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Author: Anne Cassidy

To Caf or Not to Caf

To Caf or Not to Caf

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I’m sipping a cup of caffeinated tea as I write this post. I haven’t been doing this much lately. Sipping caffeinated tea, that is.

Some years ago, in an attempt to check the headaches that were plaguing me, I cut caffeine out of my diet. It seemed to help. Although I’ve never drunk coffee, I’ve imbibed in enough high-test tea to expand and contract those blood vessels plenty.

Switching to herbal or decaf teas calmed things down on the vasodilation/vasoconstriction front, so I’ve kept it that way for years. Then I discovered Trader Joe’s cha tea, a caffeinated product, full of spices and flavor. It made my daily cup of decaf taste like brown water. And so the slow slide began.

Or is it a slide? Maybe it’s a return to normalcy. When I gave up caffeine I worked all the time and slept poorly. Things are easier now. Maybe I can sneak in a chai or two. At least that’s what I’m hoping. And so far, so good.

(Detail of a Trader Joe’s chai tea box. No free tea was received in exchange for this review!)

Virginia’s New Governor

Virginia’s New Governor

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The new governor wore white, to honor the suffragettes who came before her. She was sworn into office with her husband and three daughters by her side. I was touched by the clip I watched of the ceremony. This is the first time in the history of the commonwealth that a woman has taken the reins of power.

But what captured my interest even more is that Governor Spanberger’s three daughters reminded me so much of my own. Not in their ages, mine are all grown up now, but in their spacing and names.

One is named Claire, same as my middle daughter. Another is named Charlotte, same as my niece. And the third is named Catherine, which though not held by anyone in my immediate family is still one of those classic names that I love and which harmonizes so well with the other names Spanberger chose.

I can’t imagine what these girls must have felt watching their mother be inaugurated as Virginia’s first female governor. But I can imagine what it might have been like before the ceremony. Did someone not like the coat she was wearing? Was someone else having a bad hair day?

I mean no disrespect to the solemn transfer of power, but as the mother of three daughters I can’t help but wonder if there was a backstory to Saturday’s festivities. And because the new governor is the mother of these girls, I imagine if there was one, she was attuned to it.

(Photo, courtesy Spanberger for governor.)

Like a Hawk

Like a Hawk

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The small birds of winter are much on my mind, the sparrows and chickadees and downy woodpeckers, in part because it is winter and in part because a new suet block has them flocking to the deck.

The large birds of winter have found their way here, too. Which drives the small birds away. If you’re looking for an avian party-killer, just invite a hawk to lunch.

This robust fellow showed up yesterday, as I was munching on a salad. I knew he was looking for the meat-eater’s special so I kept my eye on him as I finished my greens.

The hawk was seeking prey, of course, watching the small birds like a … well, like a hawk. But he wasn’t the only one laser-focused yesterday. While he was watching the small birds, I was watching him.

A Trip to Mali

A Trip to Mali

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Last night I went to Mali. I stepped into a darkened room, found a seat close to the stage, and listened as one of the world’s premier kora players brought forth … a nation.

I know little about African music, had never heard of the kora until a few weeks ago. But a friend did know about this 21-stringed harp-and-lute-like instrument and about virtuoso player Ballaké Sissoko, and he took us to a show that was transporting in every way. One kora sounds like at least two instruments, so full and rich is the sound.

If I closed my eyes I could see the red dirt of the Sahel from a trip through northern Benin with Suzanne 11 years ago. I could feel the Harmattan wind that blows through the region this time of year, the warm sun of the afternoon and the chilliness of the mornings.

At the northernmost terminal of our bus trip, we were near Niger, which borders Mali. That’s as close as I’ve ever been to the country. Until last night.

(Kora photo, courtesy Wikipedia.)

Give Fruit a Chance

Give Fruit a Chance

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I didn’t resolve to eat more fruit this new year. But the resolution is emerging anyway, doing an end run around me.

Apples, pears, bananas and clementines have always been a given. And peaches when they’re in season. But now I’m adding blueberries, grapes, kiwi, papaya, mango and strawberries. Fruit salads are more fun, so I’m making more of them.

I’ve always been a vegetable girl. Nothing against fruit, but I never craved it. Something has shifted, though, and I suddenly see the value of sweetening plain yogurt with berries. Or fashioning a salad of papaya and avocado. Or throwing a few blueberries in with the arugula. (Does anyone else hear an old-fashioned car horn when they say this word? A rooo ga lah.)

So along with the perennial “don’t worry so much” and “get more exercise” resolutions, there is another, one I didn’t ask for: Give fruit a chance.

Blinded by the Light

Blinded by the Light

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It was beyond bright as I walked the trail home yesterday. Late afternoon rays aimed right at my pupils. Blinded by the light? Absolutely. I shaded my eyes with my hand to see where I was going, especially when traipsing on a grassy berm with random divots.

Sunshine is seldom in short supply in these parts. Even in winter, a completely cloudy day is a rarity. I didn’t know that moving here. I’d lived in cloudier locales and made do, but decades here have spoiled me. Still, there are times when a buffer would be appreciated.

What I would have given yesterday for a sunshade, an errant cloud, a baseball cap. I’ll have to remember that next time.

Other Worlds

Other Worlds

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I gave it to myself, a gift of my own devising. A reading day where nothing was expected other than to move my eyes across the page. And move them I did.

First, the Sunday newspaper. A ritual in a long-ago life, reading the paper has become a much quicker endeavor. If I’m rushed I can make it through all the sections in 30 minutes. Gone are the days when I’d pick up the Sunday New York Times on Saturday night, so I wouldn’t have to run out to a newsstand (remember those?) to buy it.

Newspapers are shorter and less inky-messy than they used to be. Time is more precious. But yesterday was devoted to reading, just the same. After the paper I dipped into a couple of different books, finishing one and making progress in another.

After dinner, I watched a movie. It was a day spent largely in other worlds. Not a bad way for a January Sunday to unfold.

(Talk about other worlds: I snapped this photo at the Chiricahua Desert Museum in Rodeo, New Mexico.)

An Opening

An Opening

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I noticed it last week — a break in the fence, right at the place I used to scale it. An absence, a window, an opening. How long have I waited for this break? Or, at the very least, for a stile across the fence?

At first, I thought I was seeing things, but I when I walked up to investigate, I noticed the discarded planks. Will there be a gate here someday, to preserve the opening, or will it once again be fenced?

Taking no chances, I strode through it, avoiding the longer and more circuitous route to the Franklin Farm meadow that I’ve taken ever since I stopped climbing fences.

It seemed a fortuitous New Year’s omen. An opening. An invitation. I embraced it.

Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem

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I thought of this phrase all day yesterday, an unseasonably warm one. It popped into my head when I stepped out the door in the morning and when I was walking a trail in the afternoon. And then, in the evening, I met someone who had it tattooed on her wrist.

The message was clear. Carpe diem: seize the day. In the film “The Dead Poet’s Society” the teacher played by Robin Williams delivers it as a command. He shows his students photographs of their predecessors, then in their prime, but lost to war. “Food for worms now, boys,” he tells his wide-eyed students. “Carpe diem. Seize the day.” And so they do, with mixed results.

Today is a carpe diem day too, with temperatures in the 50s. The warmth may be fleeting. Make the most of it. Seize the day.

(A box of chocolates. Another way to seize the day.)

The World Outside

The World Outside

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A thaw has begun. Today is warm and damp with bird song in the air. Yesterday, I spotted a flock of robins in the yard next door. When I stepped outside to bounce on the trampoline it felt like another world. And in fact it was another world: the world outside.

For the last several weeks, cold temperatures and seasonal duties have kept me inside. I had almost forgotten about the world outside with its fox and deer. I had definitely forgotten about the hawk, who swooped low and lean across the yard and perched directly above me.

I told him not to get any ideas. I’ve tangled with him before and have a healthy respect for raptors. In time, he realized I was not what he wanted and flew away.

Meanwhile, I listened and bounced. I noted how tall the ornamental grasses have grown, and how full the hollies. It was cloudy with a tinge of pink on the western horizon. How good it felt to be back again in the world outside.

(View from the trampoline)