Binoculars

One friend, one person who is truly understanding, who takes the trouble to listen to us as we consider a problem, can change our whole outlook on the world. — Dr. E. H. Mayo

No More Nuts

Warning:  picture not for those who are squeamish about insects. You have been warned!

We have a giant bag of pistachios.  They are delicious and nutritious - an excellent snack food, particularly for Offspring the Third, who likes to have something to chew while he is struggling through his algebra homework.  

Herself was contentedly consuming a few nuts this morning as she checked her e-mail.  She absentmindedly looked down into the shell of the pistachio she just ate, and spotted --- what was that?

A dried grub.  

A larva.  

Something that had made a home in the shell. 

She may never eat another pistachio again.  

Incongruous

in·con·gru·ous [in-kong-groo-uhs] adjective

1.  out of keeping or place; inappropriate; unbecoming: an incongruous effect; incongruous behavior.
2.  not harmonious in character; inconsonant; lacking harmony of parts: an incongruous mixture of architectural styles.
3.  inconsistent: actions that were incongruous with their professed principles.

Also see:  

1.  A 2001 Econoline van mom-mobile replete with crumbs, sand and dog fur; an offspring's sports gear; a bevy of cloth grocery bags; and miscellaneous wrappers and nut shells from the last family drive, piloted by a humdrum middle-aged woman --- with the bass turned way up for Peaches' Tent In Your Pants.  

Shine A Light

The Void is a precarious place, appearing and disappearing like an unstable wormhole in space. Sometimes it's clear that one is skirting adjacent to a Void, and one has slippery hands that will lose their grasp on the rocks and precipitate an inevitable downhill roll into the Void. Other times, one will be walking along serenely in the warm sunshine, and unexpectedly trip over a tiny, seemingly inconsequential rock. Suddenly, there is a nauseating plummet headlong into the darkness of a previously unseen Void. Thud. There's the bottom.

The Void may be large or small; echoing or silent; stifling or oddly, blissfully solitary. We know we can't live in the Void; yet escaping, as we always must, can be arduous and exhausting. Sometimes we must sit in it for a while to build the momentum and stamina to make the climb out.

Sometimes -- especially when one has recently spent time within the Void oneself -- it is abundantly clear when another has also fallen into a Void. That's a tricky place to be -- peering over the edge of someone else's Void. One never knows the exact size or shape of another's Void; tempting though it may be to wave one's arms and shout "Over here looks like an easier climb!", the truth of the matter is, only the person in the Void can truly know what is required to emerge from it. One can throw a rope, and hope that it serves as a useful hand-hold rather than accidentally klonking the person in the Void on the head. One can shine a light, and pray that it serves as a beacon to show some paths forward instead of irritating the other's eyes while they adjust to the darkness. One must tiptoe along the edge and offer just enough presence to let those in the Void know they have not been abandoned, yet not so much nearness so as to impede progress, or worse yet, unintentionally dislodge boulders that may fall harmfully into the others' Void.

Precarious unavoidable Voids: I know they are part of the journey; how I wish at times that they were easier to conquer.

I shall wait here with my flashlight. I am near, and will help in any way I can -- even if the best way to help is to do nothing.

Fear not. The way out is there. You will find it.

Through adversity, not only are we given an opportunity to discover our inner strength, we are also given the gift of foresight so we can shine a light for others who go through the experience after us. - Rachael Bermingham

Sing A Song

Love, I find, is like singing. ― Zora Neale Hurston

Herself likes to sing. She hesitates to sing in front of other people, though - even merely to sing "happy birthday."  She will sing if there's a crowd, hiding her voice amongst the others.  She will sing when she is home alone, or by herself in the car (quite loudly, in fact).  Otherwise, though, she will almost never sing.

----

She remembers once, very long ago, singing in the car.  She was a young thing -- still in the single digits of age -- sitting in the back seat with a classmate, and the two of them were singing along to the radio.  Her long-term Acquaintance was in the front seat.  Acquaintance chastised Herself for singing "funny."  Herself didn't know what was meant - she was just singing.  She and her classmate continued the song, and Acquaintance scolded Herself a second time not to sing "that way."  Herself still couldn't determine what she was doing wrong.  She tried harder, but her efforts yielded a third admonishment: stop that, or the radio would be turned off. She could not fathom what was the problem.  

She became silent and sat, embarrassed, until the car ride was over.  

----

Several years later, in high school, Herself did sing in choir, as required. She did her best to try to match her voice precisely to that of a peer whom the choir instructor regularly praised for her singing ability.  While others did not openly flinch, Herself could never let go of the anxiety she felt when singing. She knew there was something wrong with her singing. She knew her beloved sister sang beautifully.  She wished she could too.  

----

When the Offspring were small, they did not mind Herself's singing.  They enjoyed it, in fact.  There was Itsy Bitsy Spider and Puff the Magic Dragon (leaving out the sad last verses) and a personal favorite, The Donut Song, which Herself would sing while brushing the toddler Offsprings' teeth to ensure adequate minutes of dental care.  Such a lovely time of un-self-conscious song. 

The days of reading board books and singing "Tree, tree, tree" have faded away as the Offspring have grown and begun listening to CDs and then the radio and then iPods.  Now that they are all teenagers, Herself is acutely aware of their need not to be embarrassed by their parents.  Sometimes she sings quietly along with the radio when the Offspring are in the car with her; she always feels sheepish, though, particularly when Offspring the Third -- a thoroughly teenage middle-schooler who prefers the hard rock station to anything his mother might select --- sighs and grumbles.  Ah, how Herself is nostalgic for those days when he (a difficult-to-soothe infant) was easily quieted by being carried and softly serenaded by his mother. 

----

Herself likes to listen to music while in the kitchen.  Cooking is a full-sensory undertaking:  the colors of the ingredients, the cold and the hot of the pans and implements, the smells, the tastes -- all that is needed is a little auditory accompaniment to complete the experience.  

Sometimes on the occasional weekend evening, when the Menfolk gather for dinner and a movie or games, Herself has found herself singing quietly while preparing the food.  She silences herself if they step too near, lest her singing offend; still, she does sing.  And she is grateful that she feels comfortable enough to sing with Beloved Husband or Cherished Friend nearby.  Such a blessing, to feel secure and uncriticized.  

She is fortunate indeed. 

This snippet of Puff was found here. 

Four and Four

Although Herself has traditionally strenuously avoided stepping on a scale, she recently decided that it was time to do so in order to motivate herself into shedding the few pounds she knew she'd gained. She was afraid of what the numbers might be. She denuded herself, held her breath, and stepped on the Judgment Machine.

:::exhale::: Well, that number, though higher than she would like, was not as dreadful as she'd feared.

To reach a number at which she would feel better about herself, she decided to lose eight pounds.  On the one hand, that may not seem like much -- but on a not-terribly-tall woman, it is certainly a noticeable difference not only in her cup size but also in the degree of squeeziness of her jeans.  Her goal is to banish her muffin top and be much more comfortable. I think it can be done - if she can find the willpower.

She cajoled the scale into cooperating this morning - it's a temperamental device, digital and prone to displaying an error signal as well as to vacillating up and down a few pounds depending on time of day (or alignment of the planets, or whatever strange forces compel it to behave as it does).

It says: four pounds down.

And therein lies the incentive to keep going.

Four more pounds.  Perhaps one more, if possible, for buffer.  That would be good.

Just a little muffin top. 

A Square Inch

The only spot of comfort was the lingering impression of her fingertips through the fabric of his shirt, a reminder of the good side of having skin. He cultivated that square-inch patch, tilled and tended it into a full-body embrace. -  Alex Shakar, Luminarium