Lighting Candles

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Light in the Window

The town common in Grafton was alight with candles. I looked around and saw people of all ages gathered for a vigil to honor the victims of the Orlando massacre. It was a collection of many faiths and lifestyles. With the my friends and neighbors I listened to prayers and invocations from a variety of individuals and religious leaders. With them too I lifted my voice in songs that spoke of the need for change as well as the desire for peace. Yet in all my years here on earth little has changed.

During World War II my father was an Air raid warden and had to go around checking to see that the blackout curtains on the neighbors’ windows kept the light from coming through so no targets were visible. I remember he wore a funny looking hat–a sort of helmet to identify him as an official. The windowpanes of the big windows in my school were crosshatched with some brownish tape. We were told that this was to prevent them from shattering in the event of a bomb explosion.

We were also given bomb drills, which were different from fire drills, when we all filed outside and stood in lines with our classmates. Bomb drills took place inside. I seem to remember going down to the basement, but I was small and it was many years ago. Now children are being given drills in the case of an armed person coming into their school and shooting people, and some people want teachers to carry guns.

The last time Stephen and I were at such a vigil was on 9/11, after the twin towers in New York city were destroyed. Since then the climate of violence in this country seems to have accelerated. It grieves me that the children of today have to live in such a conflicted world. I regret that they must be taught what to do in schools or other places if some crazy person arrives with a gun and begins random shooting.

The climate of violence when I was growing up was in some ways the same. The difference was that the war was somewhere else. It had not come home to our cities and towns in the form of gun wielding terrorists It seems so tragic. What can we do? One thing seems clear. We need to see things differently in order to do better. We must start now by setting an example. Perhaps if we begin in small and simple ways we can make big changes happen.

We can begin by lighting candles of love and kindness wherever we are. Let us keep a vigil each hour of each day by shining our light into the darkness of ignorance and fear. Random acts of kindness are good, daily, simple acts of kindness are even better: holding the door for someone, smiling to a weary stranger, donating used items or goods to charity, helping a friend or neighbor. When the intention is made opportunities will manifest, and every candle we light helps dispel darkness and brightens the way for someone to see better.

Tasha Halpert

 

Hello from Tasha

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Tasha at home

Hello to all my friends and followers,

I’ve had some help working on my site and hope to put more out there for people to enjoy. Meanwhile, just wanted to say, thank you for reading my posts and for any comments you may have. I will also try to be better about answering any comments you may be so kind as to leave. Thanks from the bottom of my heart, Tasha,

A New World to Hear

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I remember my great grandmother’s ear trumpet. It was a long instrument, flared at one end. She held the small end to her ear. I also remember a black box the size and shape of a thick brick that had a cord running from sitting on a table that must have been an early hearing instrument. My grandmother wore a case the sizes of a slim cigarette pack clipped to the front of her dress with a cord connected between it and a button in her ear. There was a dial on the box she could turn on and off.

My dad used to say she turned it off when she didn’t want to hear what was being said. I remember as a child thinking how handy that must be. Aids to hearing have come a very long way since then. As people age, much like the normal need for eyeglasses to address a lessening of vision, so too there is a need for aids to hearing. Unfortunately these are extremely expensive compared to eyeglasses. Hopefully one day this will change.

Because of the deafness that seemed to run in my family, I was not surprised when my own hearing began to diminish. I found I needed to have the TV on louder. It was helpful to watch movies on DVD with subtitles, especially when the actors had British accents. If Stephen spoke to me and I was in the other room I had to get closer to him to hear what he was telling me.

Ambient noise interfered with my understanding of words; parties were less fun. My children noticed and suggested I get hearing aids. Still, I wasn’t sure I really needed them, or so I thought. Then as luck would have it I was gifted with a set. My daughter offered me her late mother-in-law’s hearing aids. I am very glad I said yes. It has been an adventure for me to use them. I find myself marveling at sounds I have not really heard before, or not for a long time.

I remember my mother telling me that when my grandmother put on her new hearing aid and went outdoors she said, “What’s all that noise?” It was the birds chirping. She had not heard birds for many years. My ears have not been that bad. I have been able to hear more or less, just not clearly. I notice the difference with the aids: without them, it’s like I have water in my ears. With them when I turn on the sink faucet, I hear splashes and ripples. When I unwrap paper it crackles. The stove timer sounds shrill. I hear sounds I didn’t before.

In the past when I thought about getting hearing aids I felt somewhat uncomfortable. I expected them to be clumsy, perhaps difficult to manage. None of this has proved true. Today’s aids are quite different from those of my grandmother’s or even of recent times. They are virtually invisible. I am very grateful to my daughter for her thoughtfulness, and I look forward to learning more about the new world I am hearing. As I have come to appreciate the clarity I get from wearing eyeglasses, now I enjoy the adventure of listening to a new and different world.

 

The Wisdom of Waiting

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Pictures downloaded from my camera 2. 156

 

Children are notoriously impatient. I was no exception. The car ride into Boston for holidays was excruciating, especially as dad had to take traffic ridden Route One and what was then the Sumner Tunnel. Sitting still for any length of time whether in a car or on a couch was difficult for me. Today, given the current parenting advice I might be labeled with some alphabet letters and perhaps given medicine. However in those days life was simpler and that kind of behavior wasn’t considered abnormal.

Because of this my most disliked punishment was not a spanking but being made to sit on the piano stool for fifteen or more long minutes. In addition I would be, “put on silence,” Which meant no conversation with anyone. It was difficult for me to learn to sit still. Once I when I was the only child at a very tedious adult afternoon tea I manufactured a case of hiccups so as to get some attention. My parents caught on to what I was doing and put a quick stop to it. Patience training begins early.

Fast forward to today: On Friday a few weeks ago, a big cardboard box appeared in the hall. Despite its weight, I lugged it in. “I think our exercise machine has come,” I told Stephen. “Good,” he said, “lets open it later.” He was busy as was I. Saturday and Sunday came and went. There were things to do and places to go. Occasionally one of us would say perhaps we might open it, yet it was never quite the right time.

On Monday a dear friend came for lunch. I mentioned the arrival of the exercise machine. “Can I see it?” she asked. “Sure,” I said, “no time like the present.” I opened the cardboard carton and started to lift out the machine. It wasn’t completely assembled. “Oh, let me help,” said our kind friend. She looked it over, lined up the parts, followed the instructions, and in very little time had it all done and in good working order.

How glad I was that we had waited. I’m sure we would have had to spend most of a day figuring out what went with what, where, and how. My clever friend had it put together in no time. There is wisdom in waiting for the correct moment, for that is when success is attained. The moment itself cannot be hurried, nor can its arrival be predicted. No amount of wishing or searching can affect this. Sometimes patience practice can be frustrating.

For example, no matter how hard we looked, Stephen and I found every place we’ve lived in Grafton by stumbling over it. Because none of our deliberate searches brought good results, we were forced to be patient. The practice of patience, like the practice of a musician, needs to be lifelong. Eventually it can be seen simply as a challenge rather than as a tedious bore. However, one must be patient because that ability comes only with plenty of practice.

Thorns and Roses

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Maine Roses and Hips -15          The season of roses approaches. One of my delights is to drive with the windows open and smell the fragrant wild white roses that border the roadsides. I know they are an invasive species. I found that out when I planted some by our swimming pool and after a year found myself dodging them. Soon they loomed over the fence and began reaching out to snare unwary swimmers, not to mention encroaching on the neighboring raspberries.

However their scent is amazingly beautiful, and for the several weeks of their blossoming any excuse will do for me to drive around just to smell them. Though I have not been able to grow them successfully, I have always loved cultivated roses and to receive them as a gift. Nowadays many commercial roses come without thorns. Somehow this seems wrong. In my mind, thorns and roses go together, and lately I have been thinking about this as a metaphor for life.

My daughter’s beloved mother-in-law passed on a little while ago. I was looking for a card to express my sympathy to my son-in-law and daughter when I ran across the two cards I had bought to send to cheer up the now recently deceased. I had lost track of them and been meaning to look harder so as to send them to her. Now it is too late. However, while I have regrets I will not hold onto them because what’s done is done and cannot be changed any longer.

One of my favorite teachers, the late Pir Valayat Inayat  Khan used to say, “Rather than regret that roses have thorns, rejoice that thorns have roses.” There is always something to be learned from the thorniest situation or relationship. I remember reading an essay by Emerson to the effect that one’s enemies are to be cherished because they help us to learn. Difficult situations do the same, as do difficult relationships. Another recent passing of someone with whom I experienced failure in this regard makes me sigh.

What saddens me is that no matter how deep my regret, the past cannot be changed. This can cause either serious dismay or graceful resignation. The missed opportunity to make up after a quarrel, the disappointed hope or expectation, the fervent desire for a change of heart are all thorns, yet regardless how much I wish things had been different, a least the thorns do in fact all have their own roses.

The pricking of the thorns is also a reminder to cherish the roses. While it is not possible to change the past, there are always opportunities to influence the future. It reminds me to acknowledge and to cherish the friendships I do have and to appreciate the gifts of generosity and love that bless my life. To regret the past is to cloud the present and perhaps even tinge the future with unnecessary sadness. As I work to cultivate the garden of my life I will water the roses of my resolutions with joy.

I Remember Mama

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Mama and Me Maine 2005          On the TV Screen pages turned in a photograph album as the weekly TV show called I remember Mama opened. Each week the daughter told a story from her growing up years, about her mother and her family. Although the show was set in 1910, the themes were timeless and had much to do with family interactions and behaviors. Though I do not remember any particular episodes, I do remember watching it with pleasure. The mother in the story was resourceful and clever, much like mine.

With the approach of Mother’s Day I find myself thinking about my late mother and remembering little tidbits about our life together. She worked hard to put good, healthy meals on the table–my dad came home every day for lunch, shop economically and keep up with the laundry. I remember her hanging out the clothes almost all year round. She grew vegetables in the garden and canned them for winter consumption. We kept chickens, and while it was my job to take care of them, it was hers to prepare and cook them. Plucking a chicken isn’t much fun, yet she did it without complaining.

She made fairly simple meals. We usually had meat and potatoes for lunch and some kind of a casserole or simpler meal at supper. My kitchen memories are more about being chased out and sent either upstairs or out of doors to play, depending on the season. I remember staying up for radio shows with Mom and Dad. It was a wonderful treat to sit on one of their beds and hear a grownup show. Starting when I was about twelve they took me to the movies with them, although they usually skipped the first of the double features.

My mother was a brave woman who came to this country from Germany knowing almost no one except my dad. Though she spoke excellent English, at the time to be German national was to be suspected of being a spy. I believe she told me that at one point she was even under surveillance. She soon became an American citizen, however, and during the second world war she joined a women’s civilian motor corp. I can see her now in her brown uniform, wearing a smart cap with a brim. Along with some of her friends she did various things to be of help at home.

She left me a wonderful legacy of courage and curiosity along with a desire to do things right as well as get the details correct. She played card games and Chinese checkers with me. Though she was never one to help me win, she played fairly and enjoyed the competitive aspect of the games. Later on, while she did not believe in interfering in my life, she always did her best to advise me when I asked her to. I miss her presence in my life, yet I know that she is far happier and more comfortable now. With gratitude for all she did for me, in my heart I wish her a happy Mother’s Day.

Tasha Halpert

Spring Has Truly Sprung

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Spring blossoms, white          When I was a child in grade school, each year our music teacher organized May Day celebrations. Every class participated, and a May Queen was selected from among the girls in the ninth, the topmost grade. The younger children had their own maypole. I found it hopelessly confusing. You had to go over one and under the next as you wound your ribbon around the pole, weaving it into the others until there was only a little left. After rehearsals, much to my relief I wasn’t chosen to do it.

There were dances and songs–I still have a printed paper program from then in a scrapbook made for me by a devoted relative. The songs were of British origin and invoked the days of “lasses and lads” who met and parted though the specifics were a mystery to my young mind. No one talked of the fertility symbols or the meaning behind the rituals centered around the day we were celebrating.

The first of May is the midpoint between the Vernal Equinox and the Summer Solstice. Nature is pushing forward. The increase of the light from now forward reflects the brightness of the days that begin their most obvious decline around the first of August. In the northern hemisphere there are many celebrations associated with this date. They reach far back in the history of humanity, symbolizing our connection with the earth and its fertility.

Most recent is of course the “May Day” workers’ celebrations of the former Soviet Union. My mother and I were in Moscow on that date twenty six years ago. I remember the colorful flags hanging everywhere, and the crowds of people in Red Square. However, from far back in human history, May Day has been one of the great spring celebrations of Europe and the British Isles. It is associated with fertility for both crops and farm animals, promoted through ancient rituals, many of which involved fire.

In these modern times we believe more in fertilizer than in fertility rituals. Few people these days will dance around a maypole–an obvious phallic symbol, or go off into the woods with a partner to insure that the fertility of land and pasture will continue. There is no need. Supermarkets are stocked all year round with almost every seasonal vegetable and fruit–no need to wait until June for strawberries or fall for apples. Those who have never experienced this timing cannot miss it, but in some ways I do.

Yesterday Stephen and I drove along a wooded country road in the sunshine. The light illuminated the unfolding blossoms of the trees clustered around it. The cloudless blue sky above and the sunlight filtering through the branches above us lifted our hearts and filled us with joy. Summer with its own delights is in the wings; spring is on the stage revealing its special beauty now. It seems important to take time to notice this delicate time of unfolding.

Dandelion Days

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dandilionforwishingThe first flowers I remember picking were dandelions. Proudly I brought them to my mother, who lovingly thanked me. I have memories of making dandelion flower crowns with her. We’d slit the stems, slide a flower through, and repeat until the crown or wreath was large enough to wear. Dandelions are the first flowers many children are allowed to pick. They are such pretty little bright spots, and unbeknownst to many, such good medicine It seems a pity that people feel they have to eliminate them.

Those who want pristine green lawns eradicate dandelions, never realizing that instead of poisoning these cheerful yellow suns, they could pick them and make a wine that tastes of summer, a bread, or other baked goods, or use the leaves in a salad, a stir fry or combined with other greens in a juicer. Dandelion leaves have excellent food value, and are a healthy, desirable spring vegetable. The roasted, ground roots make a coffee like drink.

Children love the yellow flowers; parents faced with eliminating stains from the milky juice, not so much. Homeowners might like to know the long roots actually benefit the lawn: they aerate the soil, keeping it from becoming compacted and unable to absorb nutrients. Susun Weed says there is enough vitamin A in a dandelion leaf to rival store supplements. As well there is vitamin C and many helpful minerals. It is also a mild, effective natural diuretic. If your lawn is away from the road, you can safely use your dandelions many ways.

Here is my recipe for Dandelion Deluxe: Ingredients: ½ cup chopped onion, 4 cloves of garlic minced or chopped fine, 1 small summer squash chopped small, 4 cups dandelion greens, olive oil. Method: Prepare greens while you sauté onion, garlic and summer squash in a olive oil. Remove roots and tough bottom stems. Wash very well. Cut up with scissors. Steam in a small amount of water until they wilt down. Strain water and set aside. Add chopped greens to sautéed vegetables and cook until stems are tender. You serve as is or you can mingle into your food processor for a different taste. Drink the healthy cooking water, your body will thank you.

Dandelion Wine: Age for at least 6 months. It will continue to mellow. Ingredients: 1 Qt Dandelions, yellow part only. 4 Qts. boiling water, 3 Lemons, 3 oranges, 4 Lbs sugar, 1 Pkg. yeast. Method: Pour boiling water over blossoms, set for 24 hours in a warm place. Slice fruit and remove seeds. Cover with sugar; set for 24 hrs also. Then strain blossoms and pour liquid over oranges and lemons. Add 1 package any yeast. Pour into ceramic or stainless steel. Let stand 4 or 5 days. Strain, let stand one more day. Bottle, then cap with small balloons. Leave until the wine stops “working” and balloons collapse. Cork and store 6 months or more. Then sip. It tastes like summer. Recipe makes 5 bottles.

Tasha Halpert