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Summer Fun for the Young – And Young at Heart by Bart Jackson

Feb. 23rd – Summer Fun for the Young – And Young at Heart by Bart Jackson

Those who have gazed wistfully at the slender hull of a rowing shell slicing across the lake, and admired that precise human unison that strokes it smoothly along: your time has come. The Princeton National Rowing Association is offering you a sliding seat at the shell — eight or four person — and the opportunity to be one of those athletes stroking across Mercer Lake in concert with your comrades. And it is not just for the youngsters any more.   Read the full article: http://princetoninfo.com/index.php/component/us1more/?Itemid=6&key=2-21-18pnrahttp://princetoninfo.com/index.php/component/us1more/?Itemid=6&key=2-21-18pnra

Yeti sightings in Cranbury

While out skiing this morning to check the vines in their vineyard and brush the snow off their solar panels, we sighted this photo of what we claim to be an over-bundled Yeti crossing our property. Lorraine thinks he may have stowed away in our packs when they came back from Tibet. Bart says Lorraine is always complaining about how heavy her pack is.

Have fun and stay warm

         

Jury Privilege

“People have fought and died for the right to be judged by a jury of their peers.”  The instruction video had announced it to the 300-some folks sitting in that basement room of the Middlesex County courthouse.  Now the Judge Vincent Leblon had just said it again to us of the 40-person jury pool in his courtroom.  And for petit juror 0689, these words struck home.

I was fully aware that today, most American citizens would be battling almost as ferociously to avoid sitting on a jury as our forefathers had to win us this vital freedom.  Previously, upon learning of my notice to report, all my friends had audibly sympathized with my being called up and proffered their best tips for wrangling an excuse from serving.

Yet here I sat, in the eight-person jury box, having dodged several sidebar questionings each of which could have won me an excuse.  The dental surgery could be postponed.  I could re-schedule the two radio shows, and pass on my friend’s funeral.  The judge had convinced me – serving on this jury was important.  Then, during the final round of questions one of the lawyers deemed me not to his liking and I was dismissed.  There would be no trial for this citizen.  My life could get back to normal.    No exciting interruptions, all my best-laid plans could take place.  Life could resume its predictability.  Although a bit relieved, I walked out of Middlesex County Courthouse with a sigh.

Wishing You Every Success,

– Bart Jackson

One Day in Tibet

…So we are squatting there, huddled tightly around this tiny tin stove, glowing with embers of yak dung, clutching a stone cup of ink-black tea in our hands.

Now this is good, because the wind outside is blowing its cold and constant 40 mph across the Tibetan plateau at 16,000 feet of elevation, and we are tucked toastily with the nomads inside their yurt – a tent made of pressed yak felt, held up by ropes of twined yak hair, and staked down by shards of yak bone.

And from over in the corner comes Neema who has been churning, churning, churning in her precious wooden churn.  And as she passes, every hand goes out – and thus so does mine – and slap.  A greasy glob lands in my palm.  And I look.  Following suit, I scrape it into the stone cup, watching it ooze and sprawl across the tea’s surface in grey, bobbing globules.

This is yak butter.  It’s intriguingly cloying – at least for the first four cups.  But the grinning nomads who have invited us into their toasty home are really putting it down and my wife Lorraine and I are expected to keep up.

 

Then sweet-smiling Neema comes by again.  This time it’s a bowl of nearly-ground barley; and out go the hands, and slap! More yak butter.   Following suit, we kneed and kneed and kneed these two until we get something about the consistency of wallpaper paste, but not quite as tasty.  This is the second staple of the Tibetan diet, called tsampa.

The wind continues outside, driving blasts of horizontal snow.  The laughter grows more raucous.  Our 200-word Tibetan vocabulary gets stretched beyond comprehension, but the language of camaraderie melded us together like warm tsampa. In appreciation for their gracious hospitality and feast, we shared pictures of our home torn from calendars we’d brought with us.  As Lorraine and I eventually toddled off to our little backpacking tent, several of the children followed, poking heads and hands inside to examine the strange gear belonging to their strange guests.  (Our down sleeping bags were a great hit.)

So if you are considering making your way to this enchanted land pressed hard against the northern flanks of the high Himalayas – Yes.  By all means go to Tibet.  Experience the globe’s most physically rugged and spiritually rich people.  Find joyful companions.  Explore what Everest is like.  Discover if there is truly a Shangri-la.  But do not, I beg you, go to Tibet for the food.

  Wishing you joyful treks & warm companions,

                        – Bart Jackson

 

The Healing Shore

HD Thoreau noted of Eastham Cape Cod, that “the barren aspect of land would hardly be believed if described.”  I suppose it depends upon what you are cultivating.  For me, our home in Eastham shores writhes abundantly with life.  Whether it is the view from out of my window on Cape Cod Bay, or walking the hard sand flats at low tide, there stands no more fertile plain for raising up one’s most profound and deepest thoughts.

Or wading heavily amidst the thunderous rhythms of Nauset Beach’s ocean waves as they crash and seethe along the slender sandy strand hemmed by towering dunes and open sea.  Surely, there lies no richer field for planting soul into perspective & the mind into more astute reflection.

‘Twas to this most blessed retreat I came this week after shoulder-replacement surgery.  The quelling of the mind and the release from the daily frenzies of home and office life proffered the utmost recuperation.  With my good wife Lorraine, and later joined by my COO & laughing adventuress Carol Ezzo, we journeyed into the realm of simple re-creations such as finding clams on the flats, half-shell oysters amongst the shoreside restaurants, and bright-plumed birds in remote marshes.  And yes, and in the eve, we even made some amazing strides in our latest book, along with lining up new guests for our The Art of the CEO radio show.  The brain works best when freed from the chaff of distraction – and fueled by good friends and lobster in drawn butter.

Wishing you all a grand summer,

– Bart Jackson

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