Living-Deliberately.com

found on Mimi’s blog today:

Outside My Window …it is urban, with sidewalks and trees planted with square grates surrounding their bases.

I am thinking … about cupcakes.

I am thankful for …the help of my parents.

From the kitchen … I haven’t been in one today.  Strange but true.

I am wearing … Flirt jeans from Old Navy, a blue t-shirt, and sandals.

I am creating …blogs for a living.  Strange but true.

I am going … to meet new people today.

I am reading … Dark Nights of the Soul…quite possibly one of the best “self-help” books I’ve ever read.

I am hoping … and that in and of itself is a miracle.

I am hearing … the voices of friends, talking in the next room.

Around the house …my family is visiting with rarely seen relatives and catching up.

One of my favorite things … Rainex for windshields.

A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week: Cupcakes. Meetings. Driving. Phone calls. Hoping.

Life’s busy these days but here are a few things I’m thinking about:

• I think life with a Clinton around is Endless Drama. The Bill Years were like that and the Hillary Campaign is like that…devisive, draining, negative…a constant battle. Seth’s blog dealt with the media/drama/bias issue today. I think it would be better for her to drop out, since she isn’t winning tangibly anyway, and let the country focus on the two candidates leading their parties and the change needed on the issues. She could be more proactive in other arenas, and would probably see a better return for her efforts. And the rest of us could MOVE ON from the Bush/Clinton/Bush/Clinton political circle…it’s making us dizzy.
• Our local grocery store, Winn Dixie, is a southern company. Our store is in a farming community. It’s a couple of hours away from delicate strawberries, fantastic shrimp, citrus groves, and dairy. Locally we have abundant produce.  AND YET…the store’s strawberries are moldy and from California. The seafood is all from Thailand. The orange juice and dairy is all from the west too. Who the hell is doing their buying and WHY are they blaming the price of food on the price of gas?
• I had three feet of hair yesterday. Time for a trim. Went in for three inches, ended up with two. Needed some front trimming so opted for “long layers”. Ended up with layers almost to my shoulder and a chunk of long hair left in the back not unlike a rat tail.  To fix it, that must go, which means I ended up with 6-8 inches removed. There are so many greater dramas in the world, nee’ my life, and yet this one has me pouting in consternation.  I can not pretend it doesn’t matter. It is like insult added to injury. On the bright side: hair grows.

And I’m so surprised! I’ve tried the micro-blogging thing a few times before and could never see the point. And maybe I still don’t get *the* point (elusive as it may be amongst internet noise and clutter). But what I do adore is the 140-character limit! It’s so fun to try to say something of substance in such a short restriction and the perfect exercise for an oft-long-winded writer like me! You can see my Twitter.com updates over there in my sidebar, about a third of the way down, and you can join me by clicking here.

Last night I dreamed that I’d learned how to bake the most amazing French bread…it had a crusty outside and a tender interior, at once pillowy and chewy and warm. In the dream I took them from the oven, smelled them, thumped them and heard the hollow reply. I wiped flour dusted hands on a coarse, canvasy apron. When I ate the bread, I think the crust was salty. For a hungry girl eating too much sushi and drinking too much coffee, this was a most tantalizing dream. Hedonistic bread indeed.

This morning the newspaper spelled the usual doom and gloom. Are all the papers around the country like this right now? This one, The Florida Times Union, seems to never fail to have some enormously dreary story, displaying the minutia of economic backlash, on the front page. “Attention! Attention! Read All About It! Times Are Tough!” (as if we didn’t already know?) It might be a story on how restaurants are scaling back on portions or beef…today it was lean offering plates and the Wheat shortage.

I wonder though. Food has been priced artificially low in the country for a very long time. We are a nation dependent on corn and wheat and their many created bi-products (Twinkies and Corn Flakes anyone?). And sure less wheat is being grown as farmers shift to corn for ethanol. But grains have been in surplus in the past and subsidies, resulting in farmers making more from their government check than a harvested crop, have been a real problem. So I wonder…is this rise in expense/decrease in supply necessarily a “crisis”?

Looking at native diets around the world, it doesn’t take long to find cultures that live quite healthfully with something other than corn and wheat as their daily bread. We can even look into our own country, where corn and wheat allergies are increasingly rampant, to find very healthy and happy people who never eat the stuff.

So what if flour costs more? It’s not as essential as gas or other food right now. Americans can probably eat less of it and be just fine. Yes, milk and oats and fruit and everything else is costing more too….I’m not saying there isn’t a problem. I guess what I’m questioning is if this particular change, which may just be a healthful one, is really dire and is really front page news.

I realize that I’m thinking out loud here rather than offering a solution. I’m considering. I know that while I kick and scream and cuss over how much money it takes to fill my gas tank, feeling duped by politicians and foreigners, I don’t have the same reaction to food prices. On the other side of the grocery store are farmers working very hard for their living to feed a public that mostly takes them for granted. It’s going to cost to eat, either in money or sweat and land.

Not running. Not marching. Sometimes leading, sometimes following. Sometimes walking, but only a step at a time, and always listening.

It’s humbling to trip over that large lump in the carpet, cleverly (or not so) disguising the Elephant. I prefer hardwood flooring anyway…which is to say, I prefer uncluttered, clean, honest, natural elemental living. Carpet collects dust, dirt, and dander and buries out of the reach of any vacuum. It’s handy for hiding what lies beneath. But then, the day of revelation always comes and the truth must be faced….

So I’m sitting on purpose. The carpet has been ripped out from under us. The floor beneath is scratched and worn but it’s real. My legs are crossed and my eyes are closed and my ears and mind are open.  I no longer feel a call for a big mantra, a big movement…massive momentum that sweeps up and carries away.  Maybe it’s because there is still a rather large bruise on my backside from that fall. Maybe this is just a season for sitting and listening and opening.

I read a bumper sticker today that said, “No Farms, No Food.” I marveled at the simple truth there. If we don’t grow it, we won’t eat. It’s simple and complex, all at the same time. Having farms to grow food requires steps along the way that promote sustainable farming. A million decisions along the way will determine if we have farms or not, and thus, food or not.  And someone removed all the carpet from that truth, down to the bare, four words that sum it all up.  Someone, and I’d bet they are someone familiar with dirt and seeds and weather patterns and The Farm Bill, knew to scrape away the hyperbole and clutter down to the sitting-down essence.

So here I am: I want to be authentically human. Just that. A real person who really loves and is loved. Under the screw-ups and imperfections and ideals and visions and goals…under the defining roles and positions filled, we all have the same humanity. We can all deliberately sit down and hear one another if we try. Maybe part of me hopes more will be accomplished that way than all the militant crusades I could go on put together.

If we want food, we must farm. If we want to hear, we must listen. Be quiet on purpose. Be willing to fail and still love the self beneath. Take this day and let it be. And maybe sweep my floor each morning.

It wasn’t, technically, of course. A year ago we were chrismated on Lazarus Saturday and had our first Pascha here in Florida, as it was also the same week as Easter, while we visited family. It was freezing cold, we had no idea what was going on, didn’t know how to pack a basket, we got there late and left early, fought the whole way home, and I vowed last year that every year after I would do everything I could to make sure I celebrated Pascha with the same people I’d gone through Lent with. It matters. I hope I never have to travel during Holy Week again but wherever I am, suffer and celebrate with the same souls.

And so, this year, I did. Ironically, I am now a regular part of that same church in Florida, and have come to love the faces that a year ago, were strangers to me. This year, I was able to ask someone how they did their Pascal service, how to pack a basket, what to expect. We knew to come early and the kids played on the lawn, giggling with new friends young and old. We brought pillows and sleepy little heads rested while we stood in the quiet, mourning of the Holy Saturday half of the service. The church was packed…there were people standing outside but this year, it was not us. A friend shared his prayer book with me. Another friend helped make sure my children weren’t squashed in the press of people and candles. I found myself crying…the grief of the tomb, the light gone, the darkness, and then the growing light from the altar…spreading from candle to candle, and then as we processed around the church and we all shouted, “He is RISEN!” in so many languages, and felt the true restoration of hope and light and peace. It was not metaphorical for me…the transformation is absolutely literal in my life this year.

And then, oh my, the PARTY! The baskets (mine held meat pies, Cardomom braids, brie and apples, wine, chocolate, and lillies) were all generously blessed and we shared and laughed and hugged….(for there is a tremendous amount of hugging that goes on in an Orthodox church, most especially on Pascha!). New friendships continued to be made and I cried again at being on the inside this year, amongst so much joy. We stayed in town (no driving hours away in the wee hours of the morning) with friends, who with much hospitality showed me again how even as a gypsie traveler this year, God always provides for us. Breakfast and swimming and more hugging (and more “He is Risen!” greetings!) and then to a pan-Orthodox picnic.

More glorious feasting food, grills, happy faces of every ethnicity, children running, egg hunts and tosses, soccer games, music, laughing, hugging, hugging, hugging, dappled sunshine from large and ancient shady oaks…utter joy, all of it.

I got a notion of why this is called “Bright Week”…the glow, the joy, the restoration just carries. There is no doubt more of a theological connotation to it than that I’m sure but it feels as if It could not possibly be contained in one service or one day or one week. The overflow is just too massive for that. This knowing that He “trampled down death by death”, that He was victorious, that there is light in the world, is like the shining glow on the face when there is news of a new baby or one is in love…happiness that spills over, optimism that can not be contained. The mechanics of complicated life still demand time and attention but it’s as if I’m kind of floating over them…part of me is still in that service, watching the spread of light grow and feeling the swell of anticipation. I’m so glad that the liturgical calendar allows time for this beautiful season, that it lasts longer than a day, that the effects of such transformative hope on the human soul is given time to be processed and acknowledged.

“He is Risen!”

P.S…this is an effervescent depiction of the joy that crosses language, enthic, and global lines…watch and enjoy.

1 Corinthians 13

Love

1If I speak in the tongues^[a] of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,^[b] but have not love, I gain nothing.4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. 11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 12Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

One of the things my counselor encourages me to look at is how I feel when I come away from someone. That feeling, that perception, is very often a valuable clue as to what kind of influence they are in my life, and how they really feel about me (which may differ from their words). For instance, someone who you leave feeling happy and empowered is likely not trying to oppress or coerce you. Someone who leaves you feeling defeated or dirty, has little respect for you, etc.

I’ve started making it a bit of a litmus test for the myriad of relationships I have. And I’m seeing the importance of knowing how someone really feels about you/your choices, during times of change and transition.

Earlier last year I was trying on a thought that I’d had in a dream. It was basically this, “Underestimate me and I’ll likely surprise you. But I’d rather you’d believed in me from the start”. Not a statement without flaw, but it was the start of steps toward realizing my own self-worth.

Because it all wraps back up into love. If someone loves you, they will believe in you and your abilities to do well. They will want you to do well, to improve, to grow, to do better. They will not box you in, not try to manipulate you into their purposes. They will not cage arguments motivated by envy with the appearance of caring.

When going through change (and every life not entrenched in stagnancy *will* experience change, deliberate or not), everyone needs voices of support around them. Strong voices, who think they are awesome people, even in times when it’s hard to see that themselves. I wonder if, in the absence of strong support, silence would be preferred to a negative? Then, at least in the quiet, there is a chance of an angel whisper on the breeze, reminding the soul of potential…of faith, hope, and love.

I’m reminded of the old platitude, “if you can’t say anything nice, say nothing at all”. Negative voices are like hollow, clanging cymbals…just noise, rather than adding anything of merit to the conversation of life. In the decluttering process, ridding of noise both tangible and not, stillness and peace is found. Angels can indeed whisper. And now and then to the clean quiet, a voice is introduced and the decision made whether or not to let it in.

There is the reward of honing self-worth. How does that voice make me feel? Do they know how wonderful my children are, or do they only see them as entanglements? Do they think I’m capable and confident and worthy? Would they feel it an honor to be invited into our lives? Because self-worth leaves in it’s wake a peace that knows without voices, we’ll still be okay. We’ve cut out the clanging cymbals and stood in the silence and heard the whisper of faith, hope, and love on the breeze.

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

Not without flaw. Not yet perfect. But to be “fully known” is something that happens where there is real love present. Anything else is mere dilution. Love is never without risk, without challenge, without stretching. Maybe therein lies it’s value. So as I love, so do I grow.

I’ve seen these done several places…a few newspapers and People magazine…comparisons of various reusable bags available on the market. None of them included the BEST bag though so I’m writing my own about my favorite bag and why I think it’s better than the others. If a week’s groceries takes 10 bags (and that’s modest, because they usually double bag), that is 40-50 a month, or between 520 and 600 bags a year FOR ONE FAMILY. It’s nigh impossible to find enough recycling sources for that many bags and a sickening use of energy and waste production. So bring on the reusable bags!!!!

Chico Bags:

I saw these little cuties in the store the other night…seemed like a good option for throwing in my purse so I’d always have on hand, not unlike the Bummi Bag I used to carry for cloth diapers and wet spills when I had babies. They are cheap (5/each) and lightweight. The website says they make sure the China-production is fair labor/fair wage. They are nylon and can hold 20 lbs. Favorite selling point? Their small size when balled up. I think I’d use these in place of a baggie…but not a grocery bag.

Ecobags, offering The Green Bag: The Ecobags site offers several kinds of bags but for grocery bag purposes, I’ll focus on The Green Bag. It’s made from polypropylene and has a flat bottom. At just a couple of bucks a piece, they are cheap. I actually don’t trust the price….the adage, “you get what you pay for” comes to mind. I need durability!! This bag may be great for a jam… just getting a few things at the store and one’s available for an impulse buy at the check out stand; I may buy one knowing I’d use it at least a few more times. But given time to think about it, I think I’d rule this out as potential clutter, not being strong enough to go the distance.

Envirosax: Oooo!!! What a pretty site! And pretty bags too! My first reaction to these bags is that I wish the straps were longer! They’d make cute messenger bags (what I use for a side-carry purse)! They cost 8.50/bag and there are a few styles currently out of stock. I do wish it were a bit more obvious on the site what the product construction is, where it’s made, and how much they can carry. That bottom seam-design seems like it would strain. But these bags are going to speak to a certain kind of customer and more power to them!

Earth Totes:

Australian site offering organic cotton and hemp bags. Oy! Pretty cool….but alas, they are Australian and that intimidates me about ordering overseas. I would definitely look for their cool designs while in my health food store. And they DO have long enough handles to be side-carry. One thing….I think I’d use this as a typical tote and not as a grocery bag because they are too hippy-cool to gunk up weekly shopping.

The Use-Again Bag: So…full disclosure…my mom owns this venture. But I LOVE these bags and bein’ her kid doesn’t keep me from getting to talk about them! The are 100% American made. Come in great colors. Nylon…so they can be balled up, folded up, washed, dried, and they’ll still be great looking and lightweight. The handles are super strong (can hold up to 60lbs for those one-trippers out there!) and have hooks on the insides so they fit into the brackets that the store baggers use.

They are pretty, durable, compact, strong…they are the total package in reusable grocery bag design. And they aren’t expensive either…10/apiece and with durability that exceeds expectations. A supply of these bags will last and go the distance with families who buy a lot of groceries. We’ve used them for overnight travel totes, quick trips to the store (they fold small and fit in a purse easily), trips to bulk warehouses, and the get used every week for the regular grocery runs.

But whatever bag you use, make the switch away from plastic!! This is one way, we ALL can have an immediate impact on our environment…for the better!

Tomorrow is the anniversary in the liturgical year of my Chrismation into the Orthodox Church.  What a journey it has been… a year of discovery, admitting the truth, finding forgiveness, love, and healing. This year I expect to more thoroughly participate in Holy Week and really, my first Pasca, having missed out on most of it last year due to travel and family issues.  It’s a quiet countdown, and end to the lenten season, and a feeling of joyful anticipation as we look forward to calling out, “He Is Risen!”. Somehow, it’s as if the voices and threads of history are joining us modern-day believers in the rich tapestry of the coming days.

This story in the NY Times is warm and inspiring…average people, who love where they live, see the bright side of things, and change their environment without debt….beautiful. I can’t wait to read his book, “All the Way Home: Building a Family in A Falling Down House”.

This is how they found it,

A rogue wisteria in the yard had eaten its way through the side of the house where the chimney met the wood, and was, Mr. Giffels would discover later, wending its way across the attic floor. Inside, a harp stood in a darkened, junk-filled living room. The smell of cat urine was pervasive. The house was not, as everyone had thought, deserted. The inhabitant was an elderly woman, bent over with osteoporosis, who seemed lost in a world of her own. When the Giffelses walked into the solarium, they saw a ceiling rotted to the laths, as well as two chandeliers. As a couple who loved tragic ruins, they didn’t have a chance.

Nasty Food Of the Month: Margarine

Image from bigoven.com

I don’t think I ever understood the appeal of margarine. Greasy and weird tasting… ick. It seemed weird to me that the stuff never aged, never grew mold. But there’s a lot of positive press for it, when research is spun to isolate one element and then create a product that addresses that one element, and then science enters in, and the audience already eats a host of non-foods anyway….

My instinct tells me that no matter what the latest research says, when faced between a real food and a non-food, my body will always know what to do better with the real food.

The book Nourishing Traditions, which honestly changed my food life more than any other book I’ve read on the subject, has this to say about the globby-perpetually-yellow- I-can’t-believe-people-eat-this-stuff…..

“Hydrongenation is the process that turns polyunsaturates, normally liquid at room temperature, into fats that are solid at room temperature–margarine and shortening. To produce them, manufacturers begin with the cheapest oils–soy, corn, cottonseed or canola, already rancid from the extraction process–and mix them with tiny metal particles–usually nickel oxide. The oil with it’s nickel catalyst is then subjected to hydrogen gas at a high pressure, hig-temperature reactor. Next, soap-like emuslifiers and starch are squeezed into the mixture to give it a better consistency; the oil is yet again subjected to high temperatures when it is steamed cleaned. This removes it’s unpleasant odor. Margarine’s natural color, an unappetizing grey, is removed by bleach. Dyes and strong flavors must then be added to make it resemble butter. Finally, the mixture is compressed and packaged in blocks or tubs and sold as a health food.”

from another page:

” Excess consumption of polyunsaturated oils has been shown to contribute to a large number of disease conditions including increased cancer and heart disease, immune system dysfunction, damage to the liver, reproductive organs and lungs, digestive disorders, depressed learning ability, impaired growth, and weight gain.”

“One of the reasons the polyunsaturates cause so many health problems is that they tend to become oxidized or rancid when subjected to heat, oxygen and moisture as in cooking and processing. Rancid oils are characterized by free radicals–that is, single atoms or clusters with an impaired electron in an outer orbit. These compounds are extremely reactive chemically.”

And aw gee, free radicals are badies of the kind where the info about them is widely available. Want more facts and research documentation? It’s in the book. But really….my largest selling point against margarine and in favor of butter is how good it tastes, how real it is, (organic bodies can deal with organic foods much easier than plastic…common sense!), and good I FEEL. Saturated fat is necessary for learning, concentration, emotional stability, growth, and health. Butter doesn’t need to go through a huge process and then have nutrition and taste added in because it’s already, quite naturally, there!

One more nasty on margarine:

“I put a cube of margarine, the kind I had been selling, on a saucer and placed the saucer on the window sill in the back room of my store. I reasoned that if I made it readily available and if it was real food, insects and microoraganisms would invite themselves to the feast. Flies and ants and mold would be all over it just as if it were butter. That cube of margarine became infamous. I left it sitting on the windowsill for about two years. Nobody ever saw an insect of any description go near it. Not one spect of mold ever grew on it. All that ever happened was that it kind of half-puddled down from the heat of the sun beating through the windowpane, and it got dusty….”

In early May! So

• set a goal.
• Articulate it.
• Make a plan for meeting it.
• If you can, blog it (or use my comment section if you don’t have a blog).
• Make sure you link back here so I can find you and/or leave me a comment directing me to your site.

At the end of the month we’ll post progress and then I’ll choose a winner.  The prize is a free Use Again Bag!!

And pssst!!! Coming in June, the biggest contest I could possibly think of, designed to deliberately impact the world for good! Be watching for my post after Memorial Day!

Story One: a friend and I were having a lunch at the kind of place where you order at the counter, get a marker of some sort, and then it’s brought to your table. Drinks are self-serve after getting a cup from the cashier. When I ordered my standard “water with lemon” she said, “Oh, did you know we are out of ice?”

“Out of ice?”

“Yes, ” she said. “We ran out”.

a little bufuddled, I gave her a confused look and asked, “how do you run out of ice?”

“Oh, our machine broke and we’re trying to get someone in to fix it”.

Ah. So they didn’t “run out”….they have a broken machine. Now I’m thinking of all the times I’ve ordered a fast food milk shake and been told they “ran out” when in fact they just didn’t clean their machine the night before and now can’t use it.

Lunch chatter between my friend and I included lamentations of ailing customer service, and how many other ways that could have been addressed, rather than sending busy lunch customers to their tables with iceless cups.

Story Two: happened about a week later in a different state. A Chik-Fil-A, located between a hospital, a college, and a bustling shopping center is understandably full at lunch. When I pulled into the parking lot the first thing I noticed was the manager directing traffic into two lines: one for the drive thru and the other, to the parking spaces. As soon as I was calmly led to the drive thru line (for there seemed to be no air of hurried panic among the drivers in a crowded lot at a busy hour as I would have expected), a girl approached my window with a pad in hand. She cheerfully took my order and handed me the slip of paper.

Two car lengths up (still a good four from the speaker box), another girl with a cell phone in hand took my paper and gave the cashier inside my order, and me, my total. The line moved quickly; I paid with my debit card and got my food in the next moment.

The whole thing took less time than it ordinarily would have had their speaker been in working order.

I was stunned. Normally, when a fast food restaurant has a broken speaker, they tape up a scribbled sign and either take orders at the window (much further down the line, resulting in less time to assemble orders) or make customers scream over staticky sound. This manager clearly understood that he had more than a “task” to address and kept the “experience” at the forefront of his mind.

So here’s a shout out for a job well done to the East Chase Chik-Fil-A in Montgomery, an encouragement to do better to the Trio restuarant in Knoxville, and a thanks to Dennis Snow for articulating the difference between “task” oriented and “experience” oriented customer service.

Little Samuel was born on Tuesday night, making me an Auntie again. Being his Mommy’s doula was a complete privilege, being her sister is a greater one. And I know I”m more than a little biased…but this baby is beautiful!

From the summer of 2005 to the summer of 2006 we moved three times. I count them as gardens lost: 3 planted, 3 left.  In 2007 the years of tension and disfuntion were working their way to a head, like glass buried under skin’s surface, slowly festering. The unraveling has led to half  a year of forced transience with no certain end in sight. In reading through my archives, I “hear” certain repeated threads and thoughts…one of them has been my longing to settle in security, to plant in soil that I’ll turn season after season. Though life has required a gypsie-like flexibility, it isn’t who I really am, and the hunger remains. And as this journey progresses, I suspect my thirst is more for a relational home than a positional one.  This post was first written two years ago…March 2006. I’d like to dedicate it to all the reluctant travelers out there….especially the military wives who move and move and move.

You know that feeling when the blankets and sheets are all tangled up around your legs and feet and your toes can’t find their way out to some cooler air? When every spot on your pillow is hot and you just want to find a refreshing corner? When you’ve had on flannel bottoms and a T for too many days and you desperately want to shower and change but still feel dizzy every time you get up?

Physically and metaphorically, that’s how I feel. We’ve had two weeks of whatever virus this is and there are still fevers and coughs in the house. So, another week and we still won’t be going anywhere both for our own benefit and everyone around us. Cabin fever took a while to set in though…it pretty chilly out there and feelin’ yucky, no one really wanted to upset thier cozy little spots. It’s a weird cold: We don’t particularly want to watch TV or read or work puzzles. Just layin’ there is just fine.

An interesting aspect of this line of germs is the fastidious feelings it leaves it’s sufferers with. I chuckle sometimes when reading in my homeopathic book some of the symptoms that say, “sufferer wants attention but not to be touched”, or “patient feel intensely about thier environment and may spend time straightening thier bed covers”. And sure enough, there are cold strains that make us feel just like that! This one has nagged me with cleanliness. Far away from just lying there and not caring, if I’m going to go through the effort of being up, I”m going to have the laundry cycled, the meat laid out, the counters wiped down. It bugs me that the floor needs mopping and yesterday I vacummed in spurts every time my sinus pressure let up a little.

It’s gorgeous outside this morning, so sunny and bright. We had frost on the hill so I know it’s cold. But I can almost hear the ground pounding and asking when I’m coming out to turn it over. We’re suposed to put in a good gardening weekend this coming Saturday, health allowing. I’m somewhat ambivilant. I think I’m feeling the reality of being a “transplant’. If I put alot of work into this garden, how long will it be mine? A year probably but there’s also a chance I won’t see it to harvest. As fat cats cross our yard in pursuit of birds and ground creatures (we see 6 or so a day) I long for the ability to have pets again. The kids want a dog. I feel that old link to St. Francis, the saint my birth hospital was named for, the one who I sometimes wonder doesn’t mysteriously have some affect on my longing to be around animals. Being sick, we’ve missed important contacts with new friends. It’s nice to be included in party guest lists and makes us feel like we are starting to belong. Then, to miss them, and realize how easily it would be for us to just fade away, almost unoticed is unsettling. After all, a short 10 months ago these people didn’t know we even existed. Miss a few more functions and we won’t be missed. It’s no one’s fault; just a result of a transient society I think. I LONG for some ROOTS. I want to put some down on land we’ll own. I want the kids to stretch on ground they can be sure will still be part of our lives next year. This transplant is getting thin and leggy, reaching for light, and whose little tendrils of root are hitting the sides of the pot and getting circular and tangled.

I’ve got tons to do and probably not enough time to get it all done. It seems what is needed first though is some time to straighten things out. Beit covers or searching roots or emotions or tasks…it’s time for a little order.