Subterranean Fire

Brook It

2012-01-20T02:33:00.000-08:00

At what point in my life did I stop listening to people? I must have been really young. A good estimate would be in my toddler years, when I was being most heavily socialized. The thing is, for me though, that I was beginning to be socialized, as they say; trained is another way of saying the same thing, as early as three months of age.

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Purpose 2.0

2012-01-05T09:35:00.000-08:00

Auld Lang Syne [...] The song's Scots title may be translated into English literally as "old long since", or more idiomatically, "long long ago","days gone by" or "old times". Consequently "For auld lang syne", as it appears in the first line of the chorus, is loosely translated as "for (the sake of) old times".

Should Old Acquaintance be forgot, and never thought upon; The flames of Love extinguished, and fully past and gone: Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold, that loving Breast of thine; That thou canst never once reflect on Old long syne.My Heart is ravisht with delight, when thee I think upon; All Grief and Sorrow takes the flight, and speedily is gone; The bright resemblance of thy Face, so fills this, Heart of mine; That Force nor Fate can me displease, for Old long syne.Since thoughts of thee doth banish grief, when from thee I am gone; will not thy presence yield relief, to this sad Heart of mine: Why doth thy presence me defeat, with excellence divine? Especially when I reflect on Old long syne.

Should we just forget about relationships and times past? Should we do our best to bestow our warm feelings on those we have loved or should we let the winds of time scatter those embers as we move silently forward? Some rhetorical opening questions for y'all on this new year. Something to think about.

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Who Knew Taming Could Be So Fun?

2011-11-03T22:02:00.000-07:00

I've been settled this year in the way the once "wild" West was settled. The tracts of untamed prairie and forest within me have had roads cut through and little building put up. A few acres have been cleared and where there used to be clumps of conifer, deciduous, fern, vine, and shrub there are now orderly rows of nourishing plants. In this metaphor fantasy the settlers are not violent. They have basic needs and do not seek to outgrow their abilities in time and space. They do not shoot whole herds of animals or feel threatened by the wild calls in the night.

In 2006 or 7 I took on a side job as a brochure designer for a woman who was beginning a life coaching practice. She had been doing higher education tutoring for some time and wanted to transition to working for herself. I must have given her some amazing bullshit spin about my experience or abilities because I had no idea how to use the Adobe programs she wanted me to use. No, I only had a girl friend who did and I begged for her advice and tutelage.

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The Bass, The Bass, The Bass

2011-10-16T12:13:00.001-07:00

I feel sheepish about my lack of content, in general lately. Maybe it's that fall vata shaking me up and making my head whip this way and that. I received this notice in my in-box recently.

Dear Publisher,
We noticed your blog (listed below) has not updated for more than 60 days.
Blog Title | Subterranean Fire
On investigating the feed URL, we received the following error message:
Feed Error: Feed URL not working. Details : Feed URL registered with Kindle Publishing: http://seedsareblest.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss
Kindle customers expect to receive frequent updates for blogs and news feeds to which they subscribe. Because blogs should update at least once per month, we are canceling blogs that have not updated in more than 60 days. Accordingly, if you do not fix this issue and publish new updates within 7 days, we will remove your publication from the Kindle Store.
If you have any questions or concerns, please write to us at kindle-publishing-blogs@amazon.com.

C'mon amazon! It hasn't been that long! I have been doing. I have to give myself credit, if only to stand up for myself against the eviscerating critic who's been riding my ass day and night for the last couple of weeks. (I'm referring to myself.) I have been! I've been making way, even it the steps are small they are being made and at least 51% of them are in the right direction! Even if it doesn't always feel that way, I must trust myself more than the angry inner critic wants to allow.

I have been thinking about anger lately. I did not know, in fact I'm kind of shocked, to find out what a hot head I truly am. Damn! I'm an angry snot on the inside way more often than I ever wanted to admit. I guess it's no surprise, though it is stereotypical (as usual), and funny, that it took becoming a wife and mother to learn that about myself. That's the great thing about family, eh? They love you no matter what, and it's a good thing too... Not that I've been walking around being a total jerk to my men, I think I'm a pretty good lady to be around most of the time and they are wonderfully forgiving for the times when I just lose my cool and turn into my alter ego. I've taken to calling her Pippi Snot-Stockings and she sure does revel in pitching a tantrum streak.

It occurred to me recently that 90% of my protective layers of bull-shit have been stripped off in almost two years since I moved out here. I used to spend so much time shellacking the protections on myself! The clothing to convey a certain class and social status, the facial expressions to convey a certain wit and charm, the written come-ons and flirtatious exchanges to convey my most interesting and enticing qualities. Being real, I guess, has never been a certain strong suit of mine. I was ever insecure and so revealed little to most of the kids, teens, college chums, dates I met along my life path. Veils came off little by little as I grew and learned to love myself more and more and I even thought I had moments of total sincerity, but now... I wonder, how could I have been truly sincere if I wasn't truly able to listen?

Oh, well. There's that critic inside me again, and she's putting her psychoanalytical hat on to try sounding oh-so informed and deeply correct. I bet she wouldn't enjoy me telling y'all that it just took three tries to spell psychoanalytical correctly.

I am good. It's such a damn simple concept and such a damn difficult one to incorporate with consistent belief.

Two quotes have been floating around in my brain a lot. The first came from an interview with a comedian on NPR's news quiz show. He said:

I think a lot of comedians when they're really young, what they start off doing is pointing out how dumb everything else is so that you can seem smart and cool. But what you realize as you get older is that the enemy of comedy is cool. Cool makes you not funny. And if you really want to connect with an audience, you've got to be very present and just going okay, guys, let me tell you about this thing I did, and just kind of admit everything that you're doing.

I identify with this! And you, you other writers out there reading, do you? It totally hits home for me that I've been trying to get more and more specific about what's going on in my life, learning, and growing and that the closer I can get to writing the true reality, the better the writing and the clearer the message. It's not that I've been dishonest before, it's that I wasn't writing the smallest nuances. There are three thoughts for one step so often and those three thoughts lead a person to a feeling and that feeling leads to an action and it all plays out. So what three thoughts happened in one step? Why did I suddenly feel smaller or weepy or bursting with devotion? Those subtle human workings are the most interesting and I want to capture them on the page.

The other quote I bumped into three times in two days. I don't recall where I saw this, the grocery story mysteriously comes to mind, but I saw the quote written somewhere,

The miracle is not that I finished; the miracle is that I began.

Then, the following day (that is, today) this quote showed up twice in an article in a crappy promotional newspaper I was perusing. When I say crappy I'm referring to the specific use this newspaper had for me, not its content, per se. Did you catch the poop joke there?

It is so hard for me to begin things! I feel silly when I'm hemming and hawing and what really needs to be done is anything; hence the weight of this statement in my mind.

Hadj's ipod is playing on shuffle right now. We have remarked several times on how weird it is that from the thousands of songs the machine could "randomly" choose, it seems to repeatedly choose Sonic Youth, Neko Case, terrible dub step, and Skinny Puppy. It ignores the entire discographies of Neil Young, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Talking Heads and on and on. There are two loaves of meat in the oven. I'm about to do some simmering, caramelizing magic on two pears I picked earlier this morning and bring them to an Autumn themed pot luck on top of a chocolate red wine cake this afternoon. Salamander is smiling and chuckling across the kitchen table from me. He seems to have just been dressed in a onesie with the reverent Cookie Monster on it. I'm overdue for a jog. And so I will begin, late as usual, but damn, hell, at least I'm going.

Oh! Before I do go; do any of you readers use the RSS? If so, are you having problems with it?

Reaching Toward Equal Sunrise, Equal Sunset

2011-09-15T18:22:00.000-07:00

My rituals are begun. I'm about to write my three pages, clearing the way, centering myself, sinking into a comfortable writing seat. Soon I will ignore the rise and fall of the winged creatures outside my creation room window. I will stop imagining what they are and are not, stop marking the patterns their flights seem to make. Though they do fascinate me with their dances.

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"I Ain't Afraid of..."

2011-09-12T09:52:00.001-07:00

Another good story from last week begins last Wednesday. I went to a meeting with some spiritual seekers and it was held at this woman's amazing historic home. It was a modest castle with arched doorways and lead glass windows. I listened to stories of tragedy, stories of ghosts, angels, and prayers. I didn't have many requests to voice at the time, but I did have a question.

I was twenty or twenty one years old and it was the start of a new school year. Over the summer I had made dozens of new friends and had been spending a lot of time at one social butterfly's house in particular. She lived with two roommates in the upper portion of a duplex. Below them was the party junction of four or five boys. One of the boys was an artist with big, wild hair. If I could sum up a certain weakness for men, that's the sentence I'd use. An artist with big, wild hair. I nursed this crush, secreted from him, for quite a few weeks.

"Have a Story Worthy Week"

2011-09-08T21:51:00.000-07:00

Last Labor Day weekend saw us with neighbors and friends barbecuing hot dogs and hamburgers as Real Americans do. I brought a winning broccoli slaw and ended the night with a massive strudel-like apple pie from Costco. I mean, really? Can you get any more cliché? It was lovely. The hosts were our surrogate grandparents up the road, they throw a fine party. As we picked at the last crumbs from the massive strudel pie, our surrogate grandmother's daughter asked me how my writing was going. She relayed to me a conversation she had with another neighbor of ours. Apparently they were talking and he wondered aloud about what I was writing. Then, she told me, he blurted out, almost giggling, "For all we know she could be writing an erotica novel!" I was agape as she mimicked him: older, dorky, and unassuming.

We Made Our Own Computer Out of Macaroni Pieces And It Did Our Thinking While We Lived Our Lives

2011-08-30T20:57:00.002-07:00

I was all set on skipping my three pages today. I begin every bi-weekly writing session with a three page journal entry and today I reasoned with myself. It takes the steam out. I conjectured -- It prevents the actual work. Then some auspicious input came along, and it turned into something I wanted to post here. That of course changed the way I approached the writing slightly. I think of the physics law, in which the act of observation changes the behavior of atoms, often.
I'm thinking of posting these three (or more) pages every time I write them. The upside of doing so is posting more often and sharing more of myself in writing. The downside would be less time working on stories of a non-blog, non-journal nature. I'm undecided. (This warm up to the meat of the entry comes after a bit more noodling. If you want to skip the noodling click here.)

I'm working from home today. As expected the start time was shoddy -- I've only just begun after a half hour of snacking, emailing, and various piddling google searches. The urge to go smoke a cigarette is (perhaps) even stronger. However -- maybe the detour I took to get to work was secretly wise. I am beginning to feel more juicy. And - well - here I am! writing these pages even when I thought I wasn't going to. Again though, I'm distracted. What can be done about this terrible overhead light? (Pause for serious inquiry, turn off light, move desk lamp, light "guava-coconut" scented votive.) There now. Not only is that an improvement for this environment, it's an improvement over the previous environments I've recently chosen to write from.
The reasons I'm writing these pages number at least two:
1. I felt I aught to, deep down
2. My horoscope confirmed me

I am listening to ambient music tones called "Soma" by Tom Kenyon. I got as much of his music as I could find after a vision board workshop while I was pregnant.
Juicy yes, but unfocused too. Mental whirlpool. It's quite possible that that's OK. I had planned to write more in the [unnamed, unpublished document] tonight. Then mood struck this afternoon. I was thinking about the malleability of my external personality i.e. the things I focus on and how they shift and why.

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This Post Will Not Make You Money, but It Might Make You Feel Rich

2011-08-24T15:24:00.001-07:00

My moon time is coming again and that means that listening to one of my favorite albums makes me feel like some kind of human stew; all the memories, thoughts, experiences blending together in a rich sauce that somehow feels like it should be sustained, wrapped up and put away for later reflection or feeding on.
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Not Knowing, Action and Completion

2011-08-24T05:14:00.000-07:00

While reading about harmful/helpful bacteria and germs I came across a statement that said a study showed farm kids had better health throughout life than city kids.

I don't literally live on a farm. There are no cows or goats to milk, no chickens to feed or hay to bale or any other of my limited examples of farm knowledge. No one will die or go hungry if I stay in bed until the full light of the sun has dried off the morning fog. But some thing does die a little. -- The Wild One.

I know I've talked about Women Who Run with the Wolves on this blog before. It's been awhile because I haven't picked up the book in over a year. I recently loaned that book to a friend and in return I was fed a few highlights she sparked on as she began the book. It's been a joy to hear someone else talking about wild women, and self nurture and care. I've been doing my best to take care too.
I've been gone from this blog for so long that there are multitudes of stories trying to jump out of my throat right now, but there's also the me who has been up since four and who wants to crawl back into bed for a few minutes now...

My mom told me something about herself the other day. We were talking about my beginnings as a modern latchkey kid - when I was in full-time day care at 12 weeks old. She was talking about the how and why of the success or our situation. Then she said, as an addition or final explanation, "I like things to be easy."

Some kind of eclipse in my perception is ending and light is being thrown upon shadow.

I am very typical of my generation. (As conventional as a four year degree and "essential" handheld electronic devices.) One of the often publicized "problems" with me and my "millennial" friends is that we expect instant results out of some over developed sense of entitlement. It seems that our parents' proximity of birth to WWII and a great city will influence our degree of spoiling, and so will the amount of money in their family.
My mom was born just after the baby boomers, to a Jewish family who became middle class on the uppermost part of Chicago's North side. She married in 1981 at age 22 and had me about six months later. My father missed being a part of the "great generation's" offspring, but his eldest siblings were in on it. He was also born in a Navy family and it seems their causal realities are varied from the daily "conventionally known" realities of non-military families. My dad's family was larger and had one working parent (the absent one) so they were lower down on the economic ladder.
He might have been taught about the gains come from hard work except his mom had a fatal heart attack when he was 13 and his father was never around for long, at best.

Lots of girls play at princess stories when they're small. It's an extremely common theme in American girls' psyches. The princess may be poor, but golden hearted or drop dead gorgeous or extremely talented at singing. Or she may be wealthy, a real princess at the outset, but beset by either villain, tragedy, or higher asperations than royal marriage and begetting. In either case, in the majority of these popular tales, the princess' fortune ends fatter and through some kind of instant, game changing good luck.

We don't ever learn what happens to Princess Ariel of The Little Mermaid. What if Prince Eric didn't want to, or wasn't able to, stop his seafaring in order to stay home having adventures and copious sex with his 16 year old wife? What if she found herself on land, with her legs and her snorfblats, with a whole new world (sorry, wrong princess) to explore, all on her own?

Ok, so I'm not an ex-mermaid and I didn't get into a multi-species war with an octopus queen and my father didn't grant my biggest wish with his magic trident, but I am finding out what happens after the "and they lived happily ever after" curtain falls. It was really embarrassing to me, to have to admit that I'd played right into that fairy tale and had No. Idea. what came after "happily ever after." I hate it when I turn out to be a cliche. (My trick for that is to just do or same something original or clever and then moving along.)

I have learned so much about myself in doing this work of mining into the cave of myself in order to be more authentic, more present, more consistently honest with myself and my lover. I don't take myself to be a dishonest person. I do my best to always show up and be real and present with my beloveds. It is only now that I realized that I omit things in a split second. Things that are not a big deal, but that some part of me sensors for the perceived sake of others or of some kind of peace.

Hadj make a funny the other day when a woman told me she hadn't ever really know any Aquarians. He said, "And you never will!" and then guffawed at his own joke in that way he has. It was clever and so true, but I wouldn't have ever known it until this relationship. I do require a lot of space and my man requires much less. We meet in the middle as often as possible and call to each other when one has gone into hiding.

Now that my sense of humor is back and I've again traded in my depressive blues for more manic flower power patterns, I can see that I make the committment more and more everyday to be as much of what my man needs as I can and also to be all of myself that I need. That's really all required and I'm pleased by the simplicity. The universe has put my right where I need to be if I want to work out the knot of not yet knowing how to energetically move and patiently be.

Hadj and I were talking the other day and I was saying how it can be disorienting to pine for the city while feeling grateful for the country at exactly the same time. I gave a few examples of what about the city I was missing and he said, "instant gratification." That's what the city has. You can get anything you want any time of the day or night when you live in a metropolis. "Here," he said, "if you want something you have to do research first."

Sometimes it's very reassuring to have a name for the struggle you're feeling. It's like having a flashlight in the woods at night.

Speaking of work, and patience...my patience with this post is waning at the present and I'm not further patient to save it and make it into the picture of what I originally had when I began writing it. I had grand ideas, of course, or...at least coherent ones, and now what I have is written. And what's really great is that this post, this very one, is really a mash-up of something I began writing two months ago and have finally come back to tend to now. That's part of the reason why blogs are so great. Whatever I need to say, I can say it quickly and move.

My Own Softer World

2011-08-18T21:39:00.000-07:00

I've made one other personal rendition of A Softer World before. You can see it here. Then you can marvel at how much more advanced this one is! This is my new piece of pride. I love the website Picnik for helping non-graphic geeks like me make fun stuff in a snap.

Body Mind Hypnosis

2011-08-18T19:06:00.001-07:00

I can stop wishing. From what I learned of hypnotherapy last week I, with all my daydreaming, imagining, and irregular meditative states, am a great candidate for hypnosis. As it was presented to me, hypnotherapy can basically be used to reprogram our thought habits around certain subjects or behaviors. You're reprogramming your brain; like all of my unlearn and retraining issues. I'm betting I can stop wishing to be a certain way and hypnotize myself. If I have a positive, smooth script and a few quiet moments I can immerse myself and remake parts of the past as I keep wishing they had been. I can stop wishing and make it real. For instance, even as my boy wiggles and baby-grunts on the floor next to me, I can cull the idea here now and create a script to heal my body treatment habits. I can unmake the story I've told myself, about my upbringing's strengths and failings. I can unmake the why of my bodymind issues. I can fill in the places I wish were different with new truths that I know now. I can go back and give myself all the things I know now, that I wish I knew then. I can stop wishing; can have it be...

One thing the following hypnosis script draft does not have is the into and out of portion, like I experienced at the session I had. At the end the script included something like a trigger. The color, in that case was red. Every time I saw the color red, I was instructed, I would feel good. Would feel valuable, vibrant, vivacious, and so on. I will do this for myself now. The color of the root chakra, the seat of the body, the pelvis, balance point, is also red. (Well, isn't that just convenient? A twofer!)
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There Isn't One Right Way

2011-08-16T20:49:00.000-07:00

I've decided to submit the story I've been working on for publication, so I won't be putting it up here for the time being. Here, now, are some things I have been writing and thinking lately...

First of all, before I get to what I've written recently, I want to share one of those a ha! moments, as Oprah coined them. I thought there was a right way to feed a baby. I thought there was a right schedule to be kept, so somehow, the baby learned how to eat rightly. Now I see that no, there isn't a right way, there is the way that works for that particular baby and mother. I've learned a lot, in retrospect, about my feeding habits with Salamander. I needed more support than I realized or sought, but...oh well! At least we're doing great now. In that same vein, some more of what I've been writing on paper, transferred here for you all to read...

I have to admit my own mistake. I thought I had to teach Salamander something rather than know I just had to feed him. Well, now the boy eats. He SO eats and it's a joy to listen to him snore after he's fallen asleep eating his last bottle of the night.
I thought it had to be all from me. I was unconsciously out to prove something with breastfeeding. This proud, stubborn piece of me mistakenly took on showing some people how it could and should be, instead of realizing THIS is NOT about THAT. This is a new life we're feeding here, not my life we're making proof as success out of.
Back to Salamander snoring. That was a couple nights ago and it was painfully precious. He fell asleep in my arms in the rocking chair. The bottle dropped out of his mouth and tiny fists and he positively gurgled like some fat old man with sleep apnea. In a grown person it could have been a gross sound but in this tiny boy it was purely hysterical. I had to bite my lip from bursting out.

"more eggs please"

Isn't It Fun When We Go As Fast As We Can?

2011-08-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

I want to share my dork with you. No, I don't have a ~~whale~~ penis ~~our house isn't that big~~. OK, I'm on my third sentence and already I'm editorializing myself, but this (if you're like me) is just too funny. I heard, probably in fourth grade, that a "dork" was "actually" the name of a whale penis. And now Google has half affirmed me. Moving now, decidedly, on...

By "my dork" I mean what Lights Me UP. The specific and eccentric set of stuff that tickles my fancy and fills me up with goodness. Over at 1,001 Son Days I've managed to curate a lovely set of bloggers focusing on the positive and fanciful in this world. I'm spending as much conscious time possible thinking happy thoughts. Sprinkling damn sparkly fairy dust on myself and my loved ones (or those who just happen to be nearby) and believing that a new world that is hopeful does still exist. And! What I'm really proud of right this second is that I'm doing this despite the hours a day I spend listening to panic, doom, and "balanced information" on NPR stations. OK, sometimes they have happy stories too.

It is really helping me that I specifically choose what images I let in my life! If something leaves a bad chill up your spine, get it out of your life, right? (OK, I'm still totally subject to the royalty of True Blood, but I love a good fantasy thriller.) On the road today I was listening to a podcast called The Indigo Room with Sydney Chase and it revved me up like a can of Red Bull used to when I was working two jobs in the big city. Even better! These were good vibes organically made and offered to me from a real person! Let me tell you about some of the effects it had on me. First of all, she uses the phrase "wicky-wacky." Now, I'm not going to be able to define exactly what she means by that, but viscerally I could tell she meant "kinda off." Or wonky. But I just liked it! Wicky wacky. Also, this woman's laugh is gold and she ain't afraid to spend it! Every time she laughed I laughed. She was laughing so much that I couldn't only giggle along with her. I was guffawing in the car to myself. I was kicking my feet the way Salamander does about five minutes into a meal of sweet potatoes or pears. Right when the sugars hit him, I guess, his feet just get all happy and start kicking up a storm. It's so damn cute.

Another reason I said I wanted to share my dork with you is because of my all time favorite food blogger, Deb, at Smitten Kitchen was included in the most recent issue of Everyday Food. She was talking about her blog and encouraged people (readers) to be them, be their dork selves. Her showing up in this magazine that I've just begun a subscription to was surprising and led me to feel I was being followed, euphemistically speaking, by a favorite celebrity and that this was somehow teaching me something, or hinting I should look somewhere for inspiration or guidance.

I only have ten minutes before I'm kicked out of my writing hole for the night so I'm going to give as many quick bits of good news I have in the next five minutes. Yay! Doing things fast!

I put myself back to work. That means, with my excellent partner's support, I'm taking two nights a week to get away from home to a wifi supported distraction free location to write, write, write. I even have a system! An objective! A goshdarn mission statement! And I have my first story. It's three and half pages, 2200 or so words, and about my experience with a pediatrician in Salamander's fifth month. It's kinda long for a blog, no? Do you want me to put it up here? I'm thinking about it....

I tried hypnotherapy and it was really cool! At the end something very synchronous happened that sent shivers up my spine. It made me feel pretty damn good about myself, over all. And that was the point! Isn't that special?

Hadj's birthday is this weekend and we have a baby sitter for six hours! Plus, I'm making what looks to be an awesome cake and I'm pretty stoked about it. I need more close friends,in this area, to bake for...

We're going to have about 650 more square feet to inhabit on our property soon! Our buddy is moving out so he can explore his adventurous future in Thailand and that means we get our studio and half our "garage" back. Exciting!

Salamander. Oh my goodness. I wrote a few paragraphs earlier this evening on a specifically gaga love fest I was having with him a few nights ago. I was going to post it here, but then forgot so I'll come back to it soon. But, jeez. Salamander. He is such a blessing and excellent teacher. Thanks little buddy.

I have to go! The nice waitress who alternately has called me missy, dear, and ma'am wants to go home. Love to you all.

Graceful Smoldering

2011-07-20T11:31:00.000-07:00

It's so disappointing. To have traveled way out West, seeking peace and fulfillment; to have found one and not the other. To be a seeker is to realize, eventually, that it's already there. Then how? How to open up and see what's sitting on the tip of the nose already? This is good. This throat clogging, ferclempt feeling of being clogged up with sensation and experience is good. It's how I used to feel in front of the keyboard, when I was selling my hours and feeling existential dread all the time. It's a birthing feeling. Open up more, mama, we stories, we words, we want to live.

Beautiful Inside and Out

2011-05-28T10:21:00.001-07:00

I wrote the following for a contest. I thought the contest called for a 700 word essay. Then I went to submit it and found I'd totally read the rules wrong and the limit was for 500 characters. I wrongly interpreted this to mean 500 characters with spaces, but no. Essentially I wrote an essay when they wanted a couple "tweets." Well, whatever. At least I got this nice essay out of it. The subject is "A time when you felt beautiful inside and out."

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Stacks of Caps

2011-05-26T22:19:00.001-07:00

I heard a deliciously lewd line once that went, "He's so hot, I'd wear him like a scrunchy."

I turned that line on its head in conversation with Hadj once while commenting on all the ladies strutting about sexy in the newly warm air. I said, "She's so hot, I wanna wear her like a hat" in this fulsome, growly Southern woman accent into which I sometimes spontaneously seep.

All naughtiness aside... one of the things I have "a thing" about is hats. Literally speaking, I look good in hats. As you probably guessed I'm not speaking quite literally here. All my life I've felt split in two. There's the external me and the internal me. I've come close, a time or two, to feeling the two were pretty well merged, but there was always the exception, the company face I'd put on at work everyday. I'm prone, it seems, to taking on too much in my life in terms of personal expression. Trying on too many hats in a given time period. Honestly, I admire those who choose a good hat and stick with it until it has truly been worn out. I saw a piece of artwork one time that had the line,

"I laughed when I realized how many years it took to discover who I am...by first zealously exploring...who I am not."

See Ya in a Bit!

2011-05-18T01:22:00.000-07:00

I just queued up posts at 1,001 Son-Days for the next six days. There's a triple layer "Pink Lady" cake frosted and pretty in the frigidaire. There is a set of home-made "fuzzy cupcakes" wrapped and adorned by the front door. We are all ready in the house for Aunty Ana's visit from Chicago. Ana is my sister from another mister and she gives the best hugs. She's the one who taught me not to fear baking and to always respect Martha.

I'm not really going to say much more about that except, go on over to 1,001 Son-Days and see some slobber covered horns! A few days from now there'll be a small written piece on how the name Salamander came to be, and I don't think I've ever talked about that here.

Finally, what do you think about the fuzzy cupcakes idea? I would post a picture, but I forgot to take one before I wrapped them, so it'll have to wait. They're for her review mirror, in the fuzzy dice sense of things. She loves cupcakes and knitting, so I thought they'd be a whimsical fun thing for her. I also thought they wouldn't take much time, but that was four months ago.

Vision Post

2011-05-08T10:02:00.000-07:00

She is women laughing, spilling wine, chopping onions
licking licorice, looking backwards savoring salt, satisfied, she is
mother pulling patience from the air, bedraggled hair, she is
woman stacking shocks of corn, woman making love in dreadlocks
sweeping floors sweating summer heat
What does a goddess look like?
She looks like you, She looks like me
She looks like us in sacred conversation.

Yvonne Pearson

Excerpted from a poem called "What Does a Goddess Look Like?" which appears in the 2010-11 We'Moon date book.

This is a calling. This is me, calling out. I know my women, sisters, elders are out there; I'm asking. Please, please find me. Please, please lead me to you. The laughing, wine spilling, onion chopping women help me stay sane in the world. I have a good life, but you women, I don't yet know where you are, you will make it so much better.

You Can Get This Snippet

2011-05-06T07:42:00.000-07:00

This week I realized that my need to be writing had finally overcome my laziness in the early morning hours. I felt a familiar feeling, chagrin, when I thought about how typical it is of me to have finally committed to one child (writing) when I had just had another (you, Salamander). I can be funny that way; putting too much on my plate just to prove I can do it. And so, this tumble-log, will include writing at times, or me talking about it. I’m trying to pack in as many truths as possible, my darling.

Now, as the house is dark in all but the craft room/office, and my tea is hot beside me, I hear you cooing and burbling in your room across the hall. You’re an hour early, I think, with something that feels like panic swaying in my belly. Please don’t be awake just yet. I so urgently want to feed this other child right now.

Mother's Day Gifting and Explanation to Previous Post

2011-04-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

I gotta say, I'm really loving Shutterfly. Ever since Salamander was born, it's become more important for us to have physical prints AND convenience. When I was looking for a birth announcement to send (it turned out super cute) I recalled my cousin's recent announcement came from Shutterfly, so I checked it out. Not only did I get announcements for everyone at a good price, great quality, and fast turn around, but I was rewarded with fifty free prints to boot. For the price of shipping I got fifty 4x6 prints in matte, which is by far my favorite part of the whole deal. I usually hate glossy prints for my own collections.

So, while I normally am not one to give free advertising (I did get a bonus of $10 off my next order as incentive to post the image above) when I love a service, I'm not shy about spreading the word. (Just ask any of my friends or family about bogs boots and they'll tell you.)

Hit these guys up if you need photos printed, cute announcements or invites made, custom address labels, custom mother's day (etc.) gifts. I've done all of that with these guys in only four months! Phew!

Mother's Day Gifting

2011-04-28T16:14:00.002-07:00

Happy Mom Collage Mother's Day 5x7 folded card

Find unique Mother's Day cards at Shutterfly.

View the entire collection of cards.

Ending and Beginning at Once

2011-04-27T08:38:00.001-07:00

Every life, [Tomas] Tranströmer writes, “has a sister ship,” one that follows “quite another route” than the one we ended up taking. We want it to be otherwise, but it cannot be: the people we might have been live a different, phantom life than the people we are.

A couple months ago my friend, Anna Pulley, shared a link to the advice column, "Dear Sugar," at The Rumpus.net ("The online cure for Ritalin"). The advice that week was to a young woman who was struggling to overcome her demons and get down to brass tacks so that she could, finally, "write like a mother fucker." The post was probably one of Sugar's more famous posts. I immediately cried, and then printed out the whole column so I could have it at hand whenever I need a kick in the proverbial pants.

Sugar is a writer, wife, mother of two and in her early forties. I don't know what else she writes besides this always perfectly timed and deliciously tender advice column, but then again, I haven't researched it. Her advice columns are full of charm, wisdom, and lovely affections like calling the writer of the questioning letter "sweet pea."

And so the question, sweet pea, is who do you intend to be.

Advice column #71, which came out last Thursday, is from a man in his early forties who, along with his wife of the same age, is trying to honestly figure out if he (and she) should conceive children and become parents. I'm going to try to refrain from summarizing the reasons he gives as to why he's torn, because you can go read it yourself, and because I want to talk about standing at the docks, myself, staring at those sister ships and how I'm wondering which ships are ghosts, which have already left port, which may be coming in.

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It Starts Out Emo, but Really Gets Swinging in the Second Half

2011-04-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

It's just after 6:30AM. I am at the desk in the purple room and before me are the splayed out remnants of a once lovely jade plant. I began this plant from a small cutting while living on Rock Street, I think, though it could have been on High Street. Either way, that's damn near ten years ago. The jade survived the moves from Michigan, to Illinois, to here and did very well last summer on the back deck. Now, after surviving my nearly killing it twice previously, it is near death once more. When I began this paragraph I thought I might say I didn't care, anymore, whether the plant was revived or not, and how that the death of something that has been with me more than seven years was somehow metaphorical for my life, but as I wrote, my attachment to it resurged and I thought of how very little effort it would take to bring the good luck succulent back. And that feels aptly metaphorical for my life too.

Writing, this therapeutic writing is a rare breed of constancy in my life span.

I go through the daily motions now and aim at the best choices I imagine, but if I set down and ponder what I'm doing I feel at a loss - or lost. What am I doing? I'm a wife and mother all of the damn sudden! Who is this; cooking consciously balanced meals, learning about the cognitive developments in a five month old, keeping to a cleaning schedule?

Oh shit. Why hello familiar face in the mirror, you've put on some weight. No wonder - really, with all my new baggage.

I did pick this baggage out myself, didn't I? Wasn't I deeply tired of my one hand-me-down bag, cycling the carousel alone? Didn't I long daily for newness and family ties, constant companions?

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Journal Entry, Abridged: Here Again, Gone Again

2011-04-19T08:44:00.000-07:00

Here I am, again, back to square one, again. Back on track, again. Maybe I can comfort myself with the hopeful idea that every departure from my best intentions (and to the happy, if sick, land of total indulgence) is accompanied by an even more quick return.

Prayer

2011-04-09T12:37:00.001-07:00

This is a poem I wrote in my new favorite cafe, which sits just below my new favorite yoga studio. I go there every Sunday morning at 8:30 to practice yoga and then share conversation and yummy foods with new friends. I've found my church.

update 4/10/2011 Thanks to my friend Angie for reading this and sharing her insights. Based on them, and on some of own hunches, I have edited this poem a third time to what you see now.
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Cause It Makes You Smile and Giggle

2011-04-05T07:11:00.001-07:00

Here's a particularly lovely email from my mom.

Hi,

I am UPSing Salamander's bank today. Of course I wrote a note then forgot to put it into the box. So......

Sal - think of Grandma Korey when you're saving your pennies. Have Mom and Dad put the bank high up for you until you are older. I knew you just had to have this cause it makes you smile and giggle and you don't know yet but I always say "If you're not laughing you're not living." Counting the sleeps until I can hold and kiss you. See you soon.

Love and hugs
Grandma Korey

She will be here in seven "sleeps" which is a way of counting time devised by my Aunt for my cousin when she was very small.

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A Few Notes on Daily Beauty

2011-04-01T13:30:00.004-07:00

Some signs can't be ignored.
The vacuum must be left where it landed
when you picked up the book to check the date.

The normal floor inhabitants must be left askew,
baby bouncer on the bed, dog bowls on the dryer,
kitchen chairs in the living room.

You've wondered why it seems that one author's
voice is following you around.
She's there again today in your borrowed yoga magazine
from last spring. She was there in that radio program,
chosen based on it's byline, which didn't mention her.

You have to let things fall where they may sometimes;
because the baby's asleep, the fighting cats separated, the washer
filling up. Take this chance. Let the wind blow through the tightness
that's accrued during this week and open, open
open.

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Trying to Talk Over the Wind

2011-03-31T09:58:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I feel the need to jot a few things down before I move on to the "higher priority" tasks on my daily list. Other times I'm able to say "nope" to putting my passion on the waiting list. Other times I'm better at living with the muddy paw prints on the floor, last night's dinner dishes on the counter. I heard a mom of three once say she was a "recovering neat freak" and I understood what she meant.

Anyway. I'm way off base on my regularly scheduled programming at home and in my writing, not mention hungry for breakfast and coffee, and running on nap-borrowed time. I actually can't ignore the mud clods, the hair balls, etc. because to really write I need more than an hour and to live sanely I need more order in my environment. That's just how I am.

Let me just be brief and say, boy it's windy here! The wind makes us crazy sometimes. It stirs up energy, makes old issues new again, makes us restless, talkative, and all these other weird ego outbursts you can imagine. I think we get it wrong. The wind probably wants us to listen, not try to talk over it. It wants us to find a little hillside, button up our sweaters, and stand tall as it batters about, whooshes, and brings stories we'll never be able to copy on paper. If we wait though, if we wait long enough to let the wind's busy blowing into ourselves, it will leave us better than it found us. The wind is a wise game player. But we haven't been doing too good a job listening.

1001 Son Days

2011-03-23T11:59:00.000-07:00

It's really really my nap time, but I have these words that just won't stop coming out of me. I can't clamp down this dam, but the locks are in progress to level things off for nap time.

I started a new tumblr account. It's called 1001 Son Days

I will post photos, notes, songs, videos, stories, poems, etc., etc., etc. for 1001 days all centered on thoughts, feelings, and events relating to my first son. This was inspired by the beautiful journal created by Nikki McClure called The First 1000 Days.

When I first saw it, it stole my breath, but I scoffed. It was a cover. That's quite a commitment, I feared. Envy bore up in me and the idea wouldn't go away because her art moved me. So, I spat out that bad taste, made the leap, and will do this. The point of the tumblr is to try to keep a record to have and look back upon (we do have photos and physical keep sakes too). Another reason I am doing this is because I need to write and tumbling often feels like a good format when time is short or thoughts are scattered.

I love the idea of gathering each post, when all is said and done in this particular idea line, for a book to have and hold too.

Here is a post I wrote today that won't go live on 1001 Son Days for three days.

The Mama and the Papa

It is common for older people to lay in bed at night thinking of ways to better live their lives. When you’re older try to remember not to do this too much. Notice you’re doing it and let it go. Focus on your breathing instead. We already practice noticing our breathing together, when you cry hard at night and breathe erratically.

Last night, before I let go into my breath and into sleep and dream-land, I thought about roles. The roles we perform in life.

When I was teaching youth reading and studying skills I was most nervous about those students closest to me in age. I worried they’d see through me and know that I thought their humor or behavior was sometimes amusing. I was trained not to let them see my humor too soon. I was supposed to be an authority figure of sorts, and they had to learn to respect that before I was allowed to crack too many smiles.

Last night I thought about my new dinnertime requirement. We eat, as a family, at seven. You go to bed at eight. That way your papa and I also get to sleep at reasonable time. Or anyway, that’s my hypothesis. I felt very firm as I talked this plan through last night with your papa.

Then, at bedtime, I thought about rules and that somehow led to thinking that you don’t need to be exposed too often to my personal neuroses. That is one role of the healthy parent, in my opinion. I thought of the way your papa talks. He might say, “I’m the papa” to you, and then introduce, “and she’s the mama.”

You don’t need to know our names for awhile. You need to know we’re here and we’re taking the best care of you possible because we love you so much our hearts feel gelatinous more than we care to admit.

We All Have the Buddha Within

2011-03-07T13:27:00.000-08:00

Watched a PBS online video called The Buddha last night. Had beautiful dreams in two hour snippets afterward. I have learned I can't necessarily recreate pleasing behaviors just by making sure the conditions are reproduced identically. Five hours of sleep in one go two nights in a row does not mean I won't see two hour intervals for the next three nights.

I said to Hadj, "Wouldn't it be great to be raised Buddhist?" and he said, "We could raise Salamander that way."
"But we're don't practice Buddhism," I countered.
Maybe it's time I start meditating on impermanence again. I usually wind up seeing that Hadj and I are in agreement on most things.

One scholar they interviewed talked about the three things that cause human suffering. He said greed, anger, and ignorance are our major downfalls. He said the idea is not to stop yourself from experiencing these universal human traits, but to be able to turn them on their heads and express generosity, compassion, and wisdom instead. I thought of my old work and felt proud.

I can see Salamander gearing up to give us a chuckle soon. He responds in surprisingly apt tones to my questions, smiles, and laughter. He smiles with me. Coos with my laughter. Hopefully he'll enjoy looking out his window at the beauty around us too, because I'm about to go wash it to let in that strengthening spring light.

Happy Anything Can Happen Day!

2011-03-02T09:46:00.000-08:00

I don't know how it came to be, but Wednesdays have been dubbed anything can happen day around our house. I've always loved Wednesdays. I guess I love many forms of middle ground in a big way.

I wanted to stop by and post a quickie here today because I've been thinking that several of my recent posts have been representative of difficult times and I don't want to mislead. Bottom line: we're doing good!

Own Up and Brighten

2011-02-28T21:59:00.001-08:00

Oh what a day. I couldn't call my neighbor because I was sobbing so hard. I couldn't swallow my pride and let her see me like that. I knew I probably should, but just couldn't do it. When SalBaby had cried through another nap time and my patience reserve ran dry I said, "I'm going to calmly put you down now and go into the other room." Once in the bathroom I swore a blue streak. Earlier today I couldn't admit this, but here and now I will: I quietly swore myself silly in my little isolation chamber; in the process "telling" my two month old to shut up and calling him a bastard.

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Keeping Limber

2011-02-25T13:00:00.002-08:00

During the first nap:

It's time for some honesty. Some scary, smacked in the balls, I don't know where this'll take me honesty. I've begun and erased four different sentences on this e-page and that's what tells me I have to begin right where I am and not care where it leads. I have to trust it will lead to the place it's supposed to.

A Winded Fable About Where to Sleep

2011-02-15T22:03:00.000-08:00

I colluded in seven weeks of teaching my son that "to fall asleep" means to be in a squishy king sized bed against a big warm body (or two). It means a nipple in his mouth and a boob on his cheek. Now I'm paying the price.

But he ~~was~~ is so cuddlesome!

I'm paying the price because I want my bed back. I want to be able to turn over at my will again. It's been since August (at five months pregnant) that I could do that! I want to be able to full body snuggle my man more often! And stuff!

I'm reading Secrets of the Baby Whisperer by Tracy Hogg. I think her suggestions are very appealing and workable. And now I'm in an intense negotiation phase with Salamander. This kid knows what he wants!! I do know that babies cry inexplicably sometimes, or at least, I have been told that many times. And I don't necessarily doubt it. But I also have moments of sheer oneness with my child and lately he's telling me loud and clear what he does and does not like. He does not like to show me how strong his legs are when he's tired. He does like sleeping with boobs on his face. Typical male. Sorry, that's crude...

In my opinion, there's a lot of common sense missing from the oft recommended reading for earth crunchy types of parenting. A quick list while I'm thinking about it: feeding on demand, infant potty training, saying "no way jose" to pacifiers all the time. Maybe I'll find a magical trick or change my tune on these later, but at this point in time I just want a routine that I can breathe more freely in. I don't want to internally swing wildly from doing whatever he wants to trying to cram in as much "me time" (which sadly often means chores or eating a meal!) as I can stomach while he cries it out in his crib.

We realized today that actually, we haven't even tried his crib. We've tried the handy seeming "side car" our friends loaned us, but not the beautiful crib my parents gave him. When Hadj pointed it out I thought about the coolness of his room as opposed to the often dry heat our wood pellet stove creates in our bedroom, the serene sea foam walls of his room, the air of a stillness away from hubbub and I sighed in relief. Another notch in a sane sounding plan. I think I just stumbled on a perfect parenting slogan.

This may be one of those times that I look back and wish I'd taken a different route. Putting wee Salamander in his own crib right off the bat would have been terribly difficult for the first two nights (probably seven) and I'm pretty sure I would have sat at his crib side like a sick pup until I passed out from exhaustion...HOWEVER...I'll probably do something like that anyway now, but first, I have to go through lawd-knows-how-long getting him to accept the switch. I'll let you know how that goes, some day...

In her book, Tracy Hogg stresses for parents to pay very close attention to their baby's common cues in order to work with them in a cyclic daily system. Luckily, I'm already an expert on this because I have spent damn near exactly seven weeks to the hour observing him. Now that Ms. Hogg has handily pointed out some more of the common cues that I wasn't picking up on, I'm feeling confidently golden. I'm no fool to think there won't be stops and starts, progress and regress, as we go, but I do believe that we can learn our way to a system of sleep that will provide all household humans the independence, comfort, and sanity needed for a contented life.

And there's the moral for ya, in the end there.

Bittersweet Little Onesies

2011-02-15T13:23:00.000-08:00

So the clothes thing: in my last post I mentioned how clothing on our son sometimes feels like a sadness to me. It's an indication of time, and so many parents want to freeze time more than anything. Want to stop up that hour glass and play in the top half of the sands infinitely. Maybe that is a memory we can live inside of forever when we are gone.

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While My Infant Son Napped

2011-02-14T13:21:00.000-08:00

I made this book while my infant son napped. I could only cut the pictures while he slept so the pictures are small and quick gleanings from my new life as a mother. The dining room table became my studio. I would put down my pencil as lightly as possible so as not to disturb the baby, hoping for a few more moments of work before I, too, had to take a nap.

The alphabet was never finished intentionally; the naps were too short and life too thrilling to justify going all the way to Z.

-Nikki McClure, Authors Note from AWAKE to NAP

Salamander Three

2011-02-05T12:30:00.001-08:00

It occurred to me that I've not been fulfilling my duty as a proud parent on my blog yet! I need to post bragging pictures of our beautiful son! So, here are a few, ranging from a week to five weeks old.

a week old

cheery at five weeks

showing off one of his dimples, three weeks

Makes for Biochemical Peace

2011-02-04T18:24:00.001-08:00

At some point we become mature enough to realize that our parents existed as individuals, with rich lives, before us. While sitting on the back deck, taking in serenity through osmosis, I thought of that and then thought of the reverse implication: right now, I am Salamander's world. I want to do my best to make his world a peaceful one while I can.

serenity through osmosis on the back deck

Love Rendering Kvetch

2011-02-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

The boychik is in his car seat still and a sense of extreme urgency has gripped my ridiculous mind. His car seat is pushed up against the dryer which is running needlessly, in order to create the white noise and vibrations that I hope will render him sleepy for a few more precious moments. I am facing the new mommy problem of seriously needing some me time. I have been operating primarily according to my newborn's wishes for six weeks now and my need to exercise, write anything, knit, etc., has been over ridden.

Don't let my kvetching throw you off. I am, obviously, in complete, mind-numbing love with my child, but
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While the Visitors Sleep

2011-01-11T23:26:00.002-08:00

Every one is asleep. My boy is on my left side softly cooing with his exhalations. Things are happening in daily life. Mom and Dad are visiting, things are breaking, food, aches, pains, what have you, but at this page, right now, anything lacking richness, nutrients, organisms, enzymes, or cooing baby breath falls away. Night sky emerges - cold air and snow fall. It's calling me outside, while naked, soft skin and a warm fire keeps me still. Still next to cheeks and tiny soft lips - lips that make me wonder what the divet above an upper lip and below a nose is called. A dew drop could rest there.

My mom has told me about the aching in her heart caused by loving me - I understand that now. With Salamander's new existence here with us, I understand now, the way my mom knows I am just like her. Some how - before him I wouldn't accept it - now I see our identical natures. I see how this love is deeper than others, bigger. My head is where her heart is, just as Salamander's head rests on mine. He makes my chest glow hot gold.

I am divided between the desire to sleep and an utter memorization by his open mouth: the ridges in his dry lips, the inert softness of his vulnerable tongue - oy vey...

I can feel my ability to love expanding with practically every quick breath he takes.

Beginning Reactions: The Body, The Mind, The Heart

2011-01-05T19:13:00.000-08:00

[Diary Entry]

12/26/10

Salamander is born. A perfect gorgeous boy. I went into active labor 24 hours

1/5/11

...ago was probably the word to come next. Unsurprisingly I haven't been able to find time to write since his birth day.

[The Body]

I feel I can't kiss him enough - that any microscopic space of skin not touched by my mouth is enduring a small failure of mine to find and cover it with soft lips and moist breath. I have urges to audio-record the tiniest coos and squeaks he utters so I can listen to them when they've morphed into new language.

Salamander's Birth Story

2011-01-03T13:46:00.000-08:00

The festive spirit was entirely co-opted this year by the spirit of anticipation and excitement that filled our home as we awaited the birth of Salamander. Hadj and I mentioned our holiday festoons a couple of times, but the need to recreate holiday traditions just wasn't in me this year. And Hadj tells me now, he never really even liked Christmas, before this year.

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Three Dreams of a Family Nature

2010-12-10T05:21:00.000-08:00

It's my usual-lately wake up time of 4 AM and for the third night in a row I've had an interesting, vivid dream.

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To Hold What We Love of the World

2010-12-02T20:06:00.001-08:00

I want to post here more regularly, but I don't want to agonize over it. I want to read more inspirational sentences, lines, works. I want more energy during the day.

I told Hadj yesterday that I think I've reached the point in pregnancy, which is commonly talked about in the US culture, wherein...I feel I'll be pregnant forever. Yes, it's true. This pregnancy has been an astounding and amazing experience, but truly, my patience (deeper than I ever imagined already!) is waning. When I told a mommy in arms the other day that I don't know the sex of our baby-to-be her eyes popped, "You're so patient!" she exclaimed.

I made a list of things that were funny or exciting to me when I was just in my first trimester. Here's another one, my second and last, pregnancy list.

Spark and Flow

2010-11-29T12:05:00.000-08:00

Spending time with extended family and friends over the long weekend has rejuvenated my sense of inner peace today. I sit, now, with a heart shaped hot water bottle at my low back to soothe the remnants of a nasty round ligament cramp that I experienced earlier today. I drastically cut short my usual morning walk with the dogs because the pain was so sharp and located on only one side, which indicated to me that it was not a contraction of any kind. I walked slowly toward my home with this cramp, and felt really buoyed, really strong; breathing deeply and saying to myself and to Baby, "it's ok. We'll go lay down and call Mif (our midwife) and find out what this is." Glimpses becoming less rare about who I'll be as a mother. Can I just say? I'm in love with me as a mother and really, I kind of always have been.

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Thanksgiving 2010 Menu & Recipes

2010-11-26T12:39:00.000-08:00

We had a small Thanksgiving party with a large amount of left-overs. My mom teased me about making so much food and I had to admit it was no longer about the guests, but about the menu. I was very excited to make my first Thanksgiving. Hadj was a fantastic partner in cooking and all the food came out really well.

The gravy is absolutely worth the extra work and the Chocolate Ganache Tart is an oh my god instant classic. In my opinion, the zest (I liked orange), shouldn't be optional as it provides the most wonderfully surprising, yet slight, citrus compliment in the heart of the crust. Be warned, we used at least two pounds, maybe three, of butter, all told. Bon Appetit!

Snacks

Pickled Beets

Wasabi Peas

Trail Mix of dates, dried apricots, soy nuts, dark chocolate chips

Main

Roast Turkey

Sides

Brussel Sprout Hash with Carmelized Shallots
(thanks to Ammie for introducing this months back)

Hazelnut and Apple Dressing
(a combo of these two recipes)

Mashed Potatoes
(with innovative tips from this recipe)

Cranberries
(the first recipe)

Homemade Apple-Plum Sauce
from my wonderful neighbor

Rolls
made from a recipe in an ancient Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook

Gravy

Dessert

Chocolate Ganache Tart

Sweet Potato Buttermilk Pie

Wines
Pinot Noir
Sauvignon Blanc
Port

A hearty post feast thanks to all the amazing cooks who have inspired me and shared their wisdom!

Wildflower Prayers

2010-11-22T19:39:00.000-08:00

I try to get my mind off of Hadj's four hour and counting 12.5 mile epic standstill on state route three coming home. Ridiculous doesn't even cover it. There's maybe four inches of snow. All I can tell him, when he asks via text if I can get a scoop on the traffic ahead, is "give thanks you're not on the East side of the Sound where a web search shows up like this...

I don't even want to know what the difference between a red "!" and an orange one is. He texts me now to tell me he's finally gotten a chance to pee and that there's a jack-knifed truck ahead. "May be a few more hours." I shake my head and feel for him. Maybe, I wonder, I should try to feel hopeful and encouraging, or specifically timely and safely driven instead of terrible.

But last night I had unseasonably warm dreams.

Before I Wrote this I Drew a Seal

2010-11-17T19:05:00.000-08:00

I had a quietly empty feeling day. How can emptiness feel so weighty? I felt I was betraying myself today - somehow. Not doing "the work" I deeply feel I need. It was a day of baby-ing.

So, what is "the work"?
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A Wee Wednesday Update

2010-11-10T20:47:00.001-08:00

Problem Wordings

Words color our view of the world. Used carelessly, they can perpetuate old prejudices and preserve old stereotypes without our analytic mind even realizing it. In an effort to avoid this, we need to work hard to create a terminology that will help remove the semantic barriers to open-mindedness and understanding between cultures. As the industrial world extends its reach to what were once hidden pockets of the globe, the job of refining our language becomes more important than ever.

Childbirth Wisdom, Judith Goldsmith

I just love the above passage. I haven't gotten into the meat of this book yet, that is, the above excerpt is from her preface, but I'm pretty excited to learn about the traditional practices of women in other cultures as related to childbirth. Should be v. interesting!!
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How a Change in Schedule Led me to Jesus, Today

2010-11-03T08:57:00.000-07:00

Before I launch this I want to give myself a few props. I've been pretty good at staying positive on this here blog, and in my life, on a regular basis. Things have changed rapidly and I've done my best to open up and let it all in without prejudice. BUT... (kvetch alert) this morning has been kinda irritating. Please stick with me as I blow off some steam and circle back around to warm fuzzies.
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Getting My Feet Wet on the Rainy Season

2010-10-30T14:19:00.000-07:00

I got an idea for a poem while out walking the dogs yesterday. I haven't written anything remotely close to poetry in a long time. Last I can remember was trying to poetically describe the waves I felt I was riding when I first met up with Hadj. I have been getting urged toward poetry lately by my friend Anna, which feels nice and like a challenge, but it's not coming out easily. I told her earlier today, and I think this is common sentiment among amateur poets/writers, that it's harder by far to write poetry when you're feeling grateful or happy, which I am.

But I didn't feel like cleaning our art room any more so I gave my hand at the ideas. It turned into a prose-like meditation, which any attempt I make at poetry often does. I stopped before finishing and well, there I am. And, god, it's rainy. And Hadj is working. And I'm just ho-humming it up today, it seems. I'm actually bordering on feeling bored! Boredom is not an emotion I often feel, which is good because I'm not a fan of it one bit. The rainy season. I feel half lidded. So, just saying. Here are some pretty images of cozy, rainy day things. Seeking inspiration and sharing it with you.


posie gets cozy: perfect craft ideas blog for this weather


sweet, cozy, bright work studio! mmmm beelieve


drop the antlers, add some more prints and seat me here with a blanket and a good book!

Happy Halloween Everyone!

By the way, I do expect I'll perk up soon. Tonight we're going to a post-apocalypse Halloween party and I'm wearing a dress I made out of plastic bags. I think Hadj is going to be a cockroach or something.

Loving What's in the Air

2010-10-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

It's Subterranean Fire: The Extreme Makeover Edition! I've retained much of my old color schemes, updated some of my "favorite post" side bars (now at left) and dropped off a few gadgets that either were too cumbersome or led to unneeded self-scrutiny based on the popularity system of "google friends." Another of those aforementioned cumbersome features is this thing down here where you get to click to tell me if you think my post is "useful, funny, or interesting." I'm not sure how I feel about your ability to poll -or, even worse, not poll- my subject matter, but I can't for the life of me figure out how to get rid of it at this time, and so it stays.

I also want to fancy up that header picture, add an About Me page, and separate pages for my own favorites. Eventually I'd also like to make the sidebars more visually stimulating with picture links instead of all that text. I'm pretty sure y'all are salivating to click that "interesting" box now! Aren't cha?

I guess my blog's not the only one getting a makeover of sorts. As I mentioned earlier this week, I've revamped my daily schedule (in training for, as I've come to think of them, "mommy-marathon days") and I've also, thanks to this stylish new mom and blogger, really been inspired to getting all dolled up on any old day, just because it feels so good.

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Another Fantastic Step on the Journey to Fully Inhabiting My Body

2010-10-25T22:14:00.002-07:00

Let's move to those aforementioned things and change the song into one with a major-chord feel! First of all, I'm totally freaking stoked about my baby these days. So much so that I just edited the curse word out of that sentence. I'm not excited just about the baby, but the part that comes before the baby: the birth.

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In the Midwest, Most of Us Don't Think About Submarines' Existence

2010-10-25T06:56:00.000-07:00

I have a very ambitious schedule this morning, which began at 5:20 AM. I read, somewhere, recently about a woman who is so creative/eager/successful that she "has to get up at five in the morning just to get everything done in a day." My mom gets up at five-something five days a week to do her workout routines. Lately she's been working out with an amply endowed ex-reality TV star who either is or used to be one of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends and her conventionally good looking Aussie male trainer. Apparently in Australia, if you have a big butt you say [something like] you've got "boots in the boot," which my mom finds utterly amusing. About her morning routine, she says, "you just get your ass up and you do it." She's always been better than me at overcoming laziness in favor of doing what's right for her body, chased as she is by a twenty-year old MS diagnosis.
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Oh Right, I Was Doing Something About That...

2010-10-23T11:21:00.000-07:00

I have been introduced to more internet wonderfulness this week than I have in many months past, which have provided moments of laughter and brevity, but despite them I remain mostly prone on the couch with what feels like my only friend, NPR. Oh sigh. The emo of it all.

And while I did just read that one key to blog success is to consider what your readers want to read, I am writing now mostly just to write, which means y'all (whoever you are) might have to read more about what the truth of my life is this week than, say, hilariously cute stories about four-year-olds with ADHD and access to an entire cake.

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Family is just accident.... They don't mean to get on your nerves. They don't even mean to be your family, they just are.

2010-10-14T22:49:00.001-07:00

The phrase "return the scene of the crime" kept popping into my head as I rounded hour five of my week long visit at Mom n' Dad's. I guess that smart-ass subconscious of mine was referring to this time last year. I kept flashing back to my first night with Hadj in this house, when I broke into uncontrollable sobs and couldn't describe what was causing them except deep fear. He couldn't understand it; my parents seemed so supportive and loving. That's appropriate because they are both of those things,
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The Opposite of Long Is?

2010-10-05T10:58:00.000-07:00

Apparently I'm incapable of reading any books unless they are about pregnancy or parenting right now. That, along with my hour long enjoyment of Loreena McKennitt yesterday, have me more in awe of what is about to happen to me. This isn't meant to be a long post, sitting at Hadj's desk (the only desk with a working computer) turns me lethargic and I tend to try to avoid it, but I couldn't refuse a quick kind-of update.

I'm in my final trimester and all sorts of really exciting things are falling into place. We know where we're having the baby, we've begun our natural childbirth method classes, I'm talking to, and knowing more and more about, the baby inside me. Also, more and more, I'm wondering what parts of me will come out and shine when I've become a parent. I've always been a pretty contradictory person, with many unconventional proclivities, and those seemingly divergent interests are as "in focus" as ever. I've sort of decided to let the little kid tell me when the time is right to finally plunge in and dye my hair that platinum-purple combo I've dreamt of for years. I'm thinking about unschooling, and hearing more and more about ascended masters and the predicted impacted of the coming generations on our collective consciousness. Also, I watched a pretty cool documentary about crop circles last week (it was free at the library!). Sometimes all my "out there," weirdness tendencies overwhelm the part of me that tried to blend in or hide for so many years, which is to say I sometimes feel like a total whackadoo. Then my inner six year old chimes in: "Hey! You wanted to move to the west coast for a reason lady!" I keep a sense of humor about it and try to continue rolling with the (comic) punches.

I know I haven't been writing much (see aforementioned excuse re: the writing desk) and for that I am aggrieved. However, I'm also in full-scale nesting mode and this house has a never ending list of to-do's whereas I have a never ending need to sit down and take a break. I've updated my reading list in the sidebar and hope to be back writing more, about recipes, discoveries, internal exploration, and random excitement (not to mention the occasional reference to sex!) soon.

P.S. As I continue to wonder about parenting I've found one thing I'm really sure of: I'll be a great story teller to my child.

Back to Those Switch-backs and a Story

2010-09-17T13:30:00.000-07:00

I resolved what to do about my therapist before I had reached the crest of the switch backs. After having that in the bag I realized that I wanted to just keep on talking aloud about whatever came to mind on my hike. I began talking to the baby in my belly then. I sat on a bench for a few minutes reprieve and just started talking to him. Before I go on further to tell you the story let me give you two details. I, we, don't know the sex of the baby, we're not going to know until after he or she is pushed out sometime this December. However, at about the halfway mark of my pregnancy I began to get a feeling of the sex of the baby. A hunch, which may or may not be correct, had finally come to me after months of me just really know knowing at all. The consensus seems to be, from me, Hadj, and some family members I spent time with in Colorado recently, that we can call it "he." The other detail is that we have known the name of our child to be since before my first trimester was over. I was keeping it a secret for a long time, but now, after months of waiting and still more months of waiting ahead, I am too excited to do much concealing any more. I haven't been volunteering it around, but now I will. The name of kid is going to be, whether he is a he or a she, Salamander. We haven't decided on what the last name will be at this point, but we do know that the first and middle are Salamander T.

Welcome to the internetz little buddy!

How I Didn't Chicken Out and How it Paid Off

2010-09-16T13:23:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned yesterday, I have voyeuristic tendencies which I'm questioning the value of currently. I also have a tendency to use my truly easy going nature as an excuse to put up with less than satisfying situations just so I can avoid having, what I perceive as being a possibly, difficult conversation. This contributes further to my seeming flighty in that, I will "put up with" something for as long as possible, then I will bolt as quickly and quietly as I can, vainly hoping to seem to really disappear, just because I can no longer "handle" the situation. I said to myself, as I debated the lackluster therapy, "How should I approach this? Should I just give it another shot tomorrow? Maybe it felt poor because it'd been so many weeks since I saw her last." I eventually talked myself out of this approach. There was no need to conceal my real feelings on it, it would be counter productive to therapy at all, I decided. I did not want to fear her reaction on my reasons for wanting to talk about my dissatisfaction, there was no reason to do so.

On the Habit of Acting like a Wallflower

2010-09-15T15:23:00.000-07:00

Today I told my therapist it wasn't working out. Some culturally influenced part of me wants to make it a "big, comic deal" and use phrases akin to a break up. I'm going to refrain from doing that though. I'm not going to say that I said, "It's me, not you" or anything like that, except there, where I just did say that and must have still needed to get it out of my system. Sit-com writing aside, I can tell you what happened and why and more importantly, what my point is.

Somewhat of an August Run-Down

2010-09-01T16:46:00.000-07:00

Yikes! A new month again? I'm just back from a two week trip to Colorado to visit with Hadj's family branches. The week prior to those two we hosted a good friend visiting from Chicago. August basically didn't exist in any normal way for me. Since I'm rusty, how's about a quick game of catch up?

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Coming Back

2010-08-03T12:48:00.001-07:00

Summer-time in the Pacific Northwest is an interesting animal for me to witness. After months and months and months and...so on of rain, rain, rain, and mud (of course) we now have months and months of dusty drought. I feel like I'm watching Discovery channel episodes about some African country where there is "the rainy season" and the...not-rainy season; like some monotonous narrator is going to tell me that "this once fertile river bed" is now so dry that the zebras (et al) have to trek hundreds of miles South for a drink of water and green pastures. Yes. It hasn't rained since...well early July at least, which is when summer unofficially begins 'round here.

I'm told, by my very sweet neighbor-fella, Carl, that it'll probably start raining on or after September first. Which means it won't stop until next June or July, I guess. And so the grasses are either watered daily or crunchy, though the flowers retain their brilliance (so many royal hydrangeas!). And, in these verdant self determined days of spousal supported unemployment I continue to have moments where I feel like a pre-teen (this was before the term "tween" existed) at summer camp, sans the horseback riding, which I'm told is a no-no for preggers ladies.

I'm almost 5 months pregnant, which actually means I'm almost done being 4 months pregnant. People measure time in weeks at this stage of life, which neither Hadj nor I are inclined to adopt. We have the name chosen: it's unisex and a secret. I've recently begun wondering if what to do about my mom. Again. I want to wonder if that is solely due to my return to therapy sessions, but I know not to do so. I have always had a contentious relationship with my mother and her family, and this baby business, along with my jump to across the country to live in love with a new man, seems to have ramped up my need to assess the divisions between ME and them.

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First Poem in My New Home: Peonies, Mary Oliver

2010-07-19T10:34:00.000-07:00

I raptly held Mary Oliver's New and Selected Poems Vol. One Friday morning at the book store. The few poems I attempted to sop up were so good that I knew right away this was to be my first poet here. It made immediate sense: a naturalist, a sensualist in my new, natural, sensual home. This feels like a mile stone of some kind...though it feels like the markers on my progress here, now, come more rapidly than every mile. While I await more poems from this book to permeate my consciousness, I have a perfect summer poem for you.

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"Don't bother me. I've just been born."

2010-07-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

The living room is some kind of Bazooka Joe Pink now, and the little room is becoming pistachio or melted mint ice cream green. We're moving from the "mother-in-law apartment," which was originally intended as a bachelor pad, as soon as we can get it all together. In the process of emptying the contents of one room we found the small remains of the two pound bag of Twizzlers that accompanied me on our drive from Chicago to Belfair. Those damn licorice twists still entice me, even after eight months of aging, but they also help me begin. I want to take stock.
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Not the Most Constructive of Posts

2010-07-14T16:01:00.000-07:00

I feel like I'm in the midst of a hormonal mutiny. It must have begun sometime Sunday, when I noticed that I had less energy to devote to listening or interacting with my visiting friends and partner. The first signs of emotional overthrow were evident Sunday night as I wailed, tears streaming in buckets down my face. In my stress had my first moment of feeling like a terrible mother...

already

...and I thought it was bad when Billie got lost for 24 hours. All the books talk about mood swings and the developing worry habits of expectant mothers, making me want to bury my head in the sand and put on another distractingly hopeful Pixar movie.

On Monday I had an emotional hangover, which I attempted to douse with meditation, yoga, and my normal daily routine. Look for jobs, clean house, make meals, play with animals, meditate, yoga, rinse, repeat. At least I've managed to work flossing back into my daily routine. Four days in a row and counting.

Yesterday, I did alright until I got home from my day at the local employment center. I was even feeling close to motivated. The appearance of my little home in the woods deflated me somehow though, and I wound up under the covers devoted only to finishing Water for Elephants (very good, by the way).

I admitted last night, or realized, that the sensations in my abdomen are probably my growing baby's movements. I felt how my stomach organ is up much higher than before and then realized the gurgling / popping feeling in my lower abdomen were Mm. Niblet in the flesh. Exciting, right?

If I weren't so busy trying to keep my head above water maybe. I feel disconnected from most things that I know bring me joy, disconnected from joy itself. I dreamt of blood for the first time in months last night, and am suddenly having bouts of middle of the night insomnia. There are tiny plans, directions, percolating in the back of my mind; good instructions on how to keep going, perk up, focus and allow for it all...but they don't remain clear for long.

So...sigh. I'm having a grand old time. Even my sarcasm is limited in scope... Just hang out, some part of me assures, this will pass too.

The Practical Guide to the Fulfillment of Your Dreams

2010-07-08T10:16:00.003-07:00

I wrote in my journal this morning, "I feel the latter half of my twenties has been defined by searching for work." Really. I'm willing to bet, but not execute, that a search on this blog of the words "work" or "job" would return several dozen entries wherein I bemoan the work I have or don't have. It sucks. It's not work that sucks, it's how I am playing it out.

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The Zygote Chronicles

2010-07-07T10:42:00.000-07:00

I have been feeling fantastic lately. My optimism is strong, my appetite less ravenous, my energy high, and good feelings are abound. I seem to be limiting myself to a maximum of five minutes of emotional freak out a day, which has to be about an 80% drop from two weeks ago.
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Red, White, and Poor Un-eaten Purple

2010-07-06T14:41:00.000-07:00

On July 4th we behaved like absolutely typical Americans. We drove long distances, drank carbonated beverages from cans, ate multiple kinds of meats, and watched explosives in the name of "Freedom." I learned much about Seattlites on this day.
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My First Pregnancy List

2010-06-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

A short list of fun things about pregnancy:

1. Eating whatever you want because your body tells you to. This morning, I had a tuna-melt for breakfast. So far, my favorite pregnancy craving has been chocolate milk; drunk through a bendy straw.

2. Napolepsy. This inventive term was produced by me early in the first trimester when I would zombie walk to the bedroom and fall face first into a coma-like nap for at least three hours at a time. I plan naps into my daily schedule now.

3. Lapses in short term memory. It's fun to retrace your steps just to remember what the hell you went into the bedroom for!

4. Extremely vivid dreams and recollection. I've had more sex dreams while pregnant than ever before and I recall all the details.

5. Super sensory powers. Last week I was waiting for our housemate to get up so I could ask him a car question. From upstairs in my house with closed doors I got a whiff of cigarette smoke indicating he was up. I ran outside and there he was, but no cigarette. "Did you just smoke a cigarette?" I asked, and yes he had. I can also smell fresh baked goods from a mile off.

6. I am unbelievably horny. Since the end of my first trimester I am hornier than before, which is saying a lot for me. This works out for me because my partner's way into it. So this item could also read Hotter sex life.

7. The things people say. I am blessed with a supportive family and friends. I hear a lot of reassuring things from all of them, especially when I call and tell them of my most recent emotional outburst or doubts. I also have encountered my first appalling pregnancy-related social situation. Last week I went to a barbecue at my neighbor's house where I visited with some people I haven't seen since early May. My neighbor's adult daughter said, "Wow! You're really filling out, huh?" and looked me up and down. I just smiled and thought, did she really just say that?

The best thing I've heard came from my Grandma though. She was joking with me about the unplanned nature of our pregnancy and said, "So, you took seriously what was poked at you in fun." Awesome, Grandma, awesome.

8. No one is allowed to eat your ice cream, black-forest ham, hormone free yogurt, etc. Hey, the pregnancy books mandate it.

9. Pants not fitting right is no longer cause for concern, it's par for the course. It's even kosher to use a rubber-band to keep last years shorts from falling down because they won't button.

10. Boobies. Bigger, more sensitive, tender, lucious, and responsive than ever before. I loved them before, and now they're almost doubly good. Might even been triply good by the end of this thing.

11. Teasing people about what we'll name the baby. I'm telling everyone we'll name him/her Jesus if he/she is born on Christmas.

Naive Song

2010-06-23T19:17:00.000-07:00

One thing I learned upon entering the adult world of customs is this: with regard to "small talk" the weather is always a great place to start. Every one has an opinion on it, and chances are high it's the same opinion. No one likes scary high winds that might cause damage, or sideways sleet, or 300 days of rain in a row. We can get past whatever differences we might perceive, or whatever else is catching our minds in a web, and look to something universal. Since I'm feeling rather intimidated by the blank page or screen these days, I'll do what I would do in elevators to break the ice.

Hey, how about this weather we're having? Don't you just love the summer-time? I know! The sunshine is like some happiness disease that I wait all year to catch.

There now, I feel better.

Speaking of blank pages, I haven't written a blog-post in ages! There is one good reason for that, I've been too busy sobbing uncontrollably!
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Have Faith in Pandemonium!

2010-06-05T14:45:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing. The crux, the request, the lesson I am most most most ready to learn and put into action, do you hear me universe?!

"Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive"

Everything I Ever Done, Gonna Give It Away

2010-06-05T14:15:00.000-07:00

I had a brief fantasy about reading my stories in public yesterday as a song on KEXP inspired me. I realized that my stories deserved to be shared. They exist, they are built with love, and they shouldn't sit dusty and dark, unheard. I should prepare some more of them, get them on portable paper and take them to the cities nearby. I should read them, for free. I have been thinking about me: what and how I seek interests out. There is no denying I am a writer first and foremost. Music, visual art, expressive motion, even song lyrics are all beyond the realm of my immediate draw. These genres inspire my writing. In turn my writing reflects what they say. I am friend to a great many musicians, photographers, painters, sculptors, collage-makers and so on; our exchange is always wrought best wherein they show me their work and I reflect my feelings from it back to them. They hear their work in my words and we're both happy to have expressed ourselves in each other. Here's something that's more practice than anything, and is probably not like what I would take on the road.

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The Serendipitous and Absurd

2010-06-04T08:53:00.000-07:00

In thinking about baby steps this morning I noticed that I have developed more patience and ability to cheer myself onward toward my goals. I'm getting better at holding the thought of what's next in the foreground of my mind and not thinking that all the other goals have fallen off the cliff. They're in the background, some goals are on deck, some are birds waiting to take flight in the unknown future.

I see that I am the same person. It's another intensely personal anniversary for me. I'm happy to see that I'm still the same scared, courageous, crazy, sane, wild person I was a year ago.

The Show That Existence Loves to Watch

2010-06-03T01:29:00.000-07:00

While I am not "very" pregnant as is in time elapsed, I am am very pregnant as in 100%.
Roller coaster moodiness. I brought it to the keyboard with a welling chest, fragments of feelings turning into disconnected words.

And I want to connect the words, blog, people, I want to. But another wave is moving in me and it is actually late. I am trying to set a better example of responsibility to one's work.

I am thinking, if I may just rap here now, of BSG and this speech about the fact that the man who destroyed human kind was made. And that he was loved. I'm thinking about how that speech echos what I wrote on the bathroom mirror tonight. You are loved. It made me pine for Burning Man. And recall my earlier pining for something solid. And oh, it made me feel that glowing expansion in my chest that happens when I know, I know, I know, I am loved. Not by the other humans I keep talking about only, but by the existence that made me.

The existence, it has all these names. Life, I can't not believe in it. It's the expansion in my chest, maybe that's all that I love and call existence. It doesn't matter. I feel so beautiful, so good, so rich, vibrant, energetic and open when I feel that expansion. That light, open door, in my chest.

That light went out, and another door closed in my throat, just now. That's what happens when
I'm nostalgic for it, but not really feeling it. That closing door takes my breath away. It often makes me cry.

Oh baby, but, here's a cool secret about this being pregnant thing. Listen. I am loved. The, woah, other human being, growing in my abdomen is loved. Why is it? Why are we? Why am I?

Why not believe we are loved, and that is why? We are loved. We make the show that existence loves to watch.

We Make the Show

2010-06-03T01:20:00.000-07:00

Today seems like a great day to share some titillating news. It does so because I have been on a hormone high that one mom referred to as like "riding a roller-coaster blindfolded." It has been such a great day that I might as well start my telling of it at the beginning.

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New Girl's Community

2010-05-10T22:23:00.001-07:00

I decided, just now, that this is the year of "The New Girl" for me. I've been the new girl in town since Thanksgiving '09. The new girl at work since March. The new girl in the family and on the block. In August I'll bring my new-self to Black Rock City and see what neighborhood community I can create and find myself in there. I guess I'll come home a bit new to myself too.
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I Eat My Stress

2010-05-07T13:27:00.000-07:00

I eat my stress. I hold it in, between my bones, in my muscles. My ligaments, tendons, cartilage act as cheeks, greedily holding my stress in, and refusing to digest it. My jaw, my breath, suck in. I eat my stress.

My digestion is slow. I've had problems since I was a kid. The first time I remember, I was in second or third grade in the girls bathroom. I remember the pain of not being able to let go and the blood in the bowl.

Water does not rid me of my held stress. I cannot wash it away. What works is working, that is how my stress gets digested. I need to exercise it. But, new projects become scraps laying on the counters or floors

I eat my stress until it poisons me, it held in my joints and skin. It stays, in its original form, not broken down, not worked through, until I hurt. I give myself junk: television, naps, unintentional puttering.

Behind the oxygen I might be breathing, remains the moment. Impassible guards of fear block the way. On the other side of the guards, subtle burning in my physical body begins to rouse and wake me.

Though anxiety, moodiness, sloth, and thickness failed to cue me, my muscles will not be ignored. My energy goes akimbo and my vision off balance. Until I work, I feel uncomfortable, bloated with ideas and themes.

Writing and yoga are work. Those are the main two. I have research and projects that call me, but writing and yoga must be done. I must listen to birdsong and laugh at my yard's uncanny animal calls.

I must breathe and yoke. I must be still and quiet. I must overcome distraction and taunting, fearful voices from within. Those voices are my stress burning off. Those voices must remind me to let go.

Like steam rising from a cold hearth and pops from old wood. I feel my heat build in my body and pockets open in my blood. Oxygen rushes in and the moment greets me. I thank and welcome it in.

It's not magic, it's work. I count my breathing, I laugh and delight. I say my mantras and watch my strengths gather again. I smile, I adjust, I feel for all the dark spots and breath light into them. I love.

My heart loosens up. My liver lets go. My stomach calms down and my back grows long. My hips fill with light and my shoulders with liquid. My knees are all courage and my kidneys, forgiving.

Movement leads the way because my brain is full of mischief. There are monkeys about, clattering pans, burning steam, loaded words and unspoken fears. Breath and movement is a path around that.

Regaining balance takes a certain amount of time and I don't always allot it. I don't always help myself, when I most need it. I don't always breathe when it's most appropriate. I try my best. I get back to work.

What's Going On: Last Monday Morning Pages

2010-04-30T09:28:00.006-07:00

I have Lilies of the Valley and Forget Me Nots in a vase on my table. I chopped kindling, started a good fire. Now Hadj is here to fix the writing desk. *smile*

I now have a writing desk. It face the entrance. Faces South. The crackling fire is at my back.

I listened to "It's Not Easy Being Green" yesterday. It's a collection of quotes from Jim Henson, his characters, and colleagues. It was inspiring. Now - this morning I feel more unsure. I am trying to recall a connection and my inspiration. I feel I have bled off the a lot of energy for others' sakes and the sake of my home. That is for the sake of me too, then. I think, though, I am having a hard time recalling something. I am even wondering what that thing might be.

According to the audio, Jim wanted to leave the world a better place. He certainly did so, too. What do I, or can I, do to improve the world my way? His great interest was the positive power of possible in television.

Mine is....what? Books? Teaching? Letters? Language? I feel I could give a lot to children's literature... Over all...

I am unsure. I want to lay back and silently be. Wait. Not contemplate, but wait for some answer.

On the other hand that does not seem to be the answer either.

So--what have been my stated goals? Debt freedom, learning and the pursuit of discovery, teacher training, writing, and travel. That my not be the order.

I think the fire needs a stir. And my toes are cold. And I want a tarot reading...

Dog Poem

2010-04-29T09:26:00.001-07:00

Dog energy
What was that?
Being drawn in
by deepest
brown eyes
down pointed snout
and back drawn ears.
Felt almost vampiric!
Her unending brown
depths!
I closed my eyes.
Put myself in perspective
Found my breath inside
again.

Coming Back to the River: Wednesday Morning Pages

2010-04-28T09:19:00.001-07:00

"Have a good day at work," I said and kissed Hadj. He walked back toward the house to prepare for his day of brick laying and earth moving. I walked up the hill to my dome. I have some morning pages to write.

I can feel my inspiration warm and ooze like sap out here. My imagination follows the crows' arguing and the flames licking the air.

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And the Conch Ran Away with the Spoon

2010-04-03T04:23:00.000-07:00

In Skinny Legs and All, by Tom Robbins, there is a philosophizing bean can, a cantankerous used sock, an ancient conch, and a mystical, yet submissive, dessert spoon. There are other, normally animate characters with stories too, and enough motifs to inform me that I can't quickly sum up the book for you now and still write the general blog-confessional that I have planned. Adding to my general coyness is this teeny hour of the day, which seems overtly ridiculous, for such a self-centered announcement. But, I suppose you "takes whats you gets." Rather than follow my initial impulse, to use Robbins's motifs and over-arching theme as an existing framework on which to set my own "epiphany" writing, let me give you a quick one liner, by way of segue: "illusions that obscure humanity's view of the true universe fall away, one by one, like Salome's veils."

In the book there is an act that spurs the humans (and bean cans, socks, and spoons) to wake up, or to "let the veils drop." It is the sensual long-dance of a skinny legged girl in the lounge of a restaurant owned by an Arab and a Jew which is situated across from the New York U.N. headquarters...

However, I want to write less about that book, and more about me and my so-called ~~life~~ veils...

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Superwhamadine Purge

2010-03-28T21:53:00.000-07:00

There's a made up word that I've heard Navy men use a few times. Sometimes Hadj will use this word to describe complex Navy stuff he did. He'll say it was "superwhamadine." Well, this cleanse we're doing is superwhamadine. As in it's effing difficult. As in, total freak out, where am I? what the hell is happening? ohmigod! freak out.

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Sprouting: Parasite Purge Embarcation

2010-03-22T13:21:00.002-07:00

The time has finally arrived with the spring equinox; we're embarking today on the parasite purge recommended in Healing with Whole Foods.

The recommended diet is based on one for people with severe candida imbalances. This turns out to mean that the list of what we "can't" eat seems much longer than the list of what we can eat. No more animal products: dairy, eggs, cheese, ice cream. No more sugars, starchy vegetables, very few fruits, almost no bread. What we will be eating a lot of are whole grains and grain sprouts, beans and their sprouts, cabbage, carrot, radish, celery, grapefruit; many of the sour and bitter flavors in the traditional Chinese medicine methods. We're back to the raw rice for breakfast for a few days, which is meant to clear out a blocked colon where many parasites lay dormant waiting for your immune system to get low so they can thrive. Many naps are expected.

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Sensuality Sharp and Searing as Fire

2010-03-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

Before I moved away from Chicago I made one last visit to my health center, this time for a healing touch session. I sat talking with the healer for a while before and after she did her work and had the book Your Body Speaks Your Mind by Deb Shapiro recommended to me. When I got my library card in January I put a bunch of books on request that they didn't have in my local branch and this one finally came in this week. Prior to it I had a short affair with Michael Pollan's book, The Botany of Desire, and also read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and her family. Thus far it's been a very "food and body" year. The focus there has only increased since I began my surprising new job as a cook in a simple cafe. By the way, I do want to get some posts written in the future, about the deep joy that wells up while I'm slicing artisan salamis and subsequently arranging them with arugula or fontina, for instance.

My tendency is to always push for more. More comfort, more style, more knowledge, more sensuality, more, more, more. While I feel that is something that makes me the brave, strong, and creative woman I am, it also can run me into the ground. I am realizing that my greed for a more full life can stress me out. What I want to do is be more gentle and possessed of a graceful equanimity in experiences. That does, somewhat obviously, mean that I'm still wanting more, which is painfully ironic to me, but at least the more I'm wanting is one I'm trying not to push for.

Lady Chatterley's Lover has been rising in my heart lately and so has nostalgia. I am full of vernal, sensual romance about life in general. These feelings have translated into many wonderful experiences. Upon gleefully accepting that I am healing in mind and body I also decided to put Deb Shapiro's book back in the library stacks for now. Though the introduction and first chapter were compelling I'm resisting the urge to push for more and let the knowledge I have worked so hard to acquire settle in. I'm taking a resting break, from the pursuit of direct learning, during which even more healing is bound to occur.

Instead, I am waiting for Lolita to come in at the library. I want to see how I take to Nabokov's most impacting and controversial work. I plan to be savoring prose, in general, for awhile. I aim to rekindle my infinite zeal for the soulful music of artistically wrought language and in doing so, also allow the eager student in me a relaxing break, abound in spring-time beauty and linguistic dance.

Reaping Reward, Planting Success

2010-03-20T10:21:00.260-07:00

In a post earlier this week I wrote about developing three things for myself: understanding, appreciation, and forgiveness. I realized, after that dream, that I know how to treat my body right. I have learned the material.

Ten years ago I woke up and saw that I was sorely abusing my one and only body. It took me some time to accept that I was regularly over eating, had an imbalanced diet, and unhealthy attitudes. I accepted eventually too that I needed to get regular exercise and learn how to manage, not medicate, my stress. Now, ten years later, I finally, really believe that I do know what choices to make to feel and be my best.

It is true that I could have chosen to believe this much sooner than I did. It is even true that I didn't "need" to believe that I was slumbering before and had since woken in a melee of self-abuse. I know we choose our perceptions, but sometimes, it seems much more like our perceptions choose us.

Nevertheless! Late bloomer and tough crowd or not, I am here. I am ready. Zoom in on my ass, Mr. Deville, cause it's hot and gettin' hotter.

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Letter Sent: To a Woman on OkC This Morning

2010-03-19T11:19:00.000-07:00

I was sure you'd be an air sign, what with all your interests abounding, but my psychic powers do not yet extend beyond myself and my intimates. Then I exclaimed, "Pisces! Man, they always grab me like that." And later, when you said you were "emo in your heart of hearts," I said, "Man! I totally know what she's talking about!"
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Dreams of Forgiveness

2010-03-18T22:16:00.002-07:00

Two weeks ago I woke with a start from a dream. Its intricacy overwhelmed me so I wrote the general feeling and reaction in my journal:

Details Sketch from One Month Ago

2010-03-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm sure I have mentioned that things were pretty intense on the inside of our heads, separately and collectively while Hadj and I were living with my folks in October. In that time I began blogging elsewhere because I needed an outlet. I guess I wanted it to be a bit more separate and only slightly more anonymous. I only ever got around to writing four posts and now that lovely little blog is sitting, neglected, at The Present Tense.

The name of the blog is from a Gwendolyn Brooks poem. The line in the title bar was tweeted by Poetry Magazine near the start date of the blog. How appropriate, to lift the text written by a famous poet from twitter for use in a blog about The Present moment.

My last defense / is the present tense

The first post jumps around in a stream of consciousness style, because the idea I was knocking into over and over was one of wanting to capture it all in words. Now. And now. And now again. Even the most mundane of scenes can be turned into identifiable art with the right eye for detail and adjectives. Let me give it another shot...

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January Three Minute Sketch

2010-03-15T08:00:00.000-07:00

Jeez I've missed my keyboard. My impulse is leading me all over the place in excitement to write something. I've got movie quotes, comparisons, kvetches, questions all running through my head and I'm not sure what's going to come out. I know I don't want to "journal entry" my readers to death, but I don't have a story all cooked up already either. So I'll say this:

I am not desperate anymore.

I'm not desperate for work like I used to be, I'm not desperate for distraction, for help, for love, for attention or even for ice cream.

Key Fob Sketch

2010-03-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

When I was packing to move to Belfair I uncovered a precious old key chain. It is a simple thing which has my specific name and two lyrical phrases, similar to what you might find in an unusually eloquent fortune cookie. When I found the plastic fob I remembered how delighted I was to find a ready made retail object baring my unusual name. It now sits on my desk under my computer monitor. The time is ripe, I suppose for me to delve more deeply into the meaning of "Wisdom beyond years / In life she'll gain, / By treating others well / Her honor will remain."

Unwoven Spirit Knowing Sketch

2010-03-13T08:00:00.001-08:00

Ever since I was a very little girl I have unconsciously desired to be with the spirit world most of the time. All my day dreaming took me to the spirit world. All my alone time, my reading, my staring off blankly, took me to the spirit world which then contained little more than nursery rhyme and images of picturesque natural expanses.

Knowing comes to me now, when I am in this spirit world. I understand now that I have desired too much time in that ethereal plane. I have been neglecting the human world in which my body resides.

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Action Sketch

2010-03-12T08:00:00.002-08:00

In the last week I have met the first three women that I may befriend out here. I have (with Hadj's help) designed, cut, and passed out "business cards" for my non-entity "business." I have gone on interviews for two different jobs, landed and begun one of those jobs. I visited a new doctor. I drove to Portland - for a three day, two night stay - and back. I went out determined to get drunk and flirt. I drew a map on my hand and found out I had North where East should have been. I reacquainted myself with the stellar locations of Orion, the Big Dipper, Mars, and Cassiopeia. My garden is not as tended as I'd like. My writing is unwoven. I do not do yoga as regularly as I wish to. One thing changes and it all changes, but I am learning the lessons of who I will become. I am more capable of accepting now, than ever before, that I am a spiritual being having a physical existence.

Sharks, Monkeys, and Pigs Sketch

2010-03-11T13:47:00.003-08:00

I took a funmergency jaunt to Portland last weekend. I desperately wanted sublime escape. I thought it could bring me quiet, time, and space, and would help me garner insights into the problems that were binding. I brought my journal with, and a bag of vegetables. I had a couple pairs of socks, a change of clothes, the book I'm reading. As soon as I finished having my transmission fluid changed on the trusty Subaru, I hit the road with big latte in the cup holder and the empathetic ear of my best pal in Chicago on line. She was listening to me complain and asking me clarifying questions. "I don't mean to sound insensitive," she prefaced at one point, "but are you really all that surprised?" It is no surprise to my ex-lovers; I am hard to pin down, emotionally speaking.

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Wednesday Night Sketch

2010-03-11T10:41:00.000-08:00

My hair smells like woodsmoke and the house is silent save for the high wheeze of my computer fan. Respite from interaction is mine right now, and it is sweet, even though I have had much solitude in the last several months. Just when I feel that I am getting a grip on some kind of satisfactory routine something changes and I have to move all the pieces and parts that comprise daily living around again. I may eventually find that I simply must give up one or two of my goals because of time. I may eventually find that it is somehow better for me to read only one book at a time instead of four. Some day, I may want to go faster in one direction rather than feel I am a glacial human being, cutting a wide swath ever so slowly.

Sent to a Craigslist Posting Today

2010-03-02T14:36:00.001-08:00

A short lifetime ago I spent five years as a highly professional administrative assistant. Since love has brought me to the Puget Sound to start anew I have spent considerable time rebuilding my life from the ground up. This building process has included a huge amount of cooking nourishing and delicious meals, organizing two (six if you include the pairs of pets) lives merged into one small space, and seeking footholds in the path to who I will become. I am a writer, a healer, a yogini, and someday I will offer these services professionally. Right now, I am a busy ant looking for a fulfilling way to garner more income.

Please check out my resumes. I have included my "service" resume, as well as my "administrative assistant" resume. They are both knockouts and include my contact information.

Before I leave you to the most special part of this particular letter I want to cover your "small print": I am available part-time and flexible. I drive a reliable green Subaru station wagon, which is apparently the mascot vehicle of the Puget Sound. I quit smoking on my 28th birthday, which was February 1 (go me!). I have two dogs and two cats, have taught children of all ages and adore them, their humor, and the insightful challenges they present (see "IRD Teacher" on resume for reference). I wash and dry; sweep and mop; brush and floss regularly, and quite enjoy doing so. I am a household manager extraordinaire; feel free to ask my fiancee.

Since you mentioned, specifically, recipes, I'd like to give you a glimpse at the most recent week's menu:

this morning: Spinach feta scramble with green olive garnish
Sunday dinner: Hoppin' John with brown rice and sharp cheddar
Saturday lunch: Winter "Shana Cobb" Salad with dried apples and onions, maple sausage and ham, broccoli, cauliflower, chives, and celery tossed with a poppy seed dressing
two quarts: Spicy kimchee
last Thursday: Potato leek soup
the week's bread: Pumpernickel
Wednesday dinner: home-made pizzas with home-made sauce; 1 ham, artichoke, onion & 1 green olive, artichoke, onion

All the best,

Shana R. Cobb
--
Nourish beginnings, let us nourish beginnings. Not all things in life are blest, but the seeds of all things are blest. The blessing is in the seed. - Muriel Rukeyser

Ride Life to Perfect Laughter

2010-02-26T08:40:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I get Really Excited when I write the three morning pages in my journal. So much so that I want to share it.
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The Present Tense - Blog Catch Up

2010-02-12T13:03:00.000-08:00

While H. and I were living with my folks things were pretty intense on the inside of our heads. In that time I began blogging elsewhere because I needed an outlet. I guess I wanted it to be a bit more separate and only slightly more anonymous. I only ever got around to writing three posts. Now that lovely little blog is sitting, neglected, at The Present Tense.

The name of the blog was inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks and Twitter. The line in the title bar was tweeted by Poetry Magazine near the start date of the blog. How appropriate, to lift the text of a famous poet from twitter to use in a blog about The Present moment.

My last defense / is the present tense.

The first post talks a bit about what I wanted to do with the blog. It's very "stream of consciousness" and tends to jump around where my mind and eyes jumped. I think I was nervous to write some of what is contained there, here, because I feared I would sound too "crystal shop." I am practicing every day at letting go of that kind of fear. Underneath that thinking is the belief that "X will not love me any more if I am Q." Insert your own X and Q. Where do you hide your true self?

I never developed the blog out further, but I did import the three entries I wrote to this blog.

Ffiery Mmaple "Maple lights fires in my eyes and Blue Spruce dances gaily with Wind."

Matters of the Heart "Another one of my favored contradictions: I prefer to dance like no one is watching, but I kind-of hope someone is."

Grey Matters "Inspiration is always waiting just on the other side of some door. There seem to be few tricks to inviting inspiration in;"

In other blogging news I am working on fleshing out my sex blog more. I trying to navigate real life developments which are hard to define. Due to my perfectionism I'm being secretive about the name and location of it. If you're excitable and curious, and want to know now, email me and I'll give you the URL. If you're indifferent to new developments, well, keep coming back here at least. When I'm more satisfied with the language I'm seeking for that blog, I'll publish an ad here and encourage readers to hit me up for the URL, which I will not dole out freely, since I'm keeping it anonymous for safety sake.

The High Priestess is Breathing Down My Neck

2010-02-11T06:15:00.000-08:00

I have a half hour before I go jogging a distance I still don't know the length of. I know it's over a mile, but am not confidant it's over two. Could be. I like to think I can jog two miles in approximately twenty minutes. I need to eat some food that will energize me, but not slow me down. I have a home-made "Lara bar" and about half a cup of our sauerkraut, which seems impossibly tastier every time I take a bite.

I am back to my morning pages again. I wish I could say it's because I'm am persistently disciplined, but it's really because I'm going through an "annoyed" phase.
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The Case of the Mystery JOGGING Shoes

2010-02-04T12:02:00.006-08:00

There's a lot under the surface of life, everyone knows that. A lot of malice and dread and guilt, and so much loneliness, where you wouldn't really expect to find it, either. -Gilead, Marilynne Robinson

I love that it is nearly impossible to tell what a person's life is really like. The mystery of their daily interactions will always be an unsolved one to you. And no one can ever know exactly how this or that conversation went, which you carried with you all the way through dinner, without even knowing it. No one can ever know why the phrase your neighbor said sticks to your throat weeks later, or why you unfairly compare yourself to strangers on the internet. We're all mysteries to each other, and yet all familiar too. It seems primitive somehow, to be knocking about thinking we know the whys and what fors of another person when we hardly know why we're still talking to our ex-boyfriend in our head.

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