Loring Park Seagull in Flight

Seagull

Originally uploaded by Gina Lazar

I’ve flown away from this site. Currently blogging at www.readginamarie.wordpress.com

Buddha in Half-Lotus

When I saw this cloud formation through my office window, I grabbed my cell phone and snapped a quick pic. I see a buddha sitting, cross-legged, in half-lotus position.

The Unmentionable Season

Winter’s almost over. The longest, coldest season for us Minnuits (a term I’ve coined to describe Minnesota’s snow-hardy residents) has come, but not quite gone.

I’ve worn through three pairs of winter boots this season – that’s one more than my yearly average. Only a single one of the these may be salvageable: a sturdy — or so I thought — pair of flat-soled black leather boots imported from Paris. I suppose they don’t have to worry about road salt eating through their shoes in the City of Lights.

By late February, most would agree that the frigid air has overstayed its welcome. Though the sun shines more brightly now than it did only weeks ago, and the days are longer, a thick blanket of snow still covers the ground. We’ve had two or three thaws thus far, giving us a fleeting taste of the spring that seems so far out of reach. After each thaw, the ground has refrozen, and snow has fallen afresh on the once-sodden land.

At this point, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to go outside without bundling up in a coat, mittens, scarf, and a hat. Walking outdoors for longer than thirty-minute increments is something I can nearly recall, if I scan the furthest dusty reaches of my mind.

I trust that spring is near; I can see it glimmering on the horizon. Once the air warms, snow melts, and the first buds blossom on the tree branches, only then will we Minnuits come out in droves with big smiles on our faces to let the sun shine down on our winter-pallid skin.

Having spent most of my life in this frigid clime, I’ve met my fair share of winter enthusiasts. Their positive attitudes toward Old Man Winter often correlate with their participation in winter sports such as cross-country skiing, snowboarding, and the like. The lesson these folks would teach us is a valuable one: that is, to help pass the time during an otherwise-ungodly season, find an activity you thoroughly enjoy which can done only during that season (and no, beer bongs don’t count). That way, you have something to look forward to while others are moaning and groaning about their miserable state of affairs.

Some of you may ask: why not take the logical step and move somewhere warm? Easier said than done, I can tell you first-hand. Many of us have ties to Minnesota that keep us fiercely loyal: dear friends, family, cherished jobs, or some combination of the latter. Also, considering that many native Minnesotans are of Scandinavian descent, there is a certain genetic component to just staying put. Our ancestors dealt with harsh winters in their native lands, and it’s reasonable to assume that the inherent fortitude it takes to handle a Minnesota winter has, for some, been passed down through generations.

Regardless of the nature of a Minnuit’s decision to stay, there is one redeeming quaility to living in this God-forsaken state: summertime. Even though it only comes once a year (and even then, doesn’t stay nearly long enough), anyone who has lived through a Minnesota summer can attest to what a glorious payoff it is, indeed. The lazy days spent frolicking at the lake, balmy nights sharing dinner with friends at an outdoor cafe in the city, or cozying up by the fireside during a summer thunderstorm are favorite pasttimes for many residents of this state. And, after a few months of temperate weather, the Minnuit has all but forgotten the other, unmentionable season known as wint-

“Shhh! Enough already.”

You get the point.

Gotta Write

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly.

What if, one day, a fish stopped swimming? Would he float to the surface, only to be swooped up by a bird skimming the water in search of prey? Or, say the weather is inclement on that particular day, with no birds of prey flying overhead; what if this particular fish still chose not to swim? Would he float there, glassy-eyed, until he died of boredom or starvation?

And what if, that same day, a bird decided that she would no longer fly? Not because her wings had been clipped, or because she had been injured in some odd way, but rather, because she had concluded, quite simply: “Flying’s not for me.” Could that little bird find happiness building her nest in some inconspicuous corner of a cluster of bushes, away from the wolves and foxes that would surely make a meal of her, while she watched her former flockmates sail the sunny skies? And, if so, would she be content?

And what would happen, do you suppose, if a passionate young writer decided: “I shall not do this anymore.” Would headaches, self-pity, depression, or an overall sense of lethargy ensue? Could that writer, who’d spent so many hours perfecting his verse, find satisfaction via some other means: interior design – say – or gardening, or photography? Would he wake up in a cold sweat at night, thinking: “Something is missing from my life”?

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly.
Writers gotta write, or they’ll surely die.

Against All Odds

For Ted

You made an impression from the moment we met;
Time slipped away like an ice sculpture melting.
We took our chances against all odds.

In spite of all that others said
About you and me;
How we shouldn’t;
How it would never work.

We made it work,
Though it hasn’t been easy.
“He’s cheated, he’s lied,”
But then, so have I.

“Why dwell on the past?
We’re not those people anymore.”
So you don’t understand
Why I can’t let it go.

“How many times
must we fight this same fight?”
And I don’t reply
Because I don’t know.

I want to say, “It’s the last of its kind,”
But my fear prevents me
From saying so,
And I know this moment could tear us apart.

Can you look me in the eyes;
Say you’ll never cheat or lie?
You’re not that person anymore;
Am I?

For just a moment,
The fear takes over,
And I think:
“This is the fight to end all fights.”

Then it’s gone
In a flash,
Like a blinding light
Dissolved into nothingness.

And even though
I don’t know what’s to come,
The look in your eyes will
Help guide me there.

This churning in my gut
Is just a passing phase;
One of the many trials
Our love puts to the test.

We pass the test
To prove that our love is more than some ice sculpture melting.
We take our chances against all odds.

Exes, Exes Everywhere

I’ll be 29 years old the day after Thanksgiving. Having been on the dating scene since age 13, I’ve seen my share of men. Some of us parted on amicable terms, others not so much. I keep contact with a few of them on those ubiquitous social networking sites like MySpace and Facebook . . . not that we communicate much, necessarily, but at least this way, we stay somewhat connected and, on occasion, receive updates about each other’s lives through the respective site’s mini-feeds.

In spite of the fact that I am in a blissful partnership with a man whom I intend to marry, I must admit that I still feel a twinge of jealousy whenever I see pictures of my old flames with their new lovers. I know better than to hang out on their profile pages long for that very reason, but every so often I might happen upon a mini-feed update stating something along the lines of “[So and so] has been tagged in a photo” and, letting my curiosity get the best of me, I click on the update and enlarge said photo . . . and there they are: my ex and his beautiful new woman. While every rational bone in my body tells me to be happy for him, there’s that sneaky little voice inside, no doubt fueled by my ego, whispering to me: “It’s not fair. He’s supposed to be faithful to you and only you, for the rest of his days. Never mind that you haven’t seen each other in years. You shall forever remain the one and only apple of his eye.”

Totally hypocritical, I know. I mean, here I am, posting pictures of myself and Ted, bragging about how happy we are together and yadda yadda yadda, and all the while, finding myself having a hard time accepting when someone from my past feels the same way about the new love of his life.

I suppose my situation is not so unique. After all, it’s only human to be curious, and to feel jealousy on occasion. However, holding on to these feelings is a choice that I alone make. Instead, it might be more fruitful to let go of my past, and to forgive any remaining hurts that still linger even years after our parting. Only last week, I made a promise to myself to let go of those whom I once loved and to say a blessing that they might be content. What better opportunity is there than this to make good on my word?

I release my past and the people associated with it. I wish them the best in all their endeavors. I refuse to let anger, disappointment, jealousy or any other feelings keep me from enjoying the happiness which my life and current romantic relationship present to me on a daily basis. Finally, I recognize the humor in my ego’s constant attempts to keep me from embracing joy in the present moment. (Sneaky little bugger, that one. Not falling for its tricks this time!)

Ready to Ride

Barack Obama has given new meaning to the word “hope.” That America has elected an African-American man to the country’s highest seat of office — even in spite of the racism still so prevalent in many sections of our great nation — is a sure sign that tides are turning.

Full of energy on the night of the election, I decided to take a long stroll through downtown Minneapolis. Departing my apartment on foot at approximately 10:00 p.m., I arrived at Nicollet Mall, one of the city’s major thoroughfares, within minutes. Zelo’s Bar/Restaurant had left its front doors open on this unseasonably mild autumn evening. Inside, TV screens flickered, with people gathered ’round, watching the electoral votes being tallied on the national networks.

“He won Virginia! Obama won Virginia!” an enthusiastic bar patron piped up. Cheers arose from the crowd as the TV station’s political commentator announced that this was the first Democratic Presidential victory the state had seen in 44 years.

I continued south along Nicollet Mall for a half-mile, hung a right on Washington Avenue, and headed east, toward the city’s historic Stone Arch Bridge, which has a magnificent view of the newly-reconstructed 35W bridge. (For those of you readers needing a refresher, the 35W bridge is the Mississippi River overpass that collapsed one storied afternoon in August 2007; killing thirteen, injuring 145, and sending an aftershock of questions in its wake, namely: “How could this possibly have happened?”)

I picked up the pace as I crossed the cobblestone bridge, which is reserved exclusively for pedestrians, bikers, and the occasional tourist trolley car. Just south of where I stood, within clear view, dozens of cars sped hastily along the new 35W bridge.

So much has changed since that bridge went down, I couldn’t help but think to myself, both on the national scene and in my own personal life.

I’d been on the Stone Arch Bridge the day the 35W bridge had tumbled into the river, and had watched as people used binoculars to get a better view of the death and destruction taking place before their very eyes. I had come to terms with my own destruction, in a sense, just weeks prior: having implemented major life changes that left me newly sober and single.

In the months that followed, I would often walk along the Stone Arch Bridge — with friends or alone — my heart heavy after the loss of my old lifestyle. As construction workers toiled away at the new bridge, my heart slowly began to mend from the blows I’d recently faced. Meanwhile, in the political sphere, candidates from opposing parties built their platforms and garnered support from constituents.

The physical and metaphorical rift that the fallen bridge had created in the heart of Minneapolis was mended in September 2008, when the new bridge was unveiled to the public. Within mere days of the bridge’s grand reopening, my new partner, Ted, and I moved in together. (How could I not see that as symbolic?)

That week in neighboring St. Paul, Republican delegates and party supporters had joined together at the Xcel Energy Center while protesters rioted in the streets outside. On Wall Street, financial powerhouses lost their footing on the market and crumbled to pieces. Changes were brewing, although no one knew yet what, exactly, those changes would entail.

As I continued my stroll along the Stone Arch Bridge, the wind picked up, blowing strands of my hair to and fro. I reached the edge of the bridge and crossed a patch of grass leading towards Main Street NE just as a biker sped past, nearly missing me and sending us both flying.

Tonight, Main Street was like a ghost town. The sidewalks were devoid of the standard passers-by, and the bars and restaurants lining the east bank of the Mississippi River appeared hauntingly empty, save for a few lone bartenders wiping down tables and mopping floors.

I approached the Hennepin Avenue bridge at approximately 11 p.m.
, crossing back over to the city’s west bank. I knew the election results had been declared when car horns began honking incessantly and two black men gave each other congratulatory “high-fives” from a street bench nearby. In the streets, twenty-somethings began running wildly and shouting, their arms outstretched in the sign of victory. Their joy was contagious, and a shiver of anticipation ran up my spine as I realized what this meant: major changes in store for our country, both on a political scale and on an interpersonal one.

I arrived home at a quarter past eleven and immediately logged onto the internet, where top news headlines confirmed what I’d already intuited: Obama had won the race.

Soon after I had crawled underneath the bedcovers, my cell phone buzzed on the nightstand next to me, alerting me to a new text message from my friend Matt in DC, who’d written: “At the White House with thousands! Absolutely amazing!”

Outside my bedroom window, the skyscraper housing Target’s corporate headquarters flashed dancing red, white, and blue lights from its top floors.

This morning, the metaphorical hangover from last night’s Election Day frenzy was palpable. On the way into my office building, I passed a coworker shaking her head as she hung up her cell phone.

“My mom and I are both in mourning today,” she explained to me, placing her cell phone gently in her purse.

“Oh?” I remarked, pretending not to know why she would possibly be in mourning.

“She and I are both conservatives,” she explained, raising an eyebrow at me as if to judge whether I shared her sentiments.

“I see,” I said, holding steadfast to my neutral stance.

“Did you vote?” she asked, clearly eager to determine on which side of the fence I stood.

“I did, and I’m convinced that it was my one vote that steered the course of the nation in this new direction,” I joked.

A man walking several feet ahead of me cast a stony glance in my direction, seemingly unappreciative of my sense of humor.

“Well, that’s the nice thing about this country,” she said. “We can disagree about politics and still be civil to one another.”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“We’ll just have to buckle our seatbelts and brace ourselves for whatever’s to come.”

I smiled at her and advised, “Get ready for the ride of your life.”

Soulful Relationships

Here are a few excerpts from Thomas Moore’s SoulMates: Honoring the Mysteries of Love and Relationship:

“. . . letter writing and conversation are common ways to tend relationships; still, doing them well calls for care and thoughtfulness . . . . at certain times in our history, writing letters and engaging in conversation were carefully studied arts. Obviously, one can
become trite and precious about such things, but it is useful to consider, in the light of past masters of these technologies, ways of talking and writing to each other that foster soulfulness. This examination might be especially important in our own day when communication is technologically sophisticated and speedy, but not necessarily more soulful.” -pp. xvi-xvii

“All of our relationships can have soul, not only those that are specifically in the soul mate category.” -p. xvii

“The only thing keeping you from deep, satisfying, soulful relationships is your imagination.” -p. xviii

“Relatedness means staying in life, even when it becomes complicated and when meaning and clarity are elusive. It means living with the particular individuals who come into our lives, and not only with our ideals and images of the perfect mate or perfect family.” -p. 5

“The soul is inclined toward the past rather than the future, toward attachment to people, places, and events rather than detachment, and so it is not quick to move on. In outer life, we may leave a person or a place, but in memory and dream the soul clings to these former attachments.” -p. 6

“The soul wants to be attached, involved, and even stuck, because it is through such intimacy that it is nourished, initiated, and deepened.” -p. 11

“As strong as the yearning for attachment is, there is obviously something else in us that yearns for solitude, freedom, and detachment.” -p. 11

“The poet Rainer Maria Rilke’s famous solution to relationship is for each person to protect the solitude of the other. His emphasis is clearly on solitude; yet two people in a relationship might just as well protect the other’s capacity for intimacy.” -p. 19

“People can be engaged intimately while playing a game of tennis or cards, holding a conversation, taking a trip together, arguing heatedly, or sitting in a room, each quietly reading a book.” -p. 23

“Intimacy begins at home, with oneself. It does no good to try to find intimacy with friends, lovers and family if you are starting out from alienation and division within yourself.” -p. 24

“. . . a current emotional disturbance can be rooted deep in the far reaches of the soul, where it may affect what happens in the world.” -p. 24

“ . . . one of the most basic problems in relationship is unconsciousness of the people involved. Two people in an intimate relationship may be completely unaware of the themes that give their life together its meaningfulness and its tensions. People whose marriages are in danger of collapse often provide superficial reflections on their problems.” -p. 25

“As you get to know the other deeply, you will discover much about yourself. Especially in moments of conflict and maybe even despair, being open to the demands of a relationship can provide an extraordinary opportunity for self-knowledge. It provides an occasion to glimpse your own soul and notice its longings and its fears. And as you get to know yourself, you can be more accepting and understanding of the other’s depth of soul.” -p. 28

“It isn’t easy to expose your soul to another, to risk such vulnerability, hoping that the other person will be able to tolerate your own irrationality. It may also be difficult, no matter how open-minded you are, to be receptive as another reveals her soul to you.” -p. 30

“Being in a soulful relationship is to some extent frightening because by nature such a relationship asks that we show our soul, complete with its fears and follies.” -p. 31

“How is it that a couple who have lived together for twenty or thirty years could surprise each other so vividly? The stock answer is ‘lack of communication,’ but the problem must have deeper roots. One partner habitually may not let her thoughts and feelings come into the open. Another may be blind to all the signals that are being expressed by his partner.” -p. 37

“. . . some people seem desperate for explanations for their lives, and there is always a book or a person that will give them one more key phrase or idea, or one more theory to explain why they suffer as much as they do. This search for reasons, however, may have within it a defense against a change in awareness . . . . Equally popular is landing on a wonderful theory that elegantly explains why you are who you are, and then moving no further in reflection . . . . these ready-made, off-the-rack interpretations may well serve to inhibit, rather than to promote, ongoing, soulful self-analysis.” -p. 39

“Reading can serve as a strong distraction from attending to the soul, because someone else’s ideas take the place of personal reflection.” -p. 40

“We approach its soul when we understand that marriage is a mystery, a sacrament, as some religions say—a sacred symbolic act.” -p. 46

“Our expectations of marriage, those profound and far-reaching fantasies we have of life in the perfect married state, hint at the depths of marriage itself. When we marry, we are not only linking our lives to another individual, we are also entering a myth that reaches far into the most meaning-giving areas of the heart . . . . In a sense, the person we marry offers us an opportunity to enter, explore, and fulfill essential notions of who we are and what we can be.” -p. 49

“Marriage seems to be about relationship with another person, but this mythical story reveals that marriage is also more mysterious, that it is a strange but fulfilling union with the world of dream and fantasy. Genuine marriage takes place in a realm that is not identical with outward life; our soul partner is always of another species—an angel, animal, or phantom.” -p. 50

“We are drawn into intimacy by possibilities rather than by realities, by the promise of things to come rather than by proven accomplishments, and perhaps by seductions that are darker than the bright reasons to which we admit.” -p. 51

“Oddly, the attempts of many married people to create an affluent environment might even be the cause of marital failure, because the point in marriage is not to create a material, human world, but rather to evoke a spirit of love that is not of this world.” -p. 52

“Tradition sometimes calls the realm of soul a microcosm. It’s tempting to focus on the cosmic element rather than the micro, yet we might recognize that to the soul the most minute things can be crucial. In several places in his writing, Jung discusses the “little people”—gnomes, dactyls, elves, Tom Thumbs—the ones who do the work of soul. The soul of marriage is no exception: it is created by small acts, small words, and small, everyday interactions.” -p. 53

“As we saw in the first chapter of this book, the soul may need periods of distance, poor communication, doubt, and regret. These need not threaten the marriage as such, but they do show that the soul of marriage is a more mottled weave than the plain, sentimental, structural image of marriage we often try to maintain.” -p. 54

“Jung learned from alchemy an important yet easily avoided truth about the life of the soul: its presence and thriving depend upon mortifying experiences.” -p. 58

“Perhaps if we widened our image of relationships to include their being occasionally blissful and occasionally mortifying, with a mixture of all possibilities between, we might not be so surprised when challenging difficulties appeared. . . . Lifelong, intense, socially potent relationships don’t exist without touching the deepest, rawest reservoirs of soul.” -p. 59

“At the beginning of any form of life the soul is in a raw, undeveloped stage; it makes sense that the marriage will be significantly different a few years into it than it was at the start.” -p. 60

“I once worked with a very sincere couple widely read in the field of psychology and practiced in the art of studying their relationship. The man told me that the reason their marriage was stagnant was that he had been raised in a home that was cold and unloving. The woman’s idea was that she needed freedom in her life, more than her husband did, and so she was feeling tied down. My sense was that both explanations, though subtle and convincing to an extent, were rationalization, protecting both people from looking more directly at their marriage itself and noticing what it was now asking of them. I didn’t know exactly what this demand was, but I had the feeling that the marriage, like any living thing, was animate and now moving in a new direction. What better way to avoid the challenge of that development than to become preoccupied with reasons and explanations that in a very quiet way argued against the validity and value of the felt changes? Instead, I suggested that they read the changes they were sensing as expressions of the marriage’s genius, and turn their focus away from pathologizing each other.” -pp. 62-3

“One simple way to glimpse the genius is to tell each other one’s dreams. For this purpose it isn’t necessary to interpret the dream as a whole, but merely to notice the various situations one’s spouse finds herself in night after night. Without any overt analysis at a symbolic or mythic level, we might still come to appreciate the less predictable aspects of our partner’s soul life.” -p. 63

“Societies in which people build shrines to families or to marriages acknowledge the daimonic aspect of marriage and honor the residing spirit who cannot be controlled willfully or trusted naively. We might either actually build a shrine to our marriage—a sculpture, painting, tree, pile of stones, a ring—and thereby maintain an idol of sorts as a way of remembering this important truth, or, less physically, keep in mind the mystery that lies at the core of our partner and at the very base of the marriage.” -p. 64

“We all have a tendency to defend ourselves first and look for justifications for our actions.” -p. 65

“Sometimes the only way to open a path to soul is the negative way—by noting ways in which we are unconsciously protecting ourselves from the sting of life’s intentions. We could explore what is painful and challenging in certain developments, where we feel most resistant, and ways we have of evading or fleeing the challenge.” -p. 66

“If you want to ensure the soulfulness of your marriage, it would be infinitely better to build a shrine to it, find its god or goddess, and tend its image than to follow the ‘manual’ and do it all properly and intelligently. For all of us, of whatever religion or nonreligion, a marriage is a sacrament. To care for its soul we need to be priests rather than technicians, and to draw from the wellspring of ordinary piety rather than from theory or formula.” -p. 69

“. . . both paradise and the Fall are pieces of the same mystery, and both are essential to the human condition.” -p. 77

“. . . as much as we wish to be perfect parents and as much as we hope that our family will be paradise for our children, the Fall is inevitable. For centuries, theologians have warned us that paradise is also a form of prison—we need to be expelled from it.” -p. 79

“To care for the soul, then, we might make every effort to keep stories alive and to provide opportunities for the family to get together and renew its culture. We might pass on to our spouse, our children, and our friends the stories of our own experience with family and its early history . . . . since our families are so much a part of our identity, it may be especially soulful to avoid separating our work and professional lives from family.” -p. 86

“I take special pleasure in meeting the parents and other relative, not only the spouse and children, of people I know professionally. The inclusion of family in ordinary life, especially in areas where the family is customarily invisible, is an easy and effective way of introducing soul, and I believe it is good for the family, too, who feel their place of importance and have a more public representation.” -p. 87

“If the body is in pain, one of the first things to look for is infection; if the soul is in pain, we might look for lack of friendship. Friendship creates the cosmologies in which we live, and if we do not have a cultivated world made through the conversations and exchanges of friendship, we will necessarily feel detached, unmoored, and unplaced. We may believe that friendship, like so many things of the soul, is tangential to life, an added boon, or an accessory. But if we were to take Epicurus, Ficino, Thomas More, Emily Dickinson, and many other writers at their word, we would realize that friendship is a necessity. If we neglect it, we will feel its lack as a morbidity of soul. Friendship makes a major contribution to the process of soul-making, and without it we feel a painful lack and a debilitating weakness of heart.” -p. 92

“Friendship doesn’t ask for a great deal of activity, but it does require loyalty and presence. After all, what the soul wants is attachment—a detached friendship is a contradiction in terms. . . . A friendship doesn’t require compatibility. The soul can reach out and make its connections through and in spite of differences of politics, opinions, convictions, and beliefs.” -p. 95

“Eternity makes itself felt in both lasting relationships and those that last for only a time. In neither case is the soul concerned with literal time, but rather with the tone of the event. If it evokes eternity, then the friendship itself remains in imagination for endless time, even if the personal relationship does not. In a variant of the eternal/ephemeral nature of friendship, Lou Andreas-Salomé enjoyed a profound relationship with the poet Rainer Maria Rilke for nine or ten years. After their second major breakup, she wrote to him, ‘I am faithful to memories forever; to people I shall never be faithful.’ We could take this statement as a testimony to sexual freedom, or more deeply as a reflection on the soul in relationship: its emotions remain forever, long after the visible relationship has ended.” -p. 97

Promises

I have a 2007 Rene Magritte calendar chillin’ in my bedroom for graphic inspiration (thanks to Miss Viviane), and on its front cover is one of his surrealist paintings of a seagull titled, simply, La Promesse. In this tradition, I made 10 promises to myself, one for each seagull I photographed yesterday in Loring Park.

1) I promise to bring myself back to the present moment, should I find myself astray.

2) I promise to open my heart, not to harden it.

3) I promise to be patient.

4) I promise to laugh every day . . . or at least fake a smile.

5) I promise to make conscious contact with the One Above.

6) I promise I won’t give up as easily now as I have in the past.

7) I promise to let go of those I once loved, who are no longer a part of my life.

8) I promise to bless those I once loved, who are no longer a part of my life.

9) I promise to stop using sarcasm as a defense mechanism.

10) I promise to be sincere.

Things I Learned Today

They say you learn something new every day, but what they don’t tell you is that if you pay close attention, you might notice you’re learning a lot more than just one new thing each day. Today, I garnered five (count ‘em, five) nuggets of wisdom:

1) Dylan Thomas and Sylvia Plath both share the same birthday (October 27th),

2) Couscous and golden raisins make an excellent match,

3) Birds in flight are extremely hard to photograph with a standard digital camera,

4) Old Dutch guacamole-flavored tortilla chips taste nothing like guacamole, and

5) Sometimes less is more. (Yeah, I mean like today’s blog.)