Search Results for corn

Ducks, geese and corn

This was not as fun as it sounds.

This was not as fun as it sounds.

I skipped my blog last week.  No notice.  No excuses.  No nothing.  Just didn’t write.

I hit that overwhelmed point.  I had things to say.  Too many things it seems.  I couldn’t find a focus. I couldn’t find a focus in the rest of my life either.  I missed a doctor’s appointment.  I discovered I hadn’t gotten in my time card when no check came in the mail.  I had laundry (and water) in the basement.  I had boxes (empty) all over the house.  I was a mess.

In all fairness, I’m probably still a mess, but it’s getting better.  I got out the calendar and started writing things down (rather than relying solely on the cell phone, which seems to drop appointments for no good reason.)  I let go of an obligation that was the “one thing too many” that sent me on this spiral.  I got the boxes out of the middle of the living room and into a “staging area” so I can fill them one at a time and put them back.

Getting my ducks (or in this case geese) in a row

Getting my ducks (or in this case geese) in a row

I’m working on my sleep schedule.  At least I’m sleeping, even if the hours are still a little odd.  I’m putting away laundry and watering the poor, sad plants.  I had my corn for Lammas* and decided I am not in a hurry to dig out the harvest season decorations.  I’m trying to be kind to myself – one step at a time.

Last week I got a notification from WordPress saying “Happy Fifth Blogging Anniversary!”  My goodness, has it really been that long?  I spent some time this last week wondering if I was done, if I needed a serious blogging break.  I decided that I’m still good, as long as my readers will forgive an occasional dropped post like last week.

Because it's Lammas and that means corn

Because it’s Lammas and that means corn

Having a weekly blog is one of my touch points in a rather unstructured life.  I need those now and again.  Once a week is not so high pressure I can’t handle it.  It’s not so infrequent it doesn’t matter.  It holds me accountable to take time to reflect on my life, my choices, my spirituality, my vision.  Those are good things.

So, dear reader, I may be a mess but if you’ll still have me I’ll still be around on Mondays.

 

*Previous Lammas posts:

Lammas – dog days and olympics

Bad Example – apparently a meltdown this time of year is not unusual

Corn Mother – because Corn!

First Fruits – harvest season has begun

Corn on the cob – it’s REALLY important

 

Corn Mother

0804131756aThis is my fourth posting about this time of year.  You might think I’ve “said it all”.    I call my page Spiral Visions for a reason.  It seems every time I come around I am never quite in the same place.  There is a shift in perspective.  Sometimes there are new things to see.  Some things take on more importance and others fade into the background.  The beginning of August marks First harvest, the Wiccan holiday Lammas and for me always Corn on the Cob.

Because of my surgery I don’t get local corn this year.   I did “cheat” and have a couple of cobs shipped up from Georgia right before I started my liquid diet.   I ate it reverently and with a nod towards this time of year.  It was a feast meal, for me, in advance.   It didn’t get me off the hook though.  I still had to do something to acknowledge coming around the wheel of the year again.  So I meditated for a vision.0804131758

I saw a cornfield.  Flying high above the corn was the Thunderbird.  The Corn Mother walked out from rows and I asked her for rain.

She said, “What you are looking for is balance.  Three weeks of rain and three weeks of sun is even, but it is not balance.  It is balance the crops need to grow, balance the people need to thrive.  You have no sense of balance.  You delude yourselves with notions of “fair” and “equal”.   You believe that balance is static, stable.  You are only fooling yourselves.  Balance is like standing on the water.  It is always shifting, but the movements are small.  Large shifts will dump you into the deep.  You need to climb out of the deep you find yourselves in and learn again to stand in balance upon the earth.”

100_4576She reached her arms up and corn silk streamed down from her sleeves like wings.  She reached for the Thunderbird, and he swooped lower.  She did not fly and he did not land.  That night, there was no rain.

It is balance I am reaching for, yet again.  Specifically a balanced relationship with food and nutrition.   More globally it is a balance about making heathy and sustainable choices.

Enjoy your first harvests.

Blessed Be.

 

Corn on the cob

It seems to me that people need some kind of celebration to ‘touch base’ with the passing seasons and years.  It may be Christmas or Ramadan or Passover or birthdays or the start of the school year, but we each have marker points.  I see these as opportunities to connect with something larger than ourselves.   Whether that connection is religiously defined or simply acknowledging the cycle of life and the passage of time the human psyche seems to need those moments.

For me, making a connection with the Divine at these marker points is often about taking stock of where I am at this moment.  Of course there is the ‘Where am I in my life?’ question, but I mean that in a more visceral sense as well.  What is the weather like?  How am I feeling?  Sort of a where am I in relationship with the planet, or at least my little corner ofit?

That’s where I get to corn on the cob.  About 20 years ago I recognized that my summers rushed passed so fast I seemed to miss them.  I didn’t have the “summer break” advantage of time slowing down (and speeding up) and vacations with little kids were fun, but not vacations at all.  So I decided that I would only eat local corn.

For all the bad rap that corn and corn syrup have taken in the past few years there is nothing like eating fresh corn on the cob.  I live in Minnesota, so the local season is short and very specifically the corn comes in at the height of summer. When I really think about the difference in taste between local fresh corn on the cob and any other corn that might be available to me throughout the year it’s not a huge sacrifice.

This small decision makes such a big difference to me in terms of awareness.  I have a greater sense of what’s happening in my local farming communities.  I look at summer weather not just for my convenience but in terms of the crops.  I recognize that summer must be here when corn starts showing up in the supermarkets, but local corn truly marks the middle of the season.  The anticipation and awareness just make the corn even tastier when I do get it.

I will admit to having gone on a month long corn on the cob binge once or twice over the past 20 years.  As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that I can appreciate the bounty of the local harvest without going overboard.  Ultimately that is what this marker point brings to my attention.  An appreciation and a gratitude for the bounty of the harvest close to home.

So this week I am grateful for corn on the cob.  I know the extreme heat and rain that we’ve had this season has affected the crop.  The ears are smaller than they’ve been in years in the past and not quite as sweet and juicy.  There is still nothing like fresh corn and I’m looking forward to a few more meals of it before the season ends.

BB

Happy Blog-versary to me!

“show your work” The cook is taking the creamy yolk photo. Duck eggs, poached.

I got a notice from Word Press congratulating me on my blogging anniversary.  Go figure.  I can’t imagine going into this with any hope of writing for 7 years, this is my 338th post.  Funny how time flies when you’re having fun.

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To celebrate, I had coffee and scones with a friend rather than actually posting this.  Hoping when I do get around to it it’s still Monday.  Lol

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Eating well at Mom and Dads. The pesto with scallops leftovers was the perfect side dish for the lamb chops.  https://lisaspiral.wordpress.com/2018/07/09/summer-holidays/

I’ve been doing quite a bit of out and about in the last week.  Karina had me over for breakfast.  I spent the weekend with my parents.  Did some cooking and shopping with them.  The cooler weather has made a difference.   They get the new furnace/air conditioner in later this week.

This time I made the salmon on the stove. Not so far to carry it without dropping.

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It’s felt a little like fall in the air.  Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about Lammas.   I’ll refer you to past posts and take a little anniversary vacation.    Thanks for reading!

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Sacrificial King 2017

Ducks Geese and Corn 2016

Bad Example 2015

Corn Mother 2014

First Fruits 2013

Lammas 2012

Corn on the Cob 2011

 

MLK Day

So on Martin Luther King Day I decided to use my platform to expand another voice.  My friend Crystal Blanton    is a Social Worker, an activist, and a talented writer.   Reprinted with her permission:

Losing the Illusion: The Reality of Racism Today

Losing the Illusion: The Reality of Racism Today

Jun 17, 2017

Many of us are angry right now. I am enraged by one more example, another reminder, that Black lives don’t matter in this country. After hearing the verdict today I am numb. I cannot wrap my mind around a society that clears a cop from all criminal charges after shooting and killing a man, Philandro Castille, in front of a 4 year old child and his girlfriend…. while he still had his seatbelt on.

I have been sitting in my numbness thinking about the trauma of this on that little girl, his girlfriend, his family, his community, the school children he worked with.. And the Black community at large. I have been thinking about the ways that trauma are retriggered and how that applies to racial trauma. I have been thinking about the generations of transgenerational pain in the Black community and how epigenetics pass this down generation after generation in our DNA.

It seems like year after year we have been fighting for the larger society of Americans to listen to our stories of pain, trauma, and fears. We have been working overtime to prove the existence of racism and discrimination that continues to be normal in our experience and a part of the fabric of the very society we share with others. It is interesting in today’s times to see the country continue to be divided by race, and to watch a portion of Americans come to grips with how overt racism has become (again) in the age of Trump. It is interesting to watch people come to grips with the ongoing murder of Black people by the state, and work to cope with the increasing realization that the words of our Black friends and family were truthful and real all along. It is essential for people to understand that racism is alive and well, functioning in all facets of our society and interwoven in the fabric of our history and our present.

Critical Race Theory is very applicable to this and understanding the ways that American society continues to thrive on systems of racism embedded into its very operation. And when we are evaluating the impact of racism, and ways to disrupt that pattern, we have to start looking at racism itself from a very different lens. Racism isn’t just the white hooded figure with an ignorant view on life and an affinity for the word Nigger. Racism is a system, a construct, that permeates every corner of our society and has been used as a tool for targeted success in this nation.

On the UCLA School of Public Affairs site it states that “CRT recognizes that racism is engrained in the fabric and system of the American society. The individual racist need not exist to note that institutional racism is pervasive in the dominant culture. This is the analytical lens that CRT uses in examining existing power structures.” Let’s say it again for the people in the back. “The individual racist need not exist…”

People live in a place of cognitive dissonance by convincing themselves that someone is a good person and “can’t be racist”, or that people of color just want to make everything about race. Arguments even ensure about how a cop, like the one that killed Philandro Castile, “isn’t white and so it couldn’t be racism”. Ignorance about the functionality of racism in power structures and institutions, coupled with cognitive dissonance, is the reason people can believe such things. It is comfortable to think that racism is a person, that it is “bad” people, and that others can be separated from it because they have Black friends.

There are tenants to Critical Race Theory, and while those tenants are often a source of disagreement among different theorists in the field, there are a some that are universally accepted. The widely accepted CRT tenets include the following: Racism is Endemic, Race is a social construct, the power of differential racialization, interest convergence and materialist determinism, advancing the voice of the marginalized and intersectionality of identities.

In Critical Race Theory in Social Work Education: A Framework for Addressing Racial Disparities, the first tenet discusses the very point of how we view the role racism plays in society. It isn’t isolated to an individual person or experience and is not abnormal in our society. It is the normal reality of the power dynamics within the society we have created in America.

“Racism is Endemic. First, CRT asserts that racism is not an abnormal experience, but an everyday occurrence for people of color. It is reproduced in our structures, customs, and experiences. Accordingly, race should be seen as a central rather than a marginal force that defines and explains human experiences (Solórzano & Bernai, 2001). Given this endemic nature, CRT suggests that the functions and effects of racism are often invisible to people with racial privileges.”

The reality of this statement strips away the lies modern society has been able to tell itself about what racism is, how they are exempt and the accountability each person holds in the continuation of this demoralizing and deadly epidemic. What we are seeing now is how this illusion of safety for the average American has been  slipping away with every police murder of an unarmed Black person that is caught on a standard smartphone by a passing citizen.

While white America experiences the slow slipping away of the illusion of righteousness and exempt status, Black people are losing the illusion too.

Once again the Black community is faced with the reality that change isn’t really change, we still aren’t safe, and that we are rapidly slipping back to the 1970’s civil rights era. We are dealing with the harsh reminders that our bootstrap muscles are more defined than most and yet we are still target practice in these streets.

We are again and again faced with the reality that we are not in control of the narrative and our voices are too often left out of the historical accounts of our history. Coming to terms with our lack of social capital, in 2017, and the disenfranchised power-base we are holding onto, it leaves us to really think about what it means to navigate as a Black person in a modern racist society. It is comfortable for us too to believe that “We The People” now includes us…. Until it doesn’t.

Going back to the Critical Race Theory, how important is it for us to redefine our understanding of racism and the impact of the illusions of meritocracy, and good will on our psyche? How does this support or hinder positive change that promotes the survival and the ability to thrive for Black people?

For a moment, let’s dive a little deeper into the tenet about interest convergence and materialist determination.  Too often the survival of our people relies in our ability to appeal to dominant culture. Critical race theory makes space for us to understand that this itself is part of the construct of a racist society and an institutional system of privilege benefiting the majority.

“A fourth tenet of CRT is that of interest convergence and materialist determinism. This suggests that racism confers psychic and material benefits to the majority race. Further, it posits that the interests of the oppressed are addressed only when they converge with the interests of the dominant group (i.e. Whites) (Bell, 1980). According to Stec (2007), “acts that directly help blacks must implicate white interests because white economic (and other) interests and black oppression are inextricably interwoven and depend on each other for their survival” (p. 2). This means that those in the dominant culture who enact social, political, and economic change on behalf of racial minorities would only support changes if their own self-interest is better served.”


This leaves us with a lot to contemplate while we grieve yet another injustice at the hands of the state. How do we navigate a system, without the power of the dominant culture, and isolated from a system of justice that is meant to protect us? How do we heal hundreds of years of transgenerational trauma when we are living the horror that continues to retrigger the very pain of our ancestors? What does it mean to be an ally when the very nature of the system we exist within disproportionately devalues the oppressed and empowers others? When will we begin to look at how transgenerational trauma has impacted white America’s epigenetics around empathy, power, worth in our distorted systems?

I think it is time for us to begin the work of diving deeper into the construction of our societal fabric than we have ever been in order to gain understanding that will prioritize change. How can we shift what we do not understand…..

And in the meantime, I will continue to grieve for my people and the reality we are living in. I will continue to contemplate the meaning of freedom in the middle of the warzone. And I will continue to fight for the survival of myself, my family, my community and a collective consciousness that moves us back into future. In the meantime I will fight for love.

More to come…..

 

https://psychology.iresearchnet.com/counseling-psychology/counseling-theories/critical-race-theory/

http://www1.uwindsor.ca/criticalsocialwork/system/files/Constance-Huggins.pdf

Deck the Halls….

Yule Tree and presents

I seriously debated pulling out all the decorations this year.  It’s not as though I’ll be entertaining.  I’m not even sure I’ll get to baking (although I’m thinking I’d like to try.)  Thing is with so much greed and anger in the world, and the days getting longer and darker, and with unseasonably warm weather and no snow I’m struggling to have any holiday spirit.

Found a spot for the horses and reindeer to gather

Of course that’s all the more reason to dig out the boxes and dig in.  That’s what I’ve been doing in fits and starts all week.  Clearing space felt pretty good.  I’ve needed a new printer for awhile and it’s been sitting in the box since my pre – Thanksgiving shopping.  I pulled the old one out and set up the new one knowing I would put the tree in front of it.

I cleared out shelf space as well.  Since I’ve not had  a kitchen my coffee/tea cups have been sitting on the buffet.  It was definitely time for that runner to be washed.  I did a little dusting (and in a few places some serious dusting).  I also had to make space, in my room full of kitchen boxes, for the ornament boxes to live for the season.

Traded space for my holiday mugs and runner

Orion listens to holiday music all year round.  We have a rule about our shared music spaces (like the car): Holiday music only after Thanksgiving through New Years Day.  So I’ve been playing the holiday music channel during dinner and leaving it on over the weekends.  I have yet to put on my CDs, but I’m getting there.

I’ve spent my evenings watching Hallmark movies with a bowl of popcorn in my lap.  I’ve also had a needle and thread at hand and bit by bit have managed to string a sufficient amount to trim the tree.  I make a point of turning on the lights.  When I’m up early, especially if it’s a grey day, I find myself turning them on in the morning and leaving them to brighten up the house.

The tree again, view from my chair.

Packed up the summer seashells and dug out the bells

I pick up presents when I see them and stash them in my closet.  So I pulled everything down to inventory what I have and what I still need to buy.  Apparently I’ve been busy because I only have a gift card left to purchase.  Santa often makes a last minute online run for movies, but Santa’s budget is bleak.  It’s a relief to know I don’t have a lot of shopping left.  Well, except for the grocery store if I get to that baking…………

Sacrificial King

Crossing the Mississippi at the corner of MN,WI,and IA

In Frazer’s The Golden Bough there is some exploration of the notion of the sacred king.  There are a number of components to this idea.  One is in the Divine right of kings to rule, and subsequently that they are the representatives of the Divine on Earth.  Then there is the belief that the kings are connected to the land.  As the king succeeds the land thrives, as the king fails or falls ill the land is depleted.  In a system that holds these principles to be true, the logical outcome is to demand the sacrifice of the king to relieve a drought or natural disaster.  Frazer took that philosophy and connected it to the agricultural cycle of reaping and sowing – death and rebirth.

Prairie reclamation project at Wyalusing – Wisconsin State Park

I came back from spending a long weekend on the land to see my Facebook full of images of our Secretary of the Interior assessing National Parkland for its value to sell to industry for development.  Moving from visiting a Prairie reclamation project at the height of success to a clearly out of control consume and profit narrative was disheartening to say the least.

On the way home I noticed the corn was starting to come in from the fields.  The corn harvest is the mark for me of the Lammas celebration, John Barley Corn is dead, long live John Barley Corn.  This is the representation in Wicca of the sacred king mythology.  The grain God is sacrificed to feed the people.

Prairie Flowers

It’s been difficult to sort out the sacred from the political.  Police are shooting people, healthcare continues to be threatened in spite of an overwhelming majority who clearly want to have coverage, and our sacred lands are being sold out from under us – again and still.

I see spiritual representatives from around the world being dismissed by Big Oil at Standing Rock.  I see a spiritual leader in my hometown, trying to help a neighbor in distress, being shot by police.  I see places that I’ve stood in awe of nature being looked upon as a feast for mining, logging and manufacturing industries.

Included in the sacrificial king mythology is the Arthurian story of the Fisher King.  This is part of the grail quest.  The sacred chalice, that has magical qualities including the ability to heal, is apparently in the possession of the Fisher King.  The king has a grievous wound and is failing, as is his land.  Somehow he doesn’t have the wisdom, moral integrity, or desire/belief to use the grail.  Percival, who was raised by a single mother in the forest away from the society of men, sees the solution but fails (out of politeness?) to ask the question that will heal everything.

“LIfe will find a way”

We need to ask the questions.  We need to keep asking until we get answers that go beyond pats on the head and being told we can’t possibly understand.  Why can’t we get along?  Why does the notion of “equal rights” always seem to have an “except” clause?  When and how much is enough?  Who has the vision for our future?  Does that vision include life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? For everyone?

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Happy Lammas!

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Previous blogs about the holiday season:

Lammas

Ducks, Geese, and Corn

Corn Mother

First Fruits

Corn on the Cob

 

Holiday Weekend

You can see I’ve not spent a lot of time tending to the gardens

I’ve not been feeling well.  That’s why I’ve missed a post (or two).  It’s also why I had to cancel my plans for the Memorial Day weekend.   Orion and I were going to go up and spend time with my parents.  We were all looking forward to it.  Unfortunately I wasn’t up for the drive, much less a week in a bad bed.

Instead Orion got to spend the weekend with his father.  I got to spend the weekend on pain meds and in pajamas.   Not feeling well is boring.   I did a little puttering when I felt up to it.

One day I decided I was up to putting in a few of my plants.  I have a lot of containers so this isn’t a strenuous task.  I was sorting through my “greenhouse” for the tomatillio’s and watering what I was leaving behind.  Apparently I was there long enough to panic the poor fawn that was hiding behind the clematis.

I didn’t even notice it (not that I was noticing much anyway) until it ran from its hiding spot.  Poor thing had to be scared near to death.  Unfortunately it ran to the nearest, darkest, hidey hole it could find.  My garage.

Step carefully over the shovels and don’t cut yourself on the sickle on that table!

Now I had to worry that the little fawn might get hurt climbing amongst the piles.  Gardening tools have some sharp edges.  Fuel for tiki torches is toxic.  Who knows what might slip and slide in that stack of coolers.  I gathered my things and went into the back yard, leaving the garage door open.

When evening came I had to make a decision.  I wasn’t going to bed with the doors wide open, but I didn’t want to trap the fawn overnight.  About 9pm I shut the door and before I went to bed I went into the garage and looked around.

I didn’t see the fawn anymore.  I know they are experts at hiding.  I know the light wasn’t very good.  I crossed my fingers and went to bed.

The next day my daughter came over and dropped off her dog.  My daughter is a competent, conscientious, independent young woman.  But sometimes when she comes home she’s 6.   She came in and left the garage and the house door standing wide open.   I only know this because as she was getting ready to go she realized her dog had run out.

Peek-a-boo all the way under the table and out the other side

Later that afternoon Minnie (the dog) and I took a little walk.  When we came back in through the garage I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.  Damn.  The fawn is in the garage.  I don’t know if it was there all night or if it came back in the wake of Karina.  Minnie didn’t notice it and I wanted to keep it that way.

I left the garage door open.  I did put out some water.  I also threw some oats along the driveway.  I curled back up in my chair (that walk was a lot!) and watched movies for the rest of the evening.

As dusk settled I noticed the light went on in the garage.  I have a motion sensor in there.  I grabbed the camera and snuck over to the window.  Sure enough the fawn was creeping back outside.  Then I looked up, as did the fawn.

tentative….

A happy ending.  The pair ran off into the back yard and I immediately shut the garage door.  It started raining, heavily, and I returned to my cozy chair and my movie.  That was about as much excitement as I could manage for the weekend, but it left a warm feeling.  I’m grateful to have been a participant.

Happy Ending for all

 

Sorry the photo quality is so bad.  Most of these are taken at a distance with zoom.  Several are through the window, and standing a bit back.  But at least you get the gist.

 

‘Tis the Season

resized_20161207_093548It’s cold and it’s dark.  Thanksgiving was late, so it feels like the other holidays are coming early.  I’m having a hard time getting into the holiday spirit – for any of the holidays.   Yule is fast approaching.  The winter solstice, the longest night of the year, is this week.   All I want to do is crawl under the covers.

Maybe it’s the politics.  Maybe it’s the news stories.  Maybe it’s just a general sense that certain people feel like they now have permission to be rude, racist, misogynistic and all together nasty.  It definitely feels like the longest night.

The thing is, most of the winter holidays are celebrations of hope.  They are a coming together of families, of communities.  Many of them are directly linked to survival, either as an acknowledgement of the ancestors surviving or as a sacred working towards surviving the rest of the winter.

41182543-jewish-holiday-hanukkah-celebration-with-vintage-menorahBoth Hanukkah and Kwanzaa celebrate the faith, perseverance and fortitude of ancestors in the face of insurmountable odds.  Even the Christmas story has Mary and Joseph finding shelter where there was none to be had.   If our ancestors beat the odds, so can we.  We have their support, their example, and when our own faith wains we can lean on theirs.

The Islamic calendar is lunar, without some of the “corrections” in the Jewish calendar that keep festivals seasonal.  Currently Muslims are also celebrating the birth of the prophet, not Jesus but Mohammad.  Along with the longest night comes the birth of the sun.  In Christianity the savior is born.  There is hope in the metaphor of birth.  There is potential for something better to come along.  There is a new way of approaching the world being born.resized_20161218_142133

During the longest night people came together to share stories.  Like Hans Christian Anderson’s the Little Match Girl they create visions of the futures they wanted to see.  Dreams of sugarplums dance in their heads.  They’re visited by ghosts, ancestors, departed friends, spirits with teaching visions.  Hearth fires are tended, and gifts are exchanged.

In O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi it is the wise (or foolish) sacrifice that is a gift of love.  Yet some of the pressure of our season is that consumer culture that measures how much or how many above how thoughtful, how generous.  Finding the “right” gifts, or making them, is often how I come to the spirit of this season.  And again, this year that has been more difficult.

I’m finding more seasonal joy in sharing a protein bar with a homeless man on the street corner than in exchanging packages.  I’m finding more seasonal joy in being able to encourage a teen I’m driving to school than in writing a holiday letter.  I had more fun shopping for my women’s group ritual (where the presents represented themes rather than being for specific people) than I had baking for the family.resized_20161219_102719

I’m hoping for the hope.  I’m leaning heavily on tradition to see me through.  I’m going through the motions, believing that movement brings movement.  I am reminded of being 9 months pregnant, miserable, impatient and not really knowing what the future would bring.

Let the bells ring out.  May joy and peace be shared with all.  May love and kindness fill the world and vanquish cruelty and hatred.  May you all have a blessed holiday season.

 

Previous blogs about Yuletide:

Yuletide Greetings

Gifting

Holidays

Merry Merry

War on Christmas

 

Rain

The indoor mural doesn't feel quite the same as being out in the woods

The indoor mural doesn’t feel quite the same as being out in the woods

It has been raining on and off all week.  That puts more than a little damper into our plans.  There is flooding.  (We’re fine, but there have been road closings just 10 minutes north of us.) Power has been a little unstable.  (I haven’t had long outages, but there have been several rounds of reset the clock.)  My allergies, especially mold, have been acting up.

The part that’s hard is that Orion and I had weekend plans that involved being outdoors.  The weekend was actually mostly quite lovely.  The sky cleared, the sun peeped out it was pleasantly cool, but not cold.  All things that make for a great time in the outdoors.   Unless you are in a wheelchair.

Playing with the bull snake

Playing with the bull snake

I struggle to push Orion when we’re “off roading” under the best of circumstances.  When the ground is firm, when there aren’t a lot of fallen obstacles or rocks, when the grass is short, when he could push himself for at least a short distance that’s ideal.  This weekend, given the amount of rain, was not going to be ideal and could be really horrible.

Beekeepers, we did pick up some honey.

Beekeepers, we did pick up some honey.

We skipped through several versions of our plans.  We did make an appearance at the Richardson Nature Center.  They had an event called Party in the Park.  Most of the party was spread out into the park, and not accessible.  I got help from a stranger to go up a small hill.  We visited the bee keeping exhibit inside.  We played with a bull snake, made a seed bomb, and had some sumac popcorn from the Tatanka Truck.  Then I was done in.

Our “time in nature” was mostly spent shopping at the co-op.  Even there we didn’t load up as much as we often do.  Prices are high and the budget is not.

I ended the week on a note of gratitude.  We did a ritual for the harvest season.  There is a lot of bounty in my world, even if I don’t have full access.  It’s good to take some time out to recognize what I do have, to be grateful.

Harvest Home

Harvest Home

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