Dog Walking and Health

This article just appeared in the New York Times.  If you don't have a dog, or don't walk the one you have, you might want to consider a change.



Photo Credit: http://www.smalldogbigdogpictures.com/  "akbar 1947"

Thank you Charlie

I am dog-sitting for my dad's elderly dog, Charlie, for the next few weeks.  Charlie has a bum leg and arthritis.  He needs to be helped up on to the bed at night (yes, he sleeps on the bed).  But.....he reverts back to puppy mode on his daily walk.  My dad's wife takes him out almost every day of the year, in warm weather and cold.  I think that's why he's still alive.  He loves getting out and has been pulling me through the neighborhood the last few days as if he were a pup.  Once in a while he breaks into a trot and is smiling (you know that dog smile?) all the way.

Makes me think about how important exercise, and getting out and about, is for all of us.  I am thankful for dogs for countless reasons, but today, I am thankful for Charlie, in particular, for getting me out into the cold crisp sunny day today to get the blood pumping and the mind focused on the simple and awesome beauty in nature -- red berries on bare brown branches, bare branches against a clear blue sky.  Thanks Charlie!

A Forgotten Letter

Here she is again, the lovely Marina-of-the-B-Line, our guest blogger. This piece is borrowed from her Ramblog on Facebook "Notes."

~

This year I lost both my parents and, as expected, I ramble a lot about them and about death. I do not necessarily share all these ramblings with you for I do not want to sadden you. The following story though may start as a sad one but as you will see, it has a happy ending.

When my sister Silvana told me Mom needed to have surgery, I booked a seat on the first plane to Paris. I knew I would be too late to comfort her before the operation but I would be there when she would wake up and as long as she knew that, it was all right. Unfortunately Mom never woke up.
The guilt I felt for not being there by her side made my mother’s death more difficult to accept. The death of a loved one is never an easy thing to accept but when guilt is part of the equation, it becomes insurmountable. I still had so many things to say to her and now it was too late. So I thought.

A few days after the funeral, Silvana and I sorted out our mother’s personal documents. I found about two dozen letters and notes that Mom had kept. She, unlike Dad, did not keep very much at all. Those were the announcements of my and Silvana’s births, of our children's births, a poem a friend had written for my parents’ 50th anniversary, a note written by Dad… Mom had saved in an envelope her dearest memories.

I then unfolded a letter and was surprised to recognize my own writing. It was a letter I had written at least 25 years earlier! So long ago, I had forgotten about it! In this letter, I thanked my parents for all the love they had given me and told them their love had made me a better person; it was some of that love I would share with my children, I wrote.

My mother, a woman who did not keep anything, had kept my letter! She already knew the very same words I thought I would never have a chance to say to her! Even if I had not written the letter, she would still have known all the love I had for her but the fact she had kept it for all those years showed how touched she had been by my letter and how happy it had made her feel.

I was sure she had read it many times. She might even have thought of it before the surgery, just in case something would go wrong. It was not as good as having me on her side and telling her “See you in a few hours Mom” but I was also certain it still brought her comfort.

My letter had brought her the same comfort it had brought me when I discovered it among her favorite memories. The comfort I needed to accept my mother's death.

Chocolate Mousse for Breakfast on the B-Line

A guest post from Marina, Chef and Chief Rambler, Le Petit Cafe, Bloomington, Indiana.

Marina's window on the B-Line. 

People often ask me if I intend to retire in Paris, where I came from. No! I ain’t going nowhere! I want to retire right here -preferably on the B-Line. Why on earth would I want to retire in a city filled with women who make a public show of eating plates laden with rich food in front of American tourists watching them in awe and wondering how they can do it twice a day and keep their figures?

They are lying through their teeth my friends! What you do not know is, while they pretend to absentmindedly eat their Steak au poivre avec frites, they are frantically calculating how many calories they are ingurgitating and for how many meals they will have to content themselves with an apple or a yogurt.

How do I know? I was one of these women! So, do yourself a favor: next time you go to Paris, ignore them! Pretend you could not care less and with time, they will stop teasing us.

No my friends, I want to retire in a place like the B-Line where people are not afraid to order chocolate mousse for breakfast and add, in an assertive and guilt-free tone of voice “And give me some of that hot chocolate with whipped cream to wash it down!”

"What Kept Me Alive Was My Dream..."

Thank you for sharing this, Berly!



Video credit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMwpVF58c2c

Surgery Through Marina's Lens

From Our Friday Guest Blogger, Marina, Chef and Chief Rambler at Le Petit Cafe, Bloomington, IN.

This past week, I have been rambling about the consequences of my husband’s surgery: today, Patrick’s tonsils and uvula will go. I usually do not publicly ramble about my private life but this surgery might have a certain impact on Le Petit Café’s routine: his doctor said it might affect Patrick’s nasal sounds. Nasal sounds, as you know, even if you have not studied French, are very much part of the French language.

Yesterday, while I was serving my delicious, abundant and reasonably priced Sunday lunch, I was making mental lists of all the changes we might have to bring to make Patrick feel more comfortable. For instance, I thought tables un, cinq, onze and quinze might have to be replaced with zero, quatre bis, dix bis and quatorze bis. Not the most convenient thing during a busy shift when efficient communication is so important but we should all make a few sacrifices to minimize Patrick’s nasal self-consciousness.

Patrick and I only speak French in the kitchen and this part worries me a bit more. He will, many times during a shift, have to say Encore du pain (more bread). Would it be reasonable to expect our customers to understand we no longer serve refills of bread or that they have to switch to crackers so Patrick’s ego does not repeatedly get bruised?  True, our clientele has always risen to the occasion when asked to adapt to changes - and I have no doubt it would again- but perhaps the sensible thing to do would be to serve a huge basket of bread with the first course so they would not have to ask for more. This would actually be the ideal solution if it were not for my husband’s strong feelings against waste: he would not deal well with the potentially wasted rolls. Now, I could not possibly ask our clientele to accept Patrick’s unpleasantly nasal sounding nasty remarks about them not eating the 12 rolls of bread, could I? You see what I mean? Not easy to find a happy medium between Patrick’s ego and our clients’ priorities.

All these ideas, as smart as they are, do not seem very realistic. I then remembered we have a friend from Marseilles where nasal sounds seem to be different (it’s also possible this friend had his tonsils and uvula removed too). For instance, he does not pronounce the two consecutive nasal vowels in bonbon as in we do in Paris; it sounds more like bonne-bonne. To prevent ill-spirited clients (they are a few) from making fun of Patrick’s pronunciation, I thought I could tell them he is from Marseilles. I then imagined entire conversations about this:

-      Where is your husband from? would they ask with a smirk. You do not sound the same!
-      From Marseilles.

-          Marseilles? Really? Why don’t you serve Bouillabaisse then? they would insist with a knowing smile (some people do not give up)

I got this part covered though and would thrust forward my coup de grace:

-          We should but unfortunately we cannot find the right fish in Indiana for an authentic Bouillabaisse. (I showed them didn’t I?)

Not to end on an unpleasant note and to add an extra touch of credibility to my harmless fib, I would then conclude with a cheerful: “But try my aioli! That recipe has been in Patrick’s family for many generations.”

Now, this plan is not too unreasonable, is it?

After a while pondering over the difficulty of finding reasonably ethical solutions compatible with everybody’s well-being, I realized this nasal vowel unfriendly surgery might offer an interesting side (to me): Patrick may never be able to enunciate his too frequent and my less favorite answer: NON!

I then started to imagine new and wonderful dialogues:

- Patrick, can I buy a new car?

-          ...
-          Oui!?! Merci Cheri!
-          …! …! …!

I guess I worry too much: the French can do with a few less nasal sounds after all!

Ring The Bells That Still Can Ring

Finally got around to tackling a challenging writing project this morning. I had been putting it off because it is unlike anything I have done before, and is for a client, and I didn't know where to begin. Paralyzed by perfectionism once again.

Once I started, I was still unsure of where to go with the project. So I started where I always start when I'm overwhelmed -- with a list. I didn't censor myself, I just wrote a long stream of words and phrases. The list inspired a direction and I was off! Pretty soon, I had a finished product which I thought would be a draft, but it turns out the client liked it as is. In fact, he was thrilled.

Getting over perfectionism and 'just doing it' reminds me of the phrase from the Leonard Cohen song, "Anthem."

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

Check out the complete lyrics of this song HERE.

Photo credit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/manojvasanth/ / CC BY 2.0