BUY SMALLER AND LESS

With alarms sounding, it is time to buy smaller and less. Like so much of the American dream, the "bigger is better" house, car, more-of-everything mentality, has become an environmental and social nightmare.

We are a nation in which our wants far exceed our needs. Let our motto become "Less is More," or "Enough is Enough." For our children, grandchildren and future generations, our slumbering consciousness must awaken to this planetary emergency.

Being a child of relative poverty, I believed the American illusion that happiness followed obtaining my material wants. I took my turn with big houses, fancy cars and furnishings galore, but there I found no peace.

In Alex Wilson's book, Your Green Home, he discusses minimizing our environmental impact by building smaller, more space- and energy-efficient homes. He is right. We don't need large homes to store stuff we don't need. I grew tired of cleaning, heating and cooling mine.

Weighing in at 900 square feet, I now live in a 1926 greenly remodeled home. My air conditioning is often open windows and ceiling fans. I drive a hybrid vehicle and am within a short walk of all my shopping needs. I deeply enjoy the simplicity of my life. I hope you discover that less is more.

THE HEALING POWER OF GIVING

The December 2011 issue of Ode, contains a series of articles on the healing power of giving.(odewire.com)

Author, Diana Rico cites various world religions views on giving.

"If you knew the power of generosity, you would not let a single meal go by without sharing it," the Buddha said ... Giving was advocated by the Buddha because it "both acknowledges the interdependence we have for each other and is the active practice of letting go, which is where freedom from suffering lies."

Paul exhorts, in 2 Corinthians 9:7, "Every man according as he purposeth in his heart so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver."

In Islam, the Qu'ran discusses the practice of giving alms. "It is intended not only to provide welfare for needy Muslims but to purify the spirit of the giver (who is cleaned of greediness and selfishness) and the receiver (who is saved from the humiliation of begging and envy)."

The Torah commands its followers "to open your heart to the poor and to the needy kin in your land."

Other authors discuss the body, mind, spirit and social healing powers of giving for both the giver and the recipient.

Another family shared their abundance by selling their lavish home and giving half of their proceeds to charity.

So goes the circle of life. Peace and happiness is the result of sharing, loving and letting go.

HAND UP

I enjoy asian food, and I look for wisdom within each fortune cookie. Recently, I received a true gem.

"He who climbs highest is the one who gives another a hand up."

This thought is one of purity and truth. Carry it forth into this new year.

J. EDGAR

Recently, I took a movie escape break and saw Clint Eastwood's superb movie, J. Edgar Hoover. The man's tyranny was well known. The movie portrayed many complex psychodynamic elements, particularly the psychopathology of Hoover's relationship with his mother. However, the most memorable theme for me was Hoover's homosexual relationship with his second in command.

Again, like Memphis, the movie portrayed the trauma of society's condemnation of people for their sexual interest or orientation.

There was the very poignant scene of Hoover's conversation with his mother regarding his fear of dancing with a woman. His mother reminded him of their relative, Daffy, who dressed in women's clothes and eventually committed suicide.

Very pointedly, Hoover's mother said to him, "I'd rather my son be dead than be a Daffy."

Another powerful scene was after Hoover's mother's death. He put on his mother's necklace and dress and allowed himself to grieve.

The debate, of the movie's fact or fiction and its various psychological themes, could go on ad infinitum and are of no importance to me. However, what saddens me most about the story, which is based on social reality, that any form or expression of love is forbidden in our society.

We, the members of the human race, must realize love is just another word for God.

PETYA

After a late night in the ICU, I was exhausted and famished. I made my way to a nearby restaurant. My mind was jumbled, but I finally found something on the menu that appealed to me. Petya took my order. As she spoke, I noticed her lovely accent.

After nourishment, I felt somewhat restored. I asked Petya of her accent's origin. She shared, thirteen years ago, she immigrated to the United States from Bulgaria. During each airline connection from Prague to London and on to Minneapolis, Petya noticed a man her age, who was on her flights. Finally, she asked him, Ivo, where he was going. He was also from Bulgaria, and his destination was the same as Petya's, a university in Edmond, Oklahoma.

"It must have been meant to be," said Petya.

Petya and Ivo eventually married. Each of them worked one-to-two jobs and, without student loans, went to college. They completed two-year degrees, followed by receiving Bachelors Degrees in Finance. They both continued to work and Ivo advanced to graduate school.

Ivo had just completed his Masters Degree in Business Administration and was looking for work. Petya proudly related rather than a CPA, Certified Public Accountant, Ivo wanted to become a CFA, Certified Financial Analyst. To obtain the latter certification, Ivo must work three years in the field and yearly pass a rigorous examination.

Petya plans to enroll in graduate school and possibly obtain a Masters Degree in Dietetics. After which, she wants to start her own business and work with obese children and diabetics.

From Petya's count, there are 10-to-12 Bulgarian immigrants living in the Oklahoma City area, and they are a close-knit "family." With Petya's evening job, she babysits, during the day, for two of her Bulgarian, women friends, so they can also work.

With the absurd furor about immigration, Petya and Ivo are people that I am absolutely delighted made their way to my home state. I'd like more people like them to follow their path. The have much to teach us about perseverance and hard work.

RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS

Driving home from the Post Office today, I approached an intersection, but a large van, with lights flashing, blocked the road. After navigating around it, I saw a young woman carrying a gas can. She looked frantic and asked for a ride. I opened my door. She look relieved and took the passenger's seat. She also carried an electronic item, which she said she was preparing to pawn, and the pawn shop was located near the gas station that we both frequented. I told her I'd buy the gas and, looking shocked, she said, "Really."

As we drove to the station, she said that it was really hard for her to ask for help, and I sensed she was very appreciative of the ride. She spoke of her husband and four children, ages nine-to-two. She related that they had lived in a shelter, until they could receive a house. She added that she always paid her bills at the first of the month and, because of the summer heat, her electric bill was very high, and the remainder of the month she had little money for food and gas. That morning she had visited the Food Pantry for assistance.

At the station, I gave her a $20 bill. She prepaid for the gas and filled her container. She went in for the change and, on re-entering the car, she handed it to me. I told her to keep it. She promptly said that she would return to the station and fill her tank.

Then, she turned to me and said, "My name is Mollie. What is yours?"

I replied, "Linda."

Mollie appeared relieved. She spoke of her fears and confusion. I shared that, when I was in such a state, I would sit quietly and pray. I told her that God knows our every need, and I am always amazed how the solutions come.

As Mollie stepped out of my car, I quietly handed her another bill, which would allow her to breathe easier for the remainder of the month.

As I drove, I felt blessed that I could love another through a random act of kindness.

TO THE READER

For you, the reader, I thought you might like to know more about me. This is a distillation of my beliefs.

I am a very spiritual person, but I am not an advocate of any particular religion. I believe there are elements of sacred truths within various religious traditions but, as in so many things, my approach is very eclectic. My Higher Source or God is the Positive Force of the Universe. Some say, the only religion is the religion of Love. I agree.

My life's intent is to align my will with the Divine Will. I frequently pray, or talk to God, and I pray only for the knowledge of God's will for me and the power to carry it out.

To meditate, I spend much time in solitude and silence, and my path is revealed through that intuitive knowing, that inner voice, our connection to the Divine.

My Source is all loving and only wants the best for me, but my thoughts and subsequent actions and emotions must be properly directed, which might entail physical or emotional pain or discomfort. In other words, the Universe has to get my attention.

I also believe that my life's events happen in Divine Right Order, but I may not like or understand the order. My experience has been that out of the most negative appearing events can evolve the highest good for all concerned.

HANNAFORDS

As one approaches the entrance of New England's Hannafords' Supermarkets, signs are posted asking, "Did you remember your reusable bags?"

Upon entering, customers are greeted by five recycling bins, each designated for a specific category, such as glass, cans, paper, plastic containers and plastic bags.

Hannafords' shelves are stocked with organic foods, biodegradable cleaning products and paper products derived from 100 percent recycled paper.

The stores' bathroom mirrors and glass refrigerator doors bear decals stating that the store is naturally illuminated by skylights and solar tubes.

On leaving, one feels as though their consciousness has been elevated to a more sustainable lifestyle.

Oklahoma's supermarkets appear oblivious to environmental needs. I'd like to beam down into our state and elevate its social consciousness.


Addendum: This piece concludes my New England Travel Series. I hope it was meaningful to you.

We are all travelers along our internal and external life pathways. I now return to my primary venue of holistic health and healing, in hopes my experiences and observations will be helpful in your life's journey.

MOHAMMAD ISLAM

Besides enjoying the economy and social aspects of diners, I also enjoy clean, bare-boned, low-cost motel rooms.

After an exhausting day of travel, I stopped at the East Hill Motel in Warsaw, New York. I stumbled into the office and was greeted by a warm and inviting smile on the face of Mohammad Islam. When Mohammad smiled, his eyes sparkled and his whole face lit up. Immediately, I knew this man had a good soul.

As I checked in, I noticed a well-worn Bible on Mohammad's desk.

Meeting my expectations, my room was clean and neat and the mattress was firm.

After a night's rest, I became acquainted with Mohammad and discovered he had emigrated from Bangladesh twenty-one years earlier.

Mohammad appeared to be in his early forties and was obviously well-educated. He had lived in New York City and in Connecticut, where his brother and sister, respectively, continued to live. Mohammad also had a sister living in Canada.

Several times, Mohammad mentioned how much he enjoyed living in "the country." He added, "I don't have to live like this, (referring to his modest surroundings). I choose to live like this."

Mohammad was very clear that money could not replace the serenity he had found living on a winding, state highway, in a humble motel in rural, upper-state New York.

As I was leaving, Mohammad, with a cheerful attitude, was cleaning the vacated rooms. He said his wife, Ange, was visiting in New Brunswick, Canada. As he spoke of his wife, there was a soft sweetness on his face.

By choosing to live a simple life, Mohammad Islam found peace. For, on some level, he knows the sacred is in the ordinary, and enough is enough.

VERMONT

Vermont has a large number of homes and commercial structures that were built in the early 1800s-to-early-1900s and, over the years, Vermont's frugal citizens have maintained, repaired, restored and reallocated these buildings.

In 1791, Vermont became the Union's 14th state. Oklahoma, my home state, was admitted to the Union as the 46th state in 1907. With over a century head-start, Vermont's moneyed families employed skilled, immigrant workers to erect magnificent edifices, while Oklahomans were still living in tents, sod-houses or ram-shackled, wood-frame dwellings.

Vermont's early buildings were built to last. They were set upon deep foundations of granite, which enabled their roof lines to remain straight and their brick and stone walls to be without cracks.

In the ultimate form of recycling, many of Vermont's elegant, 19th-century mansions now house health clinics, senior citizen centers, libraries, state agencies and offices for attorneys and insurance agents.

Other brightly-bedazzled, Victorian homes are no longer occupied by single families, but have opened their doors for many guests to sleep beneath their roofs. In Burlington, the windows of these homes frame many families in their daily routines and countless students at their studies.

In addition, Vermont's abandoned factory buildings, often previous fabric mills, have transformed into apartment buildings, restaurants and shops.

Built in the early 1800s, many of Vermont's massive, stone churches continue to hold Sunday services. Likewise, many banks of similar vintage, with their original vaults, continue to transact business.

Unlike Vermont's architectural heritage, Oklahoma's aged buildings are too often demolished, with the remains deposited in a land fill, while new structures, of dubious quality and scant beauty, take their place, to repeat the cycle anew in 30-to-40 years.

Oklahomans, too often follow society's illusions and build their dream McMansions, which keep the builders and bankers in money, but leave the new homeowner with a large mortgage and a lifetime of work.

On the flip side, Vermont, as does Oklahoma, has it's trailer-house blight, with no aesthetics and a short life expectancy but, gratefully, trailer homes do not have a significant presence in most of Vermont's towns and villages.

Because Vermont's residents often live in smaller, more centralized communities they frequently walk or ride bicycles to shop, visit friends or go to school, work or church. Vermont also sports numerous fit mothers pushing baby carriages, with their elder children in tow.

Frequently, Vermont's children can be found playing outside. Its high school students can be seen walking home after school. These same students are frequently without cell phones or DVD players plugged into their ears, and they actually laugh with and talk to each other.

In contrast, after the last school bell rings, Oklahoma's mothers are usually lined up, with engines running, in their over-sized vehicles, waiting to pick up their darlings, the latter of which, upon arriving, promptly put on a head set or start pushing buttons on their electronic gizmos.

Overall, Vermonters are much slimmer than Oklahomans. Our state ranks dead last on the health polls and at the top of the obesity charts.

Besides recycling, repairing, maintaining and reusing their buildings, Vermonter's environmental consciousness was also evident by their volume of pedestrian traffic, clothes billowing dry on clotheslines and well-placed, recycling containers.

I love Oklahoma and its people, but it is time for Oklahomans to wake up and get with the program, and Vermonters have much to teach us.

DINERS

Diners are without pretense, phony sophistication or inflated prices. Therein, conversations are relevant and to the point. As in all eating establishments, diners sport menu items that are not so kind to the waistline. However, diners also serve nutritious foods.

Jim is the manager and chef in Burlington, Vermont's Henry's Diner. Jim is in his mid-thirties, of stocky build, with reddish hair and a face to match. Watching Jim handle a number of orders at once is like watching a ballet, graceful and perfectly timed.

After a few rushed minutes, Jim stepped from the kitchen, walked to the counter and introduced himself. He said that he was of Heinz 57 lineage, but I suspect there was a heavy dose of Scott and Irish in that batch.

Jim said that he had worked in a kitchen his "entire life" and explained that he grew up in his grandfather's bakery, Dough Boy's Bakery, which had been located around the corner from Henry's.

With kind eyes, Jim smiled and revealed teeth in need of a hefty dental bill, but Jim had his priorities straight and spoke of his plans to buy his own diner.

Jim also bakes the Henry's pies, and we discussed the virtues of a good piece of pie. Jim fondly spoke of his wife and three children and of the two apple pies he'd baked for them the previous evening.

With orders stacking up, Jim hot-footed-it back to the kitchen and resumed his rhythmic dance.

Besides the good food and homey atmosphere, I especially like diners because of people like Jim, good, down-to-earth souls, who enjoy the quintessential hearth, the kitchen.


Addendum: If anyone wants to share an experience, offer a comment or ask a question, I'd welcome the dialogue.

ADMIR

Admir waits tables at Henry's Diner, located near Burlington, Vermont's town square. At 22, Admir is tall, has handsome features and is clean-cut, well-spoken and nicely mannered. In 1999, he, his parents and his now 20-year-old brother, Nerman, emigrated from Bosnia. Following the Bosnian war, the country's economy was depressed and many workers lost their jobs, including Admir's father, a police officer, and his mother, a nurse.

I asked Admir about his life in America.

"We like it here," he said. "People have jobs and can even work more than one job. People can go to school. In Bosnia, only rich people can go to school."

Admir, Nerman and their parents all work two jobs. By day, their mother works for a dry cleaner and their father works at the Burton Chocolate Factory. During the night, all four of them clean office buildings for the Burton Cleaning Company.

About the Burton's, Admir appreciatively said, "They are good people."

In addition to Admir's jobs, he is also working on a degree in business management from the University of Vermon, located in Burlington.

America is a nation of immigrants, be they from Europe, Africa, Asia, Mexico, South America or elsewhere. Admir's work ethic and enterprising spirit are an inspiration. In this nation of plenty, many of us have grown soft, lazy and entitled.
America's "unemployed" must get off their royal duffs and, with the humility and determination of their immigrant forebears, go back to work, even if they think that work is "beneath" them.

ITALIAN IMMIGRANTS

Barre, Vermont, granite country, was settled by a potpourri of immigrants, especially Italian stone workers, the descendants of Renaissance masters.

From the earth, these men wrestled enormous blocks of granite. Then, they cut, carved, sculpted and polished the Stone and, often, they died young from accidents, back-breaking labor or lungs filled with silica dust.

From the quarried granite, these immigrants, their children and their children's children anchored and adorned buildings and populated graveyards of the wealthy with exquisitely finished, carved and lettered monuments.

Barre's "Hope Cemetery" is the resting place for many of these immigrants and their families. Though their incomes were meager, their headstones mirror those with greater means and are a testimony to their artistry. Many of the monuments bear birth dates of the mid-1980s and surnames such as:

Abbiati, Andreoletti, Amici, Barberi, Benvenuti, Bianchi Bielli, Bogni, Bottaro, Bottiggi, Broggini, Brunella, Brusa, Buzzi, Calcagni, Calderara, Cardi, Cassani, Casellini, Catto, Coletti, Colombo, Corti, Cozzi, Croce, Domenichelli, Fasola, Fumagalli, Furloni, Giannarelli, Gilli, Guidici, Guidugli,Lamperti, Lanfronconi, Lotti, Malnati, Marchesi, Masi, Mazorati, Mochetti, Moruzzi, Movalli, Orlandi, Parnigoni, Pasetto, Peduzzi, Pellegrini, Pilini, Piretti, Pironi, Puricelli, Rizzi, Roncoroni, Rossi, Rusconi, Sassorossi, Simonetta, Sironi, Stefanazzi, Tamborini, Tarelli, Tosi, Valli, Vanetti, Vasoli, Veronesi, Zanleoni.

Residing in central Barre's Dente Park is a large statue dedicated to Carlo Abate, an artist, who was born in Milan, Italy in 1860 and died in Barre, Vermont in 1943. The sculpture is also a tribute to all Italian-immigrant stone cutters and their progeny.

The heroic, squarely-built, standing figure has muscular, heavily-veined arms. His large hands hold the tools of his trade, a hammer and a hand point. He wears a cap and a sturdy apron. His furrowed brow, piercing gaze and firmly set jaw definitively establish his determination and will to not only survive, but to prevail.

Now, with paltry results, in the name of speed, money and progress, machines and less-dedicated, less-inspired men, unaccustomed to hard work, attempt to imitate quickly the grace and artistry of those dedicated and gifted craftsmen. Like all of today's society, this generation of workmen must slow down, take pride in their work, study the techniques of the master stone cutters and learn to listen to and communicate with the stone. For, the masters were one with their tools and the stone.

COUNTRY

Old barns,
Do you ever wonder what they've seen?
Sweating men,
Broke-down tractors,
Women calling, "Supper,"
Kittens,
Children playing,
Chickens and eggs,
Hay,
Horses bedded,
Cows milked,
Colts born,
Calving,
All and more,
I suspect.

LOG CABIN

Saw log cabin,
Built with Tinker Toys,
Lived in real one,
In Alaska,
Hauled water,
For drinking and bathing,
Outhouse,
Wood stove for heat,
Summers, garden flourished,
Falls, picked wild blueberries and cranberries,
Watched for bears,
They like berries too.
Life,
Simple,
Peaceful and
Content

ON THE BEACH

Abandoned, yellow, plastic starfish smiling,
Passed on to waving toddler.
Pampered child crying,
Enjoying being inconsolable

Bikini body show,
Strutting wares,
Muscled surfboard daddies,
Looking cool

Nippy, at eighty-three,
A true beauty queen

No perfect shells for me,
But shards tumbled smooth,
In dancing patterns, and
Glistening hues of ruby-red,
Gold-to-brown, gray and white

BRUNCH AT THE CAUSEWAY CAFE

Menu reads:
Good home cooking,
Breakfast all day,
Big fat biscuits,
Omelets with scallops, shrimp and grouper
Lunch,
Seafood, wrapped or sandwiched,
Gumbo,
Vegetable plates of okra, zucchini, fried-green tomatoes and more

Betty, wizened waitress,
Face tells she smoked too long.
"How big is a grouper," I asked?
"A red fish," she says. "He's a pretty big boy."
"She is too," I say.
Betty smiles.

Cat, short for Catherine,
High school senior,
Waiting tables,
Plans on college,
Maybe Wake Forest
Or, first,
A semester in Africa on mission trip.

"Africa's more fun," say I.
"College will always be there."

On exiting, feels like home.
"Be back later," I say.
Cat and Betty nod.

AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY

Tracy Letts,
Brilliant,
Comedic,
Sad,
Oklahomans,
We're fair game,
With our burping and slurping.

Beverly, Violet and their kin,
Deep varicose veins of psychopathology,
But, not restricted to them,
Same story, different slang,
From New York to L.A.,
My God,
Haven't they had a belly full yet?



Addendum: On the last leg of my journey, this piece fell from the sky, also known as cosmic downloading. I believe we create our reality by our thoughts, which result in our actions and emotions of like kind. A work of "art" which glorifies the appalling dysfunction of our society, contributes little to the collective healing of the human community.

PALIN AND BACHMANN

Poorly informed,
Irrational,
Flapping mouths,
Embarrassment to their gender,
On a bright note,
They'll fragment the 2012 Republican ticket,
However,
Recalcitrant congressional members of that tribe,
Have already thoroughly pissed in their Wheaties,
In this case,
Not the breakfast of champions



Addendum: This piece was originally written about Sarah Palin, but the Tea Partiers have expanded their stable of equally odious candidates.

MY TIME

Professional confines,
Muzzled too long,
I've listend,
And listened,
And listened,
To "experts,"
Mostly men,
Who said little worth hearing.
After sixty years of hatching,
It's my time.
I am woman.
Hear my voice.
May it travel far.