Cornish pasties, the ones my father used to make when I was a child, were the one thing I craved while carrying my first child. Something in the taste of ground beef, sliced potato, and onion, wrapped in a flaky crust and seasoned just right, called to me.
Except my father had long since misplaced the recipe, and so he tried satisfying me with mass produced versions sold through Marks and Spencers, and when that didn’t work, he tried his hand at recreating the original from memory.
Nothing came close to my recall of blowing on piping hot pie fresh from the oven, and the satisfaction of that first hearty bite.
Funny that, as I never really like my father’s cooking. So why that particular dish, and why then?
Taste is the focus this week. As you might have guessed, I am tugging at our sensory experience with these current challenges, although the word ‘taste’ has other connotations.
Look forward to your responses. Anyone can join in, and all forms of creativity are welcome.
Birdwatching for me is a meditative practice. It involves immersing myself in nature and finding a quiet place from which I can observe.
I begin with a prayer of acknowledgment and gratitude. I ready my camera and then I listen. Each bird has its own song and variations. It helps me determine where I want to focus, so I’m not frantically trying to follow the flitting of all the birds.
Not that I’m expert. I recognize many of the regulars by now, and there are still many I do not know. Listening helps me turn off my thoughts and centre myself on the goal.
This week, let’s focus on the art of listening.
To participate, create a post and then pingback here, or drop a link in the comments. I look forward to your responses.
She was quite eccentric, and visibly older than most of the students attending our program. I’d had five years between first and second year, so I guess she was drawn to my maturity. We both wanted to be teachers.
After graduation, she went on to her Bachelor of Education, and I gave birth to my third child. The next time we encountered each other, I was the parent and she was the teacher. Eccentric as ever. The kids loved her.
Except for the one that didn’t. That one complained that she touched the kids too much – her hugs and hair stroking unwelcome. Her license was at stake.
“If I can’t touch my kids, then I can’t teach,” she told me in confidence.
I never knew what became of the investigation, but years later when I would follow in her footsteps and have my own classes, I thought of her. It’s in my nature to touch, too.
The focus this week has been on the subject of touch. Thank you to all the participants for touching me with your creativity. Virtual hugs all around.
“Dear Grandma, We love you with all our hearts. We miss you and wish we could touch you and have sleepovers all the time. You are the best girl in the world and I love you so much and hate the coronavirus.”
The note came in a homemade card, created and dictated by my four-year-old granddaughter. Touching people is the thing she misses the most.
“When this is over, I’m going to be giving lots of hugs,” my neighbour warns me. Seems he misses touch also.
This week let’s consider the role that touch plays in our lives.
To participate, create a post and link back here. Look forward to your responses. Photographs, poetry, prose, or any other form of creativity are welcome.
The last pages of my life’s narrative seem to have stuck together, locking me into this current lull. Is it the heat? The body’s response to stress, albeit positive? My mind’s ambition butting up against physical limitation? Likely a bit of each.
We’ve already written the opening paragraph for the next chapter: purchased a new home, sold our current one. Ric’s been busy arranging the transfer of services, engaging a painter, plumber, and electrician. By the end of August, we should be comfortably settled in.
Meanwhile, I’ve packed all I can for the moment, and while I know I should be resting for the next wave of momentum, I am feeling mired in the mud of emotions and psychological muck. Non of it rational, all of it debilitating.
The next chapter will unfold as it will; we’ve already set the framework. Meantime, taking care of self has become the priority.
Today, I will not fight the stuck places. Instead, I’ll surrender to each moment, remember to breathe, and be mindful of the choices I make.
Thank you to all who participated this week, each bringing your own brilliance to the theme: next chapter.