Notes from a Crusty Seeker
Enjoy, and you’re welcome.
A Unique and Speedy Dinner:
Although I am not a cook, I’ve become giddily experimental since cooking a vegan Thanksgiving dinner for my friends Nurse Mia and Dr. Robert (a die-hard carnivore, who liked it). And my middle name is Julia, which, I believe, qualifies me to put stuff in a pan: vegetable stock, scallions, onions, kale, mushrooms, eggs, salt, pepper, wheat flour, black currents. Stir till it’s not so watery or your arm gets tired. A very tasty and unique experimental dinner from Ms. B. Julia. You're welcome. Read More
Now a new study called “Aero-tactile integration in speech perception” — say that three times fast — published in Nature has validated my reservations. What if cyber-only connections completely eclipse face-to-face friendships, work relationships, and even healing? (I’ve heard about virtual therapists and doctors who diagnose and prescribe over the Internet.)
Most people would agree that facial expression, gesture, and tone give meaning to words. Read More
One of my favorite things is learning how wrong I am. When that happens, my heart expands. I may get some work from the email effort, but the more important thing I got was a tidal wave of support, validation, and, yes, I’ll use the “L” word — Love. Read More
Over a decade ago, I met Trish Corbett in such an ocean of gunk, and she is a true beauty. So when she turned seventy a few weeks ago, it felt important to find a birthday gift that celebrated both her beauty and her years of fearless gunk-swimming. Read More
I’m high! I’m drunk with beauty! I’m over the moon!
This morning I took a three-hour walk in the park. It is the Friday before the New York City Marathon, and people are everywhere, speaking every language on the planet, excited to be in one another’s company. Read More
There are so many good things in this book that I almost don’t know where to begin. But perhaps the best thing is the topic.
Last year, after about 25 years of researching self-change modalities, as both a seeker and a journalist, I wrote an article about the necessity of interrupting the embedded neuronal patterns behind our self-sabotaging behaviors and beliefs. In the introduction to the article, I referred to the power of the Zen master’s thwack, and the editor of the magazine that published the piece decided to use “Thwack” as the title, along with an illustration of a therapist about to throttle an unsuspecting man with a rolling pin. Although it made a snappy and commercial cover line, this title inadvertently portrayed as acceptable what I believe is most dangerous about the new confrontational methods of change and many of the groups that practice them. The trouble with thwacking is that if it’s done by anyone who is not a Zen master or an experienced healer, and if it is delivered without a sense of nuance, devoid of love and compassion, and if the thwack is dealt to a person who is not ready to receive it, it is brutality. And it can even re-traumatize a person rather than help. Read More
I suddenly realized that my unemployed lulls are a great time to read the “I’m-gonna-read-that-someday” pile. Here are a couple of interesting facts from two sources in that pile: Read More
Since I finished writing a new novel, I’ve been down. It’s the contraction that inevitably follows the expansion of creative emission, I tell myself. Or maybe it’s the fact that my agent says that nobody’s buying fiction, no matter how good or well-written or funny it is. Or maybe it’s the purple vertical pinstripe that appeared this morning on my computer monitor, that I’m told is the beginning of a pinstripe cancer that will render my screen unreadable. Whatever it is, I am down and depressed and feel like wallowing. “Why?” I rail at the universe, sounding like a middle-aged Nancy Kerrigan. And that’s when the Moth Radio Hour comes on. Read More
The study goes on to say that lying down makes you react less angrily Read More
There are three pertinent pieces of background to this story:
(1) I am allergic to tomato plants;Read More
(2) It takes approximately 500 years for a plastic bag to decompose in a landfill;
(3) Anything that demonstrates a determination to stay alive is an object of my admiration.
I just learned about a new service that advertises: “Create the Illusion of Communication!”
This phone company will connect your call straight to somebody’s voicemail, bypassing all human contact. A good thing?
What have we become? What are we becoming? What are we doing in this twittering illusion of FB’ing, MySp’ing,blogging connection? Time for contemplation…
Addendum, a day later:
A good thing to do whilst contemplating connection is is to give blood. I just came back from a reunion with the lady who took my first blood, Nilsa (see Fierce Giving, Jan. 8 blog). The banks are low in the summer, so for real connection, you can give your life force: NYBloodcenter.org. Read More
Theo Kamecke lives alone in and on five acres of breathtaking art in the Catskill Mountains. The man simply must create art — whether it’s a garden, a home furnished with handmade everything, a meal for guests, or a log bench overlooking a roaring, foaming brook so powerful that it could sweep you to your death in a nanosecond.
In his barn-size studio, Theo makes sculptures, wall pieces, and functional art objects from the collection of electronic circuit boards he began accumulating forty years ago for no reason other than he thought they were beautiful. With patterns that look like hieroglyphs and names like Nefertiti and Isis and Manifest Destiny, his child-size treasure chests and majestic pyramids, cabinets and jukeboxes, tables and wall plaques feel simultaneously ancient, familiar, and futuristic (see TheoKamecke.com). “I like to understand how things work,” he says, to explain what drives him. Read More
May 1959. The Barbie doll had just debuted; so had Sleeping Beauty; and Alaska had become our forty-ninth state. People left their doors unlocked; nobody's parents had gotten divorced yet; and every evening Walter Cronkite delivered news that I and the other eight-year-olds in this photo didn't understand, but we knew from the sound of his voice that all was well and nobody murdered Presidents because grown-ups were good and knew everything.