Old Recipe for a New World

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Clean House 1-2-3!

Here is my revolutionary three-step plan to a mess-proof house:

Step 1: Pick up the Mess.

Step 2: Get rid of It.

Step 3: Repeat until the mess is composed entirely of things you can’t live without, or consists of things that are pleasingly wabi sabi in their strewn glory.

I first got hard core about decluttering when I was pregnant with #2. For my birthday that year I told my husband all I wanted was get rid of 1/3 of our possessions. That meant: one teapot, two dozen cloth napkins, forty books, a garbage bag of clothes, a sleeping bag, and on and on. And on.

That was almost two years ago, and I’m still peeling back layers of stuff and excess.

My children charmingly believe that play is basically imaginative emptying of every possible receptacle in the house: cupboards, drawers, toy chest, sewing box, yarn stash, garbage can. I don’t want to keep them from what is no doubt healthy development but nor do I want to have high blood pressure.

So, I’m just getting rid of it all.

Just curious–does this look like a lot of toys to you, or a little?

A friend of mine is an especially inspiring de-clutterer. She says that she has yet to reach the point where she feels like she’s done enough. I did once get rid of too many spoons, but perhaps it’s a sign that I should pare down on knives and forks.

I de-clutter because it makes my house more beautiful and because it makes my life simpler. The constant picking up and putting away of our detritus takes a tremendous amount of energy from me. Our belongings take mental, physical, and emotional energy to care for. As we get rid of stuff, we are freed in surprising ways.

Where toys go when mama gets tired of picking them up. Visitation is allowed. The bottom floor is kept clear as a hidey hole.

Currently in the Out Box: Anything that annoys me, including, but not limited to

  • Small toys formerly stored in cute baskets. Things that seem to exist for the sole purpose of dumping on the ground and scattering.
  • Play kitchen food and utensils. One or two pots seem sufficient. Food can be found in the real kitchen.
  • Clothing. Out of season clothing, wrong size clothing, excess right size clothing, kid clothing only one or another of the mother-daughter dyad likes, but not both of us. It’s all outta here.
  • Crafting supplies: fabric, yarn, thread, notions. Too much of a good thing is still too much.
  • Books. I have officially reached the point in my Letting Go of Stuff phase where I can part with books. Mostly on the outs are novels and anything I haven’t gotten around to reading despite years of having on the shelf. I’m trying to think of my bookshelves as a curated collection.
  • Children’s books.  We own only a very small collection of special books. The rest come from the library in batches of ten or so at a time. (most of them ones we cycle through repeatedly) ensures that they are all treasured, and enjoyed, not to mention actually read.
Amazing things happen with this bare-bones kitchen.
Wait, there’s more!
  • Animal magnets on the fridge. Under the stove is more like it.
  • Linens–we just don’t need two dozen washcloths, I’ve found. Two sets of flannel sheets per bed keep us cozy year round.
  • Winter clothes. Crafty mamas are in extreme danger of drowning their family in handknits, and we need to help each other be strong against the well meaning onslaught of booties and pilot hats. If you have less of this stuff, you are less likely to lose them in the mountain of gear inside the front closet. Be fearless. And only make it if you really need it.
  • Mama-made toys that don’t get played with. This would be the cardboard barn and hand-knitted menagerie of farm animals, the adorable wee felt folk, the felt balls, the stuffed bunnies, the amigarumi bird family. Perhaps someday when there’s nothing else left, they will be treasured. For now, they are just too hard to dust to keep on the toy shelf.
 I say all this to wish you courage in making your home a place that takes care of you as much as you take care of it. Many blessings on each batch of no longer needed things that moves on to grace another family’s life. Here’s a little chanty for while you work~
Free the heart, let it go.
What we reap is what we sow.
Ps–I noticed Simplemom is in the midst of another Project Simplify. Check it out.
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Celebrating a Historic Moment

History was made in Santa Fe, tonight.

I’m fresh from City Hall, where our city council unanimously (and astonishingly) voted in favor of an ordinance guaranteeing water for the Santa Fe River. This makes Santa Fe the first city in New Mexico to make environmental flow in a river law.

To say that this is huge would be an understatement.

At a time when ecological devastation is the norm, this was an act of healing and hope.

It was made possible by a movement that began twenty years ago as a small trickle, and grew into a flash flood of love and support for a dry river that was in 2007 named most endangered river in America. Tonight, City Hall overflowed with citizens, activists, clergy, students, hydrologists, lawyers, ecologists, and yes, the politicians who proved that even against tremendous odds, miraculous things are possible.

Our river was first dammed in the 1880s, and again in the early 20th century. For decades its waters have been held in vast reservoirs and used to supply a growing city. Meanwhile, the river disappeared. It turned into an ugly gash, eroded and trash riddled. A living river was for decades considered folly, a waste of our drinking water. It has been a long road to bring the river back to life, first in our hearts and spirits, (which this little project of mine was dedicated to) and now, in reality.

The vision and activism of our community has worked miracles. It is in many ways a small step–just the beginning, really, of what is truly needed for the river to thrive. But in the face of drought and an uncertain climate future, this is a revolution. It is a step towards recognizing that the rivers future and our own are one and the same.

The Santa Fe River is the thread that stitches us back into the tapestry of the wild, pointing us gently away from destruction and towards conservation.  It is the place where nature, myth, history, and spirit enter our bodies and minds. It carries us now, as it always has. And now we will begin to carry it once again. To take our rightful place as stewards of its well being.

Thank you, Santa Fe. I can smell that wet willow bosque already.

¡Que Viva el Rio!

¡Que Viva Santa Fe!

::

You can read more of the story here.

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Walking in Place

Another ski date, this week. Oh, I love when it is perfect, that snow.

Just as good as that was the very ordinary family hike in the foothills this morning. We moseyed along a stream bubbling with snowmelt, the air full with the smell of willow trees before they bloom with spring leaves. Little feet splashing in mud, sliding on ice. Little hands holding our big ones.

And a very special treat was a hike with a friend and her baby (mine were home with papa). So much talking and sharing, so much to say about life and motherhood and marriage. So much sun shining on our faces.

Sometimes it is hard to get out on the land, away from our obligations and the busyness that creeps in even when we are always on guard against it. Sometimes it is a great push (against whining and time constraints, stress and no snack) to claim this space for ourselves and or families. To insist upon it.

It is a holy thing to me, these hours spent wandering our homeland. These mountains have carried us through the seasons–from winter on into spring and beyond, from our free and easy years into the slower footsteps of family life.

When we are planted in place, I’ve noticed, we can’t help but grow.

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This Old Bedsheet: Cowl Neck Tee Edition

Welcome to the first edition of This Old Bedsheet, wherein the crafty re-purposer makes all kinds of wondrous things with old bedsheets, fearlessly expanding her fledgling sewing skills, saving the earth, and looking something like stylish while she does it.

Today we have a queen size, oatmeal colored  jersey knit flat sheet. It’s first re-incarnation is as a long sleeved, cowl neck tee shirt.

 Cowl neck shirts are tres elegant, I think, even when homemade on a whim. This one could be a little more low cut, or drapey, or something. Perhaps somebody reading knows how to achieve that look?

To make this one I took a t shirt that I currently tolerate the fit of, and cut it out with a little extra room in the seam allowance. The neck line, as you can see, was ignored in favor of this big tube shape.

I sewed up the sides to where the sleeve begins, and had marked with a pin where the sleeves should end. Then resumed sewing to close the tube. A sleeveless cowl tee would have been done at this point.

The stitch I use for sewing knit fabrics is an outline stretch stitch. (It looks like a lightning bolt on the settings.) This is super strong, stretches, and best of all looks like a straight stitch on the right side of the fabric. Zigzag is also plenty fine, but I tend to break those seams in everyday wear and tear.

To make the sleeves I used my “pattern” shirt to shape the curve, and another long sleeve shirt to get the rest of the shape down. It didn’t come out perfectly at first–kind of bunchy and misshapen. I ended up cutting out about an inch of fabric where the sleeve joins the shirt, and it is fine. A little strange to sew a sleeve onto something without an actual shoulder, but I lived to tell the tale.

The neck and sleeve openings were left raw. I used the bottom bedsheet seam to give a finished look to the bottom seams of the shirt and avoid fussing over pins and my twin needle.

Voila!

 What will this bedsheet become next? A tunic dress? A skirt? Pajamas for the kids?
Stay tuned for the next edition of…This Old Bedsheet.
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Head, Heart, and Hands

Thinking about creativity, the mother’s journey, and the deep need each of us has for a sense of purpose. I’ve been really enjoying the audio interviews at the MAPP gathering that speak so wholeheartedly to this.

Feeling the rising energy of spring. Warm days and a little moisture make me wonder if it’s time to plant. Too early yet for the garden, so I turn my attention inwards. What is it in me that wants to be nurtured into being? Okay, is that too hokey? How about this: I’m feeling really satisfied by the time alone I nabbed to get some ideas manifested. The sap is running, friends.

Doing the usual: walks on the ridge and along the river, keeping house, tending children, writing in the quiet space of naptime. Also, neglecting my spring house cleaning to give some long overdue love to Old Recipe, and experiencing a bit of awe for all the things I’ve written here, all the people I have connected with through this space, and the way this journal is a record of my need to live mindfully and from the heart.

Grateful for all of you who join me here, for friends that inspire and motivate (especially you, Erin, for letting me copycat your beautiful Seeds and Stones), for my ability to both surrender and strive, for the full water tanks that are nurturing our garden, for the borrowed computer (thanks, ma!) that allowed me to spruce up this here Recipe Book in hours instead of days, for the snowpack in our mountains, for my family, for my life.

::

If you are reading this as an email, do come see the changes. And I’d love to hear from you: Which of my categories represents best to you what Old Recipe is about, so I can order the list more meaningfully. You can read descriptions of each here.

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Traditional Foods Blues

It’s a song, people.

dum dum dum deedum

I woke up this morning

my earl grey tastes like a goat.

Set the sourdough rising,

and cooked those soaked oats.

Dee dum dum deedum

The yogurt milk boiled over,

but it’s gonna taste okay.

Got to keep at it,

it’s just that kind of day.

Dum dum dum deedum

My bone broth stopped gelling

after two days a cooking,

I don’t know what happened

but at least the smell is gone.

deedly dum deedee dum

My fermented carrots turned nasty

guess something went wrong

it don’t really matter

cuz I got me this song

dee dum dum deedum

These beans I’ve been soaking

for 48 hours

So get yourself supper

and feel the food power.

Yeah!

::

Won’t you sing along? What’s happening in your kitchen, right or wrong?

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Ski Date Love Song

Sometimes, the snow comes.

And the kids are sick.

And Grandma and Grandpa want to be with them.

Sometimes we are let loose, my love and I.

The land shimmers in it’s snow blanket, fresh and airy.

Shifting clouds, filtered light.

Everything is gliding motion.

Forest and snow.

Well worn trail, well-known love.

Skis and you.

Gliding along we go.

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Yarn Along

Joining in again!

We’ve been so happy that our library got Pocketful of Posies, a book of nursery rhymes by one of our favorite’s, Salley Mavor. It is such a feast for the eyes! (I loved the illustrations in another book she did, In the Heart, so much that it inspired a whole “line” of repurposed  and embroidered woolen clothes like the ones in the book.) The link on her name takes you to all her books.

 I believe so strongly that fostering literacy begins not with letters but literature. And for very small children, that means lots of verses.  It’s been hard to find a beautiful collection that doesn’t feature animals dressed as people, and save for This little piggy went to market, this book delivers. Gorgeous illustrations you will want to step right into, and a perfect assortment of our favorite rhymes with many new ones, too.

In knitting news I take back my words about size one needles–this bonnet turned out to be easy and fun and fast. I’d show you a pic of Maida wearing it but a) it would be so cute your computer might freeze up, and b) she’s asleep. So my third little baby here was kind enough to model. The pattern is DROPS bonnet in “Fabel.” It’s darling.

I’m also reading Unconditional Parenting at long last. So good to finally read the book that has indirectly had such a huge influence on my parenting, both inspiring and at times confusing me. I’ve really been mulling over this line:

“The reasons we parent as we do might be said to fall into roughly four categories: what we see and hear, what we believe, what we feel, and, as a result of those, what we fear.”

Hmmm.

Think I’ll pick my knitting back up to think about that some more.

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Waldorf 101: Notes from Parent Night

Here are some impressions and notes from a parent night at  Cora’s preschool this month. Yes, I’m the dork that takes notes at parent night. What can I say, I’ve been studying Waldorf early years stuff so intensely on my own, and finding such wisdom and inspiration in it, and also so much to be baffled by, that it is a huge relief to just sit back and have someone (our dear, wise teacher) who has been doing it for years give the straight dope. It went something like this:

In early childhood, two pairs of things are most important for educating the child.

The first pair is Rhythm and Repetition. These are the primary tools for teaching children under seven. I love to think of rhythm as pattern. The repeated rituals and acts of daily life that connect us to ourselves and the larger world.

The second pair is Imagination and Imitation. Healthy play springs from what children have seen and experienced, the impressions they take in from the world around them.

Our work as parents is to be worthy of this imitation, to be the best role models we can be. This is where parenting becomes a spiritual act, as we tend to our inner self in order to embody beauty, goodness, and truth. We can do this in part through our own self-education, by asking ourselves what we are doing to grow alongside our child. I can honestly say that I got hooked on Waldorf the moment I realized the extent to which it hinged on my own inner work.

The gestures of gratitude and thankfulness are the well from which all of this—rhythm, imitation, imagination—springs. The virtue of gratitude is instilled in the first 7 years of life, and lays the foundation for the later development of love and duty. Our expressions of gratitude in daily life at home are deeply nurturing to our young children. And ourselves.

That’s the gist of it, folks. Short, sweet, simple. And kind of deep, if you think about it.

I think whether you are into Waldorf or not, there’s a good chance this will seem like common sense. It’s kind of natural and intuitive for us to strive towards this in our mothering, isn’t it?

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One Year Later: Remembering Birth

One year ago, around today, I was getting ready to have my second baby. Oh, I’d been waiting and waiting and waiting. Wanting that birth to come more than anything. And you know what? It just wasn’t coming.

My due date came and went. Then two more weeks passed by. I did everything I knew how, but my cervix was unbudging.

Acupuncture three times a week and hardly even a braxton hicks. In New Mexico, 42 weeks is as far as you can go and still have a homebirth. Oh, how I wanted a homebirth. Specifically, a homebirth after cesarean. Oh, how I grieved when I had to let go of that. And oh, how scared I was that another hospital birth would mean another cesarean.

My midwife called our local hospital and was told they wouldn’t induce me for a VBAC. It would pretty much be an automatic cesarean. So she called this Doc in Albuquerque who is known for delivering breech babies and other old school things. He said come on down. I was so happy for the glimmer of hope he offered. And so scared. Could I really be going to be induced again? The same procedure that had ended so disastrously last time?

 My dear friend had wise words for me then, about how this was not the same road leading to the same place I’d already been. She said, sometimes life gives us experiences that are remarkably like things we have been challenged by before, only we get to meet them with fresh wisdom and strength. I began to see this journey as one of healing as well as a birth. Whatever lay before me, I would rise to meet it as a love warrior, with an open and courageous heart.

Nevertheless, I whined to the doc, “My cervix is unpoenable!” He looked like a scruffy gnome with his long hair and beard and Navajo bolo. He was unphased. “It might take a few days, but I see no  hurry,” he said. And that was when I knew we were going to be okay (I wasn’t paying attention to the three days part).

It helped me to see myself not as a victim of pitocin, having an especially painful labor due to pharmaceutical augmentation. Instead, I just reminded myself I was in labor. This was my labor. Mine. And nobody said labor was easy (okay, maybe those hypnobirthing people do, but I wasn’t there for easy, I was there to have a baby!).

I stood swaying on my feet, leaning against a hospital table, moaning like a howler monkey. For oh, about 18 hours. Doctor checked me and said “Great news! You’re 3 cm!” And I did celebrate, just a little. After all, my cervix had never been 3 cm open before! But then I started doing labor math and figured out I had about 40 more hours to go, and began planning my epidural. But hey, if you can get through the first three years of motherhood without tv, then surely you can get through a 26 hour labor without an epidural, right? Not to be blithe about it, though, because I surely did scream for it after they broke my water and things got a-rolling for real.

My husband shooed away the anesthesiologist, pulled me back onto my feet, and we got down to the real work of having a baby. It was at that moment the tide shifted and I knew I was going to have this baby naturally, right there on my two feet. And I was so glad that hypnobirthing never worked for me because this was amazing. And harder than shit. I don’t like to curse, but it’s true. Birth is so hard and so so good.

The nurses kept telling me “You’re having your baby!” And I was like, oh, so that’s what’s happening. Because it just doesn’t seem possible that anyone could feel like that and survive. And to think every person ever to live on this planet was brought into the world in some way resembling this–it just boggles the mind. It felt amazing to be a part of all that. I was having my baby!

Things were cruising now. We were in, swept away and carried by the birth. Through transition, my body pushing of its own accord.

Doc asked, could a few med students come in and watch; they’d never seen a natural birth. Ha, this was not the candle lit water birth I’d dreamed of–this was better. It was my birth! Let them come in, I said. Let the whole world witness my might! My husband held me in a supported squat. The doctor knelt on the floor and delivered her onto blankets.

And so Maida was born.

 My child, bringing you into the world was the first gift you gave me.
My heart is full with you!