In a white room, with black curtains...

Attended an event yesterday evening with Dwan and all three boys.  (Maya was at her varsity basketball team's semifinal - they won, and the final will be this Saturday.  This will be for the state championship, so we'll be there in Richmond.)  Anyway the event was held at Sidwell (Miller's and the Obama's school, if I may be permitted to drop a name yet again on my blog, in case anybody doesn't remember this minor proxy claim to fame...), and co-sponsored by a local independent bookstore, 'Politics and Prose.'

Baratunde Thurston, the author of How to be Black, spoke to a full house.  An alumnus of Sidwell, he writes for the digital Onion, does stand up, and co-hosts Jack and Jill Politics, among other things, which you can see here:  http://www.jackandjillpolitics.com/index.php?s=baratunde&submit.x=0&submit.y=0  A very dynamic speaker, he 'worked' the audience by walking up and down the aisles, gesticulating at one of two screens on which slides - and at one point a video clip - were shown.  The venue was the Quaker 'meeting room' where silent 'meetings' are normally held.  (Tangentially, I understand that the name Quaker was given to the original sect in England who would sit in silence - sans preacher or minister - until moved, or quaked, by the 'holy spirit' to speak, or otherwise bear witness to the power and glory of the _________ - name your deity or force or whatever here.)  Baratunde spiced his talk with some small and tasteful bits of profanity - usually quoting somebody else in a vignette - and even once used the darkest profanity I know of, the 'n-word.'

I very much liked the talk, Dwan bought the book, and had it signed afterward.  Our teens (even Eli joined us) admitted to having enjoyed the talk as well, but I think our stop at 'Z-burger' afterward was even more to their liking.

Were it not for the presence of the teenagers - and possibly also Dwan - I might have posed a question of the speaker, as at least half the time of the talk was devoted to Q&A.  Why, you might ask, be bothered with what my teens would think?  No matter what, any question I might ask would have been considered 'retarded' out of hand, and grounds for great embarrassment.  And why a concern about my wife hearing what I might query?  Well, perhaps I was just feeling a bit 'too white.'  Let me explain:

Having been diagnosed with MS eleven years ago, and using a cane or walker for over half of that time, I am coming to understand how to 'be a cripple.'  (And yes, I reserve the right to use the 'c-word,' at least as long as rappers can use the 'n-word' with impunity.)  Furthermore, having turned fifty over the summer, and watched my hair and beard turn gradually from gray to white, I am beginning to learn 'how to be old.'  (Going back to college, where the average student is less than half my age is also instructive in this journey.)  I also know more or less when and how I feel supported or ignored by the young, or the non-handicapped.  And approximately what I think I would like in regard to this, that is, how and when I would like to feel supported, or how and when I am happy to be ignored.

Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, as I recall, chronicles, in part, how the author - an African American - felt virtually invisible, as if but a cipher in the eyes of a racist and segregated society.  Though older and crippled folk are not disenfranchised in any way like African Americans were at the time this novel was written (and to a large extent still are), the 'invisibility' factor definitely speaks to me.

Because I can say when and how I might feel - or want to be - supported, or when I'd prefer just to be ignored, my question for Baratunde would have been:  'If I read your book, will I learn how to be white?'  And if it isn't clear already what I mean by that question - the formation and explanation of which clearly would have outstripped not only my wife's and teen's patience, but probably also the esteemed author's - let me state it as clearly as I can:  Given the troubled and violent history of white European enslavement of black Africa, and the enduring prejudice and racism that have been a part of this 'land of the free' ever since emancipation, how should the compassionate and concerned 'white', or non-African American, comport himself?  As I type this, I can imagine my lovely wife - who is African American - jumping up and down in her seat, hand raised, yelling 'I know, I know the answer!  Treat us as individuals, and not as representatives of some clan, class, or group.'  In a word, not as an 'other.'

Or maybe that is not the answer, maybe there is more nuance.  And maybe, just maybe, I will come to understand it over time.  Maybe we all of us - regardless of 'race', gender, or creed - will come to understand it.  With a 'biracial' (Baratunde's word) president in the White House, I believe there is reason for hope, even as the sound and fury of reactionary howls from the right-wing nut-job tea-party fringe crescendoes.  Let us make these the last desperate gasps of a sorry sorry past.

Orange peel pickle

I remember fondly the lemon peel pickle in Nepal with daalbhaat.  I've found good lime pickles here in the states.  And now I have created a truly excellent relish.  Some pictures:

Ingredients, prep, chop.

Cookin' it up.

A label for the jar...

Close up on the oh-so-clever label.

I wasn't planning on adding raisins, but tasting the jus while cooking it up, the stainless steel spoon nearly melted.  Okay, just kidding, but it was incredibly spicy, so I decided to dilute.  Had some with a salad dinner, went to lie down afterwards, and visions of Krishna danced in my head as I dozed a bit.  Woke refreshed, and ready to post.

The ingredients read 'natural (not motor) oil' for a reason.  Some of the best pickles I've found - the ones from India - read 'edible oil' in their ingredients.  Just in case you were wondering.

Democratic socialist? What the?

I get bothered sometimes when I hear people confuse, or equate, capitalism with democracy.  Or socialism with autocracy (dictatorship).  Of course, there are numerous examples of such pairings, though even these are highly tainted.  For example, in our own supposed democracy, corporations hold much more power over the political system than do individual citizens, and this was recently given a mega-boost with the 'Citizen's United' Supreme Court decision.  Furthermore, most corporations are organized in a fashion entirely inimical to democracy, sometimes even excluding union organization and involvement on behalf of employees - to say nothing of their basic internal unelected 'top-down' hierarchies.  (If you aren't sure what good unions are, you can thank their blood, sweat, and tears for the eight hour work day - working over which earns you time and a half - the eradication of child labor, and numerous other things we now take for granted.  These were fought for, tooth and nail, and wrested from corporations backed by their 'elected' governments, police lackeys, scabs, and hired ruthless thugs.)

The typical employee now has but one choice to express his disaffection with a company:  to quit.  And with unemployment remaining at record levels, this is not a realistic option.  By and large, people have to put up, and shut up.  And then often end up being 'downsized' anyway, their jobs having moved to a country where worker's rights are even more marginalized, if they exist at all.  To say nothing of environmental regulations or OSHA type enforcement.  Is this democracy?

Well, kinda sorta.  It is true there are local, state, and federal opportunities to have an electoral voice (unless you live in the District of Columbia, home of 'taxation without representation').  But that voice - which I encourage us all to exercise - can be rather muted with the private fortunes drowning them out - coming from unelected, unaccountable, and now even anonymous, entities.

(For an example of true workplace democracy you can look at the Mondragon cooperative in Spain's Basque region.  A young priest was sent to start a vocational school there, in 1941, and teach Christian values.  And some students apparently paid attention, forming their first cooperative in 1959 building kerosene stoves.  The co-op has grown over the decades, and now employs over 80,000 in manufacturing and other industries.  For more information, you can look here:  http://www.mcc.es/ENG.aspx  There are many examples of cooperatives in this country and around the world.  Though not a cooperative, United Airlines is technically 'employee-owned,' which is to say, a majority of their shares are in employee's hands.  As best I can tell, however, in most respects United operates like any other airline, which is to say, not very democratically.  Michael Moore, in his movie Capitalism, A Love Story, cites various employee-owned and democratic cooperatives as an alternative to capitalism.  There are many critics who claim this is a simplistic view, and that basically if the larger system is set up to police and enforce the private unfair distribution of capital - while not providing much along the lines of Social Security, public health insurance, robust educational systems, etc. - such co-ops can have only a small impact.  For more such analysis, you can check out sites like this: http://louisproyect.wordpress.com/2009/09/29/are-worker-owned-companies-an-alterative-to-capitalism/http://louisproyect.wordpress.com/2009/09/29/are-worker-owned-companies-an-alterative-to-capitalism/)

There are hybrid political-economic systems.  China only embraced capitalism in the 1980's, but is more autocratic by far than democratic - both within factories, and within government.  Is it a communist country now that it is one of the emerging economic superpowers?  Again, kinda sorta.  What it clearly is not, is democratic, on any level.  Could it be, and still be called communist?  Of course.  Can it be called capitalist?  On many levels it competes as a capitalist nation, buying a few and selling a lot of goods in 'free markets' worldwide, even though its own markets are far from free.

Try a thought experiment:  Say the Chinese government still owns and controls all the land, factories, etc. (Marx's 'means of production'), but it also allows free and fair elections (even in Tibet - but sorry, that's another sticky issue entirely...).  And the government so elected might choose to insist, for example, that factories pay their employees a living wage.  And not hire younger than a given age (do I hear fifteen?  Sixteen?  Eighteen?).  And not allow toxic emissions from smokestacks or effluent pipes into rivers, etc.  And pay for the health care and retirement of their workers.  Would they still be communist?  For the purposes of this thought experiment, yes, the 'means of production' owned by the government, that is, the people.  Would they be able to sell off their state-owned property to the highest bidder, like Russia did in the nineties?  Of course.  Would they still be 'communist'?  Less so.  This is the story of Russia today - having emerged after the soviet union collapsed - which is now basically crony capitalism with a phony democracy.  Our thought experiment China might look more along the lines of many western European 'social democracies.'

If all this seems confusing (coming as it does from the dendritic kudzu of my brain) let me try to clarify and probably make it all murkier.  Spain under generalissimo Franco: 0% democracy, 100% crony capitalism.  (Side note:  'crony capitalism' means simply that friends and family of the powerful in government end up with all of the 'means of production' and therefore the wealth and power of a nation.  Normally it does not encourage - or even allow - free markets, which are necessary for capitalism to flourish.  Another side note: the Mondragon cooperative mentioned earlier was started under this Spanish dictatorship.)  Germany:  democratic and capitalist, though with a robust legal framework which puts limits and hefty taxes on corporations, and upholds workers' rights to unionize, strike, etc.  It generally has found a healthy balance, and I believe this is one of the reasons it is Europe's most successful economy.  North Korea:  100% of what I would call crony communism, 100% autocracy, 0% capitalism, 0% democracy.  Could they benefit from some capitalism, or more precisely, some free enterprise?  Sure.  But more to the point, they could use a big dose of democracy.

Which I think we could all use more of.  And lately, with the 'Arab spring' some nations are attempting to head that way.  But what a precarious journey it is proving to be so far.  In the U.S., the 'occupy movement' is trying to head us in a fairer, more just, and more democratic direction.  Their message has been a bit murky so far, but seems to be congealing around dismantling the 'Citizens United' case.

As long as corporations are allowed to spend unlimited money, protected as 'free speech,' the chances of reversing the past thirty years of stagnating wages, plummeting union membership (down to 7% in the private sector), soaring profits for shareholders, and an ever widening wealth gap between the rich and poor - which is many times as extreme among minority groups - are somewhere between zip and nil.  Which, again, is the kind of long-winded sentence I'm susceptible to but which boils down to:  reverse 'Citizens United' now!  Right now!

Which is of course, something of a 'no-brainer.'  Will we work for or contribute to a candidate for elected office whose campaign is funded largely by these anonymous entities protected by Citizens United?  If so, I posit we may reap just what we sow.  Or reap more of the manure we put on the crops (to push a metaphor to thee limit of its utility).  I have to hand it to the OWS folks, and am happy to see the discussion they have generated has tilted public debate to the very core issues of what this country could be.  What promises it truly holds.

Clouds, drizzle, and sun are vying for preeminence this day - literally - which given the scope of this post, puts me in the mind of a song...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScfUfsUlGro

Falling slowly

New year's resolutions seem to bubble up on me around this time of year.  Actually, the 'resolution' part of that statement isn't really accurate.  In December and January, I'll find myself doing something or other which is either brand new, or in some way an incremental change.  For instance, in '09/'10 it was playing the guitar on a daily basis.  So I called it a resolution, and have continued ever since.  A sort of 'leading (myself) from behind.'

This year - this fall and winter actually - I've notice a somewhat hastened slowing down; this may sound like an oxymoron, however I mean that my symptoms of MS seem to be getting heavier faster.  Is it my resolution to make it even faster?  Hardly.  Resolutions to the contrary or not, that's how things have felt, with their attendant emotional baggage.  Particularly over the past few weeks.

For a couple reasons perhaps, not least of which might be the less healthy diet that is so popular this Yuletide season. Another reason was my first colonoscopy the week before last (the result: clean as a whistle!)  Which means I haven't been to the gym for two weeks.  I've recently resumed, and behold, I feel better!  Causality of course is not clear - that is, maybe I'm getting back to it because I feel better, and not vice-versa - but it is good to be back at it regardless.  During this decade of 'MS-tery', the single best medicine I've found is regular exercise.

Which includes daily physical therapy, starting with balance movements, and moving on from there.  A bit of tai chi, a swing and lindy hop, and recently I'll attempt to include something 'baroque' each session.  By which I mean some improvised movement in the moment that is not necessarily fancy, ornate, or extravagant - the usual metaphoric meaning of the term.  But instead something odd.  Strange.  Unexpected.  The word baroque derives from the Italian word for an irregularly shaped pearl, and that is the meaning I employ for something surprising, or out of the ordinary.  Suddenly reaching up to the sky, or swiveling my head, perhaps slapping the floor.  Maybe all three in succession.  Or something that happens in the moment - maybe it has percolated up from below, some muscle group that is subconsciously asking for attention.  Or something quite pedestrian, which may or may not result in a feeling of release.

(A favorite song of mine is Baroque and Blue by Claude Bolling, in which this is given a voice, and can be seen/heard here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dVtLVSzESU  Click and you can listen as you read this post.  There is much more to the suggestive title, it seems:  the jazz, the classical, etc.  I think the song takes the classical music sense of the word Baroque - Bach for example - and after juxtaposing it, weaves it gradually together with jazz, and the blues.  And plays with the obvious double entendre, 'broke and blue'.  The sense of baroque meaning something unexpected or enigmatic, however, would put the jazz into both words, making something of a hidden triple entendre.  I love the resulting confluence of musical traditions.  End of parenthetic foray.)

Back to the physical therapy.  For a few days now, I have reincorporated 'the fall' into my routine.  The 'fall of man,' Paradise Lost?  Not exactly.  Ideally, a moment will come when my balance is teetering a bit from some action or other, and I will slowly follow that in a relatively careful roll or fall to the floor.  But more often, it will come at the end of the PT session, and not be preceded by a spontaneous balance loss.  What's the point?  No therapist has ever suggested it (liability concerns maybe?), but I have fallen and gotten bruised a couple of times since my diagnosis, and it seems that the more practice I get falling slowly and carefully, the less chance for injury.  At the very least, it adds to the PT session, working different muscle and nerve groups as I get back up to my feet.

Sometimes, but not often, I'll have music playing as I do the PT.  Glenn Miller's In The Mood is great with the swing/lindy hop steps, of course.  I should try doing it to Baroque and Blue, but I don't 'have' that song yet.  I think it's on my top 100 (plus) songs list that my dear wife has been burning by approximately 20 song chunks at a time to CD's for me, on my birthday, Christmas, etc.

Another thing that I've gradually been adopting, is to set a timer each hour to get up and move about, walk, stretch, do pushups, whatever.  Most of us are doing far too little of that these days - witness the obesity, high blood pressure, and diabetes epidemics - but with MS it is particularly important.  Butts sat upon for several hours can result in rather congealed and unyielding legs.

Which means, do it, right now, the alarm has sounded!  Soldier, hit the ground, give me fifty!

Bags of bags...

I just read that it costs San Francisco $4,000 to process (collect, compact, bundle, store, etc.) a ton of old plastic bags, but they can only get $32 to sell that same ton. And I wonder who is buying such a product.  From my years as recycling coordinator in Charlottesville, I know that plastic bottle recycling (milk jugs, water bottles, etc.) is hard enough, that is, costs much more than what little revenue might be generated from selling the 'product.'  And that 'closed loop' recycling - that is, turning old milk jugs into new ones - is quite rare.  Making them into park benches or vinyl carpeting is more common, though the market for these items is pretty limited, and therefore the used container market is also.  At least that was the case in the nineties, but I have seen nothing since to indicate any significant changes.  When was the last time I bought something made of recycled plastic?  And I'm the sort who actively looks for it when I do shop, which is, admittedly, a rare occurrence.

I also read that many of the compacted bag shipments are going to places like India or China with their much laxer, if any, environmental regulations.  Then the bags are incinerated (hopefully, at least, to generate electricity).  I have never heard of 'bag to bag' recycling.  Even from an energy analysis, I can imagine that to wash, sort, shred, melt, and create new bags from old, would be much more intensive than using new resins.  Which are, essentially, already 'by-products' of the fossil fuels we use mainly for energy production.  To a certain extent, making plastics from such 'by-products' is a sort of 'recycling' already.  The main problem comes from the trash produced.  (Well, a case could be made that the bio-toxicity of plastics and their many chemical additives, is an even greater problem, but that would be for another blogger.  Or hey, how about a scientist!  Or a journalist!  Remember them?)

I have for decades tried to do 'the right thing.'  I usually take a cloth bag with some used plastic bags inside for produce to the store with me.  But occasionally I forget, of course.  And in that case, sometimes I'll put my groceries in paper bags, which I then reuse for collecting paper to recycle.  Or sometimes just give in to the plastic bag juggernaut.  Even while limiting and reusing, however, somehow I still amass what seems like huge quantities of film plastic. Partly from forgetting to follow through on the good habits listed above, and partly from all the things that come packaged in bags, or bubble wrap, or other flimsy plastic.  If I were a tad bit more OCD, I suppose I could do a self audit, and track just exactly where all this comes from.

Now the less compulsively eco-fanatic among you might not see much of a problem here, and I respect that perspective.  As long as we reduce what we can, and make sure it's properly landfilled, what's the big deal?  Well, as the sixties adage goes, 'if you're not part of the solution, then you are part of the problem.'  This has always spoken directly to me.  And has kind of come to replace or complement the Catholic guilt, or the 'original sin' that I was born into.

Albatross chick

You may have heard of the 'great pacific garbage patch', a floating mass of trash (mostly comprised of plastic).  Some estimate it's twice the size the state of Texas.  (For more information about this modern day tragedy, go here http://greatpacificgarbagepatch.info/  You'll find links to other sites with more info.  For a quick glimpse, look at where our plastics (not just bags) all too often end up (you can look to the right now).

Which is all much ado about something.  And just exactly what to do about plastic seems clear: stop making it.  (As in the famous 'one word' of advice given to Benjamin (Dustin Hoffman) in The Graduate, the future still may be in plastics, but I think if we don't change course soon, not in the propitious way it was understood in the movie.)  For you and me, to stop making it means to stop using it.  Just how to stop is the challenge.  So far, given the multitude of differing plastics, and even the economic and energy costs involved, recycling is really a smoke and mirror side show.  Don't be fooled. However, if you find a pair of shoes, say, which are made from 100% post-consumer recycled plastic, and you like them, they feel good, etc., by all means buy them.  But then wear them out as you traverse the planet (or your little corner of it), while attempting to avoid 'one-way', or single use plastics, whenever possible.  Whereas recycling is not really viable, we can do much to reduce, and reuse whenever possible.

In the meantime, I will continue to dutifully take my bags of films back to the store to 'recycle.'  I know it's bogus, but I think it's worth the effort to show that I, that we, are willing to do such a thing - and more - if it could possibly help the planet.

End of sermon, vade in pace ('go in peace' - not in plastic)...

Update:  Montgomery county (where we live) recently passed a regulation that levies a 'bag tax' of ten or twenty cents.  Some are of course outraged, but generally folks are either wealthy enough not to care, or conscientious enough to support it.  Or even realistic enough to note that the fee is really just a drop in the bucket, and not worth notice.  However, a couple 'scientists' recently came out with concerns about the potential adverse health impacts of reusing bags - which may have come into contact with meat or other germ infested vectors.  To these Ebenezer Scrooges I counter, simply, bag humbug!

The key.

Thanksgiving has come and gone, food and family enjoyed.  My niece and her husband hosted the bounteous feast.  Though now 'eating for two,' she was unable to finish her plate.  Seated next to her, I scavenged some morsels of stuffing, gravy, and flesh, carrion for the tarrion.  Then later pie for all.  And great parlor games!

Though food is what many think about over the holidays, I do not intend to dwell on my particular dietary peccadilloes.  I think my readership has already had their fill of that.  Or at least I'll try not to dwell on what it is we eat and drink, so much as how.

The recent New Yorker magazine was dedicated to food, as it usually is this season.  One article followed the story of René Redzepi, proprietor of Noma, a gourmet food restaurant in Denmark, where 90% of its food comes from local sources, and a significant portion of that foraged in the wilds nearby.  Mushrooms, berries, even the occasional insect (though this is in the 'alpha' phase as far as I could tell), added fresh, cooked, or preserved by pickling or drying.  The restaurant is rated 'best in the world,' apparently for the second year running by the über-exclusive British Restaurant magazine.  The article was very interesting, but in the end, though I am fond of local food in general, and intrigued by foraged food in particular, I did not feel inspired to dash off to Copenhagen on the next flight.  Instead, my appetite was stirred for the contents of my own refrigerator (which my wife will tell you can be rather scant - actually, no, she will tell you it is always scant).

Another fascinating article had to do with a coffee grower in El Salvadore who produces high altitude and shade-grown beans, meticulously hand-picked three or more times (sequentially to get the ripest 'cherries' - that is, the round pods in which two coffee beans ripen).  Aida Batlle, the grower, a woman in a field dominated by men, is also a connoisseur, and a vanguard in what is now referred to as the 'third wave' of coffee.  The first being the Maxwell House bilge water served from percolators - or Folgers Instant - drunk by our parents' generation.  The second wave took the dark, or French roasted coffees of southern Europe, in particular from Italy, often espressed, and sometimes sweetened or mixed with steamed or foamed milk.  This is the coffee that Starbucks and other cafés popularized.  And some say bastardized in the process.

The third wave is supposedly closer to the roots of where coffee originated in what is now Ethiopia, millennia ago.  The coffee is roasted mildly, and added to boiled water, and sometimes pressed or poured through a sieve.  'Cuppers' then will taste the various varietals in a fashion similar to fine wines.  Hints of caramel, or chocolate-covered strawberries, say, or the aftertaste of créme brulée are detected.  Or how about 'remember that time we were stranded in Morocco mid-summer with the musky smell of camel dung heavy in the stagnant air...  And the pipe tobacco from the cart driver?'  (This last one was mine, but the impression I got was that a 'cupper' could say such a thing without breaking character.)  This third-wave eschews anything dairy or sweet in their oh-so-precious cups.  A frappucino is considered a crime against humanity.

And reading the article I was inspired to try such a fancy brew.  But then again, I don't drink much coffee, and I like latte when I do.  I really like it, and I refuse to think the lesser of myself for it.  On the other hand, I suppose I would give the Batlle coffee a try.  The article said it was available at Caribou cafés, but I don't get there very often, maybe twice a decade.  I'll wait and see if this so called 'third-wave' lasts.

This fascination with the latest greatest taste - local or exotic, traditional or new wave - has me noticing something about my breakfast.  And for this, I need to go into my aforementioned verboten area of what I eat.  27 of my breakfasts out of 28 consist of granola (most often the inexpensive Giant brand - which ain't that bad really), some 'Kashi' Seven Grain cereal (similar to Grape Nuts), and several dollops of yogurt stirred in. I will vary the kind of yogurt - traditional, greek, goat - and vary the relative amounts of the dry stuff.  So that, though the menu item reads identically, each day it is slightly unique.  Which has seemed a desirable strategy.  For, as you may be aware, eating the same dang thing each morning can become tiresome.  As I munch on the contents of my feed trough, I snort at the porcine behemoth next to me:  'Oink, don't they have anything else at this giant factory farm?  I never would have agreed to vacation here if I'd known.'  Munch munch...

However, it ain't necessarily so!  It's not what's in the trough, it's what's in the heart.  It could be exactly the same each day, and if I am truly alive and present, so also will my meal be.  What miracle is this:  notice this hand that holds the spoon, it lifts and guides it magically into my open mouth, just after I've swallowed!  And these teeth that crunch and munch, as this tongue deftly dodges the 'guillotine' as it pushes and prods the larger morsels into the grinder!  What a symphony!

And the green tea.  I vary the flavor - jasmine, moroccan mint, genmaicha - and the spoonful of honey - orange blossom, clover, wildflower - but truly these variations are mere window dressing for the wonder of hot essence rising from a cup of golden elixir!

Full disclosure, it is not often that I can be this present.  While eating, I'm usually busy getting my son's bagel ready, or checking the weather forecast on-line, or counting out my week of medicines and supplements, maybe planning or resenting my day ahead;  and true, I will continue to vary the ingredients of my breakfast meal.  But I know from experience that the key to a truly remarkable meal has very little to do with what went into it, and very much to do with my presence of heart, mind, and spirit.  When I accept the invitation to right now, it is truly a present.  To notice what is there in front of me, and not mire in what isn't, seems to be the key.

But like all keys, it is subject to getting lost...and found again, just when you give up looking!

CHANGING

Three babies times
Three years, easily
     equals ten thousand diapers.

One mother times
One year’s rapid decline
     equals one hundred diapers.

One wife times
Two years' gradual decline
     equals one hundred-fifty diapers.

I did not know
Love could be measured
     by wiping shit off of bottoms.

Will I have the courage
Necessary to lie back,
     and have it done for me?