Yesterday I was sitting at table, waiting for my toast to get cool so that the butter didn't melt into it. That reminded me of another English ex-pat friend who came to stay during the summer. She did exactly the same thing, and told me how she got into trouble from a German friend who asked her to make toast and complained vehemently that it should have been hot. Or warm, at the very least. Not cold.
I guess the clue to the difference lies in the combo of bread and butter. Do you prefer your toast crisp and anointed with gleaming butter that provides a smooth contrast? Or do you like it soggy, soaked through so that the butter melds with the bread?
Toast itself is a question for me. Why do we do this? Is it simply to help the loaf along when it's getting soggy? I don't know. What I do know is that when I don't have access to toast, I miss it. This I discovered when I was a boarder at the Royal Ballet School, and later on, when I lived in residence at the University of Cape Town. Oh the delight to be back home and rediscover toast! A little deprivation can certainly enhance appreciation.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Connections
Yesterday was my monthly meditation class. To help prepare for this and put myself in the right kind of mind space, I make sure to turn off my computer by 6 p.m. on Saturday evening, which is the 'eve', and so in a way, already the start of Sunday. And I keep it turned off until after, which is usually around lunchtime.
Yesterday I realized it's becoming harder and harder for me not to want the feeling of connection that facebook, email and Twitter bring, despite the fact that often actually checking the all latter leads to a slight let down. Nevertheless, it's the anticipation. Maybe there's something amazing waiting for me. I simply have to take a look.
So, feeling a bit horrified at my addiction, I started to think, actually to compare this to how it is in my morning quiet time when I intentionally and consciously think of those souls who are particularly close to me: family and friends. But also, with reference to the last post, those of my loved ones who have passed over, as well as those who have been spiritually connected with me.
What then is the difference?
Mostly obviously, I have no feeling of compunction in regard to my meditation and quiet time. This is something I do quite freely, even though the day would feel wrong if I didn't go to that special place. But there's something more.
Fiction, and in particular, young adult fiction seems to be all about magic powers these days. I think this has something to do with our times. More, I believe we can all develop our consciousness in a higher direction. So, when I work with connecting myself during my meditation time, that increases my ability to sense when someone is in need or ailing in some way. I'm not reliant on the internet, although if I don't phone, I might pop off a quick email just to find out how this particular friend is doing. I'm humbled and yet glad when I hit it right and my reaching out helps in some way.
Yesterday I realized it's becoming harder and harder for me not to want the feeling of connection that facebook, email and Twitter bring, despite the fact that often actually checking the all latter leads to a slight let down. Nevertheless, it's the anticipation. Maybe there's something amazing waiting for me. I simply have to take a look.
So, feeling a bit horrified at my addiction, I started to think, actually to compare this to how it is in my morning quiet time when I intentionally and consciously think of those souls who are particularly close to me: family and friends. But also, with reference to the last post, those of my loved ones who have passed over, as well as those who have been spiritually connected with me.
What then is the difference?
Mostly obviously, I have no feeling of compunction in regard to my meditation and quiet time. This is something I do quite freely, even though the day would feel wrong if I didn't go to that special place. But there's something more.
Fiction, and in particular, young adult fiction seems to be all about magic powers these days. I think this has something to do with our times. More, I believe we can all develop our consciousness in a higher direction. So, when I work with connecting myself during my meditation time, that increases my ability to sense when someone is in need or ailing in some way. I'm not reliant on the internet, although if I don't phone, I might pop off a quick email just to find out how this particular friend is doing. I'm humbled and yet glad when I hit it right and my reaching out helps in some way.
Monday, November 12, 2012
My November
During November, those of my loved ones who have passed over are closest to me. So I try to take note of what wafts, unbidden, into my mind. This morning it was an old song. Maybe you know it...
If I could plant a tiny seed of love
In the garden of your heart,
Would it grow to be a great big love some day
Or would it die and fade away?
My dad used to sing this often, and truly, thinking of what kind of a father he was to me and my younger brother, I could say that he was all about song and story. He knew the words to so many of the popular songs of his youth, of his time during the Second World War, and on into his middle age. And he used to sing them, often. What a gift that was for us!
Maybe those old songs were easier to sing than many of the pop songs today, mostly because they had more of a melody. JMHO
My dad also used to whistle. This of course was something women did not do. So yesterday I was whistling and a friend, an ex-German, came up to me to tell me about an old saying: that women who whistle and chickens who squawk deserve to have their necks wrung!!
Hmm. I can actually hold a tune better when whistling than when singing. Perhaps the jury's still out as to whether either of these is acceptable!
If I could plant a tiny seed of love
In the garden of your heart,
Would it grow to be a great big love some day
Or would it die and fade away?
My dad used to sing this often, and truly, thinking of what kind of a father he was to me and my younger brother, I could say that he was all about song and story. He knew the words to so many of the popular songs of his youth, of his time during the Second World War, and on into his middle age. And he used to sing them, often. What a gift that was for us!
Maybe those old songs were easier to sing than many of the pop songs today, mostly because they had more of a melody. JMHO
My dad also used to whistle. This of course was something women did not do. So yesterday I was whistling and a friend, an ex-German, came up to me to tell me about an old saying: that women who whistle and chickens who squawk deserve to have their necks wrung!!
Hmm. I can actually hold a tune better when whistling than when singing. Perhaps the jury's still out as to whether either of these is acceptable!
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