How often do you hear the advice to live in the present?
Live now.
Live now fully.
I have said those words, written those words myself frequently. I have examined the meaning of those words for myself, especially since I am a planner. What do I need to do tomorrow? The rest of this month? And how am I going to accomplish those things?
What would it mean to be a recovering planner, I ask myself, as I add another item on my To Do list: Conquer the need to plan.
Realistically, I know that isn't going to happen, but isn't there a way, I wonder, to be both a planner, to pay bills on time, to set goals for my writing, to make sure there is food in the house to eat, to be organized and ready for tasks I have agreed to do?
Perhaps planning and living the present moment are not the same thing. Perhaps thinking about what I need to do tomorrow or next week or even further in the future doesn't detract --at least not totally--from living in the present moment. I get confused about this some times.
And then there is the fact that I am writing my spiritual memoir and that means looking backwards, pulling out the past, including what I would prefer to gloss over, sweep away. I have been keeping journals for decades. Packed in plastic bins from Target, aren't those journals mere bundles of past days meant to be set aside in favor of smelling the roses still left in the garden?
As I said, I get confused about this business of living in the present moment sometimes.
Recently, I heard a wise woman say, "Live as if you had eleven months to live. Not twelve months."
Today is Thursday, October 4th. If you only have eleven months to live, that means you will never know another October 4th, so how do you want to live your last October 4th? How do you want to live from now until September 4, 2019?
The Sufi mystic Rumi says, "There are a hundred way to kneel and kiss the ground." I take that to mean that there is more than one way to live fully, to live with a sense of the sacred in all we do and all we are.
Once again I return to one of my mantras, "Sacred Yes. Sacred No."
Sometimes I have a hard time deciding whether something is a sacred yes or sacred no, but staying present to the distinction, subtle as it may be, is a way for me to explore my own path of awakening, as Kathleen Dowling Singh says in her book, The Grace in Living.
Today I am present to the transition from early fall to the middle of fall. Today I am present to the sight of pumpkins lined up on the steps of more and more homes in my neighborhood. Today I am present to the open day in front of me when I will begin revising another chapter in my memoir. Today I am present to the taste of chili I made the day before. Today I am present to my quiet morning meditation time when I will listen for the voice of Spirit in whatever form it takes. Today I am present to the suffering in the world and offer blessings for all who live in pain, no matter the reason or the form. Today I am present to the time I will have with those who attend a guided labyrinth walk I am facilitating. Today I am present to encounters, face to face or via text or email.
Today I am present to the sacredness of this day.
The blessings of heaven,
the blessings of earth,
the blessings of sea and of sky.
On those we love this day
and on every human family
the gifts of heaven,
the gifts of earth,
the gifts of sea and of sky.
J. Phillip Newell
An Invitation
What does being present mean to you? I would love to know.
Yes, I know I have written about my love of rhubarb before. (Read here.) and I will probably write about it again, but making rhubarb sauce is one of those spring moving towards summer rituals that marks the passage of time for me. Is it possible we are already at this stage of the year?
I know for many "getting through the winter" is an endurance test and balloon bouquets are released when spring finally dominates. I know many cling to these warmer months and guard the oncoming summer as if that will make the days last longer, pass slower, and yet, we know that doesn't work.
It is mid-May now and soon it will be June and on and on the days and weeks and months pass. And the years. The inevitability does not listen to our pleas, "How can this be?"
Therefore, I mark the coming of rhubarb and the making of rhubarb sauce as one of those rituals which reminds me of the past, clears the way for future days, and encourages me to treasure the present moment. All in a sink-full of rhubarb stalks. Of course, there is the side benefit of deliciousness, too.
The Past: I recall my mother saying more than once how it was a crime to have to pay for rhubarb, for it is just a weed. Mind you, she always fixed rhubarb sauce and torte without growing rhubarb herself. Did she beg or "borrow" bunches? Or did she stoop to buying it at the grocery store? This house left us a legacy of healthy rhubarb plants, and if Mom were still with us, she would be waiting for a speedy delivery from me.
The Future: If it's time for rhubarb, it is time to make our summer list. Where do we want to go on afternoon fields trips or day long or overnight road trips? When our children were growing up we always made a Summer List, and it was fun brainstorming ideas and then making each item a reality. On my list this summer is to go to the International Wolf Center in northern Minnesota and the Japanese Garden at Como Park in St Paul and maybe a long weekend in Door County and a St Paul Saints baseball game in the new stadium and to eat at each of the restaurants on the chain of lakes here in the Twin Cities. Wow, I guess my list is longer than I thought.
The Present: Rhubarb reminds me to savor the flavors of right now. The sweetness with maybe just a touch of sour to keep us awake. A friend who also loves rhubarb told me about having a piece of her homemade rhubarb pie for breakfast. It was there waiting for her in the refrigerator when it was time to fix breakfast. Why not? I delivered rhubarb sauce to my Dad Sunday afternoon and it makes me so happy to know how something so simple pleases him. My next batch will go to our daughter's family, but you can be sure I reserve some each time for us. Yum.
Before we know it, if we are lucky, we will be thinking about fall flavors, applesauce and all things pumpkin. Let's not waste a moment of where we are right now, no matter the season of the year --and our lives.
An Invitation
What in your life brings together the past, the present, and the future? I would love to know.
Rhubarb Sauce
Combine 3 cups rhubarb cut in 1-inch pieces, 1/2 to 3/4 cup sugar, and 1/4 cup water. Bring to boiling; cover and cook slowly till tender, about 5 minutes. Makes 2 cups. Serve warm or cold. Refrigerate.
I made tomato soup yesterday. What is blog post worthy about that? Well, first of all my tomato soup is absolutely delicious and a family favorite, but that is not the main reason I am writing about tomato soup today. The main reason is that the making of tomato soup yesterday represents a turning point in the process of selling our home. Allow me to make the connection.
It is now September, and I LOVE fall. LOVE FALL! I know the days are shorter, and I get up to go exercise when it is still dark, and I understand that it won't be long before shovels will be on the front porch instead of wicker furniture, but before then it is fall--cooler, crisper temperatures, sweaters, pumpkins, applesauce, fresh notebooks. Well, I could go on.... The point is I don't want to miss fall because I am cleaning the house everyday to the point of obsession, a new addiction, in anticipation of potential showings. We have had lots of showings, and I am more than grateful that there continues to be interest in our home, even two showings the week before Labor Day, which I am told is unusual. However, no offers--yet.
Because we have been living lightly in the house, very lightly, I have not done much cooking these summer months. It was time to mess up the kitchen and what better or messier way to do it than by making tomato soup. Making tomato soup takes a large saucepan, a medium saucepan, a colander, a big bowl, a smaller bowl, a Cuisinart or food mill etc. I end up with a red stained apron, and a sink full of tomato peels and seeds, and the best late summer supper ever. Well worth messing up the kitchen.
I came to the decision to make a batch of tomato soup not only because the Farmers' Market was laden with gorgeous tomatoes of all varieties, but because I was musing about what the coming fall season might bring. Of course, I would love to have the house sell before the cold weather arrives, and I would love to move into an apartment here in Middleton and our new home in St Paul before we are carrying boxes in below freezing temperatures, but I realize we truly can be content this way for as long as necessary. We have a great house here, and the apartment in St Paul suits our needs perfectly. There is nothing I don't like about living in Middleton/Madison. We have lovely friends and Bruce has a stimulating, challenging job that suits him so well. Life is good and it is time to live it in the present.
This new revelation has resulted in a new resolve to settle in a bit more and not be as focused on selling the house. Time is on our side, and the next owner who loves this house as much as we do will appear at the right time.
Is there something you have not been doing? Some way you have been putting your life on the side because of something you are waiting to happen? Well, fall is a bonus time of renewed or brand new resolutions. Happy fall and bon appetit!
Herbed Fresh Tomato Soup
Serves 8
2 Tablespoons butter
2 Tablespoons olive oil
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
2 pounds fresh tomatoes, peeled and quartered (5 cups)
1 6 oz can tomato paste
2 Tablespoons (at least) snipped fresh basil. Actually, I prefer a handful of basil. Or if necessary, 2 teaspoons dried basil
4 teaspoons snipped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried thyme
3 cups chicken broth
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper fresh thyme or basil as garnish
In large saucepan, combine butter and the oil; heat till butter melts. Add onion and cook till tender, but not brown. Stir in tomatoes, tomato paste, the snipped basil and thyme. Mash tomatoes slightly. Add chicken broth. Bring to boiling. Reduce heat. Cover and simmer 40 minutes. Press through food mill or puree a small amount at a time in blender or Cuisinart. Strain. Return mixture to sauce pan. Stir in salt and pepper. Heat through. To serve, top with fresh herbs.
How often do you hear the advice to live in the present? 
Today I am present to the transition from early fall to the middle of fall. Today I am present to the sight of pumpkins lined up on the steps of more and more homes in my neighborhood. Today I am present to the open day in front of me when I will begin revising another chapter in my memoir. Today I am present to the taste of chili I made the day before. Today I am present to my quiet morning meditation time when I will listen for the voice of Spirit in whatever form it takes. Today I am present to the suffering in the world and offer blessings for all who live in pain, no matter the reason or the form. Today I am present to the time I will have with those who attend a guided labyrinth walk I am facilitating. Today I am present to encounters, face to face or via text or email.
