The Fast

As a Protestant Christian, fasting has been something that was not an important part of the faith, except for certain individuals or groups or churches who stressed its worth. The Christian bible speaks little about fasting except when Jesus casts out the demon and says that one cannot do this without prayer (and some sources say "and fasting.") At another point the Pharisees ask him why the disciples are not fasting and he answers that "one does not fast when the bridegroom is with you. When the bridegroom leaves is time for fasting."

Through the years, fasting was encouraged by Catholics, Mormons, Jews and others but only on certain days. Meat was not allowed at specified meals and holidays, but few religions fast as the Muslim religion does. Ramadan, the ninth month of the Muslim calendar, is a mandatory fasting period for one full month, in which the Muslim must abstain from food, drink, smoking, profane language, and sexual intercourse from before the break of dawn until the sunset. There are other special days in the calendar year in which some Muslims observe the fast.

I wrote to my Iranian friend and asked him, as a Muslim, to explain fasting to me, a non-fasting protestant Christian. What do people benefit from this practice? In my practical Baptist/Presbyterian outlook there are reasons to keep the body fed; to feed the poor, and use one's energy to the benefit of God. As a child I learned the song, "Brighten the Corner Where You Are." My God requires much of me, but fasting is far down on the list, as I have seen it. Be well fed, love thy God with all thy heart and soul and thy neighbor as thyself--and these commands are hard enough to live by without adding fasting.

However, with Ali's friendship I have grown to respect and treasure other customs and backgrounds than my own. Fasting symbolizes something very profound: a closeness to and concentration on God, a a response to what is seen as God's direction in our lives, improvement in one's spiritual outlook, purification and freeing of the mind; it is an aid to control fleshly desires, it is a penance for sins, and a solidarity with those in need. But, to me, the main reason I would fast would be to remind me of human frailty and the need for God's direction in my life.

And then, in the midst of my quest for understanding the fast, Ali, my teacher friend in Iran, spoke to me through the magic of the internet. His answer to my question, "Why do you fast?" follows:

"Hi, Sue.

Ramadan has spread its scent everywhere around us here. About 20 years ago I saw a 105 year old man cutting wood for his winter with his ax in the middle of a summer day. I told his great grand son, "Why don't you tell him to break his fast? It is very dangerous for him." He answered, "We tell him but he says that even if he dies at this very moment he won't break his fast." And in his own way he had made it to the age of 105 years.

When explaining the Ramadan and all the reasons that make it meaningful in our eyes, I didn't mention one very important factor. It is something that can only be said to close friends. Sue, there may be a thousand and one reasons in observing the fasting, but to me the only important reason is that the Friend has asked me to do it. There may be a thousand and one reasons in reading the letters you send me like getting to know America and its culture, improving my understanding of your language and etc, but the true, main reason I do this is that a friend wants me to, that it carries the scent of a friend. Does this leave room for any other consideration, my very dear friend?

Delazin is calling in her beautiful, childish voice, "Daddy, it's the Azan. Come on and break your fast."

Time to sit on Iftar's Sofre.

Ali"

How has my friendship with Ali empowered my soul? In small ways, I know that he sees friendship beginning with God. The Friend is a way many Muslims refer to God. I think of him as The Father, and so my vision is widened. I also know that Ali treasures our "acquaintance" enough to answer my personal questions and extend his idea of friendship to me and others around him.

Delazin is Ali's small daughter and I can picture his home when she reminds him that the call to prayer (AZAN) that breaks the fast has been sung, and it is time to come to the Iftar's Sofre. (the fast-breaking meal's table.)

As our world becomes more and more secular, these symbolic tributes to something beyond us seem more and more important, but at the same time, they become more remote and less vital. As a dear friend once told me, "It's an undergirding that is so important": that, and a humbling reminder of our need and nature.

A, an and the

Hi everyone,

I notice that a, an and the, called Articles in English Grammar, give all of you a lot of trouble. It is often unclear how they are used in English which makes it difficult for a learner. Here is a general guideline:

a is used in words that begin with a consonant: a book, a car, a house
an is used in words that begin with a vowel sound: an apple, an elephant, an orange.

This is not always true. One says a university, not an university,etc. So sometimes it can be frustrating.

A and an are indirect articles. They introduce something to the reader that they haven't described before: I went to a movie. I saw an elephant.

If one is talking about a known thing, one uses the: I fed peanuts to the Elephant. It is a particular elephant. The elephant. If we say an elephant we are talking about any old elephant. Without an article, elephants is a very general, and is talking about all elephants. The is a particular one. An elephant is one of the general elephants.

Practice this with words like book, school, etc.

I saw a school. The school is large. School is where I learn.

If this isn't clear write me and I will try to do a better job of explaining it.

Sue

You Owe Me?

■

Even after all this time
The Sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky.

--Hafiz

A Special Message to Fattemeh and Faranak:

The story of your long-term friendship touched my heart. Cherish your friends for they are the breath of life, itself. We learn from our friends, and can practice sympathy, kindness, concern, love and all those desirable human qualities on them. They accept our faults and still love us. What more can we ask from life? Here is a story I wrote about a friend I had many years ago.

Affection and caring is shown in many ways. When my two children were babies, Phyllis was my next door neighbor. As it is for most young mothers, it was a terrifically busy time for me. Phyllis was farther along in the mothering game; her children were teenagers. She was one of those super-kind people whose purpose in life is to do good, and I became embarrassed at how often she dropped goodness into my lap: a cup of tea here, a piece of pie there, babysitting for an hour, or lending me her children to entertain my babies. Phyllis was a Godsend in those busy days.
Beset with a vicious case of asthma, she never stopped using her time to the best advantage for both friends and family; there was never time to feel sorry for herself. I began to feel badly about the uneven balance of our friendship, and mentioned that I could never repay her for all she did.
Phyllis shared with me her secret of "payback", and now let me share it with you: "You don't have to pay me back," she said. "When you're able, you can lend someone else a hand and make their days easier. That's the way God's work is done." She was so right; God’s work is done in one random act of kindness at a time.
There have been three women in my life who have caused me to wish I could become more like them, and Phyllis was one. Though long gone to us physically, her lessons on life live on in my heart and I never worry about being paid back, or, on the other hand, of accepting an act of kindness with a simple, "Thank you."

Thank you, my friends in Iran, for being there.

Sue

Collecting the Light

The Candle in the Window can inspire us as a symbol of hope as well as a hand in the darkness willing to share the warmth of life, itself. In her book, My Grandfather’s Blessings, Rachel Remen, a doctor who has specialized in the treatment of advanced cancer and who has, herself, also lived with a debilitating disease, tells us a story that her grandfather taught her when she was four years old. In the beginning, he said, the world was made of light. But by accident, the light was scattered, and became countless fragments of light that found their lodging in each and every bit of creation. He told her that the highest thing that man can use his life for is to look for this light, search out every possible place it can be—to gather it and mold it in order to repair the universe. Isn’t this a beautiful story? Isn’t this a superb meeting point for a life focus?

This and That

Zhivago is a wonderful movie with many plots, sub-plots, and subjective human reactions that intrigue us and make us think long after the movie is over. For example, I am intrigued with Zhivao's brother--hard, directed tool of the establishment, yet there is a sympathetic and caring note in him that extends beyond the hardness of the system. How deep does that kindness run, one wonders and who would it encompass? More on this later.

Today my mind was considering some of the more modern expressions that young Americans use. With your classes starting, I know you will have a lot of young people who might be interested.

I can think of two:

1. "She's a really nice person." Not!! The not completely negates the preceding sentence.
2. Everything is 'cool' man. Trans: Everything is great, friend.

The American Experiment:

Americans declared their independence from Great Britain in 1776, and what followed was the American Revolutionary War and our attempt to create a Democratic Republic. Since our nation is so new, our effort has played out on the pages of recorded history, leaving our stains there for all to see, and sometimes hiding our dreams.

In 1997 Paul Johnson, a British historian, wrote "A History of the American People", and dedicated his book to "The American People: strong, outspoken, intense in their convictions, sometimes wrong-headed but always generous and brave, with a passion for justice."

Generalities like this never hit a mark, in my opinion, but I do see America as a work toward a democratic ideal which may, or may not come to fruition. Our Declaration of Independence, written on July 4, 1776 when we declared our freedom from Great Britain, says, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal and are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." 234 years later, the dream still lives. Inalienable means that these rights cannot be given or transferred to any one else. They belong to every individual. It also means that if I want these rights for myself, I must allow them for others. I doubt if our Utopian idea will become a reality in my lifetime, but I firmly believe that it is a goal worth cherishing.

Atonement?

Have you ever read a book that your mind's eye cannot dismiss? Ian McEwan wrote Atonement in 200l, and I have found it unforgettable. Atonement is the story set in the English countryside and the main character, Briony, is, at the start of the story, a young girl of 13. She has a childish crush on a servant's son, Robbie, who, in turn, is in love with Briony's older sister, Cecilia. Briony's jealousy leads her to tell a vicious lie about Robbie which leads to his arrest and a choice between jail and the army.

He and Cecilia, although much in love, never see one another after this, and he dies a terrible death at Dunkirk prior to WWII. Cecilia is killed in a London bombing incident, and so, although she wishes to atone, or make amends, for her lie, Briony is unable to do so, and she knows that her selfish action as a young woman absolutely ruined the lives of two young people. In the end, Briony becomes a writer, and writes a story in which the two do not die, but come together in love and happiness.

Atonement is a simple story of human jealousy later regretted, and we forgive Briony saying, "She was only a child!" "She didn't know what she was doing!" True, but what has haunted me from the time I read this, (and later saw the movie in 2007) is the undeniable fact that sometimes we cannot atone for wrongs we have committed even though we might want to do so. Writing a story in which everything comes out roses just doesn't make up for the wrong done. Our actions can be indelible on the lives of those around us.

Thoughts on Effective Education

In talking to some of my teaching friends I find that the goals for most good educators has not changed; good teachers want to prepare their students to live in the future world. It is the goal of most American educators to prepare students for 21st century living in which they will have to calibrate, communicate, solve problems and think outside the box in creative ways. Add to this the important necessity of interacting with all the people of the world.

For teaching to be successful, there are two important fundamentals for American educators: Engagement of the student in his/her learning and good Relationships with the child.

Relationships – The relationship between the educator and the student is of utmost importance. Teachers who cannot get students to relate to them and what they consider important are usually not very effective teachers. The educator must be interested in the whole child and intervene if there appears to be problems that limits the students learning. Without trust, little education occurs.

Engagement
Many methods will cause maximum engagement in the learning process:
1. Be creative in getting the student involved in what is being learned.
2. Use technology – the computer has opened a whole new method of getting students to interact and take part in their learning.
a. The GoogleBox at http://www.watchfreetvonline.net/?cat=Education
presents educators with many suggestions. The blog is used to connect students and have them comment on one another’s work,and add their ideas. Collaborative learning and group project learning is a key ingredient.
3. An emphasis on right brain learning. The most popular quote today is “Right brainers will rule the world.”


Key Ideas for Creatiing Philosophic Learners:

1. Use of the Socratic Method for discussions.
2. Introduce and teach the use of inductive reasoning and deductive reasoning
3. Game Theory -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Game_theory
4. Experimental philosophy - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Experimental_philosophy

5. Simulation games – I think this article gives an excellent idea of the whole idea of experiential learning.
http://rs.resalliance.org/2007/01/19/teaching-using-a-world-simulation-game/

6. Prepare one’s own teaching philosophy. One cannot teach unless one knows what one believes about teaching. http://sunconference.utep.edu/CETaL/resources/stofteach.html

Some Key Thinkers:
http://wilderdom.com/experiential/JohnDeweyPhilosophyEducation.html

Danial Pink, A Whole New Mind. http://www.danpink.com/whole-new-mind

Pirsig, Richard, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zen_and_the_Art_of_Motorcycle_Maintenance

Philp, Raleigh T., Engaging 'Tweens and Teens: A Brain-Compatible Approach to Reaching Middle and High School Students [Paperback]

Greene, Maxine. http://www.edutopia.org/maxine-greene

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost (1874-1963)



TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same, 10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back. 15

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. 20

Robert Frost’s life was full of trouble of all kinds, and yet this man wrote some of the best loved poetry in America. He won the Pulitzer Prize four times and was the recipient of numerous other awards. I have always been drawn to Frost’s poems for their natural, earthy flavor. There is little pretense in Frost. I love Frost's work for how it speaks to me which is part of his charm: I wonder about the roads I never took in my life, and looking back I see that that has made all the difference.

His poem, “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” voices my feeling that “I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”


Google Frost’s poems and enjoy

Sue

Two Wolves Within

One evening an old Cherokee (an American Indian Tribe) told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, and lies.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth compassion and faith."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, Which wolf wins?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

I have often thought that I would love to teach a human relations course, analyzing the impact of these wolves within each of us. They all accompany us on our path of life.

The Dream Keeper

Dreams are the vapor of our hopes and aspirations. “What do you dream?” we ask one another when we are very young? It is so important that poets, dreamers, musicians of every culture and subculture give voice to our dreams, for without dreams and hopes a culture will die.

Here is one of Black America’s famous Dream Keepers: Langston Hughes takes a place as one of the foremost black American writers. Born in 1902 and died in 1967, he was of mixed race: his grandmothers were black and his grandfathers were white. Not uncommon in early America. Hughes wrote of Harlem, of being black, of jazz, and all the life that seethed in that black section of New York City which he loved. Hughes was definitely one of the American negros’ Dream Keepers.


“The Dream Keeper

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamers.
Bring me all of your dreams
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.”

Here is a poem in which he uses common slang terms. Earlier we discussed black English, or “Jive Talk.” (I put a few definitions in for the reader.)

“Motto

I play it cool (unruffled, calm, with a certain modern flair)
And dig all jive (understand all popular things)
That's the reason
I stay alive.

My motto,
As I live and learn,
is:
Dig and Be Dug (Understand and like others and be understood and liked by them in return.)
In Return.”

Here is one of his most famous poems:

“The Negro Speaks of Rivers, by Langston Hughes

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than
The flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I’ve bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young,
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincon
Went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
Bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.”

I hope you learn to love Hughes work as I do.

Sue

The Greater Miracle

“Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each others eyes for an instant?” - Henry David Thoreau

It’s a difficult moment, that time when you realize that you completely misread another’s words or actions. We’re taken aback, uncertain of our next move and somehow unwilling to admit to the world that our senses betrayed us.

Oh, to be able to cross that gap that separates man from man and woman from woman. Oh, to know what you are thinking and what you expect of me. Oh, to be able to have walked down your streets, lived with your clans, and drank and supped and felt as you have felt. Oh, to have done those things. What a wondrous gift that would be, and what a mystery that consciousness, that gift of human kind, is so boxed in and confounded. Is it some kind of test that God instilled in our being, or is it something we must work to correct? Can we in any way train ourselves to be able to see through another's eyes?

The only solution to our self-only knowledge is to go to those lands we have never mentally considered before. We can read Thoreau, or the Bible, or Joseph Campbell or Rumi, or the Sufi Prophets and gain new dimension to our thoughts. We can flesh out one idea with another and another and another – a fountain of different thoughts flowing out from a central theme. We will never understand all that the Other believes and carries in that wondrous mind of theirs, but we can begin to see the breadth of all thought, and through the process, our ethical, moral, and social senses will expand and grow.

“It is when we try to grapple with another man’s intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensive, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun.” - Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

A Genuine Piece

"The hand-writing of your letter is so miserable, that I am not sure I have made it out. If I have it seems to me you are the same old sixpence you used to be, rather rusty,but a genuine piece."

Snip from a letter Ellery wrote Henry Thoreau, March 5, 1845.

Past, present or future, would you wish to be other than “A genuine piece?” Could we have a higher wish for the world than to wish for a world full of souls who are what they appear to be? The American Soul, if it is left to its honest ability to be valid, is the soul of a simple, hard scrabble, realistic sort who is mistrustful of smooth talk, flowery speeches and fantasy tales. This, of course, is an ideal.

America’s youthful literature prior to The Wizard of Oz, showed little inclination to dwell on the fantastic. Our history displays a pretty hard scrabble people. England is the land of Arthur, Nadia and Lord of the Rings. America is Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer, the Bobbsey Twins and, most revealing of all, the Horatio Alger stories of a poor boy who makes good.

Main Street, The Old Man and the Sea, and the Great Gatsby are fantastic only in their desire to find men better than we might think they are and are coupled with the dream that if one does one's duty and lives a clean life, nothing is impossible. All are written as a desire to show men at their peak moments, which might end as a success or failure, but rather what counts is the effort put into the achievement.

Man, as in Ahab and his Whale (Moby Dick), is not always perfect in American literature, but he is dedicated, he is focused and he is a realist. He knows that going after the whale may kill him, and the task itself might make no sense to others, but sail he does, search he does and go to his final task ready and willing – he does.

Yes, we are a gristly sort, even though in past years we have somewhat covered our crusty attitudes with a veneer of continental charm. But let us admit, that when the fleet comes in, it’s all for one and one for all – with the understanding that it is important in that "all", a goodly number must remain "rusty, but genuine pieces." The only question is, can America remain 'rusty, but genuine' in a contemporary world steeped in nuance, deception and self-interest? Or, another question: Is there any other way for us to approach a modern world?

Nothing Ages Here

The wrinkled hand and that stranger face.
They haunt me. I begrudge that
Fleeting look at the unkind mirror of time.

More real are memories.
That do not age.
Doris Jean, long red curls
the first day at school.
Miss Kayland, long, long gone,
But she lives for me.
Crippled but beautiful to my memory’s eyes.
My first kiss – Gordon,
O so handsome Escort.
Red corsage on white knit –
Dark hair
And dancing feet.
Youth and the newness of
One’s breath.
Nothing ages here.
Nothing has wrinkles here.
Juliet, with gold crocheted capulet
And brocade gown – charade of gauze and lace
A drama that lives on and on.
I was she and Romeo wore blue –
Ah me!
Long gone are the way they were;
Nothing has wrinkles here.
Miss Bowers in Latin Class,
Jean Ann and I playing in her
Upstairs room.
Tom and his chartreuse Ford convertible
Ronnie with his flare for debate,
Barbara with her long blonde hair.
Mrs. Walton – big and broad and kind.
Irma whose man was in the Pacific
Eddie – the gorgeous neighbor boy
And the Millards – neighbors, friends, and family.
All are there – living on in memory
As they were then.

Goodbye Mirror – Memories
Never fading – never aging.
If memories do not fade
Do we?

I have trained myself to look beneath the eyelids of those I pass. The physical presence is more than the sum of the life. I resent my blindness when I see someone only as they now appear: old, fragile, crippled, alone --ah! yes, I have learned so much of life from those who appear all used up. Watch! They have the most to tell!

Sue Petrovski

Poetry

Let us remember...that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both. --Christian Wiman, Editor
of "Poetry Magazine."

It is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there --From Asphodel, that Greeny Flower

Wouldn't it be interesting for each of us
to write something in English in a poetry form

Let's try Haiku. Haiku is Japanese poetry and is noted for its short lines and limited number of syllables. The number of syllables can vary, but the object is to say something meaningful with a limited number of words. This is good practice for writing in English since modern readers and writers like to chop and chip their writing down as far as possible. The goal seems to be to say the most in the fewest words.he
tern
Let's say for our Haiku we will write three lines, of a 5 -7-5 syllable pattern or 3-5-3 pattern. For example:

The beauty
of things imperfect
divine nature.

or

All around no flowers in bloom
Nor maple trees to shade us.
loneliness surrounds.

Try it --It's fun!

Sue

The Lids of Time

Sa'di wrote:
The children of Adam are limbs of one body
Having been created of one essence.
When the calamity of time afflicts one limb
The other limbs cannot remain at rest.
If you have no sympathy for the troubles of others
You are not worthy to be called by the name of "man."

Sa’di, was a favorite of Ralph Waldo Emerson, American philosopher and writer, and like Emerson, this American writer is deeply affected by the profound thought of Sa’di, Rumi, Hafiz and other Persian thinkers. From my first look at the works of Rumi, I have been aware of the clarity of insight available to us through these ancient scholars, and then, my mind skips a beat when I read:

The snow falls on no two trees alike, but the forms it assumes are as various as those of the twigs and leaves which receives it. They are, as it were, predetermined by the genius of the tree. So one divine spirit descends alike on all, but bears a peculiar fruit in each…I look under the lids of time.

–Henry David Thoreau, Journal, February 1841.

But, let me change the mood here a little bit. Years ago, my son would crawl into our bed early in the morning, and I, wishing a few minutes more of delicious rest, would pretend to be asleep. He, child of practicality, would lift up my eyelid and ask, “Are you in there, Mommy?” In just such a way, like small children, let us lift the lids of time, and witness to the truth of nature and God that is within.
--Sue Petrovski

Love on a Potato Patch

By Sue Petrovsky

Found in corners of our personal field where we least expect to find it, love sneaks up on us or arrives full bore and is not recognized until later--sometimes much later; t'is a mark of personal wisdom to be looking for love and to be able to give it some sort of definition. There is this thing about love—it is hard to define.

Digging potatoes. Not the sort of background where one is likely to find love. My memories of these moments stretch back to the time when I was about two or three years old. Holding my grandmother’s hand and totally bare assed, I accompanied her to the potato field more than once. Grandma and Grandpa lived at that time in a summer house on stilts on the banks of the Wabash River in southern Indiana. These are bottom lands, flat and rich and they seemed to my young eyes to stretch on forever and ever.

Grandma would spread her legs wide apart, straddling the potato hill, reach over with a hand spade and gently but firmly pry the hearty food from the dirt around her. This was the story of her life – finding goodness in a poverty stricken life. Her printed dress and rough muslin apron spelled warmth and comfort to me. They billowed out, making folds and edges for my small hands to grab--places for me to hold to and deep folds for a small child to snuggle into. Even in her work, if I would run to her I remember her reaching out with a hand to surround me and the gentle tenor of her Indiana dialect would draw me into a world of safety and love. I have never known more peace in my life than in that humid, hot potato patch with my beloved grandmother.

Watching her was sheer delight and magic. She taught me to dig a bit with my big silver spoon and urge a large, lovely, golden potato to pop from the muggy earth. I can remember her softly saying, “Mar Sue’, come here. Just look at this,” and she would open up some other wonder of her natural world to me. Two of us – alone in nowhere –alive in everywhere. Ah the richness of this simple love.
By Sue Petrovsky

In our photo album there is a picture of this small child with brown ringlets, stark naked except for shoes and a large grape leave shielding important places. No one saw and no one judged. At Grandma’s, as free as the breeze that cooled a sweaty little brow, I knew love... There is no secret of love. It is affection given freely in the rich fields of our lives.

I learned so much from my grandmother:

Dig carefully so as not to hurt,
Glory in the magic that life unfolds,
Live patiently, in order to accept what is,
Love completely, with concern
for the giving more than the receiving,
and trust that there is more to life
than what we see.