How do we get past… the past?

Life happens. Things happen. Sh** happens. It happens to everyone. It happens to varying degrees. Difficult childhoods, broken dreams, lack of freedom, illness, tragedy, loss, frustrations, regrets… we’ve all travelled to those dark corners some time or other. To some extent or other. And even if it were only to the smallest extent, these dark areas lurk in our life and settle down in our being – stealthily, silently.  

For most part, they exist quietly, unruffled beneath the smooth surface. And whether or not they create a big stir in our life, they continue to exist. And whether or not they create a big stir in our lives, they ripple out every now and then. A quick reaction, a sharp tone or word, hurried rising of defenses, anxious stutters, nervous chatters, a blank stare, a pounding heart, a sinking feeling, lack of confidence…

I’m sure psychologists would offer a catalog of theories ranging from ‘fight or flight’ to what have you… All I’m trying to figure out is if we have some sort of learned responses to these dark spaces created by our past. And if they sneak up on us, no matter how quietly they exist, no matter how unsuspecting we may be of them and make us less grounded in a swift, fleeting moment.

How then do we break free of them? How do we leave the past behind and move into the future – free of all the dark shadows and the reactions they elicit?

Advice abounds about leaving the past in the past and living in the moment and moving forward. All good solid advice, I’m sure.

But how do you do that? Is it just me and my inner-cynic, or do other people wonder about that too? Is it possible to just leave the past in the past like that? To pretend that it never happened? To brush it off? To sweep it under the rug?

I wish it were that simple. I wish it were possible even. But unfortunately, something tells me, that we have to carry the weight with us. The weight of our past. The weight of our experiences. The dampness of our tears.

I know there seems to be no silver lining in this piece. I must have hit upon an especially dark corner today and am taking you straight to yours. Just great, right? Sigh…

But if must carry the weight, do we just make peace with the fact? If we must carry the weight, can we carry it with grace and dignity? With courage and a bigger perspective. A perspective that encompasses the good things in our life? 

Perhaps, if we can exist in some kind of harmony with these dark spaces, they won’t sneak up on us as much. And perhaps, acknowledging them and their space in our life (no matter how dark), will prevent them from bursting out like an angry child in the most unsuspecting of times. And perhaps, giving these spaces a place of dignity will allow us to carry them with dignity…

The letting go inspiration box

...these few moments are what justify my existence, because they give me the strength to keep going and bring joy to my days -- no matter how much I tried to bring them sorrow.

                                                                          ~ Paulo Coelho


                                                        



 

How close are our dreams to reality?

Once upon a time, in a land, far far away…in a time long long ago, seated on the steps of our journalism department, a friend and I would talk about becoming travel writers and journalists (quite like Antony Bourdain – although we didn’t quite know him then). He (my friend, not Antony Bourdain) now writes computer code (or something like that – but also uncovers amazing travel locations, posts fantastic pictures and refuses to divulge the location on social media.. hrrmph). As for me, I do… whatever it is that I do…

And although it seemed like a pipe dream. I have often reflected on how easily it could have actually happened. I was the Arts and Culture coordinator for a newspaper, and had contacts with folks at Discovery Channel in New Delhi, which was opening shop and just getting started in post-globalization India. And each time we laugh it off, I can’t help but say, “hey, that could have easily happened, you know”.  

Not that I have any regrets about the matter, or wistfulness or melancholia. What I have is more a sense of wonder and even a hint of disbelief at the ease with which it could all have happened. And that the pipe-dream was more tangible than I ever imagined.

What I have, I suppose, is a sense of wonder about how clueless some of us are about our dreams being closer than we think. About how clueless we are of our capabilities, supporting circumstances, and the lack of belief in ourselves and our abilities to make it all happen.  

Why then do we dismiss it off? Does the distance between the dream and reality seem greater than it actually is? Do our situation and our limitations seem more restricting than they actually are? Is it all our warped perception or are we worried about being disappointed?

I suppose each dream or desire comes with a degree of possibility or likelihood. Degree of possibility and likelihood, based on circumstances and limitations. And also, our own perceived degree of possibility and likelihood. We must in our heart believe that it can actually happen and then allow it to happen.

There are those who are strong and forge ahead and chase their dreams. But then there are those (present company included) that hum and haw, are unaware of their own capabilities, and are generally unable to understand how tangible or intangible the dream may be.  

In the end, we may be the only ones to know which ones resonate the loudest within; which one is the likeliest. I suppose there are always those that may be well within our reach, but in our mind, we’ve decided it is a dream. And a dream, as we all know, with its inherent nature of wispiness, is intangible. How then do we know what to believe in? What to chase?

True. We don’t know that it will come true. But do we owe it to ourselves to try? And although my friend and I may smile at the idea of us travelling and writing (and actually getting paid to do that – just that! – my friend’s words), it is worth reminding ourselves that despite all limitations, there are dreams (at least some) that are within our scope.

How then do we keep our eyes open to that knowledge, our heart strong enough to believe it, and our confidence alive enough to live it?

I know you love me…

I know you love me…

That is exactly what a young man told me the other day, in the library. Yes. You heard right. And yes, did I mention how young this young man was? Umm… 3 or 4 years old, would be about right.

I was browsing through the shelves, waiting for my daughter, when I made eye contact with this little fellow. With eager eyes, he showed me the book in his hand and I did exactly what anyone else would have done. Smiled at the little cutie and admired the book. I moved to the next aisle, bent down to look at a book, when I noticed someone standing right next to me. I turned around and saw my little friend. I grinned at him, and without a blink, he confidently proclaimed, “I know you love me”.  Quite taken aback, I stared at him, laughed, and replied, “Sure. Why not?”

I then turned around for I thought I was going to burst out laughing. He was of Indian descent and I figured that there must be some resemblance between me and his mother or another relative.

I repeated the story to my daughter. “That’s just weird,” she announced. I repeated the story to my husband. “What a player” he joked and said the kid had a bright future.  But surely, the little kid’s future seems bright with his confidence and self assuredness.

Even now, the thought of the little kid announcing my love for him, cracks me up. But in my heart, I really admire the kid and hope that he never lose his self-assuredness and belief that people around him adore him. Ahem… although I trust that in a decade’s time, it may be prudent for him to not walk about confessing and announcing other people’s love for him.

What a strength it must be to have such a perception or belief. To simply imagine that people around love (or at least like) us for exactly who we are and what we are. To never have to guage where we stand, based on other people’s reactions or emotions. To never have to feel good or bad about ourselves because it seems so in someone else’s eyes. To have the faith and confidence in ourselves and our lovability (that’s actually a word – I thought I was making it up).

We spend a chunk of our time and interaction with others gauging if other people (mere acquaintance to those close to us) like us, approve of us, of what we’re doing, of what we’re saying…and evaluate or reevaluate ourselves based on our perceptions of their perceptions of us. If the tongue twister weren’t crazy enough, the fact that at least some of us do this, is.

How liberating a thought to imagine that people around us simply love us… Can only a child think that way?  Are they intuitive, wishful, optimistic enough to do so? Does adulthood, rationality, past experience, make us jaded and incapable of believing so?

Why does the thought seem so incredulous? Is it most adults or is it only me? How much letting go will have to happen to merely start moving in the direction of that child’s thought…

And yes, my little friend was spot on. I do love him…

A birthday…

So I had another birthday. A birthday is always fun - given all the love and attention you get. But for most part, it simply comes and goes as it does every year…

But for the past couple of years, it has made me tad reflective. Sigh… I must be getting old after all.

And by now, you know what I often to do when I get reflective – write it down – publicly or privately. Yes, I get it out of my system (hmm...not sure if that is a good thing), and then get up and get on with my life…

Last birthday was particularly interesting. I thought I was having a great big existential crisis! I had just returned from the hospital after surgery and my body was weak and tired, but my mind continued to whirr…

38 years!! What had I done with my life so far? I was supposed to save the world and make a difference (yeah yeah… we’ll blame it on the drugs…). Just what did I have to show for those 38 years? What had I done with my time on this planet?

I found no answers and my breath was getting shorter. So I decided to let go… I laughed and thought, “heck, I must be felling better, if I have the strength to ask myself such questions”. So I gave my little or great big existentialist crisis a positive spin, and began to breathe normally again.

I had no existential crisis this year. Sigh… I must be more tired than I seem. I just took a nap in the morning – a birthday nap, mind you (I must be getting really really old – my idea of celebration has changed considerably!). But reflect, I did. On time passing and things ending…

Add to the overall sentiment, my birthday is in September. And as beautiful as September is in the Pacific Northwest, it does confirm the passing of summer and sunshine and fun and energy…

It made me want to break out into haikus on the passing of time and season, and good times and change… Yes, I can almost read them, although I haven’t written a word; I can almost hear them, although I haven’t uttered a single sound…

But you know them too… Of youth and unfinished dreams swept away by the river of time and the tide of situations… Okay, so I can be tad dramatic. And no matter how tempting the haikus seem, I’ll stop right here. To spare us from bad poetry and melancholia in general.  

Yes, time will pass. We will gray. Interestingly enough, I have no problems with the passing of the “appearance” of youth. Although, I will confess to wondering if it was now time to start wearing more make-up. Oh, put those botox needles away, already. I simply stopped examining my face in the mirror and all concerns quickly disappeared.

Maybe as we get middle aged, we simply value our time on the planet more and want to make each day count. Oh come on, there’s got to be some advantages to being middle-aged.

I do believe there are.

For although the beauty and energy of youth diminishes, I feel more free – to be who I want to be. Other people’s judgment doesn’t affect the middle aged as much (or so I hope). I can dress, behave as I want to, do what I want to, say what I want to - without drawing much attention. For middle-aged people draw little attention and that is just fine by me.  

For by now, most of us have at least started figuring out what really matters. And although we miss the headless energy and mad mirth of youth, this too is a good place to be, and a promising start of things to come…

 

Inspiration…

A few folks have mentioned how this blog has been inspiring. How it has inspired them to start writing, blogging, pursuing something they had shelved, thinking differently about certain things... Each time, I have been awkward, not known what to say, been touched by their sharing, although unable to receive the inherent compliment gracefully (despite appreciating it) – yes awkward people – we’re more numerous than we think.

Admission of awkwardness aside, I have also squinted my eyes in disbelief and skepticism. Simply reading it seems to help some, why then, doesn’t writing it (yes, stringing the words, wrangling with the thought) seem to have done as much for me? Sure, the half hour or so I spend writing, seems enjoyable and the stream of words sometimes give me a sense of direction and at times, seems to lift the fog.

But I don’t know that I’m particularly inspired by my own words (sigh… at least for too long – for I forget what I write – very quickly. Move over, Dory…sigh…) and I’ve even wondered how “successful” the whole letting go experiment has been. More sighs…

But I’ll stop rambling and get back to what I meant to write. About inspiration. I admire those who have told me that the blog has been inspiring. For they understand what is inspiring to them. And that to me is an awakened spirit. I suspect we are inspired by different things at different times and to different extents – some we may notice, while some go by completely unnoticed. 

But whether or not we notice it, my hunch is that somewhere inside, we respond to inspiration. And that is a beautiful thing. Now I’m all about inspiration. I love being inspired. I may even be the foolish type who goes looking for it. But I think inspiration may often exist on some sort of a curved graph (maybe bell curve-like).

For sometimes, inspiration may be accompanied by some of its uglier cousins - jealousy, self-evaluation/ criticism, wanting to do more… I am not a particularly jealous person, so I won’t go further into that.  

But on occasion, after inspiration has struck, peaked to its dazzling height of possibility and brilliance, it dips into a dull ditch of reality and limitations – be it time or talent, energy or enthusiasm. What started as so sparkling and so likely to soar high, may take a downward trajectory and end in a little lackluster puddle of unfinished possibilities.

Just peachy, you say? How could a piece on inspiration, bursting with potential for ahem… inspiration, end in a gray puddle? I truly don’t know. I truly wish it hadn’t.

But even if the end was a puddle, the brilliance before was genuine, no matter how it ended. And every now and then, despite many that ended in a puddle, a few got away and kept soaring…

Traditions

A lot of families have a lot of traditions. And they always bring out the “awww” in me. A mom told me of how she makes her kids hold the grade sign on the first day of school at the same spot every year. I said “awww… how sweet”. Another told me of how they click holiday pictures in the same spot every year. I said “awww… that’s really nice”. Friday movie nights, Tuesday board game nights, Wednesday mom-daughter cook-out, Thursday… you get the gist…

And although they bring out the “awww”, I realized we don’t have many such traditions. I wondered why. Darn… yet more evidence of imperfect parenting…sigh… Perhaps, I’m just not disciplined enough. Perhaps it would bring out some form of military exactitude madness in me (yes, and that is now a known phenomenon – and the mom-genre, in my opinion, is particularly susceptible). Perhaps, I’m worried the exactitude would prevent it from being fun anymore. Perhaps, I don’t want to commit to something in a ‘set in stone’ manner for fear of not being able to keep up with it.

That was when I realized, I had never encountered any such traditions growing up either. And then I stopped. What about the festivals? There are a lot of festivals in India. And you don’t have to be particularly religious or traditional to have festival traditions.

My thoughts went back to my small fingers threading golden marigolds to make bright garlands interspersed with green mango leaves. Or to the wonderful wonderful aromas from the kitchen right before Diwali. Or to my mother waking us up every Friday morning during a particular month with lighted oil wicks.  Cozy in our sheets, we would gaze sleepily at the flame from the small silver oil lamps, being moved around us, with the intention of blessing us.

I laughed as I remembered how scared I used to be to go visit a particular cow, not far from our house to celebrate a festival that honored cows. Cows, as you all know, are gentle, docile beings. But not this one. Her flared nostrils indicated her perpetual bad mood and my six-year-old self was convinced that she had something against me. But I didn’t want my grandmom to go there by herself and insisted on tagging along. My intention was mostly to convince my grandmom to place the food for the cow on the ground and not hold it out – so close to her mouth, big teeth and flaring nostrils. I was worried she would chomp on my poor grandmom’s hand. And painful (and now hilarious as it may seem) – it was also a tradition – complete with my anxiety, my grandma’s devotion and the cow’s flaring nostrils.

I began to feel better as I realized that even if I didn’t set it down in stone, there are probably some things my daughter will remember as family traditions when she grows up – whether or not they revolve around festivals. I thought of the past weekend which was Ganesh chaturthi (an Indian festival). And I realized that the two of us make modak (steamed rice flour dumplings with sweet coconut filling) every year. This year, they really didn’t turn out like they should. The rice flour was way too old and not malleable or soft. But it didn’t bother her – it was all the same to her and she ate them with just as much gusto.

A couple of years ago, as she kneaded the dough and made surfboards (ahem…) with the modak dough, she asked me if I would join her and her kids when they made modak. I thought the smile would never leave my face and my heart.

Halloween pumpkins, Diwali sweets, Christmas decorations (yes we celebrate all the Indian festivals and all the American ones… Yes…Fall is quite busy, in our household).

I suppose, in the end, we all do what is most important to us and what is most fun for us. And whether or not we know it or realize it, we are making traditions as we go – whether or not they revolve around festivals. And even if they are not the precise kind, chances are that time and again, there will be a beautiful confluence of emotion, intention and timing, out of which associations and traditions will form…and out of that will form, sweet memories… whether or not you plan them out, or just let them happen...

A back door entry to the blog

When I wrote about my poor pea plants, a friend commented on facebook that she was “awed” by the way I turn “bland details of life into beautiful prose”. It was a beautiful compliment and once my head returned from out of the clouds, and my feet touched terra firma again, I laughed as I realized how random my topics have been - pea plants, my refrigerator, a morning walk in India, cupcakes, Justin Beiber (!!) and even my feet (!!) have made it to the blog. Really, was I completely out of my head?

Hmm… should I then be writing about more important things? But again, I am not an important person. All I have are my bland, nondescript things and mundane, everyday happenings. And if they trigger a few thoughts, which in turn I choose to ink, so be it.

But out of curiosity, I decided to scroll down the document which holds drafts of my writings. Not to flaunt my inelegant document management system, but if a piece gets completed, it moves to the blog. If it is too personal, it gets housed in a separate document. And random scribblings hang about in the draft document like loose pieces of meteoroids in space.

Scriblings that never reached completion because I got distracted, or the phone rang, or something yummy in the kitchen called me – yes, by my name… These forgotten fledgling thoughts should be interesting, I imagined. Who knows what I may find… and there may even be something important in there.

The first thing I found:
So is it a case of: Religion makes good people better and it makes bad people worse (source unknown/unremembered).

Aha. This bit got left out of the religion/faith post. Too judgemental? Case of copy/paste gone wrong?  Who know? Who’ll ever know? But an interesting quote nonetheless.

Here’s another:

Yes, I love being out in nature. And this past week I took in a lot of nature.
And perhaps, I can draw inspiration from nature – to always stay open, to never withdraw. Like the waterfall I stared at –   

How do we find what allows us to open up and remain open. To stand tall like the trees and mountains - strong, steady, solid, yet allowing themselves to be humble and vulnerable in the face of nature and all that it may bring. To roar down like the waterfalls - relentless, forceful, brave – with complete abandon, without a worry of ever running out. To gush like rivers through bumpy rocks, devouring the rocks (of obstacles) in it course. To be the endless path

Unfinished, but I get the gist. Although I wish I had completed it, I am glad to have at least that much to inspire me.  

And this one takes the cake, or rather the cookie:

The cookie and the empty bag

There is stood proud and clear - just the title. Hmm… I guess I do start with the title at times. And this one sounds totally yummy and holds the promise of deliciousness. I stared at it – straight, from the right, from the left, with squinted eyes… But no. No jolt of memory came rushing. No “aha” was ever heard. No fingers started beating down the keyboard. There was only one thing to be done. To go eat a cookie.

I squinted at it again (ahem… three cookies later. Sigh… the chocolate filling was so good. And I’m just being a good mother by finishing the cookies, so my daughter will eat less sugar. Yeah yeah…I know…)

Where the heck could I have been going with that title? I just had to know. For after all, I had typed it up, with my own two hands, and it did sound like something I would write.

So if it was so much a part of me, why wouldn’t it come back?  And then I decided to let go. The blog is full of thoughts that come tumbling out of my head – quite like the waterfall above. And wise words about each moment being exclusively unique must be true after all. You can never recreate something from the past and that annoying title was my proof. True I may complete some of the unfinished pieces. But they will take a course quite different from that of the moment in which I first wrote them.

Why then do we try to go back and complete or recreate, refeel, reenjoy, (you can now easily detect made-up words, I’m sure) feelings, events, emotions, thoughts from the past? Should we then simply take stuff from the past , acknowledge it and recreate something new, something in tune with the present moment and situation?

And in that spirit, I’m going back to the last cookie in the pantry. But I shall relish it in this moment - with the joy (and guilt) of eating the fourth cookie. For you and I, both know it can never taste as good as the first.

p.s. this post started when I realized the randomness of my topics and blog. Which would be why I wrote an even more random piece…sigh…
 

My poor pea plants…

Along with the vegetables in my garden, I believe I grew myself a green thumb this year. Berries, pears, summer squashes, several greens, eggplants, tomatoes, beans et al waved in the wind and smiled in the summer sun in my yard. All except the peas. That surprised me. For peas were always a safe bet and even I (the clueless gardener) had been able to grow them successfully for the past couple of years.

I looked at the withered, unhappy looking pea plants and felt as if I had let them down in some way. I wondered if I had forgotten to take care of them – but again they always do well on their own. Hmm… I wondered what had gone wrong…

And then I realized, I had hardly gone out and plucked the peas when they first starting producing. I wasn’t doing well healthwise and didn’t quite have the energy to go pick peas. And my family will hardly ever go and pick veggies on the own.

I compared it to the green beans that have been relentless and that I’ve been harvesting regularly. Hmm… Interesting comparison. Interesting thought. So it probably means that if we harvest regularly, the plant will produce more. Quite simple really. It has the encouragement and is appreciated and is stimulated and motivated to do what nature has designed for it to do. It has a very good reason to produce more and keep producing.

Nature is so elegantly exquisite in its simplicity.

And we are part of this nature. Just as the pea plant was discouraged to produce, to grow, to offer to the world, I wonder how often we do the same to ourselves. How many times have we failed to tap the talent out of ourselves, to squeeze some creativity out, to encourage the good, to give direction to our hopes, to believe in our genius… And I can’t help but wonder how often we may be alike to the pea plant.

Well, if there is any truth in this reasoning, it would mean that I had indeed let the pea plant down. I offered its withered leaves a mental apology. But by that token, I realized I should be apologizing to myself too. And I wondered how many times, and for how many things I would have to apologize. Okay, quick, tell me how to close this can of worms. I really don’t like worms!

Sigh… there was no turning back, no escaping the exquisite simplicity of nature. When drawn out, all things good have the potential to keep flowing out. And that is a beautiful thought. And just like nature, exquisitely elegant in its simplicity.

Thank you…

Today was a somewhat emotional day. Exactly a year ago today, I underwent surgery. Surgery I had tried to avoid till my condition became life-threatening. Surgery I didn’t believe I even needed. Surgery I had done everything to prevent. Surgery that seemed too unnatural to be happening to me - for after all, these things happened to other people – people we don’t know, right? And I simply couldn’t believe that my body was not capable of self-healing. (And other warped forms of the third person effect hypothesis…sigh…)

The years of illness, countless treatments, drugs, hospital stays were all part of some strange dream. A dream in which I didn’t even belong. It had gone on long enough for me to not be in denial anymore. But in the moments when I felt better, I was quick to dissociate myself from this strange dream. (yeah right, what was I smoking right?). Truth be told, nothing. And whether or not I liked it, whether or not I believed it, I belonged in it. It was my life, it was my illness, it was all happening to me.

But it was also happening to others. For I had dragged others into this strange dream – a dream that they really didn’t need to be in. And even if I tried to shelter my family from the ugliness of the situation, they were part of it. It was happening to them too.

This past year has been an unusual one, I suppose - with many highs and many lows. And I don’t even think it is far enough, for me, to be able to see it clearly yet.

But today I was feeling rather dejected about my health. About the meds I still have to be on. About having to deal with so much. About how tired and weak I feel. About not being done with that part of my life just yet. It was probably more impatience than self pity. And then, I heard a piece on NPR about gratitude.

About how gratitude leads to joy and how we always have so much to be grateful for. Sure, I believe in the general idea, but I don’t think I would qualify as its spokesperson. I have tried on occasion to do things like keep a gratitude journal – and have failed miserably. Not to say I am an ungrateful person, and I do like to and need to remind myself of the things I am grateful for. But the gratitude journal made gratitude seems like homework and it just didn’t feel right.

But today it truly hit me. I was not where I wanted to be. But I was much better, and I was grateful. I could say to myself, “I am grateful for this moment”.

And suddenly I was struck by a surge of gratitude for everything everyone has done for me to help me get to this moment. Family, friends, doctors, heathcare professionals, and even near strangers, who have shown me so much kindness… at times I have felt that kind words, kind actions, time, energy, thoughtfulness and prayers of others have tided me over.  I felt swept up by the strength of this wave of gratitude – for the many things, many people, have done to help me get better. 

I don’t know that I thanked everyone. I don’t know that I thanked everyone well enough. I don’t know I will even remember everything everyone has done for me. And although that sounds ungrateful, I am truly grateful to everyone who has been there for me.  

I really don’t know how to say this without making it sound like an Academy Awards speech. There really must be an inner-diva in me. Sigh… And like the Academy awards speech, the music will soon commence to shut me up.

But these words are heartfelt and yes, they were right on NPR. Gratitude does bring joy. Just like the joy I feel in this moment. Quite unlike the glumness I felt about a half hour ago. And for all of you who bring me this moment of joy – near or far, whether or not you read this blog…thank you…

 

p.s. quick aside… That is what I wrote on my blog on this day, a year ago, at 5 a.m. in the morning before my surgery.

Faith is taking the first step even when you can't see the whole staircase.
- Martin Luther King Jr.

 

 

Faith...organized religion and such…

When I started the blog, I was certain I would steer clear of politics and religion and all such things ‘important’. So I am a little surprised to find myself writing this… But faith probably plays a large part in letting go and I don’t want to end this blog without attempting to sort this bit out.

I remember some years ago, when I was fretting over something quite out of my control, my mother-in-law said to me, “Just leave it to God. He’ll take care of it.” She did exactly that, and was completely at peace from that moment on. I looked at her in amazement and wished I had enough faith to do the same. Oddly enough I did feel better. But I suspect that may have been due to my putting faith in her, (and her faith), rather than me “leaving it to God”.

In my years of illness I have often wished I were more religious. That I could just trust God or whoever it is that lives up in the clouds to make all things better. Not being raised particularly religious, I have often wondered about religion and even had reservations about organized religion - given the riots, chaos and hurt in the world that stem out of it. How could religion – the organized faith that was meant to show people the way – the path to a better, balanced and happier life, lead to so much pain?

And each time, I remember lines I read as a young girl, from “Discovery of India”, by Jawaharlal Nehru. To paraphrase inelegantly… he says that all our troubles begin primarily when our hatred for someone else’s religion becomes far greater than our love for our own religion. And each time, I think of his words, I marvel at how true they are, and how well they explain the conflict in the world. Oddly enough, that seems to be the only thing I appear to remember from his chunky erudite book.

Years ago, in central Africa, I met amazing missionaries who did very impressive work in very remote areas. Education, healthcare… these were incredible people giving so much of themselves, making such a change. Their driving force, of course, was religion.

I couldn’t help wonder what would happen if religion were removed from the equation. Would they stop doing this incredibly meaningful work they were involved in? And then I thought of the animists they were probably trying to convert. What was wrong if the animists believed in a stone or spirits or whatever they wanted to believe in? Why did the animists need to believe in a more anthropomorphic God? It was unsettling for me to realize that that the only driving force behind all this was to help the animists find their path to light – to God – to the anthropomorphic God they believed in. And despite all my admiration for these incredible people, I felt sad.

As for the animists, I couldn’t help wonder if their new faith would be as solid as their previous one. If it would help them get through tough times and give strength and support in hardship? For that is what I suppose faith is all about. And that is probably why it matters to ‘letting go’.  

So even if organized religion makes me uneasy, I still would like to have faith. And if I look, I believe I will see it and know it and learn to let go in its power. Faith that I can see in humanity, and love, and friendship, and belief in oneself, and family, and nature, and the smile in my child’s eye… For whether or not it may be anthropomorphic, faith ultimately is strength and support and so important for any letting go…
 

Move over Martha Stewart…or maybe not just yet…

So we had an ice cream birthday party for my daughter. This was the invitation…

The Kale Stone Creamery will churn out a special flavor of ice cream – Anikella Rainbowella Caramella,  to celebrate its favorite patron, Anika’s ninth birthday! This one of a kind ice-cream flavor will be created for all the sweetness that Anika is!  Here’s the recipe and you’ll see why we need your help to churn out this special magical flavor!

Ingredients:
One birthday girl
Bunch of very wonderful friends
50 cups of smiles
40 tubs of fun
100 scoops of laughter
2 hours of a Saturday morning
One sunny park
10 gallons of ice-cream
Directions:
Mix all the ingredients together on the chosen Saturday morning. Add some dollops of games, pizza and cake, and a bucketful of fun!
RSVP quickly - so this party doesn’t melt away…

A friend’s rsvp read, “...and thank you Martha Stewart (ahem...Ruta) for showing up us "boring" moms with your party ideas!!”

I laughed and I suddenly realized I was officially one of those moms. Yes - the kind that bake and quilt. How the heck did that ever happen??!! A decade ago, I would have probably laughed in your face if you had suggested this. And yet, just yesterday I baked over a 100 cupcakes for my daughter’s birthday.

Sure there is joy in doing so. Yet, I have a strange sense of not recognizing this person, a strange sense of bewilderment, a strange sense of trying to fit into the shoes of those talented precise and perfect moms. But with or without talent, I am still doing those things…

Interestingly enough, this birthday, I kept questioning why I was doing this. I am no Martha Stewart. Heck, I don’t want to be her either. Sure I enjoy the creativity involved, but I have no dreams of turning into any domestic diva. Yes Martha Stewart – you can have your throne, bake it in red velvet 
batter, cover it with fondant and eat it too…

But then again, I thought of my daughter telling people that her favorite thing to do with her mom is to bake. And then I thought of Sucre’ – our adventures in cupcaking a few summers ago.

About three summers ago, I checked into a nature cure center in India for a few weeks and my weight went down to 73 lbs. Weak as I was, I had no idea what I was going to do with an energetic child all summer and that’s how Sucre’ was born. The plan was simple and this first email from Sucre’ will tell you more…

The cupcake queens (Anika and I) have a sweet summer venture.  We love to bake and would love to share our treats with you. The idea is simple - we decide on the treat of the week and send out an email. If you would like to sweeten your week, just send us an email or call us.
All our goodies are made with quality and mostly organic products and proceeds will benefit
charity.  
Sucre' (which in French means sweetened or sweet) is exactly how your summer days will be, we 
hope!

Sucre' week 1: 
In the spirit of summer, we'll kick off with ice-cream cones.  Delicious chocolate and vanilla cupcakes cased in ice-cream cones and topped with yummy frosting. A sweet substitute for real ice-cream cones till the weather warms up!

Week 2

The first week at Sucre’ turned out to be a sweet affair. Excitement was high, cute ice-cream cone cupcakes were made, sticky little fingers travelled the kitchen counter,  and that night, sprinkles were found in a sweet baker’s head! Thank you all for making our summer so sweet!

The test kitchen (ahem) at Sucre churned out a delectable orange pastry last week. We named it Orange Cream Dream. This is sweet little layered vanilla-orange sponge pastry. Light as a cloud and filled with the goodness of fresh cream frosting and fresh orange segments.

And for cupcake fans, we have Orange Cream Dream cupcakes. Yummy and fluffy, these vanilla-orange cupcakes are topped with fresh cream frosting and zesty fresh oranges.

And of course, we could never use artificial orange flavoring or canned oranges for these delectable desserts.  Small in size, but big in flavor, these are perfect for your summer.

A friend commented that this was a classic case of turning life’s lemons into lemonade – or lemon 
cupcakes, as we would prefer. Sucre’ truly made what would have been a really difficult summer so much sweeter and is a fond memory. (I am keen on keeping it a memory, while my daughter talks about reviving it each summer!)

But of late, I don’t seem to want to bake as much as before. I wonder if I may be relating it to a time when I was so weak and tired, that there was little else I could do and associate it with life’s lemons – whether or not being turned into lemonade.  

And I wonder if I feel the same about other such “domestic” projects I have attempted over the years of being sick. Do I perceive these projects as pathetic compromises resulting largely from being homebound with low energy reserves?

These are projects I can work on as and when I have time and energy, give me creative satisfaction, and are fun to look at, or better yet, eat. Not that I execute them elegantly or with any particular 
finesse – there is a quilt made up of embroidery pieces my daughter made at school when she was five, and it has been in the works since... Hopefully, I will hand it to my daughter when she leaves for college.

But yet, there is a certain peace, satisfaction and joy in doing so. The same peace I felt as I frosted over a hundred cupcakes yesterday. The same joy I felt as I saw my daughter’s face light up this morning as she saw the 9 inside the cake as she cut it. The same delight I felt, as I saw some small eyes shine as they saw the cupcakes. Why in the world would I ever relate this joy to a time of extreme weakness?

And perhaps I won’t continue with as much zeal as before, but when I do, I hope I will remember the fun, and the creativity, and the laughter and the chaos, and not perceive it all as something I had to do only because I was not able to do anything better or more meaningful...

Smack in the middle of the Olympics - we had to have a backyard Olympics birthday and cake

Arrgh...this pirate party cake may be the piece de resistance - we actually poured blue Jello over part of the cake for water!

Wow - this is the longest blog post ever – largely because of all the stuff I’m copy pasting. So here’s some more of our Sucre’ emails…

Week 3
Apart from getting her fingers stuck in sweet dough, a sweet baker at Sucre got her first lessons in 
Economics. “The Lego City set costs 112 dollars. I think that’s a lot of money,” she grimaced as she counted her seven dollars. “I think it’s going to take a looong time for me to get it.”

And if you use the money in your tiny palm to buy something, that money is gone forever. Well, “that’s just not nice”, was her indignant verdict. “All this gathering ‘moneys’ is quite hard,” she finally decided with a sigh.

But the grim reality of economics was soon forgotten as she tucked into the pastry. Contentment spread over the faces of this young business partner and the financier of Sucre’ who remains oblivious to his poor investment choice :) But who’s complaining, for this dubious investment venture 
is bringing us so much joy!

Sucre Week 3:
This week Sucre’ will make cookies on a stick – Cookie-pops. These Supercalifragilitiexpialidocous Cookie-pops (we did just see the Mary Poppins broadway) are sweet little things that are hugely satisfying!
Made with Organic Whole Wheat flour (no refined or bleached flour), these are actually healthy and oh so scrumptiously delicious! They will be available Friday morning onwards.

Week 5
Giving something away can be so very hard. At Sucre’, a sweet baker’s little hands clutched tightly the money earmarked for charity. “But I really need this money. I have to get my Lego set. Why do I have to give to charity -- and what is this charity business anyways? Hrmmph…”, she grumbled. 

As always her outburst was followed by the usual spiel about helping and giving, and about being privileged and giving to the underprivileged. She fidgeted and squirmed and finally handed over the 
money reluctantly. Later, in a low tone she said, “I want to choose a food charity. Everybody should get food to eat”. So true my sweet little chef.

So in light of that, we’ll donate to a Girls Scout project that plans to make meals for the needy and to the Oregon Food Bank. Also, we plan to buy food cans, keep them in the car and give them to homeless folks we see on the street. 

Sucre' Week 5
Sweetness reigns in the cupcake queendom in the form of a moist Chocolate Cake topped with a layer of Vanilla Panna Cotta. And at the risk of offending the Italian empire, we’ve attempted to keep it low fat. Low in calories, but high in satisfaction, this luscious chocolate cake topped with the smoothness of a lite Panna Cotta, assures a sweet ending to any kind of day.

Week 6

Our sweet little baker moonlighted as a construction worker and as a lion keeper this week! With our backyard being landscaped, there was plenty of excitement with dirt, gravel, and of course power tools and machinery.

The picture shows you the littlest construction worker we had in our yard! And this little worker decided that Sucre’ needed to make cupcakes for all her worker friends. So we made mini banana cupcakes to add a sweet touch to the yard work.

Then it was time to celebrate the lion camp at the zoo. I finally convinced her lions really do not care for cupcakes – else we would have made them a batch by now! So instead, we celebrated the zoo camp with lion cupcakes. And those were certainly fit for a king, or rather... queen of the sugar jungle at Sucre’.

Sucre’ Week 6
Tales of lions and dirt aside, what can we offer you this week?
Strawberries are a sweet reminder of summer (which has not been so forthcoming this year). So at Sucre’ we decided to focus on the positive by creating delicious strawberry treats -- Strawberry Smooches.
This is a moist strawberry sponge cake topped with a creamy strawberry cheesecake-like pudding. One bite into this dessert is like being kissed by summer itself. 
These will be available Friday evening (today)onwards. So come bite into these kisses of summer sweetness from Sucre’.

When our French macarons, didn't turn out quite right, we made them Sucre' offerings for the week - chocolate cupcakes with vanilla cream and a crunchy macaron or a vanilla cupcake with lemon curd and a macaron topper!

Final week…
This morning a brisk fall wind struck my face and with it struck the realization… it was time to bid adieu to summer and that meant adieu to Sucre’ as well. It’s been such a sweet journey and sharing it with all you folks, has made it sweeter.

Our summer has been all about really sticky counters, and huffs and puffs of flour clouds (one sweet baker has a certain way of pouring flour). Foamed-up egg whites took flight in our kitchen (one must talk to their mother while whipping egg whites) and spatulas, and mixing devices all got licked clean beyond belief! And whoever said sprinkles are only for cupcakes? We’ve pulled them out of our hair, clothes, books and toys! Oh it’s been one oooey goooey sweet mess!

But before we bid adieu, we have one last treat to offer. A soft fluffy vanilla cake topped with a layer of creamy pineapple cheesecake-like pudding. Similar to our strawberry smooches (see picture), these "tropical bursts" will leave you with a burst of sunshine in your mouth. 

Who’d have thought that flour, butter, eggs and sugar would make our summer days so much fun! Thanks again for sharing our summer sweetness and we hope we added a little Sucre’ to your summers.

  

Oh…at least give those veggies a try…

Some months ago, I went to a day-long meditation session. Now I totally believe in meditation, but I took to it only after I got sick. That said, I meditate only when I don’t feel good, feel rattled or am in pain. A boom box sits next to my bed and I often turn on a meditation CD in the middle of the night or early morning when I have cramps or can’t sleep. Yes, I truly believe in meditation, but will resort to it only in dire straits or discomfort.

A lovely (and young) friend drove me there – ahem... in a drive-your-old-aunt-kinda-way (??). Both of us were struck by the fact that there were some teenagers at the session. I was simply awe-stuck at how Zen and wise and wonderful these kids must be to seek meditation at such a young age. I was amazed that they saw the value in being centered and grounded at an early age. I was impressed that they were seeking out this centeredness and starting their lives with such a tool in their toolbox. Simply wonderful, I thought.

Simply wonderful, I thought yesterday, as I read an email announcing a two-day meditation camp for kids. All the good feelings I had thinking of the youngsters at our session rushed back and I decided to send my daughter to the camp. But instantly, I had that sinking feeling. That sinking feeling I get when my ideas meet resistance. The resistance I often get. (sigh… with due credit to my poor eight-year-old, my ideas are sometimes crazy, I suppose).

Maybe I could find a buddy – she would do it if she had a friend with her. But I wonder how many parents send their nine-year-olds to meditation camp. It’s in September – it would be like a getaway after school starts, I thought hopefully. And I know she will have fun once she gets there – for they make it fun for kids with play and art . Yes. I know she’ll have fun – but only if she agrees to try it.

Sigh…it felt all too familiar. We recently spent a couple of hours convincing her that she was going to love ziplining in the temperate forest. She did (whew…). But we influenced her decision… Ahem…Did I mention it would not have been possible for us to do it either if she hadn’t agreed to it? I know, I know… we’re terrible parents.

The funny thing is that she now knows when she is being influenced/convinced and even senses it coming. Some weeks ago, we were at a beautiful symphony at the Butchard Garden in Victoria, BC.  They played waltz and other very danceable scores and invited the audience to dance in the park. My eyes shone and I looked at my girl. She knew exactly what I was thinking and her face clouded, her brow creased; she  shook her head, wagged her finger at me and said “No mom, we’re not doing that”. “Oh come on,” I begged her. “When do you ever get to dance to a full symphony in a garden and setting so beautiful!!” She huddled in her chair, crossed her hands, and threatened to leave. So I let her be, and even ignored the grumpy glares, and disapproving stares as my husband and I got up to dance. I simply wanted her to experience the beauty of the moment - the moment I was experiencing. The moment I am unlikely to ever forget. The symphony was so beautiful and the gardens were so fragrant and beautiful – it was like a dream. I didn’t even notice the people, that she was conscious of (?) and really wished I could share the moment with her.  

Yes. There are things we want our kids to experience. “Just try it once,” we’ve all said to our kids (whether or not we’re pointing at the unsavory-looking vegetable). We don’t want our kids to miss out on things. We want things to be better for them. To be easier for them. We want them to make the right choices. We want them to be better than us.

But can we really influence them? Or do they need to arrive at it at their own time? On their own terms? At their own pace? Do we simply just wait and watch (and squirm uncomfortably while they get there?)

That said, I am still likely to get a plan together to convince my girl to try the meditation camp. Sigh…Is there no hope for me?
 

The letting go inspiration box

If only I may grow: firmer, simpler, quieter, warmer.

                                                ~ Dag Hammarkjold

 

 

 

 

 

Do you speak to strangers?

Yes. I talk to strangers. As a child, the only thing my mother worried about me was that I was perfectly capable of striking up a conversation with strangers and happily taking off with them. Quite a scary thought I agree. And so she warned me well, and she warned me often.

I suppose it worked and there is an absolutely awful story (that I have heard more often than I cared to – which is why I’m posting it here (!!) oh well…). One of my mom’s college students, who lived in the neighborhood, saw me running home, all of four or five years old, with a bloody nose. I used to get terrible nose bleeds and had blood all over my clothes. It looked a lot worse than it actually was. He probably panicked and offered to take me home. I refused. He really wanted to help and went ahead and picked me up to carry me home. I panicked, remembered my mom’s advice (I suppose) and actually bit the poor fellow so he would let go of me!!! I know I know… I’ll never have any friends again.

So yes, I try not to talk to strangers, but sometimes I forget. And sometimes I really want to talk to strangers, but I hesitate. As I did this morning.

I was in an infusion center for an iron infusion. I was almost done when a young lad, probably in his early twenties, walked in. He seemed proud and confident, but had recently had a really rough time, with ER visits, constant nausea, a recent flight possible only with pain meds. Yes yes, not only do I talk to strangers, but I also eavesdrop. Sigh…I suppose I’ll never have any friends again.

In my defense, the infusion room was small and there was no way I could escape the conversation between him and the nurses. My heart went out to the guy. I knew his story. I knew his pain. I wanted to say something to him. But no, I did not talk to this stranger.

Yet, I remembered him after I got home and felt awful for not reaching out to him (and so, sat down to write this instead). But do tell me…

Would a quick, “hang in there buddy”, have been so terrible?

Would a quick, “I know what you’re going through and how rough it is”, have made a chink in his armor and weakened him? He was after all, protecting himself with a shield that I knew and understood well. And he looked perfectly well from outside.

Would a quick, “I’ve been there – it can only get better from here”, have offered him false (?) hope.

Would a quick, “you’re so strong – to go through everything you’re going through. Just keep going”, have been absolutely crazy coming from some crazy woman?

I don’t know. I don’t know if it would have helped or hurt. I don’t know if I’m glad or not that I remained quiet and non-interfering. I do know however that reaching out to him was a spontaneous reaction that I somewhat subdued and withheld – to conform to a certain societal norm (?) to not invade his privacy (?) to not alarm or weaken him (?).

I thought I would have an answer or at least an idea by the time I finished writing this. I don’t. I still don’t know if such behavior makes us less humane or more respectful of the other person’s privacy. Do tell me if you know…

The wishing tree

Yes. We now have one of those. Right in front of our house. And you can stop by and put your wish on this wishing tree. No guarantees that they will come true. But how lovely to just put our wishes out there – leave them to bask in the summer sun, to flutter in the warm breeze. The wishes look so happy – they really seem like they will come true!

Yes. Summer’s here! The rain’s gone (we think – it is the Northwest after all). And we decided it would be the perfect time for a silly project!

My daughter returned from a summer camp with wishes written in Japanese calligraphy on strips of paper. “I need to hang them on Bamboo plants,” she announced. “We don’t have bamboo, but we could tie them to the tree outside,” I suggested. As we tied the wishes (I bet one of them said something about a dog, sigh…), I thought of a wishing tree. 

This idea is not original. Wish I could remember where I saw it to give proper credit, but I’ve been rather fuzzy-brained (for the past year or so now). Oh well… but the idea did stick with me.

The idea is simple. As we grow older, we stop dreaming. We sweep those dreams away - under the rug, into some dark crevices of memory, they die slowly – after living an unsung, unknown life. Okay, okay, tad dramatic I agree. But slowly we teach our kids to do that too, or perhaps they learn from us, from life’s experience.

So what better time than summer to do the opposite of that. So here’s our silly little scheme. We have paper with pieces of yarn attached and pencils – on a tree in front of our house. And you can stop by and put your wish out there.

And we are the lucky ones who get to peek outside and watch kids (and adults) daring to dream and putting their wishes out there – boldly, bravely, for the world to see, for the Universe to take in.

Yes. The idea is simple. And this is what I posted on our wishing tree.

 

 

This is a wishing tree

It may or may not make your dreams come true

But its branches will strongly hold all your wishes

And allow them to bask in the summer sun and flutter in the breeze

As we grow older, we forget our dreams or sweep our wishes under the rug

We don’t believe they will come true and stop wishing even

And that is a sad fact

This tree is the opposite of that

So go ahead and write your wish and tie it to the branches

And watch your wish become part of the Universe

 

p.s. My daughter didn't like the first draft and said the language was too "grown up" with bits about daring to dream and putting it out there - so here is the new kid-friendly version :)

 

Live every day like it is your last… Good advice or mad advice?

You’ve heard this before. You may have thought it to be a wonderful thing. You may have thought it to be the most unrealistic thing. You may have thought only those given a few months to live could ever be brave enough to live so.

I have thought so too. And yet when I look at the picture below, I wonder if some mad recklessness is trying to take over. And no, I’m not bungee jumping – I’m no adrenaline junkie and I am not particularly adventure-seeking even. (Fact apart, that odd adventures sometimes come and seek me.) And even if the picture may scream otherwise, I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat even.

But I love travel, nature and new experiences and ziplining in the beautiful temperate rainforest in Whistler, BC sounded so fabulous.

I normally don’t post personal pictures – but if this isn’t the ‘letting go’ picture… what is? 

But should I tell you that a week before I tried turning upside down on the zipline like my husband and daughter, I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to travel? That I felt so sick and tired, I only wanted to curl up in bed with a book? So what changed? I saw my doctor, and a new antibiotic regimen later, I suddenly felt much better. And that I suppose is where the recklessness comes in. I have turned into that proverbial camel who when given an inch will take a yard. The foolish romantic who has barely learnt to walk but only wants to run.  I understand I could slip back where I was a few weeks ago, but before I do so; I seem to want to do the things I want to do.

That is why I think of the quote above and wonder if I may be attempting a somewhat cautious version of it. And I wonder if it is good advice or mad. I realize that there is no follow-up quote that tells you what to do when you’ve lived today like it was your last, but wake up tomorrow to realize (thankfully) that it was not your last; but are left sore and tired and unable to live again like it is your last... hmm… I may at least have a bright future in tongue twisters, I suppose.

Sure you can try and not waste your time and energy in things that amount to nothing. Sure you can occupy your day with stuff that is meaningful or fun. Sure you can spend your days with only those that you want to be with. But in the end, it is all only to a certain extent.

Real life, reality, mundane chores, boring tasks, sticky situations, lack of energy, aches and pains will catch up with you. But again, they were all going to catch up with you anyways. So why not live it your way before they do?