My main concern in the Road to Resilience is how we approach and prepare for what many see as a major civilizational paradigm shift. What is forcing the shift is the arrival of natural limits to the further development of the existing political, economic, and social institutions we rely on today. At the base of it is a profligate use of resources and poor housekeeping.
For some of us, Granny’s Attic is a cornerstone of island life. A week without Granny’s is a sere and arid week. Even if you don’t have time or reason or money enough to go, it’s comforting to know that Granny’s is there, waiting for you.
Arrogance around not getting sick was at an all time high for me. And then I stopped using my secret weapon, hand cream. The winter has been so mild, the rough skin reminder to use it was not constant.
Listed below are what I regard as the most magical of greens. they spark your menus, keep your blood sugar level under control, protect you from diabetes, and nourish your immune system. Besides, they taste good raw or lightly sauteed. I’ll list them alphabetically. Kudos to those of you who clip my columns and file or scrapbook them.
By now, we’re all pretty familiar with the term “locavore.” that is, the idea that it is better to eat foods that are sourced locally. One reason is that, all things being equal, the nutritional value is better because the food is fresher, and we are more likely to be able to verify what has been used to produce it.
As we continue to bumble along in seeking precedent and context in these times, we find our self turning once again to the ancient times- my ancient times. In particular, we will be going to a certain place, but the visit will occur at a number of stops on the personal timeline.
We’re still in the flu season. I’m still working on getting my energy back from my this-years edition of The Flu. Many of you probably are. Whatever sort of malady is going around when this column hits print, you can benefit from this old-fashioned chicken soup.
The organ loft at Calvary Baptist Church in Norristown, Pennsylvania is sunk into the floor as if to be it’s own orchestra pit. Garnell would drop himself into the cockpit like console and, for a couple of hours, both of us were free.
This week, I’d like to further discuss the basic premise of Naomi Klein’s new book, This Changes Everything. The “this” she is referring to is human-caused climate change. Up until now, the general consensus has been that taking environmental factors more seriously in making our economic decisions is all that is required to mitigate this crisis.
Mother Slick (J16) is an exceptional J Pod matriarch. 1972 is her estimated year of birth – that is significant because she could be slightly younger or even older. A preponderance of photographic evidence shows that Slick is the Southern Resident Baby Mama of precious newborn female J50. In four decades of field studies, J16 is the only known Southern Resident female to give birth to a thriving calf at age 43-ish.
For almost a year now I have been a part of the Seattle Minute Movies group. Every month a group of us get together at the Seattle Film Institute, drink some sort of beverage with snacks and then go into the screening room to watch the films most of us have put together over the past month. Normally, as per human nature, most of the films are finished somewhere around the Saturday before the Sunday of the screening
We watched the Seahawks game against the Packers. Before it started I said to my son that I hoped it was a good game. At the end of the fourth quarter with the score tied, my son turned to me and asked, “Is this tense enough for you?”
He emerged from the finished basement which had become our family’s recreation room looking like he had been threatened with immediate death. His deep brown eyes had a tinge of “wild seeking escape” to them. His usually erect shoulders were even further drawn back.
When she said, “Eat your vegetables, they’re good for you,” she had the nutritional fact right, but she could have put it in a more kid-enthusing way. And she could have cooked the veggies in chicken broth, or put a little butter with them.
I don’t know how you treat the transition from one year to the next, but generally I tend to try and temper disgust with what has taken some three hundred plus days to ebb and flow with a modicum of hope that the next, similar cluster of days and nights offers a chance at redemption and renewal,
I recently read Naomi Klein’s new book, This Changes Everything. She relates a cautionary tale about an island in the South Pacific that is about the same size as Maury Island. For thousands of years, the island of Nauru was a tropical paradise on which people thrived on the abundance of fertile forest and sea.
When people hear what I’m doing, this look of horrified shock melts onto their faces and then simultaneously I see them go for restraint lest their emotions show. The restraint never works. It amuses me a little.
Inherent in the recognition and celebration of the darkest time of the year is the return of the light. Our confidence in the promise of the winter solstice is reflected in the birth of Christ, the miraculous Hannukah light that carried us through the dark time, the reinforcing of community ties of Kwanzaa, and personal resolve to reinvent ourselves in our New Year’s resolutions.
On December 26, 1995, Mark Sears spent the day tracking an elusive J Pod. With his own children in tow, Mark and the Sears Pod circumnavigated Vashon-Maury. Near Blake Island, the Sears Pod finally caught up with J Pod.
The Christmas cookie-baking season rushes on in my neighborhood. There are going to be lots of children, and older people, too, high on sugar if we don’t lock up some of the cookies. Also, we can choose our sugars wisely.
Three times in the last week I have experienced people screwing up and then putting the blame on me. That’s actually kind of a low number of incidences for a week isn’t it? You experience that all the time don’t you? A lot of lies are told during the holidays.