“There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” Einstein
I believe that this mindset helps us to live more creatively, fully and compassionately.
Just a thought.
Author: lorigreer
My world came crashing down when my husband died. My journey back to a whole and happy life is recounted in this blog Lori Greer in Portland. It is not always easy but it is always worth it.
My First Born
I could tell many stories about my first born.
This is one from the summer when he was 12 years old.
The start of summer.
That summer, he joined a year-round swim team.
He suffered from asthma and we thought swimming would be good for him.
We were right.
The end of summer.
By the end of the summer his breathing was much better. He did not have to use his inhaler as often. His wheezing was minimal. Also at the end of summer he swam in his first competitive meet. His event was the 500.
He was swimming against kids who had been in the program since they were 5 years old. Even though he was much better after taking lessons and practicing all summer, he was not as strong a swimmer as those kids.
They swam laps around him. They finished, exited the pool, and stood on the side watching him, now the only swimmer in the pool. The official stopped him and asked him if he wanted to quit.
My husband and I waited to see what he would do.
Without hesitation, he chose to finish the 500.
All of the other swimmers, the other parents and the officials waited while he swam back and forth across the pool.
The 500 is 100 yards freestyle, 100 yards backstroke, 100 yards butterfly stroke and 100 breaststroke. A really good swimmer can swim it in under ten minutes. He took about 30 minutes to complete all of the twenty laps.
He did not take home any medals that day, but he was a champion in our eyes.
He swam competitively for six years and earned many swimming and diving medals. His asthma was no longer an issue.
The story today.
He now is the father of a 12-year old son who is following in his path as a swimmer. My grandson has mastered all of the strokes and is doing well. He has not yet competed against other swimmers in a meet.
How he swims under the pressure of competition remains to be seen. I am confident that he will be a champion in the things that matter.
Once upon a time.
Did I ever tell you about the time that Christmas was cancelled at my house?
I was a little kid.
My Father was dead.
My Mother was left with three little children.
Like all little kids, we were excited for Christmas.
It turned out to be the worst Christmas ever.
Mother was upset.
I did not know why but I felt as if I had done something wrong.
There were no presents under the tree.
All was quiet.
I am an adult now.
No more tears.
Crying Time
These days, it does not take much for me to get teary-eyed or even to weep.
I weep when I read about someone’s good deed.
Or, I hear a song that brings back a memory, either sad or happy.
Continue reading “Crying Time”Masking for a friend
Saturday Morning November 12, 2022
Good morning from chilly, but not rainy, Portland.
I surveyed my front and back patios to see if the leaves had taken over.
So far, the score is 1-1.
A friend loaned me a leaf blower so I have an advantage.
I hate using a leaf blower…so loud plus, I can use the exercise. Still, I am grateful to have it for the sidewalk and driveway.
When I am not in a hurry, raking leaves makes me slow down and smell the leaves.
Continue reading “Saturday Morning November 12, 2022”Crossing the finish line
I am so close to resolving my window shade problem.
For several months, I battled Hunter Douglas and Home Depot for replacement of defective shades.
Four of the five shades fell apart and could not be repaired.
I paid a workman to take them down and bought temporary paper shades to cover my windows and protect my furniture and hardwood floors from the blazing sun.
So, instead of custom shades from Hunter Douglas in my living room, I had paper shades. Really sad!
Continue reading “Crossing the finish line”Thursday Morning
I started my day by breaching the alarm system in my home.
Continue reading “Thursday Morning”Beans
I love black beans.
I buy small containers of black beans from a local Cuban restaurant.
They are good but expensive. Plus, the restaurant is far away, adding the feeling of a pilgrimage to buy them.
I could eat one container in one sitting, but I stretch the beans by adding them to burritos, salads, or rice. Sometimes, I do eat them plain. They are so good.
Yesterday I decided I would break the cycle and cook my own black beans from scratch.
Dried organic black turtle beans sell for $3.99 a pound at my grocer, less than the cost of one small container of cooked beans.
I approach this with trepidation.
I have not had good luck cooking black beans. Probably too much liquid or too little attention to the beans as they cooked resulting in mushy, flavorless beans.
To begin this rustic cooking journey, I measured one cup of dried beans and soaked them overnight in the refrigerator.
This morning I rinsed them and tossed any questionable beans.
While the beans drained in a colander, I toasted cumin, smoked Spanish paprika and a few chili flakes for less than a minute. The smell was incredible.
Then I added the beans and water, bringing them to a boil.
Now they are simmering with the lid halfway over the pot, a compromise to covering or not covering the pot.
Wish me luck!
Love Hate
I have a love/hate relationship with this tree.
It frames the window of my office and brings me joy all year long.
In spring, soft green buds appear.
In summer, the leaves are a rich green.
Fall brings leaves that are gold, yellow and orange.
Even in winter when the leaves are gone, the bare branches offer a lacy pattern against the daily gray skies.
So, what’s the problem?
Everyday, for what seems like weeks on end, I sweep and rake the fallen leaves.
I go out at first light, often in the rain.
I clean up the leaves knowing that I will repeat this the next day and the day after that until all the leaves have fallen.
Like many beautiful things, there is a price to pay.
In this case, well worth it.
Lori Greer in Portland 