Aug 30, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
My favorite hymn is I’ll Fly Away. I particularly love the Jars of Clay version. In fact, when I die, I want everyone at my wake to gather together and sing it loudly and repetitively. I just love this song!
That really doesn’t have much to do with this post, except the title. Well, maybe just a little more than that. The title was inspired by a great story from my friend, Corrie. She even provided the photos.
It was earlier this summer when a baby bird fell out of its nest. Pushed, probably, by its momma who wanted it to fly. But the bird wasn’t ready. And so it fell. Ker-splat. Onto the ground. Corrie’s daughter, Amber, found the baby bird and rescued it. They gently placed it back into another nest with other babies and a new momma bird. The new momma bird looked after the baby, adopting it as its own. But again, when the other babies were pushed out into the world, this baby bird still wasn’t ready.
Ker-splat. Ker-splat. Each time, Amber found the baby bird. Each time, the baby bird followed Amber. It began to follow Amber around the yard. It became as tame as a wild sparrow could be, allowing Amber to pick it up and hold it often. Each evening, Amber put it to bed in the nest.
A few days later, the new momma bird kicked the babies out again. And while this baby bird knew how to fly, it didn’t want to. It wanted Amber. But this particular day, it couldn’t find Amber right away. So it did what any lost bird would do. It went looking for her… in the house.
It was Amber’s birthday, and the house was decorated in celebration. She wanted bright and colorful owls. She also got a bird. The baby bird. It made an appearance, sang its Happy Birthday chirps to her, and let her put it back outside.
A day or two later, after enough urgings from New Momma Bird and Momma Amber, the baby bird finally flew away into the world. It was strong enough, and secure enough, to make its own way.
The joy it brought to Corrie and Amber formed memories they’ll keep forever, and keep sharing.
This story got me thinking about how many times we think we’re in the right place, when really we should be some place better. The environment we sometimes find ourselves in, while even loving and safe, is not where we’re destined for. How often are we led astray, by others, by ourselves? How often do we resist the help of others to get us back on track?
Sometimes through circumstance we find ourselves in a new nest. Sometimes we fight too hard to stay where we don’t belong. We hold onto to what we know is good and safe, and forget we’re designed to move on and explore.
There are grand horizons just waiting to be crossed. So spread your wings and take the chance. You may fall. But know that if you do, there’s plenty of people willing to help you get back up, and get you where you need to be.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Aug 29, 2011
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Some years ago, I was having a conversation with my friend, Jenny. We were comparing our concerns and To-Do Lists when she noted, “Boy. You really have a lot on your plate!” To which I quickly replied, “Yes, but it’s not mine, and I’m being force-fed!”
Humanity is in the business of catering, but sometimes we overload ourselves. Do you ever feel that you’re carrying too much on your plate? I’m not talking about stacking spinners five plates high… all that does is turn you into a circus act. I’m talking about adding more to your one plate than what you can [should] healthily manage.
We’re all trained caterers in life. From a very early age, we learn to make other people happy, to be selfless and give more. We give our time, money, attention, emotions, and sometimes, parts of ourselves that we shouldn’t give away. It’s very fulfilling to help others. And sometimes that means taking things off their plate.
But what happens when others take advantage of that? Skooch those veggies over, time to make room for someone else’s share. They heap it on; more on your plate, less on theirs. And when word gets out that you’re a polite eater, the next thing you know, you’re eating three kinds of pie with homemade whipped cream, and you can’t even see the roast beef that you selected.
Catering to others is a good business, but like all businesses, you have to have a plan for success, or else you’ll sink.
It’s not selfish to say no to those extra sweets that just pack on the pounds. These are the people who talk so nicely to you and sugar you up, just to get what they want. The ones who manipulate you into thinking it’s all good, when deep down inside you know too much of a good thing is… just too much.
I personally don’t like beets. Beets are those bitter bleeders that seep and discolor the other food on your plate. I can manage them in tiny doses, but any more than that and … no thank you. Funny how they usually appear around the holidays. Beet People are those who slowly take over and bring their brand of flavoring to other foods. It’s always all about them. Those creamy mashed potatoes and gravy? A tad red now, a tad sharp.
Then there’s the Salad People. These are the people who know how to maintain a very healthy lifestyle and aren’t afraid of telling you what you’re doing wrong. The more sweets and carbs you load up on, the more green they dish out. Full of advice and fiber. Just stop the bad eats, and have a leaf. You’ll be fine. They do it. So can you. Unless you’re allergic to their brand of dressing. Unless you want more in your life than just rabbit food. Unless you want to eat the not-so-good-for-you stuff, just once in a while.
My favorite dish is the Meat and Potatoes. You know, the main course. These are the people who add sustenance to life. Sometimes it’s not quite flavored the way we hope, but add a dash of this and a pinch of that, and soon enough, it’s delicious. The reason we’re all here. Main Course people are your family, your best friends. The ones who are just comforting to have around and who help nourish you even when you don’t realize it.
Spices are those little extra touches in life. Salt for seasoning and preservation. Pepper for attention. Some flavors mix well, some don’t. Some you can take in large amounts, others notsomuch. Spices are anything, or anyone, in life. People. Money. Jobs. Entertainment. Distractions. Hopes. Dreams. Fears.
The funny thing is, I’ve never seen anyone use every single spice all at the same time. And some spices just don’t belong on certain foods. You wouldn’t pepper a pound cake, would you? Or dip an ice cream cone in gravy? I think not.
Being in the catering business means knowing what flavors blend, and what ones don’t. It means knowing proportions are just as important as presentation. You can’t serve an entire menu on one plate, or even at one function. We are all called to help each other, to cater to each other’s needs.
It’s okay to add seasonings and sustenance, and to enjoy their offerings as well. In fact, we’re called together in this potluck of life, to share and celebrate. To try new flavors, new foods. But that doesn’t mean ignoring our own needs for their sake.
It’s important to know that it’s also okay to say no. It’s okay to say, “This is my plate, and this is what I need,” or even “I’m allergic.” And when others start to heave their helpings upon you, it’s okay to say, “No thanks, I’ve had enough.” You know what you can take and what you can’t.
So sometimes you just have to set the big plate down and reach for dessert: that finishing touch that just sets things right. I’ll take the tiramisu over there, please. And a coffee. Thanks.
My date with Bocelli.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Aug 27, 2011
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Life is like a garden: many different species living together; some harmonious, some hurtful. Pesky weeds try to strangle the fruits and flowers as birds steal seeds only to drop them somewhere unplanned.
I don’t know what made me think of all this, except that it’s been exceptionally hot here in the desert and I’m worried about my potted garden dying on me. As the caretaker of my garden, I do my best to nourish it and enjoy it. To accept its beauty, individually and collectively. To prune when necessary, and to give it room to grow. And as my mind wanders, I soon found myself wondering about other plants and their survival traits.
The corpse flower is a strange thing. It grows to great heights, and some consider it to be exceptionally beautiful. With its variegated shades that blend from almost ivory to green to purple and red, I find it absolutely stunning. It’s one of those things that I’m not sure I like, but I can’t stop looking at it. It’s mesmerizing.
Of course, that’s not what piques the most interest. Some varieties bloom once a year, but most corpse flowers open only once every few years (some take more than a decade!). The aroma they reveal is what gives its common name: the smell of, well, rotting flesh.
People are like plants. Some are herbal: they serve not only to keep fresh greenery to look at it, but they spice up a recipe, and can be medicinal (good for the soul) as well. Others are decorative as well as useful. Roses, lavender and mint make great tea and potpourri. Good to look at, and soothing.
Still others are like the corpse flower: They hide behind their beauty, never letting anyone in. They open up to the world only once in a great while, and when they do, it’s offensive. They tower above the rest of the garden, and scream for attention. When they get it, they offer nothing in return but their stench. They bloom for two or three days, then they go into hiding until they have the courage to come out and roar again. It’s fascinating. And ugly.
In my garden, I would desire to be sage: a culinary herb, or a wise person. I would even like to be the aforementioned lavender: soothing to the sight and smell. Whatever I am, I choose to be alive, and share this life. Not to hide it behind false beauty, or release it upon the world with an ugliness that causes so many to turn away.
What you see is what you get. Sometimes I’m reaching, sometimes I’m done for the duration. Sometimes I close up for the night. Sometimes I last for a season. But there’s always some weeding that’s necessary, and always new growth to show for it.
If life is a garden, what kind of plant are you?
Life in the Desert
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
