Row, Row, Row Your Boat

I recently volunteered to help at my local county recreation center in an Adapted Aquatics class for people with Multiple Sclerosis. We work in the shallow end of the pool doing strength and range of motion exercises with a number of students. There is an instructor and one or two volunteers for each student. On Friday another volunteer and I worked with a lovely lady who arrived for class in a wheel chair. We moved her into a waterproof chair and down the ramp into the pool, where she floated out of the chair as we supported her. She had limited control over her right hand and arm, and little ability to move her legs. MS also affected her speech so that she had difficulty articulating words.

One of the first exercises we did assisted her to do the movements for the elementary backstroke. You probably remember this – up, out and together with the arms and legs. I moved her legs while she moved her arms as well as she could. For the arms we called it “tickle, T, and touch (your thighs).” Then she started calling it “tickle, T and wiggle.” Every time she extended her arms she would wiggle her hips in the water and laugh.

Our next exercise was “crunches”. We put a flotation “noodle” under her shoulders and another one under her knees. She grabbed the lower “noodle” and pulled her knees towards her chest, crunching her abdominal muscles. This required a lot of effort on her part, but she was doing well. Then she started to sing:

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream.

Her speech was labored, but she could sing quite clearly! The other volunteer and I sang along with her.

After awhile it hit me. She had a tough boat to row, fighting MS, but she was doing her best to be active, and she was laughing and singing as she rowed.

I don’t know what kind of boat you are rowing. Probably you don’t have MS, but you may be a diabetic, or have arthritis. You may be fighting depression or anxiety. You may have small children or 3 jobs. Life is hard sometimes. All we can do is keep rowing, and try to laugh and sing along the way.

If this lovely lady can get to the pool in a wheel chair to work out, what’s your excuse for not exercising?

Roasted Butternut Squash

A couple of people asked for my recipe for roasted pear and butternut squash with walnuts, so I am sharing it here.

1 butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cubed (1 inch cubes)
3 firm pears, cored and cubed
1/4 cup walnut pieces
2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
2 teaspoons of sugar (optional)
1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon (optional)

Combine cubed squash, pears, walnuts and olive oil.
Spread mixture in a single layer on a sheet pan.
Season with salt, pepper, sugar and cinnamon.

Roast in a 375 degree oven for 30 minutes. Stir gently and roast another 15 minutes or until as done as you like it.

I roasted mine before I put the turkey in the oven, then reheated it in a casserole dish for 30 minutes after the turkey came out.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.

Here is one of my favorite hymns in honor of the season.

For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,
for the heart and mind's delight,
for the mystic harmony,
linking sense to sound and sight;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,
brother, sister, parent, child,
friends on earth and friends above,
for all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For thy church, that evermore
lifteth holy hands above,
offering up on every shore
her pure sacrifice of love;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For thyself, best Gift Divine,
to the world so freely given,
for that great, great love of thine,
peace on earth, and joy in heaven:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.


Folliot S. Pierpoint

A Poem for David

My son has a complicated relationship with the woman who shares his (2 bedroom) apartment. He never knows what she wants.

The following is poetry for thought.

Rent

If you want my apartment, sleep in it
but let’s have a clear understanding:
the books are still free agents.

If the rocking chair’s arms surround you
they can also let you go,
they can shape the air like a body.

I don’t want your rent, I want
a radiance of attention
like the candle’s flame when we eat.

I mean a kind of awe
attending the spaces between us—
Not a roof but a field of stars.

Jane Cooper

A Poem for Veronica

I got my annual rating at work today. I wasn't pleased. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Liar

Mary Karr

Swept overboard, unconscious in the breakers,
strangled with seaweed, may you wake up in a gelid
surf, your teeth, already cracked into the shingle
now set rattling by the wind, while facedown,
helpless as a poison cur, on all fours, you puke
brine reeking of dead fish. May those you meet,
barbarians as ugly as their souls are hateful,
treat you to the moldy wooden bread of slaves.
And may you, with your split teeth sunk in that,
smile, then, the way you did when speaking as my friend.

Halloween

The scariest part of Halloween for me these days is the candy. I'm doing pretty good these days with healthy eating - I'm eating my fruits & vegetables, getting plenty of fiber, eating fish a couple times a week, choosing brown rice and black beans - but those little Snickers bars just call out to me. One is never enough. Five is not too many. My husband is going to take the left overs into his office tomorrow, if there are any.

Here's a creepy little poem I've always enjoyed this time of year.

Karl Krolow
translated by Herman Salinger

Someone, in the twilight, is taking a walk
And singing.

The wolf from the fable
Is in flight.

The wild plum thickets
Hover before him.
The man in the moon
Starts up out of the yellow straw
Whenever anyone goes past.

The wind’s hand rubs
The hazel nuts
Whenever the darkness
Likes anybody.

Somebody takes the night
Upon his shoulders,
Gives love her names,
And the hands of the dead
Begin again in the dust
To stir.