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What is This?

Recalling afterward of one New Year's Eve celebration some time ago when our Dear Uncle Rachmoninov von Trenchen und Hollern Wronski — he comes from the Teutonic offshoot of the Family Wronski — had some splainin' to do following a night of jubilant revelry at his dacha in the Bavarian woods with who knows how many rollicking beauties.

Those were the days. Champagne, of course. Also, Spritzers with the naturally bubbly spring waters from the spa at Baden-Baden, fortified with your choice of a rare D'yquem or a very old and dusty Trockenbeerenauslese.

The indoor pool was a popular destination. Heated of course. Nudity ... encouraged. And, that mad dash to the snow covered back garden lawn to roll around in the bracing cold; snow angels, of course. Photos were taken.

Click to learn about all those Wronski's doin's.

Meeting Kalu Rinpoche

A while back we were travelling out West to find a new home after living in New York City for many years. 

We spent some time in Boulder, Colorado. It's the home of my professional school, The Dr. Ida Rolf Institute, which trained and certified me as a Rolfer^® in 1981.

Boulder is a famously "New Age" community. The quip goes that it's "... 26 square miles surrounded by reality". So, naturally, there's more than a little interest in the holistic and the spiritual.

[When I was receiving the 10 session Rolfing series in New York City way back before it even occurred to me to consider that work as a life's profession, in the waiting room at the then New York Center for Rolfing there was a book about a Buddhist monk who was known for building and promoting the building of Stupas. A Stupa is an ancient form of Buddhist architecture representing in its basic shape the seated Buddha having achieved enlightenment. They usually contain relics and are sites of meditation. I don't remember a name, or the particulars. But ...]

So here we are in Boulder in 1994 and I'm in a gift shop clearly merchandising to the Buddhist sensibility. Malas, ceremonial objects, books. Sure, lots of beautiful oriental style decorative objects. Singing bells, for sure. Incense.

On the bookshelf this particular item called to me ...

It is a memorial homage to the late Venerable Kalu Rinpoche, one of the first Tibetan Buddhist Masters to teach in the West. The serene compassion in his face is always an inspiration to me. Just look. It says it all.

Down the road a piece in Santa Fe, New Mexico we visited the KSK [Kagyu Shenpen Kunchab ] Buddhist Center. They are in the Shangpa Kagyu lineage; and founded by Kalu Rinpoche. They let us spend some time to meditate in the Stupa there.

And ... in their bookstore we came upon something miraculously serendipitous. A photo of young Kalu, in 1990 the recognized reincarnation of the previous Kalu Rinpoche [1905 - 1989].

Soon after, having settled to live in Arizona, we visited Tucson and attended a Buddhist empowerment ceremony; and took vows with young Kalu Rinpoche presiding. 

Remembering how at one point in the ceremony those of us taking vows came before him and had a lock of our hair snipped off. 

Currently we follow him on Facebook. And, follow him in his path in the Master's footsteps.

During our visit in Boulder, and at that gift shop, I came upon this scribbled on the wall in their rest room. 

Imagine that ...

PS I was inspired to write this recollection after a friend asked us about whether there was a Buddhist Center here in New Jersey which we attend. 

We meditate. And, incorporate Buddhist teachings in our ongoing practice. If you ask whether I'm a Buddhist, I'll just say they are spiritual friends for life; and recommend them wholeheartedly to anyone. Yet, spiritual practice is highly individual, and it's best to follow you own inclinations there.






Rolfer^® and Rolfing^®  are service marks of the Dr. Ida Rolf Institute.

I am NOT a Rolfer^® 

[And ... I Can Prove It!]

Regarding the above pictured license, more later. So sue me! But, you'll have to sue the city of Scottsdale as co-conspirator.

In the field of Structural Integration there's a lot of undercurrent contention over just what the heck it is in terms of how we present to the general public and other professionals. Another hot issue is over the terms Rolfer^® and Rolfing^®. Because of legal agreements only some folks get to use those titles, even though people — the few who have heard about this peerless and definitive approach to health and performance —  pretty much equate Structural Integration with those terms.

Used to be when I first began practicing as a Rolfer^® there was only one school. The one founded by the late Dr. Ida P. Rolf. The Rolf Institute of Structural Integration. Since then by now there are some 20 recognized schools.

The service marks Rolfer^® and Rolfing^® are assiduously legally guarded by the Rolf Institute from use by anyone not certified by that school. Since I no longer maintain membership in that organization I don't/can't use those terms myself. It seems to be when things get legal, other considerations fall by the wayside. I've been critical over the Rolf Institute's handling of their brands. From my vantage point I would characterize the brand management of those service marks to be feckless and non-existent in areas other than the aforementioned legal guardianship.

To give an example of how this affected me once as a professional: In applying for licensure the overseeing government agency required a copy of my diploma. Since that document is by agreement the property of the Rolf Institute, I had previously returned it. Even dutiful enough to not keep a copy. When I received a copy to include in my license application, written prominently across the only document which proves I had been properly trained in my chosen life career was this: "David D. Wronski is not a Rolfer and is not allowed to practice Rolfing."

The really interesting part of this is that at the time the City of Scottsdale, Arizona where I was applying had an official license title, "Rolfer". What this meant was in Scottsdale anyone other than a graduate of the Rolf Institute who maintained membership/certification could only get a license for therapeutic massage. I brought this to the city's attention, but the whole thing disappeared soon enough when the State of Arizona took over licensing of all professionals in the field of manual touch.

On an online forum recently I gave this service mark issue a little jab. Following the cartoon is verbatim what ensued.

The administrators of the online group sent me this:

“Hi David. Hope you're well. I'm reaching out as an admin this time. The admin found your comic of the trademark bothersome. Though it didn't break any rules we do think it was a bit political which could encourage inter-school bickering, which it did. XXX's post was disrespectful to another school, calling the Institute "insecure." XXX is also a new graduate so needs to learn this is not how we treat fellow practitioners. Would you in the future please help our cause by correcting XXX or any young (or old) graduate to stay within the boundaries of respecting others so not to break down this community and specifically online community? Thank you for all you do.” 

I replied with this post to correct the mistake:

I goofed. As XXX pointed out, I stepped not too lightly on sensitivities. In my defense, I did train in 1982. That is, when it was painful. And … that’s the way we liked it!

Seriously, please accept my apology for the post satirizing what I see as quandaries and inanities around the matter of service mark management. In particular, for letting it rip, full well knowing it would touch murky territory. And, apologies for the consequence of giving others a forum to trot out their own issues and opinions, which apparently exacerbated the sensitivities around the topic. In short, this is not the place for that. For me, or anyone else. From now on I’ll look for more effective ways to foster change and fellowship.

As for any of my criticisms, the rascals know who they are and if they want my two cents, they can only ask. As you can tell I am in no way short of opinions, and willingness to express them. I have a blog that lets me rant to my heart’s content. Only, it seems, people are watching there too. Last resort, my buckwheat hull pillow will patiently listen to my cries of anguish.

But I digress.

Without debating the facts, or defending my point of view, it is wrong of me to spread and spew what boils down to “gossip” and “venting” over things outside my control, and with anyone other than the subject party(s) of the first part..

I see that no one I was directing my message toward is in fact asking for or wanting my opinion. I accepted that a long time ago when I resigned membership, and consequently certification. I was invited in this string, being a prodigal, to approach RISI to request being taken back into the fold. I truly am not worthy. And somewhat afraid. I would have to not only run the gauntlet to prove my worthiness to rejoin, I would have to cough up some bucks for that privilege. And here I am thinking there’s an apology due to me for some more than pretty rough handling way back when. But … oh, yes … the past is over. Forgive me for looking back just to lick old wounds. I’m for resolution, after all. Oh, I see. I just did it again. What a goof!

As a professional consultant to large and important marketing corporations in the past, I should also be true to that school and offer advice directly, not under cloak of (attempted) humor and sarcasm. Also I should not give it away for free. From now on — and you know who you are — your gonna have to pay. And, big. You know what they say about the value of free advice? Nuttin’. I don’t have standing enough in this community to say something about what I see as a problem and have it be heard or accepted as the truth. Least of all, acted upon. Please, and may I never. I’m enough of a fool who values his own opinion. Don’t let me foist it on anyone, anywhere. Ever.

As you may discern, I am a sarcastic twit. As someone once told me, a wit: but, only half right. Since my name is David, it seems to be in me to throw a stone or two. And, believe me, I have way much more a bigger fish to fry. You should know my middle name is Daniel. So I have a penchant for putting myself in the middle of difficult situations. But, I don’t need to go around creating new ones. There’s plenty already right now to go around.

In any event, I do hope you like me also. That’s one subtext for my cartoonery. Humbled being brought up on charges that my neurotic ego projections are still attracting my attention and throwing me into action. Ouch. And, thank you. There goes that mind again. Rather, there I go entertaining that mind again.

I also apologize for the consequences of that particular posting. I don’t think any of us should under any circumstances indulge in gossip about others. Best to take it up, as I said before, with the party(s) directly. And, I stress, only with permission from them to relate in such a way.

Also, I promise (and also recommend this to others) to not delve into inferring motive(s.) Even in the best of company this is a temptation, and only keeps you in samsara. That’s hell, to any of you God fearing Christians. Motivation is an inscrutable domain. Heck, I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. It’s tempting to characterize other’s 

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The terms Rolfer^® and Rolfing^® are service marks of the Rolf Institute of Structural Integration. 

National Burrito Day

Mark that as the first Thursday of April, every year from now on.

David D. Wronski writes ...

Yesterday April 4, 2019 was National Burrito day. It was approaching dinner time, and we were in the neighborhood; so we stopped at a favorite Mexican restaurant for a few to go. San Antonio in Passaic, New Jersey es muy auténtico restaurante Mexicano. 

When we got our take out Burritos home. Wow! One Bistec, the other Carnitas. Each one loaded with Rice, Beans, and lots of Onions, fresh Cilantro and diced Tomatoes. Topped with Crema. A simple chopped Lettuce salad to accompany. And, of course, a wedge of Lime and some Tomatillo Salsa.

While we were waiting for our order to be prepared in come a small Mariachi troupe. I got their consent for a photo, and here they are singing a soulful and happy Guantanamera.

Here's their beautiful, healthy window dressing.

And, Our Lady presides over everything ...

Just Try and Top This One!

Way back awhile I heard a song on the radio. I loved it. Never heard it again. I did remember some lines of lyrics; but nothing about the title, or performer. From time to time I've attempted to find it with an Internet search.

I found it!

One Saturday I was driving home to Brooklyn from the dealership in New Jersey with a beautiful brand new 1972 Citroën D Special. Just like this one.

On the radio is playing a very catchy Cowboy song. Ever since after that one and only time hearing that tune, I've kept a mental note to find it. Somehow the stars were in alignment today. Here it is. After 43 years. A circle is closed. Auspicious, don't you think?

The song is called When I Was a Cowboy, written by the great Ralph McTell. He also wrote that wonderfully sentimental famous song, Streets of London.

Please take a stroll with me down memory lane. Enjoy ... (After that, Streets of London.) 

The Pączki Adventure* Continues ...

Our favorite Polish specialty store is Piast, the one in Passaic, New Jersey. We frequent that shop because the quality is excellent and the service friendly.

The other day we went shopping there and had this really interesting cultural experience. 

All the staff at Piast speak Polish. With some it's their native tongue; but English is not always the second language. That day we were waited on by someone who spoke no English. Well, a little; enough to know what amounts of this and that we wanted. Also, numbers; they place your order in a basket and give you its number to tell the cashier. And enough to convey that she didn't speak English.

So far so good. Excellent service. "Number 9."

While our previous experience was with a non-English speaking person, our next would be quite the opposite. Surprisingly, and fascinatingly so.

We approached the check out counter lingering and drooling over all the fancy pastries and baked goods. The cashier commented on how everything was so tempting. I agreed. I said we wanted to buy everything, it looked so good. Adding, that in fact the real challenge was to decide what not to buy.

This is what the cashier said: "The struggle is real"

I've heard that expression before, but never in my own person to person exchange. It was so apropos and so hip at the same time. Such a savvy command of the idiom. 

The Polish store is indeed full of so many delights.

* Read about our Pączki Adventure the other day ... CLICK

Our  Excellent Pączki Adventure 2019

[STATUS UPDATE: "Pączkied Out"*]

*Pączkied Out: As in, "We have had a sufficiency, any more would be a super abundance."

Thursday, February 28, 2019 — all day — is Pączki Day in the Catholic Polish Canon.

Pączki Day, if you look at your calendar, is always marked on the Thursday before the beginning of Lent on Ash Wednesday, which starts next week on March 6.

It's funny to reminisce to my grade school days at the Immaculate Conception School in the now disappeared section of Detroit called Poletown. I looked forward to Pączki Day every year. Just never had it put together that it was a feasting treat prior to Lent. Only figured that one out later in my adult years. Much later. My Lady suggested that my Catholic education may have had some shortcomings. Ouch! 

Well, by now you may be asking just what are Pączki. That's a plural word. The singular is Pączek. Pronounced respectively "Poonchkey", and "Pooncheck".

In the name of Jesus The Most Holy and Precious Redeemer of All Humanity Past, Present, and Future, you say ... what is it!!!

Pączki are jelly filled Donuts. But, don't call them jelly Donuts. Pączki are, well, Pączki. It really doesn't translate. It's a thing apart.

They are available year round at any self respecting Polish Bakery. But, on Fat Thursday it's, well, a thing unto itself. Just like on Fat Tuesday before Lent, the idea is to feast, feast, feast before the Lenten abstinence.  

Pączki are made of all the good things. Fine flour, eggs, delectable jellies, sweet frostings.

When I was in high school I had a job at my Polish Uncle Phil's Nortown Bakery in Detroit. I would faithfully show up after school on Fridays, and work round the clock until around 6 in the morning. The last task was to assist with the frying of the Pączki. 

Once the baker to impress the green teenager that I was spit into the large oil vat to test for temperature. Then, after the hot, hot oil destroyed all his cooties, he would lower in a wire rack loaded with three or so dozen proofed circles of dough. Flip each one with a long wood stick to fry both sides; then lift out and set aside to cool. For the big Saturday selling day we regularly made something like maybe twelve dozen in total. Two trays each filled with Raspberry jelly and Prune [Powidla] Butter, and a tray of Bavarian Cream.

After the donuts were fried my job was to transform them into Pączki. That meant sticking each one onto the injector tip of a dispenser and giving a generous squirt of filling. We added the jelly after frying. Others, as you will see if you read on, are made with the jelly fried-in. I liked lots of filling, so I was very generous with that. Next a plop into a large bowl of hot, hot icing. Ouch, ouch on the fingertips. Then on to a rack for the day's selling.

Just today I remembered, as much as I adored Pączki, it never occurred to me to take some home with me at the end of my work period. Probably because my senses were so filled with the aromas of baking I couldn't even imagine actually eating any baked goods.

So ... today ...

We set off mid-morning to get some Pączki. At the mecca of such things, Polonia Bakery in Passaic, New Jersey. It's heavily Hispanic there, with Polish mixed in for a true melting pot melange. I went in to buy a half dozen Pączki and a loaf of their most excellent sour dough Rye Bread. The customer space measures something like 12 X 12 feet. In the line ahead of me were no less than 24 people, and the line had to spiral inwards to fit everyone in.

While on line I shared with my fellow shoppers that Olde Polish saying, "You would have to be Polish to wait on line for a jelly Donut." 

While waiting there I noticed what seemed like 36 flat pastry boxes each holding two dozen Pączki. On each box was marked, "LOT". First thought: yes, that is a lot! Second thought, maybe for the Polish LOT Airline. 

Eventually someone came in to take those boxes away. I asked the gentleman helping with those boxes about where they were going. "New York City." Later I asked him where in NYC; "Lot Airlines." Not too shabby a guess on my part, I guess.

As you can see from the photo at the head of this piece, the Polonia Bakery Pączki are those on the right. Smallish, always filled with Prune Butter fried-in; and topped with a white, Orange zest flecked glaze. Most delectable and delicious in the whole wide world.

There's another type of Pączki. Much larger than from Polonia Bakery. 

We decided to go to another bakery a few clicks away. Pieklo Bakery in Garfield, New Jersey. This time Michele went in to buy a few of their Pączki. Waiting in line a long time might be a traditional part of the Pączki Day experience. After a 45 minute wait Michele came out smiling with a box of three, Blueberry filled. 

The store staff spoke only Polish. Michele got someone to translate. "Who wants Blueberry?" Michele called me from inside the shop and I said to go for the red [Raspberry] filled. It turns out that with some more translation Michele learned that the Raspberry and Rose jelly Pączki would take another 20 minutes. They were a bit behind the eight ball at Pielko. The line was already about 24 deep when Michele went there. So, we settled for Blueberry.

It's the first time in my life that I ate a Pączek warm, almost hot, from the fryer. Delicious. When it comes to Pączki, the motto should always be "best when fresh". By late afternoon they turn to dry, spongy rocks. Not good.

While I was waiting for my Pączki to arrive in a prime spot right at the entrance to the bakery, I had a Babcha sighting. 

Babcha is the affectionate name for a Polish Grandmother. This one was de rigueur short and fat. Walking with a natural stick cane, and wearing a Babushka. I have not seen a woman wearing a Babushka in I don't know how long. It's a large scarf — her's with a floral print — draped over the head and tied under the chin. In my Polish neighborhood youth it was so common a thing to see, you didn't even notice. 

Thank you, Babcha.

Here's a Babcha we would all recognize wearing her Babushka. Hermes, probably. Not too shabby.

CLICK to read a priorly written companion piece on the Pączki ...

Tempest Storm!

Some SNL Knockouts ...

M.U.E.C.

A Possible Future

This is a consideration on what if we just take the present situation and make a straight line prediction extending out into a not too distant future.

Stay with me ...

In the current zeitgeist the keyword is #WINNING. Charlie Sheen went off the rails not long ago; and he distinguished himself by asserting that he was, well, "Winning".

The leader of the free world is all about that too. And, the debate among the pundits is all about if he is off the rails too.

If we abstract that concept to another level we see that "winning" is a product of the corporate-consumer culture. Who was it who said that "the business of America, is ... business"? Calvin Coolidge. Actually, that's a misquote. But, not that far off. Here's what he said verbatim: “After all, the chief business of the American people is business. They are profoundly concerned with producing, buying, selling, investing and prospering in the world. I am strongly of the opinion that the great majority of people will always find these the moving impulses of our life.”

So now we have a leadership who sees steering the Ship of State as primarily a business affair. And, by definition, best led by a businessman. [Alright, that's an outmoded gender-based usage, but it's nice once in a while to wax nostalgic for the pre-PC days.] And, as they will, the pundits are all up arguing on whether in fact the businessman in chief is really as successful as he claims.

I'm just now thinking that when you elect a builder his natural inclination is to build something. Like in, that Wall. Or, if you have a headache and you go to a neurosurgeion; he'll want to tap into that keppe of your's. It's what they do. 

But, perception is reality. No one ever got elected to the highest chair in the land expressing doubt, concern, and uncertainty. Which, I'd bet, is really what is going on under all the bravado and bluster; all alone sitting on the commode.

So, you may be wondering, what about that M.U.E.C.?

Monetized Unit of Economic Commodification 

I a world ruled by the values of the marketplace, that's what we are. Monitized units of economic commodification. Things. Things that produce. Things that consume. 

Things that have value based on their productivity. Never mind that there's no spiritual value in any of that. Just the value one has toward economic gain. 

I can see a possible future where the logic of it will be inescapable. When you or I no long contribute according to some generally accepted standard, and we represent a net loss on the societal books, doesn't it make sense to, ahem, cut the losses?

Maybe such a scenario might to us seem taboo. Well, what was taboo a few decades ago is now rather commonplace. Isn't it. Why not if Granny or Gramps is too feeble to carry on? In some Brave New World it would only be logical to write them off. Literally. 

There is a movie, Soilent Green. I speaks to just such a situation. If you don't know the flick, check it out. It may be a view into a possible future.

The funny man Stephen Colbert lives in my town. We sometimes rub shoulders shopping. I'm dying to ask him about when he had a guest on his show who was marketing a food product called "Soilent". Now, Colbert is a media savvy guy, if there ever was one. I wanna ask him how come he interviewed that enthusiastic fellow without any trace of irony or sarcasm. 

Spoiler Alert: Soilent Green ... is People!