A Study in Contrasts

I had the opportunity to visit Shipshewana, Indiana last month. I'd heard about it for years and associated it as an Amish-oriented location for flea markets and auctions. As I was joining family members for a pre-planned afternoon, I had no expectations other than enjoying their company.

My cousin's girlfriend was familiar with the town and led us to a grand emporium. The building was the centerpiece of the shopping district and housed fabric, clothing, antique and candy shops, food service, and a full-size carousel on the top floor. The open staircase and building were recently rebuilt around the massive girth of a 386 year-old Douglas fir tree after a mysterious fire destroyed the original complex.

Cynthia introduced us to a friend during the course of the afternoon, a personable, older, gnome-like man with a beard and no mustache, simple, dark clothes that had seen fresher days, socks in sandals, and rough hands that belied work.

He paused to talk with us as we sat on a hand-made wooden bench near the country-decorated-red-painted food court and told the story of his building. A religious verse he referenced with emotion struck me as he recounted personal and professional tragedies, the predecessors of the impressive building that now was. I can't remember the beginning, but the ending was ostensibly God speaking to a biblical character saying, "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to prosper you." Interspersed within the story he subtly mentioned a jet had flown him over the building to survey the post-fire damage. Did I hear right? He left us only when his i-Phone beckoned a late afternoon meeting.

We later met an older woman who was wearing traditional Amish-style garb. She apologized that the end bathroom stall was not functional. She pleasantly chatted with us as she adjusted paper towel rolls in the immaculate ladies room while holding an i-Phone in her other hand. Heeding a call, the owner's wife then disappeared into an elevator.

The contrast of 19th century dress coupled with i-Phones fascinated me as did the humility of accomplished individuals performing the most basic of work. I later heard someone describe Mennonites as 'hip Amish' where they believe in simplicity and specific religious doctrine as the Amish, however, may use the benefits of modern technology and transportation. I'm sure this is a matter of gross oversimplification, but it did reconcile the deliciously rich visual of these two lovely people.

©2010 catherine lenard

On Lightening Up: Afterthoughts

It's been a few weeks since I turned in the keys to my storage locker. We all know hindsight is 20/20, but I'd like to pass along an insight. Over the years I've kept storage lockers more than a few times to accommodate various moves. The thought process was to retrieve the items that had always traveled with me when I had sufficient space to accommodate them. It never occurred to me that the cost to keep a storage locker may more than compensate for purchasing replacement items for the stored items if, by then, I wanted them at all.

When I assess my current situation, even though I'm still sorting through retrieved boxes, I am making progress and thrilled that I do not have excess baggage tailing me in the form of a monthly check and the mental burden of "I really gotta get to that someday."

There is a freedom and lightness that grows weekly knowing I'm divesting of outmoded 'stuff' and making room for whatever it is that will reflect who I now am. Simplification is the key and only keeping that which I need or feel good about, in whatever form, is my mantra.

We all have seasons for priorities and I'm grateful to have the season and motivation to 'get it done.' The reward of the end result is too exhilarating to not!

©2010 catherine lenard

On Sifting, Sorting, and Letting Go . . .

I recently emptied my rented storage space. It was a dreaded process, but one I was determined to go through in a continuing quest to simplify my life. For years I have been opposed to collecting unnecessary 'stuff.' Yet, I've had a difficult time letting go of certain things and have not wanted to devote time or emotions to making decisions about items that, for whatever reason, have been dragged along over the years.

Having moved to a smaller house with a small garage, no basement, an attic that isn't really usable and few closets to boot, I figured my desired state of 'storage locker free zone' would force a grand purge.

While the storage space is now empty, I'm still working on finding homes for possessions temporarily stacked in the corners of my living room. It's a work in progress that has a direct correlation to feeling an increasing sense of freedom.

An owner of a moving company told me the greatest boon to his company's storage division is guilt. He said that adult children of parents who had passed didn't want their parent's belongings, but felt guilty about letting them go so they sit in storage year after year.

If we choose to remember someone or something, it's helpful to remind ourselves that if we only keep a few select items, it's not the memory that is being let go of, it's the material 'stuff.' Having a clear distinction between the two is helpful when we are ready to literally and figuratively lighten our loads.

©2010 catherine lenard

Pink and Ruby Slippers

During the 2010 Grammy Awards, Pink performed a stunningly beautiful aerial ballet while singing "Glitter in the Air." Lyrics from the song include the words, "Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?"

While clearly written to describe the tenderness of intimacy, the words came to me unexpectedly in a flash of clarity. It was one of those rare moments when the world instantaneously drops away and one is bathed in the exquisite experience of an all-encompassing greater love.

It is in those brief moments that consciousness allows the realization that, like Dorothy and the glittering Ruby Slippers, Home has been, is, and always will be, the Divine Essence within.

And yes, it made me cry.

©2010 catherine lenard

Moaningly Groaningly Awesome Michigan Cherry Bruschetta

While Traverse City, in northern Michigan, holds the title of the country's Cherry Capital, Berrien County, in the southwest corner of the state, is Michigan's overall premier fruit growing county. It leads all counties in the production of peaches, pears, grapes, is second in apples, plums, and prunes, and fourth in tart cherries. It is also the home of Michigan's wine production. The relatively temperate climate from being on the eastern shores of Lake Michigan supports favorable growing cycles. Okay, enough Mr. Wizard talk.

I had found a recipe from Whole Foods Market when a friend asked if I would find something "Michigan-ey" to take to an Illinois backyard barbecue. While the trip was canceled due to turbulent storms, we enjoyed the following crazy good bruschetta with cherries from the local Berrien County farmer's market. With hushed reverence for flavorful delight, here is the recipe:

• 1/2 pound (2 cups) cherries, pitted and halved
• 1/4 cup lightly packed mint leaves, thinly sliced
• 2 tablespoons orange juice
• 4 slices rustic whole wheat bread, toasted
• 4 ounces fresh goat cheese

In a medium bowl, toss together cherries, mint and orange juice. Spread bread with goat cheese, spoon cherry mixture over the top and serve.

Here's an added bonus about cherries. The cherry has anti-inflammatory properties inhibiting enzymes that cause joint pain (my brother swears by it for his gout) and two antioxidant compounds (kaempferol and quercetin) that improve memory, vision, and concentration. Generally antioxidants are recognized as good agents because they help prevent cancer and the development of cardiovascular disease.

I love it when something that tastes so good is a treat for the body as well. Enjoy!

©2010 catherine lenard

Smoking & Bike Helmets & Whiskers on Kittens . . .

While on a bike ride, a friend asked if I was glad I was wearing a helmet.
I responded that wearing a helmet was like quitting smoking. He looked at me quizzically.

While never a heavy smoker, I knew my periodic cigarette binging wasn't a good thing. I tried every game with myself I could think of to break the occasional habit. I'd buy a pack of cigarettes with the intent to smoke two at the most and throw the pack away, hating the cost and waste of money. I'd throw the pack into the dumpster, less two cigarettes, only to find myself dumpster diving the next day. (This was twenty years ago when my adventures encompassed a grittier spectrum of tolerance).

Plan B was to run the pack of cigarettes under the faucet, destroying 'any chance' of retrieving them. The next morning I found myself fishing a cigarette out of the wet pack and diligently applying my hair dryer to its soggy remains. Ah, the sweet joy of light up, taste aside.

Back to biking. I'd always loved the feel of the sun on my head and the wind through my hair while riding a bicycle in open country. I recalled the jokes of a remarkably- fit-former-dare-devil-boyfriend as we rode into the fortieth mile of a fifty mile bike tour some years before. He, riding a high tech racer, dressed in street clothes, nonchalantly puffing on a cigar. (Yeah, I know). Target? Bikey Bobbleheads a.k.a. those who wore helmets.

So the friend I was currently riding with, who did wear a helmet, would periodically ask me if I'd wear one to which my response was typically, "I'll think about it." Concerned for my safety, he'd tell me a helmet would give me less wind resistance to which I replied, "So does hairspray." In the back of my mind I knew I'd feel safer with a helmet, was very careful about the potential hazard of gravel on the road, but just didn't want to give up 'the freedom.' Until I fell. Taking a short cut through a high school parking lot. Gingerly navigating around speed bumps.

So when he asked me if I was glad if I wore a helmet now, I said, "Yes." Like quitting smoking, it's one of those things that I knew I probably needed to do, but just couldn't bring myself to change without a wake-up call.

So I have joined the ranks of the Bobbleheads. In the eyes of another, decidedly uncool, but relieved of the nagging inner voice reminding me, ad nauseam, "You know, you really need to do this . . ." And sometimes that, in itself, is alone worth change.

©2010 catherine lenard

Of Mushrooms and Men

I have a friend who is pretty amazing when it comes to food and drink. A Memorial weekend invitation to attend a backyard barbecue spurred some impromptu kitchen creativity.

Using the basics of what he had readily available, he grilled gourmet chicken sausage and mushroom caps, sliced the sausage into bite-size pieces, slid them both onto wooden skewers, and topped them with queen, pimento-stuffed olives. As there was casual discussion regarding options for the mushrooms, I suggested they be glazed with the wonderful orange and honey mustard he purchased for a day-before picnic. He opted to use it as a dipping sauce (better idea for more concentrated sweet/tangy flavor).

Using a colorful, plastic plate that lended a summery touch and a vintage, silver-rimmed dish I last-minute excavated from a cupboard, he put together a beautiful presentation that was a must-have appetizer.

It is a wonderful thing to have a kitchen god as a friend.

©2010 catherine lenard