Grace

 

Yesterday I got pulled over by the cops!  Well, it was just one police officer.  But it was exciting because when I noticed the whirling lights behind me, I assumed he was trying to get around me so I pulled over and sped up a bit.  For about 5 seconds it was a high speed chase.

Eventually I pulled into a parking lot and he pulled in behind.  

The officer could not have been kinder.  He told me I was driving 15 miles over the speed limit and then went on to explain that the speed limit went down several blocks behind where we were on the street. 

I told him I knew that because "I live right there" pointing to the brick wall in front of us.  He very kindly asked for my driver's license, then disappeared back into his cruiser.  When he returned he handed back the license and told me to have a good day.  

No ticket!  But here's the thing:  I broke the law.  I was speeding.  He knew that but still let me go. 

As you know, my Meniere's Disease causes panic attacks from time to time. So how was I feeling thoughout this whole process, from the whirling lights to the "Have a good day?"  

I felt great.  I felt grateful.  After checking to see if I had a record, the officer congratulated me for my pristine driving history.  At that point I did have to confess that I had received a speeding ticket in the past - precisely - in 1972.  

Since I was speeding yesterday I totally broke the law, but, by the grace of this young, kind, African American police officer, I was not charged.  

The only thing that could have riled me up would have been if he let me go because I was just a little old lady driving a Camry.  In that case I would have had to demand that I get the ticket and things would have gotten all weird.  

But I wasn't getting that vibe.  He gave me Grace.

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The Butterfly Effect

 

(In Chaos Theory)  the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere. 

Or, as Jeff Goldblum described it in Jurassic Park, A Butterfly can flap its wings in Peking and in Central Park you get rain instead of sunshine.

Yesterday I received a nice note from Tim Richardson, a man I haven't seen in almost 40 years.  He said, I thought  of you and the effect you had on me when you spoke to the FSC Student Government retreat in 1983!!! 

In the note he sent a link to a video on the Butterfly Effect, emphasizing how our words can change the course of history.  

So what did I say to Tim and the others in 1983?  I have no idea.  But it got me to thinking about how powerful our words are.  Many people in my life have changed the course of MY history. 

Tim is a successful speaker/trainer/consultant.  That was my title as well for a few decades.  He closed his note with this question:  Who had the biggest impact on you and your desire to help others? 

That's a tough question.  I've been thinking about it the last 24 hours.  If I would try to make a list, it would be vast, because  I've been blessed over the span of a long life to hang out with some exceptional humans.  Some of them are family members.  Two of the were my husbands. One of them I'm having breakfast with tomorrow.  

She is a prime example of "The Butterfly Effect."

***

Forever Home

 

I have lived in my two bedroom condo for 26 years.  This is, by far, the longest time I've spent in one home.  For thirty or so years I lived in United Methodist parsonages. 

Several years ago I had the honor of being asked to speak at the annual retreat for retired ministers and spouses.  Part of what I shared were the familiar words of Robert Frost in his poem "The Death of the Hired Man." 

Home is the place where when you go there they have to take you in.  

That is if you're not living in a parsonage, or any number of homes that go with the job.  Governors and presidents come to mind.  I shared parts of the poem with this particular group because, for many of them, retirement is the first time they have a forever home. 

Over the years I've considered upsizing, like when I married David,  and downsizing like a couple of years ago when my health was poor and I considered the possibility of a lovely senior living facility (where 30 or 40 of my friends live.  

But, no, I want this to be my forever home. 

For the past 23 years I've enjoyed water aerobics, three times a week at our big beautiful pool.  For most of the time I've led part of the routine.  But no longer.  That season is over for me.  But I still love the group.  And the person who's led most of the time this summer is excellent.  Lots of fun but doesn't put up with a lot of excessive jibber jabber. Despite the fact that I can't hear, I love being with these folks who are laughing and having a good time in the pool.   

Where were you on September 11, 2001?   When the horrible news came to me, I was in the pool with friends - at my forever home. 

*** 

Our Fascination with Food

 

Occasionally, The New NewYorker magazine has a theme.  It took a few minutes of perusing before it dawned on me that last weeks' magazine was all about food.  The whole kit and caboodle.  

Also, sometimes the New Yorker has celebrity writers.  This is done with no fanfare.  Their names are listed just like the rest of the other writers.  All excellent - including the poets I sometimes can't understand.

There were at least three spectacular guest writers for this food themed issue.  Two of them are deceased.  

The late Nora Ephron's 2002 article is titled "The Sandwich." She begins by saying "The pastrami sandwich served at Langer's Delicatessen in downtown Los Angles is the finest hot pastrami sandwich in the world."  And then she goes into a lengthly explanation to prove it. A quarter of the article dwells on the rye bread.  

My personal favorite of the cured meat sandwiches is the corned beef from Too-Jays.  They too, go into great lengths to serve the perfect sandwich, including warm Russian rye bread and Gulden's mustard.  I will never, ever be allowed to eat this sandwich again, so iI'm hoping one of you readers will try it and let me know what you think.

The late Anthony Bourdain wrote his article when he was a New York chef in the year 2000.  It's a wild and wooly ride on the day in the life of this wild and wooly, larger than life, man.  Among other things, he had to create a daily menu special from the ground up for the Les Halles, a once prominent restaurant  on Park Avenue in New York.  It was most famous for kickstarting Bourdain's career. 

,In the article Bourdain lets us know what he's planing. "For the appetizer special, I'm thinking cockles steamed in chorizo, leeks, tomatoes, and white wine - a one-pan wonder."

In my cooking days I would never in a hundred years have been that brave.  But I WAS kind of known for my pigs in a blanket.

The third celebrity writer is still very much alive.  Steve Martin wrote the "Shouts & Murmurs"  column.  He titled it, Two Menus, and gave us a set of menus from two separate restaurants.  I'm sure these restaurants exist only in superior and super funny mind of Steve Martin.  Two of the recipes overlap so they're the ones I will share with you.  You'll have to get hold of a New Yorker to see them rest.  It's well worth it!

1. KING'S RANSOM, Paducah, Kansas, Fine dining at its best.

Our Banana Split

Fried ice cream, butter, double-cream-infused banana, whipped cream, cherries in red dye No. 2, triple-fudge chocolate sauce, pancakes, cow fat. 

2. SYNERGY, Beverly Hills, California, Phone:  Yeah, right.

Our Banana Split

One banana lying in its own skin, covered in chocolate, on a bed of arugula.  A cheesecloth mouth (shield) is supplied to enable you to taste the chocolate without swallowing. 

***'

Farewell to Jeanne Robertson

 

Jeanne Robertson passed away recently.  She was one of the most popular speakers in America and will be sorerly missed.  No one will take her place, she was unique.  

 In a time when men totally dominated the public speaking field, she was a success right from the beginning. 

Early on, when she was a student at Auburn University, Jeanne entered a beauty pageant and ended up being Miss North Carolina.  What separated her from the pac early on was, in addition to being beautiful, she was 6 feet, 2 inches tall.  And she made it work for her.  Within that first year she gave 500 speeches. They were hilarious. 

As you know, I admire, and have learned a lot from, stand up comics.  Jeanne didn't call herself a comic.  She was a humorist.  In the 80s I was a member of the National Speakers Association.  At that time NSA was available only to paid professional speakers and they needed to provide documented proof of it.  It was a serious organization.  Jeanne not only qualified, but she eventually became president of this prodigious group. 

So Jeanne and I crossed paths a few times.  I was always in awe.  She knew who she was.  She was extremely hard working and traveled constantly.  She had a strict moral code about what she would and would not do.  This helped me shape my our moral code.  It wasn't the same as Jeanne's.  I had no interest in crisscrossing the country leaving my family and other priorities.  

But I was a speaker.  And I knew that, in order be heard, I had to be entertaining and disciplined and that meant continually finding better ways of communicating in an entertaining way.  I wasn't a beauty queen and I wasn't 6 feet, 2 inches tall.  But I was grounded, and hard working. 

Thank you Jeanne Robertson. 

***

Nuns and Clowns

 

My good friend sent a note to our small group telling us about her fear of nuns. When she was a little girl she had to choose between creativity and rule following and got whacked by a nun for the choice she made.  

I don't think she's really afraid of nuns but we do know there's such a thing as having irrational fears about nuns - and clowns.  

All of this reminded me of something that happened over 50 years ago.  My husband, Ken, was an urban minister in South Florida.  In response to a critical housing shortage for the poor we (I was a volunteer for this ministry) were able to get a 501(c)(3) grant to build an apartment complex for low income people in downtown Fort Lauderdale.  Ken was a master at getting people to volunteer, so much of the work, including the architect and construction folks, was done for free. 

A few months after completion, big problems developed due to drug use and other activities of the tenants and others in the neighborhood.  After trying a number of solutions including inviting tenants to be on the board, the problems remained.  It wasn't a safe place for children, especially on the weekends. 

But then Ken was able to talk a group of three nuns into moving into a ground floor apartment.  This changed everything.  Almost overnight.  These nuns were fearless.  And rebellious.  They were in the forefront of  nuns choosing not to wear habits.  Except on Friday and Saturday nights when bad things were likely to happen.  The habit wearing nuns scared the drug dealers and intimidated the cops. 

Today we have our famous Apopka nuns who advocate for impoverished migrant workers.  And they've been noted for scaring some elected officials as well. 

So, here's the thing.  I'm not afraid of nuns but I know they can be crazy intimating and I'm grateful when they use their power for good. 

I am, however, one of those people who has had a lifelong irrational fear of clowns. 

***

Boogie Woogie

 

Adam Zagajewski was a polish poet and novelist.  In 2004 he was awarded the Neustadt International Prize for literature.  He died this past March, leaving us a vast collection of his wise words.

Along with the rest of you on this planet, I've had to moderate the bad news I can handle on a given day.  A while back, as I was thumbing through my New Yorker Magazine, I saw a poem by Adam Zagajewski.  Both the poet and the magazine are noted for their heavy handed poems. 

But this was totally different.  I torn the page out and have read it multiple times.  It holds a truth for all of us.  This is the kind of place I need to go each and every day in order to stay sane and healthy.  

***