I recently came across this article and it made me LAUGH!
THIS word MINDFULNESS is USED A LOT in TODAYS SOCIETY!
(WHICH IS ANNOYING ME I HAVE TO ADMIT.)
ALONG with GRATEFUL and BE KIND.
WHICH IS THE WAY WE SHOULD ALWAYS BE!
BUT YET WE HAVE SO MUCH VIOLENCE ON TV AND GUNS AND BAD BAD LANGUAGE!
THE BAD LANGUAGE IS A HOUSEHOLD STAPLE NOW!
WHAT MESSAGE DOES THAT SEND?
NO WONDER WE ARE WHERE WE ARE.
IS THERE NO MORE COMMON SENSE?
READ BELOW AND THEN TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK?
I received this from my Medical HEALTH MAINTENANCE ORGANIZATION.
“To begin your own practice, find moments in your daily routine that work for you:”
- When you wake up — A mindfulness practice first thing in the morning helps set the ‘tone’ for the rest of the day, increasing the likelihood of other mindful moments. Whether you’re sipping a cup of coffee, showering, or brushing your teeth, take a moment to concentrate on your breath. Deep breaths help bring more oxygen into your body and improve blood circulation. Then zero in on the sight, sound, smell, taste, and feel of these activities.
- CONTESSA SAYS DEEP BREATHS MAKE HER FEEL DIZZY!
- WHY WOULD I WANT TO FEEL LIGHT HEADED…………AGAIN!
- While you wait — There are many moments in a day when we’re waiting. While our instinct may be to stare at our phones or feel frustrated, you could instead make the most of the time. According to Ed Halliwell, mindfulness teacher and co-author of the book The Mindful Manifesto, waiting is actually an opportunity for mindfulness. When you’re waiting, he suggests bringing your attention to your breath. Focus on “the flow of the breath in and out of your body, from moment to moment and allow everything else to just be, even if what’s there is impatience or irritation.”
- CONTESSA GETS AN A+ IN THIS COURSE!
- Contessa spends half HER LIFE waiting for THE ITALIAN to ARRIVE HOME!
SINCERELY LOREE’s CHICKEN from APRIL 1,
MY ITALIANS’s PIZZA BIANCA!
NO NEED TO TRAVEL TO GET GOOD FOOD HERE!
A LITTLE PROSCIUTTO on TOP and you have LUNCH!
- While you eat — Mindful eating means choosing food that is pleasing to you and good for you, while using all your senses to explore, savor, and taste. Mindful eating is also learning to be aware of physical hunger and cues that guide your decision to begin — and to stop — eating. For example, you can practice mindful eating at your next meal by following these simple tips:
- Eat in a set place. Sitting at a table is better than your desk or on the couch.
- Focus on what you’re about to eat with a sense of gratitude.
- Concentrate on the act of eating. Chew your food slowly. Take in the texture and the sensations in your mouth.
It may seem like a lot to remember, but the key is finding small ways to incorporate mindfulness into everyday moments. With these small changes, you’ll be on your way to a more mindful — and healthier — day.
CONTESSA SAYS SET A NICE TABLE DO IT MID- AFTERNOON WHEN YOUR NOT BUSY COOKING,ETC.ALWAYS USE STEMWARE even if you do not partake in wine. Water tastes EVEN BETTER in STEM-WARE!Don’t forget to wipe your mouth before taking a sip!
OLD SCHOOL WAYS are like OLD HABITS something TO KEEP ALIVE IN THIS WORLD WE LIVE IN!
WE DONOT EAT LIKE THIS EVERY NIGHT!
ONLY TO MAKE YOU SMILE!
PHOTO BY DREW WRIGHT FOR HIS PROJECT!
I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT THIS IS HOW I GREW UP!
THIS WAS HOW YOUR PARENTS and GRANDPARENTS TAUGHT YOU HOW TO SURVIVE.
WHETHER you came from a poor or middle class or well to do family!
I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I GOT UP AS A YOUNG ADULT AND SIPPED MY COFFEE AND THOUGHT ABOUT THE DAY AHEAD.
EVEN AS A CHILD I DID THAT!
Perhaps, with orange juice!
I NOTICED THE WEATHER so I could dress correctly and took in the sights of the cat on the chair or read the newspaper.
AT least SKIMMED IT if heading off to work.
I WASNOT TAKING DEEP BREATHS…………WELL,MAYBE IF I HAD TO GO TO WORK AND WE WERE DOING INVENTORY!
………..I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN ABLE TO EMPTY MY HEAD.YOU COULD SAY I ENJOY JUST BEING!I HAVE NEVER PARTICIPATED IN A MEDITATION PRACTICE AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN CURIOUS AS TO WHAT ONE THINKS ABOUT DURING THAT TIME!
NO ONE HAS EVER BEEN ABLE TO EXPLAIN THIS TO ME?
AGAIN I HAVE NEVER FOCUSED ON MY BREATH.
JUST BEING IN THE MOMENT!
A PRETTY BASIC UP BRINGING IN A MIDDLE CLASS FAMILY FROM WHICH I CAME.
I WAS NEVER ALLOWED TO EAT ON THE COUCH OR AT MY DESK.
SOME NIGHTS WHEN I LOVE LUCY WAS ON AT 7pm I WOULD ASK TO GO UPSTAIRS TO THE TV ROOM.
Beg is the correct word HERE!
Even there I ate at a TABLE…….A TV tray TABLE!
I think WE LOST OUR VALUES in the last 30 years………..
Kids had LOTS of HOMEWORK and we who worked and had a house to run were tired!
WE allowed the kids to eat in their rooms…..
LET ME CLARIFY I’M SPEAKING IN GENERAL!
THE ITALIAN WOULD NEVER HAVE ALLOWED THAT.)
Islands in the kitchen became popular and so perhaps an adult would STAND THERE and EAT DINNER.
THE FAMILY BECAME SCATTERED AT DINNER TIME.
COOKING SHOWS TOOK OFF BUT PEOPLE WERE NOT COOKING AS BEFORE.
“TOO MUCH TIME!”
WHAT AM I TRYING TO SAY HERE?
I THINK WE NEED TO TAKE A STEP BACK.
A FEW DECADES.
START COOKING AGAIN…………ENJOY THE PROCESS OF BUYING THE GOODS OR GROWING THEM.
BE FRIENDLY WITH THOSE WHO ARE STANDING ON THEIR FEET 8 HOURS A DAY!
JUST BE YOURSELF AND SET A TABLE AND EAT WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU.
HAVE YOU HEARD THE BIRDS LATELY SINCE THIS PANDEMIC STARTED?
THEY HAVE OPERATIC VOICES THESE DAYS!
I FIND IT SAD THE MEDICAL PROFESSION HAS TO REMIND US HOW TO LIVE AND RAISE OUR FAMILIES.
I FEEL THEY HAVE OTHER MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO!
LIKE HELPING MY GIRLFRIEND in ITALY BELOW.
It’s not about the bike crash, how I clipped the curb and went flying, landing splat on the sidewalk of a virtually deserted downtown Florence on my first foray out after two months of lockdown.
It’s about the couple who stopped to help me, just as if it were the old days when we knew we didn’t have to fear being in close proximity to strangers.
It’s not about how I told them not to call the ambulance because I was afraid to go to a hospital in these COVIDian times.
It’s about the volunteer paramedic who had to take my temperature before getting my wracked body into the ambulance, how he exclaimed in frustration “Eccoci!” (Oh Great!) when reading the thermometer, not – as I sat there fearing in that moment – because it showed I had a fever, but because it was a new electronic thermometer configured in Fahrenheit when here in Italy we use Celsius, and how he was relieved that I could tell him the reading of 96.8 was below normal.
It’s not about how they assured me there were no more COVID patients at the hospital they were taking me to.
It’s about how the paramedic walked me into the ER of the frescoed hospital founded in 1288, the oldest still active in Florence, gingerly holding my arm just as my Dad had done when he walked me down the aisle.
It’s not about how I waited my turn, warily looking at masked others waiting as well, wondering and worried about what damage I’d done to myself and what other dangers were lurking in the air.
It’s about how when they sat me down at the desk in front of the masked doctor, she looked at my masked face and after a few questions said (in italian) “Wait, are you Sierra’s mom?”, how when I squeaked out “Si” she said “I could tell by your eyes.”
It’s not about the realization that the doctor taking care of me had been my daughter’s childhood friend since they were both three years old.
It’s about how when I burst into tears remembering those little girls together under the plum tree, the doctor got up from the desk and came over to give me a hug which, despite her PPE, I’m sure isn’t allowed. How that hug – the first I’d had in two months – made me cry even more. And how I wasn’t sure it was that or the simple fact that despite the mask, I’d been seen.
It’s not about the tetanus shot, the CT scan, the X-ray and the eventual cast they put on for the broken bone in my forearm.
It’s about how while I waited for these tests and treatments, I watched a squadron of very well-prepared medical professionals take care of their patients – me included – with good-hearted kindness and how because of our Italian socialized medicine none of us would receive a bill for any of this state-of-the-art medical treatment that makes me understand the “care” in healthcare.
It’s not about having to take a taxi home because I live alone and didn’t want to expose a friend to anything I might be bringing with me out of the hospital – covid or no covid patients… these days we just don’t know.
It’s about how the taxi driver that showed up was the same one I’d stopped to talk to in Piazza Santa Croce just 2 minutes before I crashed, the one who had answered my question of “how is it?” by saying “it’s hard… there’s no work,” to which I’d replied “I’m sorry… I hope we’ll all get through this together somehow.” How four hours had passed, and he hadn’t moved from the taxi stand until the hospital called for someone to come get me.
It’s not about how if I left my bicycle chained to the pole on the street where I’d crashed it most likely wouldn’t have been there in the morning.
It’s about how when I recognized the taxi driver and that he was driving a station wagon, I asked if we could go pick up my bike and how he didn’t hesitate to let me sit in the front (not something usually done in covid times) so we could put the back seat down cuz even with the front wheel off, it’s hard to fit that bike in a car.
It’s not about how now that restrictions are starting to ease up here in Italy, I’m basically stuck home due to injury, essentially prolonging my shelter-in-place and with only one working arm, to boot.
It’s about how exhilarating that bike ride was, the first after two months, the hard-earned freedom it embodied. How I’d ridden along the river, gazing at Florence’s skyline backlit by a dusky sky dashed with hints of streaky pink windblown clouds. How while crossing the Arno I took in the downriver sight of the Ponte Vecchio, empty, a bridge void of people, unimaginable in this town of tourism. How the facade of the church of Santa Croce looked its usual beautiful self in the evening light but how the statue of Dante in front of the church stared out over the unusual sight of an empty piazza.
It’s not about the drama of a bike accident.
It’s about how before it happened I was able to step into the beauty of my world just as it was in that moment. And how when that moment was turned (literally) on its head, the loss I was confronted with was immediately met with a rush of humanity at its best.
It’s not about my being sure what’s what.
It’s about my hoping this could be a metaphor for our times.
THE above by Katharine Johnson
MY GIRLFRIEND LIVES IN FLORENCE, ITALY AND HAS TALKED ABOUT BEING A WRITER FOR THE LAST 29 YEARS TO ME!
I THINK SHE FOUND HER VOICE.
IF YOU WOULD CARE TO SEE OTHER POSTS ABOUT ITALY SHE HAS WRITEN SEE BELOW!
I shared HER WITH YOU ALL A FEW POSTS BACK……………………..HERE!
TO GO STRAIGHT TO HER WEBSITE CLICK BELOW!
BE WELL DEAR READERS……………I CARE!