"According to the head of psychiatry at Stanford one of the best things that a man can do for his health is to be married to a woman whereas for a woman, one of the best things she can do for her health is to nurture her relationships with her girlfriends.
Women connect with each other differently and provide support systems that help each other to deal with stress and difficult life experiences. Physically this quality “girlfriend time" helps us to create more serotonin--a neurotransmitter that helps combat depression and can create a general feeling of well being. Women share feelings whereas men often form relationships around activities.
We share from our souls with our sisters, and evidently that is very good for our health. He said that spending time with a friend is just as important to our general health as jogging or working out at a gym.
There's a tendency to think that when we are "exercising" we are doing something good for our bodies, but when we are hanging out with friends, we are wasting our time and should be more productively engaged--not true. In fact, he said that failure to create and maintain quality personal relationships with other humans is as dangerous to our physical health as smoking!
So every time you hang out to schmooze with a gal pal, just pat yourself on the back and congratulate yourself for doing something good for your health! We are indeed very, very lucky. Sooooo let's toast to our friendship with our girlfriends. Evidently it's very good for our health."
chocolate mint candies
bean and cheese tortillas with Rotel on top
butternut squash
Then I want to eat it with friends and family.
]]>I was 5 in an apartment on the edge of a suburb, half a block from Chicago's cracked sidewalks, jagged pieces of cement laying next to the weeds pushed up overnight in summer. Our sidewalks were put together, our streets were clean, no litter strewn about,just a quiet street with a park perfect for children. This park had huge climbing trees. I climbed to the top of one by where Subrina Love used to live until she moved away when we were 5. She was my first best friend. She made friendship lovable. I climbed the tree until we moved when I was 10. I didn't understand why I couldn't see Subrina again. Now I see that no adult knew how important she was to me, how dear.
On Saturdays I'd roam the block looking for someone to play with. No one seemed to like romping outside as much as I did. I was an only child. I couldn't figure out what could possibly be more fun than playing at the park all day. Jill liked to read, a lot! She also liked to play outside but I still have an image of her kicked back in her room, book open in front of her, beautiful weather on the other side of her kitchen wall, but I couldn't talk her into leaving her apartment. I do have many memories of us playing together outside, lots of screaming and laughing, lots of silly faces. I don't remember the others names. The blond sisters who must have been 5 years apart, a bunch of faceless boys. Mainly I liked to swing, arm wrestle and climb trees...and run up and down the metal train.
When we moved 2 miles into the same suburb, I gained a back yard and neighbors I knew, who I spent time with. Rupert mentored me in painting fences, caring for turtles and quiet living. Olivia inspired me to love the Cubs for a season, even waiting at a low fence for an autograph. I was 10, she was 13. I was amazed to have such an old friend. In that apartment I memorized the TV guide from 3-10pm for all of 6th and 7th grade. On non sports practice days there I was camped out with a bowl of canned spinach or black olives, eating them with a fork. I had the north bedroom which I kept very clean. I had a cat named Thor. The first night we had Thor, he slept in my room. When I turned off the light, he'd start cleaning himself. I was concerned with the strange slurping noise so I'd turn on the light. Thor would look up from his work, ears perked, curious what I was up to. We did this little dance several times the first night before I solved the mystery and knew he was going to be OK despite the odd noises (Thor was a loud groomer). Eventually I had an am/fm stereo with a turn table. I kept it on my dresser (kept it past my one year of college). The closet was big and empty. I loved to close the door, close my eyes and spin in circles then open my eyes and find the door handle. This is how only children play...for hours. In 8th grade I was part of a close group of friends who HAD to spend at least half an hour on the phone together every night, after spending all afternoon together, and the previous weekend. We made frequent use of 3 way calling.
Happy random memories!
]]>Owning a house = someone has weeding to do.
Getting rid of unwanted stuff that is being given away involves a cluttered living room for a few days.
Some burned bits are harder to remove from the stove top than others.
I like making new friends.
Helping the boys clean their room is easier than gearing up to do it.
I want to make chocolate mints but need to finish cleaning the stove top first. Chocolate mints are proper motivation or at least effective.
It's easy to over commit to activities that benefit other people.
I like books but I'm diggin' the idea of having only what I get from the library and a few Baha'i books around the house.
When I finish filing the living room will grow, even though the "to file" box is under a desk.
We may only need one big desk in the house but the second one is pretty and holding a lot of stuff I'm not sure what to do with yet.
I like listening to audio books more than video games but since the boys earned the $ for their hand held game boys, I like the tinny song they make (for a while).
We have many pretty figurines that need homes. I'm not sure who would like which ones.
I like the way Bahiyyih's kitchen smells. There's always something yummy making or just made.
Kids rooms and chocolate mints are calling.
]]>I cleared all the ingredients, tools and bowls from our storage closet at the bakery today. Our kitchen wall is beautifully lined with large containers of almond, millet, buckwheat and other gf flours.
We gave away a chair today.
We gave away a couch today.
We filled up several boxes of toys, kitchen items, books etc for our garage sale this weekend.
It's hot.
For no reason I made chocolate cake. Actually I had a good reason. I wanted chocolate cake and it was really good!
Day 1 of garage sale started at 2pm. People came at 1:45pm, as soon as the signs went up. I enjoy visiting with people while they browse.
Day 2 of garage sale. I woke up at 6:30am, fixed six of the signs around the neighborhood came back and set all the goodies on our lawn again. I feel strong!
Garage sales are a meditation.
I sit in the house reading a book by the front window. I look up every little while to see if anyone's come by. When people get out of their car I leave the comfort of my air conditioned living room and greet them.
Noon is so hot I'm in an oven. It's still cooler than Texas hot.
We have 4 large and 4 small Corelle plates and 5 Corelle bowls. We have a few cute plastic bowls and a plate. We have a few forks, knives and spoons. Everything else is in the garage sale. Washing dishes takes 15 minutes.
We kept all baking supplies, pans and plastic food storage containers.
I tried parmesan cheese on rice and veggies. My tummy didn't rebel.
Day 2 of parmesan experiment went well.
Day 3 I tried sharp cheddar. My tummy is still happy. Yogurt and butter experiment to follow.
The boys are parting with a lot of toys and books that didn't make it in last years garage sale. This year they had a smaller book shelf to fill. All other books went. They didn't fill their shelf.
We spent a lazy evening with Zivar and her girls and Amy Eades. That is how life should be. We made cheese crisps in the microwave and ate giant pickles from a giant jar. We laughed a whole lot!
We enjoyed a small belated birthday party for Devyn this afternoon and into the evening. It went 3 hours over scheduled time (not a surprise!). We played pictionary, a game David bought at a garage sale years ago that we haven't ever played. What were we waiting for?! We performed a skit Devyn found in Highlights because it has a dog in it. I played the dog. It was a funny little play :).
I've learned many things I'm not writing here. One day I'll tell you all about it, when I write a book.
]]>I'm summoning up will and courage along with David to do a purge on our home far more extensive than we were originally thinking.
I see it like this (just at this moment, tomorrow I'll have to pray for perspective again). If we do have a lovely adventure elsewhere, great! If not, we can always create right here a lovely space by removing all the obstacles including every day mislabeled should haves like a shelf full of decorations, extra plates and bowls, seating in every room of the house, toys toys toys! as well as my preconceived notion that only travel or moving to a new town provides a new perspective.
So this is my work right now. Not waiting or scheming a "way out" but creating the proper place to be in right here in our home, a place not in agreement with societal norms but with fantastic beauty in all ways.
]]>She's angry I'm not listening to her cries. This time is different I tell her. She doesn't believe me. Poor thing sitting knees to chest in the corner, wishing the room were cleaner, wishing she had a way out, knowing I won't be leaving this time, knowing she's stuck.
She calls it stuck because she doesn't know better. She's only 10, maybe only 7. She cannot understand the complex reasoning and wisdom of maturity and healing. I admit, I haven't taken her in hand and tried to explain yet either.
Maybe later tonight when all the strangers are quiet asleep in big beds I'll sit on the floor too. I won't get too close nor try to convince her. I'll tell her the facts, my reasons, that this is the way it is, that I'll do my best to take care of her, to be careful she doesn't get hurt, that there are no guarantees and I'm sorry.
Knowing her she'll cry, pour out a seemingly logical case to prove out her wishes as the best course of action. She'll plead, maybe even whine but she won't hit.
Her eyes will be far away. She will in fact be walking away hoping I follow though her body never moves. She's done this feat of escape before to many bewildered hurt friends but never to me. I have not betrayed her.
Neither did they nor were they planning to, but I was faithful to her so I let her wander off for a while, a few hours, a week, whatever it took. She may not believe this time is different, that I won't let her run away, that I'm betraying our rule yet she knows deep down it's true because everything is all wrong. She says stuff like that often, "ALL WRONG!" She means it to, with all her might.
She has been right before in this observation, but not for years and the song still plays for her as if it's never going to change because she knows it can't. This is why she thinks I'm crazy for sticking around.
This is why she's this close to a tantrum. I should at least give her that. A day alone together in a wood screaming between lyrics, dancing heavy footed on summer earth, growing soft when pink shows up unexpectedly.
Then we can sit and look. We can look into that flower the way one looks into their newborn's eyes, for long minutes that are no time. We'll see sparkles of sun playing on leaf tops. We'll lay down on a soft patch of grass, close our eyes and see the bright orange red sun beating down on our upturned faces.
We'll lay that way long enough to barely doze off, then we'll sit up and stare all around us in a stillness that simply is. The tears can come then, not the ones accompanied by wrenching sobs, by rocking back and forth, by convulsive sighs, no not those. The quiet tears of resignation, and the smallest ray of hope.
]]>fresh hair cuts, jackets abandoned
softer sound of bird song than will be heard when pants are traded for shorts, sweatshirts for short sleeves
sun out, full, warming, frantic shouts explaining important matters of who's in, who's out, who's tripped over their sneakers and now sits in the damp grass all flecked with mud and tan from winters blanket
warmer on the front step than in the living room where windows are open, curtains and wall calenders waving, papers knocked under the tables they fell from
behind that tall worn gray wooden fence a sharp yelp from four legs and a furry face
two boys drink soda, two reload, one shoots straight up, neck bent, eyes skyward watching his treasure rise and fall
they know the dance
]]>I like that you're my brother.
I like that you're my son.
Violets are blue
Flowers are red
How I love to see you
bouncing on your bed
Violets are blue
Flowers are green
Smiles are happy
As happy as can be
I love you Matthew
I think you're very neat
and you're very sweet
When you're not clobbering me in the head
And Matthew I love you more than the Universe
So if you fall down, like you always do, I'll pick you up
and put you on the couch and the rest of the poem is by mom
Here you are darling. A big boy now.
Four years working every single day
How to share your brilliant smile, keep your head up high
Tell Devyn with a meaningful squeal. "Hey brother, that toy is mine!"
Crawl along the RV floor then...uh oh...right up the wall!
Chase and fly with Devyn over our Mississippi couch
Teeth steadily emerging without a single hint of fuss
running with cousins, falling in love with Maya...
In Texas now, finally together...able to spend so much time just being...mostly silly, night walks with Daddy, sometimes asleep in his arms.
Tomorrow? Next year?
The alphabet, memorized prayers, learning checkers, seeing the country from our very own truck, running the family business together. We'll find all the best rest area playgrounds, health food stores and museums...only God knows this part really. I simply pray we remember to invite Baha'u'llah to guide us in His will every day.
]]>Matthew
I would rather have no time for poetry
if it's because
I'm your mother
Loving you in my arms
smiling
struggling to grow
Engrossed in a pile
of toys
needing to be waited on...tended to
guided...taught...disciplined...shaped
enjoyed...kissed...hugged...and fed
Then, later, when you sleep
or in a cafe at 11am while you watch
people
talk to lights
drop keys and wonder
where the rice puffs are
I will write a poem for you
]]>Then this morning before my first baking class at Mettler Center, as part of the Baking Bakers (our new business), I was interviewed by local news channel 3 here. I was nervous but had a wonderful time. The class an hour later was even more fun as I spent time with 4 other women who have been working to figure out alternatives now that they or a close family member has had to give up wheat. Networking beyond the framework of the class happened and lots of laughter :). Of course baked goodies abounded, excellent reviews and hopefully new friendships.
Our new website, in it's infant stages is bakingbakers.com
]]>I was going to work over the summer, after camp. I must have hated the first day in the institutional feeling building next to Haven Middle School. Maybe I worked all day or only 2 hours. However it went, it wasn't the joy of nature. It wasn't full of laughter, feeling the afternoon breeze on my skin. I decided not to go back. I quit.
Instead of returning to the work site the next day as I'd said I would, I went to Allison's house. My parents showed up there after a while, said it was time to go. This was not unusual, so okay, whatever. Then I noticed we weren't going home. Where to then?? NO! Not back to that place, not back to the work site. I don't like it. I don't want to be there! They responded with silence. They ignored my tantrum, ignored me kicking the inside of the car, being called liars, told they couldn't make me. They were helping me honor my commitment to see this program through for a year. Again, I was huddled up crying, this time very angry.
When we pulled into the Earn and Learn driveway Rick came out to get me. He didn't get tough or stern. He saw me. He smiled so kindly. He joked around and made me laugh. Then he led me into the work site, now willing, though still tender and scared. There were only a few others there that day. We stuffed envelopes for what seemed like hours. How long was it? I sat across from someone named John. He was funny and sweet. We laughed all afternoon, tears running down our cheeks, the kind of laughter that makes every sad thing fade for a time.
Once school started, each Earn and Learn student took a slip of paper to school. After every class, the teacher marked the appropriate box with a 1 or 0. Categories included getting to class on time, doing class work, homework, I think something about participating in class discussions. The more 1's in a day the longer one could work at the site that afternoon, the bigger one's paycheck. I liked school so this was fun. Being on time became a happy game.
Once at the work site, we were divided into stations. These included, on various days, envelope stuffing, small parts assembly, collating and many other simple repetitive jobs. A short time into the school year I was allowed to work in the office which was way more fun to me than being on the work floor. I remember the office being a privilege for those who showed themselves to be reliable and wanted the change of scene.
Earn and Learn was considered a dork program by the general student body at my school. I knew I was seen as a bit defective but I didn't care. I may have disliked it a bit, but in a way a 14 year old knows things, I knew I was in a lucky position. I remember 8th grade better than any year of school. My closest friends went to two of the other Evanston schools. I was part of a group, the core being Leslie, Chuck, John, Melissa and I. I wish I could remember the names of others. I see their faces against the plain walls, the metal framed windows, their smiles when bonuses were passed out.
Friday was payday. We were a sight. A line of 7th and 8th graders shuffling on the lobby carpet of the bank. Cash in hand we'd stroll out into the sunlight. A diner was nearby. We easily spent our money on cokes and french fries. I see us in a booth, merrily conversing, full of antics and laughter. One day I pretended I was going to spray coke from my straw onto...oh, which one was it...Leslie I think, but since she didn't know I wasn't going to really, she hit the straw toward John. He received a lovely blessing that afternoon. Or was it the opposite?? Either way, I was amazed that friendship could be so independent like this...money, time, a common bond.
We even worked voluntary overtime during weekends putting advertisements on door handles in little plastic bags. Street by street, house by house all day. Mary and Ray drove the bus. The work was hard, sometimes tiring,but I usually signed up. Purpose has that effect.
I took in that wonderful year with Earn and Learn the way a fish swims in water. It needs the water to live, but hasn't a name for the air.
]]>Though I was well behaved and academically present, I wasn't actually present. I was also lucky enough to be growing up in Evanston Il in the 1980's where Rick Weiland lived and cared for children in the program he was passionate about, Earn and Learn.
Earn and Learn started with camp. It set the stage for what would be, hopefully, a positive turning point for students heading the way of a problem. I wouldn't call us "at risk" because I don't know what's really meant by that, but also because it's difficult to see oneself as an at risk youth. So I told myself we were the ones in the middle. Not too problematic, showing promise, heading astray, therefore steered this way, into Rick's guiding care.
First of all, I had to make a commitment. Yes, I would see the year through. Yes, I would try, I would show up. Easy to say to a piece of paper asking for my signature. Easy to enjoy at camp. Camp was the first activity. Camp where the main lesson I learned was that the individual is accountable to the group, but the group is also accountable to the individual, that we were one entity when gathered, that one could hold up progress for all. While I don't like to think that life is this way, it is. The upside is respect, the downside consists of many character building moments when patience must be called on, courtesy, honesty, where walls tumble and we are all in one room, vulnerable, waiting. This being when one person was not cooperating, therefore keeping the group from moving to the next activity. We knew it going in. No less annoying, no less frustrating.
Camp was like most others, tucked into nature, surrounded by tall trees. The dining hall was large, cabins for sleeping, cabins for activities. Worn dirt paths, grassy earth.
I learned about deliberate meditation at Earn and Learn camp. Mats on the floor, we were to lay quietly, let ourselves relax...quietly. I loved the idea, It felt cool. It wasn't easy to do as a group. The meditation cabin was dark on a bright afternoon.
Other character building at camp included some kind of points or "bucks" system (wish I could think of the exact name). There were many ways to earn points. At camps end, we would all go to the Dells, a supposed high point. There we would convert our points into money. I was so completely unimpressed by the Dells that I almost didn't enjoy being there. Just seemed like a man made bunch of nothing compared to the week I'd just spent expanding as a human being. The only way to earn these points that I remember was to swim across a small lake as many times as possible. I think I went across twice, though maybe only once. I believe a guy named Andrew surprised us all going back and forth more than anyone, many times more. I say the lake was small. Standing on the shore at 5am, cold, tired, determined, I did not think small. I tried not to think, just dive in and go. I would have thought "huge", but that would have stopped me at the start. I wonder what I said aloud?
We went on an all day bike ride, 48 miles?, with 3 or 4 stops along the way for cheese sandwiches, juice, probably some fruit. At the first stop, I glided in ahead of the front pack of boys I'd been riding with. After a bit,one of them realized this and alerted all the rest. So this pack, all boys and me, stayed ahead. At each following stop and the end, a great race set up, incredibly intense. Those boys were so upset at the idea a girl might beat them. They stayed upset because I won every time, though they gave a great effort, with lots of hollering to encourage whoever was at the very front with me. I held onto that triumph for years, proof that I could win, that being a girl made no difference even in a competition with boys.
We repelled from a small cliff too. I was so ready for this to be exciting. It was a lot of waiting at the top of a bit of rocky wall where each of us was securely wrapped in straps and buckles. In the sunshine, I see a swarm of wasps tucked in to the side of the rock. That was the excitement, listening to the concerned confusion that followed. Going down the side of a rock with what felt like a diaper was not. I enjoyed talking to Ernie too. Of all the counselors, he was my favorite.
Structure in nearly every moment. We knew they were growing us. We knew they were serious...usually...until, one evening, outside the dining hall which was near the lake, a fantastic ketchup and mustard fight was loudly, messily enjoyed.
I thrived there. I was home. I did not miss the city with it's hot cement, sunlight reflecting in slicing glares off tall buildings, the incessant roll of rubber tires, synthetic reality. Camp was simple. I grew there.
Camp set the stage for the year ahead, which is another story, the test of commitment.
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