Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 50

Sometimes being a “talker” has nothing to do with talking

I walked into Zumba class at our local Y last night and found my spot on the studio floor. Just in front of me was a woman I’d never seen before, but I smiled, said hello, and asked if this was, in fact, a Zumba class since it was normally not in this  particular time slot. And then the floodgates of a one-sided conversation opened.

This lovely woman told me about her exercise regimen, her struggles to lose weight, and all sorts of unrelated things. She was especially excited about the possibility that her boyfriend, who is in the military, might receive a special honor for his volunteer service. She told me about him, about the fancy dinner she’ll get to go to if it happens, about the dress in her closet she really, really wants to fit into in time for this gala, and about the mani-pedi she plans to get as a special treat. I was the first person she told about all this, she said. I stood there, nodding, offering an occasional, “that’s great,” and smiling.

Later that evening, as I was driving home I thought about this woman and why she had decided to tell a perfect stranger about the details of her personal life as if we’d known each other for years. I realized it has everything to do with my being a “talker,” despite the fact that I wasn’t the one  doing the talking. And I’m noticing this more and more lately.

I love to tell stories, but, just as much, I love to hear stories. I love to meet people and figure out what makes them tick. I think people can sense that when they meet a talker. Whether it’s the smile or my willingness to speak at all to a total stranger in the first place, they sense that they are safe, that they can say what they want and the other person will take it all in.

I think it has something to do with being willing to let your guard down first, and that just seems to be the way I was hardwired. In conversations, in books, in columns, in blog posts, I am wiling to be vulnerable and open and honest. That doesn’t always work in my favor, but most of the time it does. Most of the time it puts me in contact with people I might otherwise never meet or never get to know, and what a loss that would be. My life is richer and fuller, I think, because I am willing to talk — to the person bagging my groceries, to the woman checking me in at the doctor’s office, to the guy in the elevator at the New York Public Library, to friends in real life and on Facebook.

For most of my life I have taken the self-deprecating approach to my chattiness. Knowing that people tend to comment on it and not like it, I always go with the best-defense-is-a-good-offense play, poking fun at myself before others can do it. But I don’t think I’ll be so quick to do that anymore because as I move through life and meet people whose stories are filled with sorrow and joy and anticipation and struggle, I realize I don’t want to miss any of it. Being a “talker” isn’t just about the talking, not by a long shot. It’s about the listening and the connection that is the happy by-product, sometimes a connection that is fleeting and sometimes one that sticks. Both are beautiful in their own ways. Give it a whirl. Smile, say hi first, open yourself up to the possibility that there’s a great story waiting to be told.

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Manic Monday: Here, there, and everywhere

This past week has been a whirlwind of activity, and there’s no end in sight. But it’s all good. Busy, but good busy. By next week at this time, we will have passed a giant hurdle: Noah’s Eagle Scout project, leaving him with one last requirement to complete before he can officially sit for his Board of Review and achieve the rank of Eagle. This has been a long time coming, so it’s pretty exciting. Here’s what else is happening on this Manic Monday…

Viewfinder: We had a birthday party for Chiara on Saturday, a trip to NYC to celebrate her actual birthday on Sunday, and a brief visit with my 100-year-old grandmother today. Lot’s of happiness. And lots of glitter. Still finding glitter in every nook and cranny, and on my face, in my dresser drawers, in my food. I don’t think it will ever be gone.

Glitter craft at Chiara’s party.

Birthday pancakes.

Manhattan bound for more birthday festivities.

A bialy at Tal Bagels, one of our old haunts from when Dennis and I worked up the street.

Well, at least they were all sitting together. Sigh…

Soundtrack: After listening to Taylor Swift’s Red album for the umpteenth time, I was craving a little something different. Jakob Dylan, to be exact. Here’s a good one:

Bookshelf: Still reading “The Happiness Project.” And not making much progress, to be honest. Maybe because I’m too busy being happy. I don’t need no stinkin’ happiness project.

Appointment Book: In addition to the big Eagle project next weekend, I’m also heading back downstate in a few days so Olivia from upstate NY can meet her pen pal, Olivia from Paris. Should be fun. In between we’ll squeeze in swimming, grilling, corn on the cob, and some work, I guess. Have a great week!

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Learning to float on the tides of life

I am always amazed by the shifting sands of life. We can be moving along, fairly content, assuming we’re on an even course, when out of nowhere something we hadn’t even glimpsed in our rearview mirror sends us into a tailspin. And conversely, we can be struggling, or just muddling through when just as suddenly some shooting star streaks across our night sky and reminds us that there are miracles all around us. Every day. If our eyes are open.

When I was at the pool the other day, watching Chiara do flips under water and just generally splash with joy, I was also watching a man arrive in a wheelchair and be lowered into the water on a mechanical chair. And as I stood there, seemingly enjoying the water and trying not to melt under the blazing sun, I was really wondering what it was that landed this man in this situation and how easily it could be any one of us, me. I guess in those circumstances there’s a little voice in the back of my head that says, “Why not me?” And I know that at any moment it could, in fact, be me, in any number of truly troubling scenarios. And I have to admit a little jolt of fear ran through me. I am in awe of those people who learn to accept all of it, even the sorrow or frustration, with such grace and dignity and hope, who don’t give up but who also don’t fight so hard for what their head tells them must be so.

And for some reason it made me think of some photos I took at the beach last year.

It was a lone clam shell, tossed around in in the surf, and I snapped too many photos of it then. But it makes perfect sense now. The clam shell floats along, gets moved from one place to another without any say in the matter, and then settles into its new place.

Is that what it means to be happy as a clam? To go wherever the tide takes you and dig in just the same? Maybe.

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Foodie Friday: Zucchini blossoms, stuffed, battered and fried. Yum.

I’m rerunning this Foodie Friday post because I spotted some zucchini blossoms on a Facebook friend’s page yesterday (Hi, Rita!), and now I can’t stop thinking about this delicious and easy treat. I may have to get to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning to see if I can grab some up for an appetizer. Here’s the original post and why you need to go get zucchini blossoms, too:

When I went to Rome almost three years, I wandered from restaurant to restaurant, desperately asking (in my pathetic version of Italian): “Fiori di zucca fritta?” Fried zucchini blossoms? And the answer was a resounding: “No, not in season.” Argh.

At that point, I had never had fried zucchini blossoms and had never made fried zucchini blossoms, but my grandmother always talked about making them back in the day. So this had been my quest: to find them, to make them, to eat them.

Then I spied a bushel of blossoms at the Delmar Farmer’s Market one Saturday morning, although I was completely put off by the price – $1 a blossom – and knew my grandmother would be totally outraged if I paid that price. So I walked on by and then I walked back, and looked longingly. My friend Dorothy finally said, “Just buy them!” So I asked if I could get a deal if I bought a bunch. I ended up with 18 blossoms for $8, which is not bad at all. That’s them in the photo above. Aren’t they pretty?

Now to figure out what to do with the delicate blossoms. So I looked through a Rome book Dennis bought me for Christmas and found a recipe I could adapt, which means I was planning to leave out the anchovies. I don’t care how much flavor they have. Blech.

I washed the blossoms and patted them dry. Then I took goat cheese and switched up the plain recipe by adding some chopped fresh basil, some chopped scallions, a scoop of cream cheese and a splash of half and half and mashed it all together. I carefully stuffed a little of the cheese mixture into each flower, wrapping the petals around it. Next I dipped the stuffed blossoms in a flour batter made with flour, water, a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of white vinegar. Finally, they went into the frying pan, where I cooked them in oil for about five minutes. All that was left to do was to put them on a warm platter, sprinkle with coarse salt, and devour.

The result: Squisito! I fully expected to get at least four of the blossoms, but my girls liked them so much I got only two. I’m making another round tonight and may try tweaking the goat cheese filling by blending in some garlic or other flavoring. We’ll see.

I reported all this to my grandmother with pride. When she made them, she didn’t stuff them, just battered and fried them up. I may try that another day, if I happen upon a bushel of blossoms for a good price before the season is over.

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I am tattooless and, therefore, a rebel

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes at the town pool or even, say, the patio at Cheesecake Factory on a summer afternoon to realize that most of the U.S. population is tattooed, many of them quite heavily. I sit on the edge of the pool watching the parade of people go by — every age, shape, size, style — and realize that what once seemed to be a sign of rebellion has become as common as bleached blonde hair. Turns out those of us who don’t have any ink on our skin are actually the rebels now. And that makes me smile. Because I’ve always wanted to be a rebel. Who knew it could be this easy?

Now, I don’t want to hear from the tattoo lobby. Yes, I know you have a tasteful tattoo. I have nothing against that. In fact, many people I know and love have tattoos. My brother rocks an amazing Sacred Heart tattoo on his upper arm, but he got that long before tattoos became all the rage. And there was probably a time in the 1980s when I might have been willing to go the tattoo route if only to be a little edgy and different, because back then only people in military service and rock bands had tattoos. But fear of disease was bigger than the need for rebellion, so I just opted for a few extra and odd-numbered piercings in my ears. Yeah, not the craziest wild woman on the block. But now I’m kind of glad there are no ink designs, hidden or obvious, anywhere on this body. I feel unusual, strong, and, yes, rebellious.

I can appreciate a beautiful tattoo, carefully placed. But, let me tell you, the bulk of what I’m seeing out there poolside are neither of those things. Kind of like someone let their toddler color on their arms with a Sharpie. And I just keep imagining what these tattoos are going to look like in 30 years when skin isn’t quite so elastic and smooth and that butterfly around your navel has stretch marks. (Sorry,  always looking forward, can’t help it.) And partly because I just feel like tattoos at the highest level are a shield or mask and not just an adornment. But maybe I’m missing something. I’m sure someone will enlighten me in the comment section.

So if you, too, are tattooless, put on your bathing suit today and go be a rebel.

 

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Manic Monday returns, along with ‘Muddy Jesus’

I’ve decided to bring back my Manic Monday post, if only to inspire myself to get back to regular blogging. In the past, this post has been a run down of books I’m reading, music I’m loving, recipes I’m trying, quotes that are inspiring me, and cool things that are going on in my life. So I hope you’ll find something of interest here.

So here we go…

Viewfinder: I spent this weekend out in Williamsport and Hughesville, Pa. Although it was for sad reasons — the memorial service for my childhood friend’s mom — it was a joyful time. I am so glad I was able to be part of their celebration of Judy’s life and the family gathering that took place afterward. Here’s a picture of me and Kari, friends since fifth grade, friends for life. I am so blessed to have this amazing woman in my life.

During this visit, I stayed at a B&B in the nearby town of Pennsdale. The Copper Roof Inn, seen in the photo at the top of this post, is a lovely little place. If you’re passing through this area and need to overnight, contact Becky & Leroy. You’ll get a comfortable room, a delicious breakfast, and a beautiful quiet spot to relax and re-engergize. I never sleep well away from home, but I slept like a baby here. And the conversation around the breakfast table with the other guests was fascinating. We covered everything — green juicing, the royal wedding, religion, and more. And I got to have breakfast with an Officer of the Order of the British Empire. That’s pretty cool.

Bookshelf: Right now I’m reading The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean my Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun by Gretchen Rubin. Title sort of tells you everything you need to know, I think. I haven’t had a lot of time to really move through it, but so far I’m liking it. A lot of what she writes reminds me of my life in big ways. In fact, I often find myself thinking I could have written a very similar book (maybe not a bestseller but content-wise similar) if I had a year to devote to something like this with such single-mindedness. Wouldn’t that be nice, to have a year to devote to anything with complete single-mindedness?

Soundtrack: On my way home from Pennsylvania, I listened to my own mix of Austin music from back in the day. Every once in a while I just need to immerse myself in all things Austin, and music is usually how I do it. Made me a little homesick for my life in Texas. If I had a boatload of money, I would for sure own a second home in the Texas Hill Country, where I would keep my boots and my guitar and my cowboy hat and a pantry stocked with real tortilla chips and a fridge stocked with pico de gallo and Lone Star beer or Shiner Bock or some cold Tecates. Speaking of Tecates, here’s a song from my mix: Muddy Jesus by Ian Moore, a guitar genius at a young age who also happens to have an amazing voice. I saw him perform many times during my first life in Austin, usually at Antone’s: Home of the Blues. I couldn’t find a good live version on YouTube, so you’ll just have to deal with the static image of the album cover, but the music makes up for that. Here’s the song:

Appointment Book: In some ways, this feels like the first week of summer to me. The kids are all home. No lunches to pack, no camps to get to, no appointments clogging up the day. And because I crammed too much work into the past three weeks (on purpose), I get to relax a bit as well. So we’ll be clocking some hours at the town pool this week and prepping for Chiara’s birthday. Have a great week!

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What we miss when we try to fence God in

I have this Thomas Merton quote taped to my desk right above my keyboard and below my monitor. I kind of need this reminder on a pretty constant basis. Every time I read it, it’s new to me. Every time it’s a revelation. (I’m a little thick when it comes to trying to capture God.)

Here you go:

“God approaches our minds by receding from them. We can never fully know Him if we think of Him as an object of capture, to be fenced in by the enclosure of our own ideas.

We know Him better after our minds have let Him go.

The Lord travels in all directions at once.

The Lord arrives from all directions at once.

Wherever we are, we find that He has just departed. Wherever we go, we discover that He has just arrived before us.

Our rest can be neither in the beginning of this pursuit, nor in the pursuit itself, nor in its apparent end. For the true end, which is Heaven, is an end without end. It is a totally new dimension, in which we come to rest in the secret that God must arrive at the moment of God’s departure; God’s arrival is at every moment and God’s departure is not fixed in time.”   — Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island

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Would you rather be a clothesline or a kite?

Would you rather be a clothesline or a kite? That was the question, and we were supposed to pick sides. Dennis ended up standing on the clothesline side, while I opted for the kite crowd. Then came the hard part: Why?

The people who saw themselves as clotheslines had lots of good reasons: A clothesline is stable, secure, practical, useful, doesn’t get tossed about by the wind, and has a great view of the world below.

Those of us who chose kite had our own good reasons: A kite moves with the wind rather than resist against it; it’s not tied down to one place; it’s joyful, colorful, and unique; it’s up in the clouds and looking out at the world.

There was no right or wrong answer, and yet our answer — whichever we choose — says a lot about us,  doesn’t it?

Kites make me think of being on the beach, which is pretty much the only place we ever fly kites. So it’s a very good association, that image of a colorful kite bobbing and twisting, diving and soaring against the backdrop of the ocean. Hard to argue with that. Although clotheslines make me think of my apartment in the Bronx, which had a white rope line stretching from my bedroom window to my fire escape. You have no idea how happy that clothesline made me, and not just because I didn’t have a dryer in my apartment. (Only a washer.) That clothesline reminds me of a special time in my life, a time when I didn’t need a whole lot but seemed to have everything I could ever want. 

Still I’m going to stick with my original kite answer. Unless I can be a clothesline in Italy, then maybe I could be persuaded to switch sides.

So what would you want to be: a clothesline or a kite?

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Somewhere in China someone’s reading my book

I arrived home yesterday to find a big bubble-wrap envelope from my publisher, Ave Maria Press, waiting for me. What could it be? I wasn’t expecting any flyers or promo materials. It didn’t look like review copy books. So I tore into it, figuring it was a book I had blurbed or something like that. Wrong! It was the Chinese edition of my book “Walking Together: Discovering the Catholic Tradition of Spiritual Friendship.”

I sort of squealed with delight when I saw it. First, how cool is it to see your name on a book cover in Chinese? (Which I wouldn’t have recognized had they not put the English version of my name in parens right below it). And then to open it up and know what it says but have no idea what it says at the same time? Way cool.

Since I didn’t know this was coming, I have no idea why — of all my books — this one struck a chord with people in China, but I love the idea of someone in Beijing or Shanghai or X’ian or Guilin (all places I got to visit in 1984 when I went to China on a college trip) reading the book I wrote. God is good. All the time. Why do I always forget that?

P.S. Yes, the cover looks a bit foreboding. As Dennis said, very Blair Witch Project. Good thing they’re Walking Together, otherwise it would be kind of scary.

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Come with me to Italy and feed your body and soul

Dear Fellow Adventurer,

For most of my adult life, I dreamed of going to Italy. I wanted to pray in St. Peter’s Basilica. I wanted to know the country of my grandfather’s birth. I wanted to eat the delicious food that had inspired so many family meals when I was growing up. Three years ago, when I stepped onto the streets of Rome for the first time, I cried from the sheer joy of being there, and I knew right then that I’d have to return some day soon. Italy had captured my heart!

I’d like to invite you to join me on the trip I’ve been longing to take ever since — the journey of a lifetime, a true feast for body and soul. Our October 2014 pilgrimage will begin in the beautiful spa town of Montecatini, and we will work our way down to the stunning coastal city of Sorrento. In between we’ll visit Florence and Siena, Assisi and Rome, Naples and Salerno, the Amalfi Coast and Capri.

There is nothing typical about this spiritual pilgrimage to Italy, which will focus not only one those sacred places that deepen our faith in obvious ways, but on the everyday moments that give us a chance to experience God in unexpected ways – in an olive grove tasting oil, on a narrow road winding through Assisi, in a cooking class in Giffoni, on a boat ride to the mystical Blue Grotto.

Come along on what promises to be a magnificent melding of relaxation and excitement, spirituality and spa elegance, simple local flavor and culinary inspiration. I’m already counting the days. I hope you are too!

In addition to the wonderful itinerary you’ll find outlined HERE, I’ll be offering three brief talks: one on spiritual friendship while in Assisi, the home of Francis and Clare; another on the connection between food and spirituality while in Rome, where a great meal or fabulous church is always just around the corner; and the third on the joy of discovering the Divine in the everyday while in Sorrento, amid the breathtaking beauty of God’s creation.

Here’s what the price of your trip will include:

Roundtrip air from New York-Rome/Naples-New York
First Class and Superior First Class hotels
Welcome drink, Welcome Dinner and Farewell Dinner
10 Buffet Breakfasts, 11 dinners, and 3 lunches as noted, below
Beverages/Wine with Meals (limited)
Winery tour, Wine Tasting, and Lunch in Tuscany;
Agriturismo (Farm) tour, Wine Tasting and Lunch in Umbria
Cooking Lesson, “Oil” Tasting and Lunch in Campania
Papal Audience (if Pope Francis is in residence at that time);
Mass arrangements with local priests
All Admission and Sightseeing costs including, among others:

Acadamie Musee
Duomo in Florence
Basilica and Tomb of St. Francis
Basilica and Tomb of St. Clare
Cathedral of Siena
Basilica of St. Mary of the Angels
Portiuncula, Francis’ Church of the Little Portion
Vatican Museums
Sistine Chapel
Pompeii Ruins
Convento di San Francesco
Ferry from Naples to Isle of Capri
Blue Grotto boat ride (weather permitting)


Taxi shuttles to Grotto of St. Francis and Hermitage of the Carceri;
Private Guide fees in Florence, Siena, Assisi, Rome, Capri/Anacapri;
Private tour bus and bus parking fees
City Hotel Taxes
English speaking Italian Tour Manager
American Tour Escort
Tips for drivers, guides, porters, kitchen staff
Luggage Tags and Travel Documents Pouch

In other words, everything except travel insurance, items of a personal nature (souvenirs, postcards, stamps, laundry, etc), some lunches, local church offerings, and connecting air from your hometown to New York. That’s pretty dang inclusive. You won’t really have to think about anything except enjoying yourself, connecting with God, and eating one fabulous meal after another.

I’ll be posting more information with more specifics about various stops on our pilgrimage, along with suggested spiritual reading, travel tips, recipes and more here and on my Italy pilgrimage Facebook page. Click HERE  and “like” that page and you’ll always be up to date, even if you’re not planning to get a passport just yet.

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