MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

One Man's Trash

This picture includes:
a surface of a cedar chest which I purchased from a neighbor for ten bucks.
the edge of the mission oak rocker I picked up from the trash.
a rain stick I got for a buck.
a raku vase I found for $3.
another raku vessel - the one with the ornate top - I purchased for five bucks.
a coil pot my son made for me in fifth grade.
a vase I found in a "free box" the other day.
marbles I got for fifty cents.
and lillies of the valley I picked from my yard.

Treasures!

this morning

Stray Boy

So here's my husband, and his new friend.
Our boys are both gone out tonight, but this is my husband having a beer with his new buddy Brody.
Brody comes here daily looking for "him."
"Is he here?" "He said he's gonna take me golfing."

They just called for me to go get Brody a bottle of water.
"Can you get Brody a bottle of water?"

"Who's that?" the boy asked, puzzled. I heard my husband ask "Were you pulling my crank? That's not your name?"

So there they are.

His dad lives in Texas. He's new in the apartments down the street.

The doorbell rings many times a day - for "him."

Could be a long summer.

Richless. . . a matter of perspective.

NPR.org , May 13, 2009

Overheard in the toy-strewn playroom of a rambling three-story house in the suburbs of Cleveland:

Victoria, 11: "We're poor."

Madeline, 8: "Yeah, we're richless."

Richless. Out of the mouth of babes, a word that captures precisely where so many of us truly are as we take stock of our situations in these distressing — but not yet Depressing — economic times.

We are richless. Some of the riches we had are gone.

We are not poor. We are not really likely to become poor.

It's a crucial distinction to make in an America that has such a lousy sense of its own history.

Let's take Victoria and Madeline's family, for instance. I know them well; they happen to be mine, too.

In the Great Depression — long before the girls' parents or grandparents were born, but well within the memory of their 88-year-old great-grandmother — our family had very little money and very little else.

They did not own a home. They often moved because they couldn't make rent. They carried their few possessions with them, took good care of them and eventually handed them down.

They ate tomato sandwiches and — since the patriarch worked as a meat cutter — they also ate lard sandwiches.

The lesson learned from that experience was simple: Be thrifty. Be driven by need, not greed. And by making the most of their resources over the years, the family managed to get ahead.

"I complain today because a loaf of bread is $2," my father said to me, more than once. "But I have the $2. When a loaf of bread was a nickel, I didn't have the nickel."

Yet many of us who grew up able to afford that loaf of bread all along wound up with eyes too big for our stomachs.

We joked about buying things "to stimulate the economy." When we felt discontented, we found ourselves engaging in "retail therapy."

We had plenty of encouragement to keep up with the Joneses. All we had to do was turn on a TV to see what we didn't have and to tune out all the things we did have.

In the end, we acquired more than we needed. More even than we WANTED.

And we have wound up doing what Franklin Roosevelt warned us against: We're fearing the fear itself.

Now here's the good news: HAVING all that stuff gives us a head start if we do keep sliding toward a "Capital D" Depression.

We have more clothes than we could ever wear — if we focus on need and not greed.

We have food on the shelves that will keep for weeks and months and years — if we focus on need and not greed.

We can work together to find a million ways to share all of these hidden resources with friends and neighbors and even strangers — if we focus on need and not greed.

So ask yourself if you have the money for the loaf of bread.

If the answer is yes — even if things look pretty grim at the moment — please consider the possibility that you're not down and out yet.

You're merely richless.

Todd Holzman is supervising senior editor for NPR Digital News.

new life

The colors are so rich on rainy days.

today in my front yard

I got outside just as it started to rain. . .

Today, in my back yard.

Spring is intoxicating.

a pain in the neck

Monday morning. Before I even start my day.

I leaned over the dishwasher to throw some dishes in - just to tidy up before I begin work - and ZING! Down my neck, through my shoulder, into my right arm. Intense pain. Deep, sharp pain.

Monday mornings are Monday mornings already. But it's bright and sunny out - it's spring - I was determined to be optimistic about the day and the week ahead - and then that?

I blew out my knee two weeks ago at the Y, and haven't been back since. This morning I thought I would attempt a return to work out - but wham!

And I've got a list of work to do - of course.

I'm going to breathe this kink out.
Practice with me. . .

It's Monday. Lovely, peaceful, gentle Monday.
The start of all things good.
A clean slate, and an opportunity to spin the world in all different directions.
The sun is wonderful and warm. The grass and all things growing are surging forth with new growth.
The colors of nature are vibrant and alive.
A day for health and healing.

Breathe in through the nose. Fully - bringing nurturing oxygen to all parts of (this aching body!)
And out through the mouth. Taking pain away.

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I think we need Sunday night again. . . ?
Start this thing over?
Skip the dishes?
Who cares about cleaning?
There's always tomorrow to work?. . .

Bueller?