Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 20
April 22, 2022
Never, Ever Underestimate The Power Of A Pin
My first introduction to a pin was probably the ubiquitous diaper pin, a necessity in the 1940’s for securing a cloth diaper in place on infants and roaming toddlers. I don’t remember mine, but my little brother’s diaper pins had powder blue plastic tops.
Actually, the diaper pin was accidentally invented in 1849 by Walter Hunt. Apparently owing an acquaintance $15 dollars (which in 1849 was an enormous sum of money), Hunt was being chased down by collectors.
Spotting a piece of wire, Hunt began nervously twisting it into various shapes before realizing he had created a shape that could easily be clasped shut. Hunt then saw a quick fix to his immediate dilemma. After patenting his invention, he then sold it W.R. Grace and Company for the relatively enormous sum of $400. His debt was wiped away and he had some money left over.
Grace and Company went on to make millions from Hunt’s invention.
That was not the first and last time a pin wielded such power. Women in the 1950’s adorned their outfits with brooches and pins routinely – often signifying their financial status in society by the value of the stones and their settings.
As a little girl, raptly observing my maternal grandmother as she would routinely assemble her outfits for a party or luncheon, I was led to believe that no female ensemble was complete without an ornament fastened on a collar, shoulder area or lapel.
My mother didn’t don jewelry to telegraph non-verbal cues. She had another very effective way to let my father know when he was in the dog house or in her good graces. If he had fallen from grace, around 5pm in the afternoon she’d pin a cardboard green half moon onto our front door – signifying she was in a foul mood. All my neighborhood buddies begged me for an explanation of her action, but I never did learn the significance behind the moon and its color. It was a story my parents took to their graves. And, years later, when google appeared, I researched the meaning of a green moon. Google failed to answer my inquiry.
Diapers requiring pins are long gone – as is my grandmother, mom, dad and the cardboard green moon.
However, many of my grandmother’s eye-catching pins and brooches rest undisturbed in my jewelry drawer.
In March, I was sad to hear that Madeleine Albright had passed away. The first female Secretary of State was one of my heroines and I was delighted to learn how she used her feminine accoutrements as a tool of political persuasion. Her bold and decisive jewelry choices, reflecting her views and mood, delivered a powerful punch.
Albright underscored this point in an interview in the Smithsonian Magazine with Megan Gambino in June 2010: “After we found that the Russians had planted a listening device—a ‘bug’—into a conference room near my office in the State Department, the next time I saw the Russians, I wore this huge bug. They got the message.”
For more on how Albright utilized her jeweled ornaments as icebreakers, subtle messengers and non-verbal openers, access: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/madeleine-albright-on-her-life-in-pins-149191/
I have ordered her book, Read My Pins: Stories From a Diplomat’s Jewel Box and plan on studying her strategies.
In the meantime, I am actively taking inventory of my stash of pins and brooches and categorizing them: Cameos / feeling nostalgic
Flowers / feeling lighthearted and hopeful
Hearts / feeling flirty
Circle pin / honoring life’s various stages
I’m still trying to find one to signify “Tread lightly, I’m in a bad mood.” Maybe for my 75th birthday, I’ll ask my husband to go to our local jeweler and design a pin sporting a green half moon. It could prove vastly useful.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
Actually, the diaper pin was accidentally invented in 1849 by Walter Hunt. Apparently owing an acquaintance $15 dollars (which in 1849 was an enormous sum of money), Hunt was being chased down by collectors.
Spotting a piece of wire, Hunt began nervously twisting it into various shapes before realizing he had created a shape that could easily be clasped shut. Hunt then saw a quick fix to his immediate dilemma. After patenting his invention, he then sold it W.R. Grace and Company for the relatively enormous sum of $400. His debt was wiped away and he had some money left over.
Grace and Company went on to make millions from Hunt’s invention.
That was not the first and last time a pin wielded such power. Women in the 1950’s adorned their outfits with brooches and pins routinely – often signifying their financial status in society by the value of the stones and their settings.
As a little girl, raptly observing my maternal grandmother as she would routinely assemble her outfits for a party or luncheon, I was led to believe that no female ensemble was complete without an ornament fastened on a collar, shoulder area or lapel.
My mother didn’t don jewelry to telegraph non-verbal cues. She had another very effective way to let my father know when he was in the dog house or in her good graces. If he had fallen from grace, around 5pm in the afternoon she’d pin a cardboard green half moon onto our front door – signifying she was in a foul mood. All my neighborhood buddies begged me for an explanation of her action, but I never did learn the significance behind the moon and its color. It was a story my parents took to their graves. And, years later, when google appeared, I researched the meaning of a green moon. Google failed to answer my inquiry.
Diapers requiring pins are long gone – as is my grandmother, mom, dad and the cardboard green moon.
However, many of my grandmother’s eye-catching pins and brooches rest undisturbed in my jewelry drawer.
In March, I was sad to hear that Madeleine Albright had passed away. The first female Secretary of State was one of my heroines and I was delighted to learn how she used her feminine accoutrements as a tool of political persuasion. Her bold and decisive jewelry choices, reflecting her views and mood, delivered a powerful punch.
Albright underscored this point in an interview in the Smithsonian Magazine with Megan Gambino in June 2010: “After we found that the Russians had planted a listening device—a ‘bug’—into a conference room near my office in the State Department, the next time I saw the Russians, I wore this huge bug. They got the message.”
For more on how Albright utilized her jeweled ornaments as icebreakers, subtle messengers and non-verbal openers, access: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/madeleine-albright-on-her-life-in-pins-149191/
I have ordered her book, Read My Pins: Stories From a Diplomat’s Jewel Box and plan on studying her strategies.
In the meantime, I am actively taking inventory of my stash of pins and brooches and categorizing them: Cameos / feeling nostalgicFlowers / feeling lighthearted and hopeful
Hearts / feeling flirty
Circle pin / honoring life’s various stages
I’m still trying to find one to signify “Tread lightly, I’m in a bad mood.” Maybe for my 75th birthday, I’ll ask my husband to go to our local jeweler and design a pin sporting a green half moon. It could prove vastly useful.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
April 15, 2022
It’s All About Perspective
We all look at the world differently – through our own little silo
– impacted by past events and our present circumstances.
This idea bopped me on the head as I listened to my Calm App one morning as Tamara Levitt related this tale:
Three blind men come across an elephant.
Curious to learn just what an elephant is,
they each put their hand out to touch the animal.
One man touches the elephant’s trunk –
and deduces that the elephant is like a thick snake
One man touches the elephant’s ears –
and deduces that the elephant is like a fan
One man touches the elephant’s thigh –
and deduces the elephant is like a wall
Each man then insists his perspective is the correct one, thus leading to heated arguments.
The three blind men were projecting their perspective – their limited perspective – on the others, only relying on their own sliver of experience.
They were not wrong, but their assumptions were based on just ONE of the elephant’s parts.
How often do we make assumptions about the whole person based on just one part of a person’s being: income, beliefs, wardrobe, career, age, interests, political leanings, how proficient they are at Pickle Ball?
Maybe it’s time for all of us to consider the truth from as many different angles as we can.
This weekend, while celebrating Easter and Passover, we have an opportunity to go even further. We can honor our differences and emphasize our commonalities in order to more clearly see the big picture.
Each day in the news cycle, the Ukrainians, stripped of all normalcy, are so vividly demonstrating to the world that which really matters to them:Living peacefully and safely,
surrounded by family and friends,
in a community they love,
doing work and deeds that have valueThat’s the Big Picture.
Today is Good Friday, followed by Easter on Sunday. Today at sundown, is the beginning of Passover. And though we come from different traditions and view our lives through a different lens, our concerns, like the besieged Ukrainians, are universal.
Let’s all remember that.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
– impacted by past events and our present circumstances.
This idea bopped me on the head as I listened to my Calm App one morning as Tamara Levitt related this tale:
Three blind men come across an elephant.
Curious to learn just what an elephant is,
they each put their hand out to touch the animal.
One man touches the elephant’s trunk –
and deduces that the elephant is like a thick snake
One man touches the elephant’s ears –
and deduces that the elephant is like a fan
One man touches the elephant’s thigh –
and deduces the elephant is like a wall
Each man then insists his perspective is the correct one, thus leading to heated arguments.
The three blind men were projecting their perspective – their limited perspective – on the others, only relying on their own sliver of experience.
They were not wrong, but their assumptions were based on just ONE of the elephant’s parts.
How often do we make assumptions about the whole person based on just one part of a person’s being: income, beliefs, wardrobe, career, age, interests, political leanings, how proficient they are at Pickle Ball?
Maybe it’s time for all of us to consider the truth from as many different angles as we can.
This weekend, while celebrating Easter and Passover, we have an opportunity to go even further. We can honor our differences and emphasize our commonalities in order to more clearly see the big picture.
Each day in the news cycle, the Ukrainians, stripped of all normalcy, are so vividly demonstrating to the world that which really matters to them:Living peacefully and safely,
surrounded by family and friends,
in a community they love,
doing work and deeds that have valueThat’s the Big Picture.
Today is Good Friday, followed by Easter on Sunday. Today at sundown, is the beginning of Passover. And though we come from different traditions and view our lives through a different lens, our concerns, like the besieged Ukrainians, are universal.
Let’s all remember that.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,Iris Ruth Pastor
April 8, 2022
Making It Through The Day
The war in the Ukraine rages on.
The photojournalist Heidi Levine is witness to the horrors in Bucha – a town of around 36,000 people, roughly 16 miles from Kyiv.
Her photos report:
Bodies torn from bikes and then shot
Others, with arms tied behind their backs, mercilessly gunned down.
Civilians, living under bombardment for weeks, posing no threats, deliberately targeted and then slaughtered
The “more fortunate,” surviving by hiding in basements, with no cell phone connections, living in complete isolation and fear.
We wring our hands. We watch with horror. We know not what to do.
My friend Leslie forwarded to me the video below last Sunday morning.
VIDEO
I laughed out loud when the video concluded.
It’s been a long time since I have laughed out loud.
It’s soooo funny.
A little girl is left out of the boys’ game.
She makes the best of the situation by being helpful, pleasant and nurturing.
The little boys take her subservience in stride, acknowledging her good deed – without too much enthusiasm – and with a little sprinkle of entitlement.
The little girl, with the utmost of discretion, delivers revenge.
This short little video sports all the elements of great drama encapsulated in mere seconds: pathos, cultural bias, revenge, resolution and HUMOR.
I posted it immediately on Facebook and Instagram. I was shocked by the lack of response. My Facebook posting of the video got 11 likes and my Instagram posting garnered a mere 6 likes.
Why? Are we so enmeshed in the gruesome news that we can’t enjoy a little humor? We aren’t minimizing the horror of the fighting in Europe because we laugh a little.
Once again, I am reminded of the power of HUMOR.
Humor has been found to increase camaraderie. When I tell you a joke that I have found funny, and you laugh at it too, that creates a sense of group intimacy – a “we’re in this together” attitude – a joining of feeling.
Humor elevates the spirit. Study after study show that humor creates a sense of well-being. Humor reduces stress, puts things in proper perspective, takes the edge off and helps us concentrate less on our disappointments, frustrations and woes. Humor boosts the immune system and can lower our blood pressure.
Developing our own sense of humor helps us weather instability and change – helps us find balance in very strange environments and situations that life inevitably creates. It will help us evolve and find a comfortable place for ourselves.
Think of gallows humor. Gallows humor is humor that treats serious, frightening or painful subject matter in a light or satirical way.
The late Joan Rivers once said, “If you can laugh at it, you can deal with it,” in regard to her husband’s suicide.
Gallows humor grows during times of unrest. “Ghoulish banter serves as a common psychological weapon…that’s what people do in situations of extremis when they feel profoundly unnerved,” Judith Matloff wrote in an article titled “In Praise of Gallows Humor.”
So many of us look for positive ways to cope with the unknown, the frightening, the threats to our very civilization and existence.
We tune into mindfulness – living in the moment.
We do yoga in the park at sunset.
We do zoom wine chats.
We learn to breathe calmly when we feel frazzled
But how many of us read the comics daily?
Pass on jokes?
Deliberately hunt for humorous anecdotes and videos?
Let’s start now.
As Viktor Frankl said in his 1946 memoir about his internment in Auschwitz, humor is one of the “soul’s weapons” to transcend despair.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
The photojournalist Heidi Levine is witness to the horrors in Bucha – a town of around 36,000 people, roughly 16 miles from Kyiv.
Her photos report:
Bodies torn from bikes and then shot
Others, with arms tied behind their backs, mercilessly gunned down.
Civilians, living under bombardment for weeks, posing no threats, deliberately targeted and then slaughtered
The “more fortunate,” surviving by hiding in basements, with no cell phone connections, living in complete isolation and fear.
We wring our hands. We watch with horror. We know not what to do.
My friend Leslie forwarded to me the video below last Sunday morning.
VIDEO
I laughed out loud when the video concluded.
It’s been a long time since I have laughed out loud.
It’s soooo funny.
A little girl is left out of the boys’ game.
She makes the best of the situation by being helpful, pleasant and nurturing.
The little boys take her subservience in stride, acknowledging her good deed – without too much enthusiasm – and with a little sprinkle of entitlement.
The little girl, with the utmost of discretion, delivers revenge.
This short little video sports all the elements of great drama encapsulated in mere seconds: pathos, cultural bias, revenge, resolution and HUMOR.
I posted it immediately on Facebook and Instagram. I was shocked by the lack of response. My Facebook posting of the video got 11 likes and my Instagram posting garnered a mere 6 likes.
Why? Are we so enmeshed in the gruesome news that we can’t enjoy a little humor? We aren’t minimizing the horror of the fighting in Europe because we laugh a little.
Once again, I am reminded of the power of HUMOR.
Humor has been found to increase camaraderie. When I tell you a joke that I have found funny, and you laugh at it too, that creates a sense of group intimacy – a “we’re in this together” attitude – a joining of feeling.Humor elevates the spirit. Study after study show that humor creates a sense of well-being. Humor reduces stress, puts things in proper perspective, takes the edge off and helps us concentrate less on our disappointments, frustrations and woes. Humor boosts the immune system and can lower our blood pressure.
Developing our own sense of humor helps us weather instability and change – helps us find balance in very strange environments and situations that life inevitably creates. It will help us evolve and find a comfortable place for ourselves.
Think of gallows humor. Gallows humor is humor that treats serious, frightening or painful subject matter in a light or satirical way.
The late Joan Rivers once said, “If you can laugh at it, you can deal with it,” in regard to her husband’s suicide.
Gallows humor grows during times of unrest. “Ghoulish banter serves as a common psychological weapon…that’s what people do in situations of extremis when they feel profoundly unnerved,” Judith Matloff wrote in an article titled “In Praise of Gallows Humor.”
So many of us look for positive ways to cope with the unknown, the frightening, the threats to our very civilization and existence.
We tune into mindfulness – living in the moment.
We do yoga in the park at sunset.
We do zoom wine chats.
We learn to breathe calmly when we feel frazzled
But how many of us read the comics daily?
Pass on jokes?
Deliberately hunt for humorous anecdotes and videos?
Let’s start now.
As Viktor Frankl said in his 1946 memoir about his internment in Auschwitz, humor is one of the “soul’s weapons” to transcend despair.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
April 6, 2022
War, Routine And 5667 Miles
The headlines scream:
Putin Exploits America’s Fear of Nuclear War
Russia’s Bombardment Grinds On
U.S. Sends Soviet Air Defenses to Ukraine
United States Will Welcome up to 100,000 Ukrainian Refugees
Putin is Targeting Civilians and It’s a War Crime
My routine, however, continues uninterrupted:
8:40 AM: I wake up. Roll over. Grab my iPhone and listen to Tamara Levitt on my Calm app talk about the importance of gratitude.
10 AM: I sit drinking a perfectly brewed cup of coffee from my bright red coffee machine.
10:22 AM: I set up my computer on my screened porch – pausing to notice more blooms on my geranium plants.
10:32 AM: I begin pounding out my weekly column.
2:10 PM: I run a few mundane errands. Check in with a few friends about lunch plans for next week.
4:00 PM: I turn on MSNBC or CNN to catch the headlines, while I plop a frozen chicken into my Instant Pot.
5:20 PM: I go for an hour-long ride on my tricycle, circling the bay.
6:30 PM: Dinner with my husband, discussing whether to add solar powered lights to the front yard shrubs.
7:30 PM: Facetime with my delicious grandchildren.
9:00 PM: I snuggle in front of the big screen TV to binge watch The Gilded Age.
11:30 PM: I take a very hot, very long shower and afterwards I slather on some fabulously smelling lavender body lotion before slipping into my king size bed in my air-conditioned house.
I don’t know DARYA PESHKOVA, but her routine has not gone uninterrupted.
One morning Darya Peshkova hears Russian forces shelling her port city of Mariupol.
A few short days later, her heating, electricity and water go out.
Her food and water supplies dwindle dangerously down.
Her burning question is not what errands to run or what to make for dinner. Her dilemma: Should she leave the city she has lived in for 37 years or steadfastly cling to the hope that “this too will pass”?
She and her husband decide to flee the city with their two young daughters.
They join a convoy of cars leaving the city on “safe routes” agreed upon by the Russian forces. Twenty-five miles later, sixteen rogue gunmen surround their caravan, saying they will only let women and children through – no men.
Darya Peshkova and her husband turn off the engine of their automobile. And wait. And deliberate.
Around dusk, the mayor of a nearby village offers them a place to stay. Is this a trick?
It isn’t.
The whole neighboring village shares whatever they have with the refugee convoy and the next morning the fleeing men find an alternate route to avoid that prior check point.
They begin driving once more. Potholes litter the road, as do rotting corpses, burned-out vehicles and unexploded munitions.
The day wears on – interrupted by Russian war planes opening fire on Ukrainian targets too close for comfort.
Just before nightfall – right about the time my husband and I would be pleasantly finishing up dinner – Darya Peshkova and her family come to a checkpoint sporting a Ukrainian flag. They have made it to safety.
The only difference I notice these days that disrupts my placid, secure routine is the intermittent drone of fighter planes overhead at random times of the day. It’s a reminder that even though Ukraine may be 5667 miles away, MacDill Air Force Base is literally at the end of my street – 3.1 miles from my driveway. The air base is home to 15,000 workers and is the US Central Command and headquarters for the US Special Operations Command. Its presence among the stately homes and old oaks of South Tampa is a vivid reminder that in today’s global world, war is never far from our own backyards. And from our minds, thoughts and hearts.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom, in spite of it all,
Iris Ruth Pastor
For the full article on Darya Peshkova: https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-ukrainian-family-navigates-a-perilous-route-to-escape-besieged-mariupol-11647683744?mod=Searchresults_pos1&page=1
Putin Exploits America’s Fear of Nuclear War
Russia’s Bombardment Grinds On
U.S. Sends Soviet Air Defenses to Ukraine
United States Will Welcome up to 100,000 Ukrainian Refugees
Putin is Targeting Civilians and It’s a War Crime
My routine, however, continues uninterrupted:
8:40 AM: I wake up. Roll over. Grab my iPhone and listen to Tamara Levitt on my Calm app talk about the importance of gratitude.
10 AM: I sit drinking a perfectly brewed cup of coffee from my bright red coffee machine.
10:22 AM: I set up my computer on my screened porch – pausing to notice more blooms on my geranium plants.
10:32 AM: I begin pounding out my weekly column.
2:10 PM: I run a few mundane errands. Check in with a few friends about lunch plans for next week.
4:00 PM: I turn on MSNBC or CNN to catch the headlines, while I plop a frozen chicken into my Instant Pot.
5:20 PM: I go for an hour-long ride on my tricycle, circling the bay.
6:30 PM: Dinner with my husband, discussing whether to add solar powered lights to the front yard shrubs.
7:30 PM: Facetime with my delicious grandchildren.
9:00 PM: I snuggle in front of the big screen TV to binge watch The Gilded Age.
11:30 PM: I take a very hot, very long shower and afterwards I slather on some fabulously smelling lavender body lotion before slipping into my king size bed in my air-conditioned house.
I don’t know DARYA PESHKOVA, but her routine has not gone uninterrupted.
One morning Darya Peshkova hears Russian forces shelling her port city of Mariupol.
A few short days later, her heating, electricity and water go out.
Her food and water supplies dwindle dangerously down.
Her burning question is not what errands to run or what to make for dinner. Her dilemma: Should she leave the city she has lived in for 37 years or steadfastly cling to the hope that “this too will pass”?
She and her husband decide to flee the city with their two young daughters.
They join a convoy of cars leaving the city on “safe routes” agreed upon by the Russian forces. Twenty-five miles later, sixteen rogue gunmen surround their caravan, saying they will only let women and children through – no men.
Darya Peshkova and her husband turn off the engine of their automobile. And wait. And deliberate.
Around dusk, the mayor of a nearby village offers them a place to stay. Is this a trick?
It isn’t.
The whole neighboring village shares whatever they have with the refugee convoy and the next morning the fleeing men find an alternate route to avoid that prior check point.
They begin driving once more. Potholes litter the road, as do rotting corpses, burned-out vehicles and unexploded munitions.
The day wears on – interrupted by Russian war planes opening fire on Ukrainian targets too close for comfort.
Just before nightfall – right about the time my husband and I would be pleasantly finishing up dinner – Darya Peshkova and her family come to a checkpoint sporting a Ukrainian flag. They have made it to safety.
The only difference I notice these days that disrupts my placid, secure routine is the intermittent drone of fighter planes overhead at random times of the day. It’s a reminder that even though Ukraine may be 5667 miles away, MacDill Air Force Base is literally at the end of my street – 3.1 miles from my driveway. The air base is home to 15,000 workers and is the US Central Command and headquarters for the US Special Operations Command. Its presence among the stately homes and old oaks of South Tampa is a vivid reminder that in today’s global world, war is never far from our own backyards. And from our minds, thoughts and hearts.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom, in spite of it all,
Iris Ruth Pastor
For the full article on Darya Peshkova: https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-ukrainian-family-navigates-a-perilous-route-to-escape-besieged-mariupol-11647683744?mod=Searchresults_pos1&page=1
March 25, 2022
Things I Didn’t Know About My Mother
Years after my mom passed away, I found her musings about ordinary days in her life. I thought I knew her well – now I’m not quite so sure.
At age 88, she made a commercial aimed at securing funds for the Art Deco train station in Cincinnati and it passed resoundingly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CdPsYM8tl2Q
She was the mom who entered me in a Sophia Loren lookalike contest, hosted by none other than Jerry Springer. I came in second.
She was the grandmother who entered her grandson, Louie, into the Elvis Presley lookalike contest and he won!
And she was my co-author on my very first book, Slices, Bites and Other Facts of Life where she absolutely refused to both proofread our copy and prepare for interviews by the media – preferring just to “wing it.”
Both of which drove me crazy.
Here is some stuff I didn’t know:
Tuesday, January 22, 2013 9:54pm
After years of being a devoted daughter, loving war bride, busy housewife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, here I am in my too immaculate, too quiet apartment – all alone.
My husband of 68 years passed away and left me without warning. We had made a pact when he finally returned from overseas after World War 2 that we would never be separated again. We stuck to that pact through good times and bad. This is not the way it was supposed to be. I wanted to go first, but now I realize how selfish that would have been on my part.
In my generation, the wife took care of the home and the children. The husband was responsible for bringing home the bacon, so to speak. Nothing more. Consequently, my husband couldn’t boil water, no less prepare a meal for himself. He never learned how to work the washer or dryer or heaven forbid – sleep alone – without me beside him. What would have become of him, I wonder?
Sunday, January 27, 2013 10:0am
It’s Sunday morning and I overslept. Usually I’m up and about by 7:30. I jumped out of bed too fast and became dizzy, but caught myself before I took a fall. Ah, these golden years! As Bette Davis said, “Old age ain’t for sissies.”
Why am I feeling guilty about sleeping late? It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me, nor am I on a timetable anymore. I am responsible only for myself and I find that unbearable to comprehend.
Friday, February 6, 2015 12:15pm
Like my daughter, Iris, I always feel better when I write. This is about my son-in-law’s mother, Hotche Pastor, on her upcoming 90th birthday:
Never thought the pretty little girl
that I waved to in the halls of Hughes
would someday ease my “family” blues.
Many years later, she and Herb walked into my life,
when Steven and Iris became man and wife.
Finally, I have a family of my own.
Never again would I feel alone.
Through sorrow and joy, her and her family were there,
standing beside me with loving care.
Holiday dinners, reunions and bar mitzvahs galore –
all a part of what families are for.
So here’s to your birthday, wishing you many more –
Filled with health, happiness and much love in store.
Your loving “sister,”
Bev
Hotche, on left, and Bev, on the right.
March 16, 2016 3:32pm
Came home from the hospital all strung out.
When will I ever be up and about?
Nurses and aids doing their best
to keep up with my every request.
At 89, my knee went out of commission.
I called 9-1-1 – a wise decision.
After 10 painful days of TLC,
here I am fighting the battle of the knee.
Therapy hurts and I’m dizzy as well.
They tell me I’m lucky I never fell.
With all this attention and excellent care,
maybe I won’t need a wheel chair.
I can handle a walker. That might be good
if only the knee will behave as it should.
Saturday, April 30, 2016 4:01pm
Another lonely, empty day.
My family is scattered all over the country.
I’ve gone back to painting flowers on small canvases
And giving them to people I know.
It seems to make them happy.
And it makes me happy too.
Friday, June 16, 2017 2:30pm
Unable to fly, so I gaze at the sky from afar,
thankful I’ve got keys and can still drive my car.
Don’t hear as well as I’d like,
and my legs fold at the thought of a hike.
I remember things I’d sooner forget,
and forget to remember what I came to get.
More time with my kids, this they can’t give,
yet they are the very reason I want to live.
When my time is up, I’ll be ready to go
but while I’m here, I want you to know
I earned every wrinkle and each gray hair.
And at 90, I still really care.
To my precious family and very dear friends,
I have this to say:
Thanks for the ride.
It’s been a trip all the way.
Thursday, January 11, 2018 3:35pm
A people watcher at heart am I,
watching everyone hurrying by.
Here I am in this huge mall,
remembering when it was very small.
The shops were few, but quite unique
from modern and clever to old and antique.
It wasn’t as crowded as it is today,
a safer area for the children to play.
Nothing is as it used to be.
Well, neither am I. Just look at me.
Sitting here like a lump on a log,
I can hardly walk, no less jog.
Our next generation, in plain sight,
energetic and so very bright.
Contented I’ll be when laid to rest
that I leave the future to the very best.
In good hands, from what I see today,
to love and protect our USA.
Friday, January 19, 2018 5:42pm
Meanwhile, I try to survive one day at a time.
“Mourn not for what you don’t have, but rejoice in what you do have.” I don’t know where I heard it, but it works for me when I’m having a bad day.
And like my daughter Iris says, “keep coping.”
And I’ll also “Keep Preserving My Bloom” – although it’s pretty damn faded by now.
My mother passed away as she wished to go:
On her 91st birthday
Surrounded by those she loved
and those who loved her,
and free of pain.
That’s all, folks,
Iris Ruth Pastor
At age 88, she made a commercial aimed at securing funds for the Art Deco train station in Cincinnati and it passed resoundingly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CdPsYM8tl2Q
She was the mom who entered me in a Sophia Loren lookalike contest, hosted by none other than Jerry Springer. I came in second.
She was the grandmother who entered her grandson, Louie, into the Elvis Presley lookalike contest and he won!
And she was my co-author on my very first book, Slices, Bites and Other Facts of Life where she absolutely refused to both proofread our copy and prepare for interviews by the media – preferring just to “wing it.”
Both of which drove me crazy.
Here is some stuff I didn’t know:
Tuesday, January 22, 2013 9:54pm
After years of being a devoted daughter, loving war bride, busy housewife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, here I am in my too immaculate, too quiet apartment – all alone.
My husband of 68 years passed away and left me without warning. We had made a pact when he finally returned from overseas after World War 2 that we would never be separated again. We stuck to that pact through good times and bad. This is not the way it was supposed to be. I wanted to go first, but now I realize how selfish that would have been on my part.
In my generation, the wife took care of the home and the children. The husband was responsible for bringing home the bacon, so to speak. Nothing more. Consequently, my husband couldn’t boil water, no less prepare a meal for himself. He never learned how to work the washer or dryer or heaven forbid – sleep alone – without me beside him. What would have become of him, I wonder?
Sunday, January 27, 2013 10:0am
It’s Sunday morning and I overslept. Usually I’m up and about by 7:30. I jumped out of bed too fast and became dizzy, but caught myself before I took a fall. Ah, these golden years! As Bette Davis said, “Old age ain’t for sissies.”
Why am I feeling guilty about sleeping late? It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me, nor am I on a timetable anymore. I am responsible only for myself and I find that unbearable to comprehend.
Friday, February 6, 2015 12:15pm
Like my daughter, Iris, I always feel better when I write. This is about my son-in-law’s mother, Hotche Pastor, on her upcoming 90th birthday:
Never thought the pretty little girl
that I waved to in the halls of Hughes
would someday ease my “family” blues.
Many years later, she and Herb walked into my life,
when Steven and Iris became man and wife.
Finally, I have a family of my own.
Never again would I feel alone.
Through sorrow and joy, her and her family were there,
standing beside me with loving care.
Holiday dinners, reunions and bar mitzvahs galore –
all a part of what families are for.
So here’s to your birthday, wishing you many more –
Filled with health, happiness and much love in store.
Your loving “sister,”
Bev
Hotche, on left, and Bev, on the right. March 16, 2016 3:32pm
Came home from the hospital all strung out.
When will I ever be up and about?
Nurses and aids doing their best
to keep up with my every request.
At 89, my knee went out of commission.
I called 9-1-1 – a wise decision.
After 10 painful days of TLC,
here I am fighting the battle of the knee.
Therapy hurts and I’m dizzy as well.
They tell me I’m lucky I never fell.
With all this attention and excellent care,
maybe I won’t need a wheel chair.
I can handle a walker. That might be good
if only the knee will behave as it should.
Saturday, April 30, 2016 4:01pm
Another lonely, empty day.
My family is scattered all over the country.
I’ve gone back to painting flowers on small canvases
And giving them to people I know.
It seems to make them happy.
And it makes me happy too.
Friday, June 16, 2017 2:30pm
Unable to fly, so I gaze at the sky from afar,
thankful I’ve got keys and can still drive my car.
Don’t hear as well as I’d like,
and my legs fold at the thought of a hike.
I remember things I’d sooner forget,
and forget to remember what I came to get.
More time with my kids, this they can’t give,
yet they are the very reason I want to live.
When my time is up, I’ll be ready to go
but while I’m here, I want you to know
I earned every wrinkle and each gray hair.
And at 90, I still really care.
To my precious family and very dear friends,
I have this to say:
Thanks for the ride.
It’s been a trip all the way.
Thursday, January 11, 2018 3:35pm
A people watcher at heart am I,
watching everyone hurrying by.
Here I am in this huge mall,
remembering when it was very small.
The shops were few, but quite unique
from modern and clever to old and antique.
It wasn’t as crowded as it is today,
a safer area for the children to play.
Nothing is as it used to be.
Well, neither am I. Just look at me.
Sitting here like a lump on a log,
I can hardly walk, no less jog.
Our next generation, in plain sight,
energetic and so very bright.
Contented I’ll be when laid to rest
that I leave the future to the very best.
In good hands, from what I see today,
to love and protect our USA.
Friday, January 19, 2018 5:42pm
Meanwhile, I try to survive one day at a time.
“Mourn not for what you don’t have, but rejoice in what you do have.” I don’t know where I heard it, but it works for me when I’m having a bad day.
And like my daughter Iris says, “keep coping.”
And I’ll also “Keep Preserving My Bloom” – although it’s pretty damn faded by now.
My mother passed away as she wished to go:
On her 91st birthday
Surrounded by those she loved
and those who loved her,
and free of pain.
That’s all, folks,
Iris Ruth Pastor
March 18, 2022
Life Lessons From My Mom
The desk is in my family room,I pass it at least 100 times a day.
And the green plastic folder was in plain sight.
It was labeled “Beverly’s Writings” – thoughts my mother penned through the years.
But, somehow, I never thought to explore its contents
until one rainy, cold Saturday afternoon.
And I am very glad I did.
My mother always intensely hated being an only child. Perhaps this is why… LITTLE JOE It was a difficult birth on this cold, wintery night
Prayers were answered when all went right
At last, a dark haired, beautiful baby boy
They named him Joseph, this long-awaited bundle of joy
Oh, how complete their young lives seemed
Happier than they ever dreamed
His life span wasn’t long
Sic days later he was gone
Not a day goes by that I don’t mourn
For my brother, who died before I was born. On meeting my dad…. COUNTING MY BLESSINGS For us, it was love at first sight
That long, long ago, cool summer night
The second World War was raging on starts in the windows for the boys who were gone
Ration stamps, shortages at home, being sent to our servicemen overseas
Telegraph boys – don’t stop at my house, please!
After years of waiting for the war to cease
My Army Air Corp hero returned to a world at peace
It was a struggle adjusting to domestic life
We were so young to be man and wife
I was 17, he was 21, and I count my blessings every day
For the 68 years we shared before he passed away
When she was 20, my mom gave birth to me and over the years, our nuclear family grew with the birth of my brother and sister.
My mother used her writing skills to also pay tribute to those she loved. Tribute to Ethel is about the cleaning lady we shared for years, hailing from the hills of Kentucky, deep in Appalachia, with little education. She was innately brighter than both of us.
Tribute to Ethel I find myself waiting for Ethel to open the door
As she has done so many times before
Together, coffee in hand, two old friends of forty years
Her words of wisdom, like music to my ears
And the down-home cures that I now know
Will heal anything from head to toe
The delicious buckeye balls and heavenly fudge that Ethel made
The essence of those Christmas delights will not fade
Rest in place, my loving friend,
And know that my memories of you will never end.
My mother spent many holidays by herself growing up because both her parents were florists who worked tremendously long hours. As an adult, she was very inclusive. Every Thanksgiving, she invited not just her family, but anyone else who she knew would be alone. Our Thanksgivings were large, wild, rambunctious affairs.
Savor The Moment
Dishes stacked high, but it doesn’t matter
Remnants of food on every platter
Toys scattered here and there
Disarray everywhere
The laughter loud and spits high
How blessed we are, I think with a sigh
The family’s together, recalling the past
My, oh my, time passes so fast
After the clutter and toys are stored away
We will always remember this Thanksgiving Day.
My mom is no longer with us to enjoy the long Thanksgiving weekend, but in her memory, we party hearty.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,Iris Ruth Pastor
And the green plastic folder was in plain sight.It was labeled “Beverly’s Writings” – thoughts my mother penned through the years.
But, somehow, I never thought to explore its contents
until one rainy, cold Saturday afternoon.
And I am very glad I did.
My mother always intensely hated being an only child. Perhaps this is why… LITTLE JOE It was a difficult birth on this cold, wintery night
Prayers were answered when all went right
At last, a dark haired, beautiful baby boy
They named him Joseph, this long-awaited bundle of joy
Oh, how complete their young lives seemed
Happier than they ever dreamed
His life span wasn’t long
Sic days later he was gone
Not a day goes by that I don’t mourn
For my brother, who died before I was born. On meeting my dad…. COUNTING MY BLESSINGS For us, it was love at first sight
That long, long ago, cool summer night
The second World War was raging on starts in the windows for the boys who were gone
Ration stamps, shortages at home, being sent to our servicemen overseas
Telegraph boys – don’t stop at my house, please!
After years of waiting for the war to cease
My Army Air Corp hero returned to a world at peace
It was a struggle adjusting to domestic life
We were so young to be man and wife
I was 17, he was 21, and I count my blessings every day
For the 68 years we shared before he passed away
When she was 20, my mom gave birth to me and over the years, our nuclear family grew with the birth of my brother and sister.My mother used her writing skills to also pay tribute to those she loved. Tribute to Ethel is about the cleaning lady we shared for years, hailing from the hills of Kentucky, deep in Appalachia, with little education. She was innately brighter than both of us. Tribute to Ethel I find myself waiting for Ethel to open the door
As she has done so many times before
Together, coffee in hand, two old friends of forty years
Her words of wisdom, like music to my ears
And the down-home cures that I now know
Will heal anything from head to toe
The delicious buckeye balls and heavenly fudge that Ethel made
The essence of those Christmas delights will not fade
Rest in place, my loving friend,
And know that my memories of you will never end.
My mother spent many holidays by herself growing up because both her parents were florists who worked tremendously long hours. As an adult, she was very inclusive. Every Thanksgiving, she invited not just her family, but anyone else who she knew would be alone. Our Thanksgivings were large, wild, rambunctious affairs.
Savor The Moment
Dishes stacked high, but it doesn’t matterRemnants of food on every platter
Toys scattered here and there
Disarray everywhere
The laughter loud and spits high
How blessed we are, I think with a sigh
The family’s together, recalling the past
My, oh my, time passes so fast
After the clutter and toys are stored away
We will always remember this Thanksgiving Day.
My mom is no longer with us to enjoy the long Thanksgiving weekend, but in her memory, we party hearty.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,Iris Ruth Pastor
March 11, 2022
My Terror Meter Is Vibrating Like Crazy
My sister and her husband just spent a week with my husband and me at our home. They left yesterday morning.
Due to her “influence,” my closet is fuller with more stuff that I have few occasions to wear.
My checking account balance is lower due to buying more stuff I have few occasions to wear.
And my weight, when I finally work up the nerve to gingerly step on my digital scale, is showing a steady northward trajectory due to her “influence.”
Just like we did at the outset of COVID, we also spent hours sitting on the family room couch, eyes glued to the television screen, anxiously awaiting each bit of breaking news on the Ukrainian situation.
Just like we did at the outset of COVID, we also began realizing that in spite of the crisis, life must go on. I rescheduled my previously cancelled dentist appointment. I took careful inventory of my supply of toilet tissue as news of shortages were beginning to trickle in along with daily updates on the number of new Covid cases state by state. I gradually pulled myself away from watching the 24-hour news cycle and began adjusting to the new reality of mask wearing, curtailed activities and remote living.
It’s kinda the same now. Except I can’t stop watching TV. I can’t face the fact that our reality is being drastically altered.
And every day, my terror meter is vibrating like crazy as I watch the carnage and the indiscriminate bombing. It seems to me that the Russians want to kill as many civilians as possible. It is unrelenting.
It’s March, 2022. Gas prices are climbing precipitously higher daily. Average Ukrainian citizens, who just a few short weeks ago were living normal lives, are now refugees fleeing their bomb wracked neighborhoods – leaving loved ones and belongings behind. Others are choosing to stay and defend their streets, their city, their country, while food shortages prevail and danger lurks around every corner.
I don’t know what the answer is.
It’s all so complicated.
Institute a no-fly zone over Ukraine?
Supply Ukraine with planes?
Continue with harsher economic sanctions against Russia?
Pray Putin will come to his senses and stop the plundering?
I gleaned a new word from one of my sons this week: SANGUINE. It’s an adjective that means remaining optimistic or positive in the midst of an apparently difficult or bad situation. For example: He is sanguine about prospects for global peace.
I like to think I am sanguine, but as the carnage mounts, the number of casualties climb, and more buildings are bombed, my spirits are sagging.
Yes.
I’m writing my Congress people expressing my views.
I’m donating money to carefully selected organizations providing aid and comfort to the citizens of Ukraine.
I’m still incessantly watching the news – switching from one station to another at commercial breaks.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed that world leaders can find a way to stop Putin’s madness without igniting the spark that starts a higher and more deadly escalation of hostilities.
I’m keeping a close eye on new and dire developments within the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant the Russians have seized.
I’m praying for a return to normalcy for the Ukrainian leaders and their people and I’m praying for world peace and survival for us all.
I’ve said it before.
I’m saying it again.
Let’s all follow British Prime Minister Sir Winston Churchill’s advice during the darkest days of the Second World War:
WHEN YOU’RE GOING THROUGH HELL, KEEP GOING.
And Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
March 4, 2022
This Week’s Newsletter Message Got Up-Ended
I was going to write about what is wrong with me.
Why, at age 74, I’m not quite as motivated to go after new endeavors as I was just a decade ago – such as increasing the number of my Instagram followers and pursuing speaking opportunities now that COVID restrictions are eased.
I was going to write about the very insightful book I read by Arthur Brooks entitled From Strength to Strength.
One reviewer wrote that Arthur Brooks is “one of the few intellectuals who can reliably weave scientific research and everyday observations into what we all really need: succinct advice for a good life.” After reading that short review, I couldn’t resist binge reading all 217 pages – eagerly looking forward to penning numerous newsletter posts on the fascinating subject of turning declining cognitive strengths into assets and opportunities as we age.
But then real life got in the way and Putin invaded the Ukraine.
Brooks spends a ton of time citing examples of great innovators making magnificent strides in their fields early in their careers and then unable to duplicate their success as they age – and not for lack of trying. Often these super stars experience, as they age, diminished raw smarts and higher levels of distractibility. Fortunately, many, to compensate, gain wisdom and how to use that wisdom wisely.
I was going to try to tie Brooks’ well substantiated observations to the hideous situation in the Ukraine. However, my computer keyboard does not readily pound out political pontifications. And my comfort zone is writing about what I know, not what I don’t know. And I don’t know governmental policies, geographical boundaries and European history.
In high school, when I should have been learning about the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, I was focused on wearing down my mother so that she would finally allow me to shave my very hairy legs – in order to be more alluring to Richard Newhauser – who sat next to me in Algebra 1 class.
And then there was the Fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 – kinda missed that benchmark event too – five kids and keeping up with them, their activities and their lack of follow through on homework assignments left little time for current events and world crises.
So I hesitated to write a column on something so serious – so consequential – as the Ukrainian invasion by Russia.
And then it all came together when I heard pundits and newscasters alluding to Putin’s mental state and stability.
Pondering his grip on reality.
Is he unhinged? Is his mental acuity diminished?
Or is he just pretending to lesser mental faculties to unnerve the West and appear as irrational?
Putin is 69 years old. He is the president of Russia, a position he has filled since 2012, and previously from 1999 until 2008. He was also the prime minister from 1999 to 2000, and again from 2008 to 2012. Even though holding such powerful positions, I certainly wouldn’t consider him a super star and he is obviously not utilizing any late life wisdom.
Did he really think the world would stand by while he initiates a pre-meditated and unprovoked attack on the Ukraine?
Did he really think NATO and the West wouldn’t respond when his military hammers civilian targets and missiles pummel Ukrainian cities?
When 1000’s of Ukrainian citizens are being killed?
When women and children flee the country – unsure when or if they will see their loved ones again?
I think Putin is suffering from striver fatigue. He needs to go quietly into the night and let more rational minds prevail. I think Arthur Brooks would agree.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom and Pray for Peace,
Iris Ruth Pastor
Why, at age 74, I’m not quite as motivated to go after new endeavors as I was just a decade ago – such as increasing the number of my Instagram followers and pursuing speaking opportunities now that COVID restrictions are eased.
I was going to write about the very insightful book I read by Arthur Brooks entitled From Strength to Strength.
One reviewer wrote that Arthur Brooks is “one of the few intellectuals who can reliably weave scientific research and everyday observations into what we all really need: succinct advice for a good life.” After reading that short review, I couldn’t resist binge reading all 217 pages – eagerly looking forward to penning numerous newsletter posts on the fascinating subject of turning declining cognitive strengths into assets and opportunities as we age.
But then real life got in the way and Putin invaded the Ukraine.
Brooks spends a ton of time citing examples of great innovators making magnificent strides in their fields early in their careers and then unable to duplicate their success as they age – and not for lack of trying. Often these super stars experience, as they age, diminished raw smarts and higher levels of distractibility. Fortunately, many, to compensate, gain wisdom and how to use that wisdom wisely.
I was going to try to tie Brooks’ well substantiated observations to the hideous situation in the Ukraine. However, my computer keyboard does not readily pound out political pontifications. And my comfort zone is writing about what I know, not what I don’t know. And I don’t know governmental policies, geographical boundaries and European history.
In high school, when I should have been learning about the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, I was focused on wearing down my mother so that she would finally allow me to shave my very hairy legs – in order to be more alluring to Richard Newhauser – who sat next to me in Algebra 1 class.
And then there was the Fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 – kinda missed that benchmark event too – five kids and keeping up with them, their activities and their lack of follow through on homework assignments left little time for current events and world crises.
So I hesitated to write a column on something so serious – so consequential – as the Ukrainian invasion by Russia.
And then it all came together when I heard pundits and newscasters alluding to Putin’s mental state and stability.
Pondering his grip on reality.
Is he unhinged? Is his mental acuity diminished?
Or is he just pretending to lesser mental faculties to unnerve the West and appear as irrational?
Putin is 69 years old. He is the president of Russia, a position he has filled since 2012, and previously from 1999 until 2008. He was also the prime minister from 1999 to 2000, and again from 2008 to 2012. Even though holding such powerful positions, I certainly wouldn’t consider him a super star and he is obviously not utilizing any late life wisdom.
Did he really think the world would stand by while he initiates a pre-meditated and unprovoked attack on the Ukraine?
Did he really think NATO and the West wouldn’t respond when his military hammers civilian targets and missiles pummel Ukrainian cities?
When 1000’s of Ukrainian citizens are being killed?
When women and children flee the country – unsure when or if they will see their loved ones again?
I think Putin is suffering from striver fatigue. He needs to go quietly into the night and let more rational minds prevail. I think Arthur Brooks would agree.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom and Pray for Peace,
Iris Ruth Pastor
February 25, 2022
It’s All My Best Friend’s Cousin’s Fault
It’s all my best friend’s cousin’s fault
She came to visit my friend and insisted giving my friend lessons on her favorite new gadget: an Instant Pot.
And my friend insisted I share in the experience.
Part of me loves learning new things.
The other part? Totally resistant to venturing out of my comfort zone.
Early one morning, in anticipation of my first lesson, I order an Instant Pot from Amazon. Three hours later, I hear a thud on my front porch and see the retreating back of an Amazon truck pulling away. To my utter surprise, my Instant Pot had arrived. I had no excuse to beg off the lessons.
Geez. My friend’s cousin is a taskmaster. I would have preferred starting off with throwing a sack of frozen veggies in the pot and marveling at the one-minute cooking time. That didn’t happen. We started in immediately with a more daunting culinary tutorial:
Chicken Soup.
Here is the recipe:
Whole organic 5lb chicken, frozen
6 large carrots
1 yellow onion
4 sticks of celery
1 T. Minced garlic
Kosher salt and pepper
1 T. dried parsley
2-32 oz. cartons of chicken stockRemove plastic from frozen** chicken and place on trivet in the Instant Pot; add 1 c water to the bottom of the pot. Close lid, turn valve so there is no venting and cook at HIGH pressure for 65 minutes (13 min per pound)Chop celery, carrots, onion and mince the garlic.When Chicken is done, “natural release” for 15 minutes; remove chicken to a large cutting board and let cool. Remove the chicken from the bones and chop the chicken into bite size pieces.Wipe out bottom of the pot; add a tablespoon of Avocado Oil and set pot to sauté. Add all the chopped vegetables, salt and pepper and stir for 2 minutes. Add Chicken broth, parsley and cut up chicken back into pot. Set the pot on High Pressure for 2 minutes and “quick release”.
** If using thawed chicken, cook 8 min per pound
Cook’s Notes: If you would like to add noodles, cook them separately and add before serving. Use more of broth.
The Chicken Soup was delicious. Even better the next day.
If you can’t mooch off friends’ and relatives’ Instant Pot experiences/recipes, heed this site:
https://www.sixsistersstuff.com/10-things-to-never-do-with-your-instant-pot-instant-pot-tips/
I found some a very informative, hands-on video for those of us who need constant and repeated instruction and hand-holding when learning something new:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXAd9BYDPJQ
When you get tired of roasts and casseroles, and feel like venturing into the unknown with your Instant Pot:
https://thesaltypot.com/weird-wacky-and-delicious-instant-pot-ideas/
Happy Instant Potting and Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
PS The most important link is this one – on safety precautions:
https://www.cnet.com/home/kitchen-and-household/safety-tips-every-instant-pot-owner-should-know/
She came to visit my friend and insisted giving my friend lessons on her favorite new gadget: an Instant Pot.
And my friend insisted I share in the experience.
Part of me loves learning new things.
The other part? Totally resistant to venturing out of my comfort zone.
Early one morning, in anticipation of my first lesson, I order an Instant Pot from Amazon. Three hours later, I hear a thud on my front porch and see the retreating back of an Amazon truck pulling away. To my utter surprise, my Instant Pot had arrived. I had no excuse to beg off the lessons.
Geez. My friend’s cousin is a taskmaster. I would have preferred starting off with throwing a sack of frozen veggies in the pot and marveling at the one-minute cooking time. That didn’t happen. We started in immediately with a more daunting culinary tutorial:
Chicken Soup.
Here is the recipe:
Whole organic 5lb chicken, frozen
6 large carrots
1 yellow onion
4 sticks of celery
1 T. Minced garlic
Kosher salt and pepper
1 T. dried parsley
2-32 oz. cartons of chicken stockRemove plastic from frozen** chicken and place on trivet in the Instant Pot; add 1 c water to the bottom of the pot. Close lid, turn valve so there is no venting and cook at HIGH pressure for 65 minutes (13 min per pound)Chop celery, carrots, onion and mince the garlic.When Chicken is done, “natural release” for 15 minutes; remove chicken to a large cutting board and let cool. Remove the chicken from the bones and chop the chicken into bite size pieces.Wipe out bottom of the pot; add a tablespoon of Avocado Oil and set pot to sauté. Add all the chopped vegetables, salt and pepper and stir for 2 minutes. Add Chicken broth, parsley and cut up chicken back into pot. Set the pot on High Pressure for 2 minutes and “quick release”.
** If using thawed chicken, cook 8 min per pound
Cook’s Notes: If you would like to add noodles, cook them separately and add before serving. Use more of broth.
The Chicken Soup was delicious. Even better the next day.
If you can’t mooch off friends’ and relatives’ Instant Pot experiences/recipes, heed this site:
https://www.sixsistersstuff.com/10-things-to-never-do-with-your-instant-pot-instant-pot-tips/
I found some a very informative, hands-on video for those of us who need constant and repeated instruction and hand-holding when learning something new:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXAd9BYDPJQ
When you get tired of roasts and casseroles, and feel like venturing into the unknown with your Instant Pot:
https://thesaltypot.com/weird-wacky-and-delicious-instant-pot-ideas/
Happy Instant Potting and Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
PS The most important link is this one – on safety precautions:
https://www.cnet.com/home/kitchen-and-household/safety-tips-every-instant-pot-owner-should-know/
February 18, 2022
Is There Anyone Out There That Feels Like Me?
This Valentine’s Day marks ten years since I stopped purging – since the ravages of bulimia ruled my life.
I have spent the last decade normalizing my eating, which also, for me, entailed finding a way to keeping my weight within in a reasonable range. Hence, I bought into the diet mentality.
I’m hardly alone. According to the CDC, nearly half of American adults attempt to lose weight each year. I assume they are all looking for the secret formula to shedding those unwanted pounds.
Wanna hear something funny?My husband and I went out to dinner last summer with a couple we hadn’t seen in over a year. The husband is a retired physician. I noticed he had dropped a lot of weight.
Bursting with curiosity, I brazenly asked him his secret.
“I stopped eating so much,” he replied simply.
“That’s it?” I screeched in disbelief.
“That’s it,” he reassured me.
Obviously, for most of us, it’s not quite that easy. Just think about the millions of people who turn to popular weight loss programs and pay big bucks to aid in the scale’s southward decline.
I turned to Weight Watchers Weight Watchers is a global company that offers weight loss and maintenance plans. WW helped me figure out portion control and aided me in identifying when I was actually hungry, as opposed to when I was just bored, restless or frustrated.
Here’s a trick I learned at one of my Weight Watcher weekly meetings on the topic of gauging hunger: If you are truly physically hungry, you will crave biting into a big juicy red apple. Otherwise, you are responding to other non-biological cues.
And then came NOOM
Noom is a psychology-approach app that helps people make behavioral changes in order to live healthier lives. Noom taught me a lot too.
I learned that an effective way to combat thought distortions is recognizing the danger of all or nothing thinking . Example: “I ate an enormous lunch today; I’ll never be able to improve my eating.”
Noom raised the bar on my awareness of delusional thinking – convincing myself of something to justify a decision. Example: “This small sliver of cake doesn’t really count.”
Noom made me more mindful of exaggerated thinking – making a situation into something bigger than it is. Example: “I had a donut for breakfast, so my entire day is ruined.”
I’ve also learned about healthy substitutes:
Craving cheesecake?
Dip some fruit in low-fat Greek yogurt, then freeze it for at least 1 hour for an icy treat.
Fixated on Crème brûlée?
Split a ripe banana lengthwise, broil for 4 minutes, and watch the natural sugars caramelize.
Zoning out over apple pie? Toss a diced apple in cinnamon, then sauté it in a nonstick pan until soft.
And when that doesn’t work?
I’ve learned to give into the craving! No one ever got fat from wolfing down one slice of pizza, one chocolate chip cookie or one slice of carrot cake – even when slathered in velvety cream cheese frosting.
And then there are TriggersEek! All kinds of triggers:
Environmental – just seeing or smelling food can cause me to eat the mound of caramels in my beautiful ceramic bowl, next to my family room couch or the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream languishing too prominently in my freezer.
Emotional – a positive or negative feeling that causes me to eat. Examples include mindlessly eating for comfort when I am angry, lonely, sad or even happy and excited.
Mental – anything in my mind that causes me to eat. Examples include reading a description about food or even thinking about a favorite food – mac and cheese or a biscuit smothered in butter.
It took a long time for me to identify triggers, but once I did, I removed the caramels from the family room and stashed the ice cream in the back of the freezer.
One of my biggest accomplishments over the last ten years has been centered on learning to enjoy and savor both food and its preparation. I’m back to baking banana bread and experimenting with making chicken soup in my new Instant Pot.
I know many people tie their self-worth to the number on the scale. Where the needle falls each morning that I step on my digital scale (religiously at 9am) still impacts my mood, but not my self-esteem. It determines how much I will eat during that day. Period.
It no longer colors my self-image.
It no longer impacts my mastery over both emotional and mindless eating.
It no longer curtails my social life.
It no longer diminishes my great pride in having overcome a demon that I never thought I could eradicate from my life: BULIMIA.
Is There Anyone Out There That Feels Like Me?
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
I have spent the last decade normalizing my eating, which also, for me, entailed finding a way to keeping my weight within in a reasonable range. Hence, I bought into the diet mentality.
I’m hardly alone. According to the CDC, nearly half of American adults attempt to lose weight each year. I assume they are all looking for the secret formula to shedding those unwanted pounds.
Wanna hear something funny?My husband and I went out to dinner last summer with a couple we hadn’t seen in over a year. The husband is a retired physician. I noticed he had dropped a lot of weight.
Bursting with curiosity, I brazenly asked him his secret.
“I stopped eating so much,” he replied simply.
“That’s it?” I screeched in disbelief.
“That’s it,” he reassured me.
Obviously, for most of us, it’s not quite that easy. Just think about the millions of people who turn to popular weight loss programs and pay big bucks to aid in the scale’s southward decline.
I turned to Weight Watchers Weight Watchers is a global company that offers weight loss and maintenance plans. WW helped me figure out portion control and aided me in identifying when I was actually hungry, as opposed to when I was just bored, restless or frustrated.
Here’s a trick I learned at one of my Weight Watcher weekly meetings on the topic of gauging hunger: If you are truly physically hungry, you will crave biting into a big juicy red apple. Otherwise, you are responding to other non-biological cues.
And then came NOOM
Noom is a psychology-approach app that helps people make behavioral changes in order to live healthier lives. Noom taught me a lot too.
I learned that an effective way to combat thought distortions is recognizing the danger of all or nothing thinking . Example: “I ate an enormous lunch today; I’ll never be able to improve my eating.”
Noom raised the bar on my awareness of delusional thinking – convincing myself of something to justify a decision. Example: “This small sliver of cake doesn’t really count.”
Noom made me more mindful of exaggerated thinking – making a situation into something bigger than it is. Example: “I had a donut for breakfast, so my entire day is ruined.”
I’ve also learned about healthy substitutes:
Craving cheesecake?
Dip some fruit in low-fat Greek yogurt, then freeze it for at least 1 hour for an icy treat.
Fixated on Crème brûlée?
Split a ripe banana lengthwise, broil for 4 minutes, and watch the natural sugars caramelize.
Zoning out over apple pie? Toss a diced apple in cinnamon, then sauté it in a nonstick pan until soft.
And when that doesn’t work?
I’ve learned to give into the craving! No one ever got fat from wolfing down one slice of pizza, one chocolate chip cookie or one slice of carrot cake – even when slathered in velvety cream cheese frosting.
And then there are TriggersEek! All kinds of triggers:
Environmental – just seeing or smelling food can cause me to eat the mound of caramels in my beautiful ceramic bowl, next to my family room couch or the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream languishing too prominently in my freezer.
Emotional – a positive or negative feeling that causes me to eat. Examples include mindlessly eating for comfort when I am angry, lonely, sad or even happy and excited.
Mental – anything in my mind that causes me to eat. Examples include reading a description about food or even thinking about a favorite food – mac and cheese or a biscuit smothered in butter.
It took a long time for me to identify triggers, but once I did, I removed the caramels from the family room and stashed the ice cream in the back of the freezer.
One of my biggest accomplishments over the last ten years has been centered on learning to enjoy and savor both food and its preparation. I’m back to baking banana bread and experimenting with making chicken soup in my new Instant Pot.
I know many people tie their self-worth to the number on the scale. Where the needle falls each morning that I step on my digital scale (religiously at 9am) still impacts my mood, but not my self-esteem. It determines how much I will eat during that day. Period.
It no longer colors my self-image.
It no longer impacts my mastery over both emotional and mindless eating.
It no longer curtails my social life.
It no longer diminishes my great pride in having overcome a demon that I never thought I could eradicate from my life: BULIMIA.
Is There Anyone Out There That Feels Like Me?
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
