Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Meet every moment with open arms

I've been craving all things India while I've been here in Walden, but have been denying myself to help engender a forward-looking attitude. Now that I'm headed back tonight to help my parents find a new home in Bombay, I'm allowing myself some Bollywood :)

This is a clip from a film that came out before I left. The poetry starts about two thirds of the way through:

If you are carrying an eagerness in your heart,
then you are alive.
If you are carrying the sparks of dreams in your eyes,
then you are alive.
Learn to live freely like the gusts of wind,
Learn to flow in waves, like a river does.
Meet every moment with your arms open --
Every moment, let your eyes see a new view.
If you are carrying wonder in your eyes,
then you are alive.
If you are carrying an eagerness in your heart,
then you are alive.

Toh Zinda Ho Tum


Dramatic? Yes. But part of the India that is always with me is understanding that "drama" doesn't always have to have such a negative connotation. Sometimes drama = passion for life.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Poach pears, not rhinos.



I have a hard time with bad news.  I nearly always manage to do the right thing and "be there" as needed.  But I don't process well.  And it's so much harder on a global level.

I am a voracious podcast listener -- BBC Global News, NPR Story of the Day, HBR Ideacast, TED Talks, Slate Gabfest, This American Life, Desert Island Discs, the list goes on and on.  In an effort to add some diversity to my daily listening, I added CNN Africa to my list a few days ago.

Long story short, I hear a horrific story about how rhinos are being killed on average one per day for their horns for the "Far East," driven in a misguided belief that the horns will cure cancer.  At one time, we had this scurge more or less under control.  In 2007, only 13 rhinos were poached.  This year we're set to top 400.

I don't have any kick ass skills.  I don't know karate, I am not a jedi, and I'm really skittish around guns.  I will not be fighting these guys with my bare hands.  And also, since I am currently unemployed, I won't be contributing anything at all monetarily to protect these lovely creatures.

BUT, I can cook.  So today, in retaliation for the rhinos, I bring you Poached Pears in Red Wine.


3-4 pears, peeled, cored, and sliced
3/4 cup sugar
1 T cinnamon
1 t ginger
vanilla ice cream

Style note:  Final product is significantly better if cook is dancing to a homemade mix of Lady Gaga, U2 and George Michael during preparation.

1.  Combine everything but pears in a sauce pan.  Bring to a simmer.
2.  Add pears and simmer for 8-10 mins until tender.
3.  Remove pears, continue simmering liquid until reduced by half, approximately 5 minutes.
4.  Drizzle over pears.  Serve over creme fraiche, gorgonzola cheese, or vanilla ice cream.

Mmmmmm.  Every little counts, no?

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Productive destruction

I'm clearly a lover of nature, and I've recently taken up trail running -- Zurich hilltops, Delaware piedmont in White Clay Creek State Park, along the Potomac in DC, Hyde Park in London (does that count?) pretty much anywhere I can find it.

This past weekend I had the great opportunity to give back and actually help create a new trail system near my parents' house in Kennett Square. The weather was gorgeous and crisp, and a whole bunch of people, mostly runners themselves, turned out to lend a hand, including Margot from the Land Conservancy for Southern Chester County, who made sure we tread as lightly as possible and didn't destroy any native plants.

What it looked like when we arrived.

Going...

Going...

Gone!


This was a fantastic experience and it felt really good to engage in some manual labour and fresh air. However, it turns out I am no longer a teenager. After a morning of hauling stumps, logs, and brush out of the way of the new trail, I came home to have lunch and had considerable trouble getting back out of my chair again. Ouch. Can't wait to see the finished trail!

The Great Outdoors

With my time in "Walden" coming to an end, I'm trying to soak in as much of the Great Outdoors as possible. Here's a few shots of a picnic at White Clay Creek State Park during a hike with my dad a few weeks ago.



After the age of 10, we tend to forget how good it feels to lie in the grass with the sun on our face.


One shot looking out into the misty morning woods behind the house a few days ago.


My parents are in Patagonia right now. For good measure, here's one of them on an afternoon hike. Don't they look like they're headed for the South Pole? Either that or they're extras waiting around for their part in The Hobbit.



Am I right or am I right?

Monday, November 7, 2011

Do you ever get the feeling you're being watched?

Sometimes I wonder what people see if they "people watch" me -- today I am the girl on the train with no makeup, hiking boots, a graphic tee and hoodie reading Vanity Fair and writing research about the impacts of Marcellus Shale gas drilling on the water resources of the state of Delaware (there aren't any... yet.)

Updates from my weekend in the Welsh countryside to follow soon.

PS: This still is from a film called La Fille du RER (The Girl on the Train) which I haven't seen, but looks promising. Review found here.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

The Greatest of the Greatest


There is something special about his generation. Whether it is the thrifty determination borne of the Great Depression, the steadfastness won in World War II, or the values and work-ethic the laid the foundation for the rest of us, it truly was the Greatest Generation. And he was one of the greatest of the Greatest Generation.

Gramps was the strong silent type, but the benevolence shining in his baby blues always left you feeling loved and protected in his presence. He was a big man and filled up a room, thanks to his German heritage, but his quiet patience, kindness and loyalty were his most shining characteristics. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, he made sure it counted.

What I remember most about Gramps is his hands. As a little girl his hands seemed huge, like he could carry me around in his pocket and hardly notice my weight. They were hands that were hardworking his entire life. Working on engines, managing his farmhouse, taking care of his children and grandchildren. They were hands that made his livelihood, hands that shaped things and fixed things and great hands to hold yours. Even after I was grown, even last week, Gramps’ hands still swallowed mine.

I am torn, because the world is a little darker place since he closed his eyes for the last time, without his goodness and strength. But I tell myself to remember all the lives he has touched and all the good he has done in his long life. For me, it’s a reminder to be the best that I can be, to live up to his legacy, to always strive toward integrity and strength, to make him proud as he watches over me.

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I'm off to merry old England and the Welsh countryside for a few days. I will hopefully have some good photos to post when I return.