(Trying to) Welcome Spring

A single, unseasonable 65 degree day and everyone has sworn off coats, boots, hats, gloves, to say nothing of snow pants, even though each morning the man-eating puddle in our driveway freezes over 1/2 inch and snowy patches still outnumber bare patches three to one.

I have to admit when I looked out the window and saw the first open patch of bare, dead grass, my first thought was, "Great.  Now we have to watch out for ticks."  Every silver lining has its cloud.

Our celebration of St. Patrick's Day was fairly non-eventful, what with the black eye and social obligations and all.  The Leprechauns did leave E and Z each one of their shoes with a chocolate gold coin in each (a Leprechaun dropped one a couple of years ago for M).  Of course there was a great deal of suspicion that in fact I had made them.

I tried to hold a "St. Paddy's Day, Observed" celebration the next evening, with creamy potato cabbage soup and soda bread and my Putumayo Celtic Tides CD playing on continuous loop.  But everyone was extremely tired and cranky from the late night the night before--E cried right through dinner in a flashback-to-two-year-old event, and Z, with the black eye and an arm scraped from slipping on the stairs fell off his dinner chair and bruised and scraped his ribs (daily reminders of "sit on your sit bones" apparently have no effect).  I was cranky and edgy too, despite having had the day free from both work and children--the trouble with a few hours of solitude is that it's like trying to eat only one Thin Mint.

Saturday morning, E, Z and M were affronted that snow was falling from the sky again.  The day continued the cranky and impatient theme, as every cry of "Mama"--and such cries seemed to come more frequently and in a more whiny tone than normal--was fingernails on the chalkboard.  Perhaps it was just cabin fever.  Perhaps we should have gotten out for a hike, instead of letting certain people spend it in their jammies.  Perhaps I should have stuck with my New Year's Resolution and skipped Town Meeting, which is like New England's special version of waterboarding.

After we arrived home that evening, we went on a Moon Walk to view the 14% bigger and 30% brighter than normal (so M informed us) full moon.

C and M set up the telescope while E and Z ran around the muddy and frozen but nearly-snow free field.

Then C lit our Christmas wreath--which was still surprisingly fresh and resistant to flame--on fire.

"Say goodbye to King Winter and Hello, Mrs. Thaw," I said.

"Even though they're fictional characters from Finland, " intoned Mr. Literal (M).

After the wreath burnt itself out, we walked back to the house, with E and Z running ahead calling, "Goodbye King Winter, Hello King Spring!"

As we tucked them in bed, we heard the yips and yaps of a coyote family also out to enjoy the bigger, brighter moon.

Tiny Bird, November Light

November has been a real treat so far--two beautiful sunny days in the 60s. I could totally get used to this kind of November.

Sunday morning we all went for a walk down to the river, C forging ahead with his scythe to clear the vegetation that had built up over a summer of disuse (too buggy!); boys in the middle thwacking vegetation with sticks; me bringing up the rear trying to focus on staying in the present moment, enjoying the colors and sounds and light (I didn't even bring my camera--just trying to enjoy the moment!). We had a small picnic by Owl Tree, visited the river, saw some poop (apple-eating coyote? bear?).

On our return, the boys found this poor little Golden Crowned Kinglet dead in front of the house. It had apparently flown into our bedroom window and fallen three stories to the rocks below. I got out my nature journal, for the first time in more than a month and did a little sketch of it (which reminded me to also write down that I had seen a Barred Owl sitting in the middle of our road Thursday night on the way home from knitting group).

E and Z joined me with pen and paper. Their drawing skills are just emerging and they get very frustrated at not being able to draw exactly what they see, but they forged ahead anyway.

Look at the amazing fluorescent orange of the crest feathers. This is when I get annoyed at the term "natural colors" in reference to bland tans and sage greens...any color you could cook up with chemicals in a laboratory has already been done much better by Nature herself.

After we were done drawing, I ignored C and M's suggestions of keeping either the feathers or feet, and E and Z's pleas to add it to the nature table, and laid it to rest on this polypore mushroom growing on a tree just in the woods next to our house. Something will find it there and feast upon it, continuing the cycle of life.

Later that day M and I went to go see Where the Wild Things Are with friends (you can never predict what the weather will be like when you plan something two weeks in advance...oh, and I would totally NOT recommend that movie...monsters with severe neuroses and depression and abusive/codependent behavior...I found the whole thing a bit disturbing, but M seemed to like it OK) and on the drive home the almost-full moon was rising ahead of us, with the sun setting behind. All of the red and yellow and gold and orange leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving the browns and bronzes. The most amazing golden light illuminated hillsides below the moon in a bright, coppery glow. I kept telling M, "look at the moon! Look at those trees!" and he would say, "Mm-hm, I saw them."

Holiday Happenings and Giveaway

This post is dedicated to the point-and-shoot camera.

We have been squeezing holiday celebrations in and around regular life whenever we can.

On St. Nicholas Day (last Tuesday) we each found an ornament in our shoe--four charming vintage pinecone gnomes for the boys and a tiny putz house for the mama.

The evening before I had told them this St. Nicholas story from Miri's blog (which I much prefer to the dowry version), and then C opened his big mouth and said "If you're good St. Nicholas will put gold coins in your shoes." So naturally, no one was very impressed with the gnome ornaments. There was also supposed to be a special chocolate which I had bought when I was in Connecticut, but that same big mouth had already helped himself to all of them. 

I had also spent the last month or so threatening them that if they don't behave, The Krampus would come and take them away in his iron basket, and read them a poem I wrote for the speech club I belong to (yeah, I'm that geeky) in which Krampus makes all the bad children into soup. They must have been good enough; they escaped Krampus's basket this year. (I was pleased to hear, coincidentally, this story on NPR over the weekend which indicates that Krampus is finally getting some attention this side of the Atlantic)

E and Z had their holiday concert at school last week (it was the first time in seven years that M didn't have a concert), which was the usual combination of adorable and horrifying. Those are my boys there, the one in red with his hands in his pockets and the one in white and black trying to hide behind everyone else. I especially like how my camera gave everyone glowy white eyes, like they're little Krampuses themselves.

Saturday morning, before basketball practice (oh, yes, another sporting season for me to grouse about. Aren't you happy?), I strung up the "garling" E fingerknitted over Thanksgiving weekend. It wound all the way down the long wall that spans living room and kitchen, the side wall of the living room, the front wall, around the stairway and chimney, and back again. I estimate it is about 130+ feet of fingerknitting.

I had a hard time getting a picture to show the magnitude of it.

Saturday afternoon, we went into full-on sweat-shop mode, making holiday gifts (and Z taking arty photographs of it all). At one point Z, while doodling out ideas for decorating his gifts drew something that was almost exactly a swastika (with one leg pointing the wrong way) and said something like, "How about this?" and I said something like, "Absolutely NOT!!!!" and the whole thing ended up eerily and almost exactly like this incident, with Z crying and burrowing into the couch. Oh my. 

Saturday evening we held our very, very early Hanukkah observed celebration, with our usual half-sweet-potato latkes, and a yule log menorah like the one we made last year. I was so happy to refer back to that post and remember that I made homemade applesauce (which I did again) and bought grape kid wine (they didn't have it so I bought blueberry). The health food store didn't have sour cream this year either, so we used yogurt instead, but I did buy some ruby red sauerkraut, which though it's made of cabbage, looks kinda like beets. I also served fried eggs, because now that the kids actually eat the latkes, so C and I can't have about eight each, they're not that filling (C's hoping I'll make a brisket next year, whatever that is). I couldn't find any fair trade/organic chocolate gelt, so we went without dessert (I think cheese blintzes should be on the menu next year...that sounds much better than brisket).

I had meant to get a CD of Jewish music, but I forgot when I was at the bookstore earlier in the week, so instead we marched around the kitchen with tambourines and castanets singing "Hanukkah is Here" and pretending to dance the hora, and M played the dreidel song on his trumpet. 

Afterward, instead of playing dreidel, we went out for a moon walk.

 (I wasn't going to post this photo until I saw Rachel's post about the lunar eclipse, and the photo she included, and thought, why not? Why not embrace the humble point-and-shoot in all its beautiful limitations?)

Speaking of photographic limitations, have you ever noticed how hard it is to take a good photo of a Christmas tree? It's like they're afraid you'll steal their soul or something. I wanted to capture just how heavily laden our tree's branches are with ornaments. (You can also see the fishing line tying it to the window frames)

On Sunday, I ventured more deeply into our swamp to find more winterberry to add to some evergreen boughs I stuffed arranged in a planter on the front step. They're harder to find without the background of snow setting off the red, but they looked so beautiful against the setting sun and deep black water of the wetland.

By the time I got home and got them arranged (by porch light), it was too dark to see the effect, and I haven't been home in daylight since (these days of leaving home and returning home in darkness are so hard to take--last week I had to put the kids on the bus a couple of times so C could leave early, and it was so nice to be home, alone, in the morning light that I lingered a bit too long over my tea).

Which finally brings us to our giveaway, and this picture taken by lamplight because that's all there is.

I had promised another giveaway for last week, but never go to it, and this isn't even the giveaway I had planned (that one will come out sometime in the New Year), but I thought this one more seasonally apt: Christmas in Scandinavia, a collection of folk tales and stories from the North. I somehow ended up with two copies of this book and would like to share one with a blog reader who would enjoy it. Now, as a disclaimer, I must say I have not read it myself, so I can't vouch for the stories (but one is by Hans Christian Anderson, so they must be alright). I can't say if they're heavy-handed in the religious angle, or anything else (I can say I adore the outfit on the little boy on the cover--hmm, I bet E would be game to wear legwarmers, shoes turned up at the toes and a Tomten hat...).

So, if you're interested in Christmas folklore and Scandinavia, please do leave a comment, telling me what your favorite Christmas story is. Also, please, please, please leave your email address so I can contact you if you win. I'll draw a winner Saturday night (December 17) and send the book out Monday if I can get in touch with the winner to get her address before then (if not, it will have to wait until January--we leave for Colorado on Tuesday!). Good luck!

Howling at the Moon

Sometimes, as a working parent, it seems the only time I'm ever with my kids is spent coaxing them to do things they don't want to do: get out of bed, get ready for school, run for the bus, do your homework, eat your dinner, get ready for bed, go to sleep.

 With the return of school and soccer season, it seems this mode has shifted into overdrive. Last week, I found my afternoons spent racing to far-flung soccer fields (and in at least one nerve-wracking case, the wrong field), birthday parties, school open house, and a packet deadline for me. We sat down to dinner only one evening. The rest of our meals consisted of sandwiches or burritos eaten in the car on the way to guitar practice, or on the sides of soccer fields.

By Friday night, after E, Z and I went and got pizza, and finally found M at the undisclosed birthday party location ("Everyone else got picked up an hour ago." "How did everyone else's parents know what time the party ended or where it was?" "I dunno."), we were all in meltdown mode. E and Z responded to my innocent, "Please take your lunch bags out of your backpacks," with red-faced screaming, "I already did that!"

Lying together in bed each night, reading My Side of the Mountain (thinking that living in a hollowed out tree sounded pretty darn good), was about the only quiet, down time we had. That and a walk in the full moon light Thursday night. 

The weekend brought more soccer and parties and visits. I had a hard time letting go, too wound up by everything to just relax and enjoy myself.

And yesterday it began again––soccer game, late dinner, too much homework. Too late to read, I lay in bed with first E and then Z, brushing the snarls out of their long silky hair, and then read them just one poem.

It's not enough. It's never enough. But if that's all there is, I'll take it.

Nature Journaling: A New Journal and a New Journaling Project

In the comments to my last Nature Journaling series post (which was almost a year ago--where does the time go?), Rachel asked, "Do you mainly sketch or do you add writing and/or poetry to these experiences as well?" I meant to respond with a whole post on writing in the nature journal, but, well, things get away from one, don't they? 

Historically, I've written or drawn in my nature journals as the spirit moved me--sometimes leaning more toward words, other times toward pictures. Writing has included mini-essays, rants, poetry, random thoughts, lists (of plants, birds, sounds, sights, etc.), descriptions of things I see or events from my day, quotes from fields guides (to aid memory), and whatever other random sorts of things come to me at the time.

But recently, I've started a new journal with the goal of writing every single day for the next year. It's kind of a side-bar to what I plan to do for my third-semester project.

I'm going into this journal with the intention to write more deliberately and with purpose than I have in past journals (although you can see there's still plenty of drawing going on, as well as photographs and contributions from other members of the family).

I have several goals in mind with the daily journaling:

1) To get me out into nature more (many of the first few entries went something along the lines of "I didn't get outside at all today, except to walk back and forth to my car"; already I'm getting outside in a much more regular manner if for no other purpose than to make my journal entries more interesting).

2) To get me to slow down and pay attention when I am outside.

3) To get me outside in nature with my kids more and to slow down and pay attention to them while we're there.

4) To work on better describing the natural world and natural phenomena, and using metaphor in my fiction. (I just read the selected stories of Katherine Mansfield and she was amazing at this).

The topic that I intend to focus on for my third-semester project is women writers who write about both motherhood and nature (Louise Erdrich's The Blue Jay's Dance, for example), with of course the end result of me doing so in my own work. 

It's been nearly a month since I started this journal, and I've managed to make an entry every single day (sometimes crouching in the bathroom at 10 p.m., so as not to disturb anyone, and sketching the moon out the window). What's more, I look forward to it, as a quiet, calming moment in my day, a time to be mindful or reflective, a time to focus on something other than what is required or expected from my days.

If you keep a nature journal, what sorts of things do you write about?

Do you have any favorite authors who incorporate nature writing and motherhood writing in either fiction, nonfiction or poetry?

********
Edited to add: 

Previous Nature Journaling posts:  Nature Journaling: A Tool for Learning, Nature Journaling: A Poetry Field Trip, Nature Journaling: Birds at the Feeder, Nature Journaling: An Invitation.  See also Nature Journaling as Meditation for more on starting a nature journal.

Finishing Touches

During my unfinished furniture shopping extravaganza, I picked up two wall shelves for topping off the reorganization frenzy in my room and the upstairs bathroom.

I needed (OK, wanted) a shelf behind the tub in the bathroom, for tubby toys and soap and things. I painted it this ridiculous minty green because I had already painted a small cabinet in the same bathroom the same color.  It works for me. So does the shelf.

I finished a similar shelf to hang in the sewing corner of my bedroom/sewing room/office.  Right now it sports jars of pretty ribbons, buttons and a knitting bear, as well as some of my stuffed animals from childhood--a bunny, a chick, a big and two hippopotamuses. That cracks me up.  Who has one hippo toy, let alone two? Me apparently. I hung a bit of rick-rack across it for pinning up inspirational pictures. I don't have much inspiration at this time, so instead I hung up some cards.

And for fun, I got this tiny pastel floral banner from LiliaRose on Etsy.  I love vintage hankies, but never know what to do with them (I've made curtains with them before, but the sun destroys them).  These sweet little pennants are perfect.

 Finally, I got a 13-moon calendar from So Wabi-Sabi.  The funny/embarrassing thing about it is that I bought it after (because) C and I had a "discussion" about whether the 12-month calendar is just arbitrary and if 13 months wouldn't make more sense.  Meanwhile, the calendar is designed as a tool to raise human consciousness, and the proceeds were to help fund the creator's peace walk. So take that, C!  Just kidding...after I got it, I quietly hung it up without any "see I told ya so's."  See? My consciousness has already been raised.

Now, when I started this process of cleaning, decluttering and reorganizing every room in the house, one month at a time, my goal was to make my house so clean, it stayed clean.  So, how has it worked so far? In the parts of the house I haven't tackled yet (those would be all of the public parts of the house, that people see), it's been a disaster, because my focus on the rooms I'm working on, has caused me to neglect (more than usual) those rooms.  But, in the rooms I've done, it's actually worked fairly well. No, the rooms don't stay clean by themselves, but if I stay on top of things, put stuff away (clean laundry, finished books, craft projects, etc.), then all I have to do to clean my room on the weekends, is dust and vacuum.  Not that I get to it every weekend, mind you, but when I do, it's not onerous at all (which implies I should probably get to it every weekend).  I try to tidy up the upstairs bathroom every night while I'm getting ready for bed, and, instead of noticing a filthy sink or mirror and thinking "I'll clean that Saturday," I try to just clean it right then, in case I don't get around to cleaning the bathrooms on Saturday.  The boys' room, has been harder though.  They are like little entropy machines. I had tried to lay down the law, "Nothing on the floor, ever!!" But, as usual, they ignored me.  Instead, I try to encourage them to pick things up each night before bed, and help them clean the whole thing every other week or so.  So far it hasn't gotten as crazily messy as it usually gets, but I have been amazed by how quickly they mess it up.

Time Management Tuesday ~ When I Have More Time

I recently came across a journal entry from August 2005, when the twins were 3 months old and M was 4 years old. It was a list of things I wanted to when I again had more time in the future ("approx. 18 years from now," I added in parentheses). Now that I actually do have more time, in slightly less than 18 years, I figured it would be a good exercise to see which of these activities I've actually taken on, and what I might choose to do now, if I had even more time. Here's the list, with each item followed by its current status:

• Take up meditation ~ Nope, haven't done it. I've tried here and there, but with not any real level of committment. I'm not against the idea of meditating; it just doesn't rise high on my priority list very often.
• Learn some foreign languages (Spanish, French, Italian, Arabic, Russian should be a good start) ~ I'm afraid that ship has sailed; my brain has ossified to the extent that I'm lucky if I maintain my grasp on English.
• Make a sculpture ~ I'm trying to think whether I've done any sculpting in the last 14 years. Do needle-felted critters and a knitted gnome count?
• Learn to paint ~ This I've actually been working on in a semi-serious manner, working on learning to watercolor over the last couple of years and making some progress.
• Go to Egypt, Antarctica, Siberia & …. ~  Ha-ha nope. Unless Ireland falls under those elipses. Still would like to go to all those places and more!
• Plant a garden ~ Shhh, don't tell C I wrote this. Now that I theoretically have time to garden, I'd much rather go for a walk, looking at wild plants, or lie in the hammock, or do pretty much anything else. 
• Swim across the 10 or 20 biggest lakes in Maine ~ This definitely has not happend, and now it sounds kinda cold. Ask me again in July.
• Learn calligraphy ~ I've always wanted to learn calligraphy, and I make half-a**ed forays into the art every now and then, but like meditation, I lack the commitment and discipline. Maybe some day...
• Write amusing letters to all my friends ~ This is a quaint notion, now that no one writes letters anymore. I do send the occasional card, but I am truly the worst, most boring letter writer ever. Hopefully I never become a famous writer, or I pity whoever has to deal with my archives.
• Learn to read hieroglyphics ~ File that under brain ossification and lack of discipline.
• Go on moonlight hikes ~ Well, we did used to go on moon walks when the kids were little, so maybe that counts. Now I'm afraid my eyesight has gone to the extent that I'd hurt myself (maybe in the desert, where the moonlight would actually reach the ground…).
• Write 1000 words a day ~ I do this! I actually do this! Or at least I'm doing this right now (and more!) during NaSoWriMo, so hurrah for me!

Well, geez, I sure haven't taken advantage of my funemploment to the extent I once believed I was capable, and I seem to have gotten a lot more boring and less adventurous in my older age. What do I now envision myself doing in the future, when I have more time (and, of course, money)?

• Travel, still and always.
• Write, write, and keep on writing.
• Make more art—drawing and painting.
• Golly, I hate to write "read" here, but that's what I keep coming back to—so many books, so little time!
• Hike, kayak, and play outside more.
• Go whitewater rafting.
• Take another (solo?) long distance hike.
• Become a better naturalist.

Well, that's not much of a list, but I'll keep thinking on it and see what I can come up with for things to do with my time, that I can do right now and not wait 18 years.

Daylight Savings Time Blues

I used to think Daylight Savings Time had something to do with farmers, then Congress extended it last year purportedly to save energy (although it actually uses more energy), and now I know for a fact that it is an evil plot to keep the masses off balance so that they don’t rise up and overthrow the oppressors.

We are all in a DST-induced discombobulation at our house. It’s not just like our body clocks are one hour off, but more like we have been transported to a planet that has shifting days ranging from nine to 36 hours long. Everyone is tired and cranky by 6 p.m., but no one can fall asleep before 9:00 (M yelled from his bed last night: “We need sleeping pills, Mom!”). I’ve been waking up between 3:00 and 5:00 every morning (which translates to 2:00-4:00 Eastern Standard Time!), unable to get back to sleep. And tiny little things set everyone off—they whine and fight and cry over who gets which carseat, sitting down to eat dinner and broken Lego sets (OK, they did that during EST too, but my tolerance level is WAY lower now).

In other news, I started an email poetry class yesterday. We’re encouraged (but not required) to write a poem a day. Here’s my attempt for day 1 (with the caveat that I know f***-all about writing poetry, so go ahead and laugh, you won’t hurt my feelings):

Turning on My Computer in the Morning

Still cold from the long walk
From the parking lot to the red brick building
That once housed mental patients but now
Confines State workers in even rows

I change my shoes—like Mr. Rogers—
Drape a deep turquoise shawl over my shoulders
And press the power strip switch with my toe

The grey burlap walls of my cubicle
Press in around me and I don’t see
The faces of my children, the moon over Half Dome
The dried orange butterfly wings or the piles
Of unfinished work as I sit, hand poised over mouse,
And wait for my day to begin

I promise I won't torture you with every poem I attempt (provided I actually follow-through with daily writing), but you may see another poem or two here over the next few weeks.