Theo Can't Fly

I’ve been carrying around this piece of pink paper for years. On it is a poem that I wrote in the hours between school and supper back in December 1981. I was in the second grade, and could entertain myself for hours with my pink doodle paper, markers, crayons, and imagination.

Trying to keep my lines straight was no small feat. I can remember writing out several versions, but my words just kept sloping down. Even still, I was quite proud of my creation. Especially sounding out all those big words. Like pueugeuns.

But carrying around this relic of my youth—one of my earliest writings—was getting to be burdensome. Every year or so, I’d come across it somewhere in our house—filed with invoices from the vet, tucked inside of a notebook, buried under blank notecards and address labels from the MSPCA—and think to myself, someday I should really do something with that.

Finally, in a mini decluttering spree a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take action. I brought it to the framers. I’m so happy with how it turned out! Now I just need to find somewhere to hang it . . .

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because my walls are decidedly less cluttered than my drawers. 

Enjoy the Silence: Meditation with Mantras

I've been attending a weekly Kundalini yoga class for the last two months. It's a style of yoga that's very different from the power/vinyasa flow I am used to. The poses are dynamic (i.e., you're moving) but you do the same pose for several minutes. It might look easy on the surface, but I can attest--this stuff is intense!

What has really captivated me about this style of yoga is its bevy of mantras. Lots of chants and hand motions. It's like cheerleading in Sanskrit--but without the kicks, flips, and squeals. The mantras serve as a form of meditation.

Generally speaking, a yoga class is a meditative experience in and of itself. But there's something about throwing around all those Kundalini gang signs (better known as mudras) and the lullaby of all those foreign words that has swept me into a place where to-do lists and everyday woes are just a tiny blip on the horizon.

"Your strength is how quietly, calmly, and peacefully you face life."

                                                                                           --Yogi Bhajan

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically, on Tuesdays at 7:15 p.m.--to live happily ever after. (Image courtesy of stevoarnold via Creative Commons.)

The Blind Spot in My Kitchen Cupboard

For as long as I can remember, Andrew and I have had a can of store-brand peaches in our cupboard. These peaches were so old that they predated our relationship. So old that the grocery store they came from had since changed its name--twice.  So old that "in heavy syrup" once had some appeal. If I had to guess, I'd say they were purchased around the same time that the Presidents of the United States of America were singing about the sweet orbs. In other words: these peaches had no right hanging out in our cupboard.

Growing up, I remember there being an ancient box of rice pudding in our pantry. "Nope, not that," my mother would say when my brother and I were trolling around for something dessert worthy. That box dated back to their newlywed days. It was a relic--and so too would be our can of peaches if I hadn't thrown them out this evening.

I had just finished watching Hoarders, a new show on A&E about people on the verge of crisis because of an inability to part with their belongings. One of the women featured had an inordinate amount of food in her home--most of it inproperly stored, forgotten about, and seriously spoiled. It turned my stomach just to watch. The whole time, I kept thinking about our peaches--envisioning the nastiness inside that can--and that they had to go. Now.

I pitched the peaches, can and all--my recycling feathers all a ruffle. To my suprise, I noticed a number of items in the cupboard that were past their prime. A can of tomato paste that was meant for a pasta fagioli recipe I last made in 2004. Three bags of slivered almonds best used by August 2008. More canned fruit. An imported can of Bachelors mushy peas. Raisins from our west coast road trip trail mix two years ago. One of my best friend's half-used bag of lentils from 2006. All of it now in the trash.

I knew that some of these items were in our cupboard; others were a complete surprise--even though I'm in there daily. Huh. Makes me wonder: What else is lurking in all those other blind spots in our home? And what ever happened to the Presidents of the United States of America?

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after (and eat more peaches of the non-canned variety).

Spinnin' Spree

It has only been two weeks, but I think I'm ready to announce that I am in love--with my salad spinner. I know, two weeks might seem a bit premature, but I've made enough salads in my life to know a quality gadget when I see it. The generously sized basket, the sturdy construction, its no-slip base. And oh, lest not I forget the ergonomic pump. This baby has more giddy-up than my boyfriend's GTI. My greens are squeaky clean, even fluffy. Sure, I've waxed poetic over other kitchen gadgets before. The bread machine. The rice steamer. The popcorn popper. The ice cream maker. I've long since given those space hogs away (well, not the ice cream maker). But this one's different. Salads have never tasted so good. Not to mention, perfectly dried greens don't require as much dressing. And did I mention just how much fun it is to get the greens spinning really, really, really fast?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Although less really is more, I do enjoy a new kitchen gadget every now and then.