mindful of the moments

"There is a story of a woman running away from tigers. She runs and runs and the tigers are getting closer and closer. When she comes to the edge of a cliff, she sees some vines there, so she climbs down and holds on to the vines. Looking down, she sees that there are tigers below her as well. She then notices that a mouse is gnawing away at the vine to which she is clinging. She also sees a beautiful little bunch of strawberries close to her, growing out of a clump of grass. She looks up and she looks down. She looks at the mouse. Then she just takes a strawberry, puts it in her mouth, and enjoys it thoroughly. Tigers above, tigers below. This is actually the predicament that we are always in, in terms of our birth and death. Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life." 
~~Pema Chodron

::  Breathe.  We live in times where technology is both friend and foe.  I often wonder what I would do without the internet or cell phone.  How life would be different without instant (or near instant) links and connections to information or people!  I use these snappy technologies to plan trips, to connect with friends old and new, to find a recipe, to research just about anything, to send a quick note.  But this constant link to everyone and everything can be draining.  A friend I communicate with and know only through technology (and an occasional package of lemons to her home from mine) has recently made a decision to slow down her connection with technology, returning to more elemental and grounded pursuits.  I have to applaud her true grit in committing to this change.  There is indeed something to be said for infusing her days with family first, taking time to breathe in life, savoring moments in a quiet personal way.  Others are choosing to disengage completely from all technology.  Yes, certainly, there is need to separate when each day is consumed with being linked, when moments go unnoticed, when one can't breathe.

::  Listen.  When our daughter was young (she's an adult now, even though that smacks both my mind and hers with a resounding thump followed by a "wow"), we lived quite a distance from her school.  That travel time, both morning and evening, gave her a one-on-one captive audience for connecting and listening.  Whether she was traveling with Papa or Mama, great conversations (sometimes prompted by NPR, sometimes prompted by her day at school), dreams, problems, and plans were explored.  We listened to her in a way that would not have taken place had we been at home, distracted by those daily chores and routines.  Because we developed this dialogue exchange as part of our everyday family pattern, there was, and continues to be, trust and a deep bond in our relationship.  There were other, maybe more typical moments each day, each week, when we shared, like gathering at the kitchen/dining table at meal time or traveling to/from swimming meets on weekends.  Whatever the primary purpose, the best outcome was to connect, to listen, to enjoy each other.

::  Observe.  Having my camera has been my best tool for noticing details.  It has reminded me of how children observe the world, especially small children.  If one crunches down on eye level of a two year old, the view looks so different.  There's a richness, an intensity, we tend to miss as adults because we are always looking at the big picture, the horizon.  Starting when she was wee, our daughter would collect seed pods and rocks, little gifts of nature she would happen upon on walks.  The rock obsession continued well into her teen years, spotting a color, a shape, a texture, to add to her treasury.  Using the camera reminds me to stop and consider attributes of what appears to be simple everyday items and occurrences in that adult eye, to regard with a different perspective.  With a release of the shutter, a moment is seized, held captive, observed.
**  The rock collection?--some were deemed unworthy as time went on, but many remain in boxes or have found their way to my own shelves, tabletops, containers.

it's going to be a long, wonderful day

A rousing welcome to the first day of summer--the Summer Solstice--for those in the Northern Hemisphere!  We have had such a incredible spring this year, with cooler-than-average days, higher-than-average moisture, and outstanding displays of wild flowers.  It's sure to be a bumper crop of elderberries, gooseberries, and chokecherries in the mountains this summer!

Our planned celebration--

::  hot coffee, pancakes, raspberries, pure Vermont maple syrup

::  fresh greens from the garden topped with roasted beets, Boursin cheese, citrus-balsamic glaze, and almonds.

::  a bicycle ride along nature trails

::  spending time together (holding hands, laughing, sharing...a nap may be included)

a day for papas

To my husband:

::  My heart skips a beat with love and pride when I hear you converse with our daughter, who now lives her own life over 2000 miles away.  You treat her with such respect and care.

::  I admire how you can be a force, yet have such a gentle heart and hand.

::  happy Papa's day!

hello there from the great canyon of life

June finds us with worn-through-the-finger-tips leather gloves from stone work and yard work.  It's a good thing, and our terrace is coming along nicely.  There are silly things like accidentally cutting the electrical line that links to the drip irrigation system (oops), which have slowed us down a bit.  And don't even go there about the rain that seemed to never end this spring--not that I'm complaining because we quite needed the moisture and it has lead to some amazing wild flowers.  I have yet to find a fountain that calls to me in such a way that I have to have it, that it was destined to be in that spot on the terrace, allowing the water to dance along its edge and splash at its base.  The hunt continues.

Local farmer's markets are in full swing.  Sweet tree-ripened peaches (from up by the Feather River), bright red raspberries, mouth-watering strawberries, beets, green beans, and green bok choy are now added to the menu for our trip to the natural hot springs where early morning yoga, many soaks in the springs, and card playing into the wee hours with a sister and brother-in-law are on the schedule for this week.

and just like that, a new season begins

The nasty affair, the wet business of unpredictable fickle spring weather is largely past.  There was a last hrumph of dark grey clouds, a wee bit more of snow in the mountains, before Persephone emerged to kiss the growing warm season a start.

Our tomatoes are blooming, herbs are flourishing, but some re-seeding and re-planting may be needed here and there.  Snails, in their prime element of rainy cool weather, have stripped the marigolds down to stems.  Lettuce and peas took huge hits as well.  Oh, the joys of spring planting and organic growing.

There's the most delicious cloud of sweetness hanging around the lemon trees, as well as a constant low hum of honey bees.  Looking at the number of blossoms and the business of pollination in full swing, I dare say we'll have a nice crop this winter.  Yum!

nine on cloud nine

There's a change in the light and temperature of each day.  I don't need a calendar to tell me this.  Flowering pear and plum trees are exploding in whites and pinks.  Herbs in the garden are sprouting up as are the spring vegetables (yes!).  What a delightful start to spring.

Refreshing and exciting things right now:

::  In yoga I am finding strength, quiet, peace, a center.  Very good.

::  Oh, the sunshine!  That spring sun which draws the face upward, brings work to a stop, and beckons a walk down the garden path.  Hello!  Welcome!

::  Seed catalogs are being inspected.  Lists are forming.  Plans are developing.

::  Roots in pots are divided and fresh soil from the compost added.  The dark brown compost from last fall's harvest and canning is looking quite rich.

::  Scraps of yarn strategically placed in the trees and mesh bags are starting to disappear.  I'm sure they are adding just the right color scheme to some bird's nest.

::  The twitters and warbles of the birds has increased ten fold (and so has the volume of bird feed being consumed).  Wild turkeys are visiting, as are doves.  The volume of activity has, in turn, attracted hawks, who circle or land on a post nearby, patiently waiting for the perfect moment.

::  I have been reading "My Life in France", a memoir by Julia Child.  (Can I just say that Google Translate, for all the French terms,is my new best friend?)  I am inspired by her zest for adventure, her spunk, her sassiness.

::  Snails and ants.  They come with the territory and climate.  With snails it's just a daily patrol of picking.  They're an interesting creature but can eliminate gardens and flowers in just a few days.  Ants are a constant issue.  I detest using chemicals that can be harmful to the environment, people, and animals, and frankly I don't believe one can ever purge ants completely.  There was an interesting piece on NPR about such a topic the day I was spotting ant scouts about the kitchen.  Yes, I do believe it's highly likely these little guys are here, lurking by my kitchen.  Somehow, between this new knowledge and the sun beams teasing me, these two creatures are quite do-able.

::  My knitting mojo is back in spades.  Two unfinished projects near completion, and this little number is in my radar for summer wear.  This top just sings out spring and a trip up the coast.  Yup, I'm ready to knit for myself.

go forward with no fear of the new year

One of a dozen+ sets of slippers knitted for the holidays--this pair for my mother-in-law so that she can seek, gather, contemplate and go in her wheelchair, all while keeping her feet warm.

As a bee seeks nectar from all kind of flowers, seek teachings everywhere. Like a deer that finds a quiet place to graze, seek seclusion to digest all that you have gathered. Like a madman beyond all limits, go wherever you please and live like a lion completely free of all fear.”

-- Ancient Tibetan text

cheers two thousand ten

The clouds and drizzle last night prevented me seeing the blue moon.  The overcast today prevents me from seeing a blue sky.  Neither take away from the excitement of a new year--a fresh, clear beginning.  Our planet, with her axis tipped oh so slightly to one side as if to say "huh, so this is what it's all about", has carried us safely through another year's journey around the sun.

Last year was a labyrinth of boxes, both physical and metaphorical.  Some of them continue to linger in alleyways, in shadows, in corners, stirring chaos and turbulence.  I am not one to put down resolutions.  They are so finite, constricting,...and, well, yes, boxing.  I believe Ali Edwards is onto something, choosing one little word for the year.  One word that is really not a little word at all, but is charged with intent.  One word that is, in its simplicity, irrefutable and authentic.

The boxes must go, my life simplified, streamlined.  The one word that comes to me over and over is:  clear.  It's such a multi-faceted word; it's a verb, an adjective, and an adverb.  Yes, this one little five letter word is perfect for my boxes.  CLEAR it is!

the damage report

A wee skiff of snow came.  Then the upper 20's cold snap for three nights.  Quite cold for us!  Now it's raining.  The meyer lemons that had set are fine (Diane, you will be happy to know!).  Many of the late fall buds (only a quarter to half inch in size) that had just started to grow into fruit are black with frost damage.  It won't be the thick crops we've had in the past but enough for friends and family to enjoy, none the less.  The bower vine, which provides us with such striking pink-throated white flowers and fabulous seed pods each year, took quite a hit.  I'll wait until spring before I trim the branches, because nature sometimes has a way of popping back from adverse conditions.  Everything else faired quite well.  Some plants, that in other parts of the country would have been dormant a couple months ago but were still blooming here, have now rested for the season.  They'll require some trimming back in preparation for spring.

When the rain stops, leaves will be raked and stems will be cut back.  The plants are taking their winter intermission.  The only thing that will be multiplying and developing will be the compost.

a strong potential

Last week was the sudden thunder, quickly followed by hail.  Little balls of ice that came down quick, hard, and fast.

Tonight there's a hard frost advisory, which in itself warrants a "heads up"--we don't get hard frosts, except on rare occasions.  But attached to this sting of a real frost is a "strong potential" that we will get SNOW!  Snow?!  Don't misunderstand:  I was raised in the stuff, walked to school in the stuff, spent hours playing in the stuff.  But I have gotten "soft" living here in the meek and mild California valley the past fifteen years or so.  I don't even own a windshield scraper.  There's no need.  What little frost that may be on the windshield a few mornings a year can easily be taken care of by the defroster in the time frame my grandpa would say was "two shakes of a lamb's tail".

I've gleened the last of the jalapeno peppers off my plants, which up to now have continued to bloom and produce since spring.  They're hardy plants but they won't survive the potential 27 degree (F) temperatures predicted.  Winter crops which have just started to come up are covered in straw.  Citrus trees are being covered, "house" plants that normally live outside on my patio year-round are being covered, bird feeders are filled.  I'm ready.  Bring it on.

the wool is coming out

That cool snap of fall is definitely here!  Now, I know it's not the same as for friends and family farther north or higher altitudes, but for us in the California valley moderate-climate zones 8 and 9, it's chilly in the evening and early morning (no, really, it is).  I won't discuss the (ahem) near 80 degree (F) weather we have during the day, or mention (only briefly) to you about the lemon trees that have decided to bloom again leaving a sweet scent in the air.  The shadows are longer, the minutes of daylight are dwindling, and the deciduous tree colors are now into the yellows, oranges, reds, and browns.  Those are the perfect signs of seasonal change for savory soup, hot bread, and a favorite mug filled with a tasty warm liquid.

Wool yarn, which was untouchable in the summer heat, has been happily finding its way into my knitting basket and bag.  Six items are checked off the holiday gift list.  Of course that list seems to have a life of its own and appears to be adding items in the middle of the night...my, oh my!  It's a bit concerning when I notice the date on the calendar.  I am, however, determined to stick with my two-fold plan of a handmade and parred down holiday this year.

thank you, september

What a lively month, a month teeming with color pencils, ink, watercolors, canned jams and fruits, last garden harvests, knitting, simplifying, organizing, and celebrating.

Right now, I'm:
::  sensing a shift from summer to autumn (finally)
::  listening to Prairie Home Companion and Pandora
::  savoring fresh apple butter on hot crunchy french bread
::  celebrating my birth day this last day of September (or as my brother-in-law says:  another ring around the trunk, another barnacle on the hull, another candle on the cake, another layer of moss on the rock)
::  sipping hot Moroccan mint green tea
::  playing Gin on the weekends
::  welcoming chance and life
::  falling (once again) deep into the brilliant writings of Margaret Atwood
::  simplifying our home

So I ask, where are you at as this month comes to a close?

something's a-brewing

There's a chill in the air and a gloomy overcast in the sky.  Now, this feels like autumn!  Yes!  Bread dough is rising, spinach and potatoes are being chopped, and the tea pot is whistling.  Today we celebrate that snap in the air with hot french bread and steaming soup.

five halves

Everything around here seems to be split into two halves.  Nothing is quite done, but too far to just stop.

::  autumn equinox is upon us once again--half sunlight, half darkness.
::  my work space at home is spread out in the hallway and living room while I catalog, organize, shred, and shelve.  Must...get...it...done.

 
::  I had bushels of peaches and apples (a few pears were thrown in for kicks).  Peaches are done.  Apples are not.

::  Handmade goods for the upcoming holidays are coming along.  I must confess that they are not halfway completed; however, they are all planned out and budgeted.
::  Yard clean-up/trim-up done.  The garden is looking neglected and, well, used.  It's slated for clean-up for autumn/winter planting this weekend.

don't forget about "me"

"When I grow up, I want to remember that I always wanted to be about a thousand different things and one lifetime didn't seem nearly enough. When I grow up, I hope it's at the very end when it doesn't matter anymore anyway."

**story people**

School is well underway for the year.  I get great joy in teaching children, in sharing my excitement for learning, writing, reading, and the amazing world of numbers.  When I can work beyond the dry mandated curriculum, when I can have the learning take place by seeing, doing, experimenting, exploring...that's when I see those "ah ha" moments in their eyes and an animation in their discussions.  And my heart flies knowing that the big idea, the concept, will stick with them because it has become a part of their exploration using all their senses.  Sadly those times are few and far.  Teaching to the test, for the test, is the norm.  A teacher's job may depend on the test scores being high (which means successful in the government's eyes).

~It is almost a miracle that modern teaching methods have not yet entirely strangled the holy curiousity of inquiry; for what this delicate little plant needs more than anything, besides stimulation, is freedom~ Albert Einstein

We, as a planet, need creative, revolutionary thinkers-tinkerers.  We need students who can, yes, be able to answer the questions put to them, but who also know those answers not because they have memorized the words, the phrase, the formula, but know those answers because the questions have been explored, felt, pondered, experimented, connected.

We need students who will grow up, keeping some of that inner child with them, that sense of wonder.  Take a moment to watch this creative wee animation, which captures my heart.

I know I have that child in me and she pops out quite regularly (sometimes my fabulous husband thinks she's out a lot).  I'm the adult you will find playing in the puddle, noticing the mushrooms sprouting, daydreaming while watching clouds.  I'm the teacher who thinks about that puddle, those mushrooms and clouds, and wonders how to use these to teach and explore about physics, biology, mathematics, writing, and reading.

I'm the teacher who regularly takes the classroom outside.  We take our reading, discussing, experimenting, calculating outside with sunshine, fresh air, and movement.

I'm the teacher who has opted out of taking on a classroom full time.  I'm not sure where these thoughts I've shared here will lead me in my zest for teaching, learning, and exploration.  I do know that this is the right move for me.  I'm excited, a bit nervous, and completely pumped about my options and opened avenues!  Yes!  Welcome September and creativity and zest!