Dear Friends,

    I love living in Santa Monica.  Wednesday mornings are extra special here.  Each Wednesday, sprawling out four or five blocks on Arizona Street is the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market.  At about 5:30 am, vendors from near and far pull into the alleys and blocked-off streets and begin to set up their booths and wares.  Around 8:30 am, people begin arriving with carts, bags, and pocket cash to buy the freshest ingredients these parts have to offer.  

    Everyone loves this “freshness”—the fitness joggers, elderly folk with walkers, mothers with babies in strollers, and friends in wheelchairs. People smile and laugh as they deeply inhale fresh aromas and taste a fresh slice of life. I enjoy just walking through the market and watching people pick through produce for just the right piece or hold up a bunch of fresh flowers in an attempt to envision where they will put them.  Being outdoors in the fresh air and taking in the sights and sounds is invigorating to the soul.

    Fresh is a promise—it says this will not be stale, or old; it hasn’t been sitting around for a long time; it’s not covered in dust or growing mold.  Fresh is clean and pure, like the breeze off the ocean that gently blows through the market.  You can hear “fresh” in the crisp snap of a celery stalk. You can see it in the vibrant colors that haven’t yet faded under the beating-down sun.  You can taste it in the samples that the vendors slice for you while you stand there deciding what to buy. Fresh is juicy and might even run down your chin.

    Sometimes I forget how much I love “fresh.”  There is almost always some other way that is more convenient, more cost effective, or longer lasting than “fresh.”  This is true in all areas of life.  I can forget all about “fresh” and kick into “activity” or “achievement” mode and end up “canned” or “stale” before I even recognize it.  Sometimes I even settle for stale because I’m just plain tired.

    But then I experience something “fresh” again.  I smell it or taste it.  Or I see the way someone else has refused to settle for “canned” and I’m inspired and invigorated, just like I am when I walk through the market on Wednesday mornings.  Fresh is rested and full of energy.  It is alert and awake and alive—bursting with flavor and joy.
 
    Don’t forget about “fresh.” It is a gift from God.  Find ways to experience it and let it invigorate your soul and your spirit.

                    Open a window you never open, and let the breeze blow through…

                    Bake a loaf of bread just to fill the house with that incredible smell…

                    Put out some fresh flowers—nothing fancy, even three rosebuds in a glass

                    Hold a puppy and let it lick your face…

    Gotta run.  It’s Wednesday…

Nicole