Friday, December 31, 2010


This image is not mine, and I wish I knew who to give it credit to, but the design represents an important aspect of what it means to call oneself a Druid. It is called the Awen.

But a Druid is not being part of a religion. Nor is it part of some sort of fraternity of brothers or an exclusive club, neither is it some kind of way to escape a fiery eternity, or a cup of koolaid. I just don't ascribe to any of that. I don't want any of that. I don't like any of that, and I had to find something (because my heart is that sort of heart) which matched my way of thinking. Druidry is that way of thinking. Much like you'd call yourself a Transcendentalist or a Tree-hugger...yes, that about sums it all up. There are Christian Druids, there are Buddhist Druids, there are Athiest Druids. There are Democratic Druids, there are Republican Druids. And so, above, I've made my own version of the Awen. Let me explain what I know about it, and feel about it, some more.

In Gaelic, Aw is breath and En is flow. In the Druidic tradition, Awen is the flow of inspiration or spirit that comes from that Great Spirit whom we all call by different names.
There is a piece of mythology that comes from the Welsh about a goddess named Cerridwen (ker'rid-when) who was known as a triple goddess: the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone.
All three stages of a woman's life, entwined in one. This story is told in many ways, in varying lengths and to teach myriad life lessons.

As I understand the myth, Cerridwen had two children. One of them was more lovely than any other young woman could ever be, though she was not in the least capable of wisdom. The other child was not very bright as well, but sadly, he was also extremely ugly.
As any mother would, Cerridwen sought to give her unfortunate child something he could call his own. If he could not be handsome, she would ensure that he was the most wise and knowledgeable man in all the world. She consulted her books and the wise people she knew and according to their knowledge, she should concoct a brew which would be kept boiling for a year and a day, exactly, and on that last day it would finally be ready. On that last day, the first person to taste only 3 drops of the boiling substance would instantly and forever know all there was to know about love, about wisdom and about ultimate creativity. Cerridwen set a young boy and an old man to tend the fire of her cauldron for a year and a day. On that last day, as the boy had leaned down to add more wood, three drops of the scalding liquid popped out and burned his hand. Just as anyone would do, he immediately sought relief by putting his burned hand into his mouth. In an instant, the boy knew all about love, all things wise and all things inspired.
Cerridwen was so angry that the brew would not be used for her son that she chased the boy...
whereby the chase ensued for quite some time and there are some great and memorable scenes of shape-shifting, whereby the story ends with Cerridwen giving birth to another son, the great Welsh poet and bard Taliesen, and this one required no father...the story is a wonderful one, which I recommend you taking up at some point.

But more on Cerridwen for a moment. In the Welsh tradition, Cerridwen is often seen with a great white sow. She is associated with shape-shifting, poetry, inspiration, prophecy, the moon and life and death as well.

I tell you this tale because over the years it has become a part of me, like a kind of ethereal skin that walks with me and reminds me of things I only know when
I am dreaming. It is like a half-remembered dream. I feel as if I would only sit down and listen to the story told 20 times 20 times I might begin to remember something. I keep the story with me because one day I will remember what it is. One day I will say, "Ah, yes, now I know what it really is. Now I understand what it is telling me."

From one understanding, I see that it takes time and patience and long-suffering to have your eyes opened to true love, true wisdom and true inspiration. Those moments of understanding are called Awen, or Arwen. They are ours to have because we are a part of Cerridwen, and her son, Taliesen, who tasted the three drops of perfect inspiration.

Three roots of one tree, three breaths of one body, three beliefs of one soul.
I live my life by the search for Wisdom. I live my life by finding the need to be Inspired. I live my life by giving and receiving Love.
My word for the year, then, is Awen...spoken slowly...intoned.

Wisdom entails learning, and so I will be the owl, the key.
Inspiration entails flexibility, and so I will be the willow, the succulent berry.
Love entails sacrifice, and so I will be the mother, the ragged heart.
I live my life full of Awen.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

of Time

...the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,
And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream.
And that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.

Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless?
And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds?
And is not time even as love is, undivided and spaceless?
But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons,
And let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.

~Kahlil Gibran The Prophet, on Time

These are actually pictures with my phone taken on a rainy night while we drove home. They are light reflections in mirrors through the raindrops...a tiny magic moment on a long mundane drive...

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Looking Forward

My little family gathered with me tonight.
I covered a big matchbox in pretty paper and then each of us picked out a piece of paper we liked and folded it up to fit in the box.

We each made three goals for the year, two personal goals and one goal that we all agreed on; it wasn't hard to find a goal to agree on. We all want to sell this house and buy the 1901 house we dream of. I loved that everyone drew a picture of what they loved about the 1901 house.
My daughter drew the house with a sheep pen on it. My husband drew himself exercising in front of a large screen tv. I drew all the old trees and buildings on the property. My son drew the house and the barn and lots of open grass...that surprised and delighted me to no end.

We wrapped our goals up together in pretty pewter gray ribbon and put it inside our pretty little box, then I wrapped the box up with a glittery turquoise snowflake. We'll keep our box out in a windowsill to gather moonlight and sunlight all year. It will remind us of our goals, and our promise to help each other achieve our goals.
What a sweet, special time we had together tonight. It is these little simple celebrations that make everything so merry and bright in our home. I just love my little family.
Happy Solstice to all of you who celebrate the renewing of the year and the birth and growth of the Sun - from my family to yours.

Monday, December 20, 2010


(The Mid- Winter Moon)

fingers plucking dulcimers deep in a wood
soft winds lift cloak edges
following the silvered path winding ahead

a longing and lantern light
a silent call and crackle of fire ahead
through the moon-washed darkness

snow is deep and clings
following those who've gone before
breath floats like smoke

walking ever in
ever in
and on

celebrating the old
welcoming the new
and the wheel is set forward

the promise of warmth and hope
turning and returning
this deep eve

all life in a swirling spiral
ever in
ever in
and on


" is life when life unveils her holy face."
"But you are life...
...and you are the veil."

~Kahlil Gibran (The Prophet, on Beauty)

Saturday, December 18, 2010

this man

He's the steady smile and the strong shoulder bumping next to mine as we walk together.
He's the inside-joke that brings me to tears it's so funny.
He's the chef, the laundry king, the wood cutter, the snow shoveler, the practical mind.
He's my absolute best friend in the whole entire world and I love him beyond any measure...
It wasn't luck that brought us together. I saw him and fell in love. I knew that HERE was what I'd been dreaming of. HERE was the man I was going to marry and have babies with and talk about wrinkles and gray hair with.
I love him, I love him, I love him.
This month we've been married for 13 years...but he's been my soul-mate, my other half, for almost 17 years...that is a lot of growing up together :)
May we never grow up as we grow old together my sweetheart.

Friday, December 17, 2010

all done

Our Christmas Break started today...all the little kids were Holiday partied-out and I've been Jingle Belled to death and it is the strangest thing, but I realized that there is one "Christmas" that takes place at work/school where the children are crafted and storied and gamed out the wazoo, and there is exchanges of gifts and cards and what-nots that really don't mean a whole hell of a lot, and then there is the stop, the break, the "We're done!" and it all comes to some kind of grinding halt, much like Willy Wonka's strange boat ride in the old movie where they go faster and faster and strange scenes are flashing by and suddenly they stop and the lights come on, and there they are, ready to get out and really begin.
So, here I am with my children abed since early, my husband snoozing hard, and I just needed to take a few minutes to myself after this long, drawn-out day and say, "Ahhhhh, here I am. There I am. I'm all back together." It feels so good to sit in front of our Christmas tree in the quiet with my sparkling water and a new sweet thing with no sugar to enjoy. I've got my electric blanket wrapped around my lap and all is well.

I had a strange night as we had to pick up our car from a body shop as soon as I said goodbye to my Kindergarteners. The door on the car had to be completely replaced as it was seriously mangled by a friend backing into looks lovely and just the way it did before. But then there was a kind of surreal walk through Costco as we tried to remember what we needed while we waded through the throng of buyers and noted to each other, "You look terrible. You need sleep, honey." Then I drove myself home, but needed goodies from Trader Joe's so I made a stop there and spent too long reading nutrition labels for some yummy things that have very little to no sugar that also does not use aspartame or the feels strange to linger too long by oneself in a grocery store at odd hours of the night...
Then on the way home, I found an upturned vehicle with the dome light still on. After parking the car in the middle of the road, I ventured over and yelled out, "Hello?" and it was so strange. My voice didn't carry through the snow and the dark and the ice. I was so timid, I hardly recognized myself...but there I went, finally, up to the now earth-touched roof of the car and said again, "Hello, anybody need help?" I realized there was no one in the car, but I saw one set of halting footprints making their way into our subdivision, but was lost after a few steps in the gravel at the side of the road.
I drove the last few blocks home and decided to stop in our driveway and called 911. I was suddenly worried that someone had become disoriented and was now adrift and getting hypothermia...I wonder where they got themselves to, and if they were terrified as they walked in the snow, and if there really was only one, and suddenly the story became bigger and bigger in my mind and I had to tell myself to stop and rest, good lordy.

All this to say, I really do think that sleep is how we bring our spirit all back together in this one body package. When I get good sleep, I feel as if I wake up whole. I don't know if it is a teacher thing, a mother thing, a woman thing, or a Katie thing, but I send out pieces of myself all freakin' day long, every single day, and at night, I decided, I desperately need to bring all those pieces back together.

My first Solstice goal: to get between 8 and 9 hours of sleep every single night.

p.s. My whole family wants to celebrate the Solstice with me this year :)
that makes my pagan-heart glad.
(read 'pagan' as: from the Latin paganus, an adjective originally meaning "rural", "rustic" or "of the country." As a noun, paganus was used to mean "country dweller, villager" and I add without religion or doctrine, but tied to Nature and the broken-leaf edges of thoughts that have taken root as a spiritual pursuit)

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Only so much...

I am a good teacher. I truly am. I say that without some crazy ego or a smirky flip of my hair...I truly mean it. Even when it isn't clear to me exactly which spot-on method to use with them at the time, I eventually, within the moment, will get to it. My ego is left at the door.
If I had a big head about teaching, I wouldn't be able to change mid-thought and say, "Hmm, how about this..." and explain something a new way or with a new method.

This applies to discipline...obviously, in my calling, there is loads of discipline. From silly little things like "sharing" or "tattling" to larger issues such as hitting or being mean and nasty, I deal with it in the same way: consistency. That is the nature of discipline, in my opinion; no nastiness necessary, only consistency. The children in my room know the rules, they know what happens when they disobey them, and there is no blaming or messiness about it. They know, because I taught them...

I am not a pushover; no child runs over me in class. I am irritated by the idea that kindness and understanding must equal fragility. That irritates me to no end. Why must I be a tyrant to be "effective"? I don't believe it for one minute. Teach children for more than 13 years, and then we'll talk about the term "pushover", but for now...huh uh.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

of a Saturday

warm reds and sparkling old things
icy evergreens
Chickens and Buddha
Icy laundry line

Friday, December 10, 2010

Parties and Homes

on the way down 19th street

Home is never oh ever a word with which I fling on tables or yell at parties. Home is a thing with edges like faded fences or hollyhock dander. Home is a loud whisper like the wind blowing the elms hither and thither, but there I sit on the inside sewing by the fire. I know it when I touch it, but to describe it takes a bit more time. Tonight, a woman I'd never met before said a few words to me and here I went and spilled my guts about everything I loved about the little house on 19th street with it's own edges all neat and tidy and full of history and its own ghosts and maybe because of the two glasses of wine I chugged down, I went on and on about its uneven stairs and its funny little landings off the stairs and the bump in the carpet and the old cabinets in the kitchen and strange little gardeny thingy out the back door and the pink flowered hawthorn trees and the oh my the best chicken coop you ever saw...oh I'm sorry to be going on and on...oh no, tell me more...and the sunrise I'm sure would be heavenly from there and the ancient lilac out front and could you imagine in the spring how good it would smell and the willow way out front in the summer when you just want to dip your feet in the irrigation pond and sit under a willow and wouldn't that be nice and have you ever been somewhere that you just feel like you know you've been there before and...oh I've talked too much...

Okay, I truly hate it when I am around too many people. It confuses me. I feel like I must have some sort of disorder, but I tend to find the quietest corner with the quietest looking people sitting in it and I try to have a small conversation, but what I wish for is some sort of job where I can look busy so I don't have to be so terrible. So instead, sometimes I seek out the bathroom and spend a good while in there letting the semi-quiet sink in.

The house we went to tonight had just "had the renovation completed this afternoon" (don't you know), and it was all "oh my I'm so embarrassed at how shabby this room is" and I'm looking for what might be shabby and there was all sorts of talk about how to fix old wood floors cause we need them shiny and unmarked and the best things to do with all all this horrid chair railing and what do we do about not enough pantry space and don't you adore this color of green and this cheese is heavenly with only this sort of wine don't you think and where to find the best most expensive shoes and...anyway, I want the nearest bathroom, please...

I got to thinking about staff parties that might be hosted at our home...This is how I'd do it in my uneven-staired, bump in the carpet home: We've got the homemade meat smoker stoked up out back and a fire in the orchard, and let's go for a walk around the property in the snow and I'll show you my best laying hen and my most fancy rooster and look at what this pig can do, and do you want to see some baby goats and these gourds where from my garden and I did in fact make that broom and won't you have some of these pickled asparagus I made this last summer and rolls with the jam I made out of the peaches from our orchard...

Anyway, in the midst of it all, there was a woman I'd never met before and she looked very thoughtful and hippy-ish and a good listener/deep talker, just the sort I gravitate toward, and we quickly started talking about homes and what our homes were like and I said I live in a very nice house, but it isn't my home. My home is on the farm and my home is with my little kids and husband, and how deeply I want to bring my people home to a physical place that feels like we all belong there together - a place with a slamming back door and squeaky stairs and quirky things that make you swear on "had-it-up-to-here" kinds of days - She knew just what I meant when I said, "I don't know, the house just speaks to me..." because she answered, "...and you are listening." I take that as a good sign.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Ramblings - or Thoughts on a Wednesday

This Wednesday morning at 7 am - the parking lot is a figure skater's dream

I have some ramblings tonight and I don't really feel like doing much editing on it all. I tend to feel that if I don't make each and every posting be some sort of wonder, I must be letting you down...probably not. I'm not let down by anyone else not posting that I love to read. I figure they have lives and when they are back, they'll have something wonderful or interesting to post about. That is about the way of it...we go away and we come back, eager to share our adventures. My adventures have included ice and gray sunrises, giving the boot to one real estate agent and taking on another one, seriously lowering our selling price, following rabbit trails through the snow with my Kindergarteners, enjoying my teacher's aide, enjoying my new snow boots, stowing away christmas presents, reflecting on Solstice traditions/beliefs/rituals/celebrations, loosing serious weight (thank the goddess), battling the flu and a head cold, and generally
in circles
that this
is only
and soon
it will

me thinks this is a lie we tell ourselves.

I think the truth is, is that all this waiting and rushing is actually LIFE and we might be missing it waiting for the calm center...dang it.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Winter Solstice Scene

I love the little Nativity scenes...the ones with the cattle so lowly, the sheep and the oxen...the little manger scene with a tiny bed of hay and a beautiful golden child being adored...
I have a very strong desire to create a little scene for my family to reflect our feelings at Christmas, so I've been making a very unique little Winter Solstice scene.
I've made a little fawn, a happy squirrel and a smart little racoon.
I've made a mother owl and her little fluffy baby...all out of little bits of this and that from my sewing box.
Can I just show you my little brown linen fawn again?
I made the structure out of twigs, wrapped together with fabric. I tied on some evergreen boughs. It isn't finished yet...I'd like to make a bear, a rabbit, a little chickadee and some trees. I'd also like to paint a watercolor background of mountains and a few pine trees. I'll need something to represent snow, too. But most importantly, there is the Lady, who'll be adoring and welcoming the Light of the World (in the form of a candle): hope, peace, love, joy...everything good.
From the looks of my photo, I'd say my endeavor has approval :)

Saturday, November 20, 2010

I love a

I don't normally blog about this, mostly because I keep a little book of all of my favorites, but I love movies. I was a bit ashamed of this at one point because I figured it might explain why I was becoming overweight to some people, but do you know what I realized? It just wasn't true. I've loved movies since I was little, and it is no different it is.
I love stories: reading novels, being read to, movies, picture books, historical museums, museums with the story of a place or animal...I even love to hear what people did over the weekend...obviously I read other people's stories in the form of blogs as well. So, yes, I love a story.

Here are a few that I had never really heard of before, but have recently rediscovered. I'd watched them some time in the past but didn't pay much mind to them besides a passing, "Ah yes, that is an interesting story." But, I've realized what fine pieces they are in some way or another.

Firstly, because it is on my mind first, is "Doubt". Wow...Phillip Seymour Hoffman was PHENOMENAL in this one. Of course, Meryl Streep is who she is - always WONDERFUL, but seriously, I've never seen Hoffman do better. I've always expected him to play the oily unctuous secretive sleezy type, so here he was ACTUALLY making you forget everything he'd ever been in, and then to wonder what sort of trick he was playing on you in the first place. Was he or wasn't he? Did he or didn't he? I was so surprised at how good the movie was, I had to go and watch some more with him in it...yup, I definitely think he was best in this one, for me...

Okay, next is something steamy: "The Lover" I won't really get into why I chose this movie to watch, but let's just say that the steamiest parts of the movie include touching pinkies, holding hands and a kiss through a window...I was breathless during those parts of the movie and I think I said out loud, "wow, woah..." If you ask me, that is good writing.
The middle part of the movie took me on a kind of interesting adventure about a life and mix of characters I hadn't ever imagined before, and the ending was, while not shocking, surprising. The cinematography in the beginning credits and for a few scenes at the beginning were amazingly beautiful and drew me in right away. I love movies for all sorts of different reasons, this one had some understated beauty in parts.
The Lover

One movie I have watched probably 4 or 5 times now, is called "Firelight". Whenever I think of that movie, I see the gazebo-like greenhouse/sunroom in the middle of a pond/pool...there are some beautiful scenes in that movie. It is an intriguing story as well, and I won't spoil it by telling any of it to you, but it is a must-see, BEAUTY of a STORY.

One that I've talked about before is called "Seraphine". It is such an amazing glimpse into the life of an artist...and the art is breathtaking. I posted about it once before.
Lastly for right now, is one I just watched called "Silk". I wished they'd made me care more about the characters, cause I think it would've been a much better movie if they had, but the story they told through Keira Knightly's character, I thought was gorgeous. Her clothes, her house, her schoolroom, her garden, her was beautiful. It was really contrasted with her scraggly (although cute) husband and the times he was in Japan...but, like I said, I love movies for different reasons...I saw the story they told about the wife much more clearly than any other part of the movie, and for that reason alone, it gets itself a spot in my favorite movie book (you see, there are many good stories)

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Snow Buddha/Chicken Buddha

I am home today. This is the view from my ever-cozy couch with my fuzzy orange blanket. I've left the lights off because the snow is falling down and there is a white-blue light that brings me so much peace and tranquility coming through my windows.
I've gotten myself sick with the flu, but am feeling so much better this morning that I had one of my chicken eggs on a croissant. Thank you chickens! They haven't lain (layed?laid?) an egg for months! and voila! this morning, ONE egg. Big Momma even let me pet her while she ate. I said, "An egg?! just for me girls? Thanks Momma!" It gave me such a good feeling that I, though I am without my good camera, I took pictures on my phone of the idea I'd had about the Buddha...putting Buddha in situations that remind me that life is beautiful...So here is my Buddha statue, with his hands in a meditation mudra, holding a beautiful heart-shaped rock in two situations that I find beautiful and mindful and meditation worthy: a loved Chicken and fresh clean snow.

My daughter had her first store-bought egg about a year or so ago when our chickens quit laying and we didn't want to wait. When she opened the box and saw all the white eggs, uniform in size, and the bland sickly looking yolk on the inside, she said: "Are these fake eggs?" I said, "They are real eggs, but they are from chickens who aren't loved." My son said to her, "Those are factory eggs, we have real eggs." That made me so proud. I hadn't ever said as much to them, but we've always been so thankful and proud and praise our chickens' eggs that when confronted with some that were obviously "not right", they just knew...they just knew.

I found this article from the New York Times and just had to share it here with you, it just tickled me:

Buddha and the Art Of Raising Chickens; Family Caters to Chinese Market With Farm-Fresh, Whole Pullets

Published: May 05, 1998

When it comes to chicken, Doris Ma knows that bigger is not necessarily better.

On a recent Sunday morning, while most New Yorkers were still in bed, Mrs. Ma worked her way down a refrigerated display case at the Dynasty Supermarket on Elizabeth Street in Chinatown, eyeing poultry the way a drill sergeant might inspect his troops. She disregarded the shrink-wrapped oven stuffers and the plump skinless breasts, and instead directed her scrutiny to comparatively scrawny birds stuffed in plastic bags, heads and feet tucked beneath their wings.

The chickens, which the previous day had been wandering around a farm in upstate New York, wore white metal tags on their ankles with the name Bo Bo Poultry Market, in English and Chinese. At $1.69 a pound, they cost nearly twice as much as Hollyfield Farms' brawny broilers.

Asked why she would spend more for a chicken with less meat, Mrs. Ma scoffed, ''Even if you offered me American chicken for free, I wouldn't feed it to my family.'' Mrs. Ma, 47, a seamstress who emigrated from Canton, China, a decade ago, said brand-name poultry is raised on too many chemicals, and by the time it reaches supermarket shelves, it is several days old ''and has no flavor.'' And besides, she added, ''without the head and feet, it's worthless. If I can't look a chicken in the eye, I don't know where it came from.''

Such sentiments help explain why Bo Bo, a poultry business run by the Lee family, has exploded over the last decade. What started as a hobby, rearing egg-laying hens at the Lees' weekend retreat in the Catskills, has grown into a $10 million-a-year enterprise that now supplies 7 out of every 10 chickens sold in Chinatown, according to the company. Bo Bo is also expanding up and down the East Coast and planning to aggressively pursue customers who follow kosher and halal, or Muslim, dietary laws.

Like the once ubiquitous kosher butcher who served the city's Eastern European Jews, Bo Bo is catering to an immigrant population with uncompromising culinary needs. Categorized as ''Buddhist style'' by the United States Department of Agriculture because the head and feet are not removed, Chinese chickens are raised, killed and prepared according to precise specifications.

''We Chinese are very particular about our chicken,'' said Michael Tong, the owner of Shun Lee Palace and Shun Lee Cafe. ''We don't like chickens from factories.''

Monday, November 15, 2010

Forest Buddha

I've got an idea that is mulling around in my head, and I was wishing I was getting home when there was still light out, so I'll mull it some more, but in the meantime...this is EXACTLY how I feel about the Buddha...just look at this sweetest little photograph & you'll catch a glimpse into funny that is, considering I'm sending you to a blog I've only just now started reading...but Kindred Folk are always here and about.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

children of space

But you children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall not be an anchor but a mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.

You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.

You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
and though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.

~Kahlil Gibran~
The Prophet, On Houses
Our little dream house is not much really. It was originally built sometime in the early 1900s possibly the late 1800s, then added to in 1920, and again in the 1950s. It has staying power, and yet it is just a house.

The land was first farmed during the Homestead Act when they gave free land to farmers. It use to wrap its arms around much more land, but it has been whittled down to 10 acres now. It has given its people a sunrise and a sunset for over 100 years...which is a long time in late population-blooming Oregon.

It has the bones of an original barn and bones & skin of two original outbuildings. I've never seen a better chicken coop...I long to take artistic photos of the turquoise and cream peely-paint door with a big heavy make-do latch. I long to take photos of the hawthorn trees and say, "I am home" as a simple caption.
I long to have my family there in the simple rooms and make a Christmas meal.
I long for it like a memory of having lived there before...what is this pull?

There is a very old thriving lilac in the front yard and I imagine it during the spring...its scent trailing its way into our upstairs room every night. I imagine sighing and closing my eyes and feeling at home.

It is a home for children of space...more outside than inside.

Friday, November 12, 2010

in the stretch

lately, I've felt like a rubber band that is in the stretch
waiting for that moment when the
brings it back
to it's center

the pull is uncomfortable
it is filled with a kind of longing
that is only


Sunday, November 07, 2010


Isn't love that beat in my heart that clenches and hurts and squeezes
when my son doesn't like the way he looks
and I know it is because I've said as much to myself
when he

isn't love that calming liquid that comes from my head
down into my chest and makes my hands
hug and hold
rather than clench
even when I haven't seen the spider
that scares
my daughter
at night

isn't love the simple act of listening first
to frantic appeals from a high-strung
son who only
wants to be heard
no matter

isn't love the conscious turning from despair
and buying brand new expensive clothes
that fit me
just one day after
I was
at the

isn't love every small thing
because Life is
small thing

Thursday, November 04, 2010

Free & New

A morning fog laced out every spider web
from grass tip to grass tip
making our world a place of wonder
and newness

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Fullness & Emptiness

There is a child in my room who struggles with neglect. His little face is rarely washed. His clothes stay on his body for literally weeks at a time. He is constantly itchy. These are the smaller things that are left empty in his life...the one I really notice is how much he needs hugs. Oh yes, the way he goes about it is lip-curling-ly annoying...but, it pains me to see how deep his emptiness has come. He is only 6 years old. How does a little child get so lost and hollow?

I love my job because I get to see parents who fill their children to capacity every single day. They are brushed and fed and moderately clean (all Kindergarteners have the tremendous ability of taking one crayon from a cup and finding themselves dirty from sleeve to toe). I see children who do not need my hugs but definitely want them. I talk to littles who want my attention, but do not always need it. This boy needs it.

I want to rattle the teeth out of the parents who simply forget that they've a little child they brought into the world who still needs their tenderness. What in god's name happens to them that they cannot check to see if their child is hungry or full, dirty or clean, sad or happy, awake or is full of emptiness some days.

As a teacher, there is a gap I can fill...and so I fill it with a hug, a tender look, a real interest, a glass of milk, a hot apple cider...whatever I can do to fill up that boy's growing emptiness...

Saturday, October 30, 2010

missing & gaining

This is not from the white mist day, but this one.

I'm missing my camera today...pretty sure I left it at work taking pictures of other people's children...that sounded unfortunate, but it was meant as purely fact.

But I so want to tell you about the day we are having here:

Today there is a white mist surrounding all of my junipers. It is the type of white mist that seems to form in the near distance, it doesn't roll like a fog. The whiteness lingers at the periphery, like a rainbow; the more you press on toward it, the more it moves on ahead of you.
You are never in the mist, only gazing at it like a star whose brightness you may see from the edges of your eyes.
The rain comes down as if spontaneously emerging from the air...hidden atom-pockets of rain, waiting for me to run into them as I walk. Clinging to my eyelashes and collecting on my hair to curl it.
The mist tells me to read, to drink hazelnut creamer in my coffee, to make the largest pot of soup and then drink it out of a mug. It tells me that I am gaining, and I love that feeling.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010


Yes, I wrote that right...complainy...not complainING...just a little complainy...
no pictures cause I never get any time to take them until I get home and then there is no light because we are swiftly heading into winter and the days are so short now.
I'm complainy cause the dishes are endless.
I'm complainy cause I get myself into awful predicaments sometimes, that seemed to be based on the fact that I am a very bad perfectionist and self-indulgent, and mostly too self-reliant. Now I've gone and made a mess of two perfectly wonderful days, but the stress of thinking it all out has gotten me...well, complainy.

I'm complainy cause I can't seem to give myself very many compliments. I keep a blog to remind myself of what I do right, and I love what I do, but it always seems like I'm some giant liar, cause the truth is, is that my children eat out at least twice a week for dinner, their breakfasts are cold cereal or pre-packaged oatmeal, and I've been too tired to read a bedtime story since the summer.

I'm complainy cause I've had something akin to pms for what seems like weeks.

I'm complainy cause I think I've had an ear infection for what seems like feels like I'm just about to have a full-on know the kind where you can't see out your right eye and everything is too loud, and your forehead skin just about hurts and you HAVE to close your eyes and lay in the dark...yeah, one of those...

I'm complainy cause the new teacher next to me, while she is welcome and young and a bright young thing (did I say young twice), she is seriously showing me up already...shit. Urrgh, there goes that very bad thing I do with comparing...

I'm complainy cause I know I should continue to be blissfully excited about my job and never need to have another wonderful thing happen to me (where do I get this idea?), but there it is, me wanting something else, or something more...jaaaaaaaaaysssssssuuuuus...but I just want out of this 40,000 square foot house, cause we only live in like 10 square feet of it (well, I am exaggerating, but you get the point)...I just want my tiny little 1901 cottage that already makes my heart feel unfettered and free and has it's own passel of troubles (I'm under no illusions now that I'm old and experienced...see how I am)...

Anyway, here I am in plain words saying, "today, I don't feel like being some dark woman who lives on the edge of a misty wood who charms rabbits and keeps her apron full of rose geranuim...nope, I'm frickin' complainy today instead."

Sunday, October 24, 2010

the always

I think
it must be
that Always
my heart has worn a cloak such as this
on rainswept days, on hills thick with musty sage

Always my heart
has wrapped itself in brown linen
thick as fresh-churned butter

I think
it must be
that Always
My hands were ready
to stitch my heart's dreams

no matter how small,
my hands made my tiny dreams

I think
it must be
My heart has tied sweet annie from rafters
of a very old barn
with tiny treasures nestled in every nook

& that brown linen Kinsale cloak
has been infused
in every fiber
with sweet annie and sage and juniper

I think
it must be
that Always
My heart has bundled
and wrapped and tied
broom corn into a besom

it Must be
the always

that swirls sweet annie smoke
through my cloak
through my barn
through my besom
through my heart

one curl of sweetness at a time