Putting The Clouds Behind Me

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On this long storm the Rainbow rose —
On this late Morn — the Sun —
The clouds — like listless Elephants —
Horizons — straggled down —

The Birds rose smiling, in their nests —
The gales — indeed — were done —
Alas, how heedless were the eyes —
On whom the summer shone!

The quiet nonchalance of death —
No Daybreak — can bestir —
The slow — Archangel’s syllables
Must awaken her! ~ On this long storm the Rainbow rose by Emily Dickinson

No one is a stranger to pain. It is one of the commonalities binding us together as human beings. When I watch the news and see a father grieving over the loss of his children or wife thousands of miles away, my heart grieves with him and prayers from my heart and lips rise to a loving God to bring healing to him. No one is a stranger to pain.
Pain doesn’t have the last word. Suffering doesn’t have the last word. At least not with me. I live in hope-filled expectation, that today will better than yesterday, and tomorrow will be better than today. I place my heart into the hands of a loving God and walk forward, my eyes ever ahead catching sight of a rainbow that is mine.
There is a rainbow waiting for you and your pain will turn into laughter and joy. As the poet Emily Dickinson says, “On this long storm, the rainbow rose.”
double rainbow.jpg

Alone But Not Lonely

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Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone. ~ Alone by Maya Angelou
Being alone takes a lot of getting used to. Anyone can make a bed, cook a healthy meal, exercise, and read a book.
Being alone takes a lot of getting used to.
Being alone is missing the mug clink with coffee cups in the morning. It’s missing the surprise kisses that come out of nowhere, for no reason other than someone loves you. It’s missing silly conversations, laughing together, and walking hand in hand, words not needed.
Being alone takes a lot of getting used to.
“That nobody, but nobody, can make it out here alone.” The truth in Maya Angelu’s poem resonates deep within me. I discovered that life calls me to reach out to others. I’m getting used to saying, “Hi, my name is Ray, what’s yours?” At first, it was difficult, extending my arm, smiling, and introducing myself. It’s not something most people make a daily habit. I do. And, it has made all the difference. I no longer feel alone, although I’m dancing alone. I discovered a genuine warmth, compassion, and love in the people I’ve met. In spite of the cable news, the world is a friendly place, people are good, and each person I meet brightens my life.
Hi, my name is Ray. What’s yours?

Ray’s Recipe: Joy of Pizza (Mexican, that is)

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I’m in the mood for pizza, Mexican pizza that is. If I were living in New York, I’d head down to Little Italy. If I were in Boston, off to the North End. I’m of Italian descent, pizza is a marked on my DNA. At least that’s what came back when I sent a sample of my saliva for DNA analysis to Tony’s Pizzeria. I live in San Antonio, I go with the local cuisine, which by the way is awesome. Maybe I’ll a plug from the Chamber of Commerce. Then again, maybe not.

Mexican Pizza is perfect for an easy, good tasting, healthy meal. Let’s start with easy. It’s as easy as uno, dos, tres. It’s Mexican pizza, right? It’s a requirement I count in Spanish. What can be easier than a can of Bush’s reduced sodium pinto beans?

Step by step if you read directions. If you’re a guy, just go with the photos and pretend you’re reading. That’s what I do.

  1. Hold can firmly in the right hand, insert the can into the electric can opener. Turn on the can opener. Remove can. Don’t forget to recycle the top and the can when rinsed.
  2. Drain the can – caution, don’t dump the beans out when you drain the can (this warning is for absently minded challenged people – did I get that politically correct?).
  3. Put the beans in a blender. If you need a bit of salt or pepper or other seasonings, this is the time. You don’t want to do it after the dance is over. Where did that metaphor come from? Too much iced tea at lunch I think.
  4. I turn the oven on to 380 – It takes a few minutes to heat up. At the same time, I have a poblano pepper, onion, and green pepper doing the salsa in the sizzling hot pan. I toss in a bit of red crushed pepper (guy speak, toss means unmeasured, looks good, go for it).

    5. I place two, high fiber, high protein, low calorie tortilla on a baking sheet. I baste them with EVOO and zip them in the oven for two and a half minutes. This step lets the tortillas know I mean business. No fooling around. It frijole time. I smooth my bean mix over the tortillas, artistic enough to be sold at a garage sale for fifty cents if you’re into tortilla ornaments. I pace sliced tomatoes around the edges of the tortillas, basically to cover up the spots I missed with the beans. There I go, spilling the beans. Forgive the lame joke, por favor. I stick the bean and tomato covered tortillas back in the oven for three minutes to get them good and hot. When I pull the pan out, I cover my tortillas with my poplano, onions, and green pepper mix. I add non-fat mozzarella from Kraft, and put the whole thing back into the oven. Now, it’s eyeballing time. I can’t watch ESPN. I can’t check my Twitter feed. I can’t text. Well, I can do all those things, and I can do them all at once. I can even use the remote at the same time. I force myself to keep a close eye on the oven. I know it’s ready when the cheese is perfectly melted. Now how hard is that? On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a 7. That gives me three spaces to play with.

    Finished product. I hide one pizza from view (it looks good BTW). Please take note of my guacamole (guacamole goes with everything even my oatmeal). If you make this meal, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and as much I did writing this post.

Look Back With Kindly Eyes

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 Look back on Time, with kindly eyes —
He doubtless did his best —
How softly sinks that trembling sun
In Human Nature’s West — by Emily Dickinson
Now that I am dancing alone, when I pack for a flight, I try to keep it light and simple. I take all I need in one carry-on and my backpack. When my carry-on is full, it’s full and that’s it. Everything else stays behind. It’s easier that way. I don’t have to check baggage. I easily pass through TSA. Okay, I get a pat down now and then. I have to remove my shoes and belt. You all know the drill. After I pass through security, I go to Starbucks, get a coffee and head to the gate. I’m relaxed and ready to enjoy my flight and destination. Traveling alone is a teacher.
I’m learning to “Look back on Time, with kindly eyes.” The poet Emily Dickinson had it right. I’m learning to pack only good memories, and consider the rest excess baggage. I can look back and know, “He doubtless did his best.” I think knowing I did my best is a good thing. All the would have’s and could have’s and should have’s are excess baggage I’ve discarded. Here’s hoping you “Look back on Time, with kindly eyes,” too.

Grateful for the Storms

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A Grateful Hearts Sings A Joyful Song

I’m grateful for the storm
Made me appreciate the sun
I’m grateful for the wrong ones
Made me appreciate the right ones
I’m grateful for the pain
For everything that made me break
I’m thankful for all my scars
‘Cause they only make my heart
Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful, oh
Grateful  (Written by Diane Eve Warren; Performed by Rita Ora)

Some years ago Babe and I and our five daughters and dog moved to a small western Massachusetts town. I had a new job. Four of the girls were going to new schools, and the youngest, only two years old, stayed at home with Babe while I went to work. The town, Belchertown, is in a picturesque setting near the Quabbin Reservoir, built in the 1930’s. Quabbin.pngThe state appropriated four towns and flooded them to provide water for Boston and 40 other communities. The reservoir is one of the largest man-made reservoirs in the U.S. Soon after moving to Belchertown, I rode my bicycle out to Quabbin. I had no idea it existed at the time. My route, not by design, took me past Quabbin, I turned in, crossed a huge dam and soon began to climb a steep road, a mile long. The view from the dam and climb were breathtaking to me. When I reached the top, I pulled my bicycle into a pullout and stared at the water, huge hills jutting out of the water, and eagles soaring high in the sky. Excitedly, I rode home, packed Babe and the girls in our Volkswagen van and headed back to Quabbin. As months went by, we always enjoyed hiking and berry picking in Quabbin. Yet, the initial excitement and wonder disappeared. We became used to it. I think that is why we need storms in our life to appreciate the sun. I don’t like the pain, nor wish pain for anyone, but the storms turn on a gratitude button within me that I want to make present 24/7.

I appreciate the extraordinary wisdom the songwriter expressed in this song. Her wisdom touched me at a deep place in my human spirit.

I’m thankful for all my scars
‘Cause they only make my heart
Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful, oh
Grateful

Ray’s Recipe – Breakfast for Two (days)

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I’m walking a fine line today. If I lived in the north, they might say, “You’re skating on thin ice.” A chicken farmer might tell me I’m walking on eggshells. Well, that’s all water under the bridge. I think I’m on an idiom kick. I hear an inner voice screaming mercy, mercy. Okay, I give in no more idioms, but like they say, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, that is unless you use Eggbeaters. I’m going to take a break.

I took a five-minute break, finished my third cup of coffee. I should have had the third cup before I began writing. When you’re living alone, breakfast for two has all kinds of implications. I’ll let someone else run with that thought. I’m talking breakfast for two days, more or less. Cut me a little slack here.

I’m going to make enough oatmeal for two meals. I don’t want to ruin lunch oIMG_6333r dinner, so the oatmeal remains fixed on the breakfast menu. Here’s how I start. You need the basics: Oatmeal, a cylinder like microwaveable container, and measuring cups. I have no idea why I included the measuring cups. Since I’m a guy, eyeballing is the way I measure. I put measuring cups in the photo in case the Food Channel or the breakfast police want to write a citation.

Reading the above photo from left to right, that’s the way I normally read unless I’m bored. I tip the oatmeal container sideways, resting it’s side on my container (A crucial bit of information you’ll never hear from Bobby Flay) and let gravity do its work. I think I got about the right amount in the container. I’m holding my fingers apart, I want to give you an accurate measure, Try two and half to three inches of oatmeal. Middle photo. I feel like singing the blues – blueberries that blueberries that blueberries that blueberries that

Middle photo. I feel like singing the blues – blueberries that is. I tilt a bag of frozen blues, give it a shake and hope the whole darn bag doesn’t fly out. I’m in luck, it looks like a dozen, mas o meno. The last part is Tex Mex talk for more or less. Here’s the tricky part, add H2O, agua, or water. The last two are adequate substitutes for H2O. It’s an eyeball thing. Take it to about a half inch about the mixings. I like thick oatmeal, if you like it thin, add more water. Who am I to judge how you like your oatmeal?

I put the container in the microwave, topless. Hey, it’s oatmeal! I set the timer for two minutes or hit jet start four times. Keep an eye on it or you’ll have a cleanup and have to start over unless you want to put the microwave glass in the fridge overnight. It’ll take it about a minute and fifteen seconds to start climbing the tower. That’s plenty of time text, email, check your 401k, see what’s playing on Netflix, or daydream. Get ready. Get right in front of the microwave unless you have a pacemaker. I wait until the oatmeal is flirting with the edge of the container. I hit off and remove the oatmeal. It shrinks. I screw the top on IMG_6340.jpgand let it sit on the counter for five minutes. Why five? I don’t know. I remember the five tables were easy to learn in third grade. I then set it in the fridge with a couple of its buddies to thicken up overnight. In my fridge, it’s sitting between iced tea and wheat germ and Eggbeaters. I show the wheat germ and Eggbeaters to discourage company.

Below, the photo on the left is my two oatmeal breakfasts. WARNING, It’s going to come out of the fridge like a clump. It reminds me of some of the guys who went to school with me (not to worry, they’re doing time – only kidding – I think). I take a knife and fork and mush (guy speak) the clumps up so they look like real oatmeal. I put cinnamon on each. One gets saran wrap over it. The other goes in the microwave for 1 minute. I pull that baby out and drizzle honey over it. If you think this is all I eat for breakfast – no way –  I’m a growing boy. I’ll leave the add-ons to your imagination and healthy tastes. Enjoy your Breakfast Bonanza.

Learning to Let Go

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When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be. When I let go of what I have, I receive what I need. –Lao Tzu

I’m dancing alone. I try to live a simple, uncomplicated life. I get rid of “stuff” whenever I can. If you visit me, you’ll not find a home cluttered with “stuff.” I carry what I treasure in my heart and memories. I know what I carry in my heart and memory will not rust, wear out, rot, or decay.

Living simply for me is learning to let go. It’s not easy to let go of things Babe and I carried with us for years. Many of these “things” carry special memories. Yet, when Babe died, letting go hurt like hell. I didn’t want to do it. I knew I had to do it if I were to open my heart to healing. Letting go is saying goodbye, waving farewell and Godspeed to a friend as a friend leaves on a journey I can’t follow, at least not yet. I cannot stay standing still watching the horizon waiting for my friend to return. Life asks me to turn around and return to living life. I find it is letting my friend go, trusting God to take care of my friend and to guide me on my path forward.

Letting go of the big things makes letting go of the little things easier. As Lao Tzu says in the quote above, “When I let go of what I have, I receive what I need.” I’ve found this to be true in my life.

Today Is My Clay

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Creative Possibilities

It’s all I have to bring today by Emily Dickinson

It’s all I have to bring today —
This, and my heart beside —
This, and my heart, and all the fields —
And all the meadows wide —
Be sure you count — should I forget
Some one the sum could tell —
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.

Yesterday’s gone, tomorrow waits over the horizon. Today is clay given to me to create something wonderful, something memorable, something beautiful. My creation doesn’t have to change the world or win a Noble prize. It doesn’t have to be newsworthy, and no researcher ever find reason to write about it. My creation will reside in my heart and in the hearts of all who pass my way. It may be as simple as filling my bird feeder, picking litter off the street, or holding the door for someone to pass through. It may be in the smile I share with a stranger, a listening ear to a friend who needs to talk, or a heartfelt prayer to our loving God for healing someone’s pain.

Today is full of infinite possibilities for the creative heart. My investment in my creative activities is priceless, it is the gift of myself, fully to this day and each creative moment.

Here’s to all who seize the creative possibilities of today.

Live with Hope.

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Accepting the Absurd

I grew up in a mill town, 30 miles south of Boston. My mom and dad worked in shoe factories in my early years. Across the street from our apartment home was a four-story shoe factory converted into a chicken factory. I’m not sure how many chickens were in the factory at any given time, thousands, probably. In the summer, when it was hot, and the wind fresh from the south, the not so fragrant smell of chicken manure hung in the air so thick you could almost see it. Everyone in the apartments thought it was normal. No one ever complained. Smelling chicken manure was our everyday experience. That memory came back to me when I thought of about my blog. A childhood experience is teaching me an important lesson for where I am at in my dancing alone life.

What is the lesson? Don’t live across the street from a chicken factory, right? That a lesson for sure, but not the one I that came to mind. The lesson I learned was more like understanding how getting used to things is easy and often makes the absurd feel normal. If I get used to feeling sorry for myself it soon feels normal. I may want company and hang around with people who shared the same philosphy. Man, that kind of company I don’t need. Or, as my dad would say, “Ray, I need that like I need a hole in the head.” He frequently said that, honest.

I have another choice, I can wake up, realize I don’t have to be stuck in an emotionally or physically unhealthy place. I can declare, I choose to live. I choose to embrace life. I choose to be around people who are happy, optimistic, and see life as a wonderful God-give gift.

Takeaways:

Live with hope.

Live with joy in your heart and song on your lips.

Never quit, never give up.

Down? Shake yourself off, rise, and going again.

 

Ray’s Recipe’s – It’s Taco Time

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Taco Time

I live in south Texas. South Texas. If you are unaware of a south Texas factoid, taco time is a south Texas tradition. Since today is Thursday, I could call it Taco Thursday. Hold that thought. Every day is taco day except for burrito or fajita day. Guacamole doesn’t have its own day. Not to worry, I want to start a petition drive to make June 11, Guacamole Day. Why did I pick Junio once? The only truthful answer I can give is that I’m right brained, random, and skip around my thoughts like a bee on rose bush flitting from flower to flower. Babe always told me the way I think is the reason she would insist on hiring electricians, plumbers, tree pruners, and anything that requires concentrated attention for more than ten seconds.

It’s time to get down to serious Taco Time business for a guy dancing alone. Since my concentration wavers after ten seconds, I go with a single guy’s trusted friend, slow cooker. The only decision I need to make is eight hours or four hours. How hard is that? Let me think about it, I’ll get back to you in an hour (guy humor).

If I use the slow cooker, it’s twenty minutes prep time tops, walk away and come back eight hours later. Talk about a walk in faith – the slow cooker told me to chill, it’ll all work out.

I like to make my cooking life easy. The biggest problem with a slow cooker is clean up – IMG_6302.jpgNOT SO FAST! I buy cooking inserts and place one in the slow cooker. Right after I line the slow cooker with the liner, I add a whole jar of low sodium, high on the heat salsa. What’s a taco without the heat? Check it out.

 

 

 

IMG_6303.jpgSo far, thirty seconds. I walk to the fridge, open the freezer. I’m in luck, one baggie of chicken filets. I didn’t check earlier. This is one of the reasons, I don’t qualify to be a pilot, surgeon, or electrician. I place the frozen chicken in the slow cooker, hustle to the yard and pick some rosemary and let it add color and flavor to mix.

 

 

The rosemary and chicken holler the fiesta is boring, they need company. I hear a knock on the door, open it, and I hear, “Let the party begin.” It’s poblano pepper, jalapeno pepper, onion, and red pepper. Tagging along behind the group is basil.

IMG_6304.jpg

I put the cover on the slow cooker, set the time for eight hours. Hasta luego baby. In a couple of hours, it is smelling good. I toss in a bit of red pepper (I wasn’t kidding about the heat), take a long slow breath because it’s smelling so good. I put the cover on the slow cooker and a bib on me because I’m drooling.

I had a good day and didn’t worry about dinner. A half hour before dinner, I go to work, set the table, make a salad, and a dish of first of the season strawberries and blueberries. It’s easy. It’s healthy. It’s yum-oh. And, it’s Taco Time. I kept the tradition alive.

 

 

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