Category Archives: Perspective

Reaching and Grasping

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Heartwings says, “It is very helpful for one’s reach not to exceed one’s grasp.”

Reaching for things is somewhat more challenging for me than it used to be. I am often faced with the need to ask for help. Fortunately, Stephen is usually available, and though he has also shrunk, at least he is much taller than I am.  Sadly, I have diminished from five feet four inches to five feet one and a half or maybe two. In addition, I have lost flexibility. Asking for help is getting more necessary, and I am getting more used to doing that. It seems there is always more to be learned.

In a yoga class and lecture that I attended many years ago now—yet somehow it seems just a year or two have past, the visiting sage told us this. “My mantra is I know nothing; I want to learn.” I balked at first at the seemingly negative affirmation. Affirming I know nothing? That didn’t sound right. But affirming I wanted to learn, did. So, I gave the whole sentence some thought.

Eventually, light descended upon my brain, and I finally understood. This sentence describes what is called Beginners Mind. What that means is that at the beginning I expect to learn, so it is important not to cloud the mind with what I think I might know. When I think I know something, my mind does not generally seek more information.

If I think I have grasped whatever it is I need to learn, I most probably will no longer reach out further with my mind. It is more important than you might think for your grasp to exceed your reach. Because there is always more to be learned, whether it is the how-to of a project, the pitfalls, or else the simple understanding or a further interpretation of what something might mean. We cannot always know how much more there is to know. 

When I look at each day with a beginner’s mind attitude, there are wonderful conundrums that arise. They give me something to think about other than the dismayingly negative tales of misbehavior that often comprise the daily doings of the world at large. The arguments and disagreements people have that stoke violence could so often be resolved by a better understanding or even a simple agreement to disagree.

For me the world I live in is filled with interesting experiences to be explored with discoveries to be made along the way. Perhaps because I am a poet, I especially delight in finding beauty that has simply created itself. The lovely weeds right now along the roads, waving in the breezes from passing cars, are a delight to be seen. The delicate Queen Ann’s lace, mingled with the tall, graceful Artemesia are probably destined eventually to be cut down, yet each day they remain, they fill the eye that gazes upon them with their beauty. I am grateful to be able to see them and to find something so special within my grasp.

May you be able to look upon life with a beginner’s mind.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha

PS Do you have comments, questions, or stories to share? I would love to hear from you, and I find great joy in your correspondence.

Heartwings Love Notes 1096: Memory and Forgettery

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Heartwings says, “Remembrance of things past can be precious.”

Lately my forgettery works better than my memory, or so it seems to me. I shudder to think old age is creeping up on me, however that might be the case. At eighty-seven going on eighty-eight maybe it’s appropriate to have some memory issues. The thing is, I have said for years if I must Lose out either in mind or in body, I’d prefer to keep my mind.

My mother was physically strong even into her nineties. She once fell down a flight of stairs and got to her feet with nothing to show for the experience but a few bruises. She was physically active in her old age, and unlike me, she could go for long walks at a fast pace. Her mind, however began to leave her in her mid-seventies and by the time she was my age she had become more absent of mind than not.

My grandmother on my father’s side was strong and vital until age eighty, when she fell asleep the night of the lovely Christmas party she had for us, and never woke up. She was found the next morning, where she had dozed off sitting against her pillows. She was reading the book the children’s father and I had given her for Christmas and never woke up. What a lovely way to go. I would like to be that fortunate.

She had a youthful demeanor, and by sales people and other strangers, when I was with her, she was often thought of as my mother. I like to think I’ve inherited her good health and her mental resilience. She might have been somewhat forgetful. I remember my mother once saying that when she stayed with her, my mother was always stepping on the notes to herself that my grandmother left on the floor. I prefer to leave my notes on my desk or on the kitchen counter. I have two pads of recycled paper I keep in different places to help me remember to do things that I need to do in a timely manner.

In some way, it appears to me that I am more apt to neglect what I do not write down. So, lately I am taking care to write even more down than I used to. I also write down stray hints and phrases that are themes for columns. These float in and as quickly float away if I don’t make note of them. Today’s subject is an example of a quick inspiration based the word “forgettery.”

My long-term memory is excellent and goes back to my very early childhood. I have impressions from being in my blue highchair and even in my blue crib. I was so good at escaping from it that my parents moved my bureau up against it to prevent me. I hope my memory continues to hold up and that my forgettery will not increase, however, only time will tell, and time’s not saying right now.

May you remember whatever you need to, by the time you do.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

PS How about you, dear Readers? Do you have memory tricks you use or other methods that are helpful? I love it when you share, and I treasure your responses. Thanks in advance.

Heartwings Love Notes 1094 Dealing with Small Nuisances

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Heartwings says, “What can’t be cured must be endured.”

There is a saying, “nibbled to death by ducks,” that aptly describes what I am writing about: the small but frequently encountered annoyances we all experience. For instance, those envelopes businesses send out to put your checks, together with a portion of the bill, inside. The bill payment piece of paper must be put in right side up with the address facing outward. The check, behind it, is best put facing in to obscure the amount from prying eyes.

I wish I had a dollar for every time I have messed this up. Sometimes the address ends up in the wrong place, and I must cut the envelope open, fix my mistake, then reseal it with scotch tape. Occasionally I seal the envelope and then discover I neglected to put in the check and must redo as above. You might suggest I pay with a deduction from my bank account. However, I don’t like to make my bank information that public. There are too many horror stories about stolen lists to allow me to feel comfortable doing that.

How about the cotton in pill bottles? Can you pry it out whole? Or does it shred in your fingers as you try to extract it, the way it does in mine? My solution is first, great delicacy and patience; failing that, I employ a pair of tweezers, or perhaps small tongs, and again, patience. I also try to find a use for the cotton and have so far discovered it can be used with silver polish to shine small objects or jewelry. It can also be used for other cleaning chores, and I seldom throw it out.

Then there are the spam calls. We have a program on our phone that catches and stops them after one ring. This is helpful. The ones that do get through fall into two main categories: sales or charity appeals. Depending on my mood, I can be polite with the latter: standard response, “We do not contribute from the phone, please send something in the mail,” or simply,” please take me off your list.” Intrusive sales people might get a teasing response or a flat “no,” and take me off your list or I’ll report you. Stephen has fun when he wants to. Recently, he told a person selling burial insurance he’s going to be stuffed and has already made arrangements with the taxidermist, or he might ask the person selling something for a date.

Coping with these incidents can be an annoyance. I have a number of friends who, because they hope to avoid these calls no longer have a home phone. Yet spam comes on cell phones too. I prefer talking on my home phone. It doesn’t get hot or drop calls. Besides it can be fun to tease the people who are earning a salary this way. Most appear to be foreign, so perhaps this job is important for them. As far as machines go, they usually hang up sooner anyway. I consider these experiences as a form of patience training, and let it go at that. 

May you be able to handle your nuisances with ease,

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

PS I do so enjoy hearing from readers, write to me with suggestions, questions, and always, tales of your experience. 

Heartwings Love Note 1093 The Kindness of Strangers

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Heartwings says, “When you look with kind eyes, it helps you to be kinder.”

Recently, I sat in a movie theater for nearly three hours. When the film ended, I stood up to find the restroom. While there were some railings near my seat, as I headed for the exit corridor, there was only a wall to help me steady my steps. My balance was challenged even as I used my cane. “Let me help you,” came a voice next to me. “Take my arm.” A short, kindly woman extended her arm to me.

She walked down the long corridor with me, at the rate of my slow steps very patiently, until we reached a ladies’ room. Only it was not the usual one but a special locked family room. Again, she waited with me as an attendant fetched a key and let me in. I kept thanking her. Every time I said how grateful I was, she shook her head and dismissed my words. When I came out, she was gone. My husband told me she had waited to tell him where I was. Sadly, I never learned her name.

The Dalai Lama tells us his religion is kindness. Focused in this way, kindness becomes a way to practice one’s spirituality. Of course, this is not confined to Buddhism. Christianity’s Jesus tells us to “Do unto others,” and other religious and spiritual paths have their versions of this kind of behavior as well. For most of my life, I have tried to practice kindness as often as possible.

The other day I was exiting a parking lot when a huge truck stopped in front of me, attempting to make a turn into the plaza across the street. After waiting for the cars to finish passing, it turned. There was a huge line of cars behind it, and I resigned myself to a long wait. But no, the person behind the truck waited for me to pull out and go. I gave her a big smile and a wave. What a blessing I received from that stranger on the road.

It’d one thing to be kind to those we love and cherish. It is to be hoped that we will give freely to dear friends and family. On the other hand, I was brought up to avoid strangers, to fear interaction with them, or at the least to be cautious around them. No one suggested being kind to them. I have never been inclined to follow this approach.

To be sure, being kind to strangers may or may not bring an immediate or any reward, yet that is not the reason to be doing it. Being kind is a good way to expand the heart and to build compassion. I have met with much kindness in my life and I have done my best to return it whenever I could as well as to initiate it. It costs little to nothing to be kind, and it adds to the sum of compassion in the world.

May you be as kind as you can be, always.

Blessings and best Regards, Tasha Halpert

Would you share a kindness from a stranger story with me? I so enjoy it when you share your stories. Comments and suggestions are welcome too.

Heartwings Love Notes 1092: Adjusting Expectations

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Heartwings says, “Dealing with our expectations takes lots of work.”

Expectations are tricky. They can make you think you’re falling behind, or create unrealistic goals that are impossible to fulfill. On the other hand, they can be guidelines or parameters that help us. How they function is up to us. While it is actually best to live without expectations, AKA: beginner’s mind—it is also almost  impossible to do so.

Our expectations of ourselves begin in infancy, when we struggle to our feet and take our first steps. However, at that time they are not conscious. They are also based on other people’s actions toward us. As we become aware of others and begin to interact, we expect the ball we throw or roll to be thrown or rolled back, and a world of actions and reactions begins to emerge for us.

Expectations are our attempts to learn for better or worse. They are built by experience. As young children we often learn how to make adults laugh or smile and thus treat us nicely. We also learn the reverse is true when we misbehave and make them angry. How well I remember wishing to read the newspaper during the day, yet refraining, knowing that my father wanted it pristine for his readership in the evening after work. No matter how carefully I refolded it, he would know, as I found out to my sorrow. But that was then.

Fast forward some eighty plus years into the future. I’ve had a whole lifetime of experience and of dealing with the expectations around which my life has revolved. Now, thanks to age and Parkinson’s, I am dealing with a whole new set of them, both positive and negative. Unexpectedly, all my previous experience has been superseded and I must deal with a whole lot of new parameters and limitations.

For instance, I’ve always been an independent, I’ll do it myself kind of person. Now I need help practically every time I turn around. I have difficulty opening jars or beating up eggs. It takes me a much longer time than it used to, to fix even the simplest meal. However, this is not said to complain or seek pity. The issue is one of having realistic expectations. Were I to do it the Zen way, I would have none at all. I would simply get out the ingredients for a meal and go to work on it.

Or I can learn to adjust my expectations to be content to proceed as skillfully as I can without being concerned. It’s true that I try to live without expectations, yet those niggly statements I grew up hearing—”You can do better” was a frequent one—tend to nip at me and must also be dealt with. I must talk back to them, assuring them I am doing my best, and that they can take it easy on me. Best of all, I must take it easy on me and remember not to have unrealistic expectations.

May you be able to fulfill most of your happy expectations.

Blessings and best Regards, Tasha Halpert

PS Do you wrestle with expectations? Do you have a few or lots? I so enjoy hearing from readers.

Heartwings Love Notes 1090: A Vegetable We Treat as a Fruit

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Heartwings says, ‘Spring rhubarb cooked with honey added is an amazing treat.”

By definition, a fruit is a plant’s seeds born within a fleshy enclosure. It must have seeds to be called a fruit. Conversely, a vegetable, by definition, does not bear seeds like that. Tomatoes and peas are technically fruits, though peas belong to another botanical branch. Rhubarb, which we treat like a fruit, is in fact a vegetable. However, it is not usually eaten with other vegetables, nor for most people, is it used to accompany meat, poultry, or fish.

Most people may not know how versatile rhubarb is. In addition to the many recipes to be found for desserts made with it, it can be made into a relish or a jam and eaten with anything from chicken or meat loaf to hot dogs. For that use it is prepared to be somewhat tart rather than sweet. My daughter in Vermont gives me wonderful jars of her rhubarb concoctions of this nature that we lovingly cherish every year.

My precious, ancient Fanny Farmer’s cook book has an interesting recipe for rhubarb fig marmalade, using rhubarb and dried figs, sugar and lemon, and another for rhubarb conserve. Here’s that recipe, which contains rhubarb, raisins, oranges, a lemon, and sugar. Cut up 4 pounds rhubarb, put in a large kettle with 4 or 5, your choice, pounds of sugar ((8 or 10 cups). Add a pound of raisins, the grated rind and juice of 2 oranges, and the grated rind and juice of a lemon. Mix well, cover, and let stand for half an hour. Bring to a boil and simmer for 45 minutes, stirring frequently. Cool and fill glass jars. Seal and store or freeze in small batches or as you please.

When we lived on Warren St. I had a neighbor who used to let me cut as much rhubarb as I wanted from his plants every spring and summer. I usually cooked it very simply in a double boiler without any added water, for about 40 minutes.

It needs no water—you might notice there is none in the compote. It has plenty of fluid contained in its stalks.  I would add honey to taste and keep it in the refrigerator to eat either for breakfast or as a dessert. It has the virtue of being an excellent mover of bowels.

I have also made it into a crisp or even an upside down cake. It combines wonderfully with strawberries as well, making a sauce or a pie, or a crisp. For the later combine 4 cups of all rhubarb or some strawberries and rhubarb, maybe half and half if you like, in an 8 inch square baking dish. Sprinkle the top with ½ cup butter, sugar, flour, and rolled oats each, combined into an even mixture.  (I use a food processor) Blend butter, sugar and flour first, add oats and blend briefly. Bake at 350 for 45 minutes, serve warm, cold or room temperature to 6 or 8 people.

May you enjoy rhubarb any way you like, and find it helpful to your health.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert

PS How do you like rhubarb? Have you prepared it yourself? Write and tell me, I so enjoy your emails. Tashahal@gmail.com is a good way to reach me. Check my blog on WordPress at http://tashasperspective.com.

Heartwings Love Notes 1089 Cooking with Books

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Heartwings says, “Cooking is an art that satisfies even more when made with love.”

I like to read cookbooks–I mean really read them, not just poke through them for recipes. Often, they are filled with tidbits the authors discovered in the course of their cooking experiences, or hints as to how to improve upon an old technique for cooking or baking. When it comes to cooking, experience whether one’s own or that of the cookbook’s author, is priceless.

As some of my readers may remember my saying, my mother never taught me to cook. She saw me as generally irresponsible and I believe she was afraid I might spoil the food. She did not, however, like to bake. I did, and as soon as I was old enough she put me in charge of desserts. I grew up knowing how to bake wonderful cookies and brownies but not how to cook a roast or stuff a chicken.

Married at eighteen, I found myself with a tight food budget and virtually no experience so I turned to cook books. In the process I accumulated a number of interesting ones. One of my favorites is my old Fannie Farmer’s. My edition is ancient and inscribed from a friend, “with love and drippings,”–the pages are well spotted from use. That and The Joy of Cooking, comprised my mother’s whole library of cookbooks. Because both have good recipes for baking, I was familiar with them from childhood, and as a young wife and mother found there many other useful recipes with which to feed my growing family. They were, however, pretty conservative.

Time went by and my circumstances changed. I met and married a man who appreciated my desire to experiment. He was and still is willing to taste and to eat just about anything I fix for him. Over time, I have taught myself to use herbs, spices, and all manner of interesting ingredients. More than ever I also learned to enjoy reading cookbooks. Among my original favorites were books by Mollie Katzen, her Moosewood Cookbook being my introduction to her creativity in the kitchen. Tassajara Cooking, by Ed Espe Brown was another inspiring book, encouraging me to cook vegetables and grains in interesting ways. His Tassajara Bread Book was the basis for countless nutritious muffins and breads.

While my cookbooks inspire me, unless I’m baking, these days I seldom follow a recipe. It’s more fun to be creative. When what I have concocted works, I write it down so I can repeat the success. Most times, if I think I’ll have those ingredients again, I’ll write down the approximate measurements. But baking is chemistry and I need a recipe for reliable success. I do clip recipes from the internet and magazines too. Most of the time, I confess I end up discarding them because my enthusiasm for the work involved has waned. One great joy I have is that of being able to feed friends and family. As well, cooking, with or without books, is a way I show love. It has been this way pretty much as long as I can remember.

May all your cooking be satisfying to your spirit as well as your tummy.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

PS Please feel free to write to me with comments, to share recipes, or for any other reason. I so enjoy hearing from my readers. Tashahal@gmail.com, or hit reply.

Heartwings Love Notes 1087: The Virtue of Doing

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Heartwings says, “The virtue of doing may cause one dismay.”

Those of us Yankees raised in the traditional way of our ancestors, may well have inherited their ethic: To be busy, to be doing what is useful and good, to keep our hands occupied, is our watchword. There is even a saying that goes something like, “the devil finds work for idle hands.” This means, I expect, that if we don’t keep busy, we’ll get into mischief of some sort.

Perhaps because I had a mother raised in Germany, or perhaps because I had a Yankee father, I was always urged to be doing something, even if it was reading a book. My chief daily chore was taking care of our chickens. They lived in a hen house with a yard fenced in with chicken wire. I had to carry their mash from the barn and in the spring, summer, and fall, fill their water container from the faucet by the henhouse. For this I was paid the princely sum of fifty cents a week. In the winter I had to lug the water from the house, which was much more difficult.

Nowadays, fortunately I have no chickens to feed, only two human beings that need three meals a day, and our pitcher with the filtered water needs only to be carried from the sink to the table. Until fairly recently my life seemed relatively tranquil and most of what I needed to do could be done easily within my available time span. Then along came Parkinson’s Disease: a collection of symptoms clustered around the nerves and their connection to the brain.

My chief symptom is slowness. It takes me much longer to get things done than I am accustomed to, even though I have had two years or so to get used to it. This is made more difficult due to my childhood programming vis a vis the virtue of doing. For instance, I have to deal with my dismay at taking more than an hour to fix a meal when it used to take so much less time. My kind husband would say, “Don’t worry about it, take all the time you need.” That doesn’t silence the little voice that tells me I am too slow, or even that I am lazy.

Dealing with the frustration is a daily chore I wish I could eliminate, yet so far, I haven’t been able to. The voice of conscience seems to have no mercy on the hands that fumble when I work at cutting vegetables, or the feet that I must walk slowly and mindfully with lest I stumble. I know I do just fine, yet when the dinner isn’t ready in a timely manner, it says I ought to have begun sooner, and that’s no help.

I don’t mean to complain, only to share in case someone else who shares my dilemma might feel comforted to know she or he is not alone. 

May you make peace in your heart wish any disability you may have.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert

P If you have a story to share or some issue to discuss I’d love to hear from you. Your correspondence is precious to me. Please write me at tashahal@gmail.com

Heartwings Love Notes 1086 The Wisdom of a Blind Eye and a Deaf Ear

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Heartwings says, “Gently ignoring a situation can help soothe troubled waters.”

In the interests of peace, it is often advisable to turn a deaf ear or a blind eye to some of the unimportant yet annoying sources of conflict in a relationship. For instance, my mother resented it that my father did not want her to ever wear black. His mother, after the fashion of her day, wore black for seven years after my grandfather died of the terrible flu that ravaged the American soldiers and many others who were overseas at the end of World War One. Young at the time, my father had grown to intensely dislike black attire. Perhaps it reminded him of the loss of his father; I do not know and never asked him.

My mother was patient about this, as well as many other things that were not agreeable to her in their life together. To turn a blind eye is to avoid seeing, a deaf ear to avoid hearing what might otherwise be a source of irritation. However, doing this may also build resentment toward the perpetrators. It is sometimes difficult to walk the line between giving too little attention and giving too much. One must ask, is this situation important enough to make a fuss about or is it something that can be overlooked?

Here it might be good to take note of one’s feelings and to pay attention to them. It must be decided whether the annoyance is strong enough to prompt a response or not. If not, one can let it slide. If so, one can speak up. Sometimes the unaddressed feelings can build up and cause a problem or an argument. Sometimes which is worse, they create a ‘blowback,’ causing resentment that turns into anger and even sabotage. When one is trying to be nice, it might be all too easy to ignore the very real feelings of dismay that will turn into something worse when treated with a blind eye or a deaf ear. It seems important to allow one’s feelings about something uncomfortable to be mentioned rather than ignored, when there is danger of a buildup to the point of explosion.

For instance, I remember many years ago when I was a teenager, chiding my parents about their prejudicial language. They had grown up with it and to them using the ‘N’ word, for instance was perfectly normal. They did not take kindly to my efforts to correct them. Still, it was important to me to do so because I felt strongly about it.

Honesty is indeed the best policy; however, you need not be blunt nor simply complaining about something insignificant. The secret to success in speaking up is to not play the blame game, but to be truthful about your feelings. When you feel strongly, when your feelings are authentic, and when you phrase them in such a way as to convey this, your rate of success will be much improved.

Heartwings Love Notes 1084: Memories of My Mother

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Heartwings says, “Holidays often generate memories of days gone by.”

There was a large cedar chest in my parents’ bedroom.  In it my mother kept items that were special or precious to her. As a youngster I was fascinated by its contents as well as what she kept in the drawers of her vanity and her shoe closet. The four vanity drawers held odds and ends, except for one that had evening handbags. These were fancy and often glittery. She had quite a collection.

My parents lived during a time when men and women ‘dressed for dinner.’ What that meant was long, formal evening gowns for the women and elegant trousers with a dinner jacket or even a tuxedo, for men. I can still see my mother, dressed in a lovely gown, sitting before the mirror of her dressing table, putting on her makeup and brushing her blond hair. She would be looking into the big mirror set between the two sets of drawers, as my dad tied his bow tie and put on his cummerbund.

Sometimes my mother would open up her cedar chest and I would get to see what she kept inside. Among other items, it held two costumes I never saw her wear. One was a colorful skirt and cropped top she wore in a picture someone had painted of her. There was a design of some kind on the cloth and perhaps it had been made for a dance performance. The other was a white skirt and top with many ruffles she once wore for Spanish dancing, accompanied by castanets.

Much of her time was spent tending our family—ultimately there were four of us; I was the eldest. We lived in a cottage on the property of my great aunt Alice. She also tended a large “victory” garden, growing most of our vegetables during the summer. She canned them, too, and again I have an image of her standing over a steaming kettle, lifting jars in and out.

She made the jelly we had with chicken on Sundays, too. In addition, she plucked and cleaned that chicken herself. She had not grown up in a household that did these tasks, and I admire her greatly for her ability to adapt to a very different lifestyle than the one she was used to when she met my charming, handsome father. We also kept chickens, and somehow had acquired a few bantams that included a white cockerel that strutted around crowing. My mother loved animals and the little hens would perch on her shoulders. Our goat, Ebony, was another of her favorites.

Of course, I have many more memories. Mothers’ Day has prompted me to remember and to share with my readers some of my memories from a time long gone by, when life was simpler, though of course I did not know that then. It’s odd how little we can tell while we pass through a time, compared with our        perspective on it in the years later.

May you have pleasant memories to share of times gone by.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

P.S. I’d love it if you’d share your memories of your mother with me. Be well and enjoy each day to the fullest.