What’s inside the box? You know, the box? Do you know? Have you looked in there lately? When is the last time you thought inside the box? It seems as though the term thinking outside the box is used a fair amount, and possibly borderline overused, when referring to the concept of seeking and/or obtaining creative solutions. This method of thinking, outside the box, implies that this thinking process is by definition creative and smart, and probably somewhat unconventional, so it therefore stands out. Standing out, would be the most desired result. This is a process, not a fleeting moment, nor a one-time event.

Smart thinking.

Creatively speaking, outside the box, is only accessible if you have previously and accurately assessed, analyzed, managed, and understood the inside of the box with significant clarity. The only way out is always through, so to speak. Reaching for the goal–the ultimate solution deemed for the prime category of outside the box–when you do not have a solid, strong, great, understanding of exactly what is inside the box can lead to a bumpy, frustrating, disappointing ride. Evaluating the inside of the box takes time and effort. This optimal effort leads to generating ideas that are efficient and useful, practical and realistic. These ideas take root. They are the foundation for the smart and desirable innovations.

What if the key to your smartest, most clever, brilliant solution is inside the box? Do you typically thoroughly examine and scrutinize the inside of the box? Or does it seem unnecessary and fruitless to go there? Does it seem natural to nonchalantly disregard its existence and value because it seems so unlikely? So tiny, sparse, and slight. So insufficient. So stereotypical. So ordinary.

From the outside of the box it could appear as if the inside were small. Limited and confined. Defined by a specified parameter. But is it? It is: what it is. It is by all accounts its own location. It serves its own valuable purpose. But why it is often overlooked and undervalued? It potentially houses the answers that will lead to the excellent creative solutions and wildly impressive innovations. Inside the box is the starting point so you can determine which way is up. Down, in, or out. So you can establish a measurable gauge. So you can identify what is what. So you know where you stand. Smart thinking turns to super smart thinking when you know who you are, what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, and what you want to ultimately accomplish. It all comes from the inside.

What will you find on the inside of the box?

Inside Outside Upside Down, © 1968 by Stanley and Janice Berenstain, published by Random House.

Little boy bear sees an open box. He goes into it. He feels like thinking inside the box. Sometimes it’s good to think inside a box.

Can you efficiently think outside the box, if you don’t know what it’s like to think inside the box?

Little boy bear makes himself at home inside a box. He can see the outside of the box through two diecut holes in the side. The outside of the box is marked with clear instructions for handling the box: “This Side Up”.

The box gets hauled away by a deliveryman. He does not see the special instructions. He hoists the box onto his dolly, upside down. Not right side up. This journey is turned on its head.

Now the boy bear is outside. Inside a box. Upside down. And very observant.

The box is loaded on the truck. The deliveryman does not ever see the special instructions. Perhaps for him, all boxes are the same, and every which way is up. Or down. Maybe, for him, there is no right side up.

The journey can feel long and challenging when you’re traveling upside down.

The truck travels uphill fast. The box falls off the truck. It rolls down the hill.

It can be a bumpy road when you’re upside down in a box, traveling in the back of a truck, then suddenly rolling down a hill at full speed.

The boy bear in the box finally lands at the bottom of the hill. Right side up.

The journey can be bumpy and uncomfortable. If you keep your eyes on the road hopefully you will land right side up. And hopefully it will be easy to find your way home.

The boy bear runs home to his mom. He is excited and proud that he went to town. In a box. Upside down. Over the bumpy road.

He endured. He appreciated his topsy-turvy journey. He learned a lot about the outside of the box by jumping into the inside of the box.

Thinking inside the box is as valuable as thinking outside the box.

There are jewels on the inside. There are jewels on the outside.

Go in. Come out. Go in again. Come out again. Land right side up.

There is an alternate line of thought that would also want to explore why anyone would allow a box to obstruct the path towards infinite solutions and innovations, or for that matter, any path. This we will save for a new day.

Where is your box?

Is it right side up?

What time is it? Time to listen up? Time to speak up? Is it time to get going, or time to settle down. Is it time to get a grip? To pull yourself together? Or, to try to loosen up? Is it time to start enjoying the joys of summer or to start planning for autumn? For the second half of this year? What is going on with the hands of time? Are they spinning and spinning faster than ever? All the spinning and yet, what a blessing to have so much time. Time for being in your own precious life, freely choosing what you want to do, when, and with whom. It is a choice, right? Now it’s time to get real. And who here does not have time for that?

These are the hands of your clock. Have at it.

Are you always on time no matter what, who, or when? Sometimes, always, or never ever on time? Do you often choose to arrive really early or are you always late? Fashionably late, crazy silly late, or no one is the boss of me – late? Who or what do you blame if you are never on time? Do you find yourself defensive and righteous about your time? It is yours. Do you expect to be polite and to subtly acknowledge that you are late and apologize? Or do you just expect everyone else to be ok with it? How do you react when someone you are waiting for keeps you waiting? Is that the same concept of time then, or is it that your time is on a much different plane? Or is it, altogether a different story in that case? Period. Do you rationalize your way into (or out of) a time warp of your own making?

What is taking up your valuable time? Is it time yet to get a handle on that? Do you plan it, or wing it? Find it, use it, and love every minute of it? Or toss it into a heap of regrets? Does whatever you choose lead to time well spent? Or do you feel frustrated that there is never enough time to find your true satisfaction? Do you hear the echo of Big Ben in your sleep? Does it send chills down your spine, motivate you to make it happen, or stress you out?

When will it be time to do what you know you should be doing? When will it be time to say what you have to say? Do what you have to do. Be where you need to be. And want to be. When will it be time to claim your freedom. Your freedom to make a good choice. To bond with the hands of time.

Do the hands of your clock require a reset?

Do you wish you could punch out the hands of your clock and reattach them?

Learning to Tell Time is Fun © MCMLXXVII, (1977), from the Walt Disney Studio.

It might be all too familiar, this image of the hourglass. “Sand trickled through a thin place in the middle as each hour went by.”

“When the sun shines on a sundial, the shadow of the stick tells you what time of day it is.” The shadow, it seems, often reveals a lot of pertinent information.

In case you wondered where that sound originates, here is the visual of Big Ben. “Booming – Church bells chiming –”

Alarm – Grandfather – Cuckoo ~ Clocks. Ticking watches. Clanging bells.

Let’s not forget all of the time in the day required for our routines. How are you with your daily routines? Are you happy with your routine? Or is it time to take a break from it?

“Ten minutes of is near the top. Pretty soon it’s time to stop.”

“Five minutes of, and then we’re done. Counting minutes can be fun.”

This little record is neatly tucked in this back cover flap. The hands of the clock (minute hand and hour hand shown in the inset above) are perforated and are meant to be assembled into the smiley-head clock on the back cover. Perfect for reinventing the face of time. This book’s half title page is printed on the inside front cover, and there is no other identifying information for this book. Who had the time in the 70s?

The illustrations here though would be perfectly compatible with a bright yellow and green box of freshly sharpened you-know-whats.

When the lines are heavy and dark, it’s always fun to color in the lines. (Ok, I can already sense the question: Yes, I do prefer in the lines, thank you. And, no, I do not, nor did I ever, color outside of the lines. I know, I know!)

What do you always have time (make time) for?

What do you never have time (make time) for?

What are you early or late for?

Have you tuned into your sundial and its shadow to see what time it is?

Do tell, what time is it for you now?

Go as far as you can go. Then go further. And then a bit more. Just a tiny bit further out. Great, ok. Are you sure you cannot go a little further? Maybe a little bit more to the left? To the right? Almost perfect. Can you stretch yourself a little while longer, almost there. Keep going. Awesome. Now watch your step here; you seem a bit shaky. You’re teetering close to the edge now, be careful. Are we there yet? Just about. Still going. Do you know where your limits are?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall: Am I there yet?

Limits, sure, easy topic. Of course, we know what and where our limits are. We know how far we can go. How much we can do. Or how much we can take. Or when enough is enough. Or when enough is more than enough. Way more than enough. We are totally familiar with our crisp, robust physical and mental endurance. On good days it may well be limitless. But on most days can you keep your limits in check so you know when to call it? Or do you feel pressured to go one more step. And then another. Are you going further for you? For someone else? Because you feel you have to? Or because you feel you have something to prove? Is it easier to accept the sturdy (flimsy?) boundary of your limits after you realize that you are over-extended? All the way out there, teetering on the edge, miles away from your inner limits.

Does it seem easier to acknowledge the perimeter of a boundary and the level of a limit after it has been passed by? Stretched beyond its capacity to stretch. Then, yes, indeed, then you know for sure that you can confirm that you went too far. That something’s got to give. Or that enough was enough, long ago.

Do you think you are well within your limits? Are you off limits, out of bounds?

Have you reached your limit?

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs © 1973 by Walt Disney Productions.

Snow White was a beautiful princess who lived in a castle. She was graceful, gentle, and trusting.

Snow White’s stepmother, the queen, also lived in the castle. The queen had a ritual of looking into her mirror and asking, “Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?” The mirror always responded, she was the fairest of them all. Until, one day when the mirror answered, “Snow White is the fairest in the land.” The queen became consumed with anger. She sent for the woodman and ordered him to kill Snow White. She had to be the fairest in the land.

The woodman found Snow White. He loved Snow White. He took her into the woods and warned her about the queen’s intentions. He instructed her to run far away and hide. Snow White ran until she was too tired to run anymore. She cried herself to sleep.

She awoke from her sleep and was not afraid anymore. She bonded with the animals in the forest. The animals walked with her on a long path until they came to a small house. Inside the house were sets of seven chairs, bowls, dishes. She made herself at home and started to clean up after what she believed were seven messy children. She cleaned all day and when she was done, she fell asleep upstairs in a room with seven beds.

Seven little men, in a closeby cave, were digging for diamonds. After their shift, they walked home and noticed that someone was in their small house. They were scared. Until they entered the house to find that everything was clean, washed, and in order. Snow White woke from her sleep when the seven dwarfs burst into the bedroom. They introduced themselves. Doc, Happy, Grumpy, Bashful, Sleepy, Sneezy, and Dopey. Snow White informed them that the queen wanted to kill her. The dwarfs invited her to stay with them.

Back at the castle, the queen thought that Snow White was dead. She asked the mirror, who is the fairest of them all now? The mirror replied, that Snow White, living in the house with the dwarfs, was still the fairest of them all. The queen was enraged. She went underground to a secret room. She made a secret potion, drank it, and “turned into an ugly witch.” The witch concocted a wicked brew. She dipped an apple into it. One taste of her wicked, poisonous apple and Snow White would be dead. She wanted to destroy Snow White.

The witch took the poisonous apple to the house of the seven dwarfs. She found Snow White outside and offered her one of her “lovely apples.” Snow White politely accepted. She took a bite of the poisonous apple.

Snow White fell to the ground into a deep sleep. The animals who had been following and protecting Snow White ran back to the house to find the dwarfs. The queen was so busy celebrating her victory that she did not notice the animals running off into the woods to find the dwarfs. Shortly thereafter, the dwarfs ran after her in an attempt to save the princess.

“The wicked witch saw the dwarfs coming. She began to run. She ran so fast she didn’t look where she was going. And that was the end of her!”

The queen’s jealousy, envy, anger, and insecurity led to her demise.

The dwarfs tried and tried to wake the sleeping princess. They could not. They made Snow White a beautiful golden bed. And watched her day after day.

Time passed. One day a handsome prince on a white horse rode into the woods where the princess slept. He thought Snow White “was more beautiful than the flowers around her bed. He bent down and kissed her.”

Snow White popped awake! Finally, “the wicked spell was broken.” The dwarfs danced and sang. The prince carried Snow White off to his castle.

They lived happily ever after. The seven dwarfs visited them often.

The queen knew no limits. Yet she was consumed by them. And her limiting beliefs. Limited thinking did not serve her well. It serves no one well. She went over the limits, off the deep end, by wanting to eliminate what she thought was limiting her.

What, or who, is limiting you?

Where are you with your own limits? Within them, without them?

Are they in check? Are you miles from your inner limits yet feeling limited?

Do you know how far you can go and still be within your limits?

What are you looking for? Are you always searching for it? What exactly is, it? Is today’s it, the same as yesterday’s it? Are you looking for some support in your day, your week? Are you looking for a bigger savings account so you can find it then? Are you searching for someone who understands you, and what you are going through? Are you looking for compassion and empathy and love with a side of validation? Does the it you are looking for seem elusive? Does it seem to you that everyone else has it? They do, right? Are you looking for some extra free time so you can finally have more time to find it, your it?

Yellow + Red = Orange

Is it out there? Or is it in here? Or is it anywhere? Is it always readily available, waiting to be found? Have you opened every door and followed through with every thought and still feel like you just cannot find it. Perhaps it, was once right here, and it slipped away. Like sand through the hourglass.

Are you changing what you are looking for as you go along, thinking that as it morphs then for sure it will surface? Is it much harder or easier to find once you change its form? Are you secretly looking for that ingenious, special someone to draw you a map to it? Show up at the front door with it? Have you enlisted everyone you know to help you find it? How’s that going?

Can you actually describe it? What does it look like? Feel like? What color is it? What would you like to change or what would you like to be different once you find this treasure of an it? Do you help everyone else find it? Those few who do not yet have it either, that is. Can you be clear about it? Can you define all of its contours and its shape and its attributes? When you seek, you find. Really? So where is it! Are you determined to find it? Have you been looking for it forever?

What are you seeking that you cannot wait to find?

Nate the Great, © 1972 by Marjorie Weinman Sharmat, illustrations © by Marc Simont, published by Coward, McCann & Geoghegan, Inc., New York.

Noteworthy: This hardcover book’s pagination starts with its cover as page 1, and ends with its back cover as page 64; the front endpapers are pages 2–3, and the back endpapers are pages 62–63. Pagination starting with the front cover as page 1 is, at the least, atypical, and ~ very interesting!

Nate the Great is a detective who spends his summer investigating cases. He always eats a good breakfast: pancakes, juice, and milk. He works alone.

One morning Nate’s friend Annie called to report that she had lost a picture. She was calling to ask for Nate’s investigative help. “Of course,” said Nate. ” I have found balloons, books, slippers, chickens. Even a lost goldfish. Now, I, Nate the Great, will find a lost picture.” Nate leaves a note for his mom, puts on his detective suit, grabs a notebook and a pencil, and starts to work on the case.

Nate arrives at Annie’s house. She is having pancakes for breakfast. She explains that she painted a picture of her dog, Fang, yesterday. “Then it was gone.”

After a series of questions confirming that Annie’s house had no trap doors or secret passages, Nate investigated Annie’s room. It was very yellow. “I, Nate the Great, was sure of one thing. Annie liked yellow.” Nate searched everywhere in her room. On, under, in her desk. Nothing. On, under, in the bed. No picture. In the wastebasket, Nate found a picture of a dog. But it was a red dog, not the yellow dog picture Annie was looking for. Nate discovers that only Rosamond, her friend, Harry, her little brother, and Fang, had seen this yellow picture.

Nate meets Fang in the backyard. Wondering if Fang buried the picture, Nate and Annie dig up the backyard to look for it. No picture. After another short stack of pancakes to fuel up, Nate and Annie visit Rosamond. Rosamond asks Nate to find her lost cat. Sidetracked, Nate looks for her cat and finds him under the chair. Clearly Rosamond did not have the lost picture. Back to the real case.

Time to find Annie’s little brother, Harry. Harry was painting. Harry wanted to paint Nate. But not a portrait of Nate, he wanted to literally paint him. Soon Nate was covered with red paint. Nate was not thrilled. He was on a case. He had a job to do. He had to get to the bottom of this. Without inconvenient diversions.

Nate went to Harry’s room. Harry’s paintings were hanging on the walls. “Harry had painted a clown, a house, a tree, and a monster with three heads. He had also painted part of the wall, one slipper, and a doornob.” “He does very good work,” said Nate.

After piecing together all of the clues–Fang did not have the picture, Rosamond did not have the picture, Harry did not have the picture–Nate realizes he might be onto something big. “All at once I knew I had found the lost picture. I said, “I, Nate the Great, have found your picture.”

Nate discovered that Harry’s picture of the clown was red, the picture of the house was red, the picture of the tree was red, but the picture of the monster was orange. Orange?

“Everything is red but the monster. I, Nate the Great, will tell you why. Harry painted a red monster over the yellow picture of your dog. The yellow paint was still wet. It mixed with the red paint. Yellow and red make orange. That is why the monster is orange.” Annie did not see this connection right away. She was confused. She needed more proof. But she was sure that her it, was yellow.

Nate explains visually how the yellow picture of the dog Annie painted turned into the base color for Harry’s three-headed orange monster painting.

Interesting how the contour and shape of one thing can morph into the contour and shape of another thing. Does the original thing retain its attributes even after it is covered over? Is it part of the mix? Is it covered over, or transmuted into a new form? Could the new form exist without the old form as its base?

Annie, not knowing how to thank Nate for all of his hard work, offered him another round of pancakes. Looking and searching yields a bit of an appetite.

“I, Nate the Great, like happy endings.”

When looking for your, it, make certain that your picture is clear, that it is your picture, and that you have given it plenty of time to dry.

In the event that someone else creatively adds a layer of paint to your not-yet-fully-dry painting, always remember what you intended to be the original form. It is often also quite helpful to be aware of who wants to change your picture. Or who you allow to change your picture. And why.

If you are looking everywhere for something that you know is yellow, remember to keep an eye out for anything orange.

Bright, flashing, relentless. Have you ever been followed around by a neon sign? Trying to poke through the droves of thought processes, the scores of emotions, perhaps even to the error of your ways. To get your attention. To point the way. Blink, Blink, Blink. Gee, I sure wish I could see a sign, an omen. Like a beautiful hand-painted directional arrow falling from the sky. Or something. To make deciphering what to do easier. Pointing the way to the right decision, the correct timing, the most opportune direction. Leading out of discomfort, indecision, and anxiety straight into the glory of choice. Interesting idea, but right now, all I see is this ridiculously annoying neon sign. And why is it so bright in here?

Are you getting the message?

It is very possible that the neon sign will keep blinking until the message is received. Or the right button is pushed. Who knows how long that could be. How long can you tolerate that sinking feeling, the butterflies in your gut, the repetitive nagging thoughts, the inability to concentrate on anything else? Purposeful, more than likely potentially helpful signals. Rising up at just the right time. To spare you. To help you. To warn you. To direct you. To answer your question. Just in time.

Easy to see, hard to ignore. Yet ignoring it is possible. And probable. But not typically productive. Nor remotely peaceful. While it flashes, other things stand idling, appear far away, or seem to be way out there hanging in the balance. Clouded over by the diversion of the flashing. By the mounting indecision and the need to keep looking off into the horizon, not at the horizon line, in search of an answer. The answer.

When the neon sign blinks and flashes action is required. Soon. Now. Yesterday. A month ago. Blink, Blink. Or it may in fact suggest that action should have been taken already, but you are still in time to make it happen. Blink, Flash. What are you waiting for? The blinking, the restlessness, the lingering thoughts. The wishing that what is written on the neon sign you see, and have seen all along ~ said something else. Something better. Something easier. Something safer. That made more sense. That came with a guarantee and bushel of bliss.

When it lights up and flashes in front of you, do you see the sign? Will you wait to take action? Before it’s too late. Or will you make it just in time?

Ian Fleming’s Story of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! The Magical Car, © 1968  by Warfield Productions Limited and Glidrose Productions Limited. Adapted and written by Al Perkins, illustrated by B Tobey, published by Beginner Books, A Division of Random House Inc.

Mrs. Pott, Jeremy Pott, and Jemina Pott were in the kitchen making sandwiches when they heard a noise coming from outside. Mr. Pott was in the driveway in a “great big car” that he found in a junkyard. He invited them all to go for a ride.

The Potts got into the car and were impressed with all of the lights and buttons. The engine made a loud noise that sounded like, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”. They decided to call their new car Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

They took off down the highway. Fast. Very fast, “a hundred miles an hour.” The Potts decided to go to the beach for a picnic. However, soon they were stuck in miles of traffic on the way to the beach.

Suddenly a little button on the dashboard lit up. “Push Me”, it said. And Mr. Pott pushed it. The car made noise and began to shake. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang had released its wings. “It’s magic!” Jemina shouted.

The Potts flew up over the cars, above the traffic. Oh wow. “She flew up in the sky like a bird.” To the beach they went. No traffic. Just magic. Just in time.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang flew over the beach but it was too crowded to land on the sand. The Potts were afraid, where would they have their picnic? Just then the steering wheel turned on its own and the car began to steer itself.

The car flew away from the beach, over the water. Far out over water the car took a dive and headed straight into the water. Luckily, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang pulled in her wings and landed on the water perfectly. In France.

The Potts, excited to be in France, on the beach, were focused on having a picnic. The adventurous Jemina and Jeremy spotted a dark spooky cave and ran right into it. Upon arrival into the cave, Jemina saw a skeleton and screamed. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and her parents come to the rescue. Just in time. The cave, as it turned out, was a secret hiding place for “Joe the Monster”.

Having found explosives, gunpowder, and fuses, Jeremy inspired the Potts to blow up everything they found. So they did. Then they, and Chitty, got out right before the whole cave blew up. Once again, just in time.

Well, Joe the Monster and his crew found the Potts. They tied up the Potts and kidnapped the kids. Not to worry, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang scooped up the Potts with her, very large scoopers, and followed Joe’s crew all over Paris. When they find the crew, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang saves the day by pinning down the crew until the police arrived.

Chitty gets the royal treatment from the French police. A wash and dry. The Potts enoy their long overdue picnic in a beautiful park.

Time to go back home. ”It will be nice to get home again,” said Jemina.

“It sure will,” said Jeremy. “But who knows what will happen before we get there?” Chitty Chitty Bang Bang flies through the night to bring the Potts family home again.

Yes, it’s nice to get home again.

Other than getting a rest from the stimulation of the constant blinking and flashing, taking action has its benefits. It opens up a lot of space in your mind and soon thereafter in your life. You can breathe easier. Feel free. Move along. Concentrate more fully. Be more available, for everything else.

Are there any nagging thoughts that you have been ignoring? Any bright neon signs with clear directions of what you know you need to do?

If you took action on this today, you would be on the other side of it tomorrow.

Can you take action today?

How will you feel on the other side?

It often takes up a lot of space. We’ve all seen it. Felt it. We’ve all overlooked it. We’ve all walked around it. Whispered to each other about it. Pretended we did not see a thing. We’ve stared right at it. And not said a peep. Who on earth will be the first to acknowledge its existence and can it please be soon. Should it be me? Will it be you? Her? Him? Who? When? Will it simply go away without any interference? Can you ask it politely to leave so we can all get back to normal?

Is there a hippopotamus in the room?

Yes, it’s the big pink elephant in the room. Who among us cannot spot a pink elephant in the room? The big pink elephant is something that everyone knows is there, but no one wants to acknowledge. For one reason or for another. It can typically float, glide, hang around for a good long while. Just seeking to be acknowledged. Its energy is weighty as it wafts around. Causing discomfort. Maybe even distress. And general uneasiness. It could enter the room through some brief emotional moment, upheaval, or state of unsettledness. Or on behalf of some feelings, or thoughts. Unspoken or spoken, known or unknown. Conscious or unconscious. Not yet said or shared. Nor brought up and discussed, and put to rest. The pink elephant is clearly a harbinger of the incongruent.

Certain incongruencies can appear small. At first. Until they are big. Or they pile up. On the back of a pink elephant. In the case of pink elephants, they linger, make themselves at home, and try to fit in. Explore a way to clear the air, though, to create congruency, and you will instantly create more space.

There’s A Hippopotamus Under My Bed, © 1977 by Mike Thaler, Illustrated by Ray Cruz, published by Franklin Watts Publishing.

A cute little boy wearing a yellow shirt and a blue baseball cap was walking home from school one day. Suddenly he turned around to find that he was being followed by a hippopotamus.

The boy invited the hippopotamus to join him inside. The hippopotamus was too big to fit through the doorway, but he made it work, somehow. Though not without a challenge nor without consequences. The hippotamus sat in the boy’s father’s favorite chair and crushed it! The boy named the hippo, Morris, because he resembled his Uncle Morris.

The boy wanted to give his hippo friend a bath. The hippo was out of proportion in the house. He wreaked havoc by simply being there. He broke doorways and cracked all kinds of walls as he followed the boy around. Room to room. The hippo was friendly. He let the boy give him a refreshing bath. He knew he was staying a while.

The boy dried him up. And tied a pretty turquoise ribbom around his neck. But the hippo was stuck in the tub. He never fit well into the tub, and now he could not get out no matter what the boy tried. He tried to stick a broom under the hippo to hoist him out. Leverage is often a great strategy. The broom broke right in half. This hippopotamus seemed here to stay.

The hippo finally fell over, bathtub attached. Every room in the house was bursting at the seams. With chaos. The boy realized that this may not go over well with his parents. So, naturally, he shoved the hippo into the closet, to hide him. With the coats. Shoving things in the coat closet, sweeping them under the rug, nope, no deal.

The boy thought he could try to disguise his hippopotamus friend. He put a lampshade on his head and had him hold two potted plants and some books. Maybe he could be overlooked if he looked like a bookshelf, side table, and lamp. All in one. Nope. Not so much. Thankfully the boy had lots of solution oriented thoughts.

Well, the parents arrived, saw the chaos and thought something was very wrong. Mom spotted Dad’s favorite chair, broken in half, and screamed. They asked, “Junior, what’s been going on here?” He said, “Nothing. Let’s have dinner. I bet you’re hungry. I set the table.” Morris the hippo was the table. That idea almost worked, until Morris sneezed and everything on the table went flying.

Finally, the little boy introduced Morris to his parents. “He’s Morris. He’s my hippopotamus, Dad. He followed me home from school.” Dad is perplexed. The boys asks, “Can we keep him? He could sleep under my bed.”

Not a moment later there was a knock at the door. The zoo keepers. There to collect the hippopotamus that had escaped. Morris went back to the zoo, where he received a new ribbon, and a new bathtub. The little boy went to the zoo every day after school to give Morris a bath.

The pink elephant often has a message. The best way to draw out the message is often simple, but not always easy.

If you spot one and can escort it out gently, prepare for a ton of relief.

You say, tomato. I say, pomodoro. Yes, one of the more flavorful words that I learned to speak in Italian before I learned to speak it in English. Yellow, orange, red. Round, plum, cherry, green. Leaves, then flowers, then vines. Then salad, and simmering red sauce. Growing, outproducing itself right alongside the fresh green basil, mint, and lettuce. The scents of the garden in summer are sweet.

Aside from a generational symbol of family tradition, the tomato represents the abundant harvest that comes from caring for, cultivating, and planting a seed. One little seed. Add good light. Tender care. When the time is right, transplant the seedling into the fertile earth. To root. Water, every other day. Watch the leaves flower. And then turn into green, firm, unripe tomatoes. As they ripen, they soften. And come into their magnificent color. Beautiful and luscious.

The Too Many Tomatoes Cookbook, Classic & Exotic Recipes from around the World, © 2009 by Brain Yarvin, Photography by Brian Yarvin, published by The Countryman Press. Cover and Interior Book Design by Michelle Farinella Design.

*Design Award*
Bronze Medal for Book and Cover Design
The Art Directors Club of New Jersey, 2009

This 224-Page Cookbook includes over 100 mouthwatering recipes. The concise instructions are easy-to-follow, the photography exquisite. You will learn how to process and preserve the freshness of your own homegrown harvest straight from the garden. You will enjoy traditional to unique recipes from salads, side dishes, soups; to meat, poultry, and fish dishes; to rice, pastas, pizzas, salsas, even desserts. Prepare yourself, though, it’s hard to choose a favorite among these recipes.

Some of the recipes are: Bruschetta with Tomato, Greek Salad, Hawaiian-Style Salmon Salad, Indian Tomato and Lentil Soup, Italian-Style Tomato Soup, Beef and Tomato Chow Mein, Southwestern-Style Spicy Gazpacho, Japanese Beef and Tomato Stir-Fy, Chicken Cacciatore, Vegetable and Cheese Lasagna, Dried Tomato and Olive Bread, Tomato Pesto, Chutney, and Marmalade. And, for dessert, Tomato Soup Cake and Green Tomato Pie!

Brian Yarvin is an enthusiastic chef, educator, and photographer, who has written about and photographed food for many local and national publications. Brian lives and cooks in Edison, New Jersey.

I have also had the honor of designing Brian’s previous cookbook,  A World of Dumplings, also published by The Countryman Press in Vermont. Also full of the most wonderful recipes from every tradition.

This week I’m reminded that creativity is at times a seed that needs to planted. It needs to germinate. It needs good light, and tender care. The idea seedling needs to root. When the time is right. It will flower, and flourish. It naturally ripens on the vine. As it ripens, it softens. And comes into its harvestable form.

Like the pomodoro.

What idea seedling has flourished into the most bountiful harvest for you?

They flew away this week. Two Mourning Doves born about three weeks ago. Born in a nest made of fine twigs. Found in a terra cotta flower pot hanging outside the front door. Constructed over a bed of freshly potted purple and yellow pansies. The eggs were small and white. Delicate. Sensitive. Strong.

Four Seasons. Many Present Moments.

Both parents alternated the incubation shifts. Morning to afternoon, afternoon to evening. For two weeks. The parents were serious, and slender, and quite photogenic. With long tapered tails, and sweet, sincere, compassionate stares. Each grounded in their present moment. With intention. Until the little squabs were born. First one, then later, the other. Precious. So tiny. Helpless. Covered in a soft down, breathing rhythmically. They grew a plume at a time, and noticeably, all day long. Every day. Soon they had wings. Very soon. Elliptical, broad. Brownish-gray. Perched on the edge, they knew when it was time. First glide. Then fly. Goodbye.

Over three weeks watching the Doves felt like one continuous present moment. Every moment, something new happened. Something that you could only observe by being solidly in the present moment.

If not anchored in the present moment what do we miss? Does being present always have this many advantages? This much captivating activity?

A Book of Seasons written and illustrated by Alice and Martin Provensen © 1976, published by Random House. (On the cover, The John Newberry Medal.)

This book of seasons journey begins with winter. The delightfully endearing illustrations highlight classic moments of appreciating beauty, nature, and connection throughout the year.

Boots. Mittens. Snowmen. Snow shovels. Sleds. A warm scarf.

Winter gives way to spring.

“The snow melting. A bright purple flower is poking through the snow.”

Days become longer. Sap in the maple trees. Rainy spring days. Umbrellas and puddles. Sunny spring days. Robins. Rabbits. Blooming flowers.

Warm breezes. Blossoms. Hanging white linens on the clothes line outside. “Everything is fresh and sweet and clean.”

Spring gives way to summer.

Long days. Warm nights. Sun drenched landscapes. Running around barefoot.

Golden sun. Green grass. Blue sky. Harvest. Rest. Relax. Smell the pink roses.

Tend the garden. Plant a flower. Watch a butterfly. “You can eat a green bean.”

Summer gives way to autumn.

Shorter days. Red, orange, gold. Jumping in piles of leaves. Firewood.

Autumn gives way to winter.

Hats. Boots. Mittens. Skates. Sleds. “A whole year has passed.”

“A year is the time between one birthday and the next.”

The snow melts. The green leaf emerges from a tree. Something is always arranging to emerge.

“Spring is here again. Spring is the earth’s birthday. It comes again and again and again.”

Be present. From moment to moment. Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn.

Rainy days. Sunny days. Long days. Short days. All day long.

Especially take note to being present during the incubation phases. When things develop slowly. On the inside. When you watch. Wait. Wonder. Is something really happening in there?

When the sign that something is happening is outwardly imperceptible, chances are good that something is just about ready to hatch. Ground yourself. Be ready. Stay present. Prepare to be mesmerized.

What have you been incubating that’s just about ready to hatch?

By the Way

1. If you remember the story of the Robins, and my book, The Nest ~ Yes, this nest was in the same place, same pot. And yes, the Doves will be featured in my upcoming book, the sequel, The Nest: Stay Grounded, Learn to Fly.

2. If these illustrations look familiar, you may remember the charming work of Alice and Martin Provensen, and our favorite blue-eyed girl’s rose colored glasses from an earlier entry. Roses are Red. Are Violets Blue?

Designing a cookbook is a treat. It requires a well thought out plan, a fair amount of organization, and order. And an eye towards aligning the complex more towards simplicity and clarity. It becomes a sacred, reverent experience for me. One similar to preparing for and cooking a special meal for a table full of your favorite people. In its truest form, the reader feels a certain excitement, confidence, and sense of proficiency ~ at a glance. The sense that the perfect process will ultimately lead to a lovely completed masterpiece of form, function, and flavor. Visually, the order and composition of each page must have a rhythm and a flow so that the images, ingredients, yield, and the directions are clear, concise, and structured to be easily referenced. Enticing. Ravishing perhaps.

The Rusty Parrot Lodge and Spa in Jackson Hole is renowned for its gourmet and exquisite cuisine from its Wild Sage Restaurant. This 224-Page hardcover cookbook includes gorgeous photography and easy to follow, step-by-step instructions for scrumptious breakfasts, dinners, and delicious desserts.

The Rusty Parrot Cookbook: Recipes from Jackson Hole’s Acclaimed Lodge, © 2009 by Darla Worden and Eliza Cross, Photography by David Swift, published by Gibbs Smith. Book Jacket and Interior Book Design by Michelle Farinella Design.

*Design Award*
Certificate of Excellence in Design, Book and Cover Design
The Art Directors Club of New Jersey, 2009

*Design Award*
American Graphic Design Award
Excellence in Communication and Design, Book and Cover Design
Graphic Design USA, 2009

The book is organized into recipes that correspond with each of the four seasons. And, throughout the seasonal recipes, the authors share some photos, essays, and poems of Jackson Hole’s history, art, and wildlife.

A small sampling of the recipes include: Grand Mariner French Toast, Rosemary and Green Tea Smoked Duck Breast with Sweet Potato-Sage Gnocchi and Pomegranate Jus, Cinnamon Beignets with Espresso Ice Cream and Hot Chocolate, and Kahlua Cheesecake with Vanilla-Macedamia Nut Crust.

The Rusty Parrot Lodge and Spa was named the number one hotel in the Continental U.S. and Canada by Travel & Leisure readers World’s Best Awards. We certainly get the sense that this destination lodge in the West would be a treasured experience year round.

This cookbook lets you share in the experience of being part of The Rusty Parrot Lodge and Spa by providing lots of wonderful recipes to enrich every season.

Organization, order, and clarity are often the perfect recipe!

Did you ever wonder: How did I get here? Do you love it when you get that answer right away? Ok, so one minute everything is fine, you’re doing your thing, being in your day. Moving right along. And then the next minute, you’re where? Oh. I see. How did that happen again? Focusing on your tasks at hand, or the list of things to do, or places to be, thoughts to think, lots to manage.

Yes. A Fly Went By.

Perhaps there is a new, up-and-coming, sorta wellknown subdivision of Focusing. Distraction Management. I’m not totally sure, but it may be that this Distraction Management is Time Management’s bossy, demanding, eccentric, loud, first cousin twice removed. Always there wanting some kind of attention. When the front door of focusing is open (ok, slightly ajar is a better idea) for the simple to complex distractions to glide right on in, can that sometimes be a good and welcomed thing?

Focusing is focusing. Right? Why is it sometimes ironclad and not at other times? Maybe it depends on the state of mind. The task. Or if the moon is full, blue, or void of course. Or maybe the distraction is somewhat related to the thought pattern and it really is a helpful experience to roll with it, check it out. Then come back. Get on track.

Again.

There clearly are various degrees of distraction. Hence, the Management Department. Or is it that there are various degrees of focusing?

A Fly Went By, © 1958 Mike McClintock, illustrated by Fritz Siebel, Beginner Books, published by Random House.

One day a cute little boy in a red turtleneck was sitting by the lake. Looking at the sky. Relaxing in a small, triangular wooden boat. Then, “A fly went by.”

The fly got the boy’s attention immediately. The fly seemed to be shaking with fear, concerned for his safety, and in a terrible rush. “I must get out of here!” Said the fly. The fly was being chased by a frog. Oh no.

The frog hopped by fast. The boy asked him, “Why do you want to get that fly?” The fly? He didn’t want to get the fly. He was being chased by a cat. The cat was chasing the frog that was chasing the fly.

The boy was disturbed, and worried. He stood up to the cat. “Stop!” He wanted to stop this disconcerting parade. “Do not pick on the frog like that!” The cat wanted nothing to do with frog. He was trying to get away from a dog.

This chase parade proceeded all around town. Past a lake. Up a hill. The boy wanted to stop them. He knew that they were all afraid and running away because of their worst fears. Of being chased by someone bigger, stronger, and more powerful. He thought he could help them all by stopping them and telling them that their fears are untrue. Unfounded. That they were safe. If they knew they were safe, they would all be well.

Are we distracted by our fears? Or are we focusing on our fears and worries and doubts and therefore distracted?

The dog was being chased by a pig. And the pig was being chased by a cow. The cow had a little cow in tow. She thought her little one was in danger by who was chasing them. The fox up on the hill was chasing the cow.

The fox was not interested in hurting the cow, or the little cow. He was being chased by a large man with a gun. The large man was a mess. He was being chased too. By something that could jump and kick and kill. He thought.

“I did not see it,” said the man. “I took my gun and then I ran. For I could hear it bump and thump. It was so bad it made me jump! It was so bad it made me fear! It was so big! It was so near! It must be ten feet tall!”

The boy hid behind a tree waiting for this great big ‘it’. He was determined to get to the bottom of this. To save the day. To put an end to this continuous parade of fear and trepidation. To tap into courage. To stop fear in its tracks.

A little sheep turned the corner. The little sheep had a tin can stuck on his back foot. The little sheep ran to the man to ask for help. But the man ran away too fast. He never saw the sheep, or that he needed help.

So that’s how it all began. One big fear multiplied into many great big fears. Fast. Not the first nor the last of the fears were actual dangers. Distractions perhaps. The man reached for his gun to protect himself upon hearing a noise. It never occurred to him that there may have been nothing to fear. Fear has a way of making itself front and center.

The little boy called out to the man to tell him he was safe. But the others still ran and ran. “They did not know about the can.” The man helped the sheep take the tin can off of his foot. The boy climbed to the top of the highest tree limb and “gave a great big yell”.

“You must not run away! No one is after you! No one, I say! You all ran away–and now I know why. I sat by the lake, and there came a fly.”

“I looked at them all

And then I could tell

That all had no fear

And now all was well.”

Distractions deserve some attention. But not all of the time. Who knows where they can lead you. Wherever you go, hopefully you get back. Right on time.

Have you invented any worthwhile ways to keep your focus a priority? And your distractions to a minimum?

How about any ways to stop fear from raining on your parade?

Some concepts are so worth bringing into focus.