God, Galileo, and Grumpy Teddy Bears: Part 1

My brother John and I used to play with teddy bears. We called it "ams", short for stuffed animals. Usually during breakfast, while Mom or Dad were saying something about chores or homework, John and I would exchange meaningful glances. Then, like escaping prisoners, we would stealthily flee to John's room for a game of ams.

We had about twenty teddy bears, each a distinct and truly fascinating personality. There was Beav the cunning commando and his inseparable comrade Sam. We had Fox the incomparable scientist, mystic, and military strategist, and Grey, the good hearted duffer with a talent for mistakenly starting every fight on the wrong side (he generally saw his error and changed sides just at the moment of dire necessity).

Yes, those were the good old days. Without a TV, video games, or even much fiction, we invented our own imaginative stories and learned to see something extraordinary in a mundane collection of teddy bears.

Our teddy bears live a placid life these days. Mom and Dad take them out when young children visit, but the dramatic vision of bygone days is not relived. A part of me still imagines those teddy bears are alive, and I wonder sometimes if they are getting grumpy with so little excitement.

To be continued...

Backyard Living: Marmalade

We have several fruit trees (3 orange trees, 2 lemon trees, a persimmon tree, and 2 avocado trees) in our back yard that we have been enjoying since our move here last fall. One of the orange trees had a fall crop which we gobbled up fresh. But now all three orange trees are having their spring crop - and there are more oranges than we know what to do with!

It would be a shame to get through citrus season without at least attempting some marmalade so I scoured the internet looking for techniques and recipes. I found one that seemed foolproof, quick, and easy. I used a combination of meyer lemons gathered from a nearby deserted tree, pink and yellow grapefruit donated to us from a church member, our backyard oranges, and a handful of frozen cranberries.

Unfortunately, my first batch wasn't stellar. It didn't set up very well and had a bitter aftertaste that just wasn't very pleasant.  I have since decided that I need to go with a slower, more time intensive process but that should hopefully yield better results. More on that soon!  (As in, when I have a spare moment to actually make it!)  For now, you can enjoy the pictures from my first batch!  At least it looked pretty!

At the Heart of an Inferior Olive

I recently bit down on a half-cured, unripe olive. It was a disappointing gastronomic experience, to say the least. Our personally picked olives had cured for two months in a concentrated brine, and most of them were pretty good. This particular olive, however, was decidedly inferior--so inferior, in fact, that it got me thinking.

As a medical student my mind has sunk deep into medical tracts. So when I thought of that bitter olive, the inferior olivary nucleus came to mind. This nucleus relays information to the cerebellum, which basically means that it is involved in muscle coordination.

Coordination is important not just as I walk to class or scribble notes about neuroscience but also as I seek a clutter-free life. Take those olives, for instance. Christy and I believe that picking our own olives is a good way to both practice and enjoy the ethic of simplicity. We simplify our budget by picking and curing our own olives, while at the same time we experience the simple joy of personally selected olives seasoned with garlic and rosemary. In this way, a small budget coordinates, rather than conflicts, with the joy of good food.

Such coordination doesn't always happen, however. Sometimes, we soldier through a few days of beans and oatmeal in order to stay within our monthly food budget. And sometimes, a bitter olive greets my taste buds instead of a gourmet delight.

So from the heart of an inferior olive(ary nucleus), we have learned two things about the ethic of simplicity. First, practicing idealism in the real world does not come without sacrifice. Like it or not, freedom from clutter inevitably means a few "bitter olives". The second point, however, is that living simply is not a zero sum game with all the good things of life. Coordination is possible. We have discovered, in fact, that coordination happens far more often than conflict. The tasty olives really do outweigh the bitter. In fact if you haven't already, we highly recommend that you taste for yourself one of these days.

Backyard Living: Curing Olives

Living in Southern California has opened up a new world to us agriculturally.  Barry and I both grew up in families who gardened, but neither of us have ever lived in a place with such abundant food growing everywhere!  One crop that grows here and is ignored a lot of the time is the olive tree.  My friend Nellie and I went olive picking at a church member's home last fall and we are now reaping the results.

The following method is one that I decided on after doing lots of internet research.  There are many other ways to do it, but we decided on the following because it was less complicated.

After picking the olives, you wash and dry them.

Then you make 1 or 2 cuts in the flesh of each olive so that the bitter acid will leech out.  This takes a bit of time but with more than one person helping, it can go pretty fast.

Next you place them in a salt brine (about 1/4 cup salt per quart) and let them soak, and soak, and soak.  A large glass container or several quart jars works best for this.  (Note: do NOT soak them in stainless steel.  We tried this and discovered that, if pressed against the metal for an extended period of time, the acid in the olives would actually begin to eat away at the metal.)  The salt water should be changed every 4-7 days depending on the amount of salt you used.  

After about 2 months of soaking (although it can be longer or shorter depending on the size), the olives should be quite edible!  Taste one and see what you think.  If they are still somewhat bitter, soak them for 1-2 more weeks. If they are too salty, place them in clean water (no salt) to draw out the sodium.  

You can then season them with things such as garlic cloves, lemon slices, and bay leaves.  Place them in a quart jar with a lightly salted brine and the seasonings.  Pour a thin layer of olive oil on top to seal.  They can then be kept for up to a year (if they last that long!)

To tell the truth, this post is not just about olives.  It's about being creative with what you have on hand, instead of spending money in order to satisfy every need or desire that crops up.  It doesn't have to be olives or persimmons.  For you, it may mean saving and reusing the fabric from old clothing, or making a commitment to avoid food waste.  Whatever it may be for you, be assured that it makes a difference!

Divine Simplicity

Two Youtube videos:

Sunday's Coming and What if Starbucks Marketed Like Church? A parable.

Two observations:

1. Church gets complicated and hypocritical when we focus the worship on ourselves.

2. Church becomes refreshingly simple and inspiring when we focus the worship on God.

The smell of simplicity

I run in the early morning, three times a week. My alarm goes off at 4am. I snuggle closer to Christy. Finally I rouse my resolve and crawl out of bed, stumble to the door, and start running before I have time to think. I am barefoot (that's another story) shivering, and suddenly exhilarated.

Running barefoot is a primal and refreshingly wild tonic for my reeling, endlessly pummeled medical student's brain. The simplicity relaxes me, and soon my peace is complete. I enjoy the cool of night even as the energy of approaching day infuses each second accelerating towards the sunrise. My senses come alive with the world, my feet feeling each stride, the sights and sounds all around me, and the smells.

Oh yes, that's right, the smells. Nothing bad, of course, but all smell, any smell period, reminds me of the skunks. Some days I take on every attribute of a hyper-alert, hunted animal. My peripheral vision becomes super human, my nose more sensitive than the finest wine-taster's. Skunks in Loma Linda, you must understand, are aggressive predators.

Just the other day, I was running innocently down a deserted lane when a cat crossed my intended trajectory about 100 feet ahead. At least, I told myself it was a cat, with a really big busy tail. I didn't have long to rest in this comforting fable, however, for within seconds, the harmless cat was a skunk, pausing in mid stride, looking straight at me. I stopped. Surely, the skunk would continue on its way? But no, it turned towards me and began to run, purposefully, menacingly. I fled. Then, less than five minutes later, another skunk. This time, it was running up the street I was running down. I slowed my pace. Surely my last experience was a fluke and this skunk would see me and flee? Nay! The skunk saw me, but did not change course. Instead, its casual amble became an uncompromising, all-out charge. I fled once again.

Oddly enough, those two nervy skunks did not ruin my run. I actually chuckled most of the way home. Two stinky striped creatures had changed my run from a sublime revere into a farcical comedy. On the way back, I actually checked both ways as I crossed a street, not for cars (at 4am) but for skunks!

I couldn't wait to tell Christy my silly tale, but after regaling her with the full story, a serious and important thought occurred to me: We have real life passing us by each day, by turns dramatic, romantic, exciting, or just downright hilarious, but too often, we don't even notice. We have become so busy, so overstimulated, so over-entertained, that our sensitivity to real experience is pathetically dull.

We should simplify life at least enough to notice it, preferably enough to appreciate it, and hopefully enough to revel in it. I'm no saint of simplicity, but if the smells of sleepy Loma Linda suddenly can remind me of stinky skunks, then hopefully this little story will put my mind onto a far better scent--the smell of simplicity.

Clutter

I read recently in an article (I think from Runners World) that there are two reasons we clutter our life with things. The first is by preparing for the future - keeping all sorts of things because we think we might need it someday! The second way is for remembering the past - keeping all the sentimental mementos from our yesteryears. If overdone, both detract from the present.

Over Christmas break one of my jobs at home was to go through quite a few boxes of my stuff. When Barry and I moved to California, we only brought a limited amount of our belongings. For me, a lot of stuff got left at my parent's place. But I began to wonder, if it wasn't important enough for me to bring to California, did I really need it in the first place?

I come from long line of savers. My Dad and Grampie fit the futuristic saver prototype. They keep all sorts of things for that day far in the future when they just might need it. My Mom and Grammie are more of the past saver types. (But I must note that they both have been doing a LOT of sorting and decluttering lately! I'm so proud of them!)

As I sorted through my belongings, I came to realize that I was definitely a saver. Maybe not an extreme one, but at least a mild one. For remembering the past, I have a whole tub full of small notes, letters, and mementos from my highschool days. Birthday cards, mission trip DVDs... They all got tossed into that tub. As far as saving for the future goes, I have a trunk full of little dresses, my favorite doll and all her handmade clothes that my great grandmother (or was it my great, great grandmother??) made, and other things of such nature that I am saving for when I have my own home and family someday.

As I created piles for the thrift shop, I mulled over clutter, possessions, and STUFF. What should guide my future decisions in regards to how much to keep and how much to pitch?

Barry and I have already made some decisions about how much we want to have. We had to start thinking about it a long time ago when people were wanting to know what we wanted for wedding gifts. Basically it boils down to this: we want to live simply, and in order to live simply, sometimes you have to make what seems to others as drastic choices. One of those, for us, is stuff. We have decided that we want quality essentials and not much more. In fact, we've already commented that we feel like we're getting too much stuff. On my to-do list is the task of going through our two closet/cupboard storage areas and deciding what we don't need. If we don't start now, things will start to build up quickly!

But I also think there is a time and place for the remembering and saving for the future. The trick is just to not let things get excessive. Save what is is MOST important, and have firm guidelines as to what makes the cut to be in that category. For instance, I have gotten rid of almost all of my beloved stuffed animals and childhood memorabilia. However, there are 3 that I have kept. These items will be passed on to my own children someday. And I have future plans to go through my box of memories from highschool and weed out everything but the MOST special and MOST important. I think I'll be able to reduce it from a tub full to at least a small pile.

I'm sure there are more lessons to be learned about clutter. I didn't even mention the clutter that we schedule into our lives each day or the clutter that exists in our minds. But those are for another day. I have a closet to sort through!

What about you? What are your guidelines for reducing clutter?