandoned the area to those who could adapt.
THE END
We took many pictures of the swirls, animal stick figures, wheels and other patterns either carved into the rock or painted on. The white contrasted the brown of the stone. We planned ahead to arrive early enough in the day to avoid the worst of the heat. People around us complained how hot the desert was and about the lack of shade.
The desert is all about contrasts; searing days, frigid nights, minimal water and still thriving and abundant life. Taking lessons from desert dwellers could be a good lesson in adaptability. Instead of forcing a natural habitat to us as humans, we need to learn the techniques for adapting to our environment. We must conserve resources, know survival techniques for making the most of water and food and to modify our activity to appropriate times of the day.
Climate change is seen in the history of the desert southwest which has at various times been a lush natural and agricultural oasis with plentiful water. Native people flourished and when conditions became tougher with climate changes they abandoned the area to those who could adapt.
THE END
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Etiquette for Striking Out a Date
A friendly game of softball remains a great pastime and is environmentally friendly. We called friends for a five gal-five guy just enough to field the bases, a pitcher and a catcher for a Friday evening multiple date. We might have learned the sport in elementary school or earlier, but all of us were out of practice; most of us hadn’t played for at least five years and some as many as fifteen or twenty years.
We dug our old gloves from storage, rounded up a couple of bats (not one of has had a lucky bat or cared about weight, length or balance) and two scuffed regulation size softballs. Dare we play gals against guys? You bet.
My honey pitched for his team and when it was my turn to bat he motioned for his team to move closer. No way had he expected me to hit a homer. I admit I’d have bet against me even getting a hit. His first pitch was slow and gentle. “Strike One!”
He gave me every chance to hit an easy ball, but the timing threw me off. “Just pitch as if I were a guy.”
He held the bridge of his nose. My guess is he was considering the wisdom of striking me out. He made up his mind; this would only be the second strike anyway. He threw a fast ball; he’d never played softball only baseball. I swung and nicked it, a foul ball popped up in the air backwards and hit the backboard. The catcher missed it. I wasn’t out, just “Strike Two!”
I didn’t care about statistics, I’d at least connected bat to ball. He pitched and I hit the ball just hard enough toward left field to run and touch safe on first base. We played until we called the game because of darkness. The guys won bragging rights. Like any other game there was some good game butt slapping and a stolen kiss or two. We love old-fashioned dating because we had fun without damaging our budget or the environment.
THE END
We dug our old gloves from storage, rounded up a couple of bats (not one of has had a lucky bat or cared about weight, length or balance) and two scuffed regulation size softballs. Dare we play gals against guys? You bet.
My honey pitched for his team and when it was my turn to bat he motioned for his team to move closer. No way had he expected me to hit a homer. I admit I’d have bet against me even getting a hit. His first pitch was slow and gentle. “Strike One!”
He gave me every chance to hit an easy ball, but the timing threw me off. “Just pitch as if I were a guy.”
He held the bridge of his nose. My guess is he was considering the wisdom of striking me out. He made up his mind; this would only be the second strike anyway. He threw a fast ball; he’d never played softball only baseball. I swung and nicked it, a foul ball popped up in the air backwards and hit the backboard. The catcher missed it. I wasn’t out, just “Strike Two!”
I didn’t care about statistics, I’d at least connected bat to ball. He pitched and I hit the ball just hard enough toward left field to run and touch safe on first base. We played until we called the game because of darkness. The guys won bragging rights. Like any other game there was some good game butt slapping and a stolen kiss or two. We love old-fashioned dating because we had fun without damaging our budget or the environment.
THE END
Saturday, November 1, 2008
If it Tastes like Olive Oil
I love presentations because of the element of interaction impossible to duplicate by a recorded show. While my honey and I are not always in agreement about topics, we respect each other enough to attempt to learn about each other's interests. My hobby and one of my former careers is cooking/recipe developer. Since he prefers to have me cook and might even be a little intimidated by the kitchen, he held my hand for protection when we walked into the library conference room for an olive oil presentation and tasting.
Arriving early is essential to ensuring a good seat. I like the first or second rows. People crowded in around us, some couples, some family and a few groups of friends on an outing. The temperature in the room rose and I got comfortable by taking off my cardigan. The presenter started right away.
She gave an outline of her talk and told us at what point she would answer questions. We learned about the types of olives, producing regions and climates where olives thrive, harvesting and processing to ensure a fruity tasting oil or blending to make a standardized product. She covered health benefits and how to choose an olive oil based on personal taste.
We learned facts and anecdotes we hadn't known. Most of the audience was impatient for the tasting portion when we would sample six different oils from various countries and two balsamic vinegars. The moment she invited people to taste, a rush to get in line resulted in a couple of overturned chairs, trampled feet and many hands grabbing for bread cubes. Some people would hold up the bottle and exclaim about the attributes we had just learned.
My honey and I held back and chatted. We weren't in any hurry because three of the companies had provided sample sizes we could take home (in glass bottles for easy recycling). Our turn came just as the bread was running out. We each got three large cubes we broke into smaller chunks to dip in the different oils and experience the flavor variations. The old saying that two people who spend a lot of time together develop similar tastes is correct. We chose the same olive oil as our favorite. That evening for dinner, we had fine quality olive oil samples to drizzle on our salads.
THE END
Arriving early is essential to ensuring a good seat. I like the first or second rows. People crowded in around us, some couples, some family and a few groups of friends on an outing. The temperature in the room rose and I got comfortable by taking off my cardigan. The presenter started right away.
She gave an outline of her talk and told us at what point she would answer questions. We learned about the types of olives, producing regions and climates where olives thrive, harvesting and processing to ensure a fruity tasting oil or blending to make a standardized product. She covered health benefits and how to choose an olive oil based on personal taste.
We learned facts and anecdotes we hadn't known. Most of the audience was impatient for the tasting portion when we would sample six different oils from various countries and two balsamic vinegars. The moment she invited people to taste, a rush to get in line resulted in a couple of overturned chairs, trampled feet and many hands grabbing for bread cubes. Some people would hold up the bottle and exclaim about the attributes we had just learned.
My honey and I held back and chatted. We weren't in any hurry because three of the companies had provided sample sizes we could take home (in glass bottles for easy recycling). Our turn came just as the bread was running out. We each got three large cubes we broke into smaller chunks to dip in the different oils and experience the flavor variations. The old saying that two people who spend a lot of time together develop similar tastes is correct. We chose the same olive oil as our favorite. That evening for dinner, we had fine quality olive oil samples to drizzle on our salads.
THE END
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