spoon cake. yikes. we were prowling around the bakery department, yearning for just the tiniest little something sweet. we rarely eat dessert and rarely have much in the way of sugary treats. but this one particular day – sheesh! – we neeeeded something.
only this was not it.
just looking at this “spoon cake” made my tummy hurt. i hadn’t heard of spoon cake before so we googled it. yup. an overdose of sugar. and these colors! they are not naturally occurring in nature and this one looks a lot like the flag of gabon, a developing country along the atlantic coast of central africa.
we moved on.
and, to be honest, nothing looked like it would be satisfying.
we ended up with plain donut holes. but – as it turns out – they were not all-that either. plus they are not gluten-free and they have more sugar in them than you think.
i know that there will be another day. another day that the need-something-sweet will be poking at us. another day we will stare into our pantry looking for something “good”. another day we will ponder driving out to seek our just reward for using up so much brainpower, a sugary something or other.
but we have learned our lesson.
in the future, we will stick with a halo or some berries.
buymeacoffee is a website where you may help support the continuing creating of artists you love (even when the creating is not-so-brilliant like today.) xoxo
like you, we are shifting gears often. one project to the next, one challenge to the next. we prepare, we research, we make decisions and then move to the next. it is all in constant flux. gazillions of molecules hurtling around all at once. many plates spinning all at once. anxiety and fear and thrill and peace and bliss all coexisting. it’s truly a wonder we are not so burdened by the constancy of too-much that we don’t bend under the pressure of it all.
i step outside the back door – onto the deck still basked in a haze of frosty dew – and look up. the slice i can see of this-house-i-love grounds me. ”stand still,” it says – this house loving me back, “just look at the sky.”
and so i do.
and somehow i can feel the quivering slow. i can feel my feet firmly planted on the old wood of our deck. i sink into the blue sky and look around for rays of sunlight i might stand in. i release the (metaphoric) clutch and the gear-shifting stops – for these moments.
and – for these moments – i am centered back in right now.
i breathe in deeply. and slowly exhale.
and i thank the blue-blue sky and the slice of house – the reach of love – before i go back inside to spin more plates.
the tracks tell the story. they came in and mowed down underbrush and trees, grasses and cattails. all in the name of habitat restoration. apparently, there are buckthorn and cottonwood and boxelder and various other invasive species that are suffocating the growth of young native tree seedlings. it looked absolutely devastated. as did the back half of the woods earlier this year after they attended to that section. but there was space for the sun to get through, for air and a bit of new growth. it was necessary.
now, admittedly, the back half doesn’t look as raw as it did right after that earlier eradication. but – it does look different. just as – i suppose – this section of the woods will look…eventually. it’s the meanwhile that is a bit tough to take. it’s stunning to see such emptiness where there was lush. it’s bracing to recognize how long it might take for this area to grow back – to fulfill the potential the ecologists plan for.
but devastation is like that.
in devastation-light we have the basement/attic project. this will all look decidedly worse before it looks better. the categories – keep, donate, sell – are staged all over the basement and have spilled into other rooms in the house. eventually, this will get better. it will look different. right now, though, it is a ruckus of stuff.
all this review of the past, though…it’s good for my heart. tiny salvageable moments derived from these seeming willy-nilly piles…i am wrapped in the after-devastation feels. for this is chosen devastation – choosing to touch all that is in the house and decide about its fate. and maybe devastation isn’t a good word for that kind of parsing out. just because it looks like devastation doesn’t mean it is devastation.
but there will be more culling before there is something that looks and feels good: the cleared out, organized space that honors the before-stuff and makes way for the next. the same way it is for emotional clearing-out. it will all get much messier before it gets air.
the tracks from the backhoes and heavy equipment punctuate the trail. we may wait awhile – maybe a few rains – before we take that loop again. in the meanwhile, we’ll go along the river where the trail is longer and quiet and the trees and underbrush are untouched – at least for now.
we’ll continue our quest in the basement and the attic and every other nook and cranny. we’ll make messes and piles and categorize each thing we unearth.
and the emotional stuff, well, it will surface and it will recede – both. it will be like a tide – just like the basement, it is a choice to pull things out of their previous compartmentalization. just like the basement, it has the potential to be really messy. and, just like the basement, it will be tedious and time-consuming and it is possible for a bit of anxiety to creep into the spaces previously left wide open by keeping it all in boxes and on shelves. suddenly, it’s all free-floating and there are fragments of emotions and tangible pieces of the past right there in front of us.
so we climb aboard our front loaders and excavators and bulldozers. and we start plowing down all the invasives.
and we just may feel restored after it all. we will have relived many memories, touched – really touched - the evidence of time passing.
and we just may be rejuvenated. the new saplings will be free to grow.
and we will look forward to lush, breathing easier and feeling the sun on our faces.
as i write this, it’s been weeks since we have hiked. i am feeling the tug. despite how sloppy it is likely to be, we really need to get out there – in the woods – and feel the cold, damp air on our faces.
we have been in the basement these days. during the negative-whatevers, the snowstorms, the dense fogs, the rain, we have immersed in the boxes and bins and tchotchkes of life. minus the occasional spider and mouse poop trail, it has been mostly joyful. to touch these things of life again is a gift of memory.
as we sort i can feel the house breathing. now, i have actually been in and seen a hoarder’s house, so i know that there is no comparison whatsoever, but the advent of space is refreshing. i realize that this paring-down will require a few passes – this is the first big pass – but now that we have started, it doesn’t seem as insurmountable. the reward for fortitude in the cleaning-out is the zeal to continue. it’s a circle.
i am making every attempt to be more ruthless in this process, in this circle. but it is a passage through time and life and my fingertips are tingling, touching the first onesie sleepers and those little booties, the tiny oshkosh b’gosh overalls and even tinier bibs. then there’s my sweet momma’s wedding dress and my poppo’s air force “ike” jacket. silk flowers and fold-out honeycomb crepe bells from my first wedding. cabbage patch dolls and children’s books and matchbox cars. 1970s cassettes i listened to over and over and over. reel to reel, cassettes and cds of my recording studio takes and edits, tracks along the way. my report cards from the beginning of time. this process is not as easy as it’s made out to be. but it’s necessary.
and, also necessary, is the call-response of the outside. we need to go out in the trees. we need to hike by the river and follow the deer tracks. we need to feel breathless from the wind and overheated by exertion. we need the balance. in this circle.
so we’ll put down the marketplace ads, the bins and big ikea bags holding donations, the cleaning supplies and our yuckiest clothes and we’ll go outside.
it’s days later and the turkeypoop is frozen to the top of littlebabyscion. it’s negative-something outside, so this is not likely to change soon. turkeypoop is of significant size. we are looking at it as a blessing of some sort.
we have three turkeys wandering the ‘hood these days. forest park neighborhood had carl but now allendale has these three – maybe huey, dewey and louie?
they are big – really big – turkeys and they draw attention wherever they go. and…they go anywhere they want…
…including on top of littlebabyscion.
our westneighbor texted us, “umm, are you guys having turkey tonight?”. i was perplexed until i saw a photo he sent. two of them, comfortably perched on top of our car, the third turkey in the driveway next to it. what?!!
we ran to the window in the studio to look out and, sure enough, there they were, up on the roof. once the snow melts, it is likely there will be beak-pecks in the roof as well – they were busy pecking each time i looked out. the turkey in the driveway was literally below the window, looking up as if to ask to be let in – much the same expression dogga gets on his face as he gazes in the back window from the back deck, willing us to let him in please and let him in nowww.
it was already going to be an odd moment. i was selling an item on marketplace and a perfect stranger was coming to our house to purchase it. now, here we are, three turkeys on the way to the front door. she was arriving any minute. i asked d to go out when she arrived so that he might escort her in since we don’t know what exactly turkeys will do if they feel encroached upon.
it turns out she was from the forest park neighborhood so she wasn’t alarmed; carl had been a presence there for quite some time. everybody loved him and she did too. our turkeys were still there when she left and they stayed for quite some time. with the negative temperatures, there was a tiny bit of a windblock between our house and our neighbor’s house so maybe they were trying to warm up just a smidge.
eventually, they apparently flew off littlebabyscion to head down the road. we missed them for the last couple days until yesterday when they were out on our street again. they must be making the rounds, looking for whatever it is turkeys eat. i’m thinking we should put out some sunflower seeds – to help them along. with these negative temps, we are all worried, but i’ve read the thousands of feathers they have will truly keep them warm.
when our daughter was in the high rockies, she would tell us of stories of bears getting into people’s vehicles. somehow they are able to simply open the door and get in. it’s the getting out that’s the problem – if the door swings shut they are apt to utterly destroy the interior of the vehicle they have chosen. she and i went horsebackriding with a cowboy who’d been in aspen forever and told great stories. in one of his odd jobs, he was a caretaker for a mansion tucked into the mountains there. when the owners were away a bear got inside and foraged in the kitchen cabinets. it then went upstairs and turned on the water faucet in the bathroom. in true naughty bear behavior (who can really blame them – we are taking over all their wild land!), it never turned it off. so, a week later – during a house check – the caretaker discovered water everywhere, on every floor of the house, the depth ever-rising from the basement up. it was a gut-job for sure.
and so, the turkeypoop and turkeypecks on the roof of littlebabyscion don’t seem so bad. if we are going to co-exist with these stunning creatures, then we must allow for all of it. their beauty and their beast.
i am diving into the worlds of facebook marketplace, ebay, poshmark, craig’s list. we are spending long days in the basement – going through, organizing, separating out that which is to be kept, that which is to be sold, so much of which is to be donated. thirty-five years – in the same house – is a long time to accumulate things and there are many boxes and giant plastic bins to open…and…this is not our first rodeo down there. it’s been nasty weather and it’s negative-whatever outside so this a perfect time for this. i know that any stopping of the momentum will – yes – stop the momentum. so we don’t stop.
on a shelf unit with many books of many colors, i came upon a collection of volumes – all ten of them, making a complete set. they are the 1908/1909/1910 copyrighted gold-leaf-gilt-edged editions of “the bible and its story – taught by picture lessons”. there are beautiful penned illustrations throughout, published by ira hiller (ny). it is a significant collection. but not one that i want to keep. i don’t remember the backstory – where or who these came from. and i know that, though i have not once opened them to read, there is someone ‘out there’ who would want to add this to their personal collection. and so, i will sell it. with the exception of a little water damage on volume 6’s back cover, it’s in quite excellent condition. research will help me set a price – i’ll not ask for top dollar, though, for i want to move this out and into someone else’s hands for their own home library.
it’s an interesting predicament – setting prices. even with research, it all seems somewhat arbitrary. a thing is only – truly – worth what someone else will pay for it, i am reminded. and so, i keep that in mind as i hold things in my hand, maybe photograph them for memory-sake and place them on the dining room table for an ad photo shoot, the writing of a description, pricing and uploading. i wonder what value someone else will have for these things – so many things – that were mine but that need to move on.
for value is a funny thing. for some, it is in the name of the maker, the label tucked in the collar, the brand on the purse or the jacket or the furniture piece or the vehicle. for some, it is the gilded antique, the collectible, the museum piece. for some, it is the barbie doll or the hummels or the annual dated ornament. for some, it is the scrap of paper found in an old purse with toddler-print that says “i love you”. for some, it is the yoyo quilt your grandmother made; the one in which you recognize the fabric of clothes you once wore. in amish tradition, “an object cared for in a home can turn into a shining thing.” (sue bender)
the things i or we choose to keep may not be the festooned bric-a-bracs of someone else’s sensibility. they may be much simpler, more thready and less dollar-attached. they have old narrative worn into their object-souls and – even now, decades later maybe – they can still elicit an array of emotions. the relationships, the art form, life’s riverdance all woven into the things we may choose to keep.
we keep unearthing, unboxing, moving items from one spot to another. “life’s all about moving your patches around,” and i believe this to be true. it’s all fluid. we will keep working until we finish the first pass through of the stuff-of-life and then – and only then – will we be able to start the second pass through.
“simplify and then go deeper, making a commitment to what remains.”
it was the first time in years – literally years – since we had ordered chinese food. way back before the pandemic we stopped ordering as soy sauce used in cooking my favorite fried rice contains gluten. we’ve purchased tamari for use at home – sans gluten – but you can’t expect a chinese restaurant to use this. but then, the up-north gang started to talk about panda – one of the restaurants in town – and i was havin’ a hankerin’ for their amazing fried rice and eggrolls. (i don’t require complicated foods to be extraordinarily happy!)
and so, we decided to forego the gluten-worry and we ordered. we were in fried-rice-heaven. truth be told, we have purchased frozen fried rice from trader joe’s, added some more veggies and wok-ed it all up with tamari, which was pretty good. but…that container of fried rice and that little wax paper bag with our eggrolls after placing our order on the phone and jaunting over to pick it up – it inspired joy!!!
and then, there’s the fortune cookie. it’s funny these days – the back of the fortune cookie has an ad from jockey (the international headquarters is in this town), so you can’t get away from retail marketing even in your fortune cookie. nevertheless, this time we wished to pay attention to the cookie and its words of ancient wisdom.
“your to-do list for tomorrow: do absolutely nothing.”
and so we did. we spent the next day facetiming with our daughter while she opened her christmas presents. we went antiquing and immersed in treasures and ideas. we hung out with dogdog and had happy hour and made homemade soup. we were fortunate and our day was filled with great fortune. we did nothing that even resembled tedium or hard work. i mean, it’s a fortune cookie! you have to pay attention!
it’s now under a magnet on our refrigerator. but the thing is – we have already cashed in on the magic. we used up the fortune.
i wondered if that was it? was it spent? over? no longer our fortune?
and so, i googled it.
and found this:
“a fortune from a cookie typically lasts as long as you assign meaning to it or find it relevant. the lifespan of a fortune cookie’s message is subjective and varies from person to person.”(the ever-reliable knowledge factoid site – quora.com)
i’m thinking we will leave it up there on the fridge for a spell (or whatever the lifespan of this fortune cookie fortune might be). that way, we can glance over and “assign it meaning” any day we want!
i spent much of last year looking back. way back. way past up-close. way way back – way way past the smallest of trees on the horizon. it was necessary and painful and shocking and mighty tedious.
“… the mind clings to the road it knows / rushing through crossroads / sticking like lint to the familiar…” (mary oliver)
and then you peel back the lint that is dryer-vent-covering it all. you wipe off the fuzzy pieces. you take a good hard look at what’s really there, at what you have softened with the padding of trying to forget, of stuffing you have piled on top of your frame, of what you have buried, of the traintracks you have sprinted ahead on, leaving the veritable picture of perspective – the v of traintracks running far behind – away away – with trees so small you can barely discern they are trees. and there it all is. raw.
and you can see it. and your brain tries to stop you from seeing it. both. so you sit with it – laden – burdened – in the retrospect of it all – connecting the dots, sometimes nodding your head in sudden understanding, sometimes eyes wide, horrified at it all.
it is surreal. you are back there. you can feel it. but you know – that in merely a blink – you can be where you are right now…where you are really.
and suddenly, you are at a crossroads. you must choose between replacing the lint – tamping it back down and turning your face away from it – or recognizing it as a shield, pulling it all out – this ancient insulation – discarding it and then staring at what’s left – what is now feeling air and space and attention.
“trauma creates change you don’t choose. healing is about creating change you do choose.” (michelle rosenthal)
and then, after some time – some processing, some sorting, some meaning-making, some swearing, much courage, sheer survival – you glance at all the baggage laying next to you – rolliebags and backpacks, crossbody bags and trunks, paper bags and reusable grocery sacks – and you pick up only that which you wish to carry.
and you make your way back up the tracks to the place you really are. the place by the big trees.
the glitter is gone. but the line of glitter glue – a vestige of its shinybrite glory – is still there. the ornament is no less beautiful in its wornness.
like life. the glitter wears off, gets blown off, is scrubbed off. tiny fragile mica chips scatter and the glueline is left – an indicator of what was. there was glitter there.
there’s nothing my children like less in a wrapped present than glitter ribbon. they complain that it gets all over (which it does). for a few years i wrapped in glitter ribbon anyway – i love the juxtaposition of simple brown paper and white or silver glitter ribbon.
but then, i decided to listen to their imploring not to use the glitter ribbon on their gifts.
and it occurred to me that they already have plenty of glitter. their very lives are full of glitter – new experiences, new adventures, new friends and relationships, new challenges, new jobs, new places and homes and travels.
and so, i’m suddenly aware that the glitter ribbon is for me.
there is a snowglobe that i have previously purchased as a gift for a special friend. it is a beautiful four inch heavy glass globe on a black base. and all that is in it is the snow. no tiny scene. no trees. no holiday norman rockwell. just the snow.
i took it out of its beautiful box and wrappings to be sure it was in perfect shape after it was shipped to us. and i marveled at it. i shook it, watching the snow. glittery flitter drifted and floated. and then it was clear again. like glitter ribbon curled around brown paper – these smidges of mica. it was one of those gifts i wanted to keep. but – at the time – it was a message i wanted him to have: all things are possible. it’s a blank slate, the flitter ready to be shaken up a little.
because glitter exists.
and there is a glueline on us all. it waits for us to dance in the falling flitter – to gather tiny mica – to stick to our lively and worn bodies, all. we wield the gluesticks. we are the shaker-uppers. we are the recipients, the restorers, the sustainers. glitter is our legacy.
it would appear that nature is decorating for the holiday season. even in the browns and tans and greys of the fallow, color bursts out at us. it’s stunning. the honeysuckle is unmoved though – it is standard fare in the winter to be berried. we, however, stop to appreciate it.
we decorated early this year. right around thanksgiving we put up our eileen-tree (which we named “e.e.”), pulled out the mini-trees i love to place everywhere, added twinkling white lights and silver ornaments. there are snowflakes and pinecones from the forest floor and heartfilled nods to my children-in-younger-days and my scandinavian heritage. we unearthed the boxes of vintage glass ornaments and shiny brites from my sweet momma and poppo and placed those ever-so-gently on the happy-light-lit big branches we now have year-round in the living room. it looks like christmas.
each day goes by faster now it seems. and then it’s friday again. i’m not sure where the time goes. as we make our holiday cards and a few handmade gifts to send out, george winston’s december is on repeat – the quiet of this album is speaking to us this season. bombastic christmas or vocal-gymnastic-laden carols seem like too much noise. restraint seems more in line with our spirits. more serenity.
there are many festivities to choose from – out there. we thought about a concert or two and lingered back. we thought about a holiday festival or two and lingered back. we thought about stores and crowds and lingered back. we will finish making our cards and creations and do a bit of boutique shopping. we may make a cookie or two. the krumkake of ages past nudges us and sip and feast taunts us with a long island italian almond cookie (gluten-free). we sit under blankets in a darkened living room – lit only by happylights. we savor the sparkle. we sit in content silence, we tell stories of past holidays – wistful, tearing up, laughing, lost in memories and hopes for future holidays.
and there is the woods.
whenever we can, we take time out there. the forest reminds us of both the everpresence and the evanescence of it all. it reminds us of the passing of time, the changing of seasons, adjusting to harsh circumstances and it reminds us of the rejuvenation and renewal of spring. we know that beyond the cold and frozen, there will be warmth. it’s all fluid and some things – like transition – are certain. there is silent wisdom – of the ages – you can feel as you place your feet – emanating from the dirt of the trail.
it is no wonder that nature has already decorated – with quiet fervor and vivid color – for the holidays.
reverse threading 