New ASL Video from Illinois on Disaster Preparedness


Sussex Sun (blog)
The video is shown in American Sign Language and is fully captioned. Its purpose is to provide instruction to individuals and families on how to prepare for a natural disaster. IDHHC wants to thank the Illinois Emergency Management Agency for its

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On the Road

Had my first cup of coffee in a long time the other day (well, a month, which is long for me!). I was on an airplane heading to Los Angeles and there is nothing I like about planes. Can’t stand the smell, the sounds, the uncomfortable seats, the bathrooms. Can’t stand how my head feels when I read (dizzy) and how my body feels no matter how still I sit (woozy).

I wanted something pleasant. The coffee smelled good, and I figured a cup or two wouldn’t hurt (I mean, heck, those cups on the plane are so little). Well, the next day I had a massive headache. So much for my theory that it wouldn’t hurt – it hurt a lot. I think on the flight home I’ll opt for decaf.

Since arriving, I’ve been sipping non-caffeinated herbal teas like crazy – it’s cold and rainy. Anyway, one of the many things I love about California is the fresh produce. With year-round farmer’s markets and a city full of restaurants that serve up lots of organic fare, it’s great to be here again.

I visited my old book club group the other night where there was a delicious raw veggie salad from Wolfgang Puck’s. Been eating fruit medleys (yum – it’s been awhile since I’ve had fresh, flavorful fruit – wish I could share it with all of you braving the winter snow back east). Today I enjoyed an organic greens salad at my favorite lunch spot, Coral Tree Café (I also had a big, ol’ brownie there – not so healthy, but very tasty).

I do miss cooking though. I’ve really come to enjoy making homemade meals. My husband was shocked when he looked at our budget the other night and realized how much we’ve cut back on eating out at restaurants. Ends up I have a mini-fridge in the hotel out here. In the morning I’ll be off to the local grocer to cobble together some wholesome goodies I can make right in my room. Š

My Kind of Yogi

My car crunches over the gravel as I pull into the parking lot of the yoga studio. Climbing up the rickety stairs of the wood building, I’m filled with hope.

This is the ninth yoga instructor I’ve tried since moving to DC. For whatever reason, I can’t seem to find a teacher that feels like the right fit. In part, I’m grieving the loss of my instructor from Los Angeles whom I adored. And I admit I don’t mind the teachers I’ve practiced with here, but I find yoga easier to maintain when I feel a strong authentic connection.

A few months ago I tried a class where the teacher did seem like a great fit. But when I returned, she was no longer there. I scoured the web searching for her to pop up in another studio around town. I only had a first name to go off of, but I think I might have found her and that’s why I’m here today.

I sign in at the desk and walk into the studio. The teacher is asking the class to get two blocks, a blanket, and a strap. Yep, that’s her. I can tell by the sound of her voice.

She walks by me on her way to close the door of the studio, but she pauses before reaching her destination. She watches me as I pull back my hair back into a loose ponytail.

“Hi. I’m Jenny. I’m a drop-in,” I say.

“I know you,” she says.

I sigh in relief. She remembers me.

“I took a restorative yoga class you taught in another studio a few months ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since. You’re hard to find,” I explain.

“Yes,” she nods, remembering the class. “It’s taken me awhile to get going and figure out where to set up shop.”

Well no wonder I couldn’t find her. She’s a new teacher. Later, I discover that she had a health scare which caused her to re-evaluate her entire career as a molecular biologist. Once she recovered, she decided to become a yoga teacher. Love that (I had a similar experience three years ago and that’s when I began writing).

We open by chanting three Oms. Then she tells us to be sure not to miss class three weeks from now. She’ll be teaching it outside where we will all face the trees so we can experience a “yoga foliage festival.” Oh yeah, she’s my kind of yogi. Š

Poetry

It’s not often I’m in a yoga class where the teacher gives a reading during closing. But those rare times when that has been the case — well, I’ve adored it. I love words. Language. Poetry. Here’s the quote my yoga teacher read the other day:

Even after all this time
the sun never says to the earth
you owe me.
Look what happens to a love
like that – it lights the whole sky.
– Hafiz

Brown Rice Risotto

The other night I made brown rice risotto.

Well, kinda.

I ripped the recipe out of O magazine awhile ago and have been hanging onto it. The chef/writer, Colin Cowie, promised he was sharing a “labor-free” variation of the dish that usually requires a lot of stirring. Labor-free – now that’s my kind of meal.

Here’s what I did: I cooked 1 cup of brown rice in an organic free-range chicken broth. Meanwhile, I cooked mushrooms in a skillet for a few minutes (the recipe calls for an assortment of cremini, white jumbo, and shiitake, but we only had one type) and then I set the mushrooms aside. When the rice was ready, I mixed in the mushrooms. Then I mixed in 1 cup of grated parmesan cheese. I served it with a crisp greens salad. It was delicious. You can use other vegetables (asparagus) or ingredients (seafood) in place of mushrooms.

It’s one of those meals that will go into the “let’s make this again” category in my recipe box. Š

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