Today however you have offered up your sweet fruits as only you know how.  I feel as if I am on sacred ground.  The air is filled with a natural energy as bees fly from flower to flower doing what they where created to do. A warm breeze caresses my cheek  while I begin the task of harvesting first fruits.  For you give yourself to me completely.  Warm, heavy, and round.  I reach down with a corner of my  shirttail and  wipe a bit of dust from you and bite into you as I stand there.  Your juice runs down my chin; it is  sweet, full of life, and sunlight.  There are others waiting.  Some firm and small like a young girl’s breast.
I take these too knowing they are ready.
No wonder the tomato was forbidden by the Puritans.  It truly is the love fruit.

I admit I do not like change.  I don’t know a lot of people who do.  I visited a favorite Hill Country town today
and was reminded once again why I haven’t visited in over a year.  It’s because each time I go back, more of the
little town that I use to love is gone; replaced by tacky souvenir shops, wine
bars, coffee bars and more.  The once  famous Dietz bakery that made such delicious bread that required  you  to get there
early in the morning to get your kolaches and bread for the day or they would
be sold out, is now gone.  Replaced by another gift shop.  One of the best German delis in town serving homemade pumpernickel, rye and homemade desserts
is now a wine bar. Please understand, I’m not just talking bread.  I’m talking about a scent that wafts down the street before the any of the shops have opened.
The smell of baking breads the rises to meet the dawn, yeasty, warm, and fragrant.  Kolaches filled with rich peaches, ruby strawberry jam, magenta colored plums and fat sausage rolls.  Rye breads and pumpernickel that were dense and heady, perfect for a slice of black forest ham or Jarlsberg cheese.

I spotted no less than five coffee bars spouting signs advertising that they have “Wi-Fi”. Great!
I thought the purpose of going to a hill country town for the day was to get away.  Not to constantly be in touch.  I even saw not one, but two sushi restaurants in Fredericksburg.  That’s just not right folks.  Sorry, but there ought to a law.

If you love Fredericksburg, love it for what it is, or was.  A town originally made up of German settlers from Germany.  When you need a little dose of beer and ratwurst, this is the place.  But please, no more wine bars or coffee bars or sushi bars.  There is one bakery remaining.  Two German restaurants and one beer hall.    Let’s do what we can to keep what little of Fredericksburg that is still uniquely German, that way.  Otherwise, what’s the point?  You can go just about  anywhere
and find a  coffee bar, wine bar, sushi and t-shirt/ sunglass shop.   But
there will never be another Dietz Bakery.

I have not had a new Easter dress in years, rationalizing that my dresses or outfits that I wore to church services were just fine.  In fact, this is the first new dress I have bought in quite a while.   I have become a fan of thrift stores and vintage wear.  I love a bargain and it pains me to pay full price for a piece of clothing, knowing that it was made  over seas by someone who only earned a pittance to sew it.  I grew up wearing my older sister’s hand me downs  but one thing my parents always made sure of was that we each had a new Easter outfit of our own for  Easter Sunday from hat to shoes. Many Easter Sunday’s the weather being temperamental, I would have to wear my old winter coat over my new Easter dress, that went with my Easter shoes and Easter purse and Easter socks, and Easter hat! 

Styles change, time passes, and other things take precedence.  Like mortgage payments, doctor bills, brake shoes and so on.  But with time, life has a way of catching up with you and if you don’t stop to celebrate the little things and give thanks and spend out as Gretchen Rubin calls it in The Happiness Project, you become a drudge.  And you miss out on joy.

After what seems like a long cold winter in Texas with cold snaps in the single digits, the land that I love is coming back to life; with a vigor.  The trees are bedecked in their new green lacy dresses and spring wildflowers are peeking out where ever a lawnmower has not found them.  Bluebonnets, buttercups, Indian paintbrushes, primroses, winecups and wild daisies of every color imaginable are dotting the landscapes.  The breezes are blowing warm, sometimes gusty with strong Texas thunderstorms, and that makes it even more thrilling! 

My daughter commented that she heard the hummingbirds the other day, so I quickly filled my hummingbird feeder and hung it on the back porch and within ten minutes had a male ruby throat hummer drinking greedily from it. 

It’s as if Life has been breathed back into the earth after being asleep for so many months of cold, colorless winter.

I have so much to be thankful for this year.  I am celebrating another year of my husband being cancer free.  My children are happy and healthy.  I am blessed. 

In John 11: 44 Jesus said to the crowd after he had raised Lazarus from the dead, “Take off the grave-clothes and let him go”.  I imagine that Lazarus got a really cool robe.

However, in this census, the form wants to know if I own or rent my home , if I have a mortgage or loan or if I occupy it without rent. The census wants my telephone number.  Why?  They want to know my sex, my ethnicity and how old I am.  I at first was just going to encourage everyone to fill out the census and mark the ethnicity other.  Because, really, now, we’re all an other.  No one that I know of is a pure blood Asian Indian, or Mexican American, or White???????????? White? What is that?   I can’t believe they even took the time to put that on the census.  Everyone is mixed now days.  I know that I would be classified as “white”, but from the stories in my mother’s past and father’s past, there was some mixing of the hired Negro help.  And the same goes to classify someone on the census form as “Black, or “African-American”  A black person has more chances of mixing with whites, or Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans or whoever.  It just is ridiculous to try to categorize people. 

As I was ranting, the United States Constitution as set forth by our forefathers allows for a census to count the citizens every 10 years to determine how many seats (or representatives) were needed in congress.  Not that they are doing such a hot job!  That’s all a census should do.  Count how many people in each house.  Not what color you are, whether you own a home or not, thanks to Frannie Mae, and Freddie Mac.  Not your phone number, and dammit not how old you are. 

Oh, and one other thing.  One the informative blue form that comes with your Census, it insures you that your answers are confidential and that the Census cannot give out the information and the information will only be used for statistical purposes.  The information will be kept secret and secure.  Of course, you must be aware that printed on the outside of the envelope in bold black letters is “Your Response is Required by Law”.  Right.

But the most tiresome thing was the over arching story.  Military bad, Blue people good. 

In every movie, for as long as I can remember, Hollywood portrays the military as an evil that only has one side.  Kill, destroy, maim.  Why?  Because Hollywood hates the military.  Pure and simple.  Show me a movie that shows soldiers building schools, or bridges or ensuring elections are held so villagers can vote without fear of reprisal.  Show me a movie that will show engineer soldiers training villagers how to drill wells for clean water or doctor soldiers healing the sick and wounded from the warring factions.  You won’t see that.  Because that isn’t popular and doesn’t sell tickets. So why is it that right now we have over 20, 000 American soldiers in Haiti ensuring that food, water and medical supplies are getting to their proper places?  That’s 20,000 folks.  And that doesn’t count the Greek contingent, the Canadians, the Germans and so on.  We have more soldiers on peace keeping missions now days than ever.  Katrina, Hurricane Ike, fortifying river banks before they overflow from flooding, just to name a few.  Yes, the military’s first mission is to defend and protect.  But it is not the evil miscreation that Hollywood portrays it to be.  The military is an arm of the government to serve and defend our government and defend the weak where it is sent.  It is a whole made up of many.  It is only as good as the men and women in it.  I know many of the men and women in the military and have great respect for them.  They endure hardships that most of us can not even begin to imagine.  Much less the elite of Hollywood.  It is an insult to sit and watch what is done in the name of “art” to besmirch the military.  I am not saying that the military does not ever do anything wrong.  But to paint them with such a wide brush is naive at best and stupid at worst. 

You will  also hear  a lot  about the interconnectedness of every living thing on the planet and respect for all life. I’m okay with that.  But it really goes overboard when the dialogue turns to  how “we” killed “our” planet, while the same people who produce this crap life in huge, wasteful homes, fly private jets and drive large SUV’s or limo’s to their destinations.  In fact, Al Gore, who received a Nobel Prize for his book on Global Warming has one of the most environmentally wasteful houses in America.  http://bigjournalism.com/kashiver/2010/02/14/why-does-the-msm-ignore-al-gores-global-warming-million/  Can we say the emperor has no clothes?

While you sit and chug down your super size butter popcorn and extra-large carbonated drink, try not to totally turn off your mind.  You are being indoctrinated.  Don’t forget to recycle your 3-D glasses as your leave the theater.  It will make you feel so much better.  And that’s what it’s all about, right?

A few years later I discovered Jane Fonda and feelin’ the burn.  Then step aerobics.  I had the leotard, tights and leg warmers.  Yep, folks, it was a real blast from the past.  So naturally when I heard about  Zoomba, I thought to myself, “No Problem!”

Well, let me tell you something…my knees had something different to say about it.  After Zoomba, it was hard to walk for several days and ibuprofen became my drug of choice.  I love Yoga, and Pilates and working with weights. I love that I will live longer than most women a decade or two ago.  I love that I can hike all over Italy or take a train in a foreign country and learn a new language in my mid 50′s and not think that I “can’t do it”.  I love it that people ask me if I have children in school when my children are grown and of the age to have children of their own.  I don’t love that my body is rebelling is some ways to say “No!” “Zoomba, Bad”!  It’s amazing how we underestimate what we can and can not do and how we feel.  Inside I am still a 20 something, but realistically I know I am really a 50 something, no matter what the advertisers say about the 50 being the new 30.  Still I know staying active, eating right and keeping a good attitude will go a long way to keep me young. 

But that’s okay.  I am still able to work out, lift weights, work in the garden, slow dance with my husband, and throw a fantastic party. I love being a woman.  Some things are worth passing up. With all I have, zoomba is a small thing.

In fact, I think I could say that I dislike January more than any other month of the year.  It’s just that nothing special happens in January.  It’s hard to get excited about  a January white sale  anymore, when white sales occur year-round and the only other thing that is notable is that most working stiffs get their W-2′s by the end of January and see how MUCH of the year they worked for Uncle Sam.  The decorations of the holidays have been packed away, and credit card bills are arriving reminding you that it is now time to remember that ooey gooey feeling you got when you picked out all those gifts for your loved ones instead of the sinking feeling you have looking at the bill.  Ah….January!

Well, I have just the thing to counter my January morass.  I joined the local YMCA.  I know, I know.  Most people join a gym in January only to never darken the doors again by March.  This however will be  an ongoing post of how I am doing.  My goal is  to build my upper body strength and reverse some bone loss.  And maybe, just maybe get rid of a belly roll.  I have discovered sore muscles that I didn’t know I had, and discovered exercises that I know I shouldn’t be doing!  But all in all, it is loads of fun.  The Y has all the equipment I could ever use or need and the philosophy of the Y is also neat.  If you can’t afford to join, you can still join.  They are so committed to physical fitness, they want everyone exercising!  All you need is proof of income and you’re in. 

The Y provides interesting people watching . There are hard-core gym junkies and soccer mom socialites.  There are grandma’s that are staying flexible and strong and bikers that pump iron alongside teachers and techies.  Working out has made me happier too.  Research has proven that exercise raises your endorphin levels and I believe I am benefiting from it. 

Choosing our frame of mind helps also.  I am choosing to “work out” what I am doing.  This means that if I am in a blue mood, I ask myself, “is my mood affecting the circumstance , or am I letting the circumstance affect my mood?”  I am starting to reassess who I am and what I want this year.  So much happened in 2009.  I can’t wait to see what 2010 has in store.  I feel stronger already!

One thing that has resurfaced is ZPG, Zero Population Growth.  Now Canada is embracing it as the answer to all of life’s ills.  This idea was first spawned in 1973 by American sociologist and demographer Kinglsey Davis.  He theorized that if everyone had 2.11 children it would equal the birth/death rate. 

This was a very popular train of thought in the ’70′s and it was almost a religion for some.  There were bumper stickers for those that felt so inclined to preach their message and it was often a  hot topic on talk shows and such.  Anyone, who was anyone with half a brain, was of course an advocate of ZPG!  It was going to save the world!  After all we were running out of water, food, air, land, and gosh darn it, with fewer children, we could also have a better lifestyle! It was no conincidence that movies such as Logan’s Run and Solvent Green came out during this time.  The message was “old people are bad, young people, good!” 

Now much  of Europe has discovered as  most of  the former Soviet Union that with legalized abortion,  and convenient birth control, couples are choosing to not have children or only have one child.  This is having devastating consequences on the economy of the countries because there are not enough people of working age, paying into the system to sustain the infrastructure of a country.    In France, Sweden and Norway the government is stepping in and paying moms to have children to counter a falling population.   Estonia’s wake-up call came in 2001, when the United Nations’ annual world-population report showed that Estonia was one of the fastest-shrinking nations on earth, at risk of losing nearly half its 1.4 million people by mid-century. Estonia’s fertility rate — the average number of children a woman bears — had collapsed to 1.3 in the late 1990s, down from 2.2 under communism only a decade earlier.
  Conversely, a large elderly generation can be the result of an aging “baby boom”, but if that generation had failed to replace its population during its fertile years, the result is a subsequent “population bust”, or decrease in population, as that older generation dies off.   This effect has been termed Birth dearth.

Now Canada has joined the band wagon of the one child policy thinking it will make a difference.  Pllleeaasse!  I can think of much better ways to take care of Mother Earth than reducing the number of children.  How about not spewing poison on our food?  Or how about now taking 600 jets and 1200 limos to the Climate summit at Copenhagen?  I feel as though I am in a time warp when I hear someone make a “new recommendation” for my health that a 6th grader could have figured out!  Like today’s announcement that too many CAT scans may be hazardous to your health!  Duh, do you think?????????????

So, now that I’ve been warned about all the dangers out there, from the news and what could happen to me if I:

1. Overheat my food in the microwave oven.

2.  Have too many children/grandchildren.

3. Drive too many miles on the road.

4.  Have too big a T.V.

5. Eat red meat.

6.  Take too long a shower.

7.  Don’t recycle.

I think I’ll just stay in bed and pull the covers over my head.  Peace out ya’ll.

The games were played in three rooms; Pictionary, Taboo and one I made up with a ball and “name that word” with me saying it in English and the students repeating it in Spanish .  After awhile, the three groups would change and we would start all over again. Each time someone got a right word, the student would get a piece of chocolate or a prize of some kind.  This went on for a while until another game was introduced.  It was the equivalent of musical chairs only without the music.  The group were divided up into three colors and with one less chair than participants.  One player would stand in the middle and call out a color and that color would have to change chairs.  Some times two colors were called out and   some times it was called out “Fruitbasket turnover” and everyone had to grab a new chair.  It was a frenzy of laughing and diving for a chair.  As the evening wore on, “Fruitbasket turnover” eventually became  called “Basketball!”

 My Spanish-speaking friends and my daughter who had come up to help me for the night and teachers  were all playing.  One Spanish older man, so polite would never try to force his way into a chair, was always left standing.  Small and diminutive, the harsh lines of the sun  and work  were written on his face but he smiled  as he played.  Polite, shy Mr. Cortez, not five feet, seven inches with greying hair but here he was playing with us young and old and we loved him for it.

 There is an ecstasy in paying attention.  As we played and laughed and jostled each other for a chair, I didn’t see brown or white or middle class or have’s or have-nots.  We were just God’s children playing.  The momentary problems of the day fell away and the things that separate so often broke down. 

Since that time, I have substitute taught in the public schools and pretty much given up on my “dream” of becoming a teacher.  But in my heart, I know I am a teacher, whether I have the piece of paper that says I am or not.  When I am able to explain something to a child in a classroom regarding fractions and see the light come on in her face for the first time or how decimals work and equate it to money and make that connection to a middle schooler, I know that I can teach. When a I listen to a child explain to me in an essay how the word “sacrifice” means taking the rap so your little brother won’t go to juvenile detention, I know I am making a difference.

About two months ago, I volunteered to teach English to Spanish speakers in my hometown.  This is a stretch for me, because I don’t speak Spanish.  I was told I didn’t have to, it would help, but wasn’t necessary.  Since that time, I have learned how to see just how difficult English really is and how much I have to learn.  I am learning Spanish from a web site, but it is formal Spanish, so my students often give me the Tex-Mex version of their Spanish and very curious looks when I try to say something for the first time.  It is a learning experience for both of us!    I am learning how hard they work and I am ashamed to say how  invisible  they were to me.  I am falling in love with the language and with my students.  They come after working all day to learn English.  They come with their children or their spouses who do speak English so they can attend parent conferences, get better jobs, and move up into a different socio-econonmic class. 

Some of my students love the computer, some have very little computer skills.  I have made flash cards for them, and we have work books, work sheets, and the Rosetta stone.  However, the best learning skill for beginning speakers is to bring objects and let the students pick something that looks interesting out of the pile and then “talk” about it. By that I mean, I say simple sentences about the object and pass it to the next student who then repeats it and passes it to the next student and passes it on back to me.  We do this over and over.  The theory is that a language is learned by hearing before you see it written. 

In my quest to become a teacher I attended a Sally Ride conference at NASA about 2 years ago.  My sweet husband even went with me and attended the classes I couldn’t.    One of the goodies I got from the conference was an earth pillow with a little moon that was tucked inside.  I took that last week along with other objects.  Of course, that is what the students wanted to use, so we talked about the earth, the colors on the earth, where the United States is, where Mexico is, etc.   As we passed the earth pillow around with its blues, greens, reds and yellows it was as if we were realizing how small this little world really is.  And how we are all one part of it. 

One of the statements was “I like to look at the moon” and the last was “the moon is round”.  Sounds simple.  It should be.  These are students that don’t speak English.  My instructor says “You need to give them one thing they can leave with, that they can own and say and practice”. 

It was getting close to closing time and I had left them with some work sheets and was checking on some other students and then they were packed up and ready to go.  I said goodnight and looked over to Juanna and Lorenzo and he smiled at me as he said “the moon is round”.