Lynn's Musings

From a Deep Well

Rethinking Priorities

All of this time at home has me thinking about changes I can make to live a little a better, more harmonious life. I can’t help but wonder how much difference it makes if I turn off the lights, turn up or turn off the A/C, compost my vegetable waste and plant a garden. How much will I lower the carbon dioxide in the atmosphere? How much will I lessen the food insecurity of the world? The answer is: not much. But I know I’m not the only one; I am one more. Maybe someone else will see the steps I take and think, “I can do that too”.
I came up with a few ideas I can implement right now:
First, I really miss having a clothesline. At my previous house I hung out my clothes all summer long. The smell of bed linens dried with sunshine and warm breezes is heaven. An extra benefit is that sunlight is a natural disinfectant, and just think of all the energy saved. Even though I will be the only person in my neighborhood, I’m having one put up in my backyard this summer. I can’t wait!

Then, I visited a new dentist  this year. After a lot of poking and prodding, the hygienist suggested that I use an electric toothbrush (we have several right here at the receptionist’s counter). I understand that my brushing technique may need tweaking, but another appliance to do something that I can handle on my own? What a waste of electricity! Not to mention the $200 for the toothbrush.
Another easy thing I can do is dust off my leaf rake. Raking is great exercise. Instead of going to the gym for a cardio workout, I will pick up a rake and leave the leaf blower in the shed, saving lots of electricity, again cutting my carbon footprint not to mention lessening the noise pollution.

When I was growing up, on Legion Road, my dad and I would spend an hour or so when the night sky was clear with a flashlight and a star map. The Milky Way slashed across the sky and every now and then we were treated to the Northern Lights.



Today, living in the suburbs, I can barely see a few random stars. There is so much outdoor lighting these days. Why is this necessary or even welcome? If turning off the lights isn’t an option, there are alternatives to old-style lighting. Eco-friendly outdoor fixtures cut the ambient light escaping into the night sky and focuses the light only where it is wanted or needed.
This much light in the night isn’t just unnecessary, it’s harmful. Birds use the moon and stars to navigate, along with the earth’s magnetic field when they migrate. If they can’t see the stars they can’t find their way. Some seaside communities decided to turn off their lights at night when they discovered newly hatch sea turtles, who follow the moon’s path of light on the water, couldn’t find their way to the sea.

This is a good time to for me rethink my priorities and the kind of world I want to leave for my grandchildren. It is their creativity and self-reliance that will teach us all how to live in harmony and not in dominance with this one-and-only earth, our island home.

Copyright June 27, 2020


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Sourdough – The Yeast That Keeps on Growing

I spoke with my friend Joan about the everyday products that are hard to find at the grocery store these days. The last time I went shopping I expected there would be empty shelves in the paper aisle and there were. But no yeast? No flour? A couple cans of off-brand shortening? These are items I would never have figured would be in short supply.

A few weeks back, when the governor announced we were all to stay at home and the world turned upside down, I stocked up on everything including baking supplies and yeast. My plan was to stay home-stay safe for a month.

After two weeks I ran out of store-bought bread. That wasn’t a problem since I enjoy making my own. At the end of the fourth week and after baking four loaves of bread I was down to two packs of yeast. I was starting to wonder what to do when I remembered my mom’s container of sourdough starter. It was an integral part of the kitchen counter terrain and it gave her an ongoing source of yeast for baking bread, biscuits and coffeecakes.

I’d baked with sourdough years ago and recalled that a packet of yeast, some flour, water and sugar were all that were needed to get a batch going. I looked through an old Amish cookbook and found the starter recipe, listing the amounts of each ingredient. It also had the instructions for feeding the starter every 7 to 10 days, which is important to keep it going indefinitely. And the starter has to be used or shared regularly or you will end up with a LOT of starter. I planned on baking at least once a week, probably more, so keeping up with the growing yeast wouldn’t be a problem.

Here is the recipe for the sourdough starter I found and some delicious recipes from King Arthur Flour to try:

1 package of dry yeast
2 ½ cups warm water
2 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar or honey

Directions: In a large glass or ceramic bowl, sprinkle yeast over ½ cup of warm water. Let sit for 5 minutes. Add remaining water and stir until yeast is dissolved. Gently whisk in the flour and sugar. Cover loosely – cheesecloth works good for this – and let sit on the counter top, at room temperature for 5 or more days, until bubbly and ready to use. Gently stir the mixture twice each day. At this time the starter can be stored in the refrigerator until ready to use. If 10 or more days pass without using the starter, feed the starter by adding a teaspoon of sugar. Once some of the starter has been used, feed the starter by stirring in ¾ cup of flour, ¾ cup of warm water and 1 teaspoon of sugar. Leave at room temperature for another 5 days (or until mixture is bubbly again) stirring twice a day.


1 cup sourdough starter
1 ½ cups lukewarm water
5 cups flour, divided
1 tablespoon sugar
2 ¼ teaspoons salt

Directions: The afternoon before baking the bread – Combine starter, water and 3 cups of flour in a large bowl. Beat for 1 minute. Cover and let rest at room temperature for 4 hours. Refrigerate overnight for about 12 hours. Add remaining 2 cups of flour, sugar and salt. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead, sprinkling with additional flour as necessary until smooth. Place in a lightly greased bowl, cover and let rise for about 5 hours, until dough is light and airy. Gently divide dough in half. Shape into two ovals, place on lightly greased baking sheets. Cover and let rise until very puffy, 2 to 4 hours. When ready to bake, lightly spray loaves with warm water. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Make four diagonal crisscrossing slashes in both loaves. Bake at 425 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes, until deep golden brown and loaves sound hollow when lightly rapped. Remove from oven and let cool. Note: Making sourdough bread is not an exact science. Be flexible. Rising times will vary depending on room temperature and vitality of the sourdough starter.


Overnight Sponge:
2 cup flour
2 tablespoons sugar
2 cup buttermilk
1 cup sourdough starter

All of the overnight sponge
2 large eggs
¼ cup vegetable oil or 4 tablespoons melted butter
¾ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda

Directions: To make overnight sponge, stir down your refrigerated starter and remove 1 cup. Mix with flour, sugar and buttermilk in a large bowl. Cover and let rest at room temperature for 12 hours overnight. The next morning, beat eggs and oil in a small bowl. Add to overnight sponge. Add salt and baking soda, stir to combine. For pancakes – Pour a little oil into a skillet and heat. Use about ¼ cup of batter per pancake. Cook until edges of pancakes are bubbly and starting to dry. Turn once and brown the other side. For waffles – Pour batter onto a preheated, greased waffle iron and bake according to manufactures instructions.


2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon almond extract
¾ c butter, melted

½ cup butter at room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs at room temperature
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 cup sourdough starter
2 cups flour
2 tablespoons instant mashed potato flakes
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoons salt
¼ cup milk at room temperature
Confectioner’ sugar

Directions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 9×9 inch baking pan. Topping – In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt. Add vanilla and almond to melted butter and pour into flour mixture. Stir until uniformly moist. Set aside. Cake – Beat butter and sugar in a large mixing bowl until combined. Add eggs, vanilla and sourdough starter. Mix until smooth. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, potato flakes, baking soda, salt and baking powder. Add to the egg-starter mixture. Stir until combined. Add milk and mix until smooth. Spread batter in baking pan. Sprinkle topping over all. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 to 50 minutes until edges just start to pull away from pan. A knife inserted in the center will come out clean when cake is done. Cool and dust with confectioners’ sugar.

Copyright May 2, 2020

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There is Hope



John’s Keys – A Short Story

As Published in The Listening Eye

Lynn Eckerle

Copyright October 29, 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this blog, including written text and all images, may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author.

I threw John’s keys down in the parking lot and walked away. They landed in the space next to his car, right where he could find them. It was ten minutes before he would leave for work. I’d been scoping out his place for the last two weeks. He was a man with a routine. I leaned against the side of his condo, half hidden by the dumpster, and waited.
The last time I saw John was 1978. We’d both been through college and started working by then. One night I’d stopped at that bar out on South Avenue, meeting up with some friends for a drink. When I walked through the door, I saw him in a pool of light created by a neon beer sign. He turned on his bar stool, as if I’d tapped him on the shoulder from across the room, and looked right at me. That’s how it had always been with John. He was the one person I’d had an instant connection to.
Back then he’d driven an old VW bug. We had a lot of fun in that car. One time we’d gone parking with two other couples on some dirt back road. Our lust and intensity had tuned into frustration then into laughter. You just can’t do parking any justice in a VW Bug.
The next seven months were intense and dense, full of life to the point of bursting. It was unsustainable. It burned through us, leaving us gasping. Who can live like that? It was inevitable that we would turn to ashes and be blown in opposite directions.
But I’d forgotten I had his extra set of keys.
And now, I was giving them back.
I wondered what he would think of my dropping into his life again. Can you ever recapture what was lost? His reaction, when he discovered those keys would tell all. I’m a great believer in kismet, serendipity and body language. I waited, one shoulder braced against cool aluminum siding, breathing in the faint humors of garbage. The cool damp of the morning worked its way through my jacket. By nine it would be warm enough for shirt sleeves.
I’d gotten back into town a month ago, asked around a little and discovered that John was a widower, three years gone. Long enough to grieve and time enough to move on. I’d kept track of him through the first years after we went our separate ways. When he’d married Sherri from our high school days, I was dumbstruck. He wasn’t the kind of guy that went for the cheerleader types. He had been head of the chess squad for Christ’s sake. And I’d been a math and science major with seriously frizzy hair and big feet. I figured his marrying Sherri was a one-eighty ricochet from dating me.
I now had the hair under control and had grown into my feet but no one would accuse me of ever being a homecoming queen. I’d ended up an engineer with a Master’s degree. And yet here I was, lurking behind a dumpster; probably technically a stalker.
I’d been waiting over ten minutes but no John. I began to second-guess myself, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I decided to give it another five minutes. Then I saw him come out of his condo, dressed for business. He was preoccupied, hurrying across the pavement, a cell phone at his ear. He stepped around the side of his car. The cast off keys lay less than an inch from his shoe. He slipped his phone into his inside coat pocket, unlocked the car with his fob and reached for the door.
The keys! How can he miss the keys? He was going to get behind the wheel, drive away and never see the keys.
Something made him stop. Maybe it was the sound of my wildly beating heart or maybe the morning sun glinting off the discarded keys.
Either way, John reached down, picked them up and turned them over in his hand. I stepped into view and held my breath.
He did a slow one-eighty and saw me. He knew it was me. I saw it on his face. It was just like the time, in that dim, shadowy bar, so many years ago. He took a step toward me and then another.

Mama Mia It’s Valentine’s Day

I felt for too many years that Valentine’s Day was the worst holiday ever conceived. The day never lived up to my hopes and expectations.
At the office, it was a competition to see who would receive flowers and how big were the bouquets. I oohed and awed over each delivery of roses with sweet cards and often accompanied with boxes of chocolates. My desk remained empty because my husband gave me flowers privately at home. When the looks of pity came my way I just made it worse by asserting that there would be – for sure – flowers waiting for me on the dining room table.
Of course there will be was followed by a hug or at the very least a sympathetic pat on my hands. I hated Valentine’s Day! Looking back, coming home to a smiling husband, his warm embrace and the beautiful pale pink roses – my favorite – was more romantic than one-upping someone at work. But at the time, the emptiness of my desk grew larger as it became surrounded by everyone else’s roses, plants in sweet containers and heart shaped boxes of candy.

Then the day came when I was single and there was nothing at all.

I tried to ignore the day but it was impossible. I called it a manufactured Hallmark holiday; nothing more than a marketing ploy, causing men to purchase cards, flowers and jewelry. As much as I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter, it did.
Then I had a change of heart. I decided to turn Valentine’s Day around and make it my day to celebrate love and kindness to anyone who crossed my path. I made phone calls to friends I hadn’t seen in a while, baked cookies to hand deliver and sent cards to those who were too far away to visit. I said, “Happy Valentine’s Day” to the store clerks, gave a friendly wave to the neighbor and let the other guy have the parking spot. I looked for opportunities to bring a little love into anyone’s day. By evening when I was in my pj’s and comfy, I was happy and full of goodwill. I found the best of Valentine’s Day was not receiving fleeting tokens given out of a sense of obligation, but in giving that love away. Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad after all.

Copyright February 9, 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this blog, including written text and all images, may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author.

Dance Your Heart Out

I’m a single woman and I love to dance. I don’t have a dance partner, so what’s a girl to do? When I was in my teens I wanted to learn interpretive dance, but was told that being 5’3” was too short. I still wanted to dance.
A couple weeks ago I heard about some line dancing that was going on at a local senior center. But, no matter how many birthdays have gone by I’ve never considered walking through the doors of a senior center. In my mind, that’s a place for really old people.
I rearranged my writing schedule. Thursday morning is when I put together my weekly column. Last week, I wrote on Wednesday, set my alarm on Thursday so there was plenty of time to feed my cat Lucy, have a cup of coffee and take care of the usual odds and ends before leaving the house. It came time to go and I chickened out. 

I decided to give it another try. I again wrote my column and Wednesday, set the alarm on Thursday and this time I made it out the door. The senior center is about fifteen minutes away and I was there with five minutes to spare.
There were several ladies waiting to get started; some were older than me and some younger. I fit right in. The instructor had us try out several dances and I was pretty good at some and terrible at the others. I’m going back and with practice the routines will become easier. Soon my feet will barely touch the ground.
I’m blessed to have inherited my mother’s genes. She was active, strong and healthy into her late eighties and alert to the very end. I’m one of the lucky ones, not limited by arthritis COPD or heart disease. I’m a little fluffy (a few extra pounds) but hey, I’m workin’ on it! The upside of my genetic luck is: This girl can dance!

Merry Christmas!

First Snow – Ah The Memories

When the first snow flies, I think of sleds and mittens and long sloping hills. My brothers would take me – Mom said! – up the road and over the train tracks to the golf course. That winding hill off the seventh tee was the best sledding run ever made.
Before we had aluminum “saucer” sleds, we used an old stone boat – a heavy wooden platform with runners underneath. Farmers would hitch one up behind a mule or work horse and go into the fields to clear out field stones before plowing.
Once we had that stone boat heading down hill there was no stopping her until she came to rest at the bottom of the hill, or sometimes, against a big old oak. Steering was out of the question; just hop on and hold tight. The only way to avoid a collision was to roll off into the snow which always worked its way down our backs and up our coat sleeves. The hours of fun, our frozen gloves, cold shivers and sweet memories were a gift from Mr. Cornell, the old farmer who lived across the road.
It seemed like we would sled for hours and I’m sure mom was glad to have her three rambunctious children out of the house, at least for a while.
By the time we had had enough of sledding and were headed home, I was chilled to the bone. My legs, above the tops of my unlined rubber boots were chaffed. Inside my mittens, which were often a pair of dad’s old socks, I would curl my fingers into my palms trying to find some escape from the cold.

I remember my brothers being scolded for keeping me out too long. “She wouldn’t leave,” they said, and they were right. I’d begged for one more run down the hill. But mom made everything better by heating up some Campbell’s tomato soup on the stove while she helped us out of our wet and frozen clothes. Our fingers and toes were red and tingled fiercely as the warmth returned.
We sipped the hot soup out of coffee cups, telling of our sledding adventures, always looking forward to the next new snow.

Copyright November 18, 2019


All rights reserved.  No part of this blog, including written text and all images, may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author.



Cancer and PTSD


It’s been twelve years but it is still all I can do to walk through the door. Just pulling into the hospital parking lot makes it hard to breath and gets my heart pounding. My anxiety has grown steadily stronger over the last three weeks as I wait for this day. The specter of cancer doesn’t vanish with the last chemo or radiation treatment.
The emotional and irrational part of me believes it’s the looking for cancer that causes it to be found or not. I’ve studied quantum mechanics over the years and part of the theory states that the physical state/location of such particles as electrons and photons isn’t determined until they are observed. In quantum mechanics such particles are in more than one place and in more than one state at the same time. It’s sort of like Schrodinger’s cat being both alive and dead until the lid of the box is lifted.
So my mind applies this logic to cancer. I know that once the x-rays are read, the die is cast. The part of me that won’t walk under a ladder and throws spilled salt over my left shoulder urges me not to have the x-rays taken, to not open the box.

This year was the closest I’ve come to canceling my mammogram appointment, but I knew if I did, I’d never go back. My rational side won out this time.
The Mayo Clinic’s description of PTSD is: Post-traumatic stress disorder is a mental health condition that’s triggered by a terrifying event – either experiencing it or witnessing it. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event. If the symptoms get worse, last for months or even years you may have PTSD.
I was asked one time, after my cancer surgery, if I wanted to talk to a mental health therapist. Mental health problems still carry a stigma so of course I said, “No.” If I’d asked for mental help, it would’ve been in my medical file, possibly effecting future job opportunities, insurance premiums and heaven only knows what else.
I believe mental health should be included in Standard of Care treatment, the same as a physical therapist and a nutritionist are. As the patient; don’t make me choose. Mental health care should be a given, not an option. I’ve found that I’m not alone in choosing not to admit I needed that help – even more so after all the treatments were done and I’m standing in the hospital parking lot wondering Now what? It leaves me each year struggling to make my appointment and hoping when I lift the lid of the box, cancer isn’t inside.

Predetermination or Chaos?

I had one of those days when things began to go wrong, really wrong, but in the end turned out pretty good after all. It started with my lawn. It needed cutting. When it came to mowing, my routine was the same every time. I’d say a little prayer for the mower to start and pull the starter rope. The engine would fire up; I’d give thanks and be on my way. But not this day. Two pulls, three, four, two more pushes on the primer button, I wiggled the spark plug connector and nothing.
The grass was long and needed either cutting or bailing. I imagined the neighbors looking at my yard, muttering and shaking their heads. I’d been in my house two years but was still the new kid on the block.
I got in my car, heading for the local Toro dealer. Maybe they could pick up my mower or make a house call. I pulled out onto the road and noticed my neighbor’s lawn guy standing in their yard, his big zero-turn mower trailered behind his truck. I hit the brakes and turned into their driveway.
“Would he have the time to mow my lawn?”
“Sure, no problem.” He’d have it done today.
I was saved for now at least. The strange thing was, when that testy mower of mine wouldn’t start, he and his machine were the first things I thought of and VOILA there he was. This sort of thing happens to me all of the time. I’ll think that guy’s gonna pull out and sure enough he does. Or the phone will ring and once in a while I know who it is before looking at the number. It doesn’t happen often but enough to make me wonder. I get these little touches of precognition, moments ahead of time. All of this makes me wonder: Is the future set in stone or is life nothing but chaos.
My days tend to lean to the chaos side of the equation but I’ve come to believe life is predetermined for the Big Stuff. For example; when I think about the complex set of events that puts two strangers in the same place at the same time and for them to not pass each other by, it boggles my mind. There has been less than a hand full of people who have come into my life that way and I KNOW each one wasn’t a coincidence.
The chaos comes into play in the small choices. Does what I had for breakfast matter in any cosmic sense? I don’t think it does – but who know for sure?
So every now and then I get a brief peek at what’s to come in the next second or two. I’m glad and relieved it isn’t more. I’ve never had my palm read, tea leaves analyzed or fortune told because I don’t want to know the future. I want to be surprised.