Similar Posts

  • | |

    Unexpected Treat

    ByElizabeth

    As I was leaving my massage therapists house, his wife said, “it’s open,” walk up 15th Street and check it out.” I turned from my usual track and headed up 15th Street Between C and D Streets, SE, a young guy was standing in a freshly painted doorway calling out to see if anyone wanted free samples. Having already been given a thumbs up, I stopped and joined two others who were enjoying the offer.

    I was handed a freshly baked Philadelphia style pretzel and a squeeze container of mustard. The pretzel had been baked within the half hour, there was just the right amount of salt, and it was definitely a treat after a Saturday afternoon massage.

    “It’s a simple concept–just the pretzels, and I am still working out hours and prices. Have to work around having a two-year old at home.”

    The neighbors, who definitely were enjoying their pretzels and the neighborhood setting, said they would be happy to be in a picture for my blog.

    The pretzels will certainly appeal after the Little League games across the street, but it’s a treat for those in post massage bliss and people taking a casual walk around the neighborhood, too.

    I am happy to support this new venture. What changes and integrates our neighborhood includes the willingness to open a small business off the beaten track (340 15th St., SE) that will appeal to a broad section of the community.

    To find out information on prices (he does special orders for parties) and hours of operation, check out “The Pretzel Bakery”s Facebook page.

     

    .

    Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

  • | |

    “Bob Dylan is a strange one,”

    ByElizabeth

    says the man next to me with a slightly interrogative inflection, while we are both looking at a photo of Dylan taken by Alan Ginsberg at the show of Ginsberg’s photos at the Nat’l Gallery. He is a beefy guy with a crew cut, wearing chinos and a polo shirt. He looks like he’s maybe one of the thousands of police officers from around the country who are here for “Police Week.” Lots of police wives are taking a break from the demos and competitions to look at the impressionist and modern paintings from the Chester Dale Collection. Maybe he just got a little farther west than he had intended.

    I smile at him in a way that I hope seems welcoming and open, yet does not actually convey agreement with his statement. I wonder how he felt about the photos ofd the Orlovsky brothers. I am at the exhibit on my lunch hour for the first of what will likely be a number of visits.

    The Beats are an important part of my identity. My parents met in Greenwich Village in the late fifties — my mother dabbling as an artist, my father involved in peace activism, the places they frequented also frequented by the beats. My great Aunt H’s favorit book in those days allegedly was “On the Road.”

    As a teenager, I relished and romanticized this part of my history. In so doing I read widely not only the writings of the Beats, but also what they were reading, which included the great Hindu and Buddhist texts. To want to discover the illumination of the Beats was to explore Eastern philosophy and mysticism and to meditate and practice yoga.

    “No,” I thought to myself, “I’ve never connected the word ‘strange’ to Bob Dylan. Maybe when I get home I”ll play me some before I sit to meditate.”

  • | |

    What Wakes You Up in the Morning

    ByElizabeth

    A little after 5 this morning, the sound of the unexpected rain brought me out of my dream state.  I was not ready to rise, so I realigned myself into a good savasana and just listened — following no other thoughts — until the morning musical awakening arrived at 6.

    I could have thought of it in this language:  the rain woke me up and I couldn’t get back to sleep, but I was still tired so I lay in bed until the alarm went off.

    Hotels, I think, were on to something when they started offering “wake up calls,” though the sound of the phone ringing in the middle of an intense dream can be shocking.  When did we start naming the sound we use to bring us from dreaming to waking “the alarm?”  What perspective does it give to our day to think we need an alarm to start it?  Why not at least “alert” or “signal” for the days when the only technology (think about that piece of it) was a jarring sound?

    I have been thinking a lot about what wakes me up since Becky passed away.  For 21 years, either Henrietta or Becky was lying on or next to me purring before any electronic signal could go off.  They knew when it would go off and every morning sought a little petting (and then food) before they heard any signal to start the day.  They incorporated it into their rhythm and created a good waking routine around my schedule.

    Some of my waking with the cats instead of the electronic sounds must have been me ready to be shifted from sleeping to waking by the cats’ attention, because I am still waking 10-20 minutes before Bose technology utters an automatic sound (usually yoga chants) to make sure I get off to work.  I also know from conscious attention to the effects on my sleep from when and what I eat and what I put into my day and until how late, that when I am keeping my eating, practicing, and sleeping schedule steady, I have no need to be called awake by something outside myself to start the day.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.