In a Time of Silver Rain

The name "In a Time of Silver Rain" was the theme of one of my high school dances. Yikes. That theme came from a song and I have no idea which one. But the idea of silver rain has stayed with me all of my life. I love rain. This is good since I live in Seattle, a city known for....well... rain.

I used to spend summers with my grandparents in rural Alabama. We would have amazing thunderstorms in the afternoons. To this day, give me a screened porch, a glass of sweet tea, a wicker chair, and a good old thunderstorm and I can hear my grandmother's voice. In a time of silver rain.

I scattered my father's ashes high in the North Cascades, one of the few places he found peace. When the time came, I left Ken and Patti safe and snug at camp brewing tea while I wandered alone higher to a place of granite and small tarns. A place where granite peaks will keep watch and the seasons will keep him company. It had been sleeting all day but suddenly the sun broke through reflecting on the sleet and it looked like diamonds falling all around me. In a time of silver rain.

My husband Ken and I went backpacking in New Zealand shortly after we got married. Our luggage was sent ahead and lost so when we arrived at the hostel covered in mud and soaking wet, there was a long wait before our luggage was found and we could be unmuddy and not wet. Ken bought a 6-pack of Kiwi beer and we sat bedraggled in our room telling jokes and laughing harder the more beer we drank, watching it rain so hard we literally could not see across the road. That was a flood - and not really silver.

Last summer there was a deluge at my house. I opened the front door, sat on the doormat and watched it rain through the screen door while Tay kitty slept in my lap. Sadly, we lost Tay the next week to a coyote. I treasure that perfectly peaceful summer evening with Tay just watching the silver rain.

This morning I ran a half marathon in a town that has always opened its arms to me. I finished my undergrad in Tacoma and found in that town a place to have a little success and my first sense of permanent place. Today Tacoma again opened its arms and gave me a hillier-than-all-get-out course but a sub-3 hour gun time. (a crap time for most, but for me - I'll take it). Tonight as I tend to blistered, sore feet and twitching back muscles, I am irritable and restless. But the sun is filtering through the trees giving a golden glow to my little yard and there is suddenly a bright flash a light followed by a huge boom of thunder - and then rain. Calming, comforting, silver rain.

Water is necessary for life. For us, for my garden, and for the earth. Water is the medium needed for the reactions in our cells and provides structure for plant cells. Without water, we don't have much. Without rain, I don't have a little garden that is lush and green tonight. Without water, I don't get far on any run, or bike ride. I just don't function - and neither do you. Some of my most treasured memories involve rain, and water. Drink up.

Sundays and Mondays

Sundays are my long runs.  I run with a dear friend named Pam. She chats and keeps mile times and I navigate.  We start with 30 women but Pam and I run together.  We check out houses that we love, yards I wish mine looked like, and chat up anyone that will listen.  Our coach, Cheryl, claims that "if Pam and Misha would put some of the energy from their mouths to their feet, we could all go home sooner."  I once followed a group of guys down an alley to finish a conversation to emerge back from the alley with Cheryl standing there, a look of astonishment on her face.   And I take pictures from time to time.  The miles get long but I am learning to love the repetition. What could possibly be more spring than a beautiful proposal for someone in Cowan Park.   Finding this sign made our run.   

Mondays I volunteer at Pike Market Senior Center.  I hear stories of depression, hope, addiction, recovery, and grumpiness.  Mostly I laugh.   I have learned from homeless seniors about joy and finding the funny in the everyday.  There is sometimes heartbreak when we run out of food on a snowy cold day.  But they keep me grounded.  Mostly I have learned what "no judgement" really means.  I will never change or save these seniors.  I will hear their stories, witness their courage, and accept that their view of the world and how to function in it is completely different than mine.  And that is OK.    Enjoy some pics of spring in Pike Market. 

Hooray For Asparagus

I get the best supplement questions from my mother.  She is forever on the hunt for the supplement to end all supplementation.  The emails are always entertaining and keep me on my toes.   Before I go into this weekend's e:discussion on the wonders of asparagus, let me explain the need for the ultimate supplement.    

You see my mother is a closet smoker.  Well, maybe not so closet, but not really out there either.  This leads to some wild predicaments.  My favorite is the day when we went out to lunch.  We arrived at the restaurant and I went to lock the car and my mother stopped me, "Hold on. I need something."   She flipped back the thick blanket on the backseat and BEHOLD.... chocolate bars the size of Ouji boards and cartons upon cartons of cigarettes.  I stared.  "Uh, hey Mom.... what else do you have stashed back here.... black market babies?  Cocaine?  Wow."  She breezily answered, "Just the essentials.  You know... chocolate, cigarettes, duct tape."  And off we went.  I don't remember that lunch other than envisioning my mother taping herself into her car while it filled with smoke,  a civil defense siren blaring, and her happily taking on one of the giant chocolate bars.    So, we are on the hunt for the right supplement to add to the emergency kit in the car.  Egads.  But... we meet people where they are and I will not judge.   She has made amazing changes in other areas so that we'll celebrate.  

But back to asparagus.   I got an email last night.  The first part read: 

THE ARTICLE:

 Several years ago, I had a man seeking asparagus for a

 friend who had cancer.He gave me a photocopied copy of an

 article, entitled, `Asparagus for cancer' printed

 in Cancer News Journal, December 1979.

Case reports followed describing various purees of asparagus and miracle cures for cancer.  

I could have jumped for joy.  Nooooo - not because I think an asparagus patch should be planted underneath the magic blanket in my mom's car but because eating asparagus in spring is such a fantastic thing.  Last night Ken and I were having friends for dinner featuring grilled salmon and grilled asparagus and other essential vegetables.  Little did we know our guests were crazy for the stuff.  The grilling of asparagus promptly became their project with much arm waving and various tongs tried to find the perfect asparagus flipping utensil.  

Asparagus is in season in Washington in spring.  It grows in the vineyards along with some of the best grapes in the world.  Asparagus is very high in glutathione and a host of other amazing nutrients.  What I love most is that is signals spring.  It is THE vegetable that tells the body that winter is ending, a natural spring cleaning for the body and for the soul.  There is nothing, and I mean nothing, as wonderful as asparagus rubbed just a little with olive oil, kissed with salt and grilled for 6-8 minutes.   Serve with white wine if you like, dipping sauce if you must, my husband's family famous mustard salmon, and it is a perfect dinner.   One of the guests at our table last night is an Ironman.  Yup - scary fit.  It delights me that asparagus delights her and my mother at the same time.   The ultimate supplement?  Maybe.  The ultimate spring vegetable?  Absolutely.   Hooray for asparagus! 

The Case for Grace

Warning - I am venturing into religion.  It is ok - I'll be gentle.    Grace before a meal was a ritual I was raised with.  My husband was raised in a tightknit family in a farming community as the youngest of 4 boys:  take time for grace and you won't eat.  As the years have gone by I lost the ritual of grace before a meal.  During various discussions about mindful eating, taking time to eat, eating slowly, meditation in general etc. etc. the topic keeps turning over in my mind.  Why do most cultures take a moment to toast before a meal, say grace, say Bon appetit, offer some form of gratitude? Why do we historically offer thanks before eating but not before say a dogwalk or date or before changing the oil in the car?  Why have we lost this simple ritual?   

I love saying grace before eating: offering a gratitude before I enter into the act of nourishing my body and soul, and preferably nourishing friends as well.   I find it interesting the grace became a lost ritual when fast food became .... well so dang fast.  And maybe that is the answer.  Do we really feel thankful for a twinkie or hoho?   Do we really want to acknowledge the cheez whiz?  Maybe if when I sit down to eat (or don't sit down to eat) and I don't say grace - it is a sign that I am about to ingest something that is not healing, or nourishing, or maybe not even really food.  

The case for grace is this:  eat when you are thankful, not mad or sad.  Eat what you are truly grateful for.  Eat with friends and cook for them.  If you cannot boil water, cook for them anyway.  Better yet, have them teach you! Food crosses all boundaries.  It is how we show comfort, show joy, show support, find common ground.  And yes, how we show gratitude.  

In thanks,

 

Eat Local - Live Local

Today is our neighborhood community workday.  Every spring and every fall our cluster of 28 homes gathers to spend a morning taking care of the community areas,  pulling weeds, planting annuals,  painting, and reconnecting with each other.   Granted if you miss this day the fine is steep, but for most of us we fulfill this obligation because we want to.    

This morning like so many mornings I realize how many of my neighbors I have not met.  As we shovel and spade and the annuals get their roots settled in, I think about how we as neighbors are settling our roots in.  My next door neighbor is running the Rock-n-Roll half marathon, as is another neighbor.  How did I not know this?  We are all laughing and I immediately start planning a neighborhood dinner.  

I had wanted to run the Rock-n-Roll half but had plans to be out of town at a wedding.  A wedding fraught with a lot of drama.  And thinking of that made me question:  why are we drawn like moths to flames to drama?  Why do we spend so much time and energy in travel, and exotic adventure?  Why do we need to be told to eat local food?  Why in comparison do we not know our neighbors, or local farmers, or the seniors at the local old-folks home?  

Like out of climate flowers growing in chemical soil, we buy foreign food for its cost and convenience, and fly about the country or the world on business and ignore the tending of our own gardens, our own health, and our own communities.   In my neighborhood, people get angry to have to spend a morning together and bicker about the fine that makes them do it.  But this morning, I cherished time with my neighbors.    And when I offered to host a dinner before the race, my neighbors were thrilled.   

Nutrition is tending to our health.  Gardening is tending to our soil.  I have spent a lifetime trying to be somewhere else.  In this season of new growth, I am pulled to my own corner of this world - where I have been all along.  This time, I want to put down roots.  

Nutrition In Season

My name is Misha Henshaw and I am an unlikely gardener.  This may be a surprise to many as I am finishing a master’s degree in nutrition.  Growing food, cooking food, eating food, all seem to go together right?  Well, maybe not.  Not if you’re me.  And not if you have had as many previous lives as I have had.   So come along on my adventure as I dive headlong into organic gardening this season and together we will celebrate nutrition in this season and all seasons! 

One of my happiest memories from high school was walking the 2 miles home from school with a friend.  We would rant about school, the looming financial aid challenges of college, and boys.  We were both going to major in nutrition.  And then life happened.  I became an accountant.  The why and how of me becoming an accountant is a whole other blog, but I did.  I finished college, got a job, paid my bills, bought a house, worked in a cubicle.  And while I had a lot of amazing adventures, I forgot about food.  I forgot about the joy of picking beans and tomatoes in our family’s garden growing up.   I lost touch with the seasons and with how to truly nurture myself. 

Flash forward to this spring.  A lot has happened.  I have rediscovered food and vegetable gardens. But now I want to really know how to garden properly.  Not just stumbling around in the dirt with a shovel and slug bait.  As entertaining as that can be, it may not result in the most tasty of arugula!  Growing nutrition should be fun – and I would love to have your company as I head out the door into the dirt with my shovel.