Living-Deliberately.com

• the cucumbers are beginning to be abundant! Yesterday we ate 5 and today I made freezer pickles out of another five plus a vidalia from the produce market yesterday. No time for canning but I really, really want to make some batches of Bread and Butters before the summer’s end.
• The corn is waist high and starting to put out those feathery looking tops. The lettuce is thick and high and seems to enjoy being picked over every other day for a salad. The cilantro went *crazy*.
• The peas are Pathetic. Huge long vines but only a few pods. And now the bottoms are dying so they are at their end. No idea what I did wrong.
• Prolific green beans! I blanched and froze three bags today. One of those was thanks to a contribution from our Most Wonderful Landlord, who stopped by yesterday with the beans, some squash, and 18 of his perfect eggs.
• God has made letting go of my garden quite a bit easier! My dear friend is going to be renting this place after us!! She’s a kindred spirit and I know my garden is good hands. I tried transplanting a few things the other day and they are surviving but not very happy about it; I’m going to just leave most everything behind for her. The plants are happier that way and maybe it will some comfort to my friend, who will be leaving a much-loved garden of her own behind. I’m more than satisfied just knowing I can find out if the corn did well and if the tomatoes really were as prolific as predicted. Once again, God is in the details.
• Richard, Chipotle, and the Six Redheads are doing fine. They are growing so fast! I’m going to need a bigger brooding box for them before week’s end or they’ll be flying out!

The kids and I are listening to The Bridge to Terebithia in the car this week. It’s a great listen; full of the beauty of discovery and knowledge and personal power to overcome circumstance. And we’ve had some nice times in the car this week. Going to get our chickens on a warm summer day, windows down, bees buzzing in the grass and hay mowing in the air couldn’t have been better. Today I drowzily sipped my coffee while we toodled around getting a gift here, produce there, listening to this great story all the while.

Then Janice steals Maybelle’s Twinkies and Andrew says, “hey Mom…what’s a Twinkie?”

I’m not kidding when I say I almost slammed on the brakes. My kids had no idea what a Twinkie was. Not a King Don either. Or a Suzie Q. Or a Snowball. Hostess treats I grew up with, sometimes in the freezer and sometimes smooshed into perfection in my lunchbox, were completely alien to my kids’ experience.

Most of the time this would make me smuggly happy! They are full of baddies. And I’m absolutely positive that they are made with even worse stuff than they were 20 years ago when I crammed my tongue into the center of the cupcake to dig out the frosting in one sickingly sweet dwallop. A couple of weeks ago, on a Simple Living forum, someone posted about how they have a weakness for junk food and Twinkies were top of the list and I was honestly grossed out. Ewwwww. Yuck. Not that I don’t have my own little list of junk LOL but it was not that kind of moment if kwim.

So there I was, stopped, and the kids were looking at me like, “what is wrong with you?” and was confronting the fluffy-frosting truth that I was not okay that they didn’t know what a Twinkie was. A whole cultural reference was lost on them, zoom! Right over their little strawberry-blond heads. Sometimes food snobbery goes too far.

And so a box went into my grocery cart and we dug in when we got home. They were a little underwhelmed. I could taste the lard and preservatives. The holes are still in the bottom and they are still soft and golden. They ate ‘em up and left the wrappers laying around, mission accomplished. Anticlimatic if I’m honest. But hey…at least they are de-mystified :D.

Read THIS if you think Walmart is going Green based on their new plans to carry more organics.

You may have to register at the NY Times site first, but it’s free and easy and the reading is worth it.

The cereal-for-breakfast thing got old really, really fast. But it’s just one more week until we move and then we can get back to normal.

Friday:

BK: cereal

LN: PBJ and fruit

DN: Tuscan Bean spread on french bread with a green salad

Saturday:

BK: Buttermilk Pancakes with Maple Syrup and Sausage

LN: Tomato/White Bean Crostini, fridge pickles, cheese wedges

DN: Fajitas and Milkshakes

Sunday:

BK: Eggs Benedict
LN: Tomato/Basil pizza, Greek Olives, and Yellow Cake with Cocoa Frosting

DN: leftovers or Fend For Yourself

Monday:

BK: Eggs and veggies

LN: Kefir Smoothie

DN: Country Ribs, Creamy Fried Corn, Salad

Tuesday:

BK: Cereal (boo hiss LOL)

LN: Kefir Smoothie

DN: Vidalia Onion Souffle, fridge pickles, tomato slices, cheese

Wednesday:

BK: cereal

LN: leftovers or PBJ

DN: Zuchinni Boats, fruit salad, Biscuits and honey

Thursday:

BK: Leftovers or PBJ

DN: Beans and Rice, topped with cheese and sauted veggies

My chickens, that is!!! :D

I woke up with a hunger to get outside. We’re still having cool, country mornings and the birds were singing when I woke up. David came in from work all energized and perky and anxious to tell me the wonderful details of yesterday’s home inspection. Inhaling the scent of coffee and not really waking up for a good hour, I tried to take it in. More cardboard was NOT appealing today and I was dragging my feet.

So, spontaneously we packed up and headed to the co-op store to buy our chick supplies and then over to Jen’s to get our babies. They came in on Sunday but I wasn’t ready for them with everything else. It was bumming me out pretty badly though that I was going to miss their fuzzy-chick size entirely, getting them in that weird and awkward feather stage instead. And, having to leave my whole corn patch and a good 75% of my maturing garden was at the forefront of my mind so I “changed what I could” and went and got my babies!!

They are soooo cute!! We have two little unexpected ones in addition to the five we ordered. Richard is a rooster, a Red Star they put in for extra warmth. And Chipotle is a “fancy breed”, which we haven’t identified yet, and we don’t know he/she/it is a rooster or hen. They threw in an extra Rhode Island Red too for good measure and so we have….(drumroll)…. SIX RED HEADS!!!

How cool is that?!

Their brooding box is in the kitchen and they are chirping happily. I think the finches are freaked out that other birds are making noises so close to them. I’ve got lots of plants to get potted for next week and I plan to just fairly wallow in the fresh air and dusty grass. It’s a day for barefeet.

We caught this little story on PBS last night and I’m so glad we did! See more here. It was a pretty captivating display of how times have changed and how the American Farmer has to change and adapt ahead of the curve to survive. And really, it’s beautiful to watch, because his farm is more than suriviving, it’s thriving beautifully and having a real impact. He’s a creative soul, quirkly and contemplative, and in more ways than one an example of agrarians of our time.

I wanted a better picture but this was the only one I could get to let me use it’s location:

From the website:  “THE REAL DIRT ON FARMER JOHN is the award-winning true story of third-generation American farmer John Peterson’s hero’s journey of success, tribulation, failure and rebirth, through his childhood in the ‘50s, the tumultuous ‘60s, the hippie-influenced ‘70s, and the farm-crisis ‘80s, culminating in his transformation-based creation of a biodynamic, organic CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farm serving 1500 families in the Chicago area with weekly fresh produce.”

Haa Haaaa Haaaaaaaaaa.

I mean…heeee heeeee haaaww waaaaaahhhhh, guffwahhhh…pfffftttah. haaaaaaa ahaaa ahaaaa haaaaaa.

rolling on the floor laughing out loud…. heeeee haaaaa heeeee haaaaa haaa haaaa

Sigh. Sometimes you just gotta laugh. It’s too bizarre.

Today:

• I found the box under a bed that held all the paper work I just paid $130 dollars last week to have specially sent for our insurance company.
• my husband kissed me and said, “hmmm….you smell like a freshly opened can of raquet balls.”
• I really uttered the words, “don’t you throw that potato at me” and “but I don’t want peanut butter on my bedding!” Next to an open window. Near a neighbor who doesn’t have kids and who probably had little appreciation for how…ordinary something like peanut butter streaks on sheets can be.
• the baby only slept for an hour, relieving me of any concern I might have that he might be sleeping too much. It sure is good to have that off my mind! Whew!

Packing with a toddler means you’ll find his half-eaten food thrown into partially packed boxes. It means he will unpack things as you go. It means you will get used to standing at an angle because he will be pulling on your legs and pants as long as he’s awake.

Packing with a ten year old means he will be bored out of his mind. It means everytime your back is turned he will be calling his friends, harassing their mothers for playdates. It means you will have a lot of apologies to make when this is over!

Packing with a daughter means you’d better hide what you throw away. She will want to keep every “precious” paper in her room and everything is a treasure. Yes, even that half eaten apple core and the scalped Strawberry Shortcake doll. You will find her secret stash of pictures of the boy she likes and you will give her the scalped doll and every other “little girl toy” you can find.

Packing with a 5 year old means you will hear more Sesame Street than you thought was possible. When you least expect it, you will hear Judge Judy’s voice mixed in when PBS puts Brain Brawl on. At this point, you will be beyond arguing, until of course, he’s decided potatoes make excellent bombs and your backside an ample target.

a friend shared:

“People who are too weak to follow their own dreams will always find a way to discourage others’ ”

and another:

“Florida: Cut down all the trees and name the streets after them”

Anyone else get a kick out of neighborhoods called, “Forest Hills” where there is only treeless, flat land? Or “Evergreen Estates” on swampland built up 8 houses to an acre?

*Note: since I’m packing to move for the third time in a year and not doing such a great job of it, and have been down with Mastitis for the weekend, I broke down and put cereal on the menu for breakfasts Monday-Friday. The kids, who never get it, are a bit excited, all but one who is very distraught over no biscuits and gravy.

Saturday:

BK: Buttermilk Pancakes with Maple syrup and sausage links

LN: BLT’s, strawberries

DN: Taco Salad, milkshakes
Sunday:

BK: Eggs Benedict

LN: White Bean, Tomato and Basil Crostini, wedges of cheddar cheese, chocolate cake

DN: Vidalia Onion pie, green beans with almonds

Monday:

BK: cereal

LN: sandwiches

DN: Red Beans and Rice, with cheddar, lettuce from the garden, and sour cream

Tuesday:

BK: cereal

LN: leftovers

DN: Chicken Salad with avacado wedges, fresh fruit

Wednesday:

BK: cereal

LN: sandwiches

DN: Fajitas with chips and fruit

Thursday:

BK: cereal

LN: leftovers

DN: Hummous, Greek Olives, fresh bread, tomato/cucumber salad

Friday:

BK: cereal

I’ll do a meal plan on Thursday night and shop on Friday, which will complete the day’s menu. I usally plan lunches more so than this, but I’m KISS-ing this week.

I was thinking today on the four seasons and how I’ve tried over the last few years to really experience them to their fullest.

In Florida, where aren’t really four of them, one kind of has to manufacture their effects. That’s how I got started. One year I emphasised the holiday decorations a bit more, leaves in September, pumpkins in October, turkeys and cornecopias in November. Christmas is obvious and I switched to fresh citrus for January; clean and bright and light. February has Valentine’s Day and then by March Spring is at it’s height in north Florida; sometimes even earlier than that. And the summer held the beach and sand and salt air and bright colors.

I remember a few years ago it dawned on me that for much of the year I wasn’t just manufacturing a change to mimic seasons. I was manufacturing an artifical environment. I realised (is it “s” or “z”..I long for spell check!) that I often went from my air conditioned house to a concrete drive, quickly got in my car and cranked up the AC so as to feel as little heat as possible, from there drove on asphalt to a concrete parking lot. Another quick dash to another air conditioned environment, often down-right cold to have as much skin exposed as summer clothes allowed, then back to my car and home.

The whole way, never touching the real ground. No dirt. No real air. All of it, manufactured and artificial.

It was about that time it dawned on me that tomatoes in December don’t taste anything like a real summertime tomato. And apples in June are gross. We don’t eat Pumpkin Pie in March and why is that. And how did people live in Florida before concrete and air conditioning?!

Well, not many did actually. That was the same year I discovered that the Florida population boom only occurred after Broward drained the everglades. After concrete and air conditioning and major bug poison. But I digress.

It’s okay to sweat in summer. And it’s okay to want to lay around with a glass of lemonade, the ice cubes melting faster than you drink it down. It’s what porch swings and shade trees are made for. And water takes on a whole new importance. Splashing in it, floating in it, swimming, and letting it cascade down as it brings your temperature down…all of it is just plain “more” when you aren’t living in a 75 degree year ’round box. That summer breeze in mid-June, when the temp outside is 92 is more noticable and appreciated when you aren’t closed off to its element.
Seasons. I’ve come to think that their observance is a major tenet of my life. Gone are the winter tomatoes and the fall blueberries and the christmas watermelon. Eating what’s in season is one change that seems small but it affects me on a daily basis. Eating locally has actually been much harder with our cross-continental food production but one that I’m making steady progress on. And moving here to TN, where there really are four seasons, has had it’s effects as well.

That harvest moon and campfire smoke at the Milne Farm last October produced quite the memorable high. Leaves changing are more obvious but the winter greys and purples were a total surprise. Wearing a sweater rather than turning on the heat and drying out my nose at the first chill had it’s definate rewards. I didn’t know there was a “honeysuckle season” in spring; I was overjoyed from tulips and daffodils and violets and didn’t think it could get better than that!

The streets are quieter than they were a few weeks ago. People are closed up in their houses. Or, more of them than there were anyway. There is still the occassional mother watching her baby splash in a backyard pool. And lots and lots of dog walkers in the mornings and evenings. No lawn mowers can be heard in the middle of the day and I haven’t heard kids screaming (except my own) outside. The sounds are more likely to include ever-present traffic and a neighborhood of compressors.

Our AC isn’t on yet and we may be some of the last hold outs. I do know of a few others though, season-observers still breathing real air, sipping cool drinks, and being just-fine with the lazier days. Spring was productive and the result is out in the yard, quietly growing and sipping water. Autumn will come and it will be time for hard work again. But right now? Now we’re a little wet under the arms and at the brow. Now we’re watching fireflies. Here now is a breeze and there is the creek of the swing chain. It’ll get much warmer and we’ll take advantage of the modern “convenience” of cool air. Good thing it has it’s season too. There’s something really wrong, and really missed, when everything is the same, year ’round.

“Is there anybody out there who
Is lost and hurt and lonely too
Are they bleeding all your colours into one?
and if you come undone
As if you’ve been run through
Some catapult it fired you
You wonder if your chance will ever come
Or if you’re stuck in square one”

From Coldplay’s Square One, X & Y

my kids have modeling clay; it came in red, green, yellow, and blue. I found it this week balled up into one big blob of grey, hidden behind a dresser, and then while making pancakes this morning I had this on and realized, “Yeah, that’s what this week felt like”.

all my colors bled into one. Wondering if I’m stuck in square one or if our chance is really truly here. Sometimes it seems so close we’ll miss it.

Earlier this week, I read (well, devoured actually) The Mermaid Chair, by Sue Monk Kidd.

I’ll try not to give any spoilers to the story.
So, from the back cover the reader knows going into it that this is a story about a woman and a monk and a woman and her husband and her journey with herself. She’s at that stage…kids grown, identity shaken, feeling lost and like she hasn’t really lived. She’s been down for a long time and is struggling to ariticulate just what it is exactly that she wants, when catastrophe strikes and she has to back to a place that she’s spent years trying to escape.

I was somewhat bummed to have figured out the major plot twists before the first three chapterw were over. But Sue Monk Kidd is a very good writer; she compells the reader to keep going, and even though I knew what the character was going to do, I still hoped things for her and had to keep reading to find out if my hope was going to be rewarded or not.

I was angry as I read though. I don’t get this justification that seems to go on where women hit a rough spot, even a *really* rough spot, and convince themselves that they NEED to go on this journey that treats all of their lives like they don’t matter. No expense is too high if it gets her “to know herself” better. Think: stories that involved women leaving husbands or children to find out “who I really am”.

So I was aware of a big contrast between the lovers. I felt no hostiltiy against Whit…he hadn’t taken his vows yet. His exploration really had no context that he was violating. I find this to be a bothersome attitude of mine; he knew she was married, which makes him a very guilty party. Whereas Jessie on the other hand, was already vowed to one man. She was a mother. Two things, that if she need to do some soul searching, ultimately HAVE to include.

She’s done nothing but continue the cycle: she starts out trying to run from her past. Hepizibah reminds her, “You can’t leave home. You can go other places alright, you can live on the other side of the world, but you can’t ever leave home.” She confronts this, the island past, all the while trying to run from her *other* past, her life as a man’s wife.

It could be argued I supose that in the end, she makes peace with them both. But I don’t buy it. In the end, she’s looking back at her affair as something sacred, something necessary. She might be thankful her good husband took her back but she isn’t sorry she screwed around. And irony of ironies, when she “finds herself”, she has a friggin’ marriage ceremony in the ocean with herself! I couldn’t help but scoff at the hilarity of that…someone who already treated one vow sooo lightly is making another one?! And we’re suposed to buy into the beauty of that?!

Not leaving home…not ever leaving home. There are things that *indelibly* make us who we are. They are an undeniable context. All the exploration and growth we go through HAS to keep this context in mind in order to stay true.

Applied to myself: I AM someone’s mother. 5 Someones. If I get weary with identifying myself as “mother” or “stay at home mom” or “homeschooler” I might want to branch out and try other things. But I can’t forget that it isn’t skin I can just shed. Those people ARE. Or a wife…so he’s gotten comfy in 20 years. So he wasn’t the first one to realize women need to stretch themselves, shed their wings. Growth can happen and still be that man’s wife. Infidelity isn’t necessary in order to truly find oneself. Then again, loosing one’s self in order to commit adultry may be.

I hear a a line in my head: “you may have to lose yourself in order to find yourself.” Maybe that’s the message of this book. Maybe that’s why it’s making me angry. People get hurt with this kind of message. And “loosing one’s self” isn’t really possible in the long run. You can only do it for a short, unsustainable time. There’s a day of reckoning eventually.

And I never thought I’d say this, back when I liked the Ya Ya movie, and loved Traving Pants, and The Secret Life of Bees came out…but if I read ONE MORE woman-power ceremony involving mysticism and chants and weird dances and rituals I’m gonna roll. As in roll my eyes right up to the back of my brain. Yawn. I’m so impatient with it!

After thinking more about it and talkling to some friends about the story, I’ve calmed down a little. A little ;-). I see this story, this character, as a kind of cautionary tale. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t be dishonest and untrue to who you are so that you find yourself, to quote a friend, “backing into” questions and paths that are much more than you bargained for in a search for answers. I still think the book condones the crossing of boundaries I find unacceptable (and inauthentic) in a search for a deeper knowing of thyself. I still find it rather maddening, unable as I am to just separate it out as a “summer read”.

I think that opening quote (that I posted a few days ago) might have set me up to go into the story thinking SMK was holding up the monk as her soul-lover. But today I changed my mind. Her true love, the one who’d been a part of her as much as she’d been a part of him, was with her on both end papers of the book.

• that my oldest was as helpful as he was today, as I had to stay sitting or lying down most of the day from low bp and exhaustion.
• that my friend Sarah stopped by, sat on my porch, and saw my garden. It’s just a humble place but I love to sit and chat on the porch and show people my garden.
• that W was feeling so much better today
• that the rash C broke out with had mostly faded by the end of the day
• that even though I’m overwhelmed at the thought of getting this place packed in 14 days, that at least it’s not less than that!
• that David is enjoying his new job so much.
• that Mom sent me the apron I had in storage that is from David’s aunt. It’s a meaningful part of my collection.
• that I have a good read, currently “A Song I Know By Heart” by Bret Lott
• that the day did finally end and running on fumes, David finally drove up. I’ll be even more glad when he doesn’t have an hour and a half to commute!

I wear an apron every day. I find they are INCREDIBLY useful, with pockets for the steady stream of little things to be picked up and put away, for keeping stains off of my solid color tops, and for wiping little fingers with the hem. Lately I’ve gotten several comments from women noticing my aprons, which are nothing fancy in themselves but not really a very common sight. My friend Kim sent me this link awhile back; apparently apron and smock making is finding a niche with crafty-types.

• today W spent nearly the entire day with the headphones attatched to his head. He’s very hard of hearing right now with double ear infections and can’t hear most of what we say or the music I play in the house. So the ear phones helped him hear, and I think comforted him a bit because it’s disconcerting to suddenly not be able to hear! He had my pile of CD’s and he listened to nearly every one, comparing styles, talking about instruments, lyrics, and beat.
• David got to visit the new house today, sit on the front porch, and pay a little more attention to details we’d not really absorbed. This was a special treat because..
• one of the guys he supervises lives down the street and 20 years ago he hand cut and built the picket fence! He renovated most of the inside and poured the concrete that will someday be our addition! He also gave us some details on the neighbors. The house across the street is two retired nuns who tutor and do some kind of homeschool stuff; the sign down the street says, “Plateau Home School” and we think that’s related. The lady cattycorner from us who has an extensive garden and orchard is a quiet lady named Mabel. It just sounds so wonderfully quaint.
• my buddy, the UPS guy, stopped by today with a treasure: while digging through storage my mom found a cross stitch that my Grandma made years ago. It says, “I hope that my children look back on today and see a mom who had time to play. There will be years ahead for cleaning and cooking for children grow up while we’re not even looking.” I’m thankful I have this little work of her hands, something to hold, a tangible part.