I have learned.

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

coco-frio rain song

coco-frio rain song

Its Good Friday and our engine broke down on the plane, of course...

Yesterday was crystalline, we spent the afternoon in El Yunque - the Puerto Rican national rainforest. It is the only unaffectedly growing American national park and feels as if from a separate continent. It was a beautiful afternoon. Eva and I jumped under a waterfall. Short hair plastered to the napes of our necks. Splashing, celebrating our freedom in azul water. Finally quieting beneath the pounding cascade, letting it massage our backs, as it came tumbling down a sixty-foot fall. Camilla took pictures, holding her camera like a traveling Asian. It was a thoughtful, green experience and it became better as it started to rain. And rain, and rain; and in the rain we walked back out of the woods. As it poured I sang internally, and Eva’s oval-shaped Latino mouth began to chant.

“Praise god from who all blessings flow,

Praise him all you creatures here below; 


Praise him above, ye heavenly host;


Praise father, son, and holy ghost”

Chanting the doxology, we meandered, tan bodies stripped down to red and orange bikinis, holding soaked cotton clothes. We ended up eating sweet coco-frio, scraping pale white flesh with spoons from the walls of the round brown coco. Sitting at a little shack restaurant without windows on the mountain, it had this view of cascading verdure, and a window with a huge ledge. We ate deep fried cena, and as always, spicy rice and red beans. Sempre rice and beans.

The engines start to throb, returned to health. I’m watching a flight attendant who has the most beautiful gray hair i have ever seen. She wears it long, swinging around her and still looking youthful.

Know Your Food (borrowed from Daily OM)

Eating Close to the Earth

The food we eat is a multidimensional aspect of our lives. Food provides us with the energy that enables us to grow and prosper. Yet it can be, and frequently is, much, much more. Our food can be an experience in and of itself if we allow it to be. The dishes we remember from childhood offer unmatched comfort. The act of preparing meals can be an art form of the highest caliber. And the nourishment we derive from this fare promotes wellness within us. But many of us, distracted by daily affairs, forget that the profound pleasures of eating go beyond simple sustenance. We eat foods that are convenient or we eat unconsciously, snacking on whatever happens to be on hand. To understand the true value of food and the impact it can have on our lives, we should acknowledge and honor it by eating close to the earth.

If you have ever shelled and eaten garden-grown peas or bitten into a sun-warmed apple freshly plucked from its tree, you likely understand that there is a marked difference between these foods and those that are processed and stacked on supermarket shelves. Food recently picked contains more of its original life force and thus has a greater store of energy and nutrients. You can ensure you are eating close to the earth—and enjoying the many benefits of doing so—by shopping at a local farmers market and getting to know the individuals who grow your food. If you make the experience of shopping in this way enjoyable, you will be more apt to reject more convenient canned, packaged, and frozen foods in favor of the real delight you feel while browsing stalls of fresh foods nourished by the same soil you can find in your own backyard. You will soon learn what foods are in season in your area and how to prepare them.

As you savor the vivid flavors of juicy ripe fruits and the hearty crunch of unprocessed vegetables, you can also take pleasure in the fact that, by eating close to the earth, you are supporting farmers in your region, connecting with your local ecosystem, discouraging those who would waste precious fossil fuels by carting produce cross-country, and helping to preserve healthy culinary traditions that have existed for centuries.

Falcon

Falcon

All anxious. Ready to soar. He has no attention in the ring today. Prancing and unfocused dancing, waiting for me to give the command. The one time I do, he flies, lying in the turns as though we are not in a disciplined and concentrated work out.

I take him across a couple jumps to let out his energy. No result. He is still latching onto the bit and tightly twisting his back. He does not want to relax and demands more. More speed, more release, more freedom.

Ok Falcon, I jump off. Opening the gate, I hold him as he jigs, attached to my right hand, across the street. The road is soggy and cars are driving too fast, only slowing down as they glance up and see a big chocolate horse tripping along side his rider. We are out to the trail.

Within five minutes on the trail it starts to pour. Pour, torrentially. We are not turning back, he’s a horse. It’s not as though when he’s out to pasture he’s not exposed to the rain. I’ll dry the leather and towel the wetness off warm muscles when we return. It’s time to let Falcon run and the rain is not going to stop us.

We arrive on the fields just as a colossal soot-colored warmblood careens by. His master is riding him hard, also oblivious to the rain.

Falcon starts off at a slow trot and unexpectedly he loosens up his back, relaxing so that we begin to meld, one body into another. He collects his physique into a faultlessly shaped sinewy form listening for me to signal that I am ready. I don’t kick, I don’t whip and I don’t push him. I whisper in his ear. And he picks up a blinding pace. We are swallowed up in a trail that has turned to an earthy mulch; leaping puddles and covering ourselves with sprays of water and mud. His pale yellow mane lashes at my arms as we pick up speed. I taste the sweet, sweet rain as it comes flying into my open mouth.

We race past wet verdurous trees. I can hear the rush of speed and don’t know if it’s the sound of air flying past my face or the racket of heavy rain falling into the young and spindly woods. The more I tell him to go faster the more speed we gain. Finally taking wing at such a pace that I get worried for him. But it’s too exhilarating.

We hit a small hill with little rocks that might hurt his legs, and I take the tempo down. Reins, wet with the shower, slip through my hands, disconnecting us for a moment. His back tenses, not loose like it was. But we have fused; my legs into his sides and my voice into his ears. And all of a sudden we’re back in the sweeping pasture and I let him regain momentum. His mouth salivates, releasing flecks of white foam. Dirty grass carrying us along; getting its first wash of the season. We take flight across open fields, feeling the delight of a mutual love of gritty speed.

Finally, we break the pace; finding an easy walk.

The quiver running through his muscles is a mix of excitement and exertion. It was not enough. He starts to trot lightly, not swiftly enough for me rise to it, but telling me that he craves more. I feel like I do after a workout that was straining but entirely worth the toil.

I’m drenched. The rain got me to the skin; but I am burning. Vitalized to the tips of my fingers, feeling speed.

Slowly we head back to the barn, cooling off muscles that need to stay whole and supple. Because tomorrow, we run again.

I am my Grandfather's Daughter

I am my Grandfather's Daughter

i am a right wing conservative, raised in the church.

i am a liberal left winger in support of gay marriage.

i am a private college brat,

i am a kid with no support.

i am rich in words, i am poor in life.

i am broke, i am fine.

i am german. i am european. i am greek,

i am american, and yet, i am californian.

i believe in the potential of reincarnation,

i believe in jesus. i believe in love, i believe in structure.

i love god, i have a mixed relationship with religion,

i have a twisted relationship with rules.

i am meditative but naive.

i fit in everywhere, i fit no where.

i am an amalgamation of things never meant for combination.

i am blond, happy, i am beach.

i am preppy new york blood line raised in a german mansion.

i am a hippy, happy naked in the mountains.

i am a scientist, studying chemistry and microbiology,

working to tutor homeless children and live in uganda.

my grandfather built a tree of intrigue and words,

my grampy built a bridge of rock and steel.

i was meant for the abortion table,

now i mean for med-school.

i drive to heal where there is pain, soften the ache,

ignore mine.

i am a full sister to half brothers,

i am a friend to non-lovers.

i have three fathers,

but i am my grandfather's daughter.

Laughing With Regina Spektor

Laughing With

Regina Spektor

No one laughs at God in a hospital

No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re starving or freezing or so very poor

No one laughs at God when the doctor calls
After some routine tests
No one’s laughing at God
when it’s gotten real late
And their kid’s not back from that party yet

No one laughs at God when their airplane
Starts to uncontrollably shake
No one’s laughing at God
When they see the one they love hand in hand
with someone else and they hope that they’re mistaken
No one laughs at God when the cops knock on their door
And they say “We’ve got some bad new, sir,”
No one’s laughing at God
When there’s a famine, fire or flood

But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
When the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head
You think that they’re about to choke
God can be funny
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus

God can be so hilarious
Ha ha, ha ha

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
when they’ve lost all they got
And they don’t know what for

No one laughs at God on the day they realize
that the last sight they’ll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re saying their goodbyes

But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
When the crazies say he hates us and they get so red in the head
you think that they’re about to choke
God can be funny
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
(repeat)
No one’s laughing at God in a hospital
No one’s laughing at God in a war

No one’s laughing at God
When they’re starving or freezing or so very poor

No one’s laughing at God
(repeat)
We’re all “laughing with God”