Amazon Fresh is amazing!

Sunday morning 7:54AM – grocery shopping done for the week!

My my my!

Amazon Fresh delivers whatever you want, including fresh seafood, produce, bread, lomi-lomi sashimi salad, flowers…

Then magically on Sunday morning, the Amazon truck and the nice man appears and deliver the groceries to my door.  He even refused a tip – “It’s not necessary, ma’am.”

We have some grocery stores in America that will fly any piece of fruit from anywhere in the world but pretend that it’s from humble soil from ma and pa’s down the road by putting a modest looking farm stand sign next to it on display.  We can get blueberries at any time of the year but sometimes the blueberries have flown on airplanes from hundreds and thousands of miles.

Oh little blueberry, why must you travel thousands of miles, so I can eat you? 

What is this perverse need to eat you now when you’re not in seasons and then later in the year, I will eat so many of you that I will be sick of you?

I’ve eaten a piece of fish that cost $26, and a slice of watermelon that cost $9 – because I didn’t read the price sticker. But with Amazon Fresh groceries are clearly listed as price per unit and price per weight. My grocery bill is much more reasonable. Sometimes we just want to go back to the way it was before, that is, to eat whatever comes out of the soil and eat simply, not with a lot of flavoring or preparation fanfare. Jada Smith once said, “I eat for nourishment, not for pleasure.” That is speaking from a place of freedom, discipline, and ultimately, reward.

Steve Jobs used to fast to achieve a sense of ecstasy, which is so true, after a grueling day of fasting, the sense of peace, ecstasy, mental sharpness is unbelievable.

Did you know that Steve Jobs is going to be on a stamp?  Not that that has anything to do with Amazon Fresh or blueberries eating.

No more shopping, fighting the traffic, parking, unloading, at the end of spent day or week -

I love this!!!!I love this!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!!!

Decades later – angels from the sky

Cleaning out, downsizing, house cleaning..

For some things, it takes a long time for them to reveal their significance, meanings, lasting importance.

I found an email written by one 24 year old, counseling another 26 year olds, against the entire establishment.

Some people, they mean so little at the time, but in almost 20 years, the significance of what they they have had in your life is immense.

Who are these angels, who appear at opportune times.  Who are these angels, that come and go.  In 20 years later, as you look at their writings – you are looking at helpers from the universe.

My 24 year old friend who wrote these words, which ring truer now than ever, to me.

I told him, that the entire staff was wrong.  Only my 24 year old friend believed me.  My friend was the only person who supported me.  Through that realization, I feel like crying now, thinking how incredible it was for a 24 yo to counsel a 26 yo in wisdom that goes beyond time.

“In other words, without strong indications, only the briefest trials w the lowest does can be responsibly indicated.  Now, to be honest, I don’t know if he has delusions since I have not personally spoken w him.  However, if in your judgment, he does not, then please voice this opine in the strongest possible terms.

I hope I am not horrifying you.  I am glad that you feel that the attending is someone you can trust and respect.  Please do trust your judgement, however, and be aware that these people are capable of making mistakes as well.  Also be aware of the real potential for irreversible outcomes here.

I know the boards are coming up for you.  Good luck w them.  I know the boards are one hell of a lot of work.  On the other hand, though, they are pretty much the only way that you can pull everything together for the wards.

Good luck with it.

Take care of yourself now”

Sridhar

Willows, California – where to buy antiques around San Francisco

Come back to France with me.

That’s what she said, within 10 minutes when we met.

photo 3

I was so delighted by her spontaneity, my kindred soul.  Boldness has magic and power, as Goethe said.  But in my mind, I thought.  Yes.  Sure!  I can just drop everything and fly on KLM and land in Charles De Gaulle, and go spend a merry 2 weeks in France.  Oh, ride the train at Gare du Nord!

Eat croissant every morning! Go around Paris with a master photographer! Gare du Nord to London’s St. Pancreas – oh, a person could ride that ride over and over again and never get over the splendor of the grand train stations of Europe.

But work beckons.  Instead, I said, “Corey. Come to San Francisco, for dinner. Can you?  Will you?” as she and I crossed the small street, party hopping to go from the party at Gathering to the party at the Co-op…from one crowd to another.

It took me 2 hours to make it out of the beast of the city where I live for now. Finally making it on to I-5, towards SACRAMENTO, the key to my future, I saw nothing but corn-fields or miles and miles, where the speed limit was 70.  The moon was so bright. 

Until coming upon to this little town, called Willows.  One main street.  One little church.

So quiet.

Just one of those really endearing little towns in America that I love.

Christmas. Friends, neighbors, cousins, fans, family…

Meeting Corey again.

Her family…her mom…Mrs. Amaro…suddenly came out of no where, with such a sense of humor, offered a bed for the sojourner to stay for the night…”Corey told me you’re driving back, we have a bed for you?”

It is magic.

That someone would blog everyday, faithfully, for 7+years, and that her readers would read her writing and spirit everyday, thousands of readers everyday….

*****

Gathering

Holly Myers
Dolores Amaro
211 W Sycamore Street
Willows, CA, 95988

Phone: 530-934-3664
Fax: 530-934-3664

http://willows95988.typepad.com/tongue_cheek/2012/03/the-gathering-a-new-place-to-go-antiquing-in-california.html

She’s coming to town! She’s coming to town!

It saddens me a little to think all those years in my 20′s and 30′s that I could have experienced the pleasure of being a woman but I did not know. Romance is something that comes together with a whole bunch of things.  For the first time in my life, I feel like a woman, not a chick, not a girlfriend, not a young lady, not a gal pal, not a significant other, not a wife, not a mistress. It’s very hard to describe what it is, but it is…a responsibility, and it’s fun!

Romance is brie and baguette, football and Catholic mass.  It is driving over Half Moon Bay every morning at dawn.  It is having a cowboy starting to play a harmonica.  And who can forget that little girl in the red lady-bug rain boots mimicking my movements in my office.  What else?

Oh, it is that Fateful Night.

Romance is red shoes, and almond scent.  What people may not consider romantic, I do!

Telling the valet attendant, a young man, that he shouldn’t work so hard, is romantic.  “You need to find time, how about getting a girlfriend, Esteban!  Get a few girfriends!”  He laughed.  I can’t believe I’m encouraging a young man to get a few girlfriends.

But the year is to end with romance.  Corey Amaro is coming to town!!!! Corey is a woman who along with thousands of her daily readers of her blog who appreciate joie de vivre.  I am so thrilled to see her again after 5 years when I last saw her in Provence.  Romance has a way of not being planned.  The stars have aligned.  Corey is going to be in Willows, California, and it is only 2 hours away from where I am tonight.  How can one not love French food, French lingerie, French attitude about dressing, French handwritten love letters and legal documents from 1700′s…

A key from the Court.  A rusted, old fashioned Key.

The French kiss.

I have fallen in love w gray, off white, off gray, white, and silver.

The French know.

“Gathering”

In honor of Corey Amaro

December 21st,

6 to 8 pm

211 W Sycamore Street
Willows, CA, 95988

Phone: 530-934-3664

I’m on my knees

Thanksgiving.  I am grateful for, among other things, my three mothers.  My Ma, my biologic mother, is my real mother who’s unfailing and my most steadfast supporter who has done the best as a mother as she knew how. She reversed the effects of alcoholism in 3 generations and raised children who are addiction free.

Then there is my ‘mother’ in Georgetown, who is a southern lady, who told me, “I’m your mother in DC and I will keep you clearheaded when it gets hard.”

And then, there is the one that everyone calls Mother.  She’s my friend’s mom and Mother makes food that just feed my soul. Today, Mother made stuffing, turkey, sweet potato, collard greens, mac and cheese, and it’s 10PM and I’m still eating the home cooking leftovers. She told the story of her grandmother, whom everyone also called Mother.

When Mother was alive and when you called Mother w any kind of trouble, she’d hear the first sentence or just enough before immediately saying, “I am on my knees.”  Click.  She would say nothing more, waste no time, hang up the phone. And she would be on her knees praying.

“Mother, I think my wrist is broken.”

“I am on my knees.”  Click.

I am on my knees praying tonight, for myself, but especially for the plight of 3 unrelated children. The youngest one, 5 years old, Elijah, snuggled up and parked himself in my arms and I didn’t want to let him go.  The middle one, 6 years old, my niece YY, shouted “GuGu” and I should have stopped the unimportant small talks and taken her in my arms. The oldest one, a 10 year old, is a child who is probably going so much.  I wish joy upon these children but most of all, I wish they’ll listen to their inner voices and their higher selves and know that no matter what the external chatters and circumstances created by the adults, they are wise, resilient, precious and blissful beings that are forever, always, and have existed before time and will exist till all of time.

Clean

The other day I was thinking just before lifting up the blankets to get into bed:

“Hilary Clinton could not be happier than me at this very moment right now!”

I don’t know why suddenly I felt the compulsion of comparing myself to Hilary Clinton!  Image

Then I inserted the names of some other high profile women who have much much more than I have, just as a test, and the sentence was true.

My secretary Pat is possibly is the only person who is consistently happier than most people that I know, and because of her I think that just like height, intelligence, longevity, happiness is a quality that some people are born with, or more gifted in.  I am infected by her enthusiasm for all the activities that she reports: “I’m going to see my grandson coaching his first volleyball game today!” Or, she is going to the rodeo this weekend, ordering KFC fried chicken and then getting into bed, making a big glass of Pepsi “w ice and lemons from her trees,” telling her husband to make more crab rolls, bringing salsa that her neighbors made, making fall baskets and thanksgiving cards, etc. etc. It seems to me that Pat NEVER runs out of reports. She is quite literally, the most happy person that I know, either that or she enjoys every activity that she comes up with. I like to sneak up and stand next to her for breaks throughout the day. The other day she said, “I’d like to show you something, when you have a moment, at your leisure.  Please.”

She made a stack of cards over the weekend, and told me to pick one to send it a friend who would appreciate it.  The one that I picked out read:

Happy Thanksgiving

We can’t be together

Wish we could,

To hug you now

Would feel so good!

The problem is, I don’t have any friends who would appreciate such a “mushy” card. Maybe Hilary Clinton would appreciate a card, but I think she might call the secret service first.  Though, I think Bill Clinton would send something like this, as he’s known to tell his friends, including male ones like Bill Richardson and all the people that he appointed to posts such as the CIA or Pentagon, “I love you.” I wonder who is happier, Bill Clinton, or Pat? It’s a tie.

It’s nuts what people think about and concern themselves with when no one’s looking.

Kindness   

Kindness

So do you ever wonder?  What is she like in real life?

I did.
Now I know.
She’s kind to her audience.
The composition of every photograph is just perfect too.  Most people are not disciplined to sacrifice subjects for composition.
In Pilgrimage, the newest collection of photographs by the most well known living photographer alive, Annie Leibovitz, Niagara Falls looks like shimmering glass from another world, part cut green blue glass, part seashell, part aqua fantasy.
And, Corey is opening her Parisian apartment for guests.  It’s been so much fun to see a disgusting looking building turning into a dream.  More to come…after we report back from Paris, when we interview the most elusive perfumer in all of France.  Rue de Bonarparte is where the interview will take place.

The 9 minute sleep

Somewhere in our history and in our own personal histories, sleep has become the bad. For those of us with so many responsibilities during the day, sleep takes us away from the few hours that we have to do things that we enjoy doing. Sleeping deprives us of our nightly joy hours. To need to sleep is a weakness. To sleep is to waste time.

Sleep has even escalated to being a battle ground.

We’ve learned at one time or another, the feeling of dread of going to sleep.

Instead of sweet drunken somber, lying in bed for 8 hours feels like fighting in a war.  You know that feeling and the look of of waking up embattled.  Achy.  Puffy.  Fatty.

Oh my God, a) I feel like I’ve just fought a war, or b) I look like hell – as you face the crooked-eye monster in the mirror.  The monster that you hope isn’t you has the evil eyes of bags, the skin tone of yellow plastic, and the overnight created wrinkles in places that seemed fine before.  Who is this, oh my God. Quick. Lotions, potions, just take this nightmare away!

We’re taking about the night terrors.  Insomnia vs. the grown ups, and almost always, the winner takes both time and confidence away.

In this Valley where I am currently in exile, I met someone who sleeps for 4 hours a day. Julius Caesar got only 4 hours, he says. Well, I think to myself, if he had slept more, he wouldn’t have lost it to Cleopatra. Thomas Edison introduced an unnatural rhythm for us to ignore the light cues. How I wish there was a mandatory time out at 8PM every night, where the entire world in the same time zone has to go to sleep. Can you imagine, how terrific citizens would feel in such a utopia?

There is an one-up-man ship of how little one needs to sleep. But honestly, when i meet someone now, at some point, I always ask them about how they sleep. No matter what they project to the world, I can always feel a deeper undercurrent whenever someone tells me that they have sleep problems.

I was talking to someone who was going on with 5 volumes of a list of ailments.  She was duping me; I could tell by her duping delight expressed through dangling of the legs and flip flops feet beneath the table.

At some point, I stopped listening, and started typing on the computer.  I said to her, in a half-tuned-in way, “Well.  I wish you all the best.  My hope is that you could get a whole night sleep like it’s only 9 minutes.”

I was looking at the computer while I was saying this, nonchalant.

Then I looked up.

I was shocked.

Silently, unexpectedly, without any warnings, she had started to cry silently w tears in her eyes.

Tears had welled up upon tears in her eyes, w her nose reddened, mouth shaking, skin ashen.  She looked like a completely different person. For once, she had no words. But she felt it. The desperation of insomnia.

Every night, sleep has become a torture chamber for this person. I sympathize. I’ve been there, sometimes, when something keeps me up, it is a terrible feeling. Fortunately insomnia is situational for me, because I can get back to a regular sleepy pattern if nothing too exciting is going on, which I love.

I wish for everyone what I call the 9-minute sleep.  Meaning, 8 hours of deep sleep that feels like only 9 minutes, where time passes without any prolonging, like you’ve died and you’ve gone to a place and you don’t even know what’s happened.

Oh God, just let me die every night.

That would be terrific!

Because resurrection in the morning is nothing short of a miracle, one of the greatest wonders in the universe!

Easily, effortlessly,  8 hours pass, that feels like 9 minutes.

And then?

Next night, you can say to yourself – yup!  I’m ready for my 9 minutes sleep. Imagine being able to do that every night. Bring it on!

The 9 minute sleep is a wondrous type of sleep.  Imagine the feeling of luxuriating in the feeling of being in bed – waking up to a morning that bestows such glorious stretch of a day that is filled with calm, fun, and productivity.

The miracle of a 9 minute sleep takes A LOT of preparation. For this sleeper, it starts from 2 hours before sleepy time, during which time there is no media, no eating, no work. Then one takes a long hot shower or bath, followed  by massage.  Finally, the sleeper retreats into the bedroom when there is sufficient time for sleep.  Having enough time to fall asleep is so important, because knowing that you have to fall sleep immediately is the single biggest deterrent to falling asleep effortlessly and quickly. Getting some physical exercise during the day helps a lot too. Eating lightly throughout the day ensures normal bowel movement every day that happen at the same time every day if the sleep schedule is predictable.

The human body LOVES periodicity. Perhaps this fact escapes the guys but us ladies know the miracle of menstruation which occurs like magic without cues, without effort, every 28 days.

It is an amazing fact that there is a clock within us.

The door closes, the temperature settles, and time repeats itself.  And every night there is calm and lull in the air that distill down to the gravity where it pulls your body deep into the bed. There is that wholesome periodicity of falling asleep, sleeping and waking.  If a pattern is established, one wakes up at the same time every day without the use of an alarm.

In other words, it feels like 9 minutes later, one awakes.

9 minutes – it doesn’t feel like a waste of time anymore. It feels soooo healthy.

I also love the app iSleep that helps me and perhaps you fall asleep.

July 4 2013

door

First of all, Happy birthday America!  Happy birthday to you who has the same birthday as America.  From the Baltic Sea to Blue Sea.

An envelop comes from Washington.

Summer is a melancholy time for me who is in “exile” in a sunny state.  The sun shines every day for 10 hours without a break.  I feel so dark in my soul, my lower self, because in this sun I’m held hostage inside of a house.  I don’t have an appetite.  I don’t want to go outside with the sun raiding on my skin, irritating my eyes.  I don’t want to ride in a car.  I don’t want to see a colored ballon.  I do want to taste some snow, rains, and some shades.  I want to be in Minneapolis, touching.

A small German recording studio asks me to write something for them on music.   I burst out laughing…who me?

Yes, you.

Wait a minute.  But how did you find me??

They said, through your blog.  You write in a strange a way and we like it.

I said, wow, I am really flattered.  But, I write like this because I don’t know any other way to write.  How is your English, can you tell that this writing is not “normal?”  But that’s not the reason that I can’t

No.  I cannot write about THIS music because…

The only thing more beautiful than the Law of Gravity, is this music – as Isaac Newton himself will tell you.

So what do you want me to say?

When Alexander Technique teacher Barbara has me on the table, and Bach Cello Suite 1 comes on, I am near tears.  I tell Barbara, what you are saying, what you are doing, is so poetic.

When breathes become one, it is a very, very rare moment.

Thank you, sirs, very, very much, for asking.  I’ll think about whether there is anything I can write about this music without going nuts from trying too hard, like Icarus never reaching the the Sun of the right words.  He ignored instructions not to fly too close to the Sun, and the melting wax caused him to fall into the sea where he drowned.

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