breath by breath

I should have said Yes to the Italian, No?

2010-11-10T19:04:00.000-08:00

I like to think of myself as a writer, which would work if I actually wrote even somewhat regularly, which I don't. Also, just by the quality of that first sentence, I need more practice and have a ways to go. This is what we call free writing... stream of consciousness writing, where the "editor" isn't really turned on and is actually better completely turned off. I have a very strong internal editor who is very difficult to silence. While I write, I am simultaneously reading my words through the eyes of at least three or four other people who are judging and reading into every word. Needless to say, I don't get much done.

View from my exquisite room at the Atlantic Hotel

I actually started writing tonight because I thought I should say something about the Italian I met on Ft. Lauderdale Beach Blvd. last night. (I am in Florida attending some workshops on new software we are implementing at my office.)

First of all, he was extraordinarily Italian and in the best of ways. Probably about my age, handsome as could be, pleasantly overweight, and on a skateboard. I was walking from my hotel after a long day of travel, hungry, and intent on enjoying a bit of sunset on the beach and hopefully finding a nice spot to enjoy a lonely meal. Along the way, I started singing. No one was around (and I am shy about singing out loud in public unless it is a performance venue) and I was truly enjoying the air, the gorgeous crystaline blue ocean view, and simply feeling happy. The gentleman on the skateboard scooting by surprised me, and hearing my voice, he turned his head and smiled.

Then he stopped and within a few steps I met up with him. He asked if I was Indian, and I said no, but I am Sikh. Within a few moments we were laughing and talking about his college roommates who had been Punjabi Sikhs. He spoke better Punjabi than I did. His name was Gianni and what a natural charmer.

Italians appreciate good food, love, and natural beauty. I know this from Italians I have known and from books I have read (hello, Eat, Pray, Love). I haven't known a lot of Italians or read many books about Italians, but I feel confident in making that statement. I realized that he was hoping for some company for the evening. I felt flattered by his comments about my classic natural beauty that glowed from within. He also noted I did not have a wedding ring (and I wouldn't be surprised if this was one of the first things he noticed). I laughed and told him how both my husband and I had broken our ring fingers on separate occasions and had to cut off our rings. We'd never replaced them, and didn't feel the need to do so. We are so solid! Poor Gianni seemed a little disappointed, and said, "Oh, well I guess you probably don't drink either." I confirmed this. So we talked, shook hands, and parted ways, I walking one way, and he turned around and skateboarded the other.

Here is Gianni (not!). I should have said yes. It would have been fun to sit and talk.

I walked on and found a lovely Italian restaurant right across from the beach. The sun was sitting low in the sky which was already shutting its eyelids in shades of pink, orange and purple. I asked for a table where I could sit and enjoy the view and have a bite to eat. And I did. Some crusty warm bread dipped in luscious olive oil & garlic, salad with asparagus spears, goat cheese, baby greens, toasted pecans and a medley of other perfect ingredients, along with a virgin strawberry daiquiri for dessert. It was perfect; me, the sun, the sea, and a beautifully prepared simple meal. I felt complete and blessed.

Delicious. And the fork is not blue. I think it is reflecting the sky.

A brief history of favorite snacks and sandwiches

2010-06-14T20:38:00.000-07:00

Preschool

Wonderbread
Peanut butter on one side
Then add strawberry and swirl into peanut butter in a pretty design
Put sides together

Kindergarten

Wonderbread
Butter
Onion slice

3rd grade

Wonderbread
Leftover spaghetti and meatballs

5th  grade

    Wonderbread
    Peanut butter on one side
    Top with Bologna
    Mustard on the other side
    Put together

7th grade

    Butter
    Powdered sugar
    Cocoa powder

8th grade

Jello, any flavor, straight out of the box

High school

Anything that satisfied munchies

Age 18-20

Avocado sprinkled with Dr Jensens vegetable broth powder
Hav a Chips

Twenties

    Whole wheat bread
    Avocado
    Cheese
    Alfalfa sprouts
    Tomato
    Dr. Jensens Vegetable broth powder sprinkled on

Thirties

Lost decade

Forties

    Ciabatta roll sliced lengthwise and very lightly toasted
    Light smear of eggless mayo topped with
    Lighter smear of Harissa
    Arugula and/or romaine leaves
    Sliced ripe luscious tomato
    2 slices Yves Canadian bacon, seared (use iron skillet, olive oil spray, high heat)
    Other side of bread spread with ¼ avocado
    This is still my favorite sandwich

Early Fifties

    Chopped romaine lettuce
    Chopped ripe tomato
    Kalamata olives
    Sliced red onion
    Baked tofu, cut in squares or baked tempeh strips (with little braggs & cayenne)
or chevre broken up into salad
    Chopped celery heart
    Chopped other veggies (broccoli, green beans, jicama, carrots, steamed beets) in season
    Avocado
    Trader Joes Balsamic Vinaigrette, or olive oil & lemon juice
    Day old ciabatta torn/cut into pieces

Late Fifties
    Option 1 – blender breakfast – put in blender until smooth:

½ cup frozen mango/papaya/strawberries/pineapple
½ banana
3 leaves of black kale (de-stemmed) or a big handful of fresh spinach
½ cup orange juice
½ scoop Alive vanilla rice/pea protein powder
1 Tbsp. organic flaxseed oil
½ cup water

    Option 2 little fried snack

    8 slices tempeh (1/8” thick crosswise)
    Heat olive oil in small iron skillet
    When very hot, fry one side tempeh until browned
    Turn over. Get second side slightly browned, adding more oil as necessary
    Sprinkle with Braggs and cayenne
    Turn over one more time and let sizzle 15 seconds
    If imagining being on a diet, bake tempeh instead, 400 degrees on cookie sheet sprayed w/olive oil
    Should be browned and a little bit crispy
    Eat with ZING raw cultured vegetables (with beets)
    And San-J black sesame rice crackers

yes this is what I'm thinking

2010-05-29T20:31:00.000-07:00

After skating for years on good genes, good habits, and yogic lifestyle, gravity is finally taking its toll. My turban does help a bit to hold everything in place, but realistically I can only tie my turban so many times in a day. All those who dye their hair, get their faces pulled tight, and spend thousands clinging to whatever remnants of youthful appearance they can... Really, I am not that vain. It’s a battle I refuse to wage, and a process I can fully accept, this drooping, wrinkling, graying thing.... later on, when I am actually old. However, for now, no harm done putting a few things back where they belong. Don’t you think?

A Day in the Bay

2010-03-28T20:26:00.000-07:00

Thirteen. That’s the number school-free days of my Spring break. I thought it would be great for Gurujodha and me to get away for a weekend… a weekend entirely free of internet, research papers, textbooks, and hours in front of my computer screen. So I planned a short overnighter to Morro Bay. I’ve driven past Morro Bay on the 101 and 1 highways, and mainly remembered it for the huge domed rock jutting out of the water in the bay. I later learned that this “rock” is actually the remains of a volcanic plume from over 20 million years ago, and is one of nine such plumes (called the “Nine Sisters”) in the San Luis Obispo area. The word “Morro” actually has something to do with turbans! When Juan Cabrillo first spotted the rocky pillar in 1542, it reminded him of the turban worn by the Moors. He named the rock “El Moro.” But, that’s history.

So, back to my story… After a lot of internet searching I settled on a spot for us to stay, the Inn at Morro Bay. It was right next to a state park and bird reserve, and also was nestled on the bay, south of the rock. This seemed like it would be a quiet spot, and a good starting point for nature walks. That was really the extent of my planning. We’d really just have a little over 24 hours anyway and I figured we’d just go with the flow, take a few walks, enjoy a few local eateries, and perhaps find some kind of entertainment. Gurujodha is a huge fan of jazz (I also very much enjoy). I’d hoped to surprise him with a live performance somewhere in town. There was something at a nightclub in San Luis Obispo (about 15 minutes away), but we are not quite up for the nightclub scene.

Anyway, we started off with a trip to the car wash, and left Bakersfield around 9:15 AM on Saturday for our 140 mile road trip, first heading north on the 5. Driving west on Hwy 46 it appeared as though someone had splashed vats of primary yellow, vivid orange, and lavender water colors all over the otherwise green rolling hills… Fiddlenecks, California poppies, and lupine flashed their colors with utter lack of modesty, literally everywhere! By chance, our trip was during the few most spectacular wildflower spotting weeks of the year. Between my oohs and aahs I managed to take some photos through our already bug-spotted windshield.

Finally arriving at the Inn around noon, we got an early check in, which really just meant bringing our few pieces of luggage into our room (from the balcony we could see the bay). It was small, but clean, a very comfy King bed, and a recently renovated bathroom with a beautiful black slate floor, new pedestal sink, and slate tiled shower. The lush grounds are meticulously maintained with lovely gardens, flowers, towering eucalyptus trees, surrounding all the buildings. Across the street is the 18-hole championship Morro Bay golf course. Quiet. Peaceful. Stunningly scenic. So far, so good!

Hungry, we drove back into town where we enjoyed a tasty Thai meal. Then we took a stroll, checking out a few great antique stores, chatting with the locals, and then headed down to the beach and the Embarcadero.

I had rather fancied the idea that we might go kayaking in the estuary that runs along much of the bay, created by waters from the Chorro and Los Osos Creeks and protected from ocean waves by a long sand spit.

When we walked out to the end of the pier where we could really feel the ocean breeze (it was wind) and see kayakers out there struggling in the choppy water I agreed with my husband that it was probably more fun to watch, which we did for a few minutes.

Then we continued on our walk down the embarcadero to check out all the touristy shops there. I noted a restaurant called Ciao Bella Trattoria and for some reason this instantly brought to my mind a pasta dish I had once enjoyed in La Spezia, Italy, about 25 years ago, and I said to GK, “I’ll bet that this place has a great pasta dish with porcini mushrooms, just like I had at a seafood restaurant in Italy!” He laughed (and probably rolled his eyes), saying something like, “Oh yea, we’ll have to come here for dinner,” and we just kept walking, and stopped in a number of shops, the usual tourist stuff, bought a little pink T-shirt for Cassie… we got to the end of shops and turned around and visited shops on the other side of the street on our way back.

When we got to Ciao Bella, GK said, “Siri Ved, here’s your restaurant.” And I said, “Oh yea! I’ve gotta check the menu!” And I ran inside while he waited, and can you believe it? Posted right there on the wall was their menu, and what was there? “Rigatoni al Tre Funghi,” rigatoni pasta with porcini, portabella, and crimini mushrooms in a pink sauce with truffles. I laughed and called out to GK, “Am I a food psychic or what!?” We decided then and there we would return later on for dinner.

After a lovely snooze in our hotel we headed back out around 6:30 PM and arrived at the restaurant. Jazz music wafted down the stairs as we climbed up to the trattoria. Can you believe? It was Toty Viola, an amazing jazz guitarist, doing a wine country tour, playing this one night only, at Ciao Bella. We were seated a few tables away, with an expansive view of the bay, at sunset, sipping Pellegrini with lime… was this romantic? So totally yes.

I already knew what I was ordering, Rigatoni al Tre Funghi and a primavera salad with goat cheese. GK got his usual angel hair pomodoro and an arugula salad with shaved Parmesan-asiago. Let me just say, my pasta was amazing! Perfectly cooked, the sauce simply luscious, with lots of porcinis, which give so much flavor. If this was take-out at home, I would have licked my pasta bowl. I don’t know if it tasted just like the dish in Italy. That was 25 years ago. But the memory of this one will far surpass the old. We sat for over two hours, enjoying our meal, the music, each other, the peacefulness of the sun sinking in the sea, boats passing by, the perfection of the time and place…

Gurujodha went over and talked to Toty for a few minutes (that’s how we found out who he was). I love how GK will go up and strike a conversation with anyone, from movie stars to salesclerks, and make a connection. We ended with some decaf and shared a piece of irresistible Italian cheese cake.

We left Ciao Bella close to 9 PM and walked some of our meal off, strolling the embarcadero again, and then came back to the Inn. I slept in till after 8:30 AM and woke just in time to join GK in a morning yoga set.

We loaded up our few things and headed to San Luis Obispo for breakfast at the Big Sky Café, a restaurant that offers amazing meals prepared with locally grown organic produce. I had “New Mexican” style posole with killer cornbread and scrambled tofu (it was tasty, but I don’t think they’ve ever been to New Mexico…. The sauce was all tomatoes – a big no no – and next to no red chile). Gurujodha ordered a tall stack of wholegrain pancakes with cranberries and orange zest and some roasted herbed potatoes… He saved this location on his iphone, and I on my GPS handheld. What a find! Then we explored downtown SLO for a half hour before we headed home, a return drive through the beautiful green, orange, yellow and purple hills that divide the Central Coast and Central Valley.

Tomorrow? Back to work and back to school.

Thank you God, for everything.

Just one of those days

2010-02-17T22:24:00.000-08:00

When I write I always have an editor on in my head. The editor is the eyes and ears of everyone I know and I don't know who could possibly read it and judge me. I know it's ridiculous. But that's the deal. I've got issues. There are probably only about three people who ever read this anyway.

I believe that we as a species are generally ruled by our beliefs. Ha! We all have underlying beliefs, consciously or not. that affect everything we do, think, how we react. For instance, I have an underlying belief that I am completely unlovable, that it is literally impossible for anyone to love me. On top of that, I also have an underlying belief that all men are incapable of loving, not just me, but anybody. How's that for some issues? A perfect set up for misery.... not only am I unlovable, but even if I was, no man could ever love me, because all men suck at love. These beliefs have provided a whole bus load of opportunity for failed relationships and undermined happiness.

But these are beliefs. These are not what I know. Because when I rise above my DNA and step outside of those beliefs and see a broader view, I know they are false and based somewhere in the long ago past on the the perceptions of a three-year-old who was trying to make sense out of her world. And, I do know love and I do know I am loved, and love definitely is. But, I am entirely too much in my head. This proves it.

Anyway, that's about as deep as I am going to get tonight!

One Step at at Time

2010-01-22T20:09:00.000-08:00

Amputees come to my office every day. Below knee, above knee, below elbow, above elbow, breasts, toes, feet…. Diabetics, veterans who lost limbs serving our country, breast cancer survivors, accident victims, and God knows all the ways good, everyday, folks end up minus a body part… Maybe they are coming in for a BK adjustment, a new bionic arm, or to pick up a few prosthetic socks. After a while some feel so part of the “family” here that they just walk right back to the staff room and help themselves to a cup of coffee.

The greatest days here are when a new amputee walks for the first time on her/his new leg. It’s like they have life again. I’ll never forget the look on a local police officer’s face the day he first tried out a new leg designed for high impact, heavy duty use. He ran across our walk room, and it wasn’t the running that was amazing, it was the smile on his face that literally filled every corner of the building. Some months later, this handsome man in his late 30s met all the physical requirements to be a fully active police officer, without any restrictions… saved from the fate of a desk job for the rest of his working years.

The harder days are ones like today. A young woman came in, pushing her husband in a wheelchair. I am not sure what happened to him. I heard the words “burn victim,” which explained the fingerless gloves on his hands, hands that were missing most, if not all, of their fingers. His right leg, above knee and down, was also missing. Both their faces still bore the strain, grief, and shock, of everything that they have gone through, and he has suffered, since the terrifying moment that transformed their lives forever.

The great thing is they will get through this. He will walk, even run, again. Someday when he becomes a dad, he’ll be able to run and play with his kids. He will have hands to lift and hold his babies close to his heart. The face that is now drawn, grieving, and frightened, will again shine with light and he will again feel joy. His life will be transformed again.

Honest to God, I don’t always love all the things my job entails, but I do love what we do here, and that gives purpose to everything else.

Through the eyes of a child

2010-01-01T12:55:00.000-08:00

I was thinking today about how I have always had an underlying belief that somehow the amount of gifts one receives has something to do with how much one is loved. I know that this is a perception and not a reality. Like many perceptions that many of us "adults" operate on, it comes from somewhere, and probably from something that happened many years ago. I am thus reminded of this short story I wrote a few years ago, about Christmas morning when I was three or four years old.

It was Christmas Day, the first one I remember.

The first thing I heard that morning was my big sisters squealing in my ear, “Wake up! Corinne, Wake up! Santa came! Santa came!” I followed them into the living room rubbing my eyes with my hands, adjusting to the early morning light. And then I saw the Christmas tree, all lit up like the night before, but with presents piled everywhere around. Carol and Nancy were first to their stockings hung on the mantel, and I could see all the candies and little toy surprises come pouring out and their faces so lit up with big smiles. Carol got mine down and handed it to me. It felt heavy and round. I turned the stocking upside down, in complete wonder about what could be in there!

And then a large onion tumbled onto the floor. I stared at that onion trying to comprehend that it was there and there weren’t any candies or toys at all, and all I felt was a terrifying crack in the world... We three girls in our flannel pajamas with happy little Santas, Nancy Fancy Pantsy always with ruffles… The Christmas tree still sparkled with silver tinsel and lights, all decorated with twirly ornaments and the colored paper chains we had made with Mommy. Baby Jesus was in the manger with all the animals and angels and Mary and Joseph standing in the hay...

And somehow out from them and out from the walls of the living room that I knew, out through the windows with drapes flying, the onion and I were hurled through space, to some place else far far far away, where there was nobody else. My eyes looked for my mommy’s, hoping for some words that would bring me back to where things were right. She stood, holding my baby brother in her arms, her slender face surrounded by pink plastic curlers, and she explained, “Santa gave you an onion because you still suck your thumb.”

I was struck with disbelief, so much so I didn’t cry, I didn’t ask why, because what it all really meant I didn’t understand and it was too much to try to understand. She didn’t say anything else about the onion. I suppose my lesson was learned. Then we all started opening presents and dolls, toys, and games… and even though it seemed like I was back, nothing was ever the same again.

Oneness

2009-12-31T22:37:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow is the beginning of the New Year. This is the first New Year's Eve I've ever spent alone. I got off work early, came home, plopped myself on the couch, and spent the afternoon and evening eating and watching TV... Ellen, Oprah, the news, Entertainment Tonight, Bones, and I don't know what else. Too much TV. I was feeling a little depressed about being alone. I ate an entire plate of homemade nachos first thing. Later I heated up a Trader Joe's frozen Paneer Tikaa Masala (fair), and then later downed a hunk of ciabatta spread with butter and some fried Tofurky Italian sausage (soy, for those not in the know... it's really very good). All comfort foods, blobbing out in front of the TV.

The highlight of all this was a Skype video call with Saki & Kris, and my granddaughter Cassie. I had been so immersed in feeling sorry for myself I'd completely forgotten today was her first birthday (I do have a bit of an excuse... we are all flying out in a couple weeks to celebrate and I have had that date so much in my head I lost track of the present). I can hardly believe though, even with that wonderful excuse, that I forgot her birthday. It just shows how asleep my brain is; as though I had turned myself off.

Finally I turned off the TV. It was around 9 PM and I remembered I'm driving to L.A. tomorrow and am going to play in the rainsabai kirtan late tomorrow night... so I had better figure out what I'm going to play and practice.

The last shabd I went through was Maanas kee Jaat Sabeh, from the Akal Ustat of Guru Gobind Singh Ji. Such a completely universal truth contained in this shabd and I'm sort of taking it as my hukam for the New Year.

I felt energized after playing, and remembered a day about 20 years ago, when I led this shabd at the Santa Ana gurdwara. The Siri Singh Sahib was there along with about 20 others from L.A. Out of all the times I've played this shabd, that was the epitome. It a perfect moment in time. The energy was amazing, my voice didn't crack, and Oneness was experienced.

The words "Ek Ong Kar" are often translated as "There is One Creator who Created the Creation." These were the first three words spoken by Guru Nanak when he stepped out of the river (literally "One Creator Creation"). He had disappeared into the river three days earlier, and when he emerged he was in an absolute state of bliss and realization. In the ecstasy of that realization, his first three words were "Ek Ong Kar." It seems to me, when I meditate on these words and imagine the experience of realization that he had in meditation... emerging from that he would be saying "God is One!! We are One!!" which is significantly different than the rather boring statement, "There is one God who created everything." That statement also implies separation, that God is some entity outside of us, outside of all that is.

In other words, I think we could use a better translation... God is ONE! Creator and Creation are ONE!

And that brings me to the translation of "Maanas Kee Jaat Sabeh..." the whole entire shabd. Try reading this aloud and let the words soak into your being...

Some are clean-shaven, some become renunciates and yogis.
I recognize all as One.

God Almighty, the Doer, who gives food, is merciful.
There is no other than Him. He doesn't make any mistake.
Do service to the One and only One.
Everyone's transparent Guru is One.
He has one face; know in all there is One Light.

The gurdwara and mosque are the same.
Some do puja and nivaj [various religious practices]
All people try to impress their way on others.

Prophets, super prophets, super super prophets, those of heaven, Mohammedans, those of all different countries and ways of dress try to impress their way on others.

Similar eyes, similar ears, similar bodies, similar speech: the dust, air, fire and water will mix together.

God is formless. The Puranas and Koran are the same; all forms are the same. All are made as One.

Just as some flames are formed and flames are different, but the fire is one when mixed.

Just as in one dust there are many particles; when at rest they are mixed into the same one.

Just as from one sea there are many different waves and there are small wrinkles on the water... when waves dive down it is called water.

Similarly, the world forms many forms; the invisible and seen are manifested. That from which all are sprung, into That all will again merge.

So many amphibians and fish swallow each other.
So many tortoises manifest, sprout wings, and fly.
So many birds fly in the sky that eat each other, digest, and die.

All of those in water, land and sky were made by the Lord of Death
and will be eaten by the Lord of Death.

Just as light vanishes into darkness and again the darkness merges into light --
That from which all emerges, into That all vanishes again.

Well, I've got about 5 minutes left of 2009 and this is my last post of the year.

May 2010 be a year where we drop fear, anger, doubt, and old destructive patterns. May it exceed 2009 in every wonderful way, and may we realize our true potentials and let them fully blossom. May we know ONENESS, may we SERVE, may we be GRATEFUL for every moment of this beautiful life and live them all fully. May we be GIVERS. May we speak from our HEARTS and LIVE COMPASSIONATELY. May we enjoy our loving relationships and nurture new ones. And may all insomniacs enjoy restful sleep.

Happy New Year!

This is not writer's block

2009-12-07T18:03:00.001-08:00

I just don't feel like writing, and feel like I have nothing to say, or whatever I have to say isn't interesting enough to write about, or it's nobody's business but mine.

Where is my muse???

Ranting and Writing

2009-11-09T20:21:00.000-08:00

I am still not writing much these days... Except perhaps for school. I am taking a completely engaging American history class, a Public Policy class, and a Women in Literature & Film class. Perhaps this has something to do with why I am not writing much, because I have so much writing to do for my classes.

I am particularly dreading the essays for my English class; two more to do in three weeks. I thought I would love this class. I don't. I can't believe I once considered being an English major. What was I thinking? And that's just it; I wasn’t. I was inspired. I had such amazing English professors at Santa Monica College! I felt transformed by our readings, the insights gained, and how much I learned just by, well, writing about or in response to the various novels or poems. Doten, Engelmann, Remmes.... these professors shed light on the path of self-discovery and forced me to stretch my mind and bend my brain. I learned so much about myself and human nature through our readings, lively discussions, and most of all, by writing essays. It was in the writing that understanding revealed itself.

So why do I hate this class so much?? I just wish it was over already. It's the extraordinary amount of time it demands of me, the volume of reading, the volume and caliber of essays required, and the complete lack of interaction with students and the professor herself. That is the main problem. This can't be blamed on the fact that this is an online class. My English 10 class, "Ethnic Literature of the U.S." was an online class. It was one of my most favorite classes ever. Prof. Remmes selected enlightening novels that opened up cultural worlds to me. Our online discussions helped me see difficult issues from many different perspectives. With an online discussion you actually have time to think about what you are going to say, rather than just raising your hand and blurting out whatever jumps to mind. So the discussions were intelligent, provoking, and fun. I loved how my thoughts, analysis, and understanding all crystallized in my essays.

And that's exactly why I am so disenchanted with this class at CSUB. The two online discussions we had were tedious, and without much real dialog. We each independently follow the syllabus, read novels, watch the films, and then write essays and submit them. I do not feel stimulated, except by the novels themselves. I do not feel motivated to excel except by my obsession to get straight A’s. I don't feel inspired. It's not fun. I want it to be over. I resent this professor, who is incredibly qualified, is the author of distinguished text books, and probably has all kinds of academic awards. I resent her because she doesn't do anything (in terms of interaction with students) and still gets paid. I resent her because she has an easy job. I resent her because I have to work so hard to get an A with her, and I really don't have time. I am concentrating on the classes that have to do with my major which, thank God, is not English.

Some people have been nudging me a little to write on my blog. It's been months since I've posted anything and what a disappointment it must be to read this and have to listen to me complain! I'm sorry! Bless your heart for bearing with me this far. But actually, probably a big reason I've been writing next to nothing for pleasure is because my life these days is my job (which I love), school (3 nights a week plus online class, and all the accompanying studying, research and writing), and my personal life (my what?), which I actually do have.

Anyway, now that I've vented, let me say I am thankful for everything. I am thankful for the most amazing, courageous, compassionate, and wise girlfriends in the world (I am listing them first because three of them came to visit me yesterday here in Bakersfield and I am still awash in their love and beautiful spirit). I am thankful for my husband a million times a day. I am so glad, so thankful, thank You GOD, every single day that I am with him and not with that loser I thought I loved 25 years ago (and that is not my first husband, so don't get me wrong). When you look and see all the miracles in your life, the weavings of life that are so perfect.... then we know the hand of the Divine in arranging our affairs, providing the lessons we need to learn and grow... I am thankful for my daughters. O my god, my daughters are the blessing of my life. It is my blessing to be their mom. Funny how the older we get, the more we want to be with our kids, and the farther away they move. I am thankful for all of the lessons I have had in my life and all of the lessons and challenges to come. God is so great, life is such a gift, everything is so perfect… even dreadful English classes.

I'm just not writing much these days.

2009-08-21T22:41:00.000-07:00

I have a close friend who admitted to me the other day that she is critical. I had actually specifically telephoned her because I knew she was, and wanted her opinion of something that was troubling me. She of course told me exactly what I expected to hear, that yes there was something not quite right about such and such and she couldn’t quite nail it but she really felt definitely something was really off. That’s when she said, “You know, I am pretty critical,” and I said, “You’re right, and I’m cynical.” Which is true, because I am, about almost everything.

But that is beside the point, which is that (I’m inserting a qualifier here: generally speaking) we all too easily jump to conclusions and then latch on to any other opinion that remotely agrees as a way to support whatever we concluded. There’s some catch phrase… "Like minds think alike? No, that’s not it. Birds of a feather flock together? You know, the group think thing? It’s easier to agree than to disagree. For, to disagree successfully (not necessarily proving yourself right or being the loudest or most assertive, but simply stating your position well) you must know what you are talking about. You must have questioned, listened to and examined different points of view, digested the information, honestly considered how you feel about it, and not in comparison to others or by identifying with the opinions of others or whoever has the strongest voice, but really truly, based on your best efforts to understand, what is your opinion and why. That’s just the head part. There’s also your heart and your gut… your natural intuitive instinct… all these things come into play. This is really too much work for most to bother with.

It’s easier to agree, or to be loud in your disagreement, or be a tape recorder for what someone else said that sounded good enough to you, or close to whatever is the popular “think” for whatever group you identify with.

So maybe being a bit cynical isn’t so bad after all. I mean, I’m not really negative, but I am usually the last person to jump on the bandwagon. On the flip side, I’ve missed some great rides.

A Day in Capistrano

2009-07-26T21:37:00.000-07:00

There are a few things about this town that are completely different from L.A. Well, maybe more than a few things, but there are some differences that stand out. First of all, I've never seen any place where so many homes have their own private parking lots. I noticed this last summer when I started looking for a home to rent, preparing for our upcoming move. In some areas it seemed like every house had a huge driveway. I mean HUGE, as in large enough to park several cars and a bus.

Then, when I looked through real estate ads I noticed that "RV parking" was commonly listed along with the other selling points for many houses.

It struck me as a little odd, because in L.A. real estate the size of one of these driveways would be covered with a house. Although I'm sure there are many families in L.A. that own RVs, and maybe some who even have a parking space for one in their driveway, I can only remember ever seeing RVs (and as an oddity) parked on the street. I had an assumption that RVs are for retired couples who want to see America on a budget, or for families who rented them for weekend trips to the mountains, or to go visit relatives in Missouri. So, I thought it odd that RVs are so popular in Bakersfield.

Now, I think I know why.

It's hot here in the summer.

Today my husband and I drove south to Capistrano Beach to spend the day with friends who rent a beach house there every summer. We left Bakersfield about 9:00 AM and it was already in the 90s, with a forecast of 104. When we arrived in Capistrano three hours later it was a cool 80 degrees.There was a houseful of friends, relatives, and kids of all ages, along with plenty of food, sun, surf, sand and beach cruiser bikes. A wonderful sea breeze, negative ions, the rhythmic roar of surf, and Jane Austen's Emma lulled me into a state of sweet relaxation. I woke to my husband's touch, reminding me it was time for our bike ride.

We hopped onto borrowed cruiser bikes, mine pink, slightly rusty, and with a cute little wicker basket in front just the right size for my water bottle and sunscreen; his black and sans basket. We rode a mile or so up the narrow private road to the bike path, and then kept north. That's when I noticed the entire beach side of the bike path was blanketed with RVs, maybe a hundred of them, and dotted with camp tents. It was like a beach town, everyone out in the sun, on the beach, in the water, playing cards, and cooling off.

It makes complete sense. Pay a little parking fee (many were just parked in the parking lot, not in the campsite) or campsite fee, and there you are. Let the kids loose, set up your pop up gazebo, drinks in the cooler, stocked fridge and pantry, keep the sunscreen handy, and you are on vacation.

I'm just an ex L.A. girl who has always lived within 8 miles of the beach and never needed an RV to get there, but I'll betcha most folks with RVs here in Bakersfield use them for heading to the coast during the hot months. And it beats paying $300 a night (or more) for a hotel room.

I am not running out to get an RV, and doubt we will ever ever own or rent one. However, I am realizing my L.A. naivete. How hadn't I even known there is an entire culture of people who use their RVs all the time (in the summer at least). Totally cool.

Godzilla's on vacation

2009-07-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

My husband and daughter are off to Tucson to visit his mom for the July 4th weekend. I spent yesterday cleaning house, interspersed with watching NCIS, noodling on the internet, and napping. Today I rewarded myself for a job well done by going to L.A. to see a few friends and get a little shopping done.

This worked out great, because when I called my bff Siri Bhrosa about getting together she suggested I join her and her husband Kirtan Singh at the Walnut gurdwara in leading kirtan. I haven't played kirtan at gurdwara here in Bakersfield in the 9 months that I've lived here (this is entirely because I haven't been assertive at all getting on the schedule). I couldn't find my little shabd book anywhere in the house, so chose one to play from a handful of printed shabd sheets I had on file, "Chit Aavai Os Parabrahm Lagai na tatee vaao." Perfect. Gratefully, God was merciful and my voice was working today. So often I start losing my voice or it cracks or otherwise malfunctions.... but today it was right on and the energy was great.

Afterward as we were driving back to L.A. Kirtan Singh commented on how he loved how empty the streets all were. It's Saturday, the 4th of July, and looking down the road there was not a single other car on that street. His theory was that everyone must have left the city en masse for the holiday.

I think he's right.

After our little Walnut trip, I stopped and visited with my other bff Hari Bhajan for a couple hours, and then headed out to do a little shopping around (I'm looking for just the right area rug for my living room... no success today). Headed down Robertson Blvd. toward the 10 Freeway, this is what it looked like around 4 PM:

Shopping done and not quite pooped, I decided not to stay in L.A. for the picnic and fireworks at Rancho Park. I got on the 405 and headed north toward Bakersfield around 6 PM. You would have thought, except for the fact that it was still daylight, that it was 3 in the morning, there were so few cars on the freeway. It was so bizarre, to be in L.A., on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, driving on a surreally empty freeway, specifically the 405 freeway from LAX and northward.

This is going north on 405, headed out of San Fernando Valley:

And this is I-5 somewhere north of Castaic:

I did not hit traffic of any substance at all until I neared Bakersfield!

Normally, we all know, L.A. is so jammed with traffic it can take an hour and a half going from the West side to downtown, a distance of maybe 10 or 12 miles. In fact, typically when I am leaving L.A. and my car is stuck in the tight rows on the freeway with all the other zillions cars wherever the hell they are going, I am struck by how if these same cars were on the 99 going north out of Bakersfield, you'd think a mass evacuation was in progress. You'd think Godzilla was coming over the mountains about to invade us and we were all cramming the freeways getting the hell out of there. L.A. is like that all the time, in a constant state of Godzilla coming.

God, I love Bakersfield.

Oh, but my poor husband. He is coming home from Tucson tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, at the end of the holiday weekend, into LAX, and then he is driving home to Bakersfield. It is too painful to even imagine. But at least he will come home to a clean house and a happy and unstressed me :-)

Land of Green Chiles, Sopapillas, and Loving Family

2009-07-02T21:54:00.000-07:00

Here's pics from our trip last weekend to New Mexico. We arrived in Albuquerque Thursday 6/25 around 7 PM, picked up our rental (great weekend deal with Hertz, 50% off!) and headed north on 25 toward Santa Fe. Here's a pic snapped from our car. One side of the road was bright (first pic) and the other was dark (second pic)... the dark side was where the sun was going down... the darkness from massive thunderheads blackening the sky.

By the time we were on the Taos Highway going toward Espanola, the sky was a literal light show. Lightening flashing and illuminating a wall of clouds thick with rain... all in the distance.

We pulled into the driveway of our friends, Seva Simran Siri S&K around 9:15 after a quick stop at Wild Oats in Santa Fe for snacks.

My daughter Satkartar (Saki), her husband Kris, and our family's new addition, Cassandra Kiran (Cassie) were already there, having flown in earlier in the day from Durham. I thought for sure they'd all be asleep after the long trip, but Saki was up with Cassie in the living room trying to get her to go to sleep. What an angel!

Here is Gurujodha meeting Cassie for the first time, when she joined him at the end of his sadhana meditation the next morning.

That morning was also the wedding of Siri Chand Singh and Tejinder Kaur. Gurujodha and Dev Suroop Kaur were co-ministers for the wedding. This was the first time I'd ever known of two ministers performing the ceremony. It's a long story, but the couple wanted Gurujodha and Dev Suroop specifically, because of their background (from either interracial or interfaith relationships) and also because each had an integral role to play in the lives of this couple. Below are many photos from after the wedding. Only one of my photos of the actual ceremony came out.

If the layout looks weird it's because it is very hard to format things with the tools this blogsite provides. Perhaps I will become more expert as I go along.

This was probably the most wonderful wedding I've ever attended. The energy was absolutely incredible, powerful, knock your socks off. A truly blessed couple who demonstrate that with faith and love all challenges can be met, and that the hand of God truly reaches and protects those who serve in His Name. After the receptions (sorry, no pics) we made it up to Ram Das Puri for the last night of Summer Solstice Sadhana and the Rainsabi (all night kirtan/music program).

I am getting the hang of this, kinda.

OK here's more family pics. Cassie is blessed with three Grandpas..... Jerry (Kris's dad in Durham), Gurujodha (also known as G-Popz) and Siri Ved Singh (Saki's father who lives in Espanola). Here is Siri Ved Singh meeting Cassie for the first time.

Cassie gets her first karate lesson with GPopz and learns Short Form One.

After a relaxing Saturday with family, lunch at El Parasol (best little roadside spot in town for authentic New Mexican green chile cuisine), and an afternoon movie (I can't remember what it was, if not such great company it would have been a waste of time), we all met for dinner at La Cocina (best little restaurant in town for great New Mexican food).... Gurujodha, Satamrit, Saki & Kris, Avtar, Siri Ved Singh, Cassie, my sister Guruprem Kaur (also lives in Espanola), and I. Good times, good food, and a good reason to eat a light breakfast in the morning.

Mmmmm veggie burritos with GREEN CHILE

After dinner, Gurujodha and I went to the Ranch for a kirtan program with UstadJi (kirtan master who teaches the Cherdi Kala Jatha) which was a truly blissful and meditative way to top off a full day.

The next morning before packing up for our trip home, Avtar came over (from her friend Lakshmi's down the road) and we all (Seva simran Siri's, Kris & Saki, Gurujodha and me, Avtar, and even Cassie had a tiny bit of banana) had a cozy relaxed breakfast (fruit salad, scrambled tofu, toast, juice, and a little of this and that), talked ashram politics, played with Cassie, and honest to God, it was wonderful.

A few hours of driving and flying time later, we landed in L.A., drove a couple hours, and were home by about 9:30 PM. Too short a weekend!!!

And all I feel is so much gratitude for t his wonderful loving family.

La Mina Mañana

2009-05-31T14:02:00.000-07:00

I hadn’t packed my usual lunch for the office on Friday and the thought of melted cheese, jalapenos, fresh salsa, crispy corn tortillas and guacamole wouldn’t leave my mind. So I asked one of the secretaries at my office for the name of the Mexican restaurant she frequents that has the roasted fresh jalapenos she has generously shared with others in the lunch room, and she quickly responded, “Oh, La Mina! That’s right down on H Street. Go past Truxtun, under the freeway , and it’s just before California, on the left.”

With nachos on my mind, I popped in my car and headed down H Street. And there it was, just like she said, in a little strip mall on the left. I was immediately attracted by their sign on the corner. The next thing I noticed was Connie’s Kupcake Kreations, just a couple doors down in the same strip mall. “Hmm,” I thought, “I’ll stop there next and get some cupcakes for the office.”

Inside La Mina I had an instantly positive impression. It was clean, felt cozy and well cared for, was filled with the aroma of red chiles, fried tortillas, cilantro, and all those ingredients that make Mexican one of my top three favorite foods (a close tie with Indian and Italian) and, since it was nearly 2:00 PM, there were only one or two people ahead of me ordering.

I eyed the menu posted above the order counter, which was written in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish, but know enough to decipher that nearly everything on the menu contains meat, fish or eggs (I am vegetarian). However, besides rice, beans, bean burritos, tostadas, and quesadillas, the menu did include my craving, nachos, and they’re a dollar off without meat; just my kind of bargain. I placed my order with a handsome and clean cut young man and he verified that I wanted it sans meat. I asked about the roasted jalapenos too. He checked on the cost and informed me they were 75 cents each. I thought that was a little much for a roasted jalapeno but my craving for them won out and I ordered two. A young lady who was giving another customer their order at the pick-up counter looked over our way and said, “They are 75 cents each, or three for 99 cents.” That sold me, and I changed my order to three.

During the short wait I filled up a few little plastic containers with salsa and pickled carrots & jalapenos; then my order was ready. I gave my thanks, went out the front door, and headed toward Connie's Kupcake Kreations. Ten steps out the door and the young man from behind the counter called out to me, “M’am! Wait a minute!” He ran up to me and explained that although he had confirmed with me that I wanted no meat on my nachos, he hadn’t made this clear to the cook. He checked my order and sure enough, the container heavy with piping hot nachos was also heavy with shredded beef. He said they’d make me a fresh batch right away. I thanked him profusely for catching this and told him I’d be right back after I picked up some cupcakes.

Connie’s Kupcakes was an airy and comfy shop, nothing at all like the slick Sprinkles cupcake store I used to go to in Beverly Hills. The glass bakery case displayed seven or eight varieties of cupcakes, each flavor offered in both a gigantic size (big enough to share) and a mini size (2-3 bites). They looked scrumptious, thick with butter cream, chocolate or cream cheese frosting, and cleverly decorated too (I liked the white on white cupcakes with sprinkles, topped with little plastic basketballs… Go Lakers!). Their prices ranged from $2.00 to $2.50 each for the large size, and $1.00 each for the small. Remembering the 16 employees at the office that day, including seven substantial guys, and that 2-3 bites each would just not do, I ordered an assortment of 17 large cupcakes. Red Velvet, Peanut Butter, Chocolate Chip, Mocha with Coffee Frosting (this was a butter cream frosting with ground coffee beans in it; amazing!), Black and Whites, Banana Nut, and I’m not sure what they all were. She gave me the $2.50 ones at the $2.00 price, a courtesy I won’t expect the next time I go back, but one that ensured I will be a returning customer.

I unloaded two big boxes of cupcakes into my car’s front seat, strapped them in, and went back to La Mina to pick up my nachos. They were bagged up and ready to go. I thanked the young man again for catching the mistake and chasing me down . What a huge disappointment that would have been if I’d gotten all the way back to my office and not discovered the error until then! I wouldn’t have had the time to go back for a replacement, and would have been less likely to return to La Mina at all.

Back at my office everyone was delighted with the cupcakes. They tasted like homemade; homemade like my Grandma Kosten would have made, the cake not too sweet, rich and light at the same time, with a firmness that melted in my mouth. They were spread thickly with a richer, sweeter frosting that made just the right balance in texture and taste. An employee who had recently left the company was in for a visit that afternoon and the cupcakes turned out to be a great way to celebrate seeing her again.

Before indulging in cupcakes, however, I enjoyed my nachos. Hands down the best nachos I remember ever having had. Move over and take a seat Baja Fresh and La Salsa, because La Mina gets the honors today. Enough for two to share (I’m embarrassed to say I devoured the entire order), homemade tortilla chips were smothered with perfect pinto beans (no lard), jalapenos, zesty guacamole, sour cream, salsa, melted cheese, and topped with crumbled queso fresco. I added the salsa I had packed in the little containers (I’m big on big flavor) and enjoyed the roasted jalapenos, bite by bite (still warm from the grill). Totally hit the spot and satisfied me well enough I did not need dinner that evening. I think next week I will go back to La Mina and try the tostada.

Crossing the Mountain

2009-05-24T18:12:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you've heard that it's hot in Bakersfield. Summer starts in mid May and ends some time in October. Triple digits are the norm. When I moved here last October it was the tail end of 100+ weather. While job searching during August and September I came up to Bako from down south a few times a month and it was well over 100. This heat actually felt good to me. Trust me though, most people do not feel this way. For me, as long as the air is moving, I feel like I can breathe. At night when it seems hotter than the day, I simply keep the AC set at 85 or so and turn on a fan. That circulating air makes all the difference in the world.

As much as I may enjoy (or at least tolerate) the heat, my car (a very well maintained 1991 Toyota Corolla) does not. If it's over 85 degrees or so and if I don't turn the heater on full blast when driving up the mountains, the engine will overheat. The only problem is, driving in 100+ heat with the heater on full blast is a little bit of a torture. This fact makes trips to L.A. less attractive.

And that brings me to what is the hardest part for me living here. It's not the heat; It is that I do not yet feel part of a community. I know it's just going to take some time.

Making that kind of connection, at least for me, is important. Women need to connect with other women; it's in our DNA. We need these connections to feel whole, to counsel one another, to discuss those things our husbands have no interest in hearing about, and simply to chat and laugh together. I miss playing bid whist with my girlfriends. I miss my writing group and the sharing of our stories that brought us all so much closer together. I miss walking down the street in the neighborhood I lived in for so many years, and almost without fail running into a long time friend or new neighbor, and stopping for a few minutes to shoot the breeze. These small things, they are so great really, are often not appreciated enough.

As part of my mission to meet people, I've joined a writing group here in Bakersfield (Writers of Kern). I think this group will be helpful in terms of becoming a better writer and perhaps one day getting something published. I am thinking though of starting a new group, like the True Tales group I started in L.A., that isn't so much about the craft of writing as it is about sharing the small stories from our lives that we've written. Maybe something interfaith, or intercultural, or really interanything. This kind of sharing is such a wonderful way to gain deeper understanding, appreciation, and respect for one another. We can all use that, don't you think?

The Amazing Technicolor Dream Date

2009-05-19T20:50:00.000-07:00

I wrote this a few weeks ago, after a wonderful night out with my huzz.

Carol, one of the women my husband knows from his office, told him a few weeks ago that her son was soon going to be in a play and how excited she was about this. Her son is 9 years old, the venue was his school’s auditorium (which was all part of their church’s complex), and the tickets were $8.00. He immediately said the he would love to go and see her son in the play, and asked to purchase two tickets. When he told me about it, I wasn’t really super thrilled about making a courtesy appearance at an elementary school event for someone I didn’t know. But, it would probably be a fun thing for us to do together, and I thought why not?

That’s how we ended up, last night, going to a school play to see a 9-year-old boy with a small part singing in the chorus. We arrived at exactly 7:00 PM, show time.

Bakersfield is a strongly Christian community. You will find large, exquisitely maintained and well-attended churches on what seems like every corner. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints on So. Real Road was no exception (and I must specify the address because in this city with a population of about 500,000 there are hundreds of churches, a good number of them with this name).

As we pulled into the expansive parking lot, we drew a simultaneous breath. The lot was nearly full. Wow, all this for a small school play? I had been thinking homemade costumes, cardboard sets, and a crowd of parents cheering their kids on. My gears began to shift.

Entering the building, we were warmly welcomed and directed down the hall toward the auditorium. The room, which could probably seat close to 500 people, was completely packed. We felt lucky to find two empty seats on the far end of the back row, which was perfect. We are both tall, we could see well enough, and wouldn’t be blocking anyone else’s view. Carol came over and greeted us and introduced us to her husband Don (who was a scenic assistant for the show) and son Gregory. We promised to cheer when he was on stage.

Looking at my program (4-color glossy pamphlet) I saw that the “play” was actually the well-known musical, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat.” Well, that will be quite something for a group of 4th graders to pull off, I thought. But, looking around the dimly lit auditorium, I noted professional lighting, sound equipment, and 3 stages; left, right and center. The room buzzed with an incredibly high spirit of festive expectation.

The show began a few moments later and any lingering preconceptions I had about this being a small school play immediately vanished.

As we learned later in the evening, every three years the community of South Bakersfield puts on an “amateur” musical production. Sponsored by the Bakersfield South Stake along with R&H Theatricals and The Really Useful Group Ltd, participation is open to everyone in the entire community. Each and every task involved, from set design, set and prop construction, costume design and creation, choreography, casting, directing, acting, singing, lighting, music performance... is on a volunteer basis. It is purely by and for the community. Tickets are priced so everyone can afford to come. The proceeds cover production costs, and probably barely. They offer 7 performances over a period of one week, and then pack it up and start planning for the next show in three years.

The cast of nearly 100 ranged in age from small child (and there were well over 50 kids of all ages in total, in various chorus, dancing, stomping, and acrobatic parts) to the elderly, all who had auditioned along with hundreds of others to obtain their roles. Highlights included a high school senior named Steven Kinnison, who played Joseph. Remember this name! He is a huge talent, with extraordinary stage presence and a voice that is clear, pitch perfect, and captivating. He is tall and handsome to boot. My husband and I made a point to meet and congratulate Steven after the show. If I’d had a scrap of paper to write on, I would have asked for his autograph.

Another favorite was a young father of three, Matt Wheelwright, who played the role of Pharoah (which is hysterically based on another king, Elvis). We were nearly rolling in the aisles. This young man, by the way, had no prior stage experience except for a role in a high school play years ago. Never considering himself an acting or musical talent, he tried out for the show just for fun. He ended up one of its brightest stars.

Costumes were on par with what you’d expect in a Broadway show, all designed by Steven’s mother, Suzanne Kinnison (who was also the assistant Director). Her husband Dana Kinnison created the synthesized music for the production. Steven’s brother and sisters also helped with scene design and other production tasks. This is a family dedicated to the arts!

The show was cast in January. In under four months, after several nights a week and full-day Saturday rehearsals, they pulled it all together.

The only possible reason it is called an amateur show is because nobody is paid.

This is true community theater. It was as much about process (bringing hundreds of people together, creating life-long bonds and memories during their months of rehearsals, stitching costumes, building sets and props, and so on) as about the actual production (bringing thousands of people together for an outstanding performance – each show was sold out – and building community bonds).

I think I’m going to try out for the next one. Watch for my name in lights in 2012.

A Tale of Laundry and Buttons

2009-05-15T23:00:00.000-07:00

I had been saving up a bunch of dry cleaning because I'd received a letter from the local dry cleaners thanking me for my business, along with a 30% off coupon. I wanted to maximize that 30% with as huge an order as possible.

Winter is over (trust me, it's going to be 105 here this weekend) and when I changed my sheets I thought, Hmm, this would be a good time to get the mattress pad cleaned too (it's wool). I checked the hall closet and also grabbed a couple of wool coats. The camel coat had one button hanging barely by a thread, and another loose button in the pocket. I thought, OK I'll get these all cleaned now, they can sew on those buttons, and then I'll put everything away for next winter. Thus, with the entire back seat of my car filled with a huge bag of my coats, blouses, pants, silk salwar kameez suit, and my husband's vests, plus the California King wool mattress pad, I headed out to Today Cleaners on my way to the farmer's market.

I don't know if Today Cleaners is anywhere other than Bakersfield. They have a near monopoly here. In by 11, out by 4, same day, everyday, even Sundays. The two locations I've been to are clean, in nice buildings, and there's always plenty of parking. Their store by my office has drive up service, too. They provide free laundry bags that are actually quite sharp looking, with your own ID tag. So, when you're in a rush you can simply drop off the bag and run. I like that they have 25% off coupons on the internet and all you have to do is print them out.

However, this day I had a special 30% off coupon.

So I got all my laundry out of the car and with my arms so laundry laden I could barely see in front of me, I made my way through the door. Then, I couldn't understand why there were people all standing in a row behind a glass counter that wasn't there before, and why were there little tables and chairs in there? Then I looked up and saw the sign listing all the Subways. Not quite in the mood for a Veggie Delight, my laundry and I turn around, located the door, and went outside, one door down, to the cleaners.

Being in a bit of a hurry as I already would be barely making it to the farmers market before they closed at noon, I dumped everything on the counter. A slightly round young woman looked at everything and pointed to my mattress pad and said, "What is that?" I replied, "That is a wool mattress pad." She then proceeded to explain to me why they would not clean it... "It's just our policy, I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" I asked incredulously. "Of course you can clean this. Here, look at this tag, right here, it says, 'Dry Clean Only.'" I felt I had certainly proven my point; after all it was written in plain English on the tag.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Khalsa, but we don't accept these. We've had some of them fall apart." It was clear this woman was not going to budge, and I was in a hurry.

"Well, I've had it cleaned before with no problem, I would be happy to have you clean it and sign a waiver or something so you aren't responsible if it gets damaged," I said, trying to employ the best rhetoric I could muster up.

"I'm so sorry, M'am," she said one more time. "These other things will be ready for you this afternoon at 4:00."

I said, "Fine, then," picked up the mattress pad and bolted out the door. I hadn't raised my voice, but I was a little annoyed and started having thoughts about never ever going there again.

I realized a few nights later that I had left the slightly round assertive young woman at Today Cleaners without getting a receipt or telling her about my camel coat and its buttons that were falling off. I thought about calling and telling her, "Remember me? The impatient woman with the turban who walked out when you refused to take my mattress pad? Could you please sew on my buttons?" but just didn't even want to deal with it. Besides, I'm never ever going there ever again. Ever. How could they refuse to clean my mattress pad?

However, I did worry about the buttons on my coat. The one could just fall right out of the pocket and be lost forever, and the other was literally hanging on 2 inches of thread. And damn, this was probably the first time I had ever thrown out the packet of spare buttons that is pinned inside so many garments.

I ended up bringing the mattress pad to another dry cleaner closer to our home. They took it without hesitation, asked for $24 payment in advance (just my luck, no coupon), and when I picked it up a week later it was perfectly fine.

My husband must have picked up the drycleaning from Today Cleaners, because a few days later I noticed it all hanging in the hall closet. My mind was still stressing about the buttons. Finding the camel coat, I reached up under the plastic and felt inside the pockets. Gone. But, examining the coat I saw that not only were both buttons securely fastened, but someone had taken the time to reinforce the stitching on all of the buttons. The coat looked as new and fabulous as when I bought it on sale at Macy's last year.

I guess I'll be going back to Today's after all.

The Saag Blog

2009-05-13T22:17:00.001-07:00

Since the early 70s when I used to cook for the Siri Singh Sahib, I've developed a reputation for being a great cook. I've written two vegetarian cookbooks, had columns in Beads of Truth and Aquarian Times magazines, as well as on Healthworld Online. In the late 90s through early 00s I ran a catering company in L.A. called Yogi Eats, and I've cooked so many meals for large numbers of people (the most about 1200) it's hard to count. At some point (about the time I burned out on the physical labor of cooking large amounts of 10 different dishes every week for five years with Yogi Eats) the energy shifted and I now have little interest in cooking anything more involved than sauteed or steamed vegetables with some quinoa on the side. Once in a while I'll get inspired and surprise my husband with an entire fabulous meal.

I didn't make a fabulous meal last night, but I did make some fabulous saag, which is one of my all time most favoritest foods in the world. So, I am going to share that recipe right here, just as I made it last night.

If you would like to try some Punjab Soul Food (the equivalent of greens and grits), try saag with makhi di roti (spiced pureed mustard greens with corn chapatis). Here's how to make the saag. We won't tackle the corn chapatis here, so try serving your saag with some fresh corn bread or corn tortillas.

Siri Ved's Blog Saag yield: 4-6 servings
Ingredients:

2 nice big bunches fresh mustard greens, rinsed well and coarsely chopped (it will be pureed later, so no need to chop finely)
2-3 inches of fresh gingerroot, peeled and cut in small chunks
5-6 cloves garlic, whole and peeled
1/2 cup ghee (clarified butter) or olive oil (I always try to use ghee for best flavor)
2 medium onions, sliced/chopped in narrow short strips
1 rounded tsp. turmeric
1/2 tsp. cayenne (or less, to taste)
1 rounded tsp. cumin seeds
1 tsp. freshly ground coriander seeds
1-2 medium tomatoes. blanched, peeled and chopped (or a cup or so of unsalted chopped canned tomatoes, which is what I had on hand last night)
salt to taste

Put about 2" of water in a stock pot and bring to boil. Add the chopped greens. Then peel and chop the ginger and add the ginger. Then peel the garlic cloves and add them too. Let these boil/simmer together, uncovered, while you prepare the following:
Heat ghee/oil in a 12"-or-larger iron skillet or other heavy fry pan.
Add onions and fry on high heat, stirring occasionally to evenly sizzle.
When onions are starting to brown (after about 10 minutes), make a little pool in the middle. If necessary, put a teaspoon or two of ghee in the middle so there is a small pool of hot ghee/oil.
Add the turmeric and cayenne to the center and let them sizzle for about 30 seconds. Then stir in with the onions.
Add other spices and continue to cook on medium-high heat, stirring as needed.
By now the greens should be cooking down. Pour off some of the broth into the onions and keep cooking the onions in the pan and keep cooking the greens in the pot.
When the broth has cooked out of the onions, add the chopped tomatoes. Stir well and keep cooking on the medium-high heat, stirring now and then to prevent scorching and keep even cooking. You will cook this "masala" (mixture) until it is very well done and becomes unified, pulling away from the edges of the pan. If you still have a lot of broth in the greens pot, add some more broth to the onions and cook them some more, cooking down until thick and pulling away from the sides. (Last night, I had put way too much water in for the greens. I didn't want to just pour it off and lose all that flavor, so I kept adding it to the onions and cooked them a really long time. Cooking a masala a long time is really the key to outrageous flavor in Indian cooking).
When the masala is done and the greens are very done (they should cook at least 45 minutes) remove them both from the heat.
Drain any remaining broth from the greens. Put it in your favorite mug.
Transfer drained greens & ginger into food processor bowl and process for about 1 minute until pureed.
Add the pureed mixture to the masala (you might need a larger pan). You can cook it a little longer to cook out extra water (ideally it is thick and rich, not soupy at all). Check taste for salt.
The saag is done.
Celebrate by drinking the mug of broth (which is delicious).

Traditionally saag is served with makhi di roti. I suggest also or instead serving it with steamed beets and quinoa or cornbread.

Let me know how it turns out!

TV Land

2009-05-11T21:28:00.000-07:00

We are on our way to becoming a Nielsen family. First came a phone call a few weeks ago, letting us know we'd be getting a packet in the mail. Then, an over-sized envelope came, along with a crisp five dollar bill. I excitedly filled out the questionnaire, happily telling them anything they needed to know. How many members are in our household? What are our ages, education? How many TVs do we own? Do they all work? Do we own a Tivo? Do we have cable? If so, with which company? Does it include DVR?

I answered each question truthfully, imagining all the while what a thrill it would be to be a Nielsen family, to actually have a "box" in our living room and therefore personally influence our national TV ratings! I'd lived in L.A. all my life and never known a single person who had a "box." Only a few short months living away from L.A. and I have already received a two-page questionnaire! Those suckers in L.A. What do they know!?

Two weeks later, another phone call. Would we be willing to track every single TV show we watch for one week? If so, they will send us a special log to complete and, this time, thirty dollars, in cool cash!! I immediately agreed. Why is my husband rolling his eyes when I tell him this? Does he not understand what a privilege this is?

Then, finally, last Wednesday the big packet came with the special log booklet, instructions, and thirty dollars cash (the twenty was a little dingy, though the ten was certainly fresher). The form was much more complicated than I had anticipated. We are asked to write in the complete name of every single show we watch for more than 5 minutes, the channel number, the station call letters, who watched it, for how long, what age each viewer is (at least that part's easy because we are both 56)... plus there was another questionnaire. Even though this is going to take a lot of effort to complete and be worth way more than $30 of my time, I still envision the prize, the pot of gold at the end of this questionnaire rainbow, the glorious box.

We have two more days to go, or should I say I have two more days to go, since my husband will have no part of filling out the form. He complicates things by constantly changing channels. Some people call this channel surfing. I call it plain annoying. Unable to keep up with him, I simply write in "Inside the NBA," "NCIS," "Star Trek," or anything ESPN for his slots.

I am beginning to feel that perhaps I am not watching enough hours and perhaps if I watch more TV we will have a better chance of getting a box. [Please note that nowhere in any of the Nielsen literature we have received has there ever been any mention of ever having a hope of getting a box. I am certain it is implied, however, and of course that's what this is all about.] I really don't have time to watch more TV though, so I write in a few shows that I would have watched if only I'd had the time. They couldn't possibly know the difference, anyway.

Who's Counting

2009-05-10T21:20:00.000-07:00

We're back in Bakersfield after a quick weekend visit to L.A. for the 70th birthday of our long time sister-bid whist partner-seva buddy-yoga teacher-Super Bowl hostess-friend Krishna Kaur. If you know Krishna, your life has been touched by her in a probably transformational way.

It wasn't too long ago that 70 seemed ancient to me, way old. No more. Some of my very best friends are a just few years away from being septogenerians and now another one, Krishna Kaur, has crossed into that decade. Ancient souls, yes. But old? Nope.

You might think now that my age can be rounded up to 60, of course 70 doesn't seem so old to me anymore. That's part of it. But the main deal is that my "older" friends are amazing, vital, wise, and contributing souls. They are internationally known teachers, authors, counselors, business women, spiritual advisors and life coaches who impact the lives of others on a daily basis. They don't look 70. They don't look an age and perhaps it is because they don't act an age. They are who they are.

I hope when I'm 70 I'll be.... no, wait a minute. I hope when I'm 101 I'll be as full of spunk and light as the 101 year-young woman who sat at the table across from me at the party last night.

In the meantime, I'm just going to keep on breathing... deeply.

Gravity

2009-05-08T18:25:00.000-07:00

There are signs now. Red ruddiness, sort of like acne, but blotchy, like blush powder splashed on in the dark. There's a name for it. Brown spots, there's a name for them too. Forgetfulness, to the point I think I may be losing my mind. Wisdom of simply knowing, of being, of seeing the game, the players, the ball, the goal, the boundaries, the out of bounds... and having good seats. The wondering about what still can be. Though the path ahead is not so long, it is broader, blooming, fragrant and rich with possibility. Seeing now, it has been so all along. I am fine with all of this. I truly am. I am fine with myself. And seeing my daughters coming into their own, each so beautiful. Life is so beautiful and is such a gift. So all this, none of it matters, I am fine with everything, and if my mind is not what it was, so what. It is what it is. I am who I am. And that's that. But really, must things submit to the gravitational pull so soon?

Life in Stepford

2009-05-07T12:46:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it is just me, but I swear that all the cars in this town are always clean and shiny. I am not proud of the fact that I wash my car less than once a month. Since moving here, I've bumped it up to maybe twice a month, at the Cruise Thru. I feel a sort of pressure to do this. Like there are many eyes on my car noticing that its sparkle is not quite up to standard.

It seems there's an unspoken rule in Bakersfield that you must keep a clean car. I tested this theory. Standing, waiting for my gas tank to fill up, I inspected every other car in the station. Not only were they all clean and looking fresh off the lot, but at least three drivers were busy wiping their windshields or buffing their hoods, making productive use of their time as their tanks filled. Of a sudden, I felt guilty for merely standing next to my car that still had some leaves and "what not" on the windshield from being parked under a tree all day.

The wide streets of Bakersfield easily accommodate the many shiny late model cars that stream down their multiple lanes. Veer out of line (ie, go more than 5 miles above the speed limit, run a red light, or make a "California" stop) and you'll be quickly brought into line by one of our fine city's courteous and plentiful police officers.

In L.A., at large intersections with double left turn lanes, people generally will take the leftmost lane. Anyone can easily gauge that the inner lane has a shorter distance and therefore it is a cinch to be first around the corner (unless, of course, you are planning on making an immediate right afterward; these things are calculated instantly).

But not here. People avoid the inner left turn lane (and many intersections have these). Why? Because the medians on many streets are nearly a foot high and almost vertical. There's no leeway. It's easy to spot the marks made by tires scraping up against these, cutting their turns a little too closely.

This little thing, these assertive medians, is another way of keeping us all in line, in our shiny cars. I tell you, I'm feeling a little spooked.