My friend has an admirable knack for not letting winter get her down.
While the rest of us vent our dislike for the cold or begrudge the mess that tracks into the house from out of pools of melting snow she calmly turns the days of our wintry discontent into great personal gain.
She uses winter, as she does all the seasons, as a change-up for many aspects of her life. She lets in new interests and literally puts some on the shelf.
In her home she changes out what has been set out to create a mood (throw pillows, afghans, decorative pieces) for items that freshen the overall look, as she'll be doing now with Valentine's Day coming up.
These are small switches but noticeable. The revolving visual pieces act just like an elementary teacher fixing up a classroom with little works of art so that students have the continual expectation of a next thing to look forward to.
They are purposeful touches done for her own joy and satisfaction and to share with others. She'll tell you that life, in its many recreations of itself, should always be celebrated and remarked upon, even with something very small.
She also uses each season for internal renewal. Winter is for spiritual reading and books that make her think about the meaning of life.
In the quiet of this season she taps the quiet within her. It's a match which winter, better than any other season, seems made to carry out.
She fills the quiet part of herself, geared to listen and learn, with the wisdom, strength and advice her winter reading , specifically gathered for this reason, provides.
Spring brings more active outdoor meditation for my friend. With the days growing warmer she walks outside and prays as she walks.
She takes in nature's renewal while feeling spring percolating through her.
She says it's a wonderful thing to follow this path from winter reflection to spring's confident committed steps.
My friend plumbs time. She extracts renewal out of each season, She take tips from the unfolding moments.
She's fashioned, for her wellbeing , a calm command center for all times of the year by taking notes from nature and the calendar and being prepared to follow their cues.
In this manner she adds substance to everything she does and surrounds herself with.
She's in sync with the seasons. We could all take some cues from her for the powerful peace it gives.
Ro Giencke - February 7, 2015
Almost everyone starts to look ahead and plan for retirement at some point before retirement actually arrives.
This is practical and downright necessary.
Advance preparation for the post-career years is an intuitive step as well as a practical one.
It's a kind of natural planning. It's an instinctive scan of the wide horizon as we see our working days winding down.
The future has wealth in it. We know this from all angles. The richness waiting for us is more readily available when we give retirement planning its due.
This is done when we take stock of present means, talents and interests, and put thought to how these assets can be invested when this later time is ours.
When retirement gets here many of us (no matter how well our time and interests are currently invested) have an itch that needs to be scratched. This itch stays with us until we come up with a remedy for it.
The itch is often specifically the desire to relocate. The general remedy is to acknowledge the itch and to follow through and do something about it.
Moving houses is a big retirement topic. Some of us start thinking about where we want to live when we retire long before we retire. It becomes a more urgent subject when the alarm clocks for getting up for work have been permanently silenced.
Retirees change locations for many reasons. The homes where we raised our families and know everyone on the block often no longer fill the bill when we own all our days.
The view out the window, so to speak, isn't quite the same. This is certainly one factor in deciding to move at this time in our lives.
It can also come from a desire for a different kind of house. After years in a colonial with the sleeping area separated by stairs from the living area there may be great interest in a ranch-style with everything convenient on one floor.
Or we wonder what it'd be like to be a condo owner and its ease of closing up and spending part of the year elsewhere.
Sometimes the desire is connected to our present lifestyle. Some of us upsize. This can amuse or surprise those who know us. They figure we're not getting any younger. They assume we'd opt for more compact space.
Retirees who choose to go bigger are very likely looking at the big picture. We want plenty of room for when our adult children and their families visit.
Extra house space can be welcome on any basis. Many partners appreciate area to spread out when both are fulltime at home.
Affordable housing is critical at this stage, more so as retirement dollars don't stretch as far as the career paychecks we've been accustomed to. Shrinking incomes lead many of us to do something about reducing our living space.
The decision to downsize can come from financial aspects but also from a strategy to reduce the responsibilities of home and yard tasks.
Being finished with home maintenance can be such a relief for some. Goodbye snow blower, raking and storm windows to put on!
Others downsize because keeping up a home is more than we can continue to take on. This tends to be a sobering reality but it can lighten our mental burden to set aside what no longer fits.
The chance to relocate opens to retirees as perhaps never before in our lives. Whether relocation entails setting up house across the street or hiring a moving van to haul our goods cross country we can line it up and make it happen.
My hunch is that economic factors, a more suitable climate, a thirst for change and hankering to move closer to family or our roots are factors that trump all others in why we pick up stakes and actually relocate.
The January/ February 2015 Where to Retire magazine has an article called "Finding the 'Perfect Distance' " which caught my eye.
My husband and I occasionally wonder if we'll ever try relocating closer to our adult working children. You miss your kids even when it's you who give them the wings to fly.
The article suggests the perfect distance from family differs for each of us. We come out ahead by being as flexible as possible when deciding what "perfect" is on our terms.
When relocating takes us further from family than we prefer, but the move is important to us for sound reasons that add substantially to our quality of life, this is a comparison of values we do well to take time to contemplate.
We make a healthier decision when we have support from our family, We benefit when they are our cheerleaders.
By perceiving the positives, as well as noting what may have to be negotiated for our decision to be a good choice for all concerned, we walk away having forged a better understood decision.
All who give even minimal thought to relocating are struck by its personal impact. A move of our own choice recharges us. It revs up our engines.
Likewise, relocating can feel scary. All the ramifications that come with significantly altering our lifestyle start to dawn on us.
Relocating can mean moving away from family and close ties of longstanding nature. This can mimic, at least at first, the effect of being washed onto a deserted island in the middle of the ocean.
You can feel temporarily shipwrecked despite knowing your move puts you on a beach abundantly supplied with all the wonderful fruits to pick by hand that will nourish you.
Moves are major decisions. They deserve to be treated as the important life transactions they are.
It's recommended to gather information beforehand. One method is to make a list of "wants." This is a list of the things you want in or from a new place, or expect to gain from the move, or why the move is important to you in the first place.
This want list sums up the kind of home and setting your daydreams take you to. They spell out what is desirable about a new place and the environment it will put you into.
We probably many times picture our ideal home. We build in our heads an image of what we want our neighborhood to be.
We add touches each time we revisit these held images. We refine the pictures as we go along. These are the details that should go on this list.
Next go ahead and jot down a list of "needs." These are the items requisite to putting a foundation under your dreams. They're the things that tell you that relocating would be a solid gain for the effort expended.
A list comparing needs and wants astutely sums up whether relocating is the answer, or the correct answer for now.
It can help you see you're fine just where you are. All it may take is to implement ways to give your current place some of the "wants" from off that first list.
But if relocating is still the itch that needs to be scratched, then this is the hour for action. Relocating allows us to be proactive with our curiosity.
If we've ever wondered what it'd be like to live someplace different this is the time to wonder no longer.
Moving houses (cities, countries, etc.) lets us dress up our yearnings and turn them inside out. We're free to follow where this curiosity takes us, for as far as we have the interest, inclination or finances.
This fabulous chance to relocate elsewhere can take some getting used to. Up to this time career commitments and family priorities have largely determined the pattern of our decision making.
Others first, as well as other things first, have largely influenced how our decisions have been come to.
With retirement this changes. It's like the floor suddenly shifts. We hold the reins. It can seem almost too much autonomy.
It sounds odd to now be able to say, "Here's where I'll move. This is where I want to be." But trust me.
It'll sink in. A step at a time.
Or it'll come as a leap of confidence. We'll simply know that relocating (or staying put) is the thing to do.
We've done our homework. We've paid attention to our mental calculations and the equally wise urgings of our hearts. Decisions will come as they're meant to.
Perhaps it was easier when there were fewer options. Folks until not so very long ago retired without the benefit of the many planning aids that are our resources today.
We can be grateful these times let us try more possibilities, or at least let us be tantalized by them, knowing they're doable.
In the meantime, in the buildup to retirement, and most certainly within the hopefully productive span of retirement years, it's smart to be cognizant of the guidance inside us that we tap into every day.
This guidance often yields itself only when we take action.
It can be any small amount of action. Action of any kind is a signal that we intend to move forward and are doing so right now.
This activates the help we need for that moment. It gets us there. It can be our truest guide for finding the gold in the years ahead wherever we are, wherever we choose to move or decide to stay.
I believe each of us knows when we're living our best life. It comes from taking stock and investing in where we are now. This is certainly the case when careers are over and free time flows to us.
We still have some work to do. We should continually test the waters. We learn to have no regrets for what has passed. It involves focusing our best on the present moment, which is the front porch to the future.
Our best life makes itself known. We feel happy deep down and all around. It's the happiness that puts to advantage everything we've worked and dreamed for.
Ro Giencke - January 29, 2015
We live in agitated times. There's unrest everywhere.
This sense of upheaval is palpable.
It's on the surface where it can be seen and felt and affects the millions.
Unrest is within us as well, and that can be where the most harm is done.
Disgruntled lives are common. Many folks are seriously unhappy. Almost all of us are deeply concerned about the state of the world.
We wonder about the place we're creating out of this one earth. We harbor environments where children can't play safely or freely, and human potential is cramped or goes wasted.
Recognition of our failure, and the realization of our shortcomings, in dealing with real needs is great.
We turn on the news and see hatred rage. We're bowled over by or tremble at the violence in all its shapes. Harsh cries are a cacophony we cannot dodge.
We see continual protests. Someone is always protesting something. It may be an individual, a few persons or large marching groups calling attention to some concern.
The media add their part to scenes of strife and discord with coverage replayed over and over.
You begin to think these are the only happenings going on. You can be misled to believe there's no such thing as nice, happy and normal any more.
It's time to shake off this disordered existence we've made for us. Concentrating only on the negative, while not trying at the same time to counterbalance the actual ills of these times about us, is causing huge damage to the fabric of our daily lives.
Even from sincere intent we're skewing perspective when we let fear and lashing out and loud voices raised for or against any situation be the guide for how we proceed in solving the big and many times smaller and always thorny or downright critical problems.
Keeping with this way is a detriment to the well-being of those for whom society was formed to protect, especially the young and those who require a sharing hand.
For every angry shout-out, or clenched fist, for every smart-aleck comment or cutting remark, we're called instead to think and act with a fresh sense of the fragility of the framework by which we are all connected.
The furor that seethes that has become part of our universal culture has need of a lot of mending if it's going to settle down. It takes some practice but it can be done.
We can begin by collectively lowering our tone. Lower the decibel and gained harmony is an instinctual response.
Respect another's view. Hear their point. Let the other person have their turn. Be happy for another's success. Smile. It opens doors and hearts and lets the sunshine in.
Chill a bit. Don't take everything personally. Don't lightly take offense. Maybe you simply misread a signal or misconstrued what was said. Most of us are trying our best. Let's do our best to remember this.
Be the first to apologize. Don't be afraid to forgive someone when the chance is offered. It can settle a score or cancel a dispute quicker than any other attempt at resolution of an issue.
Be more generous than you've tried before. Notice the generosity around you. Believe your day, and the next person you meet, is the bearer of good.
You know the right thing to do. The right thing to do is in each of us.
It's in us because it's the pilot system put into human nature to hold society together. The more we're aware we have guidance available to us to act for good the more we change our actions to follow along those lines.
We determine whether we want to cooperate with this benevolent driving force within us. When we do, and this means many of us (not just a few), it starts having a major effect.
Be considerate is key. It's a form of hospitality. Kind actions spread when consideration goes wholesale. This is the forward movement we should strive for.
Be kind and see agitation decrease. Be kind and you help everyone beginning with you. Together we can forge a new spirit from our agitated times. Together we can add to peace.
Ro Giencke - January 19, 2015
We wandered onto the subject of cool when one of us noted its longevity among us.
Cool has been in our vocabulary forever, it seems, as a handy filler and describer of things.
Al and I agree cool was around when we were young. We've used the word cool since we learned (at about fourteen) that we weren't cool but there was hope that someday we could be.
In the meantime, looking around, recognizing the coolness factor wasn't with us, there were obviously those who were cool, and many diverse things too, which did fit the cool bill.
To be considered cool was coveted then and it's the same today. But cool means more than being utterly enviable and having the world figured out.
Cool signifies whatever you want cool to be. That's the genius part of cool. It doesn't get much easier than that. It describes something suitably enough and you move on. No wonder cool hangs around.
We chuckled at the coincidence of timing. Shortly after commenting on cool's staying power cool made it into the daily comics.
It was in Baby Blues that cool appeared. It's in a scene showing Hammie (my favorite comic strip little fellow ) and his grandpa. They're in the backyard and you get the impression the grandpa is at Hammie's house for a visit.
Hammie says to his grandpa something like this: "So then we're agreed. The only word we have in common is cool."
That seals it as far as I'm concerned. Cool still reigns. A six year old gives cool his stamp of approval for millions of comic strip followers to read.
This led us to think about slang we picked up when young. These were the words popular around us. We learned these words or phrases from older siblings, or from peers far savvier than us, and ahead of the curve in fads, or through TV which was continually tossing out catchy phrases.
Likely we ran our slang words into the ground. It must have driven our parents batty to hear phrases whose cool factor they couldn't see repeated all day long.
Interestingly, very few of those then cool words have stayed with us we find. Searching around, I came up with "it was a blast." Everything was a blast in those days as a statement of having fun. Another recalled phrase was "far out" - like in "far out, man."
For years "neat" had the same connotation as cool. Then it sort of disappeared, or has withdrawn a bit.
There we drew a blank until Al recalled groovy. We grew hilarious over that, so out of our heads has that word been.
Groovy was our generation's pet word for ages it seems. When we exhausted its freshness it evaporated into thin air. It got shelved with other former hard hitters like 23 skidoo.
That pat phrase of the 1920s - the flapper generation's buzz line - merely drew guffaws from us as young folks when we heard it the first time. Groovy no doubt will have the same impact on those younger than us and we give them that, let them laugh.
Coming out of the era in which "sweet" as slang has had its dominance the handy bywords of the newest generation are now establishing themselves. We hear them most, and hear them best, at restaurants when we eat out and where we're served by a young wait staff.
Their words get served up along with the food and drinks for us to chew over. Give your order and the response is "awesome." Tell the person who tends your table that you've enjoyed the meal and "perfect" is the sure-to-be reply, In any restaurant, in any place, these stock responses are mechanically trotted out. You can bet on it.
Slang is the simple (some might say mindless) phrases that indicate we're in the conversation even when sometimes we actually aren't.. It lets us be friendly, noncommittal and connecting all at the same time. There's something comforting about a word so ready to work so generously for us and that's why slang is apt for most situations.
Frequently used phrases repeated by many catch a cultural moment. For what they're worth they help define us and our times.
Whether we look on something as groovy, cool, awesome, sweet or perfect we're in the game. We use these words to nimbly keep up because in the end, no one wants to be left behind.
Ro Giencke - January 12, 2015
Hello 2015!
It was recently pointed out that, with the new year in, we're now as close to the year 2030 as to 2000.
Yikes was my first thought, and then I thought about it some more.
Most of us remember the millennial year and the fears which preceded it. We hoped electricity grids would continue to work and that computers would prove digitally capable of transfer to the new century along with the rest of us.
All that feels an astonishingly long time ago. It registers, in a way, as ancient history and at the same time it was gone in a flash.
As a grade-schooler in the 1960s the year 2000 seemed light ages away. It was a date so far in the future it had the magic of the almost unobtainable.
It was so distant you could imagine anything about it. No one could tell you it couldn't happen. No one could tell you the wildest idea about it couldn't come true.
If thought about at all, 2000 was presented in terms of futuristic travel and marvelous inventions. Cars would self-drive is one of the things I remember reading about.
This particular prognostication was perhaps written up in a scholastic newspaper, distributed weekly in the elementary classes in those years. The article came with an illustration of a dad at the steering wheel of a moving car.
He was depicted looking very carefree. He was taking his turn at a board game being played by the kids on a kind of table or console between the front seat and back seat, where they were.
Perhaps he was simply looking on with affable interest but the thing is, his eyes weren't on the road.
Mom had her own relaxed expression as the family drove along. Incredibly, not one of them showed any concern about where the car was going. It impressed me sufficiently to really stick.
Fifteen years by fifteen years time moves on. Each year begins a new slate bringing us ever closer to a new defined future. At the same time the old year and its undone business comes along with the switch of the calendar.
Entry into the new year begins to shift meaning for lots of us as we move on in life. Dread of change, which can feel like undue upheaval, can come with the approach of new times.
This is a reason for lack of enthusiasm about the new year for some folks. The new year is unknown. It represents uncharted territory which, as you get older, forecasts an increasingly more challenging course.
Perhaps it's a subconscious wish to hold on to what's familiar. At any rate, numbers of us aren't giddy at prospects of a new year ahead.
It's my hunch many are actually sad to see the old year go, even with its rough patches, which a year will give.
It's takes courage to expect good in change. Maybe that's what some of us run low on. It can require plenty of stamina to trust that good often comes with the new.
A few days into January a friend and I exchanged New Year's greetings. I.'m one who likes to say Happy New Year as often and to as many as I can. It's a friendly wish that helps to usher in January. It puts you on solid footing with all that is to come.
She followed up by wondering aloud what, exactly, 2015 would bring. "It'll bring good," was my prompt assurance..
My automatic reply surprised me by its intensity. It was such an emphatic pronouncement. And yet it seemed right when I reflected on it. It's absolutely right to believe the new year will bring good.
It reminded me of a message on a tee-shirt I'd seen at the New Year. I noticed it because it said "Believe."
Believe is a word which always makes me take note. Underneath "Believe" was the image of a butterfly and two words: "Butterfly effect."
Here's a young idealist was my thought as tee-shirt girl went by. She could have been me that many years ago.
My slogans for living weren't printed on tee-shirts back then but my philosophy was a similar match to hers. And they're still my slogans for living well, my own perspective for navigating this interesting world.
"Believe ... Butterfly effect " didn't stay on the tee-shirt, It began to accompany my thinking as it was intended to transmit itself.
The message iterates the theory that seemingly insignificant actions repeated over and over can have dramatic changing results.
It's like suggesting that the gentle flapping of butterfly wings can start a long chain of air disturbances that can cause a tempest of global proportions.
If something so gentle as myriads of butterflies can ultimately have widespread consequences, then surely repeated persistent actions of belief, good will and kindness can work their power too.
These actions of will and choice can generate momentum that becomes positively sustained movement to impact and bring regenerative well-being to the face of the earth.
"Believe . . . Butterfly effect" has already traveled beyond tee-shirt girl. Just today I overheard snatches of conversation between two women who, running into each other in a supermarket parking lot, were.wishing each other a happy new year.
Their exchange was like between my friend and me. It ended with one of them saying, with conviction to her statement, that the new year would certainly hold good.
Maybe their visit drifted to me, which otherwise might have been missed, because "Believe . . . Butterfly effect" is a radar switched on to pick up and to absorb the good that is going on around you.
This is how I interpret, anyway, the chance to hear my belief in the good 2015 will bring repeated by the stranger in the grocery store parking lot.
One person by one person the world can benefit from belief in good.
It's advantageous to all of us to say good things and do good things. We can think of these actions as butterfly wings that can change events if not the entire world,
Ro Giencke - January 6, 2015
Some places are so fabulous that words and photos hardly do justice but
we keep trying.
This is how it was with a recent land tour of Italy and cruise
taken by our friends this past fall.
After their return they wrote up a travelog which they then shared with
those of us who were tracking their vacation through their posted emails as
they journeyed through Italy and then sailed from port to port.
Their travel account, thorough in information and lively with detail, put
us there with them in the historic places and charming Slovenian villages.
They pulled out chairs for us so we could feast with them on spreads of delicious
food. They regaled us with interesting encounters come upon by chance, or
directed to through research on their part before their trip.
When they wrote of flying over the Irish coast it joggled a memory of
our first trip to Europe. Our flight took us across Ireland just before dawn. You
could see scattered lights as you looked down, and we could also start to
discern actual countryside as night began to retreat.
We came in low over the North Sea with dawn breaking. The sky was all
pink. From our aerial elevation the sea was gentle as a pond. (Which I really
marveled at, always thinking of the North Sea as a stormy gulf between England
and France).
I was thankful to our friends for writing about their experience of this,
for it awakened our association with our flight to Amsterdam.
They wrote about walking miles in Rome. They bought gelato, found pizza
that they’d go back for in a heartbeat dodged crazy traffic and soaked up the
present and past, which breathes life from each other in the Eternal City.
After the shops and markets at Campo de’ Fiori they passed the Monument
to Vittorio Emanuele II (first king of unified Italy as they added) and came to
the Palazzo Venezia.
This building in the central Rome district, the residence of Cardinals, comes
with a lineage. It was built in 336, rebuilt in 833 and in 1451 had a reconfiguration
of space with more construction done at that time.
The Palazzo, at this time, was one of the first buildings to quarry
rocks from the nearby Coliseum. This became a common practice in the middle
ages and lasted into the 17th century. The multitude of temples and
ancient buildings close at hand was a builder’s treasure trove.
In our visit to the Vatican five years ago we were told parts of it are
built from rock quarried from the Coliseum. The old Roman landmark was viewed by
the pragmatic Romans of that era as a handy provider of building supplies. It was like a
Home Depot store of the medieval ages.
The Adriatic ports our friends visited, and the Amalfi coast afterwards,
were especially enjoyed.
These spots, which they explored on foot, and
went on tours into the countryside, struck a
chord. It was as if they were saying, Here we have what's important in life.
Maybe it's because our friends were first-time travelers. Partially they
may have been smitten because everything was new. All they did was novel to their
experience and was presented well in animated settings.
The mild sunny weather quite likely also had its influence. The
pleasant day-after-day conditions softened all the fibers of their being, as
good weather does to vacationers far from home.
They were feeling, as many of us who visit the Mediterranean
and the Adriatic areas, that the residents there grasp something essential which we're still in the process of coming to understand.
For thousands of years their culture, separate by region but united as
if by sun, an easeful view which in part comes from realizing life will have its way, has flourished, waned and been reborn in this
crossing point of western civilization.
From out of all of this has evolved a sense of what’s important from
what is not so much. This in turn has been crafted into a lifestyle with impact
to anyone visiting from elsewhere.
The combination of respect for food as a source of life, and food as a connector
for life's moments (ordinary moments as well as the eventful), the significance
of close ties (family and friendships unbroken through the generations), of
wine as a salute to life, and gracious weather shapes this region of the Mediterranean and
Adriatic.
In the bustle in these places, where there is bustle, there's also a
peace which just knocks us over, it can be so unknown to us before.
I'll be thinking of things our friends wrote about these different
places for a long time to come.
We’ll read or hear about these places and be reminded they were there, and
that they mentioned them in the real and clear picture they drew for us.
When in Rome, remember it. When we’re anywhere (might be a good thought) remember it.
Let us pay attention to our settings and our experiences
and appreciate them as the building materials in our lives. Let us, where we
can, share something of these things with others.
We all gain from sharing. When we send out from what’s good in our life
there’s an inclination to build and reconstruct with improvement as a natural end goal. Let us all
be in the sphere of positive building in this new year of 2015.
Ro Giencke - December 27, 2014
Flurry can
be the mixed bag of precipitation which here in Minnesota has fallen from recent skies.
In another observational sense it's the collective
stir and action of getting ready for the December holidays.
The seasonal bustle that manifests through multiple events on the calendar, special
baking which goes on, shopping for presents, gift wrapping, and all the festive
touches lavishly bestowed, is hopefully giving our adrenaline systems a mildly
stimulating workout and not draining us silly.
Wherever we are in the midst of our holiday preparations (which can
last a great long time, and extend into the New Year) we’re wise to remember a wonderful truth.
Joy is very real within this period of time, and in us, and among us all.
We may as well stop right now and think about it. Joy is the underlining
theme of the season. It’s there in the happiness, the delight, the anticipation
and the gathering of family and friends, some not seen since last holiday time or
before.
In all the experiences that come with living the fact of joy as a constant
in our human makeup is very important to how we view this season and all the
weeks of the year.
Joy is happiness that knows how to stick around through thick and thin.
It isn’t lost or misplaced, as it can seem to be, when something isn't going well.
It can be unimaginable to believe in joy in the deepest trials and grief which, like a specter, streaks through our earthly existence. Nevertheless, we do well to acknowledge joy as part of the strong thread of who we are, as it’s meant to be.
To recognize the place joy has in our life is to say we understand life
has shades of meaning and works by methods we don’t always grasp at the moment.
When we depend on joy as there, even when our sense of it comes up paltry
to bare, we affirm trust in its presence. It's a signal to the world that we're on secure ground. We know joy is to be found when
we look around.
Joy is
steadier and deeper than the happiness we feel (or don't feel) as we go through
any given day.
When we expect there'll be something to be happy about it usually shows up. In time this becomes a way of approaching life in general. This translates to joy as we recognize the treasure in each fleeting moment.
There was
advice I once read that I’ve come to appreciate, coming to the wisdom in it. The suggestion
was to cross an item off your list that isn't bringing you joy, and add (in a
second column) an item that has the intention of fun about it.
The item you
identify as fun will probably also introduce more joy into your routine.
The more we
can identify what is fun for us, and worth building time for, the more we
get to the things with meaning for us. This frees joy to find us easier, and
that can change everything over the long haul.
When days are cool, as they get to be in late December, the warmth is in
thoughts of special ones. Holiday cheer wraps a bright bow around everyone, and
this too is joy.
The twinkle of holiday lights largely brightens this dark time of the
year. Not so dark - where there is cheer! Enjoy these days, so dark in
nature's detail, but shining, beautiful and hopeful in the context of the holiday
season.
Ro Giencke – December 24, 2014
It’s a
wonderful time of the year.
We hear again the beautiful old carols and picture
all the different moments the music has entered our hearts to place us at the
Christmas scene.
As official
winter begins (yesterday was winter solstice) we’re in a bit of a weather warm-up. This
didn’t look very likely after an early chilly start to the season.
Our lawns,
back to emerald green, have thrown off their snowy quilt for the time being.
With
staying snow arriving November 10 we were prepared for another endless stretch
of snow cover like last year. This changeable cycle, perhaps attributable to El Nino, is called a reprieve by many of us.
Chances for
a white holiday are discussed daily. Green grass may be very temporary. The forecast has
snow in it before Christmas Day.
There were three days of fifty degree readings last week. It was as though we collectively packed up and
moved to Tennessee.
It rained the last day of this mid-month mild spell. As
temperatures fell precipitation came as freezing rain before changing over to
snow. We were left with an inch of snow on ground that had been newly bare.
The brief transition to freezing rain glued our mailbox shut. It took more than a yank to break the
ice lock on the mailbox door the next day.
When I
couldn’t open it (with as determined a pull as I could muster) there was no
question as to the next step. I called Al. He had more persuasive influence. He wrenched the door free so we could put out the last of our Christmas cards.
While the thermometer in
these parts has been everywhere the sun isn’t around at all.
We recall two
sunny days this month but (for honesty’s sake) we didn’t start counting until
the sun started not to show up. December 22 being today, two bright days aren't a
great percentage based on our informal recall.
There was one other sun sighting
besides the two noted days. This third appearance brought pure joy.
Sun wasn’t
in the forecast for that day. It just happened. The sun broke through cloud cover, which had
hung on all day, and dazzled us for about thirty minutes toward setting time.
The first Saturday
of December was the sunniest day as we scan our memory.
We opted not to go directly home after finishing up some shopping that
afternoon. Maybe the cheerful sun had some
part in it. Maybe it was teasing us to stay out in it and enjoy it.
Constructing
our plan on the spot, we decided to make a drive of the area we were in. (We
know the area somewhat, but you can always learn a place better.)
The idea was that we'd wind up in an an adjacent neighborhood and eat out. Maybe, without formulating it as a thought, it was kind of a celebration of the sunny day and the sparkle that overlays the holiday season.
It was
beautifully sunny. The sun came in mellow through the car windows. We remarked
on the sun. We admired it, as you do winter sun. We commented that it did much (in
theory, anyway) to offset the coolness in the air.
The sun dropped behind the snowy hills as late afternoon came on. It created an orangeish
glow at the horizon where the low sun remained visible through scattered stands of
evergreens.
As the sun set we
thought we were saying goodbye to the sun until tomorrow. We didn’t have a clue how long its
absence would be.
It deserved a much grander send-off. For sure I know I’d
have whispered to it as it sank out of sight, “Goodbye, farewell, old friend, until
we meet again.”
Ro Giencke –
December 22, 2014
A new word has entered my
vocabulary and it ripples with Italian flair.
Rightly so, for it comes from the
Italian.
The word is sprezzatura. It rolls
off the tongue with a skip and a knowing wink.
It has pizzazz. It’s fun to say
(or hear it said). Mellifluously it suggests dashing, sparkling, carefree. Even before you know what sprezzatura
means your instinct is to pocket the word to make it your own.
Then you find
out the word in Italian pretty much means what you intuitively figure out it suggests. It’s the happy knack of making yourself look good. It’s the artful presentation of you to the world.
Sprezzatura in the fashion
sense is the total effect of the clothing we wear through the seemingly
unthinking touches we give it. It’s dressing with a statement of nonchalant
confidence to it.
I learned the word while
visiting “Italian Style,” the Italian fashion retrospective currently showing
at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (MIA).
The style show, organized by the
Victoria and Albert Museum, London, depicts the evolution of the Italian fashion
industry from 1945 to the present.
“Italian Style” runs through
January 4, 2015. Time is running out to catch it while it's in town. It makes
a great holiday outing. Extended hours now in effect throw you a break so that
you can still fit it in.
We went to see the show earlier
in the Minnesota visit. Making it a forenoon event won us some time before
things got busier. We appreciated our decision to get a move on it and be there
prompt at forenoon opening.
There was plenty of elbow
room as we began. It allowed us to proceed leisurely to not miss anything. We
could circle back to rooms already visited when another peek at the stylish
displays was warranted.
Beautiful embellished gowns,
impeccable suits, sportswear, leather goods (luggage, handbags, gloves, shoes)
and textiles that make up the display are the creations of Italy’s gallery of world-famous
designers.
Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Fendi and Armani are names in contemporary Italian fashion but
the review is thorough in giving the Italian fashion industry its due all the way back to its postwar beginnings.
Informative panels, pictures,
films, along with the clothing exhibits which are the star of the show, tell the story of the fashion
dynasties of Milan, Florence and Rome.
These are the fabled designers with their influence on men and women’s wear,
the association with luxury by which their labels are known, and the integrity of the fabrics and
workmanship that go into their products.
The rich tints, sumptuous
fabrics and meticulous detailing make you feel you’re on the movie set of your own
“Roman Holiday” as you mosey along.
I learned more than a handy
new word with our visit to "Italian Style." The fashion exhibit is a history and cultural lesson that adds perspective to the program as a whole.
For instance, it was new to us that the
Marshall Plan, our American aid program set up after WWII, was instrumental in mobilizing the Italian clothing industry after the ruinous years of war.
Then Hollywood came along
and was swept off its feet by all things Italian.
Big-screen entertainment, with its huge
impact on mid 20th century America, gathered up its movie audiences and most of the
rest of us to include us in its love affair with Italy.
The Hollywood connection
with Italy stayed strong into the 1960s. Movies were filmed on location in
Italy and suddenly Italy was the new international playground for stars and celebrities.
Italian actresses like Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobrigida were household names. Italian scenes became familiar through movies like “Roman
Holiday,” in which Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant play out their fleeting chance
at love against the stately background of 1950's Rome.
Jacqueline Kennedy marked her vote for Italian design when she ordered from Valentino. We were taking our cues from the well dressed and the well dressed were looking to Paris and the fashion houses of Italy.
American consumers with growing disposable income wanted more than to simply emulate the smart dressers of the day.
Increasing contact with European culture, intensified by the US military presence there during WWII, created a desire to add Continental suavity to hometown
ingenuity.
All of this contributed to the interest in Italian fashion, which remains a notable player in fashion today despite many changes as fashion becomes a global industry.
With information gained in
the walk-throughs of the different exhibit rooms I found myself, at the end of
“Italian Style,” circling back to the word sprezzatura.
I like the word not only for
how it sounds. It's useful for describing my clothing style (as I
wish it to be). In truth, sprezzatura is more an idea. It's what I could pull off if I put commitment to the result to the test.
Clearly I’ve got the hang of
casual, which is part of what sprezzatura suggests to me.
This aspect of my personal style
is well broken in. My closet holds simple, functional pieces. It gets me
dressed fast. It can be thought of as sturdy pieces and mindlessly simple
assemblage.
To demonstrate that something
tangible has come from grasping the nuances of sprezzatura means I have a job
to do.
It'll take concentrated effort to get to the place where it looks like
it takes no time at all to get dressed, and to make it seem all nicely fitting
(in the Italian way), and absolutely uncontrived.
“Italian Style” made me take
note of the inner workings of style. It helped me see that many of us, not
clothes-conscious in one sense, manage to create a personal style that suits us
and, more importantly, let’s who we are shine through
“Italian Style” is gentle
encouragement to value what we wear as the conscious choices of who we are,
with some of the best in apparel as standards to hold up to our light.
The exhibit put a little
fire under me. Afterwards, I set down some pointers for getting closer to
sprezzatura my way.
The thoughts jotted down
(which follow) are a mix of ideas picked up from everywhere.
A few borrowed from
somewhere else, a few my own interpretation. Like the real sprezzatura the
secret is to take it all and make it your own.
Sprezzatura
– style your way
When you put on what you
wear each day keep in mind that looking at the top of your game is often about
simple presentation.
A confident style (as if
your outfit was effortlessly pulled together) is not always as breezily constructed
as it appears. It usually takes time and work. Judge if that extra time and
consideration is a priority for you.
Mix up what you wear. Play
with your pieces. Create new matches. Introduce unexpected pieces to signature
staples to keep your personal style fresh.
The key to dressing well and
happily is to have items in your closet that you love and that flatter you.
You know the ones they are!
Invest in versions of your
favorite pieces. Wearing what you like the most gets you closer to your
authentic look. The ease this gives you in turn boosts your clothes authority.
Dress more to feel good and
dress less to try to compare yourself to others. Being you is always
the best first step in getting yourself together.
Reducing your closet
inventory can be a good thing. It lets you focus on the clothes that really
speak to you and which project you.
When it fits don't you just know it!
When the mirror says you nailed the look the energy you receive from this affirmation is amazing.
Accessories (everything from
handbag to wristwatch to Grandma’s old brooch) can draw attention away from what you have on,
which is sometimes exactly what you want. They can put focus on your outfit as
well. Know how to utilize accessories to retool your basic look.
Think of a scarf as an investment piece. Get smart in the ways to tie a scarf. Keep a few quality scarves
(wool, silk, cotton) in your fashion arsenal. You have an ally in your scarf.
It’s like a buddy who plays sidekick for you.
What you put on your feet is
eminently important. Fashion is fashion, but with style there’s a spot for being
comfortable.
Style, after all, is the look you own. If your feet feel good it’s
likely you do too.
That transmits to everything. It shapes how you’re
perceived. Feel free to skip the cramped toes, stiletto height, or any other fashion trend if it doesn’t
make you smile an hour after you put it on.
Get up and get dressed for
the miracle that meets you today. This
is my own bit of fashion advice. It popped into my head a couple years ago and
I liked it and wrote it down.
Ro Giencke – December 13,
2014
We came through a
small town west of the Cities the other day which was all decked out for the season.
Christmas decorations of vintage origin dressed up the streets.
The holiday display began at
the very edge of town, where the first buildings sprang up.
The lighting continued
through the next section of businesses and main street residences and brought
its old-fashioned charm to the end of town. I could picture the sweet twinkle
of lights if you drove this way at night.
We commented on the spirit
of these small towns to keep an identity and be stewards of the community
traditions that often link many generations.
Years ago, when everything
wasn't lit at night as it is now, you can imagine the joy and wonder in the
small towns whose streets through the Christmas season were brightened by
municipal holiday lights.
The lights were simple (and
charming because of their simplicity). They were saved forever and put up each year.
Elaborate lighting and presentation
are the norm almost everywhere these days. Society is always craving "more." Pretty and sufficient are no longer enough. We expect something to be continually novel if it's to interest us.
This is why this season brings
out an appreciation for yesterday in many of us. The past evokes remembrances of more easily appreciated ways
and times.
The small town lights seen with my husband called
to mind my hometown at Christmas when I was small.
The electric glow of the December streets after dark created an aura of anticipation for the happy arrival of Christmas Day as the town trundled through weeks of short daylight and the first cold snaps of winter.
We shopped for presents
(as a family, probably making one Christmas shopping trip downtown each year). We went after
supper – in the cold and dark - after the dishes were done.
In other blogs I’ve written
about Christmas shopping as a girl. My brother and me - at some age allowed to go off together on our own - covered the few blocks of shops handily in the time given to get our purchasing done.
With spending money in our pockets we were as much on the lookout
for what we hoped to receive as what we'd set out to buy. We were independent, out in the crowds and Christmas was coming. Nothing could have been finer.
These shopping trips,
paltry as a grand total as they'd be if actually tallied up, persist as a pleasant memory of holiday expeditions carried out a hundred times.
Strings of festive street lights and the ringing of bells on opened store doors stand out as impressions made on two young kids.The
cheerful lighting made us welcome and the store bells ushered us into the warmth inside.
My friend Barb also has a story
of small town lights. Eighteen years ago she and her husband found themselves
in one of the range cities, the catch phrase for the rugged mining towns that
dot the Minnesota Iron Range.
Dark comes early in December
in the north country. Dusk is a brushstroke away from the pitch black of long
cold night. They were still a good stretch from home as the light began to steal away.
The town's old-time
Christmas decorations impressed Barb as she noticed them from the car.
They warmed her through and through,
catching her (as they did) at a tired moment at the end of the day. Their day had been spent checking out assisted living places for a relative (the reason for the
trip to "the range").
Anyone who has done this kind of looking can
appreciate the weariness that hits after the search has gone on for a period of time. Barb was
in need of a lift and the Christmas lights delivered.
"The garland strung
across the main street was still the real thing" she notes of the transformed street that filled her with delight.
By “the real thing” she alludes
to the evergreen boughs that made up the garlands.
The fragrant branches would have been gathered from surrounding forestland to compose the green living banner above the commercial district that marked
downtown.
This is not done so commonly now, which makes the recollection extra
special to her.
"All garlands arched to
the corner of the main street in the form of a crown where a bright star was
hung, with all its old wattage light bulbs shining like the North Star.”
“It was snowing
lightly" she adds, underscoring the charm a soft drift of snowflakes lends
to a holiday scene.
"It was magical
and romantic," she says of the experience. "That old town charm . . . I felt like a little girl again in the
tiny port city of Superior, Wisconsin."
Ro Giencke - December 5, 2014
“In proposing a collection
of Mom's recipes, these are the recipes she could make with her eyes closed, or
one hand behind her back, if you get the idea.”
These were the words that last year launched our family’s heritage cookbook project.
The idea had been working on
me for some time. It was hastened along when several of us discovered we held differing versions of a cookie recipe Mom made every Christmas and Easter in
our growing-up years.
It wasn't new to me that recipes can alter relatively soon after leaving their home base,
either by how they are copied down, interpreted according to directions
given, or purposely tweaked afterwards. But the surprise of it was still an impact.
Recipes follow a decidedly
evolutionary pattern. They mutate over time and by the number of hands they
pass through. Their transitory nature after they ensue from their origins felt like a
revelation when the experience happened to us.
There’s fragility in
anything of substance. Change and loss come to everything. This is true also
with family recipes as we learned.
It was clearly time to collect and
preserve this loose treasury of Mom’s recipes, and there was no better time than
now.
The recipes we dug into our
files for, to write out to put together into a cookbook, mostly had their
origins with Mom as we began to formulate the scope of this heritage volume.
Some of us contributed favorite
recipes but the emphasis was on the main dishes, breads, desserts, homemade jams and miscellaneous food items under Mom’s mastery as she fed all who came to her
table.
These were the recipes we associated
with her busy kitchen and the family times when the call to eat was the defining moment of the day.
My recipe files
and my sister’s are especially full of Mom’s recipes. Some are recipes she wrote
out for us. Other recipes – recipes Mom used often - were copied down by us out
of her recipe books.
A few recipes were written down while watching Mom measure and stir as she made a dish for
which we wanted the recipe. We wanted to ensure we could duplicate her steps. Putting
what she did on paper was a good start.
These were the recipes that were in her
head. She’d made them for so long she didn’t know where she came by them or if there was a written recipe for them. With these recipes she shared best by showing us
rather than writing them down.
Some of Mom’s recipes,
and my remembrances of food in our family life, have been written about at this
web site. Food is a big deal and comes easily to be written about.
If I were to
name one recipe that says Mom, out of the many which qualify to share top billing
as favorite foods she made, it would be brownies.
Brownies were the
treat we couldn’t get enough of as kids. They were made mostly for special
occasions, such as for company. Their spaced-out appearances made brownies
extra special.
The recipe came
from a relative. Mom made up her own chocolate icing to frost the bars, which makes a 9” x 9” pan. She arranged three rows of walnut halves (a total of nine
walnuts) on the icing as a finishing touch.
She made
brownies to serve when Al's parents traveled to Minnesota for our wedding. The
two sets of parents met for the first time two days before the wedding date.
His folks, upon arrival in town, were invited to my folks' place. When we all came into the house together, with the good cheer of a happy group, I saw the
covered pan of brownies in the kitchen for serving later.
It was pleasant to know that these bars, so consistently delicious, and going back so far with us, were to be part of our family’s welcome to my future in-laws.
There were other
goodies on the platter passed around with coffee that night. The brownies stand out. They were that good.
About this time Mom
began to make Hershey Brownies, a recipe that came from my sister-in-law, a
great cook. This recipe is
for a 9 x 13” pan. The bigger yield was what Mom was looking for then as the
family started to grow.
More of us home for family gatherings meant more food was
needed. The large pan of brownies provided more pieces, and that was
important.
Mom made many
varieties of cookies through the years. Chocolate chip cookies and peanut
butter cookies were made most often, probably based on what we kids liked.
Her cookbooks, with food stains (we kids liked to "help") and her written-in
notations on certain pages, point to the recipes used the most.
By far, molasses
crinkles were Mom's favorite cookie. My kids were with her on this.
As with all
the grandchildren, these were happy trips to Grandpa and Grandma’s house. There
was always something freshly baked to welcome us. No one who visited them ever lacked for snacks or dessert.
Many times in those years the cookie jar was full of molasses crinkles. With our small ones as
allies, Mom was able to indulge her preference for the crisp, spicy cookie.
Jello in
multiple flavors was a staple on Mom’s kitchen shelves. She made Jello in summer
as a light touch and made Jello salad for the holiday table every year.
The Christmas table
derived some of its festivity from the seasonally colored Jello salad. Mom used red (strawberry) Jello or green (lime) Jello with usually some kind of fruit
folded in.
A Minnesota heritage
cookbook is incomplete without a Jello recipe. Jello had a dominant sway then (less so today).
Jello’s place on the table was true for our family as well. Our cookbook
endeavor would have to incorporate a Jello recipe or two as we began the vast
collecting task.
In later years Mom
became a pro at making Knox Blocks. It was my recipe to begin with. I shared it
with her. As it turned out, she found she had a hit with it with the grandkids.
Jello, Knox
gelatin and boiling water are the only ingredients. The soupy mixture is poured
into glass pans, refrigerated and cut into squares when set. Knox Blox is bright-colored and squiggly. Under-ten
is the age to enjoy it most.
Knox Blocks was
a summertime treat that rivaled Rice Krispie bars for how it made the grandkids
smile to eat it.
It was another recipe to put in the cookbook. It would stand
as a remembrance of the years when to cook and make for the grandkids was for
Mom - everything.
Others in the
family, asked to name a food or recipe they link to Mom, would rightfully answer homemade bread.
Mom loved to bake bread. We were familiar with the heavenly
aroma of bread cooling from the oven and the sight of the kneaded dough rising
in the big covered bowls beforehand.
She used a basic
yeast dough recipe which lent itself to several variations. Her homemade pizza dough was made from this.
This recipe was used for crispellis, finger-length slices of
dough deep-fried in oil and rolled in powdered sugar, which was the Christmas Eve dessert
we borrowed from our Italian side.
Mom's cinnamon
rolls, from this same yeast dough recipe, were outstanding. The soft warm rolls
were all gooey caramel on top where dots of butter and the sprinkling of brown
sugar and cinnamon introduced themselves and agreed to harmonize.
By the time we
younger kids came on the scene she was baking less bread. This wasn’t strictly her choice.
Store-bought bread had established itself as budget friendly and convenient. Moreover, we kids probably
preferred the pre-sliced white slices that made good and easy toast.
She continued to
bake loaves of bread, particularly Swedish limpa, a dark, dense and delicious
rye bread which I like to this day.
In our school
days Mom occasionally made Boston Brown Bread, which is more like a steamed
pudding. It has whole wheat flour and cornmeal in it, molasses, sour milk and raisins. It’s iron-rich in every
way.
The bread was sometimes
made in the pressure cooker although the original directions say to steam three
hours, cover with wax paper and tie it with a string (an old recipe).
This
recipe came out when the supper meal was beans, which cooked at low heat on the stove through the afternoon. It was a
bread from Mom’s girlhood and first made by my grandmother. Even then the tracks of a recipe felt long.
Mom's Scandinavian
background influenced her tastes in food and the foods she prepared. Potatoes
and bread, which her family consumed as basics, were her stock in trade as she put
meals on the table to fill up her big family.
Rice porridge (the
recipe coming from a Norwegian-American aunt) was liked by most of us. I’ve written
about rice porridge in a previous blog.
Norwegian fruit
soup, also possibly the subject of a previous blog, was a winter dish like rice porridge. It was generous with dried fruits – prunes, apricots, raisins – and
thickened with tapioca. Some of us liked it, some didn’t.
The relative who
gave Mom the brownie recipe additionally provided the lefse recipe the family still
uses.
We've heard lefse called a Norwegian burrito but that doesn’t quite describe
it except the similarity of folding it with something inside it.
Mom didn’t make lefse
often. Occasionally, on a cold winter Sunday afternoon, with mashed
potatoes in the refrigerator, left over from the noon meal, it became a family
activity to make lefse.
Lefse is made by
mixing cold mashed potatoes and flour together. The mixture is rolled
into 7” circles, rolled out with a rolling pin and baked in a dry (non-greased)
skillet on the stove.
My brothers took
turns at the stove watching to see that the lefse circles didn’t burn as they baked. Each of us gravitated to certain kitchen jobs. Lefse, as with the crispellis, was where the boys got involved.
When
done, the lefse was folded into triangles or, as some of us did, we rolled them
tight like cigars after buttering them and sprinkling them with granulated
sugar.
We liked lefse, which
was a rare treat. Lefse is not a taste I miss but without a doubt it had a
place in our cookbook.
In the 1960s and
into the 1970s, when J. I. Rodale of Organic Farming and Prevention magazines, and healthy eating advocates Adelle Davis and Euwell Gibbons were popularizing natural foods, Mom began
making homemade granola.
She fixed what she called “Adelle’s Cereal” for years, filling large empty peanut butter jars to
store the old-fashioned rolled oats, sunflower seeds, shredded coconut, honey
and oil mixture baked on a cookie sheet in a 250 degree oven.
At this time Mom found a yogurt recipe which used powdered milk, evaporated milk,
water, gelatin and 3 tablespoons yogurt.
The mixture is
poured into glass jars set in water heated to 120 degrees, and the heat
maintained at 120 degrees for 3½ hours.
These were the getting-back-to
simple recipes that were in vogue then, and Mom found them interesting. The recipes used techniques
that took time but emphasized the individual's role in the choice to eat wisely.
Many of the
foods we remember in particular are the meals we ate at the family table.
They were a rotation of hot dishes and meat and potatoes suppers. Each of us had meals we waited
for and entrees we didn’t much care for (think liver and bacon).
All recipes, as
we considered them for inclusion, were to be treated equally. If on the family table,
and liked by some of us, they were earmarked for the cookbook.
Pie making was an
area in which Mom excelled. Pie was Saturday dessert for many years.
Mom
made all kinds of pies - apple, lemon, pecan, pumpkin, sour
cream raisin - to note a few. She made them all very well. We knew the pie listings would be among the cookbook’s
best sections.
Food which Mom
cooked and served was nourishment, warmth, inclusion, connection.
We took in these elements of love along with the air we breathed and the times we lived. Our collective food
history threads us together well into our adult years and extends into the next generations.
A family recipe collection
is a record of past times and present moments, as we are finding out.
It’s a snapshot of family then,
and family as it is now. It lets any of us, at any time, any number of years
down the road, pull up a chair to the family table and be part of the story.
Like a good plate of food in front of us it's there to tuck into and enjoy.
Our heritage cookbook,
undertaken as a family project, without any sure thought as to how the idea
would be received, or its end result, simmered and cooked and is
now on the family table.
It comes seasoned and savory, and ready to serve us for many years
to come.
KNOX BLOCKS
3 - 3 oz pkg Jello, 4
envelopes Knox gelatin. 4 cups boiling water
Stir till entirely
dissolved. Pour into two 9” square glass pans. Cool. Refrigerate
Ro Giencke - November 25, 2014
