Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 15

The Strength of a First Love’s Bond

One morning, I am jolted by an e mail that pops up in my inbox. It is from him – my first love.
 
“Iris, I have something I think you would like which I would like to send you. I need your address so I can have UPS ship it down. If you doubt the validity of this e mail, you can call me at…..”
 
My first thought is twofold: What in the world could he be sending me and is he on the brink of death and ridding himself of his worldly possessions?
 
With my chest pounding, I grab my cell phone and punch in his number. 
 
Now here is a little disclaimer:
After I marry my second husband, Steven and I end up living in the same area as my first love and his wife. And, soon after, his wife and I start – out of sheer convenience – carpooling together. And the more time I spend with his wife, the more I like her.
 
She is kind, caring, an amazingly talented artist and has a show-stopping head of wild curly hair which I have never stopped envying. 
 
And as the decades slide by, her friendship becomes more central to my life than the previous one I had had with her husband. It is a friendship that I treasure and it is a friendship that continues today.
 
So, in a circumferential way, I kept in-the-know about my first love, but had little direct contact with him – except at our high school reunions. There we would huddle together – sharing memories. And, always, I would mention to him my regret at not having bound the issues of our school newspaper into a permanent book – like he did.
 
Two bits of information immediately emerge in our phone chat:
         He isn’t at death’s door.
         And he is gifting me his bound copies of The Bulldog Barks
 
My throat constricts. Tears stream down my cheeks. The thought of having the written record of our senior year in my possession is simply overwhelming. And the realization that he is parting with something so special – I can’t even begin to convey my thankfulness and gratitude to him.
 
“Fifty-eight years is long enough,” he tells me. “I know you of all people will cherish this book as much as I do. I did look through it one last time and it reminded me of how well we worked together. I am proud of that collection.
 
“You are the keeper now. I think as you read through the pages, old memories, not only of us, but the entire high school experience will be dislodged and bubble into your consciousness, as if they happened yesterday. Have fun with it.”
 
Two days later my UPS package lands on my front porch. I have been holding it close ever since.
 

 
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
 
PS: The strength of a first love’s bond? Pretty damn strong.
 
On a more serious note, I have the privilege of being part of a panel discussion on eating disorders, presented by Hadassah.
It’s a zoom event on Thursday, February 23 at 7pm EST. There will also be additional time devoted to individual questions. More details to follow.

Do You Ever Forget Your First Love?

Let me be clear: my husband is my soul mate. We have been married almost 47 years.

However – and this is a BIG however – he was NOT my FIRST LOVE.

My boyfriend and I started going steady in 9th grade – although we were already throwing sneaky sidelong glances at each other during math class in 7th grade – so much so that it prompted our math teacher one afternoon to flippantly ask me the following: “Miss Levine, are you overly sexed?”

I was too embarrassed, humiliated and stunned to answer her.

(And I’m not so sure in today’s world a teacher would be so flippant with a question about her student’s sexuality!)

My boyfriend and I went the usual route of young couples in the mid 1960’s: We started “GOING STEADY.” (I asked my 15 year-old grandson last night if he knew what “going steady” meant. He had no idea.)

My boyfriend and I exchanged silver ID bracelets. We finagled three sets of matching shirts from his dad’s clothing store -which we wore very frequently to school to show the world the strength of our bond.

The highlight of our junior year was when he passed his driver’s test immediately after turning 16. If we had spent as much time studying as we did necking in his black Chevrolet Impala convertible, Harvard would have been courting us both. 

Every summer – in a desperate attempt to split us up – my parents would fly me from Ohio to Florida to spend time with my aunt and uncle and to get away from my boyfriend. The separation only fueled the fires of our highly charged, emotionally intense romance. 

In our senior year, we both worked on the school paper – a four-pager published weekly. Our job: write opinion pieces and interview our class mates on such topics as their “philosophy of life.” (Today, I find that mildly hysterical – I’m 75 years-old and still trying to craft my philosophy.) 

We were voted “Cutest Couple” in the senior popularity poll.  Thus proving, once again, the strength of our bond.

Graduation was in early June. The morning after all 750 of us – the class of ‘65 – had walked down the aisle to the notes of Pomp and Circumstance, my boyfriend took every one of the approximately 36 issues of our school newspaper, The Bulldog Barks, to a local printing company and had them bound into a hardback book. 

I stashed my copies of our student newspaper under my bed. In the ensuing years, of course, mine would be lost; his would remain intact and with him. 

To both sets of our parents’ displeasure, my boyfriend and I applied to the same university, were accepted and headed-off to freshman year with arms entwined. What our parents couldn’t put asunder, the allure of freshman year swiftly did. In early October, we broke-up. (Actually, he ended it with me.) I was heartbroken. I transferred universities and in the ensuing years, we both married our college sweethearts and settled down to raise our families.

My first marriage didn’t last. His did.  

Fifty-eight years would pass before I realized just how much the strength of our bond still remained intact. 

The story continues next week.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

I Couldn’t Have Been More Wrong…

It is 3 p.m.
He is the last speaker in a long line of speakers, which had begun at 8 a.m.
 
I am attending a holistic health summit. Some of the speakers are riveting and some are technical and above my pay grade.
 
On the verge of a major headache from information overload, I am tempted to skip-out on the last session, which features a black belt in Krav Maga. I quickly google Krav Maga on my phone. From Wikipedia, I learn it is an Israeli martial art. Utilized by the Israel Defense Forces, it is derived from a combination of techniques used in aikido, judo, karate, boxing, and wrestling.
  
Why would it be of interest to me? 
 
I am 75-year-old grandmother who is not overly obsessing (or obsessing at all) about cultivating an aura of bad-assitude as I traverse the aisles of Publix. What relevance could Krav Maga possibly have in my life?
 
I couldn’t have been more wrong. 
 
From www.theartofmanliness.com, I glean the following:
The origins of Krav Maga can be traced to pre-World War II Czechoslovakia (present-day Slovakia) and a young Jewish athlete named Imi Lichtenfeld. Imi was a nationally and internationally renowned boxer, wrestler, and gymnast. Beginning in the mid-1930s, fascist and anti-Semitic groups rose to power in Czechoslovakia and began inflicting violence on Jewish communities. Feeling duty-bound to protect his neighbors, Lichtenfeld organized a group of young men to patrol his community and defend against would-be attackers. He quickly learned, however, that his training in sport martial arts was no match for the anti-Semitic thugs he encountered. Fighting for points in a match and fighting for your life in a street fight require a different mindset and different techniques. To effectively defend himself and his community, Imi began synthesizing his martial art knowledge and started placing an emphasis on attacks that quickly disabled and neutralized a threat.
 
The study of Krav Maga, which is known for its focus on real world situations and extreme efficiency, naturally led the speaker to explore not just training his body, but training his mind as well. He began focusing on two key concepts:
                             How to avoid burn-out and get more done
                             How to balance energy, time and attention   
 
“There are conflicting pulls on our resources. What does ‘I don’t have the time,’ actually mean?” he questions us. “It means we are not prioritizing. It means we are not blocking out distractions.”
 
Here are his suggestions for getting more done efficiently and avoiding exhaustion:
      “Choose wisely – we can’t do all of it well.
       Learn to say ‘No’ – by saying ‘No’ to something, we can focus on what              really matters to us. By saying ‘No’, we are saying ‘Yes’ to something                  else.”
 
How do we choose where to put our energy and effort?
He prods us to consider our own roles and goals and whether what we are choosing to do is moving the needle in the right direction.
 
People have things that come easy to them, but are often hard for others. He suggests devoting time to those things we have superpower in. “Our time and energy are finite – we need to guard them closely,” he cautions.
 
His template for getting things done are measurable and methodical:
     Plan
     Act 
     Review
     Improve 
 
As our time with him is winding down, he asks us to close our eyes and visualize two interlocking circles:
     One circle contains things we care about
     The other circle contains things we can control
 
     Where those two circles interlap is where we should focus and invest our time.
                                                                                                            
 
His words of wisdom stick with me and later that evening, I google “What is the best age to learn Krav Maga?” The answer: Anyone between the age of 3 to 80 years old can start learning Krav Maga, even if they are completely new to the world of Martial Arts. 
 
Hee hee! See you in the studio!
  
And Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor
 
PS A hearty “shout-out” of thanks to my loyal readers who took the time to answer all those “annoying” questions included in my survey last week. Your answers were eye opening, somewhat surprising and very much appreciated. 
 
 

I want to know about YOU

You certainly know a lot about ME. I would like to know more about YOU.
 
Please feel free to answer some or all of the questions below and send back to me.  
What is your biggest challenge?
 
Best book you read in 2022?
 
What is your favorite way to relax?
 
Name a healthy habit you currently have or would like to adopt? 
 
What is your favorite series to binge watch?
 
What is your biggest frustration?
 
What’s on your Wish List? 
 
Please pass on your favorite recipe. 
 
What are some websites you visit regularly? 
 
Do you regularly shop at resale stores and if so, any tips of the trade?
 
What’s your most successful house plant that has flourished under your care and what’s your secret to its success?
 
If you had an extra $100, how would you spend it?
 
Which is your preferred way to exercise?
 
Any vitamin supplements you take regularly and why?
 
What your favorite vacation spot?
 
What topic on wellness would you like to learn more about? 
 
How much does “free shipping” influence what you buy online?
 
Anything else you would like to sprout off about, feel free!!!!!
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

P.S. Please feel free to answer some or all of the questions below and send back to me at irisruthpastor@gmail.com

A Compulsion That Can’t Be Corralled In

I’m sorry. I just can’t resist.
It’s a compulsion that just can’t be corralled in.
(I think I’ve been bingeing on too many Yellowstone episodes – I’m starting to think like a cowboy.)
 
It’s a New Year and a New Year calls for a whole new array of quotes to inspire and entertain. And a very thoughtful friend gave me a book of quotes that I’d never run across: Dance first, Think later by Kathryn and Ross Petras.
 
How could I not share some of the pithiest ones with you? So have a hog-killin’ time (cowboy talk for “have a good time.”)
 
Never make a credit decision on a beach.
Victor J. Boschini
College administrator
 
Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.
Annie Dillard
Writer
 
Never trust someone who can’t eat a meal alone at their own kitchen table.
Ellen Barkin
Actress
 
When you see a good move, look for a better one.
Emanuel Lasker
Chess master
 
Live your life the way you want. You’ll figure it out.
John Grisham
Writer
 
You can’t build a reputation on what you intend to do.
Liz Smith
Gossip columnist
 
The boss is never your friend, even if you are sleeping with him.
Jacob M. Appel
Playwright
 
You don’t save a pitcher for tomorrow. Tomorrow it may rain.
Leo Durocher
Baseball manager
 
Always remember that you are unique. Just like everyone else.
Margaret Mead
Anthropologist
 
Choosing the lesser of two evils is still choosing evil.
Jerry Garcia
Musician
 
The big secret to life is that there is no big secret.
Oprah Winfrey
Media magnate
 
Be aware that most people are operating on a very condensed version of the Ten Commandments: the part about murder.
Mark Bricklin
Journalist
 
There is a macroscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth.
Cynthia Heimel
Writer/humorist
 
Enjoy every sandwich.
Warren Zevon
Musician on facing mesothelioma
 
If you can’t be kind, at least be vague.
Miss Manners
(Judith Martin)
Etiquette expert
 
The first rule of holes:
When you’re in one, stop digging. 
Molly Ivins
Writer
 
If you have the choice between humble or cocky, go with cocky. There’s always time to be humble later, once you’ve been proven horrendously, irrevocably wrong.
Kinky Friedman
Singer/writer
 
If you can’t convince them, confuse them.
Harry Truman
Statesman
 
Don’t let the bastards grind you down.
Joseph W. Stillwell
General
 
Nobody should give a shit about an actor’s opinion on politics.
James Caan
Actor
 
When in danger, ponder. When in trouble, delegate. And when in doubt, mumble.
James Boren
Founder of the National Association of Professional Bureaucrats
 
Ever notice how, “What the hell” is always the right answer?
Marilyn Monroe
Actress
 
Life loves to be taken by the lapels and told, “I am with you, kid. Let’s go.”
Maya Angelou
Writer
 
And I will close with this one, dedicated to my five adult sons:
Call home at least once a week.
John Grisham
Writer
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor

First The Muddling, Then The Clarity

The beginning of this new year for me is not just about making resolutions, but is centered on trying to gain clarity over what my core values really are – not just muddling through with no clear vision – which, by the way, is what I normally do.
 
I have one advantage though: living in a hurricane-prone area forces me to give thought to what I would take with me as I evacuate to safety. A few of the things I grabbed during the last impending storm surprised me: my late father’s World War 2 duffle bag filled with his uniform, dog tags and letters he received from my mother – his 17-year-old young and lonely war bride. I also snatched an oversized shadow box holding my paternal grandmother’s wedding veil, wedding invitation and her old-fashioned clutch purse. She died at age 42, when my dad was 16. It was the only thing I had that had been hers and I didn’t realize until that moment how much I cherished those scant belongings. 
 
This parsing through my belongings and selecting what meant most helped bring clarity to what I value and what values I’d like to pass on to my children and grandchildren: 
     Respect for family history. 
 
Another lens leading to knowledge of our own core values can be glimpsed by listening and hearing what others say about us. My husband once mentioned to a close friend of mine that he loved my sweetness. My friend burst out laughing. “Iris is a lot of thigs,” she quipped, “but I’d never call her sweet. However, she is resilient, curious and persevering.”
     Resiliency. Curiosity. Perseverance. 
     (More core values to hold close and pass on.)
 
And then I get easily sidetracked – sucked into the vortex of blatant consumerism – of always wanting more – just a little more: 
     A fire pit in my back yard 
     A trip on a river cruise
     Unlimited funds for social media promotion
            
I consciously pull back on my unbridled desires – knowing deep down that another gadget, another vacation, another new and emerging social media medium toy is not the path to my lasting well-being. (However, they sure can make me happy in the moment and that is nothing to be lightly dismissed.) 
 
I begin looking for opportunities to learn and grow that are within my reach. And I slowly realize that one of the things I found so exhausting and frustrating last year was the huge amount of information out there on any subject relating to health. Only problem? It is often conjecture. And it is often conflicting. (For instance, I’m just getting over Covid and still trying to figure out how long I need to quarantine!)  
 
Sometimes we ask and the universe provides what we are seeking. And yesterday it did. It came in the form of an e mail from my friend Dr. Tanya Gold. She has organized a one-day event on health and wellness that will provide us with succinct and cutting-edge information we can use to improve our lives and the lives of those we love. 
 

 
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/embracing-wellness-as-a-habit-tickets-472147314327
 
I’m going. And if you live in the Tampa Bay area, I hope to see you there too.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

The Best Way to End One Year & Usher in the Next

Today is the second to last day of 2022 and already I am in full self-improvement mode.
     I’ve got a brand-new planner
     I’m looking into quickbooks to solve my book keeping needs
     And I’m stoked because this is the year I will get thinner, more organized and more computer savvy (I declare those intentions every January 1st.)
 
There are still a few more days before the reality of implementation is upon me. A little self-indulgence is in order before the rigors of a new routine beckon me to begin on yet another self-improvement quest. 
 
Before recalibrating and re-engaging with reality, I mull over this quote by the late Iris Murdoch, Irish and British novelist and philosopher:
One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats.
Who can argue with that?
 
And I can’t think of anything better as a continuous small treat than freshly baked cookies to end 2022 and start the new year on a sweet note.
 
From my niece Courtney:
Almond cookies
2 sticks unsalted butter – softened
1 cup sugar
1 egg
2 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp almond extract
 
Beat butter and sugar for 2-3 minutes. Add egg, flour, and almond extract.
Roll into small balls (around 1/2 tablespoon) and flatten with a fork. Please put on an ungreased cookie sheet.
Bake for 10-12 minutes at 350 degrees. Cookies should still be soft and look undercooked. Let them sit on the tray for a few minutes.  Chocolate Chip Cookies
2 cups + 2 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Any amount of dark chocolate (bittersweet) chips (I use Ghiradelli or Godiva)
 
Preheat oven to 325.
Mix flour, baking soda, salt. Set aside.
Beat butter and sugars on medium speed for 2-3 minutes.
Beat in egg, yolk, and vanilla.
Add in dry ingredients and beat until combined.
Stir in chocolate chips.
Form balls of around 1-2 tablespoons and place on an ungreased cookie sheet.
 
Bake 15 minutes. DO NOT OVERBAKE. The cookies will look somewhat raw when they come out. Let them cool on the baking sheets.

 From my best buddy Gloria:
Snickerdoodles
½ C unsalted butter, softened
½ C. granulated sugar
1/3 C light brown sugar
I egg
½ teaspoon vanilla
1 ½ cups flour
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon cream f tartar
 
Topping:
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
 
Directions;
In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar at high speed
Add egg, vanilla and beat until smooth
 
In another bowl, combine flour, salt, baking soda and cream of tartar
Pour dry ingredients into wet ingredients and mix well
 
Preheat oven to 300 degrees while letting dough rest 30 to 60 minutes in the refrigerator
 
In a small bowl combine topping.
 
Take about 2 ½ tablespoons of dough and roll into a ball. Roll this dough in cinnamon and sugar mixture and press into greased cookie sheet.
 
Bake 10-12 minutes, no more.
Cookies may seem undercooked but will develop.

Happy baking.
Happy eating.
Happy New Year.
 
And Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor

What Happens When We Don’t Get What We Need?

The holidays bring families together who live far apart. Laughter rings out through our homes. Joyous toasts are made. Connections strengthened. Bonds solidified once again – whether we are lighting yet another Chanukah candle or gazing with wonder at the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree – or like so many in today’s world – doing both.
 
It’s that time of year. Family rituals and traditions are repeated – a backdrop of warmth and bonhomie permeates each moment. We are surrounded by people whose infectious laughs warm our hearts and whose brilliant smiles foster deep contentment within us. And, in the rare interludes of calm and quiet, our friends and family will often cast-off their habitual one up-manship banter and listen patiently to our own corners of pain and frustration without iterating their own.
 
But what happens when the holidays are a time primarily of sadness and loss? Dashed expectations? Feelings of disconnection and irrelevancy? What happens when a smile on our faces just won’t materialize? And when there aren’t a coterie of supportive people enveloping us in a circle of love and hope?
 
Fortunately, there are many who have come before us to light the way through the tunnel of despair. For all those who approach the holiday season with some trepidation and sadness, you are not alone.
 
Jan Richardson who is an artist, poet and ordained minister, lost her husband quite suddenly in 2013 after only a few years of marriage. 

Singer/songwriter Garrison Doles was both Jan’s marriage partner and creative partner and in the aftermath of her loss, Jan wrote extensively about the terrain of grief.  And what she discovered is that “hope has proven to be wildly stubborn.”
 
Amidst the chaos of the world today, that line is worth noting – as is this poem she composed entitled “Serendipity Corner.”
 
To all that is chaotic in you,
Let there come silence.
Let there be a calming
Of the clamoring,
A stilling of the voices that
Have laid their claim on you, that have made their
Home in you, that go with you even to the 
Holy places but will not
Let you rest, will not let you
Hear your life with wholeness
Or feel the grace that fashioned you.
Let what distracts you cease.
Let what divides you cease.
Let there come an end
To what diminishes and demeans,
And let depart all that keeps you
In its cage. Let there be
An opening into the quiet
That lies beneath
The chaos, where you find
The peace 
You did not think 
Possible
And see what shimmers
Within the storm.
 
I get the feeling what Jan Richardson is espousing is that in spite of being thrown at times into the isolating silos of heartbreak, grief, loneliness and despair, the healing power of hope encourages us to live life to its fullest.
 
Happy Holidays and Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor
 
PS For further readings, check out the rich array of books written by Jan Richardson. One in particular caught my eye:

Life Got in the Way

Sometimes life just gets in the way 
of putting out my newsletter.
Sometimes things have to get worse
before they can ever get better.
 
This time it was a meniscus tear
in my right knee
from dancing 4 hours straight in high heels
like I was still 23!
 
Pain, swelling, throbbing 
followed the procedure.
A little disorientation, 
A little bit of fever.
 
And extended loopiness 
stemming from the meds
prevented me from getting comfortable 
even in my very own king-size bed.
 
Blankets kicked off, 
amidst pillows galore –
sometimes on the couch,
sometimes on the floor.
 
So, I will pass this week
on spewing forth my musings
because, due to the pain killers, 
they’d be way too confusing.
 
I’ll be back next week,
hopefully fully revived,
as proof of another 
health hurdle survived.
 
Ah, the joys of aging!
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

A Stunning Surprise

It all started with a white ceramic piggy bank in the shape of a baseball – filled with masses of pennies – that my five-year-old grandson wanted to lug back to Connecticut.

Of course, I said “Yes.”

In the confusion of packing up a five-year-old, a two-year-old and an infant, the piggy bank was forgotten by Levi’s parents.

I vowed to bring it with me the next time I visited them.

Of course, being illogical, I never reckoned with the fact of the sheer bulk of the bank and its weight.

The only suitcase I trusted to haul this irreplaceable wonder was my carry-on computer bag. After tugging mightily on the zipper in the middle compartment, it barely closed around the bulky bank.

The first hurdle was getting through airport security. My bag was flagged, unzipped and searched. The rubber seal on the bank’s bottom was pried loose from the body of the bank by a stern security guard, who softened considerably after I told him my long tale of why I was schlepping this bulky bank in the shape of a baseball to begin with.

The next hurdle came when I had to lift my computer case above my seat into the overhead compartment. I looked around for a nice man to help me, but none were in sight.

My eyes locked with a young woman sitting two rows back and I smiled at her as I struggled. Sensing my battle, she immediately jumped up and as I held the overhead compartment door down, she slid my bag in. I thanked her profusely. She smiled broadly and sat back down.

The flight was uneventful. Upon landing, everyone got up quickly to stand in the exit row. I noticed my helper, who had already stood up and was by that time a few rows ahead of me in the aisle. I waved goodbye. To my astonishment, she wound her way back to me, pulled down the overhead bin door and lifted my bag out and onto the floor. And then she swiftly resumed her place a few rows in front of me.

So taken with her kind actions, I was determined to thank her in some way for her consideration. As luck would have it, she was animatedly conversing in Spanish with a gate attendant when I alighted.

Immediately I rushed up to her and began explaining that I noticed she was wearing a jean jacket and I sell jean jackets with appliques and if she would give me her name and address, I’d like to send her one – as a token of my appreciation.

She looked at me blankly.

It was then I realized she spoke no English.

The bilingual airport attendant came to our rescue – facilitating a connection. Minutes later, the young woman’s sister had texted me in English – not only her temporary address and full name, but the following:

“My sister just came to the United States from the Dominican Republic two weeks ago and is trying out different places to live to see what she likes. She wants to experience snow and we keep telling her, ‘You’re crazy – nothing beats Florida living,’ but she will have to figure that out on her own.”

Here’s my point: this young woman may not have figured out WHERE to live, but she has certainly figured out HOW to live – with kindness.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor