If one were to spend all of their time considering the worries that weigh upon the world, they would surely find themselves hopelessly exhausted. In the realization that they were unable to effect change in all the pressing issues, they would most certainly give up trying to initiate change in any. It is for this reason that, as I age, I find myself less concerned with the overwhelming issues of life, and more focused on what really matters to me personally. At times these issues are of great importance such as spiritual matters, or the consequence of socialistic principles on a global economy. However, more often than not, I find myself focused on the issues that have an effect on me directly. I decided long ago that the matters of extreme political significance, or anything requiring a picket sign or extended hunger fasting, were not matters of which I am prepared to commit. So, for lack of further inspiration, I have decided to commit to the quest for the perfect cup of coffee.
There was a time when it seemed most people brewed their morning inspiration in the comfort of their own kitchen, and either enjoyed it there, or took it to work in a Thermos. However, as the expendable income of the average American increased, so did the popularity of coffee-to-go. Now the early morning connoisseur can find their beloved java readily available in venues ranging from gas station convenience stores to trendy coffee bars. Even the fast food chains have entered the never ending quest to gain the affections of coffee lovers.
When looking for the perfect blend of caffeinated mastery, it is my conviction that one should look for more than hot liquid in a cup. A cup of coffee is an experience to be savored and appreciated. Coffee ought to be served in an inviting atmosphere by professionals who use only the freshest coffee, sold by fair trade practices, and roasted to perfection by professional artisan roasters. The perfect cup of coffee should be a consistent familiarity that awakens the mind and provides inspiration to the soul to face the day ahead.
Having obtained this steaming cup of inspiration, the problems of the world begin to fade and one can almost imagine new possibilities. The hungry children can all be fed, and terrorism will cease. The IRS will close its doors, and cancer will fade away. All the lost will come to God and violence will end. Black and white will embrace, and republican and democrat will find themselves as friends. All will raise their coffee high in salute to their fellow man.
Maybe coffee will never change the world, and I suppose that’s okay with me. If one were to spend all of their time considering the worries that weigh upon the world, they would surely find themselves hopelessly exhausted. Yet, for me, I will face the issues I can, one cup of coffee at a time.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Summer Vacation
My parents were firm believers in family vacations. For most people, a family vacation consists of parents and children. In my case, a family vacation included the full entourage of my direct relatives with the addition of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and any pets that had survived long enough to endure another summer journey.
Our vacations always involved a road trip, complete with a caravan of vehicles, packed to the roof with supplies and children. Being from upstate New York, our destinations were usually on the eastern seaboard. We frequented Maine, Cape Cod and other sandy, New England destinations. My family, who never stayed in hotels, were frequent guests at local camp grounds. We were a traveling hotel on wheels, complete with tents, screened in rooms, and a full compliment of kitchen accessories. I can never remember going out to eat while on vacation, and I imagine most people would have considered us quite poor. We were, however, rich in our love for each other and in the memories we created.
Our souvenirs were the "priceless" shells we collected on the beach each day. We discovered glass that we were certain were priceless treasures that had washed in from pirate ships of old. At night, we roasted marshmallows until our bellies were full. We were then gently lulled to sleep by the melodic tone of my grandfather's voice as he read us the mesmerizing, yet terrifying works of James Whitcomb Riley. "An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you ef you don't watch out!"
One of the best parts about these trips was spending time with my sister. My sister has been, and always will be, one of my dearest friends. She may not know the depths of my affection for her, as my family is not the outwardly affectionate sort. However, there are few people I would rather spend time with than her. She is the only sibling I have and I, being the older of the two, have always had a sense of responsibility for her safety, but more importantly for her entertainment. Oh, did I entertain! I have such wonderful memories of silly jokes, and outlandish stories told by flashlight. Memories of fabulous castles we built, and remembrance of times we buried each other's bodies in the sand. I still remember the warmth of the sun on my face, and the warmth of the love in my heart, as we sat alongside watching the mighty roar of the ocean as it crashed to the shore. I remember laying under the deep blue night sky, wishing on a star that we would always be together, just us forever.
I do remember a few years when times were tough and gasoline was in short supply. These were the years we vacationed at home. Free from the onslaught of our extended family, my sister and I embarked on countless imaginary journeys. The house we grew up in had a large, walkout basement, the majority of which was dedicated to my sister and me and to our abundant collection of toys. Together we would leave the real world of grown-ups and chores and would travel to destinations unknown. This basement was our portal to the world of childhood imagination, where anything was possible.
Oh, the fun we had! We shared train rides to far away places and met magical creatures never before seen by man. We held tea parties hosting only the finest guests, and princess weddings were held daily (complete with a pink wedding dress and our own extended version of the wedding march). We visited other countries innumerable times, and Barbie was never neglected in her high-rise dream house. We would rock our dolls to sleep and would dream aloud of a future filled with marvelous things that only children can understand.
Time has passed, and my sister and I now vacation with families of our own. I continue to cherish those childhood voyages, now faded and worn, and hold them closely in the scrapbook of my mind. Perhaps someday I will tell more of these travels in greater detail, but the hour grows late, and the grown-up world calls. So for now, I will tuck these memories safely away, kept for another day.
Our vacations always involved a road trip, complete with a caravan of vehicles, packed to the roof with supplies and children. Being from upstate New York, our destinations were usually on the eastern seaboard. We frequented Maine, Cape Cod and other sandy, New England destinations. My family, who never stayed in hotels, were frequent guests at local camp grounds. We were a traveling hotel on wheels, complete with tents, screened in rooms, and a full compliment of kitchen accessories. I can never remember going out to eat while on vacation, and I imagine most people would have considered us quite poor. We were, however, rich in our love for each other and in the memories we created.
Our souvenirs were the "priceless" shells we collected on the beach each day. We discovered glass that we were certain were priceless treasures that had washed in from pirate ships of old. At night, we roasted marshmallows until our bellies were full. We were then gently lulled to sleep by the melodic tone of my grandfather's voice as he read us the mesmerizing, yet terrifying works of James Whitcomb Riley. "An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you ef you don't watch out!"
One of the best parts about these trips was spending time with my sister. My sister has been, and always will be, one of my dearest friends. She may not know the depths of my affection for her, as my family is not the outwardly affectionate sort. However, there are few people I would rather spend time with than her. She is the only sibling I have and I, being the older of the two, have always had a sense of responsibility for her safety, but more importantly for her entertainment. Oh, did I entertain! I have such wonderful memories of silly jokes, and outlandish stories told by flashlight. Memories of fabulous castles we built, and remembrance of times we buried each other's bodies in the sand. I still remember the warmth of the sun on my face, and the warmth of the love in my heart, as we sat alongside watching the mighty roar of the ocean as it crashed to the shore. I remember laying under the deep blue night sky, wishing on a star that we would always be together, just us forever.
I do remember a few years when times were tough and gasoline was in short supply. These were the years we vacationed at home. Free from the onslaught of our extended family, my sister and I embarked on countless imaginary journeys. The house we grew up in had a large, walkout basement, the majority of which was dedicated to my sister and me and to our abundant collection of toys. Together we would leave the real world of grown-ups and chores and would travel to destinations unknown. This basement was our portal to the world of childhood imagination, where anything was possible.
Oh, the fun we had! We shared train rides to far away places and met magical creatures never before seen by man. We held tea parties hosting only the finest guests, and princess weddings were held daily (complete with a pink wedding dress and our own extended version of the wedding march). We visited other countries innumerable times, and Barbie was never neglected in her high-rise dream house. We would rock our dolls to sleep and would dream aloud of a future filled with marvelous things that only children can understand.
Time has passed, and my sister and I now vacation with families of our own. I continue to cherish those childhood voyages, now faded and worn, and hold them closely in the scrapbook of my mind. Perhaps someday I will tell more of these travels in greater detail, but the hour grows late, and the grown-up world calls. So for now, I will tuck these memories safely away, kept for another day.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy
When most people think of New York, they think of taxi cabs and traffic, the bright lights of Broadway, and Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. I think most people would be surprised to find that this urban lifestyle represents a minority of New Yorkers. I was born in upstate New York, and come from a long line of New Yorkers who take exception to the fact that when people hear you are from New York; they automatically assume you are from the city. I must admit that I have never been to New York City, and I believe that the northern portion of the state is a truer representation of the society and heritage of New York.
In stark contrast to the skyscrapers of New York City, upstate New York is nestled in the Adirondack Mountains. There are many hills and valleys, trees, lakes and farms as well as wildlife. My mother grew up on a true working farm and continued the tradition of home grown food with our family. We had a garden that covered a large portion of our property. Our land also boasted a bubbling stream and a chicken coup. Most Maple trees in my neighborhood had small, metal buckets hanging from them to collect sap for making maple syrup. My neighborhood was also home to Eagle Mills Cider Company, a large apple orchard with an apple cider press powered by a 100 year old water mill. This mill is still operational today.
Instead of looking into the next tenant building, my bedroom window overlooked a gently sloping hill covered in wild raspberries. My room also had a magnificent view of our neighbor's illustrious flower gardens. In the summer, while city dwellers sweltered in the evening heat, I would fall asleep as the gentle breeze carried the bouquet of honeysuckle, gladiolas and bell flowers.
While most occupants of New York City received their winter heat from boilers or oil delivered by large trucks, my family relied on a wood burning stove in the basement of our home. Every fall, several cords of wood would be delivered to our front yard. This wood was cut to size, split and stacked to the ceiling of our two car garage. Every member of the family had an assigned chore in this process and no one rested until the garage was bursting at the seams with firewood. Once finished, we were exhausted and covered in sawdust, but we were also bound together by our teamwork and accomplishment.
I have never lived in a multi-story apartment building, played in a fire hydrant, or walked through Central Park. I have never been to Yankee Stadium, nor have I seen the Statue of Liberty, but I am a New Yorker. New Yorkers come in every shape and size. They come from backgrounds urban and rural, and each contributes to the distinctive flavor that is New York.
In stark contrast to the skyscrapers of New York City, upstate New York is nestled in the Adirondack Mountains. There are many hills and valleys, trees, lakes and farms as well as wildlife. My mother grew up on a true working farm and continued the tradition of home grown food with our family. We had a garden that covered a large portion of our property. Our land also boasted a bubbling stream and a chicken coup. Most Maple trees in my neighborhood had small, metal buckets hanging from them to collect sap for making maple syrup. My neighborhood was also home to Eagle Mills Cider Company, a large apple orchard with an apple cider press powered by a 100 year old water mill. This mill is still operational today.
Instead of looking into the next tenant building, my bedroom window overlooked a gently sloping hill covered in wild raspberries. My room also had a magnificent view of our neighbor's illustrious flower gardens. In the summer, while city dwellers sweltered in the evening heat, I would fall asleep as the gentle breeze carried the bouquet of honeysuckle, gladiolas and bell flowers.
While most occupants of New York City received their winter heat from boilers or oil delivered by large trucks, my family relied on a wood burning stove in the basement of our home. Every fall, several cords of wood would be delivered to our front yard. This wood was cut to size, split and stacked to the ceiling of our two car garage. Every member of the family had an assigned chore in this process and no one rested until the garage was bursting at the seams with firewood. Once finished, we were exhausted and covered in sawdust, but we were also bound together by our teamwork and accomplishment.
I have never lived in a multi-story apartment building, played in a fire hydrant, or walked through Central Park. I have never been to Yankee Stadium, nor have I seen the Statue of Liberty, but I am a New Yorker. New Yorkers come in every shape and size. They come from backgrounds urban and rural, and each contributes to the distinctive flavor that is New York.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Greetings!
My husband has been telling me for a while now that I need to blog, so this is my first attempt at funneling all the random thoughts that flow so fluidly throughout my life. I honestly do not know that anyone (other than my husband and mother) will be interested, but it makes me feel like I have achieved literary greatness to be able to say, "Oh, yes, it on my blog." Sad, I know.
My overwhelming theme today is family. I have been greatly blessed with a fabulous husband and four wonderful children, and as a wife/mother I could not ask for more. Yet, God, in his infinite wisdom, has also given me two marvelous daughters-in-law. Having been a daughter-in-law myself (for almost 25 years!) I know what a challenging position this can be. It is a constant balance between the love of your husband and the relationship your husband has with his mother. However, I have come to realize that the role of the daughter-in-law is crucial to the success of the family. It is the daughter-in-law who smooths the rough edges, remembers birthdays and special holidays and is litterally the glue that holds the extended family relationship menagerie together.
Ashley and Cassie you are beautiful women of God, and you have filled all of our lives with love and happiness. If I had searched the world over, I could not have found better wives for my sons. As we face the future, I look forward with hope and great expectaion to see the marvelous works God will perform in your lives and in our family. Mamacarley loves you!
My overwhelming theme today is family. I have been greatly blessed with a fabulous husband and four wonderful children, and as a wife/mother I could not ask for more. Yet, God, in his infinite wisdom, has also given me two marvelous daughters-in-law. Having been a daughter-in-law myself (for almost 25 years!) I know what a challenging position this can be. It is a constant balance between the love of your husband and the relationship your husband has with his mother. However, I have come to realize that the role of the daughter-in-law is crucial to the success of the family. It is the daughter-in-law who smooths the rough edges, remembers birthdays and special holidays and is litterally the glue that holds the extended family relationship menagerie together.
Ashley and Cassie you are beautiful women of God, and you have filled all of our lives with love and happiness. If I had searched the world over, I could not have found better wives for my sons. As we face the future, I look forward with hope and great expectaion to see the marvelous works God will perform in your lives and in our family. Mamacarley loves you!
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