fun – Page 2 – Nourish-n-Cherish

Napolean in my Kitchen

Napoleon is in my kitchen making noodles before starting on his evening conquests. As far as conquests go, this one seems to make the emperor happier than a few hectares of land in medieval France.

There is a knock on the door, and I head outside.

A unicorn is needling the scary pumpkin outside while her super-hero brother stands petrified at the sound it makes periodically. So, I gingerly step past the moaning pumpkin and offer him candy. He beams in relief and gives me a look that says one day his superhero journey may save folks from moaning pumpkins – just not today. He takes one piece of candy politely, then looks seriously at the bowl. He considers the one in his hand, and switches it out to another one before shyly saying ‘Thank you!’

I wait for the fairies and princesses to come, my heart giving a little bump of joy every time the doorbell rings. One evil sorceress said that she was looking forward to ringing the doorbell when I opened the door before she did. I heard the pattering of steps and the squealing of voices long before her little group got to the door. So, I told her she could still ring the bell, and she smiled – vanishing all traces of an evil sorceress from her visage.

It is Elementary, Dear Watson

Halloween is here, and I found myself feeling a little wistful. The morning had been a reminder of all the wonderful years celebrating Halloween with the children. I drive by an elementary school, and Halloween mornings in an elementary school remind you that life’s best moments are in the silly and the spurious.

A duck and dinosaur, (a tyrannosaurus rex, the brain supplies from the recess of time) the same size are best friends chattering and crossing the road with a Duck Xing crossing. The lack of a T-rex Xing sign doesn’t seem to offend the dinosaur in the least, and good-naturedly the pair of them make it across the street.

The parents are all parked, scrolling on their phones, while waiting to see their children in the Halloween parade before heading out to work. One poor lady was on her laptop – reminding me of an irascible boss I once had. I remember this boss as the vampire sucking joy out on Halloween. Maybe this lady’s boss isn’t a vampire – but I don’t think so. Her pinched expression show how dearly she would like to close the laptop and take in the Halloween parade wholeheartedly, but cannot. Those of us with children have all tried juggling seemingly ridiculous things like this, but somehow I am still glad we did. All those years of elementary school parades seem to have swished past so swiftly.

Napoleanean Conquests

Back in the evening, I saw the unicorn fairy leave, and felt a pang. Halloween isn’t the time for time-travel, but everyday can be a capsule for time travel if you let Google photos have its say. I sat and watched photos from 10 years ago, 7 years ago, 5 years ago etc.

Later that night, Napolean showed me his candy stash and said with a politeness that stems from an excess of candy, “Please don’t throw these away! I will eat them – slowly a little everyday. Today’s haul was good.”

I thought the emperor would be buzzing on a sugar high, but apparently when you walk around the neighborhood for hours while eating candy it is good for the sugar. Huh! A few minutes later, I found his room lights on, and he was sleeping soundly, candy by his bedside, a book on his pillow, and a contented look on his face that said, ‘Today’s conquests complete!’

I smiled. Hope everybody had a good Halloween!

🦢🦢🦢 A Pod 🦢🦢🦢, 🥁🪘🪵 A Drumming 🥁🪘🪵, and a 🦅 ☕🦅 A Kettle 🦅 ☕🦅

It isn’t often that one feels like the poet, Mary Oliver. The October mornings are starting to feel crisp, and then one remembers that this is California – so we have a beautiful mix of windy, cloudy, frosty, and this year, rainy days.

🥁🪘🪵 A Drumming 🥁🪘🪵

The vibes that morning seemed to be around the themes of: Ready to bear moisture, and don the colors of autumn. Some trees had started turning orange, and the little family of woodpeckers I stopped to observe on my morning walk had me enthralled. There is something about the morning sun through the orange leaves, and little downy woodpeckers flitting and pecking their way through their morning that has to be experienced. They are called a descent of woodpeckers, or a gattling or a drumming of woodpeckers. I like the last term more – suits their percussion band theme.

The trees reached and yearned for the blue skies, the birds tittered and chattered. I couldn’t say they sounded happy exactly, but they sounded content. The Earth around me at that point felt content to be part asleep, part awake.

🦢🦢🦢 A Pod 🦢🦢🦢

Thinking of this and that, I made my way to a little spot I knew was favored by pelicans for their spot of morning fishing. Watching pelicans do a spot of coordinated fishing is one of the best experiences of nature. For all these men and their wars and their power trips, they should learn a lesson or two from a pod of pelicans.

Glide, swim, swoop,

Glide, swim, swoop

Ballerinas and group dancers they are – It isn’t a rhythmic time-based swoop, for sometimes, they glide, glide, swim, and then swoop.

Community creatures they are, and so totally in sync with each other, it is a joy to watch their companionship. Maybe they are territorial with their nesting and breeding grounds, but they also have an immense sense of taking care of each other.

https://nourishncherish.org/?s=coordinated+fishing

🦅 ☕🦅 A Kettle 🦅 ☕🦅

By the time I came home, my spirits were soaring with the kettle of hawks overhead. Hawks really do have a musical cry. They swooped and cried high in the skies, and really, they could be called a Swoop of Hawks. The agility!

Musical cries, percussion bands and group dancing is more than a morning’s worth of excitement, don’t you think?

A pod, a drumming and a kettle put me in mind for a hot cuppa tea, and I bustled into the kitchen full of purpose. A few minutes later, I sat sipping my brew content in the knowledge that mornings like this are not easy gifts. They are meant to be savored one precious breath at a time. After all, poetry, music, orchestra and words can only try to capture beauty.

Anticipation, Joy and a Surprise!

Is it raining yet?

I could barely sit still. Excited. Like a puppy waiting for a run around the park. Every few minutes, I found myself peeking out at the skies, and wondering whether the predictions were true. You see? We had been promised rain. The skies however did not seem to realize that our weather apps had predicted a 95% chance of rain. I genuinely do not know how they do this, but many times if it is a 30% chance of rain, the clouds may bother rolling in to salute the weather gods, but don’t want to go through the trouble of pulling on their grey robes, and just flit away.

This time they did not even bother rolling in. 95% chance of rain. It has to come – dance, spring, skip to the window. Nothing yet.
Sunny skies. D,s,s. Nothing.
A little breeze. Nothing.

When people tell you to keep your child-like outlook in life, I don’t think they realize how much disappointment goes with that. “We’ll go for a walk!”
When?

“Ice-cream?”
“Later. Once I’m done with work.”
“Done? Still? Not yet?”

It really requires enormous amounts of resilience. I salute you children – I really do. So, I peered out, sipped tea, and peered out some more. Nothing. So, I decided that the best thing to do was to be apathetic. Act like I didn’t care. Because I don’t. I mean, if it rains, I am sure, I’ll come to know.

Just as I thought the meteorologists really had messed it up this time, the rains started. I didn’t notice the dramatic shifting of the skies. The thunderous clouds rolling in. Like an efficient theatrical crew, the whole thing happened in minutes.

Then, the show started.

Oh! Was it good? It was amazing! I sat on my patio dancing away from the lashing rains, enjoying the sound of the water pouring down – beating against the broad leafed plants, and dripping down the pine needles. I watched the roses get drenched – rose petals with fat water droplets on them have to be one of my favorite things.

The son was equally thrilled to go to school that day. The biggest highlight was that his cross country runs would not be cancelled for something as trivial as rain, and he wanted to run in the pouring rain. I tried to make noises a responsible mother ought to make, but found myself excited for him. How can one not be excited about running in the rain with your friends?

I set off for a walk with an umbrella in hand, listening to the soothing sounds of the pouring rain, and getting a thorough drenching from all sides except the top where the umbrella tried its best. A friend of mine stopped her car to chide me, but refrained because I looked ‘far too happy to be scolded‘.

Plop! Plop! Plop! Surprise!

Later that evening, the son and I had both dried off and looked very pleased with ourselves with our little rainy day adventures. That was when I noticed. The roof in our house. The same one that leaked and had been repaired last year (but was never quite stress tested afterward) was not fixed. The pouring rains meant we had a puddle on the floor, and I found a little of my soaring spirit subsided somewhat.

But so what?

The first real rains of the season were well worth it! The sunset the day after was even better. So there! Happy rainy season fellow beings. May the Earth make a pluviophile of us all!

An Enchanted Adventure: A Journey Through Children’s Books

Mystique & Intrigue for an Adventurer & Explorer

“I am going to indulge myself in something that I haven’t had the chance to do in some time!” I said – throwing it over my shoulder casually in a manner intended to intrigue and mystify.

“Going to the library? Good job ma!” said the son, and I moaned. Mystique and I. My foot.

I guarded the time I had between a drop-off and pick-up session like it was precious (because it was) and headed towards the library. I fended off requests for the grocery store, deftly ducked under an amazon return order request, and dodged an enticing offer to search for missing documents in the house.

When finally I walked into the cool library that hot summer evening, I felt something like an adventurer. An explorer who found their way to treasured lands. It was beautiful.

The display stacks groaned with new children’s titles, the popular books section assured me that the authors displayed there had been continuing to do their good work of broadening children’s minds.

I cannot adequately state how marvelous it all is.

The hot evening outside meant I picked up books with illustrations with cooler themes in illustration. Sleepy dreamers, cozy woodland creatures, forests in fall, the gleam of windows in the night, the beautiful shapes of the stars in the night sky. The here-and-now of long summer days has us all yearning for these themes, I suppose.

As I gazed down at an illustration in the book, Every Color of Light – by Hiroshi Osada, I closed my eyes for a moment thinking of the evening we went in search of the stars. Specifically, Delta-Cep in the Cepheus constellation.

Delta Cep in the Cepheus Constellation

The son was bemused at how enthusiastically we wanted to help in this particular homework assignment. He, of course, in the innocence of youth cannot understand our childish enthusiasm for learning new things, finding out about new things. “Did you know that if we scale our universe, if the solar system is a football field in California, the nearest star, Alpha Centauri, is in the East Coast of America?”

“Really?”

See? Amused at the awe shining like Alpha Centauri on our faces.

Anyway, he said it was difficult to find Delta Cep in the summer skies because of the light pollution in city areas. It isn’t the brightest star system. The husband asked his talented photographer friends for the best places to go, and off we went. For half an hour, we forgot about all the travails that seemed to be whipping our daily worlds. Maybe Delta-Cep had a better time of it. A place where peace and harmony prevailed. A star-system in which the greatest turmoils were mild-summer-breezes that rippled through their atmospheres.

That is the power of story-telling isn’t it? The ability to transport us to realms other, feelings exalted, and wholesome?

Farmhouse Menagerie

I picked up the book on cozy woodland creatures, Woodland Dreams – by Karen Jameson pictures by Marc Boutavant

What whimsical names would you give our fellow creatures? Karen’s names were fascinating: Fox (Swift Legs) , Fish (Shiny Scales), Deer (Tiny Hooves), Woodpecker (Strong Beak)

Come Home – Swift Legs

Furry Schemer

Red-tailed Dreamer

Karen Jameson, Picture by Marc Boutavant

The lyrical poems she gives for each creature was enough to bring a smile.

It got me thinking: What would you name some of your fellow creatures? I have always loved listening to the names people give their pets. The daughter had quite the list, and I must say, some of them made me sit up and listen. The menagerie she had in mind for her horses, dogs and cats, reminded me of the little girl whose stories as a girl all involved moving to the countryside, and a horse in the stables revealing themselves to be a unicorn only to her. There is a sweetness to thinking like that. A simple yearning.

The feeling of a children’s book

And so it went, a little reverie of my own every time I picked up a book. It was the rare book that disappointed. Most children’s books had a sweet emotion it evoked – warmth, beauty, companionship, safety, love, growth.

It only seemed right that I finished my stash for the evening with the book, Grow Grateful – – By Sage Foster-Lasser and Jon Lasser, PhD. Illustrated by Christopher Lyles

“So, how was it?” said the son as I picked him up.

“It was amazing! I wish you could’ve come!” He beamed. “Yes, next time. Tell me which ones did you like the best?”

I told him about all the ones I had read, and we chatted about them all the way home. He listened, an indulgent look on his face, and I felt a pang – he was growing and children’s books seemed childish to him just now as a newly minted teenager with a reputation to grow into. I hope he’ll come back to them one day like C S Lewis said to his niece for whom he had written The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” C S Lewis

A Timely Prank

“We have all been a little low on sleep lately!”, I whine to the brother who is asking me why I sound like a cactus.

His brows raised in question. Well. May have. But I know his facial expressions well enough. When his foliage moves, it means he is conveying something.

“Well – your little nephew has gone and joined the Athletics Team, which means he opts for the 5:00 a.m. practices on some days. So, there I am moonwalking at that godly hour!” A loud laugh startles out of him at that, and it takes me a minute to realize the unwitting pun there.

“Literally da! I slept only by 1:30 after my nightly reading etc, and was up again at 5 and walking under the divine light of the stars!” I said.

Remember the prank?

“Huh! Life does come a full circle. Do you remember us doing the same thing to you once? Oh! Remember the prank?!”

I didn’t. Sleep deprived. Cactus-like symptoms. Also old.

The son, on the other hand is agog. “What is it Maama?”

“Well – your mother was always getting up early to go and train for athletics. Wouldn’t let any of us snooze in. 6 a.m out in the fields. Very annoying. So one time, we decided to prank her. Remember this was the time before smart phones. We relied on clocks – wall-clocks, alarm clocks and grandfather clocks for the time. So, we changed all the clocks. And woke her up at 2:00 a.m. “ He stops to chuckle at the memory. I am beginning to remember it now. The knuckle head.

“She got ready, wore her shorts and tee etc – not once glancing out of the window. It is only when she steps outside with her shoes that she realized that it isn’t dawn yet. No pinkening of the skies. No birds chirping. Nothing.”

The son looks far too pleased at this reminiscence. “That’s awesome Maama! That’s so cool! “

“Yep!” The smug Maama in question preens at this. A satisfied baritone to his voice as he says. “It was truly priceless. She was too tired to be angry, too sleepy to be anything, and she just fell asleep – just like that with all her athletic gear on. “

Careful!

I smiled at the memory. It was coming back to me. That was funny!

“Serious respect for all the work Maama- changing the clocks! Staying awake.” The awe in the son’s voice. Goodness!

“Careful! I might do the same to you one day!” I said in my most threatening voice, and they both laugh.

How easy it is to flit between decades? There is something comforting in the rhythm of life and circle-of-life and all of that isn’t there? The son skipped to school, satisfied with his morning story from maama, still chuckling at his yawning mama.

I need a nap.

Mellow Joys: Strolls in the Moonlight

Mellow Joys

The week-end evening was pleasant after a hot week, I sat relishing the quiet: the especially large magnolia blossom on a tree, the clouds in their pinks, lilacs and greys before they embraced the inky blues of the night, and the gentle breeze through the leaves and waters nearby. It truly was idyllic.

The long summer days always make me yearn for the different colors of dusk and night. Our home is bright and filled with natural light which is a blessing, but it also means that late risers like Yours Truly do not get to the see the colors of dawn. The days start with light and then go on burning bright with every passing hour.

Last night, I had time on my hands. I watched the dusk turn to night. A slow stroll through the moonlit streets of our neighborhood made for a different rhythm. There was a mellow joy to it – not boisterous, but buoyant. Moonlight can be tender, but it also can throw everyday objects into harsh contrast.

Not just our homes but our heavens too

Maybe it was the lackadaisical nature of the stroll – one I rarely permitted myself to do. Brisk walks, phone calls while walking, chatting – they were all absent. I watched a cloud flit over a sinister looking tree, and looked on passively as an owl flew past and perched itself on the very tip of the tree-top. We stood there each surveying the other, and finally, of course, I lost. Can we ever win out against the stillness of predators?

I heard the sounds of animals scurrying outside – every sense accentuated by the lack of electric light. Even the olfactory senses seemed to be enjoying this – Some flowers that wafted their fragrance only into the night, and I stopped to sniff and smile every so often.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the owl swoop.

“Our village of Fairacre is no lovelier than many others. We have rats as well as roses in our back gardens…. But at times it is not only home to us but heaven too; and this was just such an occasion.”

― Miss Read, Over the Gate: A Novel

Asrais magical in the moonlight

Reluctantly, I headed back into the home, and insisted on switching off all the lights for the rest of the evening. Even when I watched a movie with the windows open, I kept sneaking glances at the moonlight pouring in through the slats in the window.

The evening reading fare was equally marvelous. A magical book with fantastic beasts, beautiful illustrations, and oh so much imagination! What a book, Stephen Krensky!

The Book of Mythical Beasts & Magical Creatures – By Stephen Krensky

On the different kinds of fairies, Stephen Krensky has this to say on the Asrai:

Asrai are rare creatures that live in the water and only come to the surface once every hundred years. Asrai grow only by the light of the moon, and if exposed to sunlight, dissolve into the water and are never seen again.

-Stephen Krensky on the Asrai Fairies

When I read about the magical Asrais, I felt it was time now to go to bed and continue the beauty of simply watching the moonlight through the windows. Maybe it had been an evening when an Asrai had come out to the bless the lands. Who knew?

Royal Life: A Light-hearted Perspective

Being Royal

“I take it all back, my dear. I think I want to be Royal. You know? Just have all the means, and have everyone do as I say!” I said to the children, who were milling around in the kitchen for lunch.

“Everybody already does whatever you say! I don’t know what you mean!” said the daughter.

“No they don’t! But that’s going on the blog.” I said, to which the son pips in his share.

“Oh my god Amma, you’re literally a content farmer, you know that? Full of dictums on using social media, instagram, etc, and here you are totally content farming.”

“True! True!” agrees the husband, who is also enjoying this far too much. “She is the Queen! Content Farming. Royals do it too, don’t they?!”

I laughed loudly at that, and said, “Seeing as none of you bowed to me while meekly accepting that you did not get the yogurt out of the fridge, I contest your claim.”

Wealth, Fame, Fashion

The daughter and I have been watching a few episodes of The Crown on Netflix, and our commentary changes depending on the episode in question.

Generally, having to not worry about wealth, ways and means, is a thumbs-up seeing as career discussions are a constant hum for those from middle class families. “I wouldn’t mind attending charity balls, and deciding where my money goes. “

“Exactly! Mental Health – yes! Global warming – yes! Improving chocolate wrappers – no! See?!”

One night, we were watching an episode where Lady Diana was being hounded by the press.

The press scrutiny, and the unrelenting demands of living in the public eye earns a commiserating, “Must be awful living like that. Watching how often somebody talks to you, or who has their left toe turned away from you! Sheesh! People need jobs!”

“And – there we are back to jobs again! We must not be a very good royal family then, huh?!” we cackled to one another slurping the icecream sticks in our hands in a plebian manner.

One day, we swooned over the fashions – the elaborate hats, and the colors that we wouldn’t wear to work everyday. The queen’s words to Prime Minister Blair then made sense. In that episode, the Queen is agonizing over the future of the monarchy, and has several polls taken to consider what they need to be doing, what they could do better: etc. Finally, predictably, she embraces the has-been, but shows growth by seeing the point of the can-be. She says something to the effect of the monarchy existing to show us another world, transport us to another world. That, she is determined to do well. So if there are swan keepers of royal swans, royal buglers and bagpipers, and each of them providing a bit of a dip into that world, so be it. (Season 6 Episode 6, Ruritania.)

Sea Sense

One day, the daughter floated downstairs wearing something that looked like it had been discarded by Ernest Hemingway’s Old Man after a trying day at sea. I gave her one of my scathing looks that affected her like water on a whale. Then, I tried adopting a pleading tone. “Do you honestly want to wear this to a party in which other people will be present?”

“It’s summer! Relax. Besides, I like the fraying edges – it’s supposed to be like that.”

“So, it wasn’t ripped by an angry shark?!”

She gave me a look. Frozen. Piscene – in keeping with the theme of the evening.

“But think of the fashions!”

“I am thinking of fashion. Clearly you’re not! What is this Mother? Fashions from last century?!”

“Long skirts were rather popular in the 1990s, but they continue to be fashionable in 2025, don’t they?!”

It reminded me of a good old book by Miss Read: Changes in Fairacre. Miss Read is musing on what to wear for dinner to her friend Amy’s house. Her Aunt Clara’s seed pearls would have to do with almost everything. And she says:

“Did other women fuss so much about their clothes, What did women do who had twenty outfits to choose from? Went quite mad, I supposed, worrying about shoes and jewels and so on to go with the right clothes. How did Royal ladies cope?”

I looked down at my well-worn skirt, a jewellery set my friend had gifted me a few years earlier, thanked the stars that aside from our modest circle of friends who were also our friends on social media, nobody really bothered about us.

“Royal life must be such a hassle, huh?! “ we chuckled as we settled into the back seat in our comfortable clothes.

That evening, I sighed happily to myself, glancing up at the full moon glowing in the skies. We may not know what it is like to have a dip into another life, like the Queen says, but I am grateful there isn’t a dull moment in the house with these characters.

Rainy Day Reminiscences

Rainy Day Song

I had been for a school reunion a couple of months ago to the Nilgiri Hills. While waiting for another event to start, we found ourselves in a position of waiting. The traffic snarls to and from the school meant going back to our hotel rooms for a much needed rest was out of the question. Instead, this became an afternoon I can look back upon with fondness.

It was Raining. Yes – that was a capital R. Actually, it was Pouring. The kind of rains that made our child selves sing the silly rhyme:

It’s raining,

It’s pouring,

The old man is snoring.

He raised his head, and bumped his head, and couldn’t get up in the morning!

Hey Puddle Puddle!

While we were waiting for the rains to stop, we were watching the parents and students, past and present, mill around. It was then, that a child, not more than 10-11 years old, strolled past kicking a stone into a puddle as he went. The water from the puddle splashed onto his overlong pants, and this juvenile act brought a smile to my face. The little fellow was probably going to be miserable later with the water dripping into his socks. But then, what is a little misery when you got to see the satisfying plop of a stone land in a puddle? He had a blissfully happy moment and couldn’t hide it. His smile brightened, and the future footballer had a glimmer of hope as he saw his future scoring a satisfying goal. He had launched the stone smoothly with his polished shoes, and it had landed exactly where he intended it to.

I looked around and exchanged a look with my friends and siblings with whom I was whiling away the time, and we burst out laughing after the briefest of pauses. The luxury of being happily stuck, without having anywhere else you would rather be, was in itself a blessing. But this little juvenile act sealed the beauty of the moment.

All things wet and beautiful!

It launched us on several fun conversation threads. Rain, and the love for it, pluviophilia (a lover of rain is called a pluviophile), may have originated for us in the Nilgiris, but it followed us around the globe. I smiled thinking of the children’s books we used to read most often: A Rainy Day Adventure, Spot goes Splash, and so many more rain related adventures. I thought of the simple games of riding through a puddle, and how it has morphed into a drive through a puddle in recent years. Always a splash with the kids. Because they expect maturity when presented with a puddle the size of a pond, an empty footpath, and a car? PFFT.

All of us had rainy day stories and memories, and the afternoon was spent most pleasurably.

The little fellow, bless him, may never know the mirth and joy he brought to a bunch of middle aged folks that afternoon, but such is life. We never know the light we spread just by being happy.

The Joys of Library Browsing

Yap Yap, Chat Chat, Chop Chop!

“Enough yapping! Chop! Chop!” I said trying to herd the children out. We had worked hard to carve this time out for ourselves and I was excited. We talked the whole way there. Or rather, they yapped, and I listened. I can’t say I understood- but the number of phrases and words that seem to make no sense seems to increase over time. Age really is a funny thing. It takes everything mutable, garbles it with time, and presents a slightly unintelligible version to you.

“Anyway – excited?”

“Yes Mother!” They chanted. How one phrase can hold both a dutiful and a sarcastic response I don’t know, but that, right there is another thing the young seem to have down. Sigh.

Library Browsing

It seemed like a long time since we’d had a children’s book read-a-thon, and so off we were, to the library. We meandered through the library shelves each of us taking our time, wondering how long it would take us to find things once the reshelving was done.

Library browsing is one of the most under-rated pleasures of the world. We each came back with a stash of books in our hands, and picked out a sunny nook in which to curl up and read for just a few minutes before heading back home to hole up in our home.

If we run out of words – By Felicita Sala

One of my favorite books from this haul happened to be – If we run out of words – By Felicita Sala

It is an innocent earnest worry of a child’s turned into a book. What if you run out of words to speak?

The increasingly exaggerated lengths to which the father would go to find words makes it a sweet story and finishes on a predictable, but heart-tugging phrase that remains unspoken. That is how you bring a smile to the face of children and adults reading the book. Well done Felicita Sala!

When there are words everywhere, words can be swords, pinpricks, thumps just as much as they can be balms of kindness and encouragement. I closed the book, and realized that fears, worries and anxieties come in so many forms. Speaking about them to the ones who matter is the key, says every wise one, but that remains the most difficult thing in the world. For don’t words spoken have to be heard?

The children (one a teenager and the other a young adult) picked up the book, and eloquently summed the book up “Duh! Bruh!”

Musical March

March is one of the most beautiful months in the Bay Area. Poets have tried over the years to capture some of the rapture of the month. But even poets such as Emily Dickinson (Dear March—Come in), Or William Wordsworth ( Written in March) seem to do the month justice.

Maybe they lived in colder climes, and the month did not yet burst forth in glory the way it does in California. You see? This is the month of rainbows, clouds and sunsets, golden california poppies, fields of yellow flowers, green grass knolls, sunshine and rain, oranges, cherry blossoms…I could literally go on and on.

The time change happens in the first week of March, and suddenly, cold and bleak evenings seem to shed their winter cloaks and don resplendent spring robes billowing in the wildflower scented breeze. The squirrels are chippier, the birds chirpier, and the breezes gentler.

A run along the river/stream by our home is a joy to endure. There are many places in the trail where the heart bursts with joy. All around you are gentle green hills adorned with wildflowers, the rivers are flowing, the birds are nest-building, and all of nature seems to be in one harmonious, vibrant orchestra.

It is so fitting that the month hosts lesser known festivals for the two things that appeal to the nourish-n-cherish household: whimsical & geeky. St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle & Pi Day

St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle

The son & I listened to Irish music on the way to school this morning. The music had us humming along even though we were sleepy. I came home and opened one of the favorite books of mine, St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle. My friend, Krishna Srinivasan , worked on the musical track for the book St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle. It has the same vibrant quality to it.

This is the sort of music that makes you peer out to see if a rainbow is there, and if the birds and animals are playing hide-n-seek too. Not to mention the sweet voice of the daughter, who has lost the childish intones in that beautiful book now. So, please do give a listen to the books, and enjoy the music, narration, and pictures for this story – even if you are having a stern day full of important things to do.

Also, any recommendations for Irish music, March poetry, and the general splendidness of Spring is welcome.

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