silver and gold and green bean casserole

It was the week of Thanksgiving. I'm technically not a newlywed, but sometimes, still feel like one. Either way, holidays are not something I've ever celebrated. So when the 'big day' is with my new in-laws, I was ok to have to work. In fact, I have asked my supervisors to schedule me on holidays. "All of my family is out of state. I don't celebrate holidays, anyway." is what I would say, laugh and walk away. So it was, now the night before Thanksgiving, and my girlfriend said, she was sorry that my daughter and I were not speaking. She had a similar situation. "It's ok." I said, it doesn't bother me anymore. She called me out on it. "Yes, it does! No one can fill that part of your life." Her phone battery died and I continued baking and cooking for my part of a Thanksgiving meal with my in-laws that I would not attend. Vegetables were seasoned and wrapped in foil for family to pick up the next day, and take to the meal my husband would enjoy after working too, but with an earlier finish time. I cleaned the kitchen, watered plants, set my alarm, and drifted off. Unexpectedly, I heard a loud knocking on the door! It was already early daylight, and minutes before my alarm was to sound. I looked at my husband, and already robed, I told him I would get the door. I could hardly believe it! My daughter, whom i hadn't spoken to in years, was at my door! I gasped and was frozen! She said, "Hi! Aren't you going to invite me in?" I did and was so befuddled as she ushered in a sleepy boyfriend and several suitcases, I still didn't know what to do. She understood and picked right up with an explanation. "You know all those years that you worked, and missed holidays with us, I always resented that about you. We grew father apart as time went on, and now that you are halfway across the country, I just gave up on ever having a real relationship with you. But then I thought, it doesn't have to be that way. You said you were moving to slow down, go back to school, so I knew you would have today off. It was a sure thing. No more, "I have to go to work" and my sister and I would be left alone to our own means for holidays with Dad and family, without you. So what do you say? I'm here! Happy Thanksgiving!" She wrapped her arms around me, as we both began to cry. Inside walls fell like Jericho. Her boyfriend had found the dog and was petting it's head and kicking a rug. "Ok!" I exhaled. She stiffened. "You are off today, aren't you?" I turned to my husband, now standing in the hallway, and looked at her 'red eye flight' eyes and smeared mascara. And then . . . . . my alarm went off. I woke up. It was Thanksgiving morning. I had to go to work. I stumbled in the dark, past the dog to silence the alarm. I began gathering clothes. I have been doing this so long, I don't know any other way. Being with my patients has always been my place during holidays. I don't easily let people 'in'. I did move down here to go back to school. I did move to slow down. I turned on the bathroom light and started the shower. I do miss my daughters, and hope they have a blessed day with their family and friends. I turned to close the bathroom door, and then heard a knock at the front door. A loud knock, like someone really wanted me to just stay home today. Happy Thanksgiving Silver and Gold ~Neil Young http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2WNs1FAPeA © ruth follmann

What's on your mind?

Heads are containers to hold stuf. They are very useful that way. So successful are they at arranging the things we need to use in convenient upper body locations, that scientists and robot engineers copy the human design for their own creations. (although some days I would prefer the design of the Mars Curiosity to human, complete with six rocker-boogie tires, a radioisotope thermoelectric generator, and hazcams!)

                                                      

Nevertheless, we are stuck with it, and all the impressions it gives, groups we are associated with, lifestyles and camps we claim. For although we are bombarded, like no generation before us on this silly planet, with mountain ranges of information on a constant basis, we still make our initial reflections, our observations, and sometimes accepted judgments based on what that head looks like instead of what is inside.


                                                         

This container houses contraptions to facilitate our senses, some of which, on our fellows, are not as functional as ours. Vision's sense removed, hearing, sense of smell or taste gone, and still astounding accomplishments can be mapped out and created due to the contents, our brain. A friend recently shared that our brains have the ability to grow and change based on what information they are fed. A diet of music can cause the grey matter to grow and create folds, holding the new data in ways that are observably different from brains that have not been trained in this study. The beautiful mind!


                                                                
                                                                           John Nash ~  1928-2015
                                             

And why not, countless hours and monies are spent to shape and sculpt the body so it is pleasing to others, but what are we doing to re-craft and embellish our thoughts, superstitions, prejudices, assumptions, and sometimes unmovable Teutonic plates of arrogance and stupidity?

How much more important what is inside this container than how it appears on the outside! Matthew 23:27 contains a hint to that when the teacher, Jesus cited the Pharisees as being like white washed graves, righteous and beautiful on the outside, but inside wicked, hypocritical, full of dead men's bones.

                                                                     


Meditation teacher in the arts of Theravada Buddhist tradition, Gina Sharpe notes that: "The basis of a beautiful life is a beautiful mind." When asked to expand on that statement she said: "A beautiful mind is a mind that integrates everything, whether full sail or no wind. It can be buoyant despite conditions. It’s trained to be so. Our minds left untended are not careful. We have to be careful about what grows up in the garden of the mind; careful about what needs tending, feeding, and what needs cutting back. The quality of care is what makes a garden beautiful, as much as the particulars. Similarly, anytime you try to narrow things down to a particular definition—or when we try to make huge decisions—we get bogged down. It’s more beautiful to see with care how every small response is made, and how it makes a kaleidoscopic pattern." (complete interview link: http://www.parabola.org/the-beautiful-mind.html)


                                                               

How much more effective to begin a conversation with the question: "So what's on your mind?" in lieu of a boring statement as to how the container holding such a precious object appears somewhat different, due to new glasses, jewelry or even a haircut. These external appearances define us according to bias and pigeonholing. They create boundaries, that if were crossed, may lead to combined collective thought processes or life solutions created between otherwise appearance separated individuals.

                                                                      


My container image may toss me into the LBGT box, where the dreadlocks on another may denote a careless life, possibly with drug abuse. And so what if I am or not or he is or not. Why does it matter? Should we care? And what is that?!? Is it some kind of evolutionary instinctual GPS? It's annoying! We all need to look past those containers, the styles, the scars, the disabilities, the beauty, the bling and see: THE MIND! It's imperative we do so. Our world is growing smaller every day due to technology and travel. We have and are suffering genocides due to this splayed pattern of thinking. We truly need to work on our gardens, the ones in our minds. Cultivate the beautiful thriving and strengthening thoughts and pluck the weeds of bias and hate to the side. What a more beautiful place the world would be if we composted and regrew these ingrained tendencies through mediation and reflection. It is certainly a more productive way to spend time in a line other than reliving an uncomfortable moment over and over again. Turn the garden shovel inward and dig deep!


                                                                        

My husband and I have stopped eating loafs of bread due to the body's easy capacity to add pounds as one enjoys middle age. We use whole wheat wraps for most of our 'bread' needs. As becos means bread, and bread is sustenance, as knowledge is sustenance: how much more fitting in our times of a ever changing world to have a flexible bread? One that can wrap around what ever ingredients life throws our way. A bread to feed us, nourish us, with a comfort and fullness that we truly care about what is on someone's mind, and not just what is on their head.

senior moment by ruth follmann | Make Your Own Book

I'M PULLING THROUGH!

I'll never forget waiting in line in a woman's restroom to witness one of the greatest examples of feminine strength and resiliency. A little girl, no older than four, took her turn to use the stalled toilet, with Mom grabbing the stall door from behind, to slow it and hold it closed. The little girl came right back out of the stall like a bull from a rodeo pen, reclaimed the door's control all to herself, and exclaimed to her Mother and all in the bathroom: "NO, MOM! I can do it MYSELF!"



The Mom turned beet red, and after looking to the floor, looked up at me and apologized for her daughter's public behavior. I countered with an absolute additional: "NO!"

I told the young mother that what we had all just witnessed was one of the best examples
of feminine assertive behavior that I had ever seen! I shared with all,
that it took years for me to get to that level of strength and confidence. Instead of shame,
this young lady should be applauded, and will make one heck of a CEO someday!



In not to dissimilar a case, I recall a parking lot driving lesson with my oldest. She had always back seat driver encouraged me to 'pull up' to the next parking spot, so leaving the lot could be an easier task.

Of course, as old horses do, I plodded off in my same parking lot pattern I had for years, until that one magical day, when she was behind the wheel.


She was turning right into the angled parking spot when ahead of her appeared an opening like all the beaming lights of heaven itself. She had almost caught herself in the same child like intonation, to tell me to pull forward, when I could see the lightening bolt recognition on her face and in her eyes that SHE was in control this time.



Without missing a beat, my oldest exclaimed; "I'M PULLING THROUGH!" and she did!



I don't know who had more of a rush, her or me, to witness that Rosa Parks moment of strength, and newfound freedom.


'You've always had the power to go back to Kansas' ~is what Dorothy Gale
was told, after much trepidation.


You can be who you want to be and not be ashamed or guilty, you have the right to be loved, happy, and not hurt or frightened by others, is what I told myself. (there was no glowing bubble that popped)


Years of walls, structures and confines for women that we must knock down ourselves, with the sledgehammers of our self bolstered lives.



It's no wonder when we see a young woman already making that huge step, (the one that terrified us for years), with all the gusto of an Olympic Star, that we have to smile to ourselves and know,

            things are going to be ok.

Body language and intimidation

We are limited, sometimes, how our bodies affect others.  Our knowledge of that impact is diminished because we are in our bodies.  Generally we know the amount of space we need to allow to pass through a small area, just like we know how to park our car.  But do we really understand, without the use of a wall size mirror, how we appear to others, especially to those who are vulnerable or frail, aka the very young or very old.

A recent study of this topic (http://www.fiercehealthcare.com/story/patients-passive-care-decisions-avoid-difficult-label/2012-05-07) revealed that 48 patients felt intimidated to question their healthcare choices.  The interesting thing about this study was that those with a lesser degree of education did not suffer from this block.
So how are we doing?

I recently had an enlightening situation.  A confused patient showed decreased signs of stress with  her facial expression and her calmer voice when I simply changed my body position from standing to sitting at the bedside, thus creating an eye level conversation.  This same patient, previously combative, allowed a RN to insert an IV when the same change was made, but this time~raising the bed. This is why classroom teacher chairs are small like their students chairs, so the instruction can be given at eye level.

Unless you have been in a hospital bed, medicated, in pain, maybe suffering from sleep deprivation or hunger, with a language barrier or hard of hearing, you can not gauge the importance of how others appear to you.  As in the case of the California study, it may~if negative body language is utilized~shut down communication. How unfortunate if this is the case! Take time to check your expression or tone of voice when you are being 'forced' to wait on the frailty or inexperience of others.  Every patient care experience is a privilege. Truly, in this case, a look can kill. 

It wasn't until I was listening to the 45's loaded into my husband's reconditioned juke box, that I realized my love for spinning a rhyme, came from my mom's music.  Mom has a collection of 45's still in the harvest gold plastic record spindles.  We would unearth them to play, laugh about, and hear Mom's stories of each song.  Invariably the songs would be too slow for our pace, too lame. 

This would of course cause us to 'rewrite' the next lyric, & snap it out to each other, before the actual singer of the song could sing the next intended verse.  My brothers and I would try to rival each other in an outrageous jr high school brand of humor for each song.

Usually my Mom would say, 'Ok, that's enough' until sometimes we would really craft a golden rewrite, and she would catch herself laughing too, caught off guard as a parent, just one of the kids too.

Oh Mableline, why can't you be true . . . why are you angry I'm stalking you,
Everybody loves somebody, somehow  . . . even if they are fat just like a cow,
Groovin on a Sunday afternoon  . . . running from you, you crazy loon, life would be ecstasy, if you would stay away from me,
She got the way to move me, Cherry Ex-Lax, she got the way to move me,Oh Cherry-Baby!
My baby bought me a letter, said she couldn't live without a vowel anymore, don't care how much I've got to pay, wheel of fortune's here to stay, my baby bought me a letter,
Young girl, get out of this line, you can't buy beer or smokes this time,
better run girl, cops aren't fun girl,
I wish they all could be paraplegic girls, the girls who walk, show offs who can, wish they were girls like me who can't stand,
Then I saw here face, like hit by a meat cleaver, not a trace, of last night . . .
usually when Mom took the records away.

Politically incorrect kids! My poor Mom.  She smoothed our rough edges with tolerance, open mindedness, and a global view.
Thank goodness!

Sometimes I still find myself in the middle of a rewrite, my husband's juke box playing in background.  The juke box he spent years refinishing, the poetry i spent years waiting to publish, together in rhyme.

There's a kind of  hush all over the world, tonight, until you fart tonight, la la la la.

Caught in a crack, and I can't get out, I can look up your skirt right now, baby, why can't you see, what your doing to me, when you step on my face, baby. (fade) when you step on my face, baby.

I was recently asked to create a list of 'ruthisms' for future reference and bemusement.
Upon reflection, I noted to my friend, the origin, of most of these sayings,  is my dad.
In light of that statement, these hor dourves of litany should be due fully referenced as:
'stoshisms'

and since 'isms' are short and sweet, (and because i am also ironing while typing, scary, eh? :o)
here is an incomplete list of  'stoshisms'

l.  The paranoid always survive.

2.  Don't act like a woman wearing a paper hat.

3.  Always walk around with a cup of coffee in your hand, even though you
     sweep the floors,
     people will think that you run the place!
     (and someday you may!) *

4. If you want to know why someone is doing something for you, ask yourself,
    what that 'something'
    has to do with money, and you will have your answer.

5. There will always be someone who wants you to help them save the world, but only
    one time, when you are young, that you can use your energy to save/build yourself.

6.  Pay attention to your spelling! There is no 'spell check' on handwritten job applications.

7.  When you are looking for work, don't just pick out any job in the want ads.
      Find an employment opportunity that agrees with your focus and drive,
      with a team of co-workers you can respect.
      Then approach them, and tell them what you can do to add to their team!

8.  Never underestimate a firm handshake, confident eye, pressed shirt,
     and shined shoes.

9.  Success is 2% know how and 98% moxy!

10.  Make it do, wear it our, use it up, or do without!

11.  Despite how little money you may have, your car, home, clothes (closets,
       dresser drawers, barn, out buildings, basement, back pack, . . .)
              ~can always be clean and presentable!

12.  Never forget Norman Cousins' lesson in Anatomy of An Illness,
       and always look for the healing power of laughter.
      
13.  Remember to always look for magic ~ like Walt Disney!

14.  Work hard, play harder!

15.  Careful how many times you put your hand in the refrigerator, you may get frostbite!

16.  No matter what is happening, there is always time for The Solid Gold Dancers!

17.  A resume is always best; hand typed, brief, and hand delivered.

18.  (when noting something amazing) "Stop! Look around at this."
       "Make a picture of it in your mind."
       "You may never be in this spot again in your life. Take a look at how beautiful this is!"

19.  Always pack your suitcase with ironed clothes. 
       Folded correctly, you will be able to wear them right away,
       and have an advantage over your competition.*

20.  Listen to your mother.



miss u, dad


*My dad started sweeping docks at trucking terminals,
  and ended up the President of a chapter of several trucking terminals
  in the Milwaukee, WI area, in addition to his own company.

*Dad came home on weekends. He stayed in Des Plaines, IL or Milwaukee, WI for work weekdays.

I met a man with a love of words just as deep as mine.
We met on St Patrick's Day, and the shower of golden words he shared, was better than any pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
The magic of it all was; he bequeaths a profound, sometimes funny, vocabulary
word, one for each letter of the alphabet, to his grandchildren. Currently, I believe, they are somewhere near 'm'.
I was titillated with words like kakidrosis, intrepid, scalawag, and hallux! (sweat with fetid odor, fearless, rascal, and big toe)
His grandchildren use the words for improving school work, a political figure will 'abdicate' or the basketball team will face opposition 'intrepid'!  I told the grandsons, "Do you know how awesome your Grandfather is?" They knew, but looked disappointed that I did not use a more tantalizing tidbit of wit or whimsy to describe the Irishman with.
Perhaps I could have described him as: tremendous, epigrammatic, jocular, scintillating, ebullient, vivacious, & wily! But woe is me,  I am not as nimble-witted or facetious as their grandfather is!

What a great example for grandparents~a word a day!

My oldest sing sang the word onomatopoeia in grade K. The youngest in grade 5 during class discussions of solids, liquids and gases asked, 'What about plasmas?' Our input does make a difference! Turn off the TV and pick up a classic, Dickens, Harriet Beecher Stowe, or even Poe and read to your child!

The youngest still has angst over the story: 'The Tell-Tale Heart' which really originated with Edgar Allen Poe, and not mom, when she heard it around the campfire as a child.  Many years later in freshman LIT class, I was pronounced guilty of plagiarism!

The opportunities are everywhere. Share them with a meal. Becos means bread, bread is sustenance, as knowledge is sustenance.  Words lead to knowledge.  Children love to hear new words.

As recounted in a short story by James Baldwin, 'Becos' is a Phrygian (_pro_. frij'i an) word, and it means bread. The Phrygians are considered one of the first civilizations, bread, one of our first foods.
In this spirit, & with a call to recreate a sense of world community and simplicity, 'becoshood' is an interactive project.

Its aim to rebuild the feeling of neighborhood that
our grandparents had, but on a larger scale.
Why? Because, we are a world family now.
Technology has made our borders closer,
sometimes invisible.

Yet we still need to eat, and sometimes the most basic of foods, bread.

'Becoshood' begins with sharing a bread item with a neighbor and asking them to blog about it on this site.
We hope to collect many stories of community, and what it
means to interact with one another again, to weave a fabric of words, shared together with a simple meal as this project travels across the country.
Butter up your story! Make it sweet with honey words! Heat it up like toast! Please keep it clean and family appropriate, as this is a community project.

Becos means bread, bread means a meal, a meal means family,
family means love, love brings peace, and peace brings growth.

Please help the growth of peace in 'becoshood'!
Thank you for your participation!
~Ruth Follmann

From bus stops to driveways, storefronts and causeways, 'becoshood' 

begins. Many I spoke to recounted times past when the sense of

community flowed much easier. Our ever moving river of technology

sometimes sweeps away our little trickling brook of one to one

interactions. This project hopes to join the two in a new refreshing

way.

My mom recalled the family of neighborhood she had growing up on the

Southside of Chicago. The Rokavichs, (spelling?) would join her

parents for pinnacle card games every weekend. She babysat for the

Ross family's little boy, Stanley. Her father called him Stosho

and hung him on a doorknob by his suspenders while the little boy

laughed. Mom remembers collecting money door to door for Mrs. Ross

when she lost a little baby girl at birth.

She said, not all the neighbors knew the Ross family, but gave what

they could anyway.

Victory gardens were a small plot shared in a large unused lot at the

end of the street by the railroad tracks.

Every family would share a section of the lot. The owner of the land

didn't seem to mind it was being used this way for good.

Each neighbor respected the others garden section, and many including

my Grandfather would share their bounty with others on the city block.


Holidays were shared, birthdays celebrated, and best of all, the block

parties.

Sawhorses would close off street ends of the block, and

somewhere central, dishes to pass would be set up. Fire hydrants

would be opened so all kids could jump and play in the icy water

on that hot summer day. I remember as a child being tossed by the

direct hit of a hydrant stream to the flooded pavement below,

laughing, only to get in line with other wet little kids to

experience it again. Pink Jell-O molds, coleslaw salads, hot dogs,

and fresh baked pies all lined makeshift tables as we ate and

chased lightning bugs to put them in our peanut butter jars, (lids

perforated for air, of course).

We played hide and seek until the street lights went on.

That was the signal. When the street lights went on, all the mothers

had told their kids it would be time to come in and end the day.

Sometimes there would be a stubborn playmate who would talk you into

one more game of tag or hide & seek. But as soon as you found that

'perfect spot', the one that you were sure no one would find

you in, you would hear your name being called out from a cement front

porch, and your friend's too, but by another mom on another porch.

You would try to still win the game, until you heard that certain

pitch of your mother's voice, that meant business, calling you. It

was then you came slumping out of your 'perfect spot', only to find

your friend, 3 feet away from you, being called out too!

You looked at each other and laughed! Another day, and

another 'perfect spot', in a great neighborhood,

on the Southside of Chicago by Midway Airport, where you could pick

up the control tower on your clock radio, where no one took your

shoveled winter parking spot saved with an old kitchen chair.

Where you knew to stop your conversation outside until the plane flew

over, where your friend's mom would make sure you didn't get in

trouble, and your mom fed everybody pj sandwiches & milk for lunch

during the Bozo Show and Speed Racer cartoons, where you roamed the

streets and alleys garbage picking and taming stray cats.

Sometimes I really miss it.

But this is why we have this site. To recall those times, and maybe

in a small way, to recreate them with words and our interactions

with others, . . . with bread.