tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25235898253676094232024-03-21T18:40:11.368-07:00Owl Tree FarmJenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-11657559554819803342023-01-08T11:55:00.002-08:002023-01-08T11:55:35.709-08:00January 8, 2023<p> I've spent the last few days reading news and sort of catching up on "the world" and I find it more dire and distressing that usual. I'm pretty sure no one is listening when I talk about Covid anymore, but I just need to dump this ol' brain of mine somewhere so I can get back to watching Zombies on the 'flix and sewing hexagons together. I need to stop thinking and fretting.</p><p>I pretty sure no one reads the few articles I share these days. I used to share lots of things about the virus, but I could see that no one was interacting with the posts, so I know no one was reading them.</p><p>It seems that everyone thinks the pandemic is over, but I KNOW it isn't. The latest variant XBB.1.5 is very real and the threat of long-term damage and illness is also very real. I simply can't understand why no one wants to acknowledge the fact that they are playing with fire. Why is everyone stuck in "fuck around" mode? </p><p>The "find out" part is coming...even if it hasn't gotten you yet, it is coming. I say this from my couch where I have been off and on for the better part of the last two weeks...every time I think I'm a little better, I zonk again and end of weary and drained of energy, with random, scary pains migrating through my body...see I'm in the "find out" phase of some other post-viral illness. I can tell you this, I someone had said to me years and years ago that I would someday have a chronic illness, but that it could be prevented I would jump at the chance to avoid this life.</p><p> And it's not that hard to avoid Covid...I have and in fact, i've not been sick at all (besides my regular brand of "sick") in the last three years because I've worn a mask consistently when in public. I've avoided crowds. I won't let anyone in our house...if you don't live here, you don't come in. I've taken reasonable precautions, that are easy. I repeat EASY.</p><p>I do this not just so I don't get sick(er), but so I don't kill my mama. </p><p>Admittedly I'm a loner and quite happy to hang out with my critters all day. I have two humans in my life: husband and mom and that's enough for me. I have one friend couple who are just as cautious as I am who I see now and again for a driveway/porch visit (usually with masks on outside even). With that said, I understand that there are more social people that I am; I understand too that people have to work, in fact, I get it. I GET IT, but even so I'm heartbroken that I'm still here alone, unable to do things out and about because it is too risky, because I can't trust anyone to stay home when sick, or wear a mask, or just keep their distance.</p><p>I'm sure some of this is on me: fear and distrust. But seriously, no one has given me a reason to trust them.</p><p>And it makes me sad that I feel like the future is dismal, there is little hope. I feel sad that no one trusts me enough to listen when I warn them. I'm hurt that I feel like some of my supporters are growing weary of my caution. I'm anxious and depressed because I can't save anyone from this chronic illness life.</p><p>Ok, I just needed to get that out...I needed a brain dump and as usual this is rough draft writing. MASK UP and stay home.<br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-72856168605267441462022-12-21T08:46:00.002-08:002022-12-21T08:46:15.241-08:00Winter Solstice Thoughts<p>A week or so ago the leaves began to turn and this week, the first week of December the trees are letting them go…a stout breeze, a squirrel jiggling the branch, or the aching pull of gravity, the leaves fall and blanket the soil. <br /><br />It is beautiful enough to stop me in my tracks to both watch and listen as they whisper their way down to rest. My early morning walk in the woods is a crinkly, noisy affair; the trees murmur their intentions and dreams as they settle in to sleep for the Winter.<br /><br />As I walk with yesterday’s fallen leaves crunching under foot, I can’t help but think about that letting go and bedding down for Winter. In this season which begins as frantic and then ends with so many ill-fated resolutions to do better, be better, so much of it destined for failure, I want something different for myself. As the days pass and the Solstice gets closer I find myself moving slower, going to bed earlier, staying in bed longer of a morning. I find myself getting quiet and focused on hearth and home. <br /><br />As my world gets smaller, I read the news less. but when I do read the news, I realize it is no wonder that people are depressed and anxious. The pandemic, the flu and RSV, inflation, shootings, war, and climate change. It can all feel like too much especially on top of a holiday season that demands so much of us: the gifts, and meals, and decorations. The parties, late nights, and stress. <br /><br />In my quiet home far from the hustle, and crowds, and noise of the season, I ponder what it is the trees have to teach us about letting go, resting, and setting intentions for the coming year. The trees don’t try to change themselves, instead they only set out to be exactly what they are meant to be…the Oak deep rooted and strong, the Willow bendy, but ultimately brittle, the Hackberry quick growing but prone to falling over in storms.<br /><br />I’ve always wondered what these century-old Oaks and Cedars have seen on this land I tend, but not once have I thought that perhaps they can teach me how to be in this world…It was the leaves falling and a post I saw in which a woman was talking about her family’s tradition of “Christmas shedding” that got me thinking. Her family used what they called “Christmas shedding” instead of shopping to give gifts….from what I understood, her family chose some of their own treasures to pass on as gifts. The shedding required you to give up something you love to someone who would love and cherish the thing you were giving up. <br /><br />While the concept is lovely, we aren’t much for gift giving, but the thought of “Christmas shedding” stuck with me. Watching the trees shed their leaves and thinking about how much “stuff” is being bought right now…bought not because it is needed or even wanted, but because we have been programmed to think that in this season of letting go and resting and shedding that we have to buy, buy, buy and give gifts to everyone who crosses our path…it’s the obligatory gift giving that bothers me. I don’t like being made to feel the obligation to give. I would prefer instead a quiet dinner with those I love, maybe one special thing, a thoughtful gift or an unexpected surprise. I feel like getting one carefully chosen gift makes it all the more precious as it isn’t diluted by piles of things you neither need nor want.<br /><br />We stopped giving gifts long ago for a variety of reasons, but to be honest I don’t need anything and I have most of what I might want. And since this is about letting go and taking our cues from the seasons, I’m going to appropriate the word shedding and declare this a season of shedding…I’ve grown this year, and learned, so like the trees I will shed my leaves to conserve my energy for the cold, dark days of Winter. <br /><br />The days are already short and I’ve always loved the month of December for it’s feeling of closing down and tallying up and resting for a bit as a new year is born. As the Solstice quickly approaches I will celebrate it as a New Year of sorts and followed as it is by the start of a new calendar year it has always felt like a season to look back and evaluate your year and then to look forward to set your intentions for your next year. <br /><br />This is the time of hopes and dreams and magic. It is a quiet time to shed last year’s faults and failures and prepare to turn to a blank page. To begin again. To rewrite the story by being, just like the tree, exactly who you are.<br /><br />What does that actually look like? Well, for me it literally means a new calendar, but it also means looking ahead and making plans for what I really want to do this coming year, for me it means looking at my relationships, my health, my garden, my farm, my art. Sure, it means boring things like tallying receipts and doing my taxes, but it also means dreaming and hoping, planting seeds (literally and metaphorically) that you will nurture into fruition. <br /><br />And maybe most importantly it means looking back and digging deep to acknowledge all the things that aren’t working for me, that aren’t me, then shedding, slipping out of that costume you’ve been wearing and leaving it to compost on the forest floor. And I’ll be left standing bare and vulnerable, but authentic, like the Winter trees, until I blossom in the Spring.<br /><br /> </p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-67796666704137521972022-11-16T09:04:00.003-08:002022-11-16T09:04:40.732-08:00Surrender and Survival<p>The day I spent winterizing the farm in the cold rain took it's toll on me and afterward required three days of resting and being kind to myself. The crash brought fatigue of course, but also headaches, nausea, vertigo and other nasty things.</p><p><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOw-RLISIAc5TwQ52TrlYbkoKM7H1tJ6cXp_PbpDGfHy9nFolCJa9hYbW9nhd4JzVsuWIu5U3etOdBboW7ZNy_iDno87C7Dn42CCRBR8_h0CjdEp2cDV1sPN84gqZREvUbzCaRY_EAarGNK5y9US7d3WadcmTsrUqmhwGXjn8YDmVNDaiy-9eOmsS/s1280/31C20D0A-3635-47AE-B060-B29B98F01003.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOw-RLISIAc5TwQ52TrlYbkoKM7H1tJ6cXp_PbpDGfHy9nFolCJa9hYbW9nhd4JzVsuWIu5U3etOdBboW7ZNy_iDno87C7Dn42CCRBR8_h0CjdEp2cDV1sPN84gqZREvUbzCaRY_EAarGNK5y9US7d3WadcmTsrUqmhwGXjn8YDmVNDaiy-9eOmsS/s320/31C20D0A-3635-47AE-B060-B29B98F01003.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washing</td></tr></tbody></table>I had to rest, the vertigo had me wobbling around like a drunk and the nausea kept me tied to the couch prone for hours at a time. </p><p>I knew when I worked all day in nasty weather with no afternoon rest that I would pay for it, such is life with chronic illness, but I'm still always sort of shocked at home much rest I need and how bad I feel.</p><p>I like to try to put a positive spin on things and I like to try to learn a lesson (if there is a lesson to be learned). </p><p>So on the third day on the couch, I had to ponder both surrender and the lessons I was learning. </p><p>It goes without saying that the first lesson is: Don't overdo it and don't skip your rest time. But with that said there are things that have deadlines that I have to do like harvesting the basil, picking the leaves, washing then either making the pesto for the freezer or filling the dehydrator. With a freeze coming all of those things had to be done in one day...once harvested I wanted to capture the basil at it's very best which meant making the pesto/filling the dehydrator with newly harvested basil. That meant doing all the work on that same day that I was wrapping pipes, moving hoses, and covering spigots.</p><p>The lesson here is do the winterizing on a nice day in mid-October AND harvest and make pesto in increments well BEFORE the first freeze. Because I waited to the last minute to do all this work I paid several fines. First, I didn't get as much pesto made as I might have liked, nor did I get to fill the dehydrator more than once, but I also lost time for the next three days!<br /></p><p>The other lesson came three days later and was unrelated to any of the above, but it helped me to think about Surrender and how I do that.</p><p>I woke up Sunday morning and felt decent, drank my tea and made a list, and as I did chores added a few more things to my list to do that day...mostly my To-do list is things I WANT to do, not things I need to do (my Need To Do Lists are pretty well managed). But once I came in and started to work on my list I was hit with the queasys and had to take my crackers to the couch.</p><p>There was a time when I would have been mad and sad at this situation, but this time I practiced my Surrender. I just shrugged and changed my plans...I had my planner and my menus so I could make a grocery list. I had my writing and my laptop. I had some hand sewing and I had some colored pencils to draw if the urge hit me. Instead of wallowing in grief and sadness and just zoning out with Netflix OR getting grumpy and mad, I accepted it without judgement...this is how my body reacts to over-working and this is what I have to do today. </p><p>In this instance of Surrender I shifted my plans from lots of on my feet doing and moving, to sit down jobs that would let me recover.</p><p>It felt so good to make that pivot in mid-stream without any grief or anger, though I will admit that the first feeling that surfaced was disappointment...because I did WANT to do the things on my list, but I said, "hey there Disappointment, I feel you, but you have to move on"...Really, that's what you have to do...then I took a few breaths and settled into my new list of things to do.</p><p>(As usual, this is a rough draft, be kind to me and yourself).</p><p>Be tender with yourself.<br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-44717085962266271032022-11-14T11:42:00.003-08:002022-11-14T11:42:30.196-08:00Pride and Privilege <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBd_vfu8w2F5HD-8apK8IljRUz_LgWZ9gs_6HSFiMWK8R3k7oRlHZIcamQYm6q4HRFqELF1vT6GGPAd_Fp5Rsveck9wHa0fCcwGXqWzTGb0dEx2h7-09KCxnNRU-IYyZb2nUvGK4IorSokmnLuFHAXGOP67nJdHWVscZrL6ZiAAFrMziI69qLcIJTd/s3264/2B5A87E9-165C-40F5-A500-E79CD161E143.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="happy women standing next to an aqua blue Porsche Macan GTS" border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBd_vfu8w2F5HD-8apK8IljRUz_LgWZ9gs_6HSFiMWK8R3k7oRlHZIcamQYm6q4HRFqELF1vT6GGPAd_Fp5Rsveck9wHa0fCcwGXqWzTGb0dEx2h7-09KCxnNRU-IYyZb2nUvGK4IorSokmnLuFHAXGOP67nJdHWVscZrL6ZiAAFrMziI69qLcIJTd/w640-h480/2B5A87E9-165C-40F5-A500-E79CD161E143.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I'm currently taking a Mastermind writing class with Jen Louden and today during our Zoom call we talked about writing from a place of privilege and it kind of wrecked me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I've been feeling weird writing in such a way as to give people advice knowing that I have all the benefits of my privilege. I don't have to work. I am provided for 100%. I have insurance. I have money to spend on supplements, and treatments, and saunas. I can buy organic. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Aaaannnnnd.....I drive a Porsche, so where do I get off telling everyone else who isn't in this place of privilege how to find balance and wellness, how to manage chronic illness.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Y'all, after the call I just plain ol' lost my shit thinking about my childhood and how poor we were and then comparing it to now, where I have everything I need and most of what I want too. I feel like an imposter writing about living a simple and slow, tender life while I'm warm and fed, with a house and land around me, while driving a Porsche, while not working b/c I don't have to. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I've been feeling both guilty and embarrassed by my privilege. I no longer believe in the meritocracy...not everyone who works hard to get an education, makes a good living, can be debt free, whatever other things I've started taking for granted. I used to believe that I/we had worked hard, gone to school, gotten jobs, worked hard, saved, blah, blah, blah and that was why we were in this place of privilege, but the reality is that we have been incredibly lucky. Lucky. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Yes, we did work hard and we worked our way "up"...we lived in a little house that we remodeled, drove old, beat up cars (my pre-Porsche car was 19 years old), we paid down our debt, then paid ourselves first so we could save, but the reality is we have lots of things working with us, for example we don't have children. So, it was pretty easy to pay down our debt, two adults both working, with health insurance, and a little savings. Lucky.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Lucky.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(as always, this blog post is a rough draft piece of writing that could use some revising and editing....I've decided that "showing up" to write is more important than the perfection that always keeps me from posting).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Be tender with yourself.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-73214356080710049742022-11-11T08:49:00.000-08:002022-11-11T08:49:44.665-08:00NO-vember<p>I've been thinking of November as NO-vember and I am having a day when I would really love to just say NO and stay inside. </p><p> The weather has been so unseasonably warm that we have just been muddling along on the farm without really doing any of the things we needed to do before the arrival of Winter. So today, November 11th, just shy of our average first freeze, we are experiencing falling temperatures, a cold rain, and are expecting our first freeze tonight. It is supposed to be colder tomorrow night.</p><p>I've been doing this long enough that I know the average first and last freeze dates...I knew Winter (or what passes for Winter in Texas) was coming, but even so I didn't get the farm winterized in October as I should have. That means that today, as a cold front pushes passed us and cold rain falls I'm insulating the well pipes, pulling all the hoses, covering faucets. Later I'll take some hay to the little barns and try to figure out how to keep my greenhouse warm because the fucking door has swollen or the whole thing has shifted and the door won't shut.<br /></p><p> Already, I've discovered that the mower won't start because it's cold. I've gotten caught in a little mini-downpour that soaked my jeans. I'm on my second pair of gloves. My boots are giving me blisters. My phone is dead. </p><p>It is certainly the kind of day that makes you want to say NO, but it also going to be the kind of day that makes me feel powerful and smart and persistent and wise. Because I will get everything done, I'll improvise and problem solve and make do and make things work. Despite my physical discomfort, both my chronic pain and fatigue and the cold, wet situation I find myself in, I will get through this day and be proud of myself.</p><p>But next year, I'm doing the winterizing in October like I'm supposed to.<br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-79816408056140521482022-11-06T08:16:00.004-08:002022-11-06T08:16:59.593-08:00SURRENDERING.<p>CHAPTER ONE: SURRENDER<br />September seems like the perfect time to prepare to surrender…not wave the white flag and submit to your enemy, but more in the yoga sense of the word to release control over the outcomes. For me the Autumn has become a time to clean up the house and farm and settle in, let go, slow down, and prepare to rest for the Winter. <br /><br />The idea of surrender is, depending on which source you read, centered around trusting the Universe. Constance L. Habash in an article on her website defines surrender as releasing our attachment to what isn’t serving us anymore. It is to let go of who you are or who you thought you were; to let go of limitations and judgments and negative beliefs about yourself. When we surrender, we remember that we can choose our responses, but can’t control the outcome itself. In surrendering we lose the struggle and we get some freedom when we put down our self-imposed burdens. https://www.awakeningself.com/writing/self-surrender-ishvara-pranidhana/<br /><br />The foundation of my own practice of surrender was to learn acceptance. For me, chronic illness changed my energy, my abilities, and my priorities. I fought against all that change, simply refused to listen to my body, instead just powering through my days. If I couldn’t finish my list of things that I thought needed to get done that I day I was judgemental and cruel to myself. I called myself lazy and slow, dumb sometimes for not managing better. I guess I thought if I just ignored it I could make it go away, but we know that doesn’t work. It took time, lots of time to learn to accept my new limitations and I won’t lie and tell you it was a smooth transition. I fought and fought, I also whined and cried and raged and screamed. I always think about the line …rage, rage against the dying of the light. I thought I would just fade away if I didn’t maintain my speed. Instead, I learned to accept first. To acknowledge my fatigue, my pain, my fuzzy thinking. I learned to slow down and notice it, then let it come in without sadness or anger. I learned to accept what just was.<br /><br />I once wrote myself a note that said, “You cannot micro-manage the whole Universe”. <br /><br />Surrender didn’t come easily to me, but over time I learned how to relinquish control. That was in the depths of my you-must-do-it-all-(perfectly) phase when I was working from “cain’t see to cain’t see” every day on the farm and teaching and still not getting it all done. As I began to notice my changing energy patterns, I began to let go of the expectations that I could work 14-16 hours a day. I began to practice my surrender which over time has come to be closer to the practice of surrender that Eckhardt Tolle describes as “the wisdom of yielding to rather than opposing the flow of life”. Further he notes that the only way to experience the flow of life is in the Now, “so to surrender is to accept the present moment unconditionally and without reservation”. (171)<br /><br />It took me years to recognize the seasonality of my health. The way I have vigor and energy in the Spring, then my energy peaks in the summer, then begins to dwindle as we move into September. As a teacher I just thought it was a back-to-school adjustment. It seemed normal to come home from work and sleep a couple of hours before making dinner.<br /><br />After I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s and Fibromyalgia, this continued, but got worse too. By this time I was running our farm and I was dragging myself from barn to barn with daily fatigue, achy pain, lethargy, melancholy. No matter how much sleep I got I was groggy and grumpy of a morning. My energy always low in September. <br /><br />It took ages for me to get the message my body was sending. To start making connections between how I feel and the seasons. To learn how to surrender to it and just go with the flow.<br />I think of the time between the September equinox and the Winter Solstice in December (for those of use in the Northern Hemisphere) as a time of cooling temperatures and shorter days. It is also a time of preparation and movement and migration. Squirrels endlessly collecting acorns and pecans to bury around the yard and garden their preparation for the Winter to come. The birds and butterflies head to their winter homes stopping off to feed on seeds and milkweed pods on their way. The trees let go their leaving bringing their energy back into their roots in preparation for colder weather. Autumn is first a time of collecting and storing energy, then preparing to rest.<br /><br />It took years of observation and rumination and paying attention to understand how the seasons affected my health. And then it took more years to make adjustments to my life to bring more ease during this specific time of the year. There are many ways to Surrender and many ways to think of it. You can: give it to the Universe; stop fighting; Let go; or Let go and let God (if that suits you). <br /><br />In the waning light of Autumn I stop forcing myself get up when the mornings are dark. Instead I lie in bed, propped up and watch as the light grows, or maybe I read just a bit, or play with the cats. Once I understood that my body was just responding to the changing seasons I stopped fighting it. I surrendered to the seasonal lack of light and respected the coming season of rest by slowing down and preparing for it. <br /><br />During this time of year, I know to be tender with myself. To let go of my expectations and attachments to outcomes. I respect my urge to sleep more, to walk in nature when it is cooler, to generally adjust my schedule to match the daylight.<br /><br />Of course it isn’t just in the Autumn when I practice Surrender. Anytime I feel myself struggling or fighting something especially when it feels like an exercise in futility I pause and ask myself:<br /> Will this struggle change anything?<br /> Will this matter in five years?<br /> Why is this important to me and worth the struggle?<br /><br />If I answer No to the first two and cannot articulate an answer for the third one, I let it go. Just stop fighting it. You can apply this to anything. The farm and nature itself has asked for my Surrender many times. For months I chased the free-ranging chickens out of the front yard. Y’all chickens are dumb, but they know what they like and the mulched beds are the best place for scratching. Nevermind they have acres of pasture to roam, the mulched areas are the best. So, every evening while making dinner I’d look up, see chickens, dash out the front door, swinging my dishtowel and shouting, “Git. Git Now you fuckin’ birds! Go on, Git”. They’d run, I’d chase and curse. The next evening we’d repeat the whole thing until one night I was just done fighting and instead of heading out to chase them I just muttered under my breath “those fuckin’ birds. Tearing up the whole planet. Grumble. grumble. grgggg” and suddenly there was peace. Because really who cares? What does it matter truly? And in five years will it matter—-Nah. Surrender.<br /><br />Now don’t misunderstand here. Surrender is not easy and from the above story it might seem like it is, but with every surrender you are letting go of something. Usually for me, it is some belief I had about myself or this little world I created. In surrendering to the chickens I had to give up on the idea that the front yard would be tidy and beautiful, but more importantly I had to let go of the idea that I was physically able to keep the yard tidy and beautiful.<br /><br />There are also myriad ways to practice Surrender. I’ve surrendered to a hackberry tree that’s growing in a weird place. I’ve surrendered to a lawnmower that required more hands than I had to start and let go of the memory of that young, strong, healthy, body. I’ve surrendered to my own body when it needs to rest. Again, Letting go of the image of myself as vibrant and healthy. I’ve surrendered to the routines that make my life easier. I’ve let lots of things just go. I had too.<br /><br />I learned to Surrender when I became chronically ill, but Surrender feels like a reward I earned. Surrender allowed me to focus on what is most important and let everything fall away. Surrender allowed me to slow down and take care of my tender little self.<br /><br />You’ve got to slow down too, because I know you have things that you’re fighting that you don’t need to fight anymore. It might be something silly that gets you wound up that just won’t matter in five years so just let it go. It might be the “perfect mom” or “super star employee” WORK ON THIS WORK WORK WORK.Give it wings and wish it well.<br /> </p><p> </p><p>AS USUAL, THIS IS A VERY ROUGH FIRST DRAFT (AND IT IS ABOUT TO UNDERGO SOME SERIOUS REVISION). <br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-32952787934153997752022-10-21T10:09:00.001-07:002022-10-21T10:09:28.114-07:00(untitled) October 21,2022 (written during a retreat with Jen Louden)<p> We are made of saffron and stardust</p><p>We scrub our souls with busyness</p><p>bleach our bones with dis-ease</p><p>our pockets empty</p><p>We disappear into</p><p>too much</p><p>too many</p><p>too loud</p><p><br /></p><p>We long to leave ourselves</p><p>skedaddle into spaces</p><p>not known</p><p>Escape</p><p>reclaim our stardust magic and </p><p>paint ourselves with saffron</p><p>strings like jewels</p><p>that came from our hearts.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4RrsJjNHUpa7yLUEvOur8hs3MtXb4yTv5Qq6ZyUcNuAU3Xa1wVPqnsWehHFH_yDeeE3iyoViFXALbFCTYH1POT7dzKj3CnqfGBEIhSzqgPAwtE_VJuH4JMB0qnibp4bWUY1eLejyX6KypjpFnAKEcAMLAYWaW-4urPBg-3JZtZ7eQ-Acf2H4zPPA/s3264/E0552E62-5DB1-4B2C-8FEF-1259E97BE1EA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4RrsJjNHUpa7yLUEvOur8hs3MtXb4yTv5Qq6ZyUcNuAU3Xa1wVPqnsWehHFH_yDeeE3iyoViFXALbFCTYH1POT7dzKj3CnqfGBEIhSzqgPAwtE_VJuH4JMB0qnibp4bWUY1eLejyX6KypjpFnAKEcAMLAYWaW-4urPBg-3JZtZ7eQ-Acf2H4zPPA/s320/E0552E62-5DB1-4B2C-8FEF-1259E97BE1EA.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-51742026062517773772022-07-17T13:22:00.000-07:002022-07-17T13:22:15.194-07:00The Sermon of Soil and Sun<p> Y'all probably know I attend Big Church...same church my Dad attended...This morning I went out in my nightgown as I've been doing lately and I kneeled down and let my hands pray awhile in the soil. If you had seen me from afar, I appeared to be working on a flowerbed, and I was, but more importantly I was talking to the earth and I was listening to her.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3J6K1OUPYFTZpa29B8ztVJ8MwtERmianVoMQ8sBrbzkwJnhK3lRGkbo-dAzGtLpZp5KQCnbrVhL8ZBZTT1F2qHgY_EINY6BgdFcJkx-5d9ZM1Df3EbBxIXsyJ062shJhMXljz6DyEPIuR5rPZp4J3n5Nf3Y0QV78CFLmfuRKJLs0K7QRlq-7jFbKE/s1632/52ED8F1F-E6FD-4D0A-8826-187C57A98E5D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3J6K1OUPYFTZpa29B8ztVJ8MwtERmianVoMQ8sBrbzkwJnhK3lRGkbo-dAzGtLpZp5KQCnbrVhL8ZBZTT1F2qHgY_EINY6BgdFcJkx-5d9ZM1Df3EbBxIXsyJ062shJhMXljz6DyEPIuR5rPZp4J3n5Nf3Y0QV78CFLmfuRKJLs0K7QRlq-7jFbKE/s320/52ED8F1F-E6FD-4D0A-8826-187C57A98E5D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This used to be a pond.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Here in Texas, things seem rather dire...it's not just the ongoing Pandemic and the Monkeypox and the shootings and the politics, but the current weather and our changing climate that weighs heavy on me. I'm not keeping track, but it has been over 100 degrees for a couple of weeks now...in June it looked like August. The trees and grapevines are losing leaves, some trees look as if fire swept past them, browning and curling the leaves along the edges. The grass crunches underfoot and fire is a constant fear. The garden is dead and the pond's gone dry, all the fish dead and consumed. I stopped watering annuals and even so, every day I drag hoses around to perennials, many well-established that I know will die if I don't water them. </p><p>I always wonder why more people aren't alarmed by what seems so clear to me. You don't have to read the news to know our climate is changing, you need only pay attention. I get fed up about once a week, wonder why I'm recycling, why I'm conserving water, why I seem to be the only one who cares, but it always passes. Always. And even when I'm grumpy, I do what has to be done.</p><p> But some days, I need to listen to the sermon. I need to kneel down and dig my hands in the soil. I need to see the Black Swallowtail, the only one I've seen, searching the blooms of a Malvaviscus arboreus (Mexican Apple/Turks Cap) I've been watering. I need to see the one lone Passion flower. Sadly, I need to note the health of my Passionvines who normally have been eaten, turned to lace by the Gulf Fritillary caterpillars that seem to be missing this year. I need to note the one lone den of a Cicada Killer wasp, and I need to look for frogs and birds because it reminds me why I do what I do.</p><p>I don't recycle and plant natives and garden and limit my driving for humans, I do it for the animals, for the earth. I don't have children, so what will my legacy be?</p><p>I hope I can made some small difference on this little piece of land, this 11.65 acres of which I'm the steward. As I understand it, that is my job...to protect Her as best I can.</p><p>(as usual, this is a first draft and as such is bound to have a slew of typos and grammatical issues...for now, I'm just trying to get back to writing. Wish me luck).<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnV3PMczpdj6i5TJ5aC04DQfZsTLhHX0cq9nRPOkC232SM1HNqCisZhbsdaM9GU9WtzyR5vCy0XyB1MsktPDG4EOhvML5VlaXg5_gUXzNh_3z4CRNvqWPyZNA0F1S6nw3snDN5btEpaIbWV5tTIrxseqnBoUMC-qcpYNM9GjfwzaRWi1_dn7jOs62/s1632/CFB6A4C5-82E6-4155-9673-B0ACAE3B8CA8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnV3PMczpdj6i5TJ5aC04DQfZsTLhHX0cq9nRPOkC232SM1HNqCisZhbsdaM9GU9WtzyR5vCy0XyB1MsktPDG4EOhvML5VlaXg5_gUXzNh_3z4CRNvqWPyZNA0F1S6nw3snDN5btEpaIbWV5tTIrxseqnBoUMC-qcpYNM9GjfwzaRWi1_dn7jOs62/s320/CFB6A4C5-82E6-4155-9673-B0ACAE3B8CA8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dry, brown grass and storms building somewhere else.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdS69OWGEecl-RalelNLObGZHKiF5JHHuoNnrIRhWvgT4GZKKeJdWIQgyc_YoR31X_XenDx8UNKh9ePmg_09RwS1cNIUBp-B9ep0h2jfaPhqvnZG2ji5K45VsgQFoSDSgUYu-CIv6ywCS0KZO8CTQVMhZLDb5l_QG2XlqOfaXkJL-kjiMz1OaJuQQ/s1280/96F52E32-D676-4993-83A0-E03956B07052.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="1280" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdS69OWGEecl-RalelNLObGZHKiF5JHHuoNnrIRhWvgT4GZKKeJdWIQgyc_YoR31X_XenDx8UNKh9ePmg_09RwS1cNIUBp-B9ep0h2jfaPhqvnZG2ji5K45VsgQFoSDSgUYu-CIv6ywCS0KZO8CTQVMhZLDb5l_QG2XlqOfaXkJL-kjiMz1OaJuQQ/s320/96F52E32-D676-4993-83A0-E03956B07052.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very hot Cardinal.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-25659847940559034062021-12-26T09:06:00.003-08:002021-12-26T09:06:41.855-08:00Foggy Morning Ruminations<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-dFLO1iOs5C8ck-mV3Ihygdaqqqqdj3KVZjjxkaNs1WjMjHUB3J6GCIFNkSy8hdB9qE5aNXo31SLNXavPm14SEFW3cs5TefsyLIFkySjC3pTf3ZUH1P5jgWYjqUvqLkvL88j3Q_FfhsDA_-I956Zm8M1mw_8wLaYoqdbD4_Nosr4HiHmEzRnJYIHb=s1632" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-dFLO1iOs5C8ck-mV3Ihygdaqqqqdj3KVZjjxkaNs1WjMjHUB3J6GCIFNkSy8hdB9qE5aNXo31SLNXavPm14SEFW3cs5TefsyLIFkySjC3pTf3ZUH1P5jgWYjqUvqLkvL88j3Q_FfhsDA_-I956Zm8M1mw_8wLaYoqdbD4_Nosr4HiHmEzRnJYIHb=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> December 26, 2021<br />When I was a kid all these roads were dirt. I rode my bike, walked, learned to drive a car on these roads. We took drives to look at wildflowers forty years ago when there were fewer houses and the ditches were left unmowed. In those days we could find miles and miles of woods and flowers and native grasses. Then the roads were paved and as a young adult I ran miles and miles and miles with just my own thoughts for company, the houses still few and far between. The odds of a passing car low, the solitude complete. Then the county grew and grew and houses sprouted up and people paved driveways across pastures, pushed trees down and burned huge piles. They mowed and trimmed and sprayed. They razed and pushed and formed her to their liking. They beat her into submission and the backroads became well-traveled and busy, they became short cuts for neighborhoods burgeoning in thick clusters like flies on a corpse.<br /><br />This past week I’ve driven, twice a day, every day over the same route. Those backroads are part of who I am, bound to them by history and memory. The radio reception was static-laden ins and outs and so I drove in silence, in my own head. Slow and present, watching once wild verges for birds or plants or life of any kind. <br /><br />Most of what I saw was not life, but death. so much trash, so much randomness and so much heartbreak for me, because I love those back roads. I love this place, this land.<br /><br />Yesterday I slowed, stopped, and picked up a sheet, a shirt, a pair of gloves. Those were the oddest things I could identify from my car window. I’ve counted trash, noted the things that were tossed out of windows of cars moving too fast to even see what was there already. Cars rushing past so fast that the sides are just a blur out the window. <br /><br />This morning in the fog, I slowed further on a little straight stretch to count the dead piglets (three), a sow? (one), a dead cat, cans, bottles, styrofoam cups, and recliners…one meant for a child. The child’s lesson: when you no longer want it you can just throw it “away” for someone else to deal with. The recliners appeared between Christmas night and this early Sunday morning…did they get new ones? Did someone spill or vomit on these? Were they falling apart? The wrong color? Are they too poor to pay to dump it? Too lazy? What? (It cost $5.00 to dump a sofa at the county collection station.)<br /><br />I have a hard time NOT seeing the trash, not seeing my memory laid over the reality and lamenting the demise of those wild spaces. The ones that were wonderful enough to load up the car and “go for a drive” to see. I try hard not to let the sadness overwhelm me, I look for life, but the death is always just there over my shoulder ready to swoop in if I let down my guard.<br /><br />Over the course of the week, I’ve seen the same rafter of wild turkeys in a hay field, in a pecan orchard. I counted 26. I saw an American Kestrel perched on a post, a Blue Jay poised and posed on a picturesque, weathered cedar post on a fence that has been there my whole life. This morning there was a flock of Cardinals at least 30 strong who swooped across the road just in front of me. I watched for the Cupacabera, but he stayed hidden, the deer were elusive too. But I know they are still out there. For now. <br /><br />The life is still out there if you look. Slow down and really see. It’s not too late to go back a step, to re-wild some spaces. To learn new things. These thoughts give me hope, but then I realize that my little tiny voice is not loud enough to be heard and my heart breaks all over again for those country roads lost. <br /><p></p><p>As usual, this is a rough draft. Please read it as such.<br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-64651444333659180412021-10-25T11:06:00.004-07:002021-10-25T11:06:36.427-07:0020 Month Ferment<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm still stitching blocks with no plans for a whole. Except that I do plan for it to be a quilt, a whole quilt, with the whole story...maybe. I don't really have a plan. I'm just putting it all down in stitch...the burdens of the last year and a half...20 months or so of anxiety and dread.<img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07p2nMN1lGJ8RWZ-cLQSbpvQT2v_lBcJlKXCZ_vJO8aQqKn7r_19Y24admAvCqmxHquVvhNrTyBS2NbFUh-8K7RO05Iy0FnCqFvHLt6J9ms_VEZCx1RRVSPQdO59Iko2H8ZTZwadoVnU/s320/IMG_5086.jpg" width="320" /></div>I, for the first time since June 2020, spent a whole afternoon with my family, a meal, art, games...lots of laughter and for me, lots of anxiety too. I could forget sometimes and it felt normal, then reality would come to the surface and my anxiety would rear it's head. I would back away, too close, too close.<p></p><p></p><p>As long as I stayed right in that moment, that Now I was okay, but any little slip into my own head made me feel panic. </p><p>When I arrived home, alone my throat was sore from laughing and I fought the urge to compulsively wash my hands. Again and again, I headed to the sink. After the third or fourth time I reined myself in...enough. You are safe. You are home. You are alone. </p><p>I've spent much of the last 20 months home alone and I'm okay with that...I do my thing. I stay busy. I'm an introvert so it's no big deal to be home alone. What concerns me is the feeling that home is the only safe place, the only place to let down your guard. </p><p>How long do you think that feeling will last? Long enough to finish this quilt? Considering that this quilt has been fermenting for the whole 20 months you would think I would have some kind of plan, but I don't. I have from the very beginning wanted to chronicle this time of Covid in stitch, but it wasn't until this week that I could begin. I don't ask Why? anymore, I just accept that this is the way I work. </p><p>Today I am faced with a blank space ready for me to stitch, I'll eat some lunch, stare at it some more, then begin...when it tells me what it wants to say.<br /> </p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-62476524065270391542021-10-23T07:38:00.000-07:002021-10-23T07:38:15.354-07:00+1,610: While I stitched<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FSE5RPwOVuu9ThWB4kKLtkozqRqrVDr91MwAvbeb66tMPfV-wHQjITihdcEVOZILgsqoFKqHAColpEj2PHAgU-Y5aqGzYr3j7dMhuhTlaqKaiWR8UaStPuzwrKYuOEJYz4eKD_I4_bU/s1514/IMG_5069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1514" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FSE5RPwOVuu9ThWB4kKLtkozqRqrVDr91MwAvbeb66tMPfV-wHQjITihdcEVOZILgsqoFKqHAColpEj2PHAgU-Y5aqGzYr3j7dMhuhTlaqKaiWR8UaStPuzwrKYuOEJYz4eKD_I4_bU/s320/IMG_5069.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpn2WeiPGaUm32n1rpp8VPTDzXspm-vjKC7iqKooTporur_ILh2CSbdGF1BWeA4o8tVdR_wpck74ZV8BpMFuxzEzPwF8Q5mjZb8jmT1EouoOAtR0MIxbxiNI3q_R8bQyZWyZ2BIlrDB3w/s1632/IMG_5070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpn2WeiPGaUm32n1rpp8VPTDzXspm-vjKC7iqKooTporur_ILh2CSbdGF1BWeA4o8tVdR_wpck74ZV8BpMFuxzEzPwF8Q5mjZb8jmT1EouoOAtR0MIxbxiNI3q_R8bQyZWyZ2BIlrDB3w/s320/IMG_5070.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NWuCXUyZ47qNdDiQjC77NQ9Q_LtgYbr_Uhgybfq1HvCp3Qp36SDjXQp75kJHclVEeeENe9vYDsCGmovtRbgQBe8SxkmD5PDuu6E4lX1rx7-eOZokYWYqCAqydCiZDf3IacGKunVd94w/s1632/IMG_5071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NWuCXUyZ47qNdDiQjC77NQ9Q_LtgYbr_Uhgybfq1HvCp3Qp36SDjXQp75kJHclVEeeENe9vYDsCGmovtRbgQBe8SxkmD5PDuu6E4lX1rx7-eOZokYWYqCAqydCiZDf3IacGKunVd94w/s320/IMG_5071.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-11296703147547676362021-10-22T08:32:00.001-07:002021-10-22T08:32:47.911-07:00710<p>I’m notoriously bad at math, like; can’t make change without a calculator, struggle to do easy math unless I can write it down. And if my brain is foggy just forget it. I am not trustworthy when it comes to math, but numbers? Numbers, they stick.<br /><br />I remember statistics and percentages, numbers and rates. Lately the numbers I have stored in my head have been haunting me. A prick, a prod to remember, to think. My empathy and imagination got turned up full blast. I followed the Gabby Petito story closely. I think because I too, when I was young, traveled all over the West, climbing and hiking. I recognize that vulnerability as my own. My imagination can take me right into her shoes. When I heard she was strangled, I went right there…someone you love squeezing the life out of you, looking in your eyes, wilderness all around…even if you could scream there was no one to hear you. The the body abandoned for days and weeks…<br /><br />That’s just the tip of what I can and do imagine. My empathy/imagination, as I said, is tuned to that frequency. I hurt for her, for him, for their families. I can’t turn it off.<br /><br />But along side that horror that my head creates specific to Gabby is the number 710. I don’t have faces or stories to put with the number, but it number haunts me too. I can’t let myself look for their names. I can’t. If I did I would imagine and then feel their pain too. <br /><br />Yesterday, as the news of human remains thought to be Brian Laundrie’s were found, I sat down and stitched. I stitched while watching The Keepers (an unsolved murder, sexual abuse, a coverup, the Catholic church) and I found myself stitching out 710 brown Xs and a red handprint. <br /><br />Stitch can be cathartic, it is a way of journaling, a way of setting down the burden of such a number so I don’t have to imagine the horrors, or carry the burden. I don’t know what the finished piece with be, or if it will be anything more than a day of journaling or setting down the burden of empathy. There are other numbers that I need to lay down, so maybe they will join together as a quilt of mourning for the lost. I don’t know. I just know I have to lay the numbers down or they will crush me under their weight.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRR-GCpV6Dv1Izx_vpVhNzRmDwQUSOEJqhfA6cMQyPvS026Zi6LR-kBgCAFablodJKUKtgVng1T6Ov6j5P1xmnnnjAEOXx8xDuJY3p2miSIIMHyJhjxutw7PSWbnIkMWa7DWqnzffGQFA/s1524/IMG_5068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="1524" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRR-GCpV6Dv1Izx_vpVhNzRmDwQUSOEJqhfA6cMQyPvS026Zi6LR-kBgCAFablodJKUKtgVng1T6Ov6j5P1xmnnnjAEOXx8xDuJY3p2miSIIMHyJhjxutw7PSWbnIkMWa7DWqnzffGQFA/s320/IMG_5068.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-91858968443191214432021-05-21T13:34:00.001-07:002021-05-21T13:34:27.950-07:00Day 19: Better Off<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mVtl2I8xlEudkbwyd1S5iNn07_A5f-tFGMUX9nSNJ1EjYXRdkwKjgb1dwty0uwW7NcaYfhbBIVyL8cIZLLFYMkMlaLhWPeBxlpBgnkqWIbuxL1EkJipY6IZF0duImoUSbP_PDd1BUdA/s1280/6F993E8A-3D96-4A71-9E3D-052C5C6A778A.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mVtl2I8xlEudkbwyd1S5iNn07_A5f-tFGMUX9nSNJ1EjYXRdkwKjgb1dwty0uwW7NcaYfhbBIVyL8cIZLLFYMkMlaLhWPeBxlpBgnkqWIbuxL1EkJipY6IZF0duImoUSbP_PDd1BUdA/s320/6F993E8A-3D96-4A71-9E3D-052C5C6A778A.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrap box from Psychic Outlaw.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>It has been 19 days since I decided to take a break from my screens, with that said I haven't given them up entirely, but I have dialed it WAY back. I can't believe how much I'm getting down and how fired up I am with creative ideas. <p></p><p></p><p>I decided to order a box of scraps from Psychic Outlaw and challenged myself to use them all...I'm still picking at the tiny bits and I haven't cut the coolest scrap yet because I can't decide what to do with it, but I made one tote and a whole slew of Pocket Purses.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7GVvnlYCvI-3020Xd1heM7WKN2Bl5sC7GEYHXRObaB2viFmIdF1tN3iddjYp-s0T7PZO_eztOQ2_cuOK1VgK6JN3LS3saVoq3GavQSCFqsHGk415mKjs9QrSRCL1Bmq8jScbvUkrodE/w150-h200/IMG_4488.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="150" /> <br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weird shaped scraps!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27iKhsZd9cc0Dip9QdP4pKWVI14vfXMVWKfAEJRx9QnXIqm-iYSQS3F-clqhGEpWxKgXPNDPM-vsUMjXt_-hANFpb80OeCEVzPHS5mOjP6rEnYGFY7IoYSSntRuv8ZgguzyayfyLcGyk/s1280/IMG_4489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1190" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27iKhsZd9cc0Dip9QdP4pKWVI14vfXMVWKfAEJRx9QnXIqm-iYSQS3F-clqhGEpWxKgXPNDPM-vsUMjXt_-hANFpb80OeCEVzPHS5mOjP6rEnYGFY7IoYSSntRuv8ZgguzyayfyLcGyk/s320/IMG_4489.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's what is left after making a Pocket Purse.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix4jg7AxSWXP_miCtL_THIX1eQNug8mZIJaYpQVTU3SdXo5AV5AT361mttOSOciJoEYun1KCHpvOjxo_XphKSmLlrUvReFx22jCyn34lpntbJomAsombWZkZ0ZGpvTLHocX6OfIGdzpTE/s1632/IMG_4547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix4jg7AxSWXP_miCtL_THIX1eQNug8mZIJaYpQVTU3SdXo5AV5AT361mttOSOciJoEYun1KCHpvOjxo_XphKSmLlrUvReFx22jCyn34lpntbJomAsombWZkZ0ZGpvTLHocX6OfIGdzpTE/s320/IMG_4547.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect Pocket Purse!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I spent a couple of days working from that box of scraps and it was a wonderful challenge...it made me work my brain to come up with linings, layouts, etc. </p><p></p><p>I spent another partial day taking the photos and today I've finally listed them on <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/OwlTreeFarmHandmade?ref=search_shop_redirect" target="_blank">ETSY.</a></p><p>And despite my being a noodle brain when it comes to technology I'm challenging myself to figure some more things out too...</p><p> (Oh, this cutie isn't listed on ETSY, because I failed to photograph it from all the angles...so, back to work).</p><p> <br /> </p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-82477252633902851862021-05-05T13:07:00.003-07:002021-05-05T13:07:14.614-07:00Day 2(one day late)<p>may 5, 2021<br /> Yesterday was Day 2 of Better Off…admittedly I did do a quick scroll through a local Facebook page because we thought there might have been a tornado in the area. We knew there was hail and wind. Curiosity got the best of me? Or maybe it was that morbid fascination I have with natural disaster that sent me scrolling for devastation of which I found none. At the time I felt like I needed to know, but this morning in the bright sun and under the influence of hindsight I know that it was completely unnecessary to my functioning. I had talked with my mom and checked in with a friend whose farm was in the line of storms. I knew all was well with them and all was well on our farm, so…hmmm, I didn’t need to check it out at all.<br /> In times of excessive mental agitation about the state of the world/planet I convince myself to just view our little farm as having a bubble over it…a safe place, mentally and physically. Scrolling for pictures of devastation just breaks the bubble and brings the mayhem into my safe zone. I know that I can’t keep it all out, but part of living a more mindful and stress-less life is learning to stay in the moment and for me that also means staying in this place, in this moment…I can’t let my head wander to what is out there.<br /> Usually I bring this bubble down over the farm when I get distressed about the environment…when I see neighbors spraying poison, or mowing every square inch…no habitat left for the creatures who were here before us, all the native plants shredded, trees chopped and tidy and controlled and managed. Beat into submission.<br /> I suppose I’ve had visions of being some vocal and effective environmental activist in the past, but the reality is that I don’t have the personality, the charisma (much less the energy, drive, or stamina) to get out there and make change. The other reality is that it wrecks me too much to see/witness/think about it too much…I need the bubble. My head is too fragile and I can’t seem to ward off the feelings of hopelessness when everything I say falls on deaf ears.<br /> Instead I chose to keep the bubble down and keep us safe within it. I choose to live as an example of a better way and hope (oh, that slippery hope) that someone notices and changes a little because I have modeled a better way.<br /> Yesterday as I drove to the city and back I tried hard to stay in that moment, feeling my feet on the pedals, feeling my butt in the seat, singing along to the radio so as not to wander off in some maelstrom as I noticed and let go of images. <br /> I have a hard time driving because I can’t help but see, really SEE all kinds of things that distress me. Dead coyotes strung up on a fence, dead cats/dogs run down, the scraped raw acreage, the nuked out fence lines sprayed with glyphosate, the endless trash in the ditches which are often mowed flat, no wildflowers, the Walmart bags stuck to barbwire, the sofa, love seat AND ottoman dumped on the roadside…<br /> Bring the bubble down.<br /> </p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-26190738643337384712021-05-03T07:44:00.003-07:002021-05-03T07:44:47.574-07:00Better OFF: Day 1.<p> For the last couple of weeks I’ve been reading Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn…it is the basis for the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction programs that are used in hospitals the world over to help people with things like PTSD, anxiety, chronic pain, etc.<br /><br />On the roller-coaster that is my health and well-being, I find myself again and again at the bottom of the hill. I hate rollercoasters, but I’ve ridden a few, long ago and I recall that when they start the climb back up from the bottom it is a slow, jerky ooching up, notch by notch. In my memory that ooching is accompanied by a loud tick, tick, tick, tick, each notch up a discreet location that slowly, slowly takes you to the top. <br /><br />That sound, the deafening tick, tick, tick of the wind up, the slow pulling up and up and up I repeat over and over as I find myself down and then fight my way up. Each tick is hard earned. When I find myself at the bottom, I start over again with the basics. Diet. Sleep. Lifestyle. Pacing. Drugs. Supplements. Rest. Recreation. Nature. And so on.<br /><br />The one thing that seems mandatory but that I have resisted is the meditation. In my experience my monkey brain runs out of control, throwing poop and squawking, never quiet. So I convinced myself that I just couldn’t meditate…that it was not for me. But the studies are in. The research is there and now, at the bottom I find myself desperate again to start the notch by notch, tick by tick, climb back to the top. <br /><br />Kabat-Zinn takes his title from a response from Zorba in the novel Zorba the Greek. He defines the “full catastrophe” as “the richness of life and the inevitability of all its dilemmas, sorrows, traumas, tragedies, and ironies”. The phrase “captures something positive about the human spirit’s ability to come to grips with what is most difficult in life and to find within it room to grow in strength and wisdom” (Kabat-Zinn, Introduction, liii). <br /><br />Kabat-Zinn remarks that Zorba’s “way is to ‘dance’ in the gale of the full catastrophe, to celebrate life, to laugh with it and at himself, even in the face of personal failure and defeat”(iii). But I am so fortunate to be able to live in relative peace, relatively stress-free in rigid farm routines. I don’t have a job, or lots of interactions with other humans. So why am I still anxious? Depressed? Sick? Clearly there is still something missing in my life that is impacting my health. And meditation is the thing that I have resisted all this time. One more notch UP.<br /><br />I’ve procrastinated for long enough. I’ve read the books, downloaded the audio files. Bought the workbook, yet I haven’t started. I keep telling myself: “I’ll start when I finish this book” or “I just want to know a few more things” or “I’m going to look up that study” or “One day I’m going to search for mindfulness on Pubmed”…all procrastination.<br /><br />So today is the day. No more putting it off. Instead I’ll be turning it off. I started my day with a Body Scan (and promptly fell asleep…oops). I’ve decided that now is the time and I am nothing if not stubborn. Nothing if not determined. Nothing if not motivated to feel better, to BE better. So today I start, by turning it all off.<br /><br />What happens if I just turn it all OFF? The news. Facebook? Pinterest? Instagram? Netflix? The internet? The phone? The Wifi? I honestly don’t know, so once again I’ll be the guinea pig.<br /><br />I wonder if I will get lonely. Or turn stagnant without a constant stream of images to inspire me. Do I need to know what is happening in the world? Can I create without seeing someone else’s work? Is the farm and all it includes enough to sustain me, nourish me, inspire me.<br /><br />I’ll be blogging and I think I’ll use instagram to log what I create each day (just no scrolling)…because I am curious to see how I fair without visual images to inspire and motivate me and move me passed my blocks. And I’ll make a list of things I need to do online (ie. order supplements, or groceries, or whatever), log on, then turn it off again. I’m good at rules…at least my own rules. I’ll keep you posted. <br /><br />Kabat-Zinn, Jon. Full Catastrophe Living: Using the Wisdom of Your Body and Mind to Face Stress, Pain, and Illness. Bantam, 2013. (print) <br /><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-5219704451961369072021-03-10T13:07:00.002-08:002021-03-10T13:07:26.265-08:00In my Vessel Phase<p> Here I sit and I know that much time has passed since I last wrote anything much at all. I vow over and again that I will write and then I don’t. The last months, years maybe, my head is scattered and focused, broken and mended again and again and I can never seem to find the perfect point of balance. I find myself either doom scrolling with a head full of pancake batter or conversely, buzzing with manic energy with my head full of too many ideas to even capture them all. <br /> The last weeks have been of the latter sort…my head alive with ideas, my body struggling to keep up with the resulting activities as I dabble, play, experiment, create. I’ve stayed away from the news mostly and will continue to do so only because I have finally (I think) learned my lesson. My sensitive Empath’s heart can’t take all this bad news and when my heart can’t take it anymore, my body has to hold it. <br /> The lesson was learned when, bustling with energy, I read that the governor was lifting the mask mandate, which almost instantly dulled my head, then settled itself in my body. The switch flipped. The next day I could barely walk for the pain in my joints…the news settled there like embers long buried, small but hot and full of the power to ignite an inferno. I hobbled on feet so tender that even sitting with them flat on the floor was painful. I turned off the news. I processed over the course days my sadness, my grief, and slowly the pain ebbed.<br /> During that painful week I fought the urge to just give up or give in…to lie down and wait it out. I fought the desire to stop by continuing to go forward. I fought it by diving into art and craft, by keeping my hands busy and allowing my mind to wander. And wander it did, to better places, to dreamworlds where anything is possible. That week I coiled baskets and stitched them by hand slowly winding fabric over cord, pulling long threads through and over and through again. Building out and up until I had a series of vessels to hold my grief and heartache.<br /> While the baskets opened themselves to holding my grief until it evaporated, the pain slowly left my body. Slowly the ideas began to buzz in my brain again. Slowly, I found being on my feet tolerable and I pushed ahead with other arts, other crafts to keep me holding steady.<br /> For the past few days I’ve limited my news and have instead committed my energy and time to making handmade paper. I’ve pondered over and again the difference between art and craft and have decided that they are inextricably linked for me…I need them both…I need rules and procedures to execute the task (craft), but I need to forget the rules sometimes and try new things and create what’s in my head and heart (art). I need the muscles’ memory to do the work, while my head wanders to magic lands.<br /> This manic creating started with coiled baskets, transitioned to papermaking, then morphed into bowls made of paper pulp, and a large paper mache vessel. I’m thinking of this as my “vessel phase” as a time when I need a place to contain the burdens that are too just heavy to carry. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkyLQYtXN-ODgK4Innkbdt8rALncS8fPuHIt7hoQmptfaCdjvaCIO13XZZmFlpZTHhwVOQ7BMiq8CXV-HKSDsIIqkG1vU4VopHRfvi0vtOiRkEBDk26eiE_lbVYZWr-PLeRvsxaDXfDY/s1632/IMG_4213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkyLQYtXN-ODgK4Innkbdt8rALncS8fPuHIt7hoQmptfaCdjvaCIO13XZZmFlpZTHhwVOQ7BMiq8CXV-HKSDsIIqkG1vU4VopHRfvi0vtOiRkEBDk26eiE_lbVYZWr-PLeRvsxaDXfDY/w640-h480/IMG_4213.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-50652814096132750302021-01-10T08:09:00.002-08:002021-01-10T08:09:30.522-08:00A (security) Blanket of Snow<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgiOpGFoS9rHBQQ6wA2NNysVcTuV4Ga3xDSNsB9nK_aPh5YuBw9ofV1HO3d3CIoLIHidt0YFbJMjjLl_ix4-WPA5Y9uRp1GfvC1gNUb_r6Dh5MN3TH2sxGeTzCsH9jMlz7FiFxFd8NYI/s1632/IMG_4043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgiOpGFoS9rHBQQ6wA2NNysVcTuV4Ga3xDSNsB9nK_aPh5YuBw9ofV1HO3d3CIoLIHidt0YFbJMjjLl_ix4-WPA5Y9uRp1GfvC1gNUb_r6Dh5MN3TH2sxGeTzCsH9jMlz7FiFxFd8NYI/w640-h480/IMG_4043.JPG" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div>January 10, 2021<br /> We woke to low gray skies and it quickly began to snow…it is not often that we get snow and it won’t last long so in these hours there is a kind of quiet magic coupled with a sense of dread because we know it won’t last. The magic will melt and dissolve and we will be back to where we were when we woke.<br /> The snow has an insulating effect on the farm…on sunny days when we can see over our fences we are never able to disconnect from the closeness of our neighbors or the road, but today in snow we cannot see even to our own fences from the house. Our world is squeezed down to just this farm, our place. We are safe and held in our quiet wonder.<br /> It is coming down fast and has, in just an hour, transformed our world to this silent, perfect place. I am not bothered by being isolated or alone, in fact I prefer solitude and this snow feels like a blanket that shields me from what’s “out there”. These days “out there” feels too dangerous with the storming of the Capital building just days behind us and the pandemic raging on and on. My neighbors are not to be trusted anymore, though I know them to be “nice” people, I also know them as supporting the side of insurrections and sedition, of treason and bigotry and so on. Until recently, I just went along to go along, kept my head down and my mouth shut when I was out and about to avoid conflict. Now, I keep my head down and my mouth shut because I don’t want a target on my back; I know that where I live I am Other and it feels dangerous.<br /> So today in this magic world, under this blanket of snow, I feel safe and supported. I will be able to ignorance-as-bliss my way through this day because nothing out there exists for now. Today it is just us, the farm, and the silent woods. <br /> <p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-9275969448121044472021-01-03T06:18:00.002-08:002021-01-03T06:18:47.299-08:00What if we lived in a world without barcodes?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-m5Vy6g86svezGoMYWrgT59KryYcs6LXG_wwk9DEHwaSJ6kRSll2ZETwcyA-dCL7x34PR89ge3JmVDcBWs2aruHPD0NT4mJBGs8_2wyE6dNa2yBoqUdTJg8EF-hBDjTCxGxicPuyf0RM/s1472/IMG_4003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-m5Vy6g86svezGoMYWrgT59KryYcs6LXG_wwk9DEHwaSJ6kRSll2ZETwcyA-dCL7x34PR89ge3JmVDcBWs2aruHPD0NT4mJBGs8_2wyE6dNa2yBoqUdTJg8EF-hBDjTCxGxicPuyf0RM/s320/IMG_4003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>January 3, 2021<br /> Yesterday dawned sunny and bright. It warmed. But across the road someone was burning something foul that tainted the air and it kept me inside when all I wanted was to be outdoors. <br /> Instead I made paper in the afternoon, the pulp a faint blue. It is methodical work and I can daydream and wander in my mind. I am coming back into who I really am. <br /> The year 2020 was a blip for me, a regression, a disintegration, but I’m pulling back together with Purpose and focus now. Moving ahead, dreaming again. <br /> It might not seem that making paper is anything but a weird hobby or a way to pass the time, but it is a return to who I really am and what I believe. It is a perfect example of the way I usually see the world; as full of potential and possibilities. When I say the world, I just mean this space I/we exist in…I do not necessarily mean the material, tactile things; the planet. I look at everything with an eye toward the potential…what else can that be? How can I change it to make it useful or better? A pile of junk seen through my eyes has new life and in paper making I can take a pile of “trash” and make it into something both beautiful and useful. <br /> Because I’m still learning each sheet is variously thicker or thinner than the last. Each sheet is tidy or ragged of an edge. Each sheet is rippled or dented or otherwise imprinted in unique ways that I don’t control. Further, each sheet is different in not just it’s texture but it’s content. Some have bits of color or a long piece that didn’t get digested by the water. My favorites have individual letters or whole words that escaped the whirring blades that pulped the shreds. <br /> For me it is a precisely imprecise endeavor that encapsulates myriad beliefs about the world and the way I believe things should be done. It captures my core belief that everything and everyone has potential and possibility. Change can happen. Nothing is static. Also it exemplifies my lifelong belief (though I just realized this is a lifelong belief) that things should be made in small batches, slowly, by hand. Everything should basically be OOAK (one of a kind), Unique. Less is more. Quality matters. <br /> What if we lived in a world without barcodes?<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtzPd-3ZvmFPfTJ-VWQ-9Yny5wo7mXXYvPJa6qhvp5yv_C_afjxj3nxVvuNrzJow3ZuMJ-ZVP1wmP4CZkHWckSupgemx0Rm2DGn8bWY2ugoMIRCBl3IEI0ulj2qtwrl4UyTrMiomOy6A/s1632/IMG_4004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtzPd-3ZvmFPfTJ-VWQ-9Yny5wo7mXXYvPJa6qhvp5yv_C_afjxj3nxVvuNrzJow3ZuMJ-ZVP1wmP4CZkHWckSupgemx0Rm2DGn8bWY2ugoMIRCBl3IEI0ulj2qtwrl4UyTrMiomOy6A/s320/IMG_4004.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3oRuhUd6l9XBMOgZtWG_2OG6F5pDxRz89JyYBzlglez30BbNn1d7OxN9npmFCpHofzMmSjJmdnZ8YFe4d5By_Kd5r1T9zCcMxUv_SWsdfOMk2T3YBJHwuXDCfa0OLVJQnYoQEcV_9qDI/s1526/IMG_4005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="1526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3oRuhUd6l9XBMOgZtWG_2OG6F5pDxRz89JyYBzlglez30BbNn1d7OxN9npmFCpHofzMmSjJmdnZ8YFe4d5By_Kd5r1T9zCcMxUv_SWsdfOMk2T3YBJHwuXDCfa0OLVJQnYoQEcV_9qDI/s320/IMG_4005.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVzPQpgTDDvI8M4xnIQ8fz-TyHXjNCM4aBMNXO4EId-npAGc7ns7bbhp052i0aFmEF6nH_kAQ2nMFhHt2yoXoJLFVqfPovHULEDkxUz5A94U2DrXFukwr9OfK8-XHIVs3OapZ1p9jJ9Q/s1532/IMG_4011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1222" data-original-width="1532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVzPQpgTDDvI8M4xnIQ8fz-TyHXjNCM4aBMNXO4EId-npAGc7ns7bbhp052i0aFmEF6nH_kAQ2nMFhHt2yoXoJLFVqfPovHULEDkxUz5A94U2DrXFukwr9OfK8-XHIVs3OapZ1p9jJ9Q/s320/IMG_4011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-49464706618448911452021-01-01T06:51:00.002-08:002021-01-01T06:51:45.116-08:00New Year's Day: 2021<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_6v0a-_MNJSNUKKCZN5WcREgaStDDc9pFnurqTSaAgZYVMWtPvnR5_MnU3jrUUFyDLlGGjLMcfLGfgXku4neGDpYSa6zkIg7IKFDaa3PI7pV3dqfYoA3DmwNNDzfuCSmYhomTuGEjTY/s1494/IMG_3957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="1494" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_6v0a-_MNJSNUKKCZN5WcREgaStDDc9pFnurqTSaAgZYVMWtPvnR5_MnU3jrUUFyDLlGGjLMcfLGfgXku4neGDpYSa6zkIg7IKFDaa3PI7pV3dqfYoA3DmwNNDzfuCSmYhomTuGEjTY/w400-h325/IMG_3957.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Crazy. I woke to snow. Just a smattering but enough to notice, to marvel at, to gasp in surprise. I’m sure it will be gone by noon, melting into soil and roots, the perfect start to a New Year. Yes, a watering of our roots is just what we need.<br /> I am well and truly rooted, not to the people or society of this state, but to this soil, this tiny patch of rocks and clay, weeds, grasses, trees. In this past year I have never felt so very alienated, so alone as a human, yet so cradled and held by this land. In the midst of the Pandemic I’ve chosen to hunker down even more than my normal, to walk every day in the woods. <br /> This is not to say that I don’t miss humans and hugs, but this land has held me secure. Held me tight. Kept me safe. Opened my eyes again and again to the wonder of this world. I lost my hope for awhile this year, first the pandemic and then the election chipped away at me, turned my faith in people’s ability to listen and learn inside out. It broke my heart and the land is healing me again.<br /> Honestly, I do think people can change. I just forgot in the throes of heartbreak. I lost sight of myself. I lost hope. I gave up. For me this looked like bitterness and anger. It looked like hubris…so proud of myself for being smart. It looked selfish and lazy…I stopped caring. I stopped recycling. I disconnected from all that I believe in, from all that I am.<br /> So in the aftermath of the election and in the continuing clutches of the pandemic at home alone I’ve had plenty of time to think. I am an educator at heart, it is what I have always done and what I will always do. That role as educator is second only to my role as student…we only grow when we are learning. I’ve been schooling myself. Finding myself again in my many walks in the woods.<br /> For months now I’ve taken the dogs for three walks a day and during that time I think and watch. Listen and sing. Mutter and mull. Hatch plans and sort out dreams. 2020 was just a blip, a reset. Not only is it time to get back to who I really am, but it is time for me to step back into my role as teacher. Someone has to do something. <br /> I cannot tackle racism, fascism, or inequality. But I can confront ignorance; I can teach you what I’m learning. I can encourage you, the Universal You, to change, and grow, and do better, but first I have to do that myself. I have to recalibrate and re-sort the way I’ve been living my life this past year.<br /> This morning, as part of creating new rituals I sat quietly and drew one Tarot card from the deck…my first draw ever. I held the The Green Woman. The Reading Points: <br /><br /> Appearing at a time of rich nurturing and protection, of learning and initiation, when love and fertile relationships, both human and universal, abound, the Green Woman mediates the sacred sovereignty of Earth’s soul and can show the path to understanding and communion with nature. But with this blessing comes responsibility. Remember that this glorious, magnanimous and generous spirit can live through you, radiated by the sacred breath of life and given to others who need guidance and healing. Learn from the abundant and joyous spirit of the Earth and be at one with the world and your true self. <br /><br /> And thus the Universe has spoken and confirmed my own inklings of what my path should be in the coming year. To guide and heal. To learn and teach. To get back in touch with my true self who got lost in the heartbreak.<br /> Happy New Year and Welcome to the Revolution.<br /> <p></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-402380248021361302020-12-24T05:16:00.001-08:002020-12-24T05:16:15.214-08:00Journal: December 22<p>December 22, 2020<br /> Today like yesterday the day dawned cold and bright, but is is expected to be 70 degrees today which is wonderful and so, so very wrong for this time of year. It should not be so warm and if I think about it too long I start to fret about the climate, not really for our sakes, but for the earth itself. Humans don’t deserve this beautiful, wonderous, magnificent habitat. <br /> Every day I walk in the our tiny forest and every day I bump up against the fence that divides us. Literally and figuratively. Our differences are no more obvious than at the fence line…our side mostly wild, with a mowed walking path, brush and trees groomed by goats. Over the fence is a pasture razed down to the soil. Trees ground up to chips, the large, loud machine chewing them and hurling huge ravaged chunks high in the air. <br /> The neighbor’s shredding of the pasture caused me physical and mental distress…I could hear the trees screaming. I needed only a moment of silence to hear it. I could imagine the myriad families of rabbits, rats, snakes, and birds fleeing the noise and violence, then grieving the loss of their homes. While it was happening I would stand near my fence watching, inviting all those displaced to live with us. <br /> During the same time the neighbor on the other side was mowing and chopping and burning “brush” in a tiny pasture that lies fallow. In either act I could see no purpose, no reason to clear and destroy. I wondered why at the time they were doing this “work”. Why they thought it needed to be done. What was the purpose? To tame? To control? To ease their own boredom? Neither use the pasture for animals. Neither walk there in those wild spaces. And I never could find an answer to why they felt the need to annihilate and dominate these spaces that seemed to have no real connection to their daily lives. Is it just that they “own” that space and thus feel the need to control it?<br /> Though I would never presume to tell someone what they can or cannot do with their own space, it puzzles me and breaks my heart to watch and quietly note that one hires out this terrible work and the other does the work himself, but we never see anyone step foot in those spaces. No one sets foot on that land that is now cleared, so what was the purpose? So we come back to the question: why destroy it? <br /> I have spent most of my life feeling like an outsider, on the fringes of this so-called “normal” society. Standing at our fence line illustrates it perfectly. Who I am (we are, though I don’t presume to speak for JC) and what I believe is as clear as the wild brambles and chaos on our side and the exposed soil littered with the remains of so many trees on the other. You must read between the trunks, so to speak, to find the answers, but if you stop and watch a moment you will see us walking, pausing, listening, stooping to examine something closer, picking things up, tucking in a pocket or tossing it away. Sometimes I sit, just sit. Sometimes yoga, sometimes drawing or reading or embroidery, but every day I am there, in that wild-ish space.<br /> The subject of “normal” has been on my mind for years, and I cannot say that I have sorted it just yet, but it is coming clearer in these days of deadly pandemic, and stay at home orders, and isolation and loneliness, stress and fear. What we have all thought of as normal for ages and ages is just not. It was/is my sincerest hope that during this unprecedented upending of “normal” that people come to realize that none of those “normal” things really matter. I had hoped that people would come to realize that a slow, quiet life; a life with connection to nature and reverence for the rhythms of the seasons would move some to change. I had hoped that once people were bored with Netflix they might pause a moment, looking out a window and see a bird they have never noticed before, lose themselves in watching, in stillness, a meditation of nature. I had hoped that when forced to abandon eating out and fast food people would discover either the mesmerizing acts of chopping and stirring or the joys of communal cooking. I had hoped that stuck inside for days people would go outside just to for a change in scenery and discover the delights of walking and listening and looking.<br /> But that has not happened. There is much lamenting of the loss of “normal”. Much whining and crying and gnashing of teeth. How dare you take away our “normal”. But your normal isn’t normal.<br /> We are not that far removed from our ancient ancestors and our bodies and brains weren’t meant for this lifestyle we have been calling “normal”. We were built for movement and activity, for observation and listening, for group problem solving, and communal living. <br /> So here I am about to tell my neighbors how to live (I just said I wasn’t going to do that…) Henceforth, the wrong version of “normal” will remain in quotation marks, the real Normal, the Normal I’m advocating will be a proper noun. <br /> <br /> </p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-69579881277799228872020-12-22T08:01:00.002-08:002020-12-22T08:01:29.599-08:00Beginning. Again.<p> Solstice, December 21, 2020<br />The day dawned bright and crisp, but warmed so fast I was shedding gloves, jacket, scarf, hat…Usually I walk the dogs in the forest, but this morning I went alone for just a bit. The trees were full of Robins who only ever come here at this time of year. <br /><br />It feels like a day that could be the start of something, a new beginning and I spent it thinking about what to do next in this life. I am finally feeling human again most of the time and I want to do something to contribute to our home and family. <br /><br />I spent my day creating, stitching and folding and thinking, no news or noise or netflix. That is the way it should be, but on days when I am in pain, physical or mental, I can’t break free of the distractions that are available. <br /><br />I treated today like a holiday and I didn’t do any work. I fed and watered and walked the dogs, but I did not sweep or tidy or scrub a thing. There were times in the day when I felt like I was untethered and I realized that by taking a holiday from my routine I had almost, just almost sabotaged myself in frittering the day away unfocused and unglued. My rhythm was off a beat.<br /><br />I’m the kind of person who needs a plan and a goal to work towards and like I said, today felt like some kind of a beginning, a new start of sorts.<br /><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-75984675770982762242020-10-23T07:54:00.004-07:002020-10-23T07:54:57.642-07:00Free Write: 10/23 9:54 am<p> October 23, 2020 (5 months since I last wrote).<br /> I can feel it wearing on me, not just wearing the sharp edges smooth, but threatening to melt me down into a puddle. In the five months since I last wrote a single word the pandemic has raged on; I’ve stayed at home; I’ve maintained my routines and I’ve maintained that it wasn’t affecting me much, but it is. <br /> My emotions are dulled by the meds, but I can feel the creeping meltdown coming…the dark thunderstorm on the horizon looming, but slow. Last night I felt it just over my shoulder as we discussed an event my husband will participate in while I stay home, hunkered down and out of the fray, but terrified that he will get sick, bring it home, that death could be around the corner.<br /> I suspect it isn’t just the pandemic, but also the impending election that has turned my anxiety up to eleven. Though the meds seem to keep me in the middle ground (there have been no panic attacks or meltdowns, no tears or shouting, just a day to day gray mud) I cannot lie and say that I am not terrified at the thought of getting sick or someone I love getting sick and it has made me weird and skeptical, doubtful and frantic. Our current political situation is terrifying too. <br /> A few months ago I was feeling well, very well. I was hopeful about my health, but this creeping anxiety is chipping away at that too, so that every day I tiptoe around waiting for that day’s ill-ness, the little bit of “off” that comes each and every day now. The headache, the nausea, the gas, the chest pains, the muscle cramps, the weak muscles, the dull and burning ache in my bones. I wake in optimism; I make plans for the day; I crash. Wet, lather, rinse, repeat. Over and over and over again.<br /> Today was no different except that it began with a thunderstorm that feels like a reset, a washing clean of the gray mud that makes moving (mentally and physically) a challenge. I’ve been out in the rain just now and the little flash flood creek is running, and the tall grasses are swept down from the wind, and the sky is a uniform gray. I know that I too need to run, to lean over and into this, to embrace the uniform gray and do something, anything to shake myself loose from the fear.<br /> I have yet to milk the goats and Melly is clearly in heat as she bellows again and again. Calling me to action. It is only these kittens, dogs, ducks, chickens, goats that have spurred me out of my bed for the last weeks. This is the third Fall that I have found myself in this place at this time…uniformly blah and unmotivated and existing, not living. <br /> Note to self:<br /> As the days get shorter you will find yourself down and flat and muddling along. You will feel like there is no point. You will want to rest, to lie down and never get up. But remember the dark days are for resting and you will get up again in the Spring. You will sleep through the Winter and sips from the stores of joy you saved in the Summer. You need to tell yourself this over and over again. You need to repeat it daily. You will rest in the dark, so you can live in the light. <br /> <br /> For now, I will temper my fits of anxiety with laughter and love. I will do what I can, when I can. But above all I will be gentle with myself when I can’t do anything, when I am paralyzed by my fears of illness and death and civil unrest and fascism. I will breathe and dig deep into a place of gratitude to count my blessings.<br /><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-10058493358860021232020-08-08T10:34:00.000-07:002020-08-08T10:34:18.261-07:00C19: Eviction Notice<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqaIQ5D38fU0jc_iMBeiibvbRxu9YoDe5U2uR-BPNYz_SqfO4fMfGsj4BTlzcL8I0SXCFS4tJSylIbND4HSOwZ5h80LmEHp0gQKsYlDlQlO1dUDdQ4Mdpg_9TPLua5sVZqR2TGerCP-g/s1600/IMG_3617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqaIQ5D38fU0jc_iMBeiibvbRxu9YoDe5U2uR-BPNYz_SqfO4fMfGsj4BTlzcL8I0SXCFS4tJSylIbND4HSOwZ5h80LmEHp0gQKsYlDlQlO1dUDdQ4Mdpg_9TPLua5sVZqR2TGerCP-g/s320/IMG_3617.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One block at time</td></tr>
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Lots of things are causing me anxiety right now, but a few days ago my husband was possible exposed to Covid. He had a very close encounter with a medical "professional" who was not wearing a mask. Said "professional" is also an outspoken trump supporter, so...enough said, right?<br />
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Anyway, I was sewing away in my own little happy world, not thinking much, and feeling safe. Then the hubby comes home and stands far outside the sewing room door wearing a mask and says, "I think we should wear masks in the house." <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpq4gUgrne-EFlgIGetHKdsljkamBMLY3ECFvI0GgMMbZvsjj5ktzHjbcx9rZR0LeHJbAJRbRH9Dgf-W_tpb-4zRgKIM_k7NwqnPkY5ic5QQAMjH5RMP94R3lu4lZo-RTEI4LKHPv1Vs4/s1600/IMG_3620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpq4gUgrne-EFlgIGetHKdsljkamBMLY3ECFvI0GgMMbZvsjj5ktzHjbcx9rZR0LeHJbAJRbRH9Dgf-W_tpb-4zRgKIM_k7NwqnPkY5ic5QQAMjH5RMP94R3lu4lZo-RTEI4LKHPv1Vs4/s320/IMG_3620.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wonky Half Log Cabin</td></tr>
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I lost it. He explained what happened. I cried. I got mad. This maybe the first time I've stress cried since this all started. Who knows really because it is getting all blurry, the last few months. I was instantly scared for our lives. Instantly I could envision the worst case scenario. One of us sick. Both of sick. One of us dying. Both of us dying. Or the worst one: living, but being chronically ill for the rest of our lives...(ok, I'm already chronically ill for the rest of my life, but I kind of have it under control. I don't need anything else exacerbating it).<br />
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I got myself under control and eventually went back to my sewing, but instead of getting lost in colors and choices or good old daydreaming instead I tried to keep my fretting at bay by making lists. I can list a zillion reasons to be grateful and that list of a zillion things are also things that comfort me, but as I made the list: home, husband, mom, friends, financial security (for now anyway), goats, ducks, dogs, some level of health. I realized that for millions of people out there they could not make this same list. I try not to take anything on this list for granted. I know that life can change in the snap of a finger. I know and my empathy is dialed up to 11, so I can also imagine what happens when the rug is ripped out from under you. <br />
<br />
This list of things for which I am grateful kept me distracted and then led me to thinking seriously about what we as Americans are facing in the coming years. Yes, years. I'm predicting that it will take years to recover from any/all of this. Unfortunately I can imagine how heartbreaking it would be to lose our farm/home and so many are facing an eviction notice right now, so many hearts are breaking. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjPbVe_yCL7SYO6IVnVBt1AvfI4_fbxsHVyCXji2dIMnIatkmsqhH6nM8zy5nic1RpEiz_ZrXxOCnEJdyrTZn-t2BT0931ygwKhEyxByYPsWl6O3G9oSnKCaThmuK4YWTxA2gKsOV1PU/s1600/IMG_3621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjPbVe_yCL7SYO6IVnVBt1AvfI4_fbxsHVyCXji2dIMnIatkmsqhH6nM8zy5nic1RpEiz_ZrXxOCnEJdyrTZn-t2BT0931ygwKhEyxByYPsWl6O3G9oSnKCaThmuK4YWTxA2gKsOV1PU/s320/IMG_3621.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C19: Eviction Notice</td></tr>
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So, I called this quilt top C19: Eviction Notice. It is a wonky half Log Cabin pieced entirely from the four (still four) scrap/string bins.<br />
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The goal is to empty the bins without adding anything else to them, but to waste as little as possible.<br />
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For awhile last week I was convince the strings were reproducing in the night as it never looked like I was make a dent in the bins. I staged them in the same order/location as two weeks ago and I can see "the dent".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjESv7Z8usgRW4Sq25CX2gbD9-lsqFLCiF8O0BUf5JRtH0SohsXoCBb5y9bdPwS0CZgueB46Tn3HcQdFRIIMGzzQZvNjaY9GpEI6DcwmvbkDyrIsd4tAzCn93yDgyKaIqfDNeeXXU8So/s1600/IMG_3623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjESv7Z8usgRW4Sq25CX2gbD9-lsqFLCiF8O0BUf5JRtH0SohsXoCBb5y9bdPwS0CZgueB46Tn3HcQdFRIIMGzzQZvNjaY9GpEI6DcwmvbkDyrIsd4tAzCn93yDgyKaIqfDNeeXXU8So/s320/IMG_3623.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still FOUR bins of strings.</td></tr>
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-43800089736255315392020-07-25T14:36:00.002-07:002020-07-25T14:36:12.463-07:00All Strung Out<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XTI9BOZBmUC6SP24g2bweKZD-cUnXclKnIwGhmGxatvHOfw96-ei0lAgVY9fIzQCrQmVDkSlFdt5otCUoMpV8kApMIqBj5-ljbeu3QRW_WhnemAA8hnOwV79i365wDJzEn-bsCR_oGo/s1600/IMG_3606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1472" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XTI9BOZBmUC6SP24g2bweKZD-cUnXclKnIwGhmGxatvHOfw96-ei0lAgVY9fIzQCrQmVDkSlFdt5otCUoMpV8kApMIqBj5-ljbeu3QRW_WhnemAA8hnOwV79i365wDJzEn-bsCR_oGo/s400/IMG_3606.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four bins of Strings. Too Many.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LtVlwjDB8UwWcstNsz5O3Z39pXbGXwxIcpmeAVhDn-X-TBvWt95ezR5MPMdxBdTnoZ-B77svHREBtmvvbtrLfBnYd7WDgcU-5MNvay6kCYLdhgmvMLhamQRKkEq3AkWE7Lx2cqP2UFo/s1600/IMG_3580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1258" data-original-width="1280" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LtVlwjDB8UwWcstNsz5O3Z39pXbGXwxIcpmeAVhDn-X-TBvWt95ezR5MPMdxBdTnoZ-B77svHREBtmvvbtrLfBnYd7WDgcU-5MNvay6kCYLdhgmvMLhamQRKkEq3AkWE7Lx2cqP2UFo/s320/IMG_3580.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm calling this one: C19: Safe at Home</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwKlWbeXwPvaw-DG5VeRxg4mzIbAsF0Cb9ml1hWC8UHu1oYDg8eDBM14Fj6CW51aFsEc6GoycLyb3M0BsQDlFE6SgylUJixbXO5NSotFWFNPLwg5FP_lnL3-yj1AaNZO3sTVXvUoDMhw/s1600/IMG_3582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="1552" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwKlWbeXwPvaw-DG5VeRxg4mzIbAsF0Cb9ml1hWC8UHu1oYDg8eDBM14Fj6CW51aFsEc6GoycLyb3M0BsQDlFE6SgylUJixbXO5NSotFWFNPLwg5FP_lnL3-yj1AaNZO3sTVXvUoDMhw/s320/IMG_3582.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work in Progress.</td></tr>
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Here we are four months in to a unprecedented pandemic. There is so much shady shit going on too. Living in this dystopia has got me anxious and developing the agoraphobia (as my Mom keeps saying). I have zero desire to go out and be among people. Online spaces have pretty much convinced me that I live in a hive of nitwits and I don’t think I can trust them to consider my safety. So I stay home. I think I’ve been out (and in a store) seven times since March. <br /><br />Up until a few a weeks ago I was keeping myself busy enough that I wasn’t fretting too much. When the weather was cooler I tackled some big projects, but as soon as it got hot I found myself spending my days indoors. Indoors with anxiety means pacing around unfocused and unable to settle to a task. Generally when I feel so very rootless I go outside, but this year my body can’t tolerate the heat. Instead I stay inside and wander from room to room and piddle with something here or there, or I just surf the day away reading news (which doesn’t help my anxiety one bit). <br /><br />After a couple of weeks of this, this drifting around, uneasy. I finally settled to a task. I’ve challenged myself to empty my string bins. <br /><br />Once I started making string quilts I was both addicted to them AND unable to throw away any scrap that could be “a string” and next thing I knew: four bins of strings. Too many strings, yet I can’t just throw them away because I can see their potential (this is how hoarding starts, I’m sure of it).<br /><br />I have four LARGE bins of strings, they are kind of sorted into brights, lights, and clumps of various colors. I have vowed not to put anything else into the string bins. Usually when I’m working on something any small scraps get cut into strings and tossed in the bin. Now, I’ve prohibited any additions and have promised myself I will empty the bins. <br /><br />There is one unfinished project in the bright bin, but otherwise I’ve started from scratch. Since I challenged myself to do this (a couple of weeks ago) I’ve finished one top and started two others (with the above-mentioned bright one, THREE).<br />
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<br /><br />I know, I know. I should finished one before I move on to another, but some require more thinking and some are completely slap-dash. So I’m rotating between them depending on what I feel like doing. <br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523589825367609423.post-37869084182178768632020-06-15T13:59:00.001-07:002020-06-15T13:59:41.332-07:00Spearmint Ice Cream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWUnsTMaTd0HIyO0LsTZmlFr1r4hYuwGK5uy68BbFf0qP04O6K4suVIWpZf8GupZEIdzMoeYaK23KOC_WmDN8-LcQFbXy8jqI5W3Ir4ftKj4i6mlDsHn5xMS8cT5wS0XLuKnY8WGEwtw/s1600/IMG_6805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1234" data-original-width="1280" height="616" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWUnsTMaTd0HIyO0LsTZmlFr1r4hYuwGK5uy68BbFf0qP04O6K4suVIWpZf8GupZEIdzMoeYaK23KOC_WmDN8-LcQFbXy8jqI5W3Ir4ftKj4i6mlDsHn5xMS8cT5wS0XLuKnY8WGEwtw/s640/IMG_6805.jpg" width="640" /> </a><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I've had a request for my Spearmint Ice Cream, Recipe so I'm taking that as an opportunity to add something to this sad little blog. </span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Since I last made this ice cream I've given up dairy and sugar, so I'm going to have to re-jigger it to get rid of the cow dairy and work in some maple syrup (which already sounds like shit), but I'm going on record to say that if you can eat dairy, eat the fucking dairy...full fat, whole hog. The world is falling apart and life is too short to scrimp on dessert.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Now the first thing you have to do is plant some spearmint. Don't listen to the pussies that tell you to plant it in a pot because it is invasive...well, listen to them and then do what I say anyway. That shit is invasive, plant it where ever you want to grow a thick, bushy, "ground cover"...just mow over the part you don't want. It's smells awesome. while you are working. It WILL try to take over the world and I'm pretty sure mine is harboring a whole family of copperheads, but eh. whatever. Mow over what you don't want. Let some set to flowering because the bees like it. Don't stress. You can't kill it.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Second, you harvest some mint leaves. Do this in the morning when all the minty oil is in the leaves. You want about 2 cups packed in a glass measuring cup. Muddle it...by that I mean crush it and beat it and break it apart...I've chopped it too. But, well Lazy. Doesn't matter what method you use, just make sure you you bruise the leaves to let the oils out.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Third, using your preferred recipe you are going to infuse your milk with the mint. My recipe is for a Cuisinart 1 quart. Total liquid is 3 cups. I tend to infuse 1 cup of milk and use heavy cream for the other 2 cups (see above: eat your fucking dessert. Life is short). To infuse the milk you will bring the milk just to scald, stand there and watch it. As soon as it is up to temp pour it over the crushed/bruised/chopped mint leaves and let it sit about 1/2 an hour (or until you remember it's sitting there) at room temp, then put it in the fridge to cool it all the way down before churning. (You can speed it up by putting it in the freezer, because really, who plans ahead).</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">When you are ready to churn, strain your milk. It will be the faintest green color (that's what mint ice cream should look like). If you were particularly rough with your leaves you might have some little bits but eh, you won't notice them, and you won't care once you taste it anyway, but I do recommend a fine strainer.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">At this point you proceed with your recipe...the magic is in the infusion and you've done that part (you can do this with Chai tea too...holy crap!)</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">RECIPE:</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">2 cups crushed, fresh mint leaves</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">1 cup milk (You need 3 cups total so you could also do half milk/half cream, but WHY?)</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">2 cups heavy cream</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">1/3 to 1/2 cup sugar (I like to see how low I can go and a 1/3 is sweet enough for us)</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">1. Infuse milk and chill.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">2. Strain mint leaves.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">3. Mix it all together and churn.</span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">4. Top with grated dark chocolate. </span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">5. Put it in a fancy cup and garnish with a sprig of mint (or dig it right out of the bowl, because who's watching anyway. </span></div>
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13110365002521845790noreply@blogger.com0