Start by being kind. All the best things take root from there.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
He'll Greet You In Your Way
Your chest rises, your chest falls
A flutter in your heart
Lips relax as you exhale
Eyes closed, eyebrows raised
Breathing
I dream of what you're imagining
What stories do you play?
Cheeks warm, hands cold
You're so alive with playfulness even still
Are you thinking of when you first saw her?
When you knew you had love...
When you knew she wanted you too?
Or the moments you saw your children's faces the day they were born
Maybe the sun on the green spring fields
The smell of her favorite flower or her night gown
Do you remember the very first laugh my mother laughed as a small babe?
As you feel her soft hand on your arm
Do you remember those first steps of hers?
The first tears she cried that made her leap into your arms
Perhaps you recall the nervousness of your first day in the service
Or the chill of the snow air in Ohio
Can you feel the ringlets in your baby's first baby's hair?
Weaving the sweet, downy strands through your fingers
Sweet Melody
I know the tape in your mind plays all of our voices
All the tidbits you know of us
We're with you
All of us
With you there
Can you feel us?
A river so calm
No toiling, no pain
Breathe in, now out
We're here
We'll always be with you
It's okay, what you need
Inside of us you're never gone
For my grandfather, Robert Eugene Winn
April 25, 1927-May 1, 2015
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Up Again
For those who do it on their own
You are seen
You have a push, a keep-going that is unfathomable
Whether you are up and moving or have fallen and climbing back
You still say, "I have to, for them, it's what I'm here for"
It teaches me--chin up, press on
Hold them tight, eat together, know each other, tell your stories
You are here, completely here
We must be too
It IS a choice, I finally see
A daily stay, a daily push and recover
A knowledge that not all stay
Whether physically present but permanently out
Or gone, having given up or simply waiting for us there
We persevere because fight feels so good
We fight to triumph over death
We push with every single breath
Collapsing and getting up again
Again and again
We fight with a strength so deep
With a joy so full
Because we build it, we bind to it
We can't help but see it, and we choose to build up
We are here
Completely, for one another
For the ones missing someone, for the fallen
We will not let them be without
We will not let them be alone
Monday, January 19, 2015
A Poem For Husband
To the man who brings me tea in ninja cups
My one and only in flannel button-ups
You're doing it right with me, with us
Though you may second guess in the excess of fuss
This bright goofball who's truly nuts
Who pulls me from mud and digs us from ruts
You bring such passion and huge, vibrant cheer
Maybe it's a bit greater with a little good beer
If my jokes crash you'll still give me a laugh
Evening winking at me when I give you some sass
You've got us Mr. Hawley, day in, day out
It's so clear next to you, THIS is what it's all about
My husband, muse, advocate, hope
This girl sure wins 'cause you never said nope
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Goodbye, My Babies.
Norah and Cedar. What I want for you is to be kind. In that,
the happiness will come. I’m not worried about your happiness. I’m not worried
about much. I hurt for much, crave change and will pursue the movement toward
it. I don’t worry about you, loves. But I think about your spirit. Our job,
mine and daddy’s, right now, is to foster that glow in you. That magnificent
wonder and enthusiasm burns brilliantly bright in you. Your attention to
detail, your imagination, your vigorous grasp around our necks, your
compassion, your delight in the small things, like tiny, warm blueberries,
building a racetrack, getting to pick your own cookie, or tooting. My hope is
huge. My hope is that your fire remains irresistible. I’ve met very little
adults who have theirs still, fewer still who have triumphed over defeat and
hurt and ache to ignite the burn of goodness and zeal in others. My children.
It is not easy. You will be fighters. Your mother and father are fighters. We
have lost many. We have seen things we do not wish anyone to see. As children
ourselves, that light in us was constantly dampened by those whom we were to
trust and look up to. Children, defeat the pain. Move onward into progress and
marvel at good, giving little attention to the bad—for those things are a
tantrums demanding attention. Overcome evil with goodness, with a patience and
perseverance that becomes wholly addictive. Worry switches on genes that were previously
dormant, genes that you’ll battle with once they are allowed to play out their
script in your chemistry. Worry sits in your blood, in your bones. Worry keeps
your neurons from firing the way they were meant to. So, it’s simple. Do good.
Think outside of yourself, look into the eyes of the ones serving you, lift up
the hurting (and they will often be silent, don’t make assumptions, just go,
love them), reveal your affection (it makes people wiggle, I like it). Demonstrate
with your voice, your hands, your feet, your eyes, children, WHERE this world
can go. You have an Ally. And you have us. But if somehow you feel lonely,
afraid to show that you are deeply hurting, sit down and write to me. Play
music, make a cup of tea, and write… and while you do so, daydream of all the
good in this place that you want do in your glorious life. I will advocate for
you. If you cannot see me, if you cannot be with me, I am STILL your advocate.
It’s pretty clear, you are no longer infants, no longer
completely reliant on daddy and I for all of your needs. You can prepare
yourselves snacks, use the potty, safely bathe, play with and comfort each
other. Babies, you are not. Years will keep going and you will become stronger,
more inventive, more independent. I can’t wait to witness! Each day we are more
deeply and passionately intertwined with you, sweet children. My young lady, my
young man… go on, get on with it then. Face all this fearlessly, and with unstoppable
pride, through all of it, I sit here listening, watching, beaming.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
The Truth No One Can Handle
Maybe just a few of you will understand this. But most of
you will judge. Maybe those of you who’ve done it and see the light and the
glory and have gotten back to a regular sleeping and eating schedule can kind
of remember. But to tell you the truth, like any other heavy job, you can’t
know unless you are in it NOW. If you did the job, and you’re done now, even if
you do something similar, it’s not the same. It doesn’t help us to say, “ I
remember that, that was hard!” or “Hang in there, it’ll get better” or “Just
wait until they are teenagers!”. Are you kidding me?! These all make you feel
better but do nothing for us. Truth. It’s pretty and poetic and supposed to do
something. You’ve taken this sweet dream we have of a time when we can be
ourselves again, have a marriage again, sleep again, eat food when we NEED to,
and pursue our passions again, and smashed them… and for the sake of…?! Of
course that’s not your intention. You want to encourage. Honestly, and please
hear me, actions are more. Actions of encouragement take effort, something that’s
easy to feel like we are doing the most of. And it often feel futile. Sure,
there are not many things you can say to truly help us, but it’s okay to say no
things. It’s okay to leave a meal on the doorstep and send a text to let us
know it’s there (WOW, that would be AMAZING!!), it’s okay to play along and
keep a drowning couple afloat with your presence. It’s the loneliest job. And
we can’t run away. We can’t even step away for a minute. Because if we do, they
kill each other.
We’ve all seen the effects of crappy parenting. It’s
terrible and gut-wrenching and the adult zombies that didn’t choose to work on
themselves and make it better are everywhere. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. Because it
takes work. I am a hard worker. A very hard worker. I take little rest or
reprieve. When I rest I get behind and get upset that I’m behind and then get
upset that I don’t get enough rest.
The rest can never come when we need it or want it the most. We have to wait,
even we shaking and about to call 911. I get upset when people or memes or books
or whatever say, “This is the magical key to enjoying life to the fullest right
now. Also, look how beautiful they are..”. The way I look at it, no one does it
right. Those of us who try, try until we scream and are near spiritual seizing,
and then keep going, are phantoms. And that sucks.
Honestly, I am a fighter. A fighter like you wouldn’t believe.
I have peace in my bones and a growl in my belly. My brain, my soul… they are
gasping for air. And it’s okay. It’s how it works. No one gets through this
collected and totally satisfied. I fight. I fight through with abundant love
and feeling like a huge idiot and screaming and apologizing and trying again
like a dummy. I can feel this. We, the phantoms, don’t talk about it, because
we aren’t supposed to feel this. LET
US. Or go away. We need to. Don’t butterfly and rainbow all over us when we are
screaming, scream too. Then make spaghetti and cookies quietly so no one gets
injured. God knows, we need a village, a village so giving, so thoughtful that
it becomes common place and that’s just what we all do for each other. I’ll
keep on working, forgiving, loving, admiring, washing, dreaming and all the
things, including, probably, wanting more out of it all….
But for right now, I’m pissed.
And I’m not apologizing for that.
Friday, December 19, 2014
The Moms, The Cows, And The Poop
Cows are incredible. They poop. Their poop is amazing. They
lactate. That stuff is amazing. I lactate, too. But that bit’s not for you.
In 1862, French chemist and microbiologist Louis Pasteur,
now widely known as the Father of Germ Theory, completed his first test of a
process that heated liquids enough to kill most bacteria and molds inside. "I
intend to establish that, just as there is an alcoholic ferment, the yeast of
beer, which is found everywhere that sugar is decomposed into alcohol and
carbonic acid, so also there is a particular ferment, a lactic yeast, always
present when sugar becomes lactic acid."* Sanitation in Mr. P’s day was
not as wonderful as it is today and germ control was key to getting a foothold
on the health of the public. Because of his work, Joseph Lister (sound
familiar?) took off on his developments in antiseptic methods in surgery. This
idea truly did change everything.
But, like every good idea, we need to always question the
validity of the thing and have the relevance conversation. Is this practical
now? Is it doing more harm than good? Because of developments in complimentary
areas, are we able to render this supplement obsolete? Science rocks, but it
changes. And so do our needs. For example, those functioning on mobile phones
usually don’t need a landline, it’s superfluous. For our family, we have a
laptop and Netflix so the pricey duo of television and cable are unnecessary
(that’s a HUGE passion of mine—I double
dog dare you, and nearly beg you, consider trading in your television to
invest in your skills or passions).
Personally, after researching instability in vitamins and
the effects processing and homogenizing (which rearranges the fat and protein
molecules, ridding milk of the cream-line, to break the fat globules into
smaller pieces so they’ll be suspending in the milk instead) have on the
fantastic nutrient quality of foods, I find that we are killing a good thing,
billions of good things to shave off a bit of risk, which is a different
ballgame now. A major contributing factor to the ever-prevalent American diseases
is what we’ve exchanged for shelf-life. The American diet revolves around these
faux-gods of convenience and sterility. I shudder at Safeways now and have
befriended farmers. When food is hardly touched, its taste and nutrient quality
are as nature (I say: as God) intended it for our bodies. There is very little
fossil fuel involved in walking into your yard or onto your patio or driving to
your favorite farm or Googling “CSA near me” for your food. Less gas equals
less money. There is a belief, a stigma, that organic and unprocessed is expensive
and pretentious…but oh, what a mistaken belief. We are always trading something
for cost. Organic farming takes WORK and attention to detail. It’s about
symbiosis and perpetuating a healthy ecosystem for ourselves and children and
so on. We’re sick, our bees are dying in droves, our children are going through
D.A.R.E. programs at school while on ADD/ADHD meds after having been pumped
with Cap’n Crunch and Gatorade and sat in front of a screen for hours on end, our
animals are confined to cages where they cannot turn around or stand up or
breed or eat the foods they’ve been designed to eat… this is preposterous,
disturbing, and wrong. THIS is wrong. Lifestyle must be re-evaluated if we are
going to live, and live well. People often dislike change because it’s an
adjustment. People dislike being challenged because it feels like an attack. We
are being attacked, however, in our
folly, in our acceptance of Big Food. Dig in. Learn about your food. Surely you’ve
heard a bit. Surely you love food. Imagine how good it could be, and how your
body will pay you back.
I bring up the cows for a few reasons. One: cows are
awesome. Healthy cows are the best. Happy cows are healthy cows. Eat the good,
happy, healthy ones. Eating less cows, and only the good ones, will heal you
and your planet in great ways. Let’s reduce this methane, demand meats without
antibiotics and animals that eat what they were intended to eat. Look for
grass-fed AND FINISHED beef. Look for PASTURED meats (they were free-roaming). Know
the terms. Be aware too, because the Big Food folk love to play games with
terms and lobby for their interests, not necessarily yours. Monsanto just
started work on GMO grass, so, good gracious, get to know the cattle rancher
nearest you. The other reason I bring up cows: I intensely love genetics. What
can’t we learn from genes? Also I love dairy. I am a second-time nursing mother
and nursing my son still at nearly two years old, so learning about mammals tendency
toward the benefits of milk, at least early on, adds to the wonders and facets
of health, physically, emotionally, and sociologically. The fermentation
processes that Pasteur worked with to further develop the Germ Theory naturally
take place in the gut of most adults today. Lactose intolerance is an inherited
condition that begins to develop around age four when, as physical
anthropologists tell us, we are intended to be completely weaned from mother’s
milk. The enzyme that digests milk shuts down in most mammals soon after
weaning. In the gut (a truly fascinating epicenter of whole-health really) of a
person with lactose intolerance , the sugar molecule lactose just floats around
in the intestine and eventually ferments…and well… things happen, things we
like when cows do it but not so much when we are in the second-comer to a
still-warm porcelain resting spot. Milk-drinking adults are an EXCEPTION to the
norm (look at you, all exeptional, give
yourself a pat on the back). It took thousands of years, but we domesticated
cows, loved them for the beautiful things they gave us, and soon isolated
herding populations began to adapt a fancy new, and glorious (for us— YAY,
icecream!) gut-trick, where our special enzyme stuck around. It’s a deviant
gene on Chromosome 2. Our cute little rebellious lactase-persister is named SNP
C/T13910. Aww. It should be on a Tee shirt, for sure. Or at least embroidered
on something.
In our home, we’ve tossed out processed foods: white flour,
white sugar, HFCs, 5+ ingredient anything, store-bought milk, conventional f
& v, and the like (ask, I’ll do my best to give you a relatively exhaustive
list). We participate in a herd share from a local farmer and enjoy insanely
delicious raw milk and the full benefits of the folate, thiamine, vitamin C,
water-soluble B-group vitamins (and other such things) that haven’t been cooked
out of them. We eat whole, organic, traditional and as local as possible (some
exceptions, which we educate ourselves about: chocolate and coffee—ALWAYS FairTrade).
We eat grass-fed and ethical. We want to know WHERE our food came from and HOW
that land and those animals were treated. Our teeth are in wonderful shape (I
haven’t used anything with fluoride in years and the children never have). Our
bodies are healthy and energetic. Our brains are excited and hungry for ignition
in our passions. Mind you, we are generally exhausted from the raising kids
thing, we are happy and enthusiastic, none-the-less.
Do one thing today: Google CSA. If you get to enjoy your rebellious
SNP C/T13910, look into a herd share, too. You’ll be pumped. Find a cow and her
farmer near you. Meet her, rub her neck a bit and thank her for eating grass
and pooping (the cow, not the farmer)… after all, her poop can make that soil a
happy place for the delicious things you’re going to enjoy within the next few
hours. Eat with intention. Eat with people. Eat for good.
-->For some
wicked-good insight and delight, watch Food,
Inc. and read “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan and “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle”by Barbara Kingsolver!
~THANK YOU CURTIS HAWLEY FOR THE COW POOP MEME IMAGE!~
*Manchester, K.L. (2007). "Louis Pasteur, fermentation,
and a rival". South African Journal of Science 103 (9-10): 377–380.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
The Hunt
I am trying to be silent in the deep fog
The chill on this early morning bites intensely
It’s coming out of the darkest part of night now
Pulling my focus away from my cold body to the movement
ahead
I see the steam of his breath before I see him
It rises, disperses into the frigid air
There is a slight crackle as the hoof I barely see taps at
the earth
He paws twice at the fallen leaves
The sound travels far into the dark
I sheath my arrow, lay down my bow and crouch low
He exhales a deep, hot breath
As I slowly move toward him I see his body
He moves gracefully, lifting his head up, looks at me
I flatten my hand against the bark of the tree beside him
My chest heaving great, slow breaths
He is so beautiful
Never on a hunt had I seen a horse in these forests
As ran my hand along his smooth nose, over his cheek and to
his neck I know he belonged to someone
He lowers his neck
No longer am I aware of the bitter cold
No longer am I concerned with this hunt
It’s only us
He gently touches his cheek to my shoulder
The steam of his breath warms my hands
The slightest hint of dawn saturates these woods
A warm so slight, so gentle
As I look out at the brightening horizon, I feel him lower
his head more against me
He rests his cheek on my side
Beside him I stand in such an unknown, peaceful captivation
Amidst the need, the determination, the cold, I found you
In this wild, you were here
In this cold, you have given me more than I came for
It is early, yet, here you are
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