Pausing to breathe as I finish up a full week and prepare for an intense weekend.
Pause. Deep breath.
Dr. Seuss memories
So, I was going to write about laundry, because that’s all I’ve been doing this evening.
In fact, I had made up a laundry song. The lyrics started out like this: “Laundry, laundry, I love laundry…”
But I realized I was singing it to the tune of a song from the Dr. Seuss songbook that I used to check out of the library when I was in elementary school. And, of course, it doesn’t make sense to share a song with a melody that no knows.
So, I went searching for what I remembered as the “Hungry, hungry, I am hungry” song, and I’m so tickled to have found it that I have to share both song and lyrics with you all.
Bottom line? I love Dr. Seuss just as much today as when I was a child!
The Super-Supper March Lyrics
Hungry, hungry I am hungry
Table, table here I come
I could eat a goose-moose burger
Fifteen pickles and a purple plum
I could eat three bowls of goulash
Half a pound of wuzzled wheat
I could eat a peck of poobers
Then I’d really get to work and eat
Oysters, noodles, strawberry stroodles
French fries, fish hash, one red beet
Lamb chops, wham chops
Huckleberry mish mash
Oh, the things that I could eat
Doughnuts, dump-a-lings
Blueberry bump-a-lings
Chocolate mush-mush, super sweet
Clam stew, ham stew,
Watermelon wush wush
Oh, the stuff that I could eat
Deep dish rhubarb, upside-down cake
I could eat a frittered flum
Hungry, hungry, I am starving
Table, table, table here I come
No more steam
Today was so filled with activity — from early morning until mid-afternoon — that I find I’ve run out of steam to write anything tonight.
Oh well.
Close neighbors
I love seeing these little guys staying cool and moist in my outdoor plants (I’m sure he’s even happier now that it’s raining); but all too often they find their way indoors — which is not so cool!
I like them as neighbors, not as housemates. 😂
Time marches on
There are so many things I’ve been meaning to write about — topics, experiences, events, memories — but I can never seem to get to them.
It’s sort of like I’m walking along and see something interesting along the way. But I’m already carrying quite a few things, so I place it by the side of the path with the intention to come right back and pick it up again. But it turns out that the path is really a moving walkway like in the airport, and I can never get turned around to go back to that interesting thing.
(Hmmm, sort of has the makings of an anxiety dream!)
At any rate, it’s not the perfect analogy. The feeling I’m trying to convey is the sense of time marching on…and on…and on… And somehow I can never go back and complete all the little projects that I intended or promised or started to do.
It’s rather sobering when I think about it.
A hit of nostalgia
This afternoon I was skimming an article in the SF Chronicle about iconic San Francisco buildings, of which the Transamerica Pyramid is one of the most recognizable.
I have no particular connection with that building — apart from it being part of the distinctive SF skyline — and downtown was never my favorite part of the City. So, I was a little surprised to be hit by a strong wave of nostalgia as I gazed at the photo.
But on top of that, there was another article about the future of the Cliff House, which WAS one of my absolute most favorite locations in all of San Francisco.
So many beautiful memories…
My beautiful community
Today was our Lahiri work day at Ananda Village. I arrived a little late and missed being part of this wonderful photo.
But no worries! I still got to spend the morning serving alongside my fellow residents (all dear friends), being a part of the joyous enthusiasm of the day.
Accepting change
Today I witnessed a friend realizing and graciously accepting a previously unsuspected limitation.
And it got me reflecting — certainly not for the first time — on the bittersweet quality of the autumn season.
Of fully embracing the beauty inherent in the transition. Of being grateful for the abundance and bounty we have enjoyed, even as we accept its unavoidable passing.
Trees, bodies, loved ones. They all change and eventually pass. My prayer is to learn to accept the changes as graciously as did my friend.
The magic of this time of year
This is a rather magical time of year for me.
With Halloween still almost a month away it’s much too early to be thinking about Christmas…unless you’re a choir director.
And in that case, you’re probably already feeling just a little bit behind!
In fact, there’s very likely some inner pressure building inside you to get the program for your Christmas concert firmed up so you can distribute sheet music and practice parts to your singers.
Not to mention that plans for the Christmas Play will also be getting off the ground soon, and music for that will need organizing as well.
When I list it out like that it can seem almost anxiety-producing. But the fact is that — as I review songs, research videos, and listen to recordings; as I start singing the beautiful, joyful, heart-opening, and uplifting Christmas songs — I begin to feel that inner glow of Christmas already growing in my heart.
And suddenly the magic is full upon me.
Second Summer
I was reading about a heat wave coming to the Bay Area and it occurred to me that when I was growing up we almost always encountered some unusual heat in October or November. But we used to call it Indian Summer.
Having caught myself just the other day starting to call a meeting a “powwow,” I found myself reflecting on why it’s called Indian Summer…and whether it’s still called that.
So, I did a little research and found an article that explained why it’s now more correctly referred to as Second Summer.
I find it interesting that I’m having to increase my awareness of terms that are considered disrespectful or even offensive to Indigenous people.
Why? Because despite being one-quarter Native American (one-eighth from both parents), I didn’t grow up feeling Native American. Plus I grew up at a time when cultural sensitivity and awareness were pretty much non-existent.
As children we played cowboys and Indians; we threw up a hand and said “How”; we called one another “Indian giver.” And as young adults we were still saying things like “too many chiefs and not enough Indians”; talking about “circling the wagons” or “holding down the fort”; and describing someone as being “low man on the totem pole.”
It’s sobering to realize how deeply I’ve internalized phrases and comments that seem innocuous but definitely have less than positive connotations.