Birth Triumphant

I’d like to introduce my daughter, Maida Rose.

(We say it May-da.)

She was born in the first minutes of January 24th.

She’s lovely.

::

And I just have to tell the world that after laboring for 26 hours, I pushed her out, hollering and powerful as any warrior mother and it was great.

I give thanks to the Great Mother for keeping my faith strong, for sending us allies that helped us to birth naturally despite the odds, for guiding us on this journey towards VBAC, and for my own wise body that knew just what to do, and only needed a chance to do it.

Praise Be!

Letter to Baby

Dear Baby,

I just wanted to write and say that I am

Done sewing you an enormous purple diaper bag.

Done cutting up sweaters to make longies so you are toasty-warm here on the Outside.

Done with knitting possibly the most adorable things I have ever made. That’s right! For you.

Even, to my amazement, done with the quilt I started piecing by hand almost ten years ago.

You see, my baby, I’m done. Out of projects. Nothing left to do.

Now if you, my little baby, aren’t feeling quite done, that’s fine.

Take your time coming out.

I’ll savor this ripe stillness.

This pause before life speeds up again.

Sweet in-breath before your first breath.

You are coming. I know it. But if you take much longer, I’ll have to start another project.

And I’d rather be holding you.

Love,

Mama

ps sister is ready, too.

Mealtime Grace

 

Is there some unspoken rule that every blogger (with children under age ten) must write at least one post about meal planning? Let’s just pretend that there is, and that I’m meeting my requirement. My apologies to readers of the non-housewife, restaurant-preferred variety.

I’ve never been much for meal planning–while I loved the idea, doing it regularly never happened, so I opted to just have a general idea what kinds of meals I’d make in a week: something with chicken, something with beans, etc. It worked, more or less. But lately,  I’d go to the store and buy milk and eggs and chocolate and then come home and wonder what to cook.

With a baby coming, oh any day now, I’ve spent the last few months trying to find every way I can to get my kingdom running itself, as a friend of mine says. For me, that means not having to think about what’s for dinner. Fortunately for our family, I had a huge burst of I’m getting my act together. And I did, and it’s working.

I started by planning meals for a full four weeks instead of just one. I  could have kept going but was starting to feel compulsive (at one point my enthusiasm for the project was so great I almost made a super complex house cleaning chart, with each day of the week a slightly different chore. It was totally OCD, though I still fantasize about it.) Anyways, I came up with general themes for  weeknights according to our schedule: oven fare on my baking day, crock pot day for the day I’m out in the late afternoon, beans and rice on Friday, because that’s what we’ve done for years and years (and called it a feast, too.)

Then I got out my cookbooks and left them on the table for a solid week. I tend to only turn to cookbooks when I’m feeling kind of desperate, and it seldom works out because I don’t have the right ingredients on hand at the last minute. But I love these books and want to be guided by them more, both to expand my kitchen skills and to have a wider variety of flavors on our table. For instance, if I knew we’d be having a stirfry one night, I wanted a different sauce each week. I took notes on what recipes caught my eye, and made a rough outline.

I found that the menus were like a puzzle, and I had to move the pieces around a bit to find the right balance between rich meals and healthier ones, to make sure we didn’t have rice every single night one week, and to vary the amount of cooking required each day. Some days are full-on cooking affairs where the oven runs for hours straight, other days we have leftovers, still others it’s twenty minutes to fry some fish and steam the veggies. While some days are very detailed, others are open: We’ll have vegetables, surely, but I won’t know what they are until I pick up our CSA for the week (but a safe bet these days would be turnips).

By organizing what we are having each day, I’m able to use our food much more efficiently. I know that if I roast a chicken on Monday, we’ll be having soup on Wednesday. I know when to soak beans, and when to defrost meat. And most importantly, for my budget and dwindling brain power, I know what to buy at the store each week. Yep, once I had the menu ready, I made up grocery lists for each week listing all the major components of the meals. If I already have an ingredient I can simply cross it off the list, which I find easier than putting it on the list by pulling it from some imaginative, dreamy part of my kitchen brain.

And yes, at first I rebelled like a willful child: What? I don’t want chicken tonight! I’d cry. But you know what, there is something so comforting about just having that dang chicken since it’s chicken night, and not having to think about it for another minute. Though of course, one could always change the sauce. I’m now on round two of my month long menus, and this time it’s even simpler: much less meat (as I won’t be pregnant too much longer, I hope!), and more straightforward meals that involve less use of cookbooks.

What’s cooking at your place? Please share tips about cooking, budgeting, babies, and other kitchen related epiphanies.

Love,

Kyce

 

The Subject Today is Love*

*apologies to Hafiz.

I’ve been thinking on love and the role it plays here in my heart, our home, amidst my family, and also that large world surrounding us, the communities and ecologies, the whole web of life that is so sticky and torn.

It seems to me that love has to be at the root of how we live, guiding the choices of what we buy, what we eat, what we throw away. When we were in the midst of our plastic fast, I’d often wonder at the Why of it. Obviously it was a symbolic act. Folks were quick to remind me that the ecological benefits of a glass bottle over a plastic one were debatable. We had no illusions of the profound impact our experiment had on anything but our own inner lives, our sense of Right Living and balance. In the end, we were transformed by the simple act of discipline and conscientiousness that were part of it.

What I came to consider the real heart, the true purpose of our fast, and yes, even our lives, was the work of the Ecosattva. In Buddhism, one who takes the vows of a Boddhisattva agrees to attain enlightenment only after all other beings have done so. It is, in essence, an impossible task, and one of supreme compassion. It is a heart opening path in which love for others takes precedence of love for one’s self.

For the Ecosattva, too, compassion is the source of a life dedicated to ending suffering of the planet and all her children. We “know” it is an impossible task, that our small acts are, as society loves to remind us, irrelevant. And yet we feel in our hearts a deep calling to do this work–call it simple living, environmental activism, deprivation, whatever. And then we do it. Imperfectly, perhaps. With limited means, often, and sometimes a dollop of doubt. But so long as our hearts are engaged, so long as love is the reason, rather than fear or guilt, then we are on the path.

What more can we do but walk it?

::

Hey, it’s New Years!

I don’t know of any vows for Ecosattvas, but if you were to make them in your house, what would they be? Be as grandiose (I vow to liberate the planet from capitalism) or as practical (I vow to always use a handkerchief) as you like.

For more thoughts on Buddhism and environmentalism, I recommend this article.

The Mother’s Prayer


THE MOTHER’S PRAYER

Our Mother, whose body is the Earth,

sacred is thy being. Thy gardens grow.

Thy will be done in our cities,

as it is in nature.

Thanks be this day

for food and air and water.

Forgive us our sins against the Earth,

as we are learning to forgive one another.

And surrender us not unto extinction, but deliver us from our folly.

For thine is the beauty and the power,

and all life, from birth to death,

from beginning to end, forever.

Amen.

So be it.

Blessed be.

~Henry Horton, 1989~

The fourth light of advent, (Rudolf Steiner said), ” is the light of humankind, the light of hope that we may learn to love and understand.”

Wishing us all that light burning bright within our hearts and homes.

May we all be re-born with the sun.


Advent-itious

These dark winter nights are rich, ripe, and blooming with symbolism.

This book is beyond beautiful, and speaks to the mysteries of this sacred time in a way that transcends religion.

It is perfect for a small girl and her mother to read together as they anticipate the birth of a tiny baby in their own home.

How to bring these shining beings to life?

Well, start with some potato people.

Add velvet.

Place on the advent altar, amidst the stones and plants and animals.

I’m still working on the babies, mine and Mary’s. Both are expected soon.

Alas, the sweet, dreaming donkey shall have to wait until next year to interrupt my holiday crafting.

~::~

The Way Home

I can’t say why I love this land the way I do. Maybe it’s the years of walking the same paths, of watching the seasons cycle in and out, the droughts come and go. Perhaps it is simply that I have so long been held in the strong arms of this arid landscape.

In any case, I welcome the shifting seasons that return us to the arroyos and piñon-juniper hills that surround us. We leave behind the high mountains, with their lush green summers and brilliant fall colors. (Long gone are the days of our radical adventures skiing and winter camping.)

Now we just mosey. Up and down the same paths we’ve taken for years. The occasional coyote, a cawing raven. Sunlight shining through the lacy gramma grass. Onto our faces.

We know these well worn trails by heart.

We’re home.

::

 

Unplugging, Continued.

Earlier this fall we paid a visit to Tinkertown—

one of New Mexico’s “most renowned folk-art environments.”

Totally super cool labor of one man’s love of making things with his hands.

He once said, “I did all this while you were watching TV.”

(He probably didn’t have a two year old, either.)

What do you do when your screen of choice is dark?

(Besides raising your kiddos, of course.)

::

p.s. Thanks for coming to visit me here when you’re online. I’m so delighted to have you!

The Return of Eco Shabbat

As the days get shorter, we find ourselves turning off the lights once again.

Spending one evening each week in the quiet candlelight–a way of reconnecting with each other in the midst of busy days, of taking a little rest from the noise that fills our lives, from the constant doing that prevails in our world.

A way to give thanks to the earth for supporting us, by taking a little less from her one night each week.

A moment given over to stillness, reflection, gratitude.

A long quiet in-breath that is by its very nature a meditation on where light really comes from, a lesson on how to tend the fires within.

We linger over our meals, for where else is there to be, or to do? Friends drop in to feast along with us, and our sense of community is strengthened little by little.

Sometimes we make music. Sometimes we tell stories, ones we’ve been saving and ones we never thought we knew.

Sometimes we just sit quietly in the darkness, and go to bed, already rested.

::

Good night!