Category: General Interest

Posted on

Shinrin-Yoku or Forest Bathing

Practicing Shinrin-Yoku

Originating in Japan, shinrin-yoku, forest bathing, is a practice or process of therapeutic relaxation, walking in the forest focusing on sensory engagement to connect with nature.

Japan, being two thirds covered in forest, is filled with greenery and a vast diversity of trees. Residing there is the Hokkaido region, Japan’s last great wilderness, and the Japanese Alps, filled with mountain ranges and thick pine forests. The term shinrin-yoku was coined in 1982 by Tomohide Akiyama, who was the director of the Japanese Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries. After several studies were conducted in Japan during the 1980s, forest bathing was seen to be an effective therapy method. Akiyama knew of these studies along with the findings that showed the beneficial health effects of the compounds, such as phytoncides, and of the essential oils that certain trees and plants emitted. Thus, he officially put forward shinrin-yoku as a recognized practice, promoting its benefits to the Japanese public and establishing guidelines for its implementation.

Shinrin-yoku was developed as a response to the increasing urbanization and technological advancements in Japan and was put forth to inspire the Japanese public to reconnect with nature within Japan and as a means to protect the forests. It was reasoned that if people spent time in forests and were able to find therapeutic comfort within it, they would want to protect it.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shinrin-yoku

Posted on

FDA to Remove Toxic Artificial Food Dyes from U.S. Food Supply and Medications

Food Additives Contribute To Hyperactivity

FDA to Remove Toxic Artificial Food Dyes from U.S. Food Supply and Medications

In a landmark move aimed at addressing the chronic disease epidemic, FDA Commissioner Dr. Marty Makary announced today that the agency will eliminate petroleum-based synthetic food dyes from the American food and drug supply.

Finish reading: https://www.thefocalpoints.com/p/breaking-fda-to-remove-toxic-artificial

 

Posted on

Unreasonable Hospitality

Will Guidara

Restaurateur Will Guidara’s life changed when he decided to serve a two-dollar hot dog in his fancy four-star restaurant, creating a personalized experience for some out-of-town customers craving authentic New York City street food. The move earned such a positive reaction that Guidara began pursuing this kind of “unreasonable hospitality” full-time, seeking out ways to create extraordinary experiences and give people more than they could ever possibly expect. In this funny and heartwarming talk, he shares three steps to crafting truly memorable moments centered in human connection – no matter what business you’re in.

Click to view the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwcyXcOpWVs

Posted on

Quote of the Day

“The thing always happens that you really believe in – and the belief in a thing makes it happen.” – Frank Lloyd Wright, Architect (1867-1959)

Posted on

Morgan and Shawshank Redemption

Morgan and Shawshank Redemption

During the filming of a key scene in “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994), Morgan Freeman spent an unbroken nine hours throwing a baseball as Ellis Boyd “Red” Redding. It wasn’t staged for action or athleticism. It was a quiet, emotional moment, Red chatting with Andy Dufresne in the prison yard, a symbol of their deepening friendship. But the scene demanded dozens of takes from multiple angles, and Freeman, known for his calm presence, kept tossing the ball again and again. The crew didn’t realize what it was costing him.
The next day, Freeman walked onto set with his arm in a sling. It was only then that everyone learned he had seriously injured his shoulder and had not told anyone. Director Frank Darabont recalled, “Morgan never said a word. Only the next day, he showed up with his arm in a sling.” The silence did not come from pride. It came from a place of deep commitment to the story, the moment, and the team around him. He knew stopping production would affect the schedule and cost the production dearly. So, he kept throwing.
Freeman, who was 56 during the filming of “The Shawshank Redemption” in 1993, had already built a reputation as one of Hollywood’s most respected actors. His performances in “Driving Miss Daisy” (1989), “Glory” (1989), and “Lean on Me” (1989) had shown audiences his range and sensitivity. What unfolded during that baseball scene offered the crew a firsthand glimpse at something beyond talent: his endurance, humility, and willingness to put the work ahead of his own comfort.
The injury was not minor. According to a crew member, Freeman’s shoulder was visibly swollen by the end of the day. Yet he made no request to adjust the scene or reshoot with a double. He simply powered through. The injury was never publicized. There were no interviews about it, no press releases. He did not want sympathy, and he certainly did not want attention for it.
Cinematographer Roger Deakins, who captured that yard scene with his signature subtlety and natural lighting, later mentioned how Freeman’s physical pain didn’t show in the footage. “What you see on camera is all Morgan,” Deakins said. “There’s a grace to his movement, even when he was hurting. It’s a quiet kind of toughness.”
Darabont, deeply moved by Freeman’s gesture, remembered how the actor never made demands. “Morgan was the kind of guy who made the set feel grounded. He brought calm when things got hectic. And the day he showed up with that sling, there was a kind of silence, not from guilt or shock, but from respect.”
Freeman’s co-star Tim Robbins, who played Andy, later reflected on that day with admiration. “We all knew Morgan was dedicated, but that made it clear how much he cared about every detail. He was in pain, and none of us even noticed until the next day. That tells you who he is.”
Behind Freeman’s quiet endurance was a deeper philosophy he carried throughout his career, the belief that an actor is in service of the story. That belief guided every take, every line, and every subtle gesture in “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994). It is why Red’s character felt lived-in, believable, and deeply human. Freeman did not merely perform the role; he lived it, even through pain.
He never asked for acknowledgment. But the people who saw that moment never forgot it. And for those who admire his work on screen, that day on the prison yard is a reminder that greatness often comes not with noise, but with quiet, relentless commitment.
In nine hours of quiet pain, Morgan Freeman showed more about character than a script ever could.
Credits to respective owner
Posted on

Lou’s Diner

Lou's Diner

In 1992, I worked the graveyard shift at Lou’s Diner off Route 9—the kind of place where truckers, insomniacs, and folks running from something stopped for coffee and pie. One night, a guy in a wrinkled suit slid into my booth, head in his hands. I brought him a slice of cherry pie, no charge. He didn’t eat it. Just stared at the plate and said, “My wife left me today.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I scribbled on a napkin: “Pie fixes nothing. But you’re not nothing.” I slid it across the table. He laughed—a wet, broken sound—then tucked the napkin into his pocket.

The next week, he came back. Bought two slices of pie and left a napkin note on the counter: “Thanks for seeing me.”

That’s how it started. Soon, others began leaving notes too—on napkins, receipts, sugar packets. A teenager hiding her pregnancy. A vet who hadn’t slept in years. A mom praying her kid would kick heroin. They’d tuck them under coffee cups or tape them to the jukebox. I kept them all in a shoebox under the register.

One regular, Martha, a retired nurse, started replying to the notes. She’d write back things like, “You’re braver than you think,” or “Tomorrow’s a new page.” She’d leave them in booth #4, where the loneliest folks always sat. Eventually, people began showing up just to read the notes. Booth #4 became “The Advice Booth.” No one knew who Martha was—just that her words felt like a hug.

Years later, after Lou’s closed, I found that shoebox while cleaning. Inside was a note I’d never seen. Martha had written: “I started this because my son took his life in 1987. I couldn’t save him. Maybe I can save someone else.”

Turns out, Martha died six months after Lou’s shut down. But her notes? They’re still out there. A trucker told me he keeps one taped to his dashboard: “The road gets lonely, but you’re never the only one driving it.”

Lou’s is a hardware store now. But sometimes, at 3 AM, I swear I can still smell burnt coffee and hear Martha’s laugh—sharp and warm, like she knew a secret the rest of us were still learning.