Issue 117: June 2, 2013 To view this issue as a Web page, CLICK HERE. HotHumidSwelteringMuggyOppressive weather is what we’ve had here. It went from

        Web Version    
Picnik collage copy
email

Issue 117: June 2, 2013

To view this issue as a Web page, CLICK HERE.

issue117

HotHumidSwelteringMuggyOppressive weather is what we’ve had here. It went from freezingcoldnearsnowing to 90 degrees, overnight. Last night was a sweet reprieve: thunderstorms and deluges that broke the peonies’ backs, but at least cooled things down a bit. It’s no secret, I am not a fan of hot and humid weather. I am a fan of raindrops on flower petals and tree leaves though. I had plenty of opportunities to capture them for you this week. You’ll see the juicy photos scattered throughout this issue. It’s a rainy day kind of issue, at least when it comes to the pictures. I feel like I need a few more rainy days and it isn’t hurting the farmers’ fields either.

But who can complain in these parts? Our weather in Western New York is about as pleasant as it gets, year ‘round. We don’t have tragic tornadoes, catastrophic hurricanes, and honestly we don’t have that much snow either. So if I complain about the heat, please remind me how lucky I am to be able to turn the inside air on when the outside air gets swampy, or even retreat to my table in the shady woods. It’s summertime, and life is good.

Some exciting things happened this week, for one (by unbelievable surprise) I sold some paintings. But even more exciting than that is that I made a few new ones and learned a lot about gradual washes of colour and making tiny veins in leaves. WhenI am painting, every day is an adventure, a new way of seeing something, and often it feels like magic is happening. I am completely in love with watercolours. Here is my dilemma though: When people want to purchase a painting, I have no idea what the price should be. It got me thinking about worth, the kinds of things that factor into the value of something. It also reminded me that I have a road block in my brain when it comes to the monetary side of the things that I love to do. I know the worth of the act of painting and it’s priceless. And how do you put a price tag on something you really don’t want to part with? At this point I am so new to all of this that each painting I finish feels like one of my children. And yet I am so pleased (okay, flabbergasted) that people like them, and enough to want to pay me for them. Pretty crazy.

I was pondering other kinds of worth this week, too. One of my pet peeves is when a person makes the statement that she or he is “so poor." It makes me wonder if they have a clue what poverty really is. Does she mean she doesn’t have enough extra money to buy the elite bottle of wine? The premium pack of smokes? That he can’t push the gasoline button for the premium unleaded to fill up his fancy foreign car? Or maybe he or she is upset because they can’t take a beach vacation this summer? I can understand fretting over money (it's almost always a worry) and I don’t always have extra in my pot, but I’m sure as hell not poor. Far from it. I live in a beautiful and comfortable air-conditioned house in an historic village, I pay my bills every month, I eat good food (when I choose to), I go out for a beer or dinner once a week, sometimes twice. I have health insurance. I have four cats that I feed and take care of. I read books on my fancy Kindle and I buy books now and then, too. I have a nice cell phone. If I was really struggling I could change things about my lifestyle to make things easier financially. I’m not poor by any stretch, even though my income isn’t grand by any stretch either. But more than that, more than all of those things, I have a rich life that is worth more than anything money can buy. Next time I hear someone complain about being poor, I think I need to take him or her for a drive to the bowels of the poorest part of the city. I bet there are even some people there who work their asses off and struggle immensely, but still consider themselves rich in the important things, too.

So the idea of worth is on my mind, and I’ve written an essay to explore it. I also offered the theme, “For What It’s Worth” to our Last Straw essayist, Rick Ohler, and he came up with his own take on it. I hope you enjoy both.

The playlist took on the theme of worth, and the recipe didn’t, but as a summertime salad it’s worth it’s weight, for sure. Sometimes it’s all you need, something on the grill and a great salad with lots of flavours and textures, the whole spectrum between sweet and salty, soft, chewy and crunchy. It’s a winner and the variations you could try are endless. Give it a shot the next time you grill portobello mushrooms, chicken or a nice pork tenderloin.

I’d like to end here with a Happy Birthday wish for my sister-in-law extraordinaire, Jeannette Ewing. My brother gave us all a scare by ending up in the hospital this week, but he is doing so much better and was discharged today, just in time to celebrate his wife’s birthday. I am so very thankful. Happy Birthday, J. I love you!

Image 10
***

In this issue:

IMG 8608

Essay:

For What It's Worth

Playlist:

Rubies

Recipe of the Week:

Summer Salad to Accompany Grilled Stuff

Photographs

Brilliant

Daily Bread

Words of Others That Inspire Me

Last Straw

For What Its [sic] Worth by Rick Ohler

IMG 1245
***
IMG 1341
***

Essay

IMG 1342

For What It's Worth

Have you ever considered what your body is worth? If you sold it off organ by organ, limb by limb? Me neither, until I read about a study recently published in Wired Magazine. According to the article, a body could be worth up to $45 million, a figure calculated by the selling of bone marrow, DNA, lungs, kidneys, heart, eyes and blood as well as the rest of the components. Most people don’t have life insurance policies worth more than one million dollars, and that’s on the high end. When we’re talking dollars and cents, a human life seems like it should be worth more than the physical pieces that make up our bodies. But what is a life worth, anyway? How can we possibly put a dollar amount on the depths of wisdom, love, experiences and sensibilities that are contained within a human soul?

The world we live in is full of strange ironies when it comes to worth. The average salary for an educator who is responsible for imparting knowledge to our children is $72,708, at least in New York State. The average salary for a supermodel in New York City, is between $40 and $50 million per year. And the average income for a farmer, a person belonging to the group of people responsible for supplying the food that nourishes every single human being on earth? It is between $25,000 and $50,000 per year. And have you ever wondered what the dollar value of a “Like” on Facebook is for a non-profit? The 2012 Non-Profit Social Networking Benchmark Report said the average value of a “Like” for non-profits seeking to attract donations, calculated from total revenue received from a supporter over the twelve months after their “Like,” was $214.81. Seems like we are able to quantify just about anything these days, doesn’t it? We are sown into a cultural seed bed where success is so often measured by monetary worth.

IMG 1487

Albert Einstein said that instead of trying to become a man of success, become a man of value. I’m not certain I know what that means. It all depends on what lenses I’m reading it through. Am I viewing value in monetary terms, or in a person’s worth as being something to hold in esteem and regard for the qualities of good character they possess, the effect they have in bettering the world around them? Knowing what I know about Albert, I’m guessing it’s the latter. The end result of success isn’t nearly as valuable as the day-to-day ingredients of a life well lived.

I have a difficult time with placing a monetary value on things. I’d rather give something away than fear I’m asking too much, or even too little. It’s that feeling that anything that costs only money isn’t worth much in the end, and worth, value, can be apprised simply by how much something is appreciated and loved. This isn’t a very productive approach to understanding the way the world goes 'round, and I’m working on getting more comfortable with asking to be compensated for my skills and my time, but there is always this timid voice whispering in my ear: “How can you ask to be compensated for this? You’d better keep it cheap. Don’t ask too much. Heck, just give it away, then you won’t feel bad.” I don’t even think it is so much a charitable way of thinking, rather than a weakness for not being able to see my own value. It’s also not the most desirable quality to have as a self-employed woman. Why do some people seem so at ease with money, and others as rattled by it as if they had been living in a cave since birth and had never so much as glanced at a penny before? I’ve come to a point where I’m someplace in between, but it’s still my Achilles’ Heel. And yet, I’m grateful that I possess the sensibility to know where a man or woman’s true value lies.

IMG 1489

There is a quote that I love by poet and philosopher Criss Jami: “Every job from the heart is, ultimately, of equal value. The nurse injects the syringe; the writer slides the pen; the farmer ploughs the dirt; the comedian draws the laughter. Monetary income is the perfect deceiver of a man's true worth.” I want to believe that if this kind of thinking permeates everything that I do, that the monetary part will become easier for me, a necessary part of survival in the world, a means of being compensated for a job not only from the heart, but from hard work that produces something of value to another person or persons, something that they are willing to pay for. Why is this so hard? I have no qualms about paying others for a service or an item that I wish to have. Why do I find it so hard to put a price on what I can offer? Perhaps it is just one of my many character flaws. Pieces of me that still need forming and growth. I’m getting a little better at it, but I doubt that it will ever seem natural to me.

I have always believed, and I still believe, that our most valuable possessions in life cannot be bought or sold. Think of some of your own. For me it might be the way my eyes perceive the sunrise, the beauty of the land around me, the joy of sunlight streaming through the trees in my woods, the sound of my children’s voices, the way my cats settle around me before sleep and their joyful anticipation of their breakfast, barely letting me make a stop in the bathroom as they corral me to the kitchen each morning with a chorus of meows. It is the warmth in the eyes of the man I love, his humility and the comfort of his embrace. It is the undulating whispers of field grass in the oscillating wind. It is memory, both the lovely ones and the painful ones, the history of my days that can never be erased from my heart, my character, even if they slowly fade from my mind. It is the love and shared experiences of my family. It is the invaluable prize of friendship and community. It is having people in your life that are there to help you pick up the pieces when you’ve been shattered, and in turn doing the same for them. It is my faith and hope. My hard-earned wisdom and freedom to live my life on my own terms, and the blood, sweat and tears of those who came before me and have shared that wisdom, made that freedom possible. Priceless things. The real worth of life. The real value of being human. And what about the ability to take whatever it is that life brings our way, good or bad, and turn it into something of value? Writers, artists and poets do this all the time. These are the things I have no problem assigning value to, because their worth is beyond quantifying. The value is fathomless.

Monetary income is the perfect deceiver of a man's true worth. The richness that we experience in our lives, the kindness and goodness we give and receive, is the great equaliser, no? The poorest woman can be as rich as the wealthiest, when it comes to our true worth. The poorest man can also be poor in spirit, just as a wealthy man can. Success cannot be defined by the dollar sign. I may always struggle with putting a price on my offerings to the world, but I’m hopeful that by remembering where my true worth resides, I will learn to be more comfortable with the dollar signs, even more appreciate and grateful for the true rubies and gold. For what it's worth.

***
IMG 1555

Playlist

IMG 8601

Rubies

You know the Proverb: Wisdom is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her.

Songs with wisdom. Not the shout out loud kind. The kind that sneaks into you. Slowly.

And one song for its name alone, for what it's worth.

Click on the photo to listen.

IMG 1571
***

Recipe of the Week

issue60-8-2

Summer Salad to Accompany Grilled Stuff

Our favourite salad. My former mother-in-law Thea made a variation of this for almost every family meal when we were all together. This salad is the perfect accompaniment to grilled meats of any kind. Its yumminess factor relies on the balance of sweet and savory and tangy. Always choose one dried fruit, one fresh fruit, one kind of nut, and a strong cheese. Dill is the fresh herb to use; it goes with almost anything. I added orange sweet peppers, too.

You can use any mild Italianish vinaigrette. Nothing too acidic, or it will overpower all the wonderful flavours. I am including a recipe for a simple vinaigrette you can make from home. Plain old lemon juice, olive and sea salt ain't too bad, either.

issue60-7-2

Ingredients

•Fresh baby lettuces, spring mix, mesclun mix, or any soft lettuce of choice. I used a package of the Earthbound Organic Spring Mix with Herbs. Wash and spin the lettuces
•1 orange sweet pepper, diced
•1/4 cup chopped fresh dill
•1/4 cup dried fruit. I used a mix of dried cherries and golden raisins
•1/4 cup chopped walnuts or any other nuts
•1 apple, diced, peel on.
•1/4 cup strong cheese, like blue, roquefort or gorgonzola

Toss with dressing of choice. Be spare with dressing...just enough.

Dressing:

•1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
•1 teaspoon finely-minced fresh garlic
•3 tablespoons rice vinegar
•Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
•1/2 cup good olive oil

Directions

In a small bowl, whisk together the mustard, garlic, vinegar, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. While whisking, slowly add the olive oil until the vinaigrette is emulsified.

***
IMG 1609

Oh I love this...

***

Photographs

Brilliant

Rainy days make for vibrant colours and glowing whites

IMG 1687
IMG 1707
IMG 1711
IMG 1750
IMG 1785
IMG 1796
IMG 1797
IMG 1798
IMG 8589
IMG 8590
IMG 8591
IMG 8602
IMG 8603
IMG 8605
IMG 8606
IMG 8620
IMG 8641
IMG 8642
IMG 8640
IMG 8643
IMG 8644
***

Daily Bread

photo 1
photo 2
photo 3
***
IMG 8609

A little chickadee from this week. About to fly to its new home in England. Holy cats.

***

The Last Straw

photo8

For What Its [sic] Worth

by Rick Ohler

It isnt an easy existence these days for us English-grammar-punctuation types. For reasons only our therapists could divine, were doomed to confront all written text—newspapers, magazines, road signs, you name it—and look for errors in spelling, grammar or punctuation. Its the pits, living like this. One of the errors that really sticks in my craw, is the misuse, overuse, hyperuse of the apostrophe.

The apostrophe, a word that comes to us from French, Latin and Greek means to turn away from. And thats what Im going to suggest today, turning away from the apostrophe. Let me elaborate.

Although Im a lousy photographer, and I havent taken advantage of the Unweaver-in-chiefs workshops in how to use an iPod or iPhone camera, I persuaded her to let me use these admittedly crummy photos to make a point.

Take for instance photo No. 1. Here is a venerable institution, Gene McCarthys Irish Pub, offering specially engraved mugs for patrons who contributed to their campaign to build a new brewery. Unfortunately, they called the club, the Founder’s Club, clearly a violation of the apostrophe rule. What, is there only one Founder? Then it would be Founder’s Club. Presumably, there is more than one Founder (there are, in fact, one hundred), so the correct mug spelling should be Founders’ Club. Curiously, when I brought this up on recent visit, they werent too keen on changing all 100 mugs.

photo6

How about photo No. 2? Clearly the intent of this sign at a breakfast diner is to keep restaurant patrons out of the kitchen. Bypassing the obvious question—Why in the dickens would I (or you) be interested in visiting a diner kitchen?—why has the sign maker made “employee” a possessive by adding an apostrophe? Whats possessive about employees only going into a diner kitchen? Wouldnt “Employees Only” get the job done? Either way, Im staying out of that kitchen.

photo7

Photo No. 3 comes to us from the Native American cigarette manufacturers in Western New York. Why anyone would smoke is beyond me, but why anyone would buy a pack of smokes that have an obvious apostrophe faux pas is way, way beyond me. People, have a little self-respect. SENECA 100s does the trick completely. Add an ‘s’ onto 100, and we now know that for our five bucks or whatever it is they nick you for a pack, we get more than one cigarette. Add an ‘s’ to make a plural. Whats so hard about that?

photo2

Photo No. 4 is, I think instructive. A politician, one Chris Lane, has unconsciously tipped his hand by distributing lawn signs that proclaim himself as the “citizen’s” legislator. One citizen? Thats whom he represents? Hes not the “citizens” legislator. His sign begs us to assume that somewhere out there in his district is the one citizen he represents. Maybe its him he represents. I dont know about you, but I sure couldnt vote for him.

photo4

Photo No. 5 is not a joke. This is an actual Orchard Park Bee. Now the Bee is in competition with the paper Ive worked for so many years, The East Aurora Advertiser. Ive scratched my head for a while, wondering what “Orchard Parks’ Newspaper’” means. Orchard Park is the name of the town, not Orchard Parks. As far as I know, there is only one town called Orchard Park in our general vicinity. Wouldnt “Orchard Park’s Newspaper” work? And arent guys n gals who run an English-language newspaper supposed to know this stuff?

photo3

The straw that broke the camels back, the last straw, if you please, is photo No. 6. “Growing Up in the Village in the 1940’s’s.” Wrap your mind around that for a minute. Any luck figuring out what the author or headline writer meant? I didnt think so. I can see how someone would want to write “1940’s.” Lots of folks make that mistake, so many that its nearly become the rule. But “1940’s’s? I mean, what the hecks that all about? Libby Maeder, if youre out there reading this, help.

Examples of apostrophe abuse are rampant. There are the banners in the high school gym immortalizing the year “Boy’s Soccer” and “Girl’s Basketball” won a championship. Wow, one boy and one girl won the thing all by himself and herself? And how about poor little its and it’s? I read in the paper the other day this sentence, “Its shameful how the Common Council has lost it’s way.” Im not lying.

So heres my plan, which youve probably caught onto already: Eliminate the apostrophe. Why not? Nobody can figure out how to use the darn thing, anyway. Well all be happier, and 100s, 1000s of folks wont have to worry about whether theyre right or wrong. And I wont have to go by houses with mailboixes that say, “The Smith’s,” or the “The Jones’s.”
Whataya say? Isnt it time?

Visit Rick Ohler on the web at www.rickohler.com.

***
IMG 8645
383700 2345899700745 521025611 n

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being a Nest reader and subscriber.

Kateri

P.S. You can send personal comments by replying to this email, and more public comments by posting on the Unweaving the Nest Weekly Facebook page, or by visiting unweavingthenest.typepad.com.

If you are reading this as a sample issue and would like to subscribe, please visit www.unweavingthenest.com for more information.

Thank you, so much, for being here.

IMG 8613

I'm trying to get Sam to be close to me while I'm working, but not ON my work. I tried a pillow. So far it's not working except for a few minutes.

1px