Nudges from Nature

I'm not sure what exactly led me to create my own sourdough starter. It was on an ideal Spring day -- one of those first days in Spring that is noticeably warmer than the ones preceding it and clearly indicates Winter is now definitely behind us. I opened the window above the sink in the kitchen and I saw dandelion, cottonwood, and various grass seedlings floating on the gentle breeze finding its way through the field behind my home. I was immediately taken back to a memory of years earlier where I learned that sourdough was a product of the wild yeasts and airborne microorganisms that occurred everywhere. The combination of those invisible fauna near the San Francisco Bay were particularly unique, the legend goes, and contributed to the region's world famous sourdough bread. All you needed to do, was combine some water and flour, and sit it near an open window. Give it a few days and when bubbles formed, a whole world of potential combinations and artistry would open up to you

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. " - Kahlil Gibran I wrote recently about the feeling of emptiness . By the end of the blog post I acknowledged an understanding that this state of being would be temporary.  And here I am just a week or so later feeling filled, or more accurately, flowing. One thing that a meditation practice can make you intimately aware of is that things are always changing. Everything rises and falls away. One of the healthiest and helpful insights to be gained is that this is true of thoughts and feelings. Knowing this liberates you from their apparent stranglehold on you as you go about your daily life. It occurs to me that being empty or being filled is, in a way, impossible. They imply a steady state. A destination. A place of arrival. This is an illusion. A false perception that is perhaps not easy to shake. Yet, as I emerged from the feeling of emptiness, and felt a feeling of being filled -- filled with sa

Will I always feel this way? So empty, so estranged? -Ray LaMontagne, "Empty" I went to a big surprise party last week and the room was filled with family and friends I've known all my life. I hadn't seen many of them in quite a long time.  My favorite people were in the room. All of my immediate family. It should have been a joyous occasion for me. For all. I think, and hope, that for some it was. But my experience was nothing that the warm room might imply. I was very much felt wanting. I felt disconnected. I wasn't sure what to talk about. I didn't feel as if I had anything to share. I wasn't curious about what everyone else had been up to. There was lots of good food and plenty of beer and wine. I wanted none of it. I also couldn't shake the notion that there were people missing from the room. Friends I used to call family that I've fallen out of touch with. And, of course, relatives that have passed. I don't know exactly how to remedy this

A while back my daughter came home from school announcing that she had joined the high school water polo team. Not wanted to join, or intending to try out, but joined. She was on the team. My other daughter came home some days later with an iced coffee for me that she carried home while riding her bike. My son came home last week and announced at 3:30 pm that he was going to try out for the basketball team. Tryouts were at 5 pm. In each of these instances, I was surprised. And delighted. If you're in marketing, especially high tech marketing, you're familiar with the concept, which rose to prominence in the early 2000s as consumer tech companies, especially perhaps Apple, increasingly focused on delivering exceptional customer experiences to differentiate themselves from the competition. But the concept has been in place commercially since at least medieval times with the "baker's dozen" practice of including a 13th item. It generated trust and loyalty. Creole and

It rained last night for the first time in a while. It's November. The rain is welcome. Beyond our backyard is a small green space nestled within the surrounding neighborhoods. A breeding pair of hawks often screech overhead during the day, while a pair of owls coo to each other at night (which has to be one of the most calming and comforting sounds on earth.) With the overnight rain, we woke up early this morning to a soft cacophony of frogs. Rain means water. Water means frog eggs. And croaking is how frogs attract mates. The conditions were right last night for frogs to be frogs. And croak they did. The immediacy of the change is remarkable. It's been quiet all summer. The frogs must be out there, but they are not seen nor heard. One decent rain, and it's as if they appear instantly and out of nowhere by the thousands.  With the rains, their environment becomes right for them to perform, and perform at their best. Of course they don't shriek, or coo. They croak.  Env

My first introduction to meditation was through the Headspace app. I chose it because it was the only app I could find that allowed for a two minute duration of sitting. That's about all I could handle at the time. The first few lessons introduced me to the concept of Noting. Noting is becoming aware of a thought or emotion, and naming it as such.  Noting is a fantastic and accessible way to start a meditation practice. It's highly effective. If you're interested in starting a meditation practice, or struggle with getting started, I highly recommend looking into it. A few weeks ago, seemingly out of nowhere, I developed a quite severe pain in my left elbow. I'm not even sure how it came on. I had spent four months working on a decently strenuous home improvement project, but had completed it a few weeks earlier. This didn't seem like an injury. It was just a persistent and dull pain. I figured it would go away. Two weeks later, it was as strong as ever. I let it go.

I've loved to cook since I was a kid. I think it was the first thing I was able to do that "only adults" could. I felt grown up.  Last weekend, I made another attempt at making my mom's spaghetti and meatballs.  That's just what we call it, but when we say spaghetti and meatballs, it's really about the sauce, or as my Mom insists on calling since The Sopranos aired, "gravy". Even if we use another pasta, it's still spaghetti and meatballs to me.  It's also a day-long process to make.  The thing is, there is no recipe.  Recipes are fantastic. They're invaluable. Of course, I use them all the time. But the meals with the best reputations in my family, the most memorable ones, like my mom's spaghetti and meatballs, my dad's linguine and clams, and my wife's fried pork chops, they don't have recipes. If you really want to blossom as a cook, treat recipes as guidelines, not bible. Go off script. Like my mom, my wife is a fantas