This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Friday, January 29, 2010

Feeling the Tempo

Yesterday, I woke up when the sun was just making its way out of the trees in our Northern yard.  I had planned a day of really getting my hands dirty, doing whatever of the multiple layers of work that need be done. 

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

I Would Veil

There is so much to learn.  Out here I am surrounded by reminders of the learning I have to do.  Learn where and when the morels and portabellas grow.  Learn what plants are indigenous and which are taking over.  Learn which direction North is, for goodness sake.  I am being remade.  I am being stubborn.  I am curious, insatiable, excitable, and extremely weary of changing my schedule for undesired tasks.  I am wobbling like a weeble.  I promise myself not to fall down.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Miraculous Indeed

[April] is the emerald season of spinach, kale, endive, and baby lettuces.  The chard comes up as red and orange as last fall's leaves went out.  We lumber out of hibernation and stuff our mouths with leaves, like deer, or tree sloths.  Like the earth-enraptured primates we once were, and could learn to be all over again.  In April I'm happiest with mud on the knees of my jeans, sitting down to the year's most intoxicating lunch: a plate of greens both crisp and still sun-warmed from the garden, with a handful of walnuts and some crumbly goat cheese.  This is the opening act of real live food. 
- Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Rolling Seascape

Oh. My. God.  I. Am. So. DUMB.

I decided to start using the jump breaks on my longer posts sometime last week, but didn't think they were working for me.  I spent HOURS scouring forums and help articles trying to figure out why my simplistic blog wasn't taking to this supposedly simple new feature.  Well folks, I just figured it out.  And it was totally dumb.

I believe this is where the internet quip, Hand to Forehead, originated.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

A Good Meal May Solve Any Problem

A handful of creative chefs have been working for years to establish this incipient notion of a positive American food culture -- a cuisine based on our own ingredients [...] However, to the extent that it's even understood, this cuisine is widely assumed to be the property of the elite.  Granted, in restaurants it can sometimes be pricey but the do-it-yourself version is not.  I am not sure how many Americans came to believe only our wealthy are capable of honoring food aesthetic.  Anyone who thinks so should have a gander at the kitchens of working-class immigrants from India, Mexico, anywhere really.  Cooking at home is cheaper than buying packaged foods or restaurant meals of comparable quality.  Cooking good food is mostly a matter of having the palate and the skill. (p. 31)
This passage spoke to me as I read this morning because of the meal we cooked last night.  Actually Hadj cooked it while I tried to calm myself after my tantrum.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

It's Just Poetry Now

Hello beloveds, thanks for coming back again today.  I sure do enjoy your company.  I'm rearranging some things, trying to make my pages more handsome to behold.  I'm re-organizing the sidebar categories and have begun with the Poetry, Prose & Healing section.  The section has been drastically cut, and now includes only Poetry which I have written.  Look below to see excerpts from some of the poems, then click on over if the line appeals to you.  Remember, you can link me anywhere, I like the public.  Ciao, ShanaRose in her Admin Hat

Ancient. Community where I Text
"...Listening in wet green sapling grove. Burnt out car. Rocks buried in chocolate mud. Life laid like a path..."

 Whatever I Wanted
"...Shoulders squared to one another / And pelvis I imagined slicking / over..."

 Wasp Frosts
"...I am willful as a wasp and just as / fragile in the frosts of a void."

Oranges in the Break Room
"...the orange was allowed to / live on its stem, at home among / the leaves and branches / in the wind..."

Might Be Is Too
"...Begged / the concrete tunnel, with its rails of steel and beams, / to crack deeply down to sediment..."


Enjoy!
Feedback, Comments, Emails, Questions and Leads are always invited.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Chewing Myself Out

Recent, heretofore, unmentioned developments in my extraordinary daily life.  You heard it here first folks: Chewing your food is the new South Beach diet.  About to take Hollywood by storm.  Get your umbrellas Brangelina!

Seriously though, according to Paul Pitchford, author of Healing with Whole Foods, chewing your food a million times per bite rectifies most imbalances and cravings from the ground up.  (Damn!  I wish I knew who writes these puns!) 

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

"Here Thom tells the story of how he once had a narcissistic friend he was compelled to elude."

We’ve built a pattern on google calendar. Hadj is now painting regularly. I got to tell someone “he’s a painter” yesterday, instead of “he’s a retired submariner” - which was interesting enough.  He's also been listening to The Bends on repeat.  Today, I am again, feeling batshit.   Hadj swears I'm just as sweet as can be, but I feel rudderless, cranky, and confusing.  I was downstairs in his studio earlier, trying to explain one of my instant mood swings.   I hit upon an idea and tears came to my eyes and I got choked up.  The chorus to Just came on and I squeaked out the sentence, "I don't get things, like that paintbrush, I get concepts."

Hadj, you see, has needed a new paintbrush for a couple days and he's been trying to work out how to justify the overwhelming $4 expense. He was just thinking it was time to chuck it, and go to McLendon’s Ace Hardware, when we spotted a brand new paintbrush laying in the vacant parking space next to us. It was just the size he needed, there on the ground where he could find it.

When I said, "I don't get things, like that paint brush" I meant that a pair of new running shoes has not just appeared on the curb yet.  I was drawing my kvetching to a conclusion and feeling wilted when the words came out joyously from the thrift store mega-speakers and I felt lighter.  I finished, "I get concepts."
You do it to yourself, you do / And that's what really hurts / Is that you do it to yourself / Just you and no-one else / You do it to yourself

Every day moments, maybe the sunset was beautiful after a gray day, are my small saviors. They lead me back to the larger saviors like alignment, uplift, grace.  They do it one step at a time, fast and slow.  I've finally begun reading The Artist's Way (still on the intro). I feel like pages of words could spill out of me right now. I could drown in what feels like confession, but what is really my verbal painting of human interconnection. The routes we take to cover up the fact that we're all one is infinitely amusing. We're all made of the same stardust. We fight like we don't share the same molecular make up.

I have few reasons to complain right now, really. While it's true that I have no income myself, and Hadj's stipend is meager, we have a lot. And I have Caller ID which I am temporarily using to avoid the polite, but unfortunate, student loan bill collectors. We live in a nice home. We have four huggable animals to love and squeeze. My man took the afternoon off to rub my creaky back and encourage multiple orgasms. We have vegetables, cheese, pickles, dark chocolate, laughter...

And yet I am veiled. I feel all, serious. It's time for me to be welcoming of solitude, darker spaces, and wider. I'm happy to be doing it. It seems like anytime I'm not writing right now, I'm thinking about writing or reading. Taking the time to drag my ass to the seat and log time is still a struggle, but here I am, writing. Radiohead is talking about being strong enough, strength, and belonging and I get messages and it goes on.

I just need to clear myself," I said to Hadj. I drew my hands across my forehead to indicate my third eye. "I feel it blocked up; my throat and third eye. It's giving me a headache.