Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 13

The Power of the Bloom

I have three friends who couldn’t be more different. One is a retired teacher who spends hours each week gardening. Another is a very savvy business woman who works in commercial real estate and intermittently goes into her back yard. And the other is a younger woman who between biking, hiking and dancing, works full time in the insurance industry, but still finds a little time to enjoy her outdoor space. 
 
All three in the course of just one week exclaimed to me over the joy they felt in watching the blooming of flowers on one of their plants on their property. 
 
Here’s a photo from one of them:
 


Their delightful reaction over their new growth/blooms stayed with me for days. Why? Because I realized that on the few times I have actually not killed one of my plants – but had one actually throw off a bloom – I too was beyond thrilled.

I am not alone in having my spirits raised by cultivating and caring for plants. 
 
We all know that natural disasters take a toll on mental health. An elementary school in Flagstaff, Arizona was destroyed by a devastating flood that swept through its neighborhood. Shortly thereafter, a pilot program was introduced to the displaced students – featuring how tapping into the power of plants can both promote resiliency and reduce stress. 
 
Melissa Sevigny, radio station KNAU, reported on this story and it was featured on NPR. She says that horticultural therapy has been around since World War II, when it was used to care for war veterans… She goes on to say that for children, it’s a chance to build self-confidence, learn responsibility and improve their ability to understand the feelings of themselves and others. The kids who had attended that torn-up school got to take plants home and care for them.
 
Registered horticulturalist Pam Catlin says there is an actual word called biophilia and that it is all about the innate connection between people and plants that actually raises everyone’s spirits. Caitlin emphasizes that it’s widely known that humans have a deeply ingrained love of life and love of living things, which is imprinted in our DNA. When we tap into that source, we create a safe space for ourselves. And, in addition, by learning how to care for plants, both children (and adults) learn how to care for themselves. 

On the flip side, plants actually care for us and others in the animal and plant kingdom too – besides from giving us exquisite, visual pleasure. 
 
Frieda Wishinsky has written a newly released children’s book, A Flower is a Friend, that supports the point that not only do we get something back from caring for plants, but a plant actually cares for those around it. 
 

 
Beautiful illustrations throughout the book, coupled with short paragraphs toward the end of the book, talk about how and why flowers and creatures are friends and depend on each other to survive. The gist of it is that insects and animals drink the sweet nectar found in flowers and then spread the plant’s pollen, which helps the plant make seeds. 
 
Thinking about buying a few plants? Know a few kids or adults who could benefit from a plant’s presence?  It’s well worth the investment. Nothing is more soul-satisfying than watching a plant bloom – unless of course, you are blooming right alongside of it! That is both soul-satisfying and miraculous too.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: I met Freida Wishinsky just once when I brought my 3-year-old grandson to a neighborhood book store in DUMBO, in Brooklyn, where she was reading and talking about her book How Emily Saved the Bridge: The Story of Emily Warren Roebling and the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge.

I never forgot the book nor Freida. And we have been keeping in touch ever since that day. I highly recommend both books.

The Perfect Sunday Morning

It’s going to be the Perfect Sunday Morning.

And you are invited…

Kendra Scott Jewelry and Jackie Walker’s Wisdom
and an opportunity to donate to an amazing non-profit, 
Loft181

https://drofclosetology.splashthat.com/

KENDRA SCOTT JEWELRY

If you like necklaces, charms, chains, rings and bracelets, chances are you have heard of Kendra Scott Jewelry.
Whether you are into hoops and rings or layering and wrist  staging, Kendra Scott Jewelry has something for everyone.

(This is not an ad for her jewelry – Kendra Scott and her jewelry empire do okay without my endorsement.)

Scott started out selling jewelry in a small way before she became a big seller in a big way. A mere three months after her first son was born, Scott took $500 and founded Kendra Scott LLC. That was two decades ago, when she was 28 years-old.  Scott has since built an empire worth over $1 billion.

How’d she do it? Scott assembled a small team of women (including her mother) that she called the “super seven,” and began selling her jewelry wholesale. Retail giant Nordstrom noticed – while she was still working out of a bedroom in her home. 

Today she has 130 Kendra Scott retail stores, plus immense online sales and her brand jewelry is also in many major retail department stores. 

If she’s not perfect enough – and successful enough – she also gives back. In a big way. In her own words, Kendra Scott started her brand with the intention to do good first and sell jewelry second.‌
‌
Her philanthropic mentality is embedded into every facet of her company. She has donated over $50 million to local, national, and international organizations in the areas of health & wellness, education & entrepreneurship, empowering both women and youth. 

It’s going to be a perfect Sunday Morning

JACKIE WALKER’S WISDOM

How many of us walk into our closets every morning and are overwhelmed?
How many of us walk into our closets every morning bemoaning the jumbled mass of shirts, dresses, skirts and pants we have acquired over decades?
How many of us exit in frustration, mumbling to ourselves that our closets are out of control?

Enter my long-tine good buddy: Jackie Walker.
Think of her as a closet organizer on steroids. She beseeches us to make friends with our closet and she backs up her vision with usable information.

Did you know that women wear approximately only 20% of what is in their closet? (Men wear up to 90%.)

Did you know that most women shop to fill emotional needs and men shop just for a specific need?

Did you know the ideal ratio for tops to bottoms in a women’s closet: 75% tops to 25% bottoms.

“Clothing in your closet,” espouses Jackie, “can give you the courage and confidence to achieve great things.” She’s the brilliant originator of Closetology – dressing in a manner that enhances your self-esteem while making maximum use of what  you’ve already got stashed in your closet. 

************************************************


Hope to see you there for The Perfect Sunday Morning!

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

The Secret to it All

I always miss the obvious – a fact that my sister gleefully and frequently points out. And she is 100 % right.
 
This week I worked on a lovely column about the power of cultivating and caring for plants and how this nurturing of nature raises our spirits, instills resiliency and helps maintain our sound mental health. Intermittently, I was busy on the internet ordering Father’s Day presents for the three of my sons who are dads.
 
And as I continued to type, edit, and finish up my column on flowers and plants, I flipped through recipes books looking for just the right dish to bring to our Father’s Day celebration at the beach. 
 
Thursday morning, I woke up. 
Thursday morning, I did a big WHOOPS.
I realized with a shock that Father’s Day was less than 48 hours away and I had failed to write about this significant holiday!
 
There are tons of articles on the Internet about parenting in today’s world. Helicopter Parenting has become a very recognizable moniker for those parents who hover too close, taking an over protective and excessive interest in their child. 
 
But do you know what the latest identifying phrase is for parents? Lawn Mower Parents – those of us who knock down any obstacles in our children’s paths – intervening and protecting our kids from any discomfort or problematic situation. 
 
With those very harsh identifiers in mind, I decided to ask some veteran fathers – who are not like that at all – for their take on what is most salient in their role of father.
 
Here are a few of their responses;
 
Rabbi Gary Klein:

My father, Joe Klein, of blessed memory, was very affectionate, patient, devoted and always available. I grew up feeling that there was no difference between my mother’s role in my life and my father’s…While growing up, I felt as if I had two mothers, my mother and my father!  While I remember my mother being very loving and nurturing, my father was just as great a source of comfort and nurturing. He would frequently hold me in his arms the way my mother did, snuggle with me on the couch as we watched the Ed Sullivan Show, or listened to symphonic music on our stereo with me drinking warm milk that he prepared to help me sleep. While he always earned a good living as an automobile salesman, I never felt that he put career success or any personal interest over expressing love to his children. He made himself a part of every joyous moment in my life. He also provided great comfort for me during the sad or frightening or difficult times. 

When other relatives would criticize him for his constant, tireless and selfless devotion to me and to my brother, he would say, “Kids don’t ask to be born”.  

Jeff Luckman:

My daughters gave me this in a plaque one Father’s Day:
DAD (noun): 

Man who loves, provides and protects his family at all timesAdvice giver, coach, instruction manual reader, fixerThe one with photos in his wallet, where money used to be                                                                                                                     

Max Pastor

Being present and practicing tikun olam (leaving the situation and the next generation in a better position than you found it).

Dr. John Bucuvalas

Listening and learning and committing to be better is key. The world is changing rapidly and is increasingly complex. Just because you are older, doesn’t mean you know better.
 
Frank Cohen

Giving love, support, guidance and the feeling that dad is always in your corner.
 
Steven Pastor

Love their mother and letting them know they don’t have to be perfect to succeed in life.

Harry Sudman

Don’t badmouth their mother and set a good example.
 
Louie Pastor

There is a famous Woody Allen quote that basically says 99% of life is just showing up. This is especially true of being a parent. The vast majority of being a good father is just being present, which includes being mentally present when you are physically present – e.g. not staring at your phone. Beyond that, I would say meeting your kids where they are – being interested in what they are interested in, not just trying to get them interested in what you are interested in.
 
Lou’s comment totally coincides with my opinion – supported by the conclusion of the series’ finale of Ted Lasso as seen on Apple TV. Don’t miss it. 
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom and to all the dads out there: HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, 
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

What Most Impressed Me on my Recent Foray to Italy

For those of you who read my column regularly, you will know I just got back from spending seven days in Italy.
 
My bank of miles allowed me to travel free to Europe in Premium Economy. (You get “special amenities” and your seat is right behind First Class or Business). I paid for my trip back to the United States with dollars and landed in a seat approximating Main Cabin in domestic flights. 
 
My one-way fare back from Florence via Paris to New York City was about $1000. I was fed two very substantial meals and was offered a plethora of snacks and beverages, served by smiling, polite and extremely accommodating flight attendants. I had excellent access to the very clean restrooms and watched three fascinating movies: After Sun, The Son and The Sixth Child. And I read my book.
 
The air time – about 10 hours in all – passed quickly, uneventfully and very pleasantly. And my window seat provided an unimpeded view of the rolling hills of Italy and then the magnificent cloud formations over the Atlantic Ocean.
 
Why am I writing about this? Because of all the sights I saw in Italy, of all the excellent wine I drank, the friends I made, the things I bought and the food I ate – nothing compared to the experience of crossing the ocean in such a modern day way.
 
Just over 120 years ago, things were very different. Poor people seeking a better life in the New World were buying passage to the United States in steerage. Passage usually cost about $30 per person and for that they were provided a cramped space below deck.
 
Food was often provided, but had to be cooked by the passengers. Popular fare was lukewarm soup, black bread, boiled potatoes, herring and stringy beef. Bedding was lugged on board by the passengers and they were then separated by marital status. Passengers slept on narrow bunks where the air was often quite stuffy. And little time was allotted on the upper deck in the fresh air.
 
In short: cramped, unsanitary conditions and poor food.
 
I traveled recently purely for pleasure – to experience the wondrous area of Tuscany in Italy. Many immigrants traveling in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, like all of my great grandparents, were fleeing persecution and lack of economic opportunity. Steerage was the lowest grade of accommodation – similarly compared to the dismal conditions of a slave ship: danger, disease and suffering. Rats and lice abounded. Ventilation was non-existent.
 
When on the plane, I wore compression socks to help with my circulation. I carried a black-out mask in case I wanted to catch a cat nap. My cell phone was beside me at all times and a gently breeze from the vents above me kept me comfortable. The width of my seat was about 17 inches and there happened to be no one sitting next to me.
 
Emigrants fleeing Europe were typically on their voyage from 40 to 90 days depending on the weather and the wind. Each passenger had about two square feet of space for themselves and their belongings. And Sea Sickness was rampant.
 
Almost 1500 planes cross the Atlantic Ocean on an average summer night, separated by approximately 40 miles each. In spite of the huge number, I am still filled with sheer awe over the experience of flying across the ocean in blissful comfort in a matter of hours in 2023. And that is not even taking into consideration the amazing safety record of the airlines.
 
It is so humbling when I remember my great grandparents only 120 years ago crossed the same ocean huddled in steerage, facing an unknown future and a rigorous physical examination when they disembarked onto Ellis Island. Me? When I landed, I just had to show my passport, pick up my luggage and look for my driver, who was whisking me to one of my sons’ homes nearby. 
 
It’s a lot easier to Preserve Our Bloom in 2023 – 
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

The Scoop on Italy

“What???” most people said when I told them I was going to Italy in three weeks with seven women I didn’t know. “Is this another one of your impulsive actions that could end in disaster?”

“Yeah, kinda,” I answered uncertainly. “But it could also be amazing, you know.”

AND IT WAS!

Strange at times, but invigorating 
Disorienting at times, yet fascinating
So out of my element.

The first thing I noticed upon landing in Italy and spending the day in Florene was that Italian women are chic. You will never see them running around in sweat pants with baseball caps covering their hair. They wear their long hair twisted up in all kinds of causal but elegant ways and don scarfs artfully draped around their slim bodies. (I’m determined to grow my hair longer and learn all those intricate hair and scarf draping steps too.) 

Many of the young women have their arms adorned with large tattoos – of roses, vines, and unicorns. (I’m still undecided about a tattoo, though I got a glowing recommendation of a tattoo artist in Florence.)

Our first group get-together is in Florence. Here is a picture of our group, after finishing a light meal and a yoga class on a rooftop in Florence overlooking the city and the Duomo – a grand cathedral which took over 142 years to build. 

Later that evening we arrived at our villa.

The following morning, we had our first of seven silent breakfasts . It was a time to enjoy our cheese, fruit, flaky croissants and coffee. 
It was a time to center ourselves and set a personal intention for the 
day (Mine usually revolved around something pretty unoriginal, but difficult to execute nevertheless: fully living in the moment). And it was a time to gaze at the verdant, rolling hills of Tuscany.

Meals for Italians are an occasion to enjoy – both the dishes and the company. Dining often includes seven course meals, boisterous chatting and numerous glasses of wine spanning three hours. Unlike the USA, the portions are much smaller and Italians walk away from their meal pleasantly satiated, not stuffed to the brim. (I’m determined to mimic their dining style. No more setting down way too much food on the table at dinnertime, then mindlessly shoveling it in while watching MSNBC.)

For a few meals, the seven of us shopped together at a local market – concentrating on buying what was fresh and in season. Once back at the villa’s country kitchen, we sliced, diced, chopped and cut – artfully arranging the dishes while setting the table. We laughed. We exchanged suggestions on meal prep. We told funny stories about entertaining mishaps. We drank wine. We laughed some more.  How different from the way I entertain in Tampa – driving myself crazy cooking everything and setting up everything before my guests arrive. By the time they do, I’m simply too stressed and exhausted to fully enjoy them. (I’m going to entertain differently from now on – asking my guests to come slice and dice with me – as part of the evening’s magic.)

Barre exercises, gentle yoga or a sharing circle followed breakfast and then we showered and dressed for the day. Here’s our sharing circle:

During our stay, we visited San Gimignano, Greve, Montepulciano,and Siena. Plus, we had two free days at our villa in Panzano to veg out, enjoy the pool or book a side trip.  

Not all went perfectly:
Not easy to keep up with my companions who were all barre method aficionados who exercise regularly. Often I was out of breath and my muscles were screaming for relief.
My make-up mirror broke upon arrival at the villa, assuring that plenty of rogue chin hairs would be adorning my face.  
My watch band broke.  
My mascara magically disappeared. 
My arthritic knee hurt intermittently after walking for hours on cobblestones in the small towns of Tuscany – but glasses of red wine did wonders for my recuperative powers. 
I was consistently light headed and urged to stay hydrated. However, I wasn’t wild about some of the restrooms we stumbled upon, so I kept my intake to a minimum. Stupid. 

I often felt like Curious George diving into every experience – always eager to explore the unknown and appreciate each experience – even when it could end in a messy situation like getting caught in a downpour without a jacket in one of the town’s piazzas.

This column is dedicated to my new friends who traveled in Italy with me, ranging in age from 20 to 75:
Helena- wise beyond her years 
Esther – adorably assertive
Kendra – (our honorary traveling companion) – a bubble of vivaciousness
Beth – rock solidly beautiful within and without 
Jenny – our fearless, irrepressible leader
Veronica- who has the best laugh ever
Selina – an old soul

Here’s a picture of us at a winery, enjoying dining outside with one of the owners (far left).

May we all Keep Tasting the Wine and Preserving our Blooms,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Busy In Tuscany

Busy in Tuscany “smelling the Iris’s”.

Drinking lots of red wine and eating gelato every single day.

That’s it for now.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor 

I’m Going to Italy

Literally, as you read this, I will be in the process of boarding a plane – a big plane in New York City at JFK – for a six-hour flight to Paris, then a two-hour layover at Charles
DE Gaulle airport and then on to Florence, Italy.

Never having been before, I asked a lot of people for advice.

Here is some of it:

A good thing to bring is your one-of-a-kind jean jackets that you sell – it’ll keep you warm and who knows? You might even make a few sales. 

For G-d sakes, don’t wear your ridiculous unitards – you can’t be getting totally undressed every time you have to pee.

Don’t forget your passport. And compression socks for the plane.

Eat gelato.

Buy a sling for your feet to use during the flight.

Pack lightly and you won’t regret it, but carry with you a small tooth brush and tooth paste.

Must take this book along to read: Nobody Will Tell You This But Me by Bess Kalb. 

You must have a fanny pack.

You must have an adapter.

Forgot the baseball caps and yoga pants – Italian ladies look like ladies – dress accordingly for once.

Keep a journal.

Bring a scarf, rain jacket, bathing suit and pashmina.

No unitards, please. Geez.

Buy tubes to pack your clothes in.

Remember to pack lotion for your hands, an eye mask (I have a great one for you), a neck pillow and sunscreen. And fuzzy socks for the plane.

Wear skorts for travel.

Forget the heels – too many cobblestones.

Check out the high and low temperatures of each place you’re going and dress appropriately.

Wear a cross body purse and a fanny pack. 

Get your Euros early from your bank.

You didn’t need another Covid vax four days before your trip – that was stupid – of course you got a reaction.

Pack a light wrap for evening.  

Eat gelato.

Lose those ridiculous unitards you insist on wearing – public bathroom are really small in Europe – you can’t be undressing!

Wear your gym shoes on the plane because they take up a lot of room in your suitcase.

Order risotto – even better than pasta. And, oy, yes, gelato!

Apply the 5-4-3-2-1 rule – 5 tops, 4 slacks, 3 dresses, 2 purses 1 sweater.

Try wild boar, it’s delicious.

Sleep is important. Take Ambien on the plane.

Xanax works wonders if you want to avoid jet lag. Take it right after dinner on the way to Europe. Works even better with a glass of wine.

Have to get in your 40 winks on the flight? Take Z Quill.

If you wanna sleep, take Melatonin.

Eat gelato – whether you want to sleep or not.

Leave your AmEx card at home – Master and Visa card only and let them know you will be in Europe.

Get an international phone plan for the time you will be traveling. 

Practice up on haggling. Practice some more.

Carry your Cincinnati Reds backpack – you’ll be a magnet for everyone from the State of Ohio traveling in Italy.

Please, please leave your Cincinnati Reds backpack at home – honestly, you look like an idiot carrying it.

Buy leather goods. Lots of leather goods.

Ship home the fabulous balsamic vinegar, oils jams and condiments. 

Check out Rick Steve’s guide books – his free audio tours are fabulous.

Watch “Tea with Mussolini” – on DVD – before you leave.

Eat Gelato.

Sip the luscious wines and eat the amazing food while you are there – forget the scale for once.

I realize as I get ready for my first foray to Italy, that I am so fortunate to have so many people – friends and relatives – looking out for my welfare. I no longer have my mom, but in her place, I have a friend (Lynne Billing) who not only coordinated my wardrobe, but packed for me and Harry’s girlfriend Jen, who brought over a whole care package of stuff. And Margie who spoke with me in detail for over an hour about my upcoming foray. Plus, I received a constant stream of words of advice from my little sister!

I am truly blessed.

So thankful for real friends and relatives who always help me to Keep Preserving My Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Your email campaign is ready to send!

I hated my mother, especially when I was 13 and she adamantly refused to allow me to shave my hairy legs. 

I hated my mother even more when she restricted the numbers of sleepovers I could attend per month – fearing I would get “dissipated.”

My friends thought that was hysterical. In 5th grade, I was 5 foot tall and weighed 110 pounds – hardly an ideal candidate for “Queen of the Dissipated.”

I hated my mother when MY problem became HER PROBLEM and I ended up comforting her. That made me crazy.

For instance, when, due to our parents’ conflicts with each other, my first husband and I did not have a traditional wedding. My mother’s laments were totally self-focused on the disappointment of not getting to give HER DAUGHTER a wedding. She never took into account how I felt. When other young couples brought out their deluxe wedding albums and we had none to show but one picture taken in the rabbi’s study, I felt sharp stings of regret over not experiencing a full-blown wedding celebration. My mother never considered that I had my own angst over a joy we both had been denied. 

I hated her as she aged and became more frail, less logical (she was never that logical to begin with) more needy, more stubborn and more demanding. 

At the same time, I loved her with endless intensity. 

She was what I measured all my plans, dreams, opinions and observations around. 

She was the sun in my planet, radiating strong warmth and serving as my guiding post – my North Star. 

If my mom thought it was the right decision, then it was.

If my mom thought it was okay, then it was. 

My mother was just 20 years old when she had me and by  the age of 24, she was a mother of two young kids. 

Very typically, for she was a 1950’s housewife, she never went to college and much of her self-worth was predicated on the cleanliness of our home, the quality of the dinners she cooked and served nightly and promptly at 6:30pm and how presentable her three children “appeared” to the world. She put gargantuan effort into these endeavors.

And yet, she also sought out alternate orbits for herself in spite of the restraining times.

She bravely developed her own persona, writing letters to the editor on causes she championed.  

In her finished basement, she painted – floral pictures she lovingly gave as gifts.

She assembled elaborate table decorations and created clever handmade invitations for friends and family occasions. Even when money was tight, my father refused to let my mother get paid for her artistic efforts. It seemed to him a direct and negative reflection on his ability to support his family – a dinosaur reaction in today’s world for sure. 

She put together wild and swirling collages she presented proudly to her children. 

This particular “beauty” was comprised of nuts, bolts and screws. In 1968, It rested under our living room couch – brought out and hung-up just a few hours before my mother would arrive from Ohio for a visit. Neither my husband nor I could take a steady diet of seeing it in the main showplace of our apartment. And yet, not only did it outlive my first marriage, but I carefully kept it all these years. And now it hangs in my arts and crafts room in a prominent place.

In her later years – I’m not proud to say – I sometimes longed to be free from her emotional and physical demands – to live out my 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s without always taking into account her desires and wishes and health crises.

“When will it be MY TIME?” I often wondered? 

And then she died. Quickly. Unexpectedly. On her 91st birthday. Five years ago. 

And now I’m free: 
Of her feedback that was sometimes too honest
Of her loneliness that she couldn’t seem to overcome
Of her lack of hearing that she couldn’t come to terms with

And now I’m free: 
To live my own version of my life 
To dream my own dreams
To chart my own course 

l hope that my mom has found peace and purpose – wherever she is.

And I wish I could stop missing her so intensely every single day.

Happy Mother’s Day. 
And if you still have one, hug her hard. 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor 

I love newspapers

I love newspapers, especially the physical ones – I get excited each time a new edition arrives on my driveway or in my mail box.

I get busy reading it. First, I peruse the paper highlighting what’s relevant to ME  and then I proceed to enthusiastically rip out article after article I deem enlightening, informative or downright entertaining. Worth saving. And then, without fail, I dump the pile into my newspaper cache – a deep drawer in my antique mahogany breakfront in my very formal dining room.

The rest of the paper? I either plop in the recycle bin, use to wrap gifts or haul to my favorite thrift store where they use discarded newspaper for wrapping breakable items.

I think of my every-growing pile of articles that I save as “readable heirlooms.” I pull them out in moments of clarity, where I actually experience the possibility for realistic rejuvenation. 

My latest find is a huge four page spread garnered from the Wall Street Journal. Title: Supergoop!

Supergoop! is not related to Gynweth Paltrow’s brand Goop. Supergoop!, a broad-spectrum, SPF-50, is an environmentally friendly sunscreen that goes on easily, doesn’t leave a white residue, has a pleasant scent and is available in four sizes, including an 18 ounce jug.

Weeks ago, I read an article pointing out that people should approach their social activities encounters in the same way they approach their business obligations: with attention and care. It all seemed so exhausting – another thing to mindfully add to my ever-burgeoning To-Do list.

The spread on Supergoop! seamlessly raised my awareness of just how easy this intention could be carried out in real time. Supergoop!’s humongous ad spread listed 365 ways to embrace your power – your solar powered freedom – in easy to execute and simple to do ways. 

Here’s the suggestions that jumped out to me:
Read this newspaper outside
Stop for a coffee
Sit down in the sunshine with your coffee 
Drive around with the windows open
Happy hour with friends at a sidewalk cafe or rooftop
Chill by yourself
Watch the sunset 
Watch the sunrise 
Start a collection
Stretch
Make a PB&J 
Learn a new recipe
Call an old friend
Play Wordle in the park
Practice random acts of kindness
Put your phone away and enjoy the park
Play hopscotch
Bake a pie and share with a neighbor
Scatter wild flower seeds in your back yard
Smile at someone
Hug yourself
Dance like no one is watching
Wash your car
Shop the farmers market 
Buy yourself flowers
Sing out loud at the top of your lungs
Host a barbecue
Play wiffle ball
Build it
Listen to your favorite album from when you were 13
Have breakfast for dinner
Have dessert for breakfast
Go to a state you’ve never been to
Wear sunscreen

And, of course,
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor 

I Take Back Everything I Said Last Week

I take back everything I said last week – I would rather be hauling water up three flights of stairs than dealing with the following:

I tore my hair out.
It didn’t help.

I cried hot, thick tears.
They only scorched my cheeks.

I screamed as loud as I could,
scaring my dog half-to-death.

Nothing helped.

First-world problem, I know.
Locked out of my main G mail account
since a week ago Thursday.

Impossible to talk to a live person.

My stomach is churning.
My heart beat is rapid.
Tightness in my chest makes me wiggle.
Spots appearing in my vision causes panic.
I’m sure my blood pressure,
normally “normal” is sky high.
But, of course, I can’t find my blood pressure machine
Either.

Password issues.
Verification issues.
Back up email is no longer accessible.

Am I the only person
In the world who has this problem?
Hard to believe.

I can no longer talk to a recorded voice
without sobbing.
And my husband’s plaintive pleas
to calm down
only infuriates me more.

Google support: a joke
Apple tech and Verizon tech: “not their problem.”
Geek squad: a dead end
My last hope: 
A tech guy working not far from my house
assures me he will get it done tomorrow

“Bring your computer and phone in,” he says expansively and calmly.
“I’ll take a look.
We’ll solve it.”
$190 later, he can’t fix it either.

Hopefully, by next week,
I will have found my blood pressure machine,
grown back some of the hair I pulled out,
And actually have access to my main G mail account.

And, hopefully, by next week,
I will be calm enough to pen a newsletter of substance,  
rather than one filled with 
irritation, aggravation and frustration.

Hopefully.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: Late last night, miraculously,  I got access to my gmail account in my computer and my adored nephew, Mark,  then fixed the rest of the problems. Thank goodness for smart, whiz-bang young people who are relatives.