Category: Mommy Mind

Me, my son and I. Thoughts on what I did, what I didn’t, and what if…

Departure

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My heart sunk down to my knees and my body went cold. The kiosk where our Turkish friends sold helicopters at the mall was gone. Gone. In its place a wide expanse of hallway. As if it had never even been there at all. For almost the past two years this place had been mecca for my son. His young life has revolved around his chickens and his helicopters. This is the place he learned to fly. This is the place where he’d test pilot a variety of machines for hours on end while I waited nearby, reading. The two young men who ran the stand always showed Elihu such kindness. At Christmas one even gave him his choice of helicopter – just like that. “Which one do you like?” the man asked. Elihu showed him, and the man handed it over with a smile. No doubt Elihu had probably been responsible for a handful of sales – even so, this was truly an unexpected and sweet gesture. The men would share snacks with Elihu, they’d even leave the stand for a few minutes, trusting Elihu to keep watch in their absence. Truly, this had become an important part of our lives. The kind of place we kinda always thought would be there. And now, it wasn’t.

Thankfully, we’d been there just a few days before. We knew they were concluding their seven year business and moving on. The mall overall wasn’t doing well, their numbers were declining – plus they were getting burnt out on it. We understood. And yet somehow, we couldn’t really believe it. “Come back Friday” they told us, as they’d been working on getting one of Elihu’s helicopters fixed. Not sure why I gave them our info the last time we saw them, but I’m glad I did. It gives us both hope that they might stay in touch… Still, there’s no real closure here, and it’s upsetting. Elihu was so excited about getting his old helicopter back fixed too. Each morning the past two weeks he would count down the days until he picked it up. (I myself was never so confident that they’d been able to help – it seemed to me they were stalling because they didn’t want to disappoint him!) But it wasn’t the loss of his toy that saddened him. It was the loss of his friends, of this joyful oasis in his life for which there was no substitute. But they were just one day short… why? We couldn’t understand it, so I began to search for the story. 

We visited a shopkeeper across the way who I knew to be a fan of Elihu’s. He would stand outside his store, watching Elihu fly, smiling the whole time. He knew us by sight, and thankfully, he was able to fill us in. It seems he’d been witness to their final moments there. Turns out they’d planned on being here Friday. We were not stood up (I didn’t think so, but it was still nice to hear.) There’d been a fight with the mall manager. They’d asked for three extra days, but the manager wouldn’t let them pay a prorated rent, and instead challenged them to pay him half a month’s rent for three more days. Our friends had no choice but to leave. I can imagine they were disappointed to know that Elihu would be let down, that they would not be here for him – either to return his toy or to say goodbye. It wasn’t the ending either party would have chosen. But little we could do. 

I’m proud of Elihu. He didn’t cry, even though it would have been entirely understandable. (Hell, I wanted to!) But he did keep staring at the space, walking back and forth over the spot again and again and repeating “I just can’t believe it…” In the end, we ended up making friends with the store owner, and he said he thought he had the Turkish fellows’ number at home – that he’d bring it in for us. So that made us feel a little better. And we both reminded ourselves that we never know what’s ahead. That sometimes big – and often sad – changes have to happen before something new and different and good can happen. Yeah, we both know that stuff. But it didn’t really make it any less sad. Just a bit more tolerable. 

Time will take the edge off our loss. We’ve both learned a lot from this chapter in our lives, we’re grateful for it, and now it’s reached its conclusion. Some new chapter will begin soon and we’ll learn new things and meet new friends. In time it’ll all sort itself out. After all we both know it’s true; every arrival depends upon a departure…

Lovely Morning

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In spite of both of us waking to find we have a bit of laryngitis and mildly sore throats, we are nonetheless in very good spirits today. I awoke with enough alone time to read a bit and make a pot of coffee. Elihu joined me on the couch after he awoke, cozied up to me, told me he loved me, and we sat together in happy silence. He whispered to me that he’d been thinking of the Kakapo parrot lately, the flightless species that lives only in New Zealand. He also had Zambia on the brain, he wondered if elephants lived there… so we grabbed our globe and located the spots, making notes to look things up on the computer after we ate. (He’s wanted to go to New Zealand since he was five, and I guess it’s still very much in his heart. I do hope he gets there one day – and I hope I’m there with him too!) I checked in on the chickens then made breakfast. I tried a new way of making french toast – with cream and nutmeg – and although he very much liked the flavor, he told me he “Didn’t enjoy the texture. Too rich for me.” I smiled to hear his observation. This kid certainly knows what he likes. And why. !

After breakfast I could not bear to clean up, nor to put away the mound of dishes I’d finally tackled the night before. I swear, every friggin dish, pot, bowl and piece of silverware we have is on the counter waiting to be put back. But this morning I’m putting it off. And not with a heavy heart – I’m simply letting it go for now. Elihu pulled an old favorite bird encyclopedia off of his shelf and looked up the Kakapo. I went to the piano and looked up Deep Purple. Never could ‘ear’ my way thru those changes. Was satisfying to play it all the way through with the harmony. Poked around and played a few other old tunes, I Cover the Waterfront, April Showers… and it was fun to use my brain in a way I hadn’t for a long time. Even made me kinda jones for some more. Wish I had the time and oomph to re-visit piano, harmony and improvising. I’ve always been kind of a wimp when it came to pushing beyond my comfort zone. My ability has always been just enough for my work and projects, but not what it could be. Reminds me of an old musician’s joke: How many musicians does it take to change a lightbulb? One hundred. One to do it, and ninety-nine to say ‘I could have done that’. I’d like to think I’m not one of those 99, but sometimes I’m not really sure. Ah, hell with it. This morning it feels good just to play, and I’m enjoying myself. And right now, that’s what’s important.

Kid’s now downstairs on the PC looking up ornithologists in New Zealand (I told him we’d need personal contacts there first) while I finish up this post. Soon we’ll go to the Waldorf School; today I’m greeting visitors and helping to show them around a bit, answering questions as I’m able, and introducing them to the philosophy behind it. I readily admit I’m probably not the best person for the job as I’m not very familiar with the world of Anthroposophy (the guiding context of the school), but I can say that I am most enthusiastic. I absolutely love this school, and so does my son. I can honestly say that he is joyful every day. Yesterday, when it seemed he might be feeling a bit under the weather, I asked if he might want to stay home from school. He did not. He wanted to go to school. ! Of course, Elihu’s coming with me today. I’ll be glad to have him along; he’ll make a fine ambassador for the school and I’m sure he’ll freely offer his opinion from the perspective of a happy student.

Our lives might be a bit tame these days – certainly if I hold them against my life of years past – but for me it’s about living a life as stress-free as possible. And as joyful too. And this morning, we are realizing both of those goals, which is a lovely thing indeed.

Instant Karma

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What a magical day we had yesterday. A day of gifts that astonished us both. Had us with our mouths hanging open, with Elihu smiling uncontrollably in the back seat as we drove home. More than a day of tiny successes, and more than a day of instant rewards, it was a day full of serendipitous surprises that just kept coming as we encouraged ourselves to expect them. I’ve been teaching my son since he was tiny that we create things first in our thoughts and intentions before they appear in our physical world. Yet often, as I share concepts with him that I myself believe to be true, I find that as a flawed, ego-driven adult I am hard-pressed to live as if I believed the very things that I’m teaching. Yesterday, I found that Elihu was my teacher; I let him guide me and encourage me to let go and follow along as he made his way through his day wishing, intending, believing… and manifesting.

In the morning, we considered the day before us. Elihu had a birthday party for twins later in the day. As my son is fond of doing, he’d just given his twin classmates each a toy of his over the past week. While Santa had given him two identical toys and asked him to give one away, it was my son who delighted in the idea of twin gifts going to twin boys. Why not? he’d asked me – he had plenty, and these tiny gifts gave his friends so much happiness. Absolutely. I agreed. And when their mother told me to consider these as sufficient for the boys’ birthday gifts, secretly I was relieved. I felt a little anxious about spending more money when Elihu had already given them some forty dollars worth of toys this week. I suggested we pass on getting them gifts. But Elihu protested bitterly. He wanted to get them something for today. I suggested instead that we just give each a $10 gift card. He was distraught – he told me that the toys he gave them before were unrelated, beside the point. He wanted to treat them as he himself would want to be treated on his birthday – with a very special, exciting gift, and not a silly gift card. “I’m going to busk” he told me, “and I’m going to make $40. Then I can buy each of them a helicopter.” His voice was firm. In the sweetest, most loving tone I could find, I cautioned him that that was a lot to expect on a cold winter’s day. I tried to remind him that even on a nice warm day with tourists on the street, that he sometimes didn’t even make that amount in an afternoon. He began to cry. “Don’t do that! I believe it, why can’t you? I know I will make $40! I will!”. I began to apologize for discouraging him, but he cut me off, “I’ve already made it!” he said, still crying. That stopped me. I took a moment to collect myself, and to think. I had nothing to lose in expecting the same, and I knew that energetically it would help in some way. If we were disappointed, so be it. That was a possibility, but so was the other outcome; so why not choose to expect success instead? In that moment I decided to support my son as best I could.

After a morning of housekeeping and chores we finally made it to downtown Saratoga. I sat on a blanket I’d brought to keep warm, opened a book, and hoped for the best as Elihu began to play his djembe. First, I would like to say that he played better than he has ever played before, and second I would add that it was cold – his hands had to have hurt, but he kept going and going. He played for a good half an hour. I kept my nose down, leaving him to his own and trying not to look like the hovering mother. Although I wanted him to be successful (in playing so well he already was successful in my book), I admit that I was preparing my tender “I’m so very sorry” speech already. After a while, I heard a final woomp on the drum and looked up to see him walking back to me – a very full tip jar in hand. We ducked into the diner for a cup of hot chocolate while I counted up the loot. He’d made $26. Wow. “You know I’m going out again, don’t you?” he asked. I kinda did. And now, I was all on board. We packed up and headed out. Within minutes he had a small crowd of teenagers pulling out phones to take pictures and videos of him, and yelling out “kid, you’re awesome”. He kept at it for another half hour or so, til I called to him we needed to get going.

As we drove to Target, I counted his money. A five, even a ten… impressive. And the final tally? Forty-one dollars. Bingo. He’d made his goal – and even exceeded it by a dollar! He sat in the back seat, trying to contain his joy. I watched him in the rear view mirror as he beamed and giggled to himself. A few minutes later we were in the toy aisle, considering our options. It was beginning to look kinda bleak, and we were just resolving to settle on some less-than-ideal options, when something caught my eye. It was a helicopter with bold red and white stripes – and two sets of props. Twin engines – for twin boys! We moved in to check it out. Elihu had said he wouldn’t settle for a crappy 2 channel toy, but instead had his heart set on a 3 channel heli – a much better quality, more maneuverable toy. This was 3.5 channels. Even better. Plus it had a button on the outside of the box which let you spin the props on the heli inside. It was a Chinook, and it was impressive looking. We then found a cheerful gift bag and headed on our way. At the checkout there was a small hitch; the toy was not in the computer, and in spite of my going back to retrieve the exact price, the system wouldn’t accept it. A manager was called in, the line stopped. While we waited, Elihu grabbed some batteries – because there’s nothing more frustrating than getting a gift that needs batteries and not having any. Another $7. No problem, I can cover the extra. Then the cashier told us some unexpected good news – the toy was actually ten dollars less than we’d thought – and our extra money covered the batteries and the gift bag too! Elihu and I laughed and thanked the guys for helping us out. Then I found a twenty in my pocket – I’d been paid in cash the day before for a lesson – so we even stopped for a snack at the cafe. !

As we drove to the party Elihu remarked that he really thought we’d be rushed today. We were actually five minutes ahead of schedule, and I myself agreed that I could hardly believe it. When we got to the party the reality of a busy Saturday downtown hit me as we began to look for a parking spot. Then we started to tell each other that our spot was waiting for us, we just had to get to it. And sure enough, in a full-up garage, just by the exit, was one vacant space just waiting for us. We pulled in, then enjoyed a leisurely walk through the park to the party, where we arrived just in time to find the first of the afternoon’s entertainments just commencing; mentos and diet coke explosions. Awesome.

He was settled in, and now I had two hours to myself. I often stay with him at parties, but this time parents were sent on their way – so I found myself suddenly surprised with having nothing to do. Hm. This was unusual. What should I do? I considered walking the strip, taking in the windows, the sights, maybe heading to the library to check my email. Naw. Didn’t inspire me. So I asked myself “What would I like to do? What thing would I not usually do, and more specifically, what can I do that I wouldn’t usually do with Elihu?” I knew. I knew, but I felt some guilt. I told myself to ignore the guilt, to let myself off the hook and go. So, I did. I pulled out of my choice downtown parking spot and headed out of town.

Three months ago, while waiting for a prescription down the street, I’d gone into Pier 1 to kill some time and happened to come upon a stunning, deep red pillow. It’s color attracted me first, and the hand of its fine wool was so satisfying. But I didn’t have the money, and furthermore I couldn’t justify such a purchase even if I’d had it. So I filed it away in my brain. We have a rule in our house to prevent against impulse buying: if it’s still on your mind in two weeks, you may reconsider it. I thought back… it was Thanksgiving when I’d seen it, and it was nearly Valentine’s Day now… Dare I reconsider it? Within minutes of entering the store I found the pillow – one of them at least. But I wanted two. I searched for awhile and didn’t find it. Guilt finally overtook me and I put it down, told myself to forget it, and instead just enjoy walking the store and looking at all the beautiful objects. On my way out, I casually asked the clerk about the pillow. She looked it up on the computer and discovered that it was not an item that would be restocked, and also that there did appear to be one more somewhere in the store. My heart lifted. Then the clerk simply looked down and said, “Oh, look, here it is!” and held up the second pillow. It could have been anywhere in that store – but it was right there, within arm’s reach. Needless to say, I was sold. I’d waited more than two months and it was still on my mind. ! My heart was bursting at the beauty of these pillows, at the excitement of bringing them home to live on my couch. 

When I returned to pickup Elihu the boys were in full swing, jumping on each other, hugging each other and ooing and ahhing over the presents… I sat there drinking in that lovely, innocent energy, marveling over how sweet and sincere they all were. Savoring the moment entirely. They told me that they’d just come back from laster tag; the lasers were blue so Elihu could see them (Elihu can’t see the red lasers at all), Elihu did really well (even won a round), plus he had a blast. As we drove home, Elihu remarked that he hadn’t had any cake, because it just looked too sweet and he thought it might make his tummy feel icky. But now he was feeling some regret. We quickly pulled into the grocery store before we left town, and found a perfect single frosted brownie. We took it to the register, and for some reason, the young man decided to ring it up at a lower price. Elihu and I looked at each other. ? We thanked the clerk and headed out. Elihu ate half his brownie on the ride home, and ended up saving half for later.

When I awoke this morning and walked out into the living room, my spirit positively lifted at seeing those gorgeous, deep red pillows on my couch. And now, mid-day as Elihu was looking for a sweet little snack, he was happily surprised to remember his brownie. One magical day has spilled over into the next. I made a promise to my son that I’ll renew my efforts to keep up an expectant and positive attitude. I admit I was due for a little proof of my theories. And thankfully, I got it – almost instantly.

Quotation

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Night before last, as I lay in bed with Elihu and we chatted, recounting the events of the day, he asked if he could recite a new poem he’d just learned that day in school. It told the story of a frog and a bird who posed challenges to each other based on what they knew of the world from their own experiences. In the end, each was surprised by the other – because his opponent possessed qualities that he himself had never before imagined possible. A moment passed in silence, as we both considered the ramifications of the story.

“I think I know what the moral is,” Elihu said. Then, without missing a beat, he continued:

“Never assert yourself as the best until you know your contenders.”

We parents are continually amazed by the things our children say, and so often we think we’ll remember them, but in spite of our best intentions, we just don’t. I know myself well. I knew that I wouldn’t remember it – as beautiful as it was – unless I wrote it down. So I pulled myself in a groggy daze out of bed, found my dry erase marker and wrote it on our kitchen board. Glad I did, because it was a lovely little surprise this morning. Makes me happy to know that I’ve replaced myself here on this earth with such a thoughtful human being.

Larder in Order

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Don’t like to think of it as a New Year’s resolution, but rather a project that I’ve been putting off for a while now, one which just so happens to be starting in January. I am finally embarking on a diet. One that is well planned, one I have read about and researched, a diet that I in fact did myself years ago and lost 20+ pounds in a relatively short amount of time. (Then I had a baby and kinda undid all that.) This is a diet that just looks wrong at every turn. It is the most counter intuitive way in which one could possible approach food. Healthy inclinations must be ditched, quelled, ignored. This is the diet of protein and fat, the diet that hardly allows the meagerest ration of carbs in order for success: the Atkins diet. Can’t refresh myself with a peach, nor an apple, nor a fistful of blueberries on my cereal. And cereal – with milk, heaven forbid – that’s entirely out of the picture. Really, just what the hell is this diet about? Some may know well, others may have a faint idea. In a nutshell? Turn your body from a machine that burns carbs for fuel into a body that burns fats and proteins. Simple. And yes, it does work. But like I said, it sure don’t feel natural… there’s a tiny voice in my head the whole time saying ‘your cholesterol will skyrocket… what if it backfires and I end up gaining fifteen instead? Sigh. Only thing keeps me going is knowing I’ve done it before, and successfully.

So yeah, you simply deprive your body of ALL carbs (ok, maybe not ALL carbs, but maybe like 99% of the carbs you’ve been accustomed to eating for your entire life) and you honestly do force your body to shift it’s source of energy. Seems kinda sneaky to me. Kinda not right. But hell, it works – and although it’s certainly not a way in which I intend to live years down the line, for now, it’s just what I need. See, I’m turning 50 on May 7th, and by then, I’d at least like to feel good in a dress again. It’s been years since I’ve worn the dress of a real, grown-up woman. And that aint right. (Oh, does anyone remember my dresses? I remember gowns upon gowns in my closet – and yes, I most certainly enjoyed and wore them all!) So, enough pussy-footing around here. I quit the cigarettes in earnest, now it’s time to get back to the body I feel represents me. I’m still kinda dragging my feet on the working out thing. I just can’t seem to find the time… and I know that sounds like a huge excuse… but I’m working on it. Created an enormous to do list (which I add to moment by moment) so that I may know what I face and plan my life better. So goddam much to do! But I’m gittin there… If it kills me…

It began in earnest with a tidying up of my pantry. I realized that I knew where just about everything else in my house was, but my pantry was an unknown to me. If I was going to organize the way I ate, I’d have to organize my food first. Cans from the year we moved here still hid in the back, there were empty storage containers way, way in the back on tippy-top shelf… So I did it. Had a Sunday of domestic tasks (venting the birds was one) and so it was time. Pulled everything out, relabeled tins and tubs, and most importantly, got rid of the crap we’ve kept ‘just in case’. Plus got rid of things we had only the teensiest bit left of. I had two goals, the second of which didn’t even become clear until the first was met: feed the chickens. I didn’t have enough money to buy feed, nor gas to get there and back, and so had to become clever about how I was to keep the galls alive (and laying) for another day or two. Everything I found was boiled or just dumped into a couple of huge pots. Warmed and softened to a pleasing (it’s relative) gruel-like consistency, it was the perfect answer for our gals. They even seemed to be having fun, picking out favorite bits and running all around the hen house with large, choice pieces hanging from their bills. And lots of variety – and flavor. Mama added some salt, cuz it may as well taste good, right?

With all this purging of the ancient foodstuffs and all the identifying of containers going on, I began to get clarity. About food. What I had, and what I tended to use most…. I stood back and could see my pantry well-labeled, easy to see all shelves, all contents. A good, solid start. Every container was boldy and neatly labeled in sharpie so that even Elihu, with his limited eyesight, could find things for himself (thereby reducing my temptation when making him snacks.) Only problem is that 99% of my pantry was off my list. I needed protein. I needed fat. And here before me was a closet mostly full of white foods – rice, flour, pasta, sugar; all carbohydrates. The big no. My larder had no lard!

My new go-to food source will have to be the fridge. Lots of vegetables, meat, cheese, and – how fortunate for me – eggs. These little miracles of nature will really end up helping me out the next couple of months. Thankfully, I love em, and I enjoy savory things more than sweet. A variety of hot sauces and I should be good. It’s just the cost of the rest that worries me a bit. The main reason I chose the Atkins diet was because I could simply not afford the $150 fee for Weight Watchers (with which by the way, I have experienced the most weight loss – 55 pounds – and had kept it off the longest…that is, until Fareed made his big announcement a few years back). Atkins seemed doable, after all, we get food stamps, so that removes some of the burden. But only one week of shopping into the new plan, and I’m beginning to worry. Meat is expensive. So is produce. It’s gone faster than I’d thought, in spite of my conservative approach and waste-not consumption. (My second reason for Atkins, btw, other than cost, was that I knew I had a pretty good chance of knocking fat off quicker – and there’s just not a lot of time before my 50th to go slow and steady like WW does.)

In spite of my concerns about cost, I do feel pretty good about my prospects for staying the course. I have now a small paycheck from the Waldorf school which will help me cover the extra food costs, and I also have a new student starting next week. We’ll butcher a few of our chickens, and that will help a little too. And eggs, got those for sure. ! Having money helps, yet having hope is really what’s key here – I feel like I’ve lived with so very little of that these past few years. I have up moments, and I am grateful every single day for the amazing little homestead we have, yet being socially isolated and having nothing much on the horizon to look forward to has kept my overall mood since living in New York a bit down. So this is good. I now have a picture of myself effortlessly slipping on one of my old dresses. I have a goal. I’m beginning to get brave enough to dare to remember how good it can feel…  How good it feels not to be winded, to actually tuck in a shirt, to wear knit fabric…

Folks often say that you have to go through emotional pain, not around it, to arrive on the other side. Ok, I’ve done some of that. I’m doing a lot better than a couple of years ago. So onto the physical part of the equation… Ironically, it looks like I may have to consume the fat in order to ultimately lose it. Still seems all wrong, but I’m committed for now, and thankfully I finally have the resolve to push ahead. Onward and upward…

Culling the Flock

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First our hens weren’t producing enough eggs. Now they are. Only problem is, over Christmas break some of our regular customers weren’t around and our good ol’ gals just kept on doin’ their thing. We should be glad, but instead we find ourselves in a tad of a panic. We’ve got some 200 eggs now in our mudroom, awaiting their hopeful future delivery. Good thing that eggs keep really well. Cuz it’s gonna take a minute to move em. Did you know that your regular, everyday white eggs that you buy at the store may be as much as a month old? And yet still, eggs are just as healthy to eat even a month after that. Truly, this is some miracle food. Our girls eat table scraps, glean what they can from the grass and nearby woods, and turn it all into eggs. I am continually impressed with their efficiency.

These days, however, the snowfall of a few weeks ago has caused an unforseen hitch in our business, Eggs of Hope. Because the girls can’t spend the day foraging in the grass, they now depend entirely on us for food. And that – crazy at it sounds – means we must provide nearly twice as much feed as before. And at nearly $20 a bag, 2 bags a week… well, you can see this has really become more of a hobby these days than a business. It’s frustrating, especially when I’m having difficulty just buying ourselves food, but for now we’re hanging in there. I went through my pantry and cooked up every bit of pasta and flour over six months old, I opened ancient cans of vegetables I knew darned well we would never eat ourselves, and I even added a few scrambled eggs into the mix. Yup, the girls love eggs. And chicken too. ! Hey, whatever works. They are the world’s very best recyclers, of that I have no doubt. Daily I stand in awe of the miracle of a hen and her magical egg.

We sure do have a lot of magic in our house right now. Happily, we’ve got some new customers, and I’ll post some flyers in town, send out some emails. Should be able to move some if I put a little muscle into it. But still, Elihu and I have both been thinking lately that we might need to adjust our strategy a bit. We’ve had a couple of folks ask us if we sell chicken, and while we do eat our own chickens, it might not be a bad idea to step up the meat sales too. Last night Elihu and I spent nearly an hour going over numbers, ideas… I just love that he is so thoughtful about our process, so careful to consider all our options. I am so incredibly proud of him for having such a good business sense about it all. He’s just as mindful of the details as I am – and honestly, sometimes even more so.

And I’m also so very proud of him for being the farmer I myself can’t quite become. When we decide upon butchering all the non-layers next week, I hesitate. It was our original plan – how can I be getting sentimental now? I knew that the old girls were freezer-bound. I just find that it’s an honest-to-goodness personal challenge for me to follow through. But Elihu? Not a problem. In fact, he’s the one coaching me. Telling me that we tend to anthropormorphize them. That they may be individuals, but in the end they’re not that smart. They don’t return our affection. Or at least necessarily remember us from visit to visit. They are simple creatures, he tells me. They know we feed them. They’re funny to watch, and yes, he agrees, we love them…. but they’re just chickens. And after all, he tells me, they were domesticated for this very purpose. Sheesh. All right already. You’re the bigger farmer than me, it’s clear. Ok. Let’s do this thing.

So tomorrow, we’ll vent our chickens. Check out their rears, their egg-laying holes, to see if they’re wide enough to be passing eggs, or if they’re in a dormant, non-laying state. We know that if we have 42 hens but we’re only getting 27 eggs a day, 15 gals aren’t doing their job. And that makes em dead ends. Feed goes in, nothing productive comes out (and what does come out just adds to the mess and future cleanup!). We’ll vent em, paint a big white X on their back if they’re not up to the task, and plan to move em out. I’ll call the Amish farmer on Monday to see when he’s butchering. Then Elihu will help me gather and box the hens up, and load them into the car. I may take him out of school that morning to help, maybe not. It used to be a big deal, a special event, but now, not so much. He’s so nonchalant about the whole thing. Now he knows they meet with a speedy dispatch, and that’s all that matters to him. That they have a good life and a quick, humane death. Like I said, he’s a real farmer. And one with a good heart. A very wonderful combination.

I’m trying to stay focused on our new plan. We need to cull back our numbers over the winter to reduce food costs during the snowy months. We’ll sell our meat birds in mid fall, restart the flock again in the spring (as we do every year with 24 eggs in our incubator) and then start the cycle over. Near the start of fall, as it genders become evident, we’ll butcher the boys as well as the girls who aren’t laying well anymore. We’ll keep the youngish gals and a resident rooster and then just do it all over again.

This is the plan, and although it’s been our plan in years past, we’ve yet to see this process through an entire year without hiccups. Seems there’s always some situation that arises to interfere…  but I feel good about 2013. We have both learned so much together these past four years, and I feel we’re much better equipped to see our business through a successful year. Elihu and I both think that this is the year Eggs of Hope will reach its stride, get its groove. Just need to make a couple nips and tucks here and there. (Our nips and tucks will be a hell of a lot easier to make than what Congress has ahead…) That should do it. Will let you know…

August 2012 921

Winter Home

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Fareed is here, Elihu is here, I am here. In the living room of our small house, cozy and warm inside, playing with new Christmas toys while it snows like crazy outside. Elihu and his dad are supposed to take the train to Chicago in a few hours. I don’t like to think about that now – because it’s just so nice having a house with the sounds of people – with the sounds of a family. It doesn’t happen often, so I try to savor it. Right now I’m sitting in the corner just beholding. Elihu is so happy once again. Both his parents are here, and for now the feeling is gentle, relaxed, very nice. One of our chickens is baking in the oven and the house smells good. 

I am so enjoying this moment; listening to Fareed play the guitar, watching Elihu play on the living room floor – and for now, knowing I don’t have to be a single place except right here. It sure feels good to be home.

Twelve Days

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In my home, as a child, there was always talk of the twelve days of Christmas. Sometimes, on one of the twelve days, there might be another present or two for us – usually under Frank and Martha Carver’s tree, the two other older people in the lives of me and my brother, Andrew. They lived on a farm with a Franklin stove that was always warm and a house that smelled wonderfully of the country. We Conants and Carvers all knew that Christmas was about a journey. Not that our family felt any affinity towards the religious aspect of the holiday, in fact I’d say they were solidly secular about it – but in spite of that, my parents delighted in singing the old religious hymns and recounting the historically accurate account of Christmas which our commercial world seemed to ignore completely. Making the season even more personally meaningful to us all was that Andrew’s birthday was on New Year’s Eve, and my parents – though seven years apart in age – were both born on January 6th, Epiphany. (The day most of the Christian world is busy celebrating Christmas and giving each other gifts as the wise men themselves did two thousand years ago.)

I too, have stressed to my own child that this season is about a beginning, a journey, and finally the culmination of that journey on Epiphany. My son is himself easily able to see metaphors in life and can see the season for what it offers. He may still believe in Santa, and we may not be a household dedicated only to the teachings of Jesus, but he can still understand how holy a time this is in our yearly calendar and how this time is a good one for self-reflection and renewal. I myself, however, in spite of my lifelong efforts to remind my peers that the true celebration of Christmas only just begins on the 25th, have just finally gotten one thing straight. The twenty-fifth is not the first day of the twelve as I’d always thought (I’d been counting Epiphany as a stand-alone day after the conclusion of the twelve days) but rather the first of the twelve days of Christmas begins on the twenty-sixth.

Today I also learned that there is a correlation between the signs of the zodiac and these twelve days. I realize this may be dangerous territory for some; to mix the Christian teachings with the Zodiac (the study of the Zodiac being something which seems either too ridiculously ancient, esoteric or just plain bullshit to many) may seem a stretch, or perhaps wrong, blasphemous. But I am at once impressed at the way in which these different templates match up, how magnificently it all seems to work. (There are also 12 tones in our western chromatic scale!) I realize that to some the relationship between the Zodiac and the days of Christmas may be no new information, but for me it was. I also just learned that many folks are under the impression that Christmas day marks the end – or the culmination of the twelve days. Big world. Lots of stories. The journey to the truth takes time and discretion.

We’d had our holiday party last Friday on the Solstice, the longest night of winter, a landmark on the holy calendar in its own right. While I invited my friends and neighbors, with whom I have never had conversations of a religious, spiritual or metaphysical nature, under the auspices of a general open-house among friends, I secretly held the intention that Elihu and I mark the night in camaraderie and love, that we might mark the occasion rightly and set a happy and bright tone for the future to come. I noticed that there was no talk of the date, no mention of its rumored significance (save my humorous toast to the ‘end of the world’ as I thanked my guests for attending) and I found that interesting. Also made me wonder once again, where were all those other folks who, like me, believed in pausing for just a moment to acknowledge this special day?

I may feel alone in my desire to live more connected to the ancient traditions, it may seem as though I’m alone as I concentrate on my connection to Spirit, to God, to the rest of the world and all its inhabitants… but my Yahoo inbox tells me otherwise. I know there are others out there. But these ‘other’ people live far and wide, and I know none of them personally. I did see a neighbor on Facebook who, although she purported to be hosting a ‘cookie party’ on the 21st, called it a ‘celebration of Solstice’ on her farm’s page. (Her lack of the article ‘the’ before ‘Solstice’ made her true intention seem even more apparent to me.) So I know there are others whose attention is not entirely in this modern, me-first world. And we’ll come to know each other someday. Not worried. Things seem to happen as they should.

Surrounded by the woods and fields with birds always at my window feeder, I’m in a perfect spot to contemplate my connection with all that is. Yeah, I’m feeling the need to remain at home, to remain quiet, to go about my chores and to live in gratitude as best I can. Some days I really miss people, but so far I just haven’t found a need to be with them. Somehow, after four years here in relative social isolation, I still feel the need to be alone. So I’m going to use these next twelve days to contemplate things as I wish them to be, to contemplate also the strengths and lessons of those twelve signs…

There is a meditation for today on the sign of Taurus – the second of the twelve Holy days – and also coincidentally both my and my son’s birth sign – which ends with these words:

Now I choose
to shape my future
in a balanced dance
between comfort and challenge

The original text is much longer and is more specifically related to the sign of the bull, but for me, these final lines seem to sum things up very nicely. I’ve spent the past four years learning how to live on my own. From here forward I need to expand, to grow my endeavors, learn how to thrive on my own. And right now, it looks daunting to me. I’ll probably need to keep an eye on that balance thing.

Not sure what messages await in the next ten days, but I’m interested and curious. So much to do, so much to know in this world. For the short stretch of days ahead I’ll try to live as mindfully as I can. I might not be able to live in such a state of concentration the remaining days of the year, but I’ll do my very best for the next ten.

Melting Time

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Woke up to snow covered trees and fields, the white Christmas we hadn’t even dared hope for. Santa had come long before Elihu awoke at 5:30, but I was pooped and asked if he could wait for an hour. Good kid, he did. The morning was lovely, we made a fire and opened presents and listened to the Peanuts Christmas album. Our first Christmas together, just we two. It was nice, but still…. it’s just the two of us, and something, some tiny little thing just wasn’t quite there. I knew it, he knew it. It didn’t prevent us from enjoying our time, but still…

On account of my mom having a nasty winter cold, we postponed the family Christmas afternoon at our house, and instead made a short visit to grandma and grandpa’s. My mom’s posture and lessening mobility are beginning to show in her inability to do simple things without discomfort. My father hardly gets out of his pajamas anymore, and he is constantly forgetting what has just been said only minutes before. It is an old people’s house, and on this day in particular, it’s not the most enticing destination for a little kid, even one as forgiving and easy going as mine. We need to head out to visit some friends, so after a while we find relief in our evening’s plans and take our leave.

While we’re received with love and warmth at our friends’ home, and while they feed us and include us and make us feel very welcome, still, something is missing. We watch as the extended family plays Wii together. First round we sit out, next one they include Elihu, who, in spite of his limited vision does pretty well. But still, something’s not quite feeling right. We don’t quite feel we’re at home. We both agree we should be leaving soon. We find the right time, the polite time, and thank our hosts and wish everyone a Merry Christmas as we head out. The snow covered fields seem to glow in the moonlight. Standing there in the cold night air, we feel relief.

Although we’re very much looking forward to going home – at least I’m nearing the end of my energy and can’t wait to be there – just as we approach our driveway, Elihu suggests we visit Martha. We haven’t seen her in a while, we miss her, and now is a good time. After all, if we wait just one more day… well, you never know. So we turn around and make an impromtu visit. Martha is a matriarchal figure of my extended family, a woman who, in spite of repeated visits to the hospital and a continually declining quality of life, simply refuses to die. She holds court sitting on the side of her bed tonight. We have a nice visit. But still, it is an old person’s home with pill bottles, strange-looking health and hygiene aids, ancient layers of dust from years without housecleaning, dessicated plant carcasses and antique bottles on shelves… There are also beautiful antiques and lovely old floorboards beneath threadbare rugs, the walls are carefully chosen colors authentic to the home’s original Colonial style… It’s a queer mix of the grand house it once was with the temporary nursing home it has now become. Again, not the most Christmassy place we could be, and certainly not the liveliest. Finally we hug and kiss goodbye, and soon we’re out in the moonlit night on the road home.

But home isn’t the ultimate relief I’d thought it would be. Instead, I make one false move, and the whole night turns on a dime: Elihu continues to investigate a toy, and pulls it apart in such a way that I believe it to be broken, or at least unworking until I can put it right. In an exasperated tone – probably much harsher than I intended – I tell him it’s not time for that now, it’s time for bed. I tell him that if he’d just waited til the light of day he wouldn’t have made the problem, that it’s enough and it’s bedtime. ! Tears come. Rage comes, sobbing, angry noises, horrible noises, noises that are all way too much for me to deal with. But I need to. In the wake of our lovely day, I have let myself get angry, I have ruined it. I apologize, and explain that I’m at the end of my rope. He says he gets it, but asks why I had to yell. Again, I tell him it’s because I myself am pooped, I’m done… that Christmas day is done. More tears. More volume. Then… a respite.

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas” he said finally. Yeah, I knew what he meant. In a way, it really didn’t. I steered him to the kitchen, where I pulled out a cookie and some water. I asked him to tell me, in an ideal world, what a real Christmas day would look like. He told me that it would be in a big house with a stairway up the middle, a mom and a dad (a tall, ‘generic’ looking dad he said) an older sister and a younger brother. He recounted the whole day. I listened. Man this is tricky. I got nothing to compete or even come close to this scene. I wonder how it would be if Fareed had stayed. Hell, if we had all just stayed in Evanston. In our beautiful home. The four of us, how we’d planned. But I let it go, there’s just no point to doing that to myself. As so many times before, I toss that old dream out quickly and make an effort to concentrate on us, here, now. I apologize to Elihu again, this time for the lack of all those things he wishes he had. He tells me it’s ok. We sigh, sit in silence for a moment, then head to bed.

But after he’s in bead, he asks me to leave. Not sure that he really means it, I offer to sit and talk. I pull out a short book, and as I open it he explodes. Tears again. He wants me to leave. He screams at me. I just don’t get what’s behind all this. It’s very late, and it’s been a crazy long day. That’s part of it, I know. But there’s small voice inside that tells me there’s more; he’s feeling a bit let down. Christmas in a family of two just isn’t the same. I feel sad that I can’t give him the family he wants. Shit, I’ve felt this way for the four years I’ve been here. I try not to indulge the feeling, but at times like this, it kinda stares you in the face. I know I’ve made a very good life for my son here, but at Christmas, what with all the hope and expectation and hype – it’s kinda hard to see real life match all that.

I let him cry, I say goodnight to him, and he says good riddance to me. There’s no repairing this tonight. From my room next door I listen as he winds himself down, and I relax as he falls asleep.  Finally. That’s better.

The countryside might be covered in snow, but here inside there’s been one hell of a meltdown.

Very Merry

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind2 Comments

A sunny Christmas Eve day here in upstate New York. If chickens can know happiness, then ours are surely feeling that way now; post-morning walk in the field, they sit unmoving on their perches while our goose basks in the afternoon sun in what seems a state of contentment.

Early this morning, Elihu awoke with a start, going from a deep sleep to sitting upright in bed, eyes wide open, as if he’d just remembered something. “It’s not Christmas morning yet” I said, and he laid back down. “I know.” he said. “I was just practicing.” In a way very uncharacteristic of his usual 9 year old self, he went back to sleep.

I didn’t wait for Elihu to wake, I was happy to putter about on my own for awhile in the early morning hour and tend to the chores. As usual, I threw my on jacket and muck boots over my pajamas and went out to tend the chickens. I enjoyed the hens crowding about my feet, following my every move. I had fun plucking off the odd bird who jumped into the feed bin and tossing her out. I stomped through the night’s ice on the water trough and finished my odds and ends outside.

Elihu and I enjoyed a breakfast of scrambled eggs and hot sauce, while he told me all about different kinds of Albatrosses. We made up two fictional spoofs of bird species; the Glue-Footed Booby and the Wondering Albatross. We cracked ourselves up with all their various characteristics. A little later we went down the road to the post office to mail off a Christmas card to David Attenborough and also Elihu’s sister, who lives in England too. We were both amazed that we could mail a letter from our sleepy little town here in the country and know that before too long it will end up far across the ocean, thousands of miles away…

All the gifts have been wrapped, the plans have been made, the dishes all washed. For the first time in months, I have nothing to do, no obligations to fulfill, nowhere to be.  Later tonight we’ll go to a party of some very old friends. Tomorrow grandma and grandpa and Uncle Andrew will come over. And of course, tonight, long after we’ve fallen asleep, Santa Claus will come. This is my first Christmas ever with Elihu here, and perhaps the last Christmas that Santa will ever visit. So I feel very lucky.

And for now, I feel very merry too. I wish the same for all of you…