Coming up is the holiday Hallmark invented to celebrate love. Today I am positing that we need, on each and every day, to celebrate love. To spread it around in massive doses. To remind those dear to us how deeply we love them. To let go of petty grievances and forgive easily and often. To touch each other, physically in huge hugs, and emotionally in deep ways. To nourish and treasure our relationships.
This week has brought much loss to me personally and to our caring community. Someone who battled cancer like a true warrior and who finally lay down his sword and passed peacefully with family and friends surrounding him. And another precious someone who was young, vibrant and beautiful and who has moved to the spirit world way way too soon. Their faces are before me as I type this and if my grief is this raw, it boggles my mind and heart how their loved ones must be feeling.
I have nary a notion about what happens to our souls when they are no longer in our earthly bodies. Sometimes I wish I did. Perhaps it would make grasping the great unknown of the ‘afterlife’ more reachable. I do know one thing though . . .that the love we have shared with those we lose does live on in our hearts. Of this I am certain. It is all we have to accompany the memories we hold so dearly.
For this reason, the song “How We Love” by Beth Nielson Chapman has always moved me. And today, thinking about love and loss, I hear the refrain over and over again in my mind as I ponder the great questions.
Every day is new
And if anything is true
All that matters
When we’re through
Is how we love
Some things fall apart
But from the ashes new dreams start
All that matters to the heart
Is how we loveHow we love
How we love
From the smallest act of kindness
In a word, a smile, a touch
In spite of our mistakes
Chances come again
If we lose or if we win
All that matter in the end
Is how we love
How we love
How we love
I will not forget your kindness
When I needed it so much
Sometimes we forget
Trying to be so strong
In this world of right and wrong
All that matters when we’ve gone
All that mattered all along
All we have that carries on
Is how we love
If Halloween for you is a fright night, this post is not for you. If you think it is appropriate for children to be dressed as zombies or some other blood dripping creature, this post may even offend you. If you see All Hallows Eve as a magical night when children get a chance to stay up and out in the dark and dress up in costumes, bob for apples and perhaps indulge in sweets they usually are not eating, then we are on the same page.
My children’s experiences when they were little was an enchanting evening put on by their Waldorf School. The school playground was lit with a luminario path which the children followed, guided by adults dressed as angels. They were taken to different “stations” where teachers, community members, or parents were dressed as Robin Hood, Alice in Wonderland, Johnny Appleseed, dwarfs dressed as miners, Mother Earth and many more, all imaginative and inventive . Each of the stations had a creative and expressive “skit” to perform, always engaging the children in some way. Treats were handed out, with an emphasis on healthier choices, and then the children wandered to the next station. At the end of the adventure, there was apple bobbing, live music and a seasonal puppet show. Believe it or not, this tradition kept my children enthralled through about fourth grade. After that, they opted out of trick or treating in our village in order to be one of the people doing a skit, continuing to create the magic for the younger ones. They never missed the scene that Halloween has become, in my eyes. To this day, not one of the three of them, now 25-32 years old, enjoys the horror that seems to captivate so many at this time of year.
I was so very disheartened in town yesterday when I had to shop in our marts for a barbecue for my farm stay cottage. There were aisles and aisles of cheap, made-in-China costumes, virtually all of them themed on either Disney or the macabre. And in the check-out lines were families, all spending upwards of $50 for these crappy costumes. (Mind you, these Halloween aisles were side-by-side with more revolting plastic for Christmas, but that is another rant altogether!)
Below I offer a sample of what I personally see as appropriate and inappropriate costumes for young children. Actually, the grisly and ghoulish never appeals to me at any age, but for the tender wee ones, it seems wildly bizarre.
This comes up for me each and every year and I suppose my own blog is the place to express it. However you spend your Halloween this evening, here are some facts for you about the holiday. . . .
- Halloween goes by multiple names: All Hallows’ Eve, Witches Night, Lamswool Snap-Apple Night, Samhaim and Summer’s End.
- There’s a reason broomstick became associated with witches! Old women accused of witchcraft were typically poor. Since they couldn’t afford horses, they used a walking stick, which was replaced by a broom to help them travel.
- Just like broomsticks and witches are synonymous, so are black cats and witches. This is because it was once believed the felines protected the powers of witches.
- Harry Houdini (1874-1926) is one of the most famous and mysterious magicians. He eerily died on Halloween night in 1926 from appendicitis after he suffered three stomach punches.
- Samhain, which is an Irish Celtic festival, inspired Halloween. It celebrates the end of the harvest season. The tradition spread to the rest of the world after the Irish fled Ireland because of the potato famine.
- Jack-o’-lanterns started in Ireland, too. Candles were placed inside of hallowed-out-turnips to keep away evil spirits on Samhain.
- Ever wonder why orange and black are traditional Halloween colors? Orange represents the harvest and black represents the death of summer.
- Trick-or-treating might have started from the superstition that ghosts could disguise themselves as humans and knock on doors for food or money. If they were denied, the spirit could haunt the person who refused it.
- It was believed that the boundary between the living and dead was blurred on Halloween. Since the living were allowed to walk among the dead, human would wear ghoulish masks and dress up so the spirits would not recognized them.
- Samhainophobia is the fear of Halloween.
- Halloween might have originated 4,000 B.C.
- Salem, Massachusetts, and Anoka, Minnesota, claim to be the Halloween capitals of the world, even though the holiday originated in Ireland.
- Halloween only precedes Christmas as the highest grossing commercial holiday.
If you think Sunday is a day of rest, you have never owned a farm with rental cottages! Mind you, this is not a complaint, as my life is rich and robust . . . and busy. (Especially busy as my son and his new wife of a couple of weeks are currently off exploring New Zealand for a month-long honeymoon.)
After rising with the sun, I went out on the farm to feed the chickens, ducks, cats and rabbits. This is a quiet time, chatting with the animals as the sun slowly bathes the farm in that magical dawn light
I then made my weekly trek to the market to get the Sunday New York Times, which out here on this tiny island in the Pacific costs a small fortune. I know. I know. I can read it online. And I do — every day but Sunday. This is my treat. My East Coast girl habit.
Coffee finished and a decent stab at the crossword puzzle and it was outside to plant seed trays. Each and every week I plant over 1,000 little cells. Today I did so while listening to NPR, my other news source. I mixed a big tub with potting mix and some new granular soil amendment my farmer friend promised me will boost our gardens, which have been slow to recover from the 2015 summer from hell. While we have a formula for what vegetables to plant each week, it is pleasurable to decide just what combination to select this week. Shall I do 10 rows of magenta lettuce or 12 this week? Red oakleaf or red romaine? Tuscan kale or curly kale? Ah, the little things. All the while I’m planting, I am rotating the watering of the gardens, turning this sprinkler on, that one off. Setting my phone’s timer, as I have in the past spaced out on changing them and gotten small creeks down the aisles between beds!
After tucking all those seeds into the trays and watering them in, my dear nephew shows up to help with a project I have had on the never-ending list for over a year!!! —- a new top for the start table. Together we remove the old one and set the new one in place, marveling that the old one held up for over 20 years! It is as testimony to the art of prioritizing that this relatively simple job, which took maybe an hour and a half, kept getting moved around on the massive to-do list for so long. Other things just took priority.
Onward to laundry— two loads of laundry from the farm stay cottages washed and hung on the laundry line. Somehow, seeing laundry hanging on the line makes me smile. I often wonder if the guests appreciate the fresh smell of their sheets and towels or do they bemoan the fact that the towels are crisp and not fluffy?
The shed was then swept out and emails checked and responses composed. I think it is time for a quick dip in the ocean. Then back to take that laundry off the line, fold it and put it away, late afternoon round of feeding the animals and then . . . lucky me – it’s off to dinner at a dear friends house.
Not a day of rest exactly, but a full and fine one, all the same.
It is still hot this late summer afternoon, but the promise of evening and a slight cooling off is in the air. Everyone on the farm has returned to their tasks at hand, having spent the heat of the day out of the sun. My youngest son, Bay, is weed whacking, polishing the edges of the land he so beautifully mowed just a bit ago. My almost-daughter-in-law, Danelle, complete with her ever-present sun hat, is feeding the ducks and chickens and gathering the eggs. My oldest son, Sky, has just harvested bananas for tomorrow’s market and is now gathering fresh organic greens for the rabbits, filling their water bottles and settling them in for the night. I stand on the front porch feeling pensive while looking over this land we are so fortunate to own and steward in our conscious way. Our lifestyle is irreplaceable. And I simply could not do it without these grown children to help. The work is constant, dirty and often hard. But, for now we are in it together. That, in itself, is a reward I relish this late summer afternoon.
It is sweltering up here in my loft office as I come inside out of the hellish heat that is this mid-afternoon. The only place to be is the beach, but I feel almost too lethargic to motivate and go there. This has been a sizzling summer here on Kauai. Hotter than I ever recall in 28 years. I’m not digging it and neither are our gardens. Few things perform in such blazing sun, and surely lettuce and greens are not among them, excepting arugula which seems to relish it, getting spicier by the day and out performing everything else. Well, the thrips and the fungus and the aphids like it somehow —perhaps just being opportunistic and taking advantage of the stressed-out struggling plants. Bananas, lychee, and pineapples seem content enough. But, not me. I dream of cool crisp air and giant heads of lettuce alongside thriving kale and chard. Alas, it’s many months until that is a reality. Until then, you will find me slightly grumpy and inside under the ceiling fan.
I dreamed of my parents last night. I don’t often do that, but, when I do, I awake simultaneously both happy and sad. Happy that I spent time in my dreams with them, which is always joyous and interesting. Sad that I cannot do so in my waking life any more. My parents were fun and smart and mostly really easy to be around. Since I’ve lived on Kauai, they were always far away geographically, living on the East Coast of the mainland. But, never far from my heart. In my dream last night, we were trying to get somewhere in my car. My dad was trying to bring up directions on my iPad, which is amusing in itself as he never even saw an iPad. This became obvious as he tried in vain to find the map app. I pulled over and he and my mom and I had a good laugh, as he bemoaned the lack of a ‘good old paper map.’ The morning birdsong pulled me out of my dream into the dawn and I awoke with the smile from our chuckle still on my face. Then that light melancholy perched on my shoulder as I swam into consciousness remembering that today, like all days in the past several years, I cannot be with them. Just in my dreams. That shall have to be enough. I eagerly await the next time they accompany me in my sleep.
Another Mother’s Day has passed. Being a mother I find the holiday a bit overdone and commercialized. Yet I relish celebrating the fact that being a mama is the most fully fantastic aspect of my life. Truly. I live my life with every intention of being a conscious and good person. No where is that more challenging than in the realm of mothering. When my children were little, sheer exhaustion made being present and aware often second to just getting through the day with them fed and bathed without a meltdown – theirs or mine. Now, the challenge with young adult children is to let them forge their own paths with simple support and a minimum of interference. I have never been able to control them, babies or adults, I can only hope for appropriate modeling or a modicum of influence. Things shift with older children–mine are 31, 28 and 24–and it is in ways that, for me, have been about reaping the rewards of those years invested when they were wee ones. It is a source of wonder to me that all three are sensitive, smart, caring, loving individuals with contributions they share willingly with the world. Just as they openly and sweetly share their love and affection with me. I’ve said it before and I shall say it again—my children are the best part of me.
My world today is plentiful, peaceful and perfect. This amazing fact made me thoughtful of the millions of people whose day today is anything but plentiful, peaceful or perfect.
Once my mind wandered in this direction, I found myself focusing on mothers around the world caught in the brutal reality of war. Mothers who want nothing more for their families than shelter from the shocking atrocities taking place all around them. Who want their children to be in the state of innocence that ought to be every child’s right. Mothers who want enough food for their children’s bellies to be full before sleep at night. Mothers who should be able to visualize a future for their children that is worthy of them. Mothers who are valiantly attempting to be everything for these children while their fathers are fighting for them. Or fathers and uncles who have died in this quest. Mothers sending their sons off to the insanity of war. Mothers who are fleeing their homes and violence I can barely imagine in order to find some semblance of safety.
To these mamas I send all my prayers for peace. Peace for them in their daily lives. Lives that should be so much more simple and full than they currently are. At the same time, I bow my own head in sheer gratitude for the kind of day I am having.
Just what is it about a rainy day? Especially after weeks of bountiful beautiful sun. We pull in. We become more still. Introspective. On the farm, there is little we can accomplish outside. So the house becomes my world. My home. My cozy home. Soup seems so right. Reading under a soft blanket is just the ticket. Tea tastes better than ever. The sound of the rain is soporific, soothing. Looking out the windows of my world for the day, the green is vibrant. The gardens seem to be drinking in the water like they only do with gentle rains. The sound track of the day is both the earth and me sighing.
I’ve been reading a book by Michael Ableman entitled Field of Plenty: A Farmer’s Journey to the Frontiers of American Agriculture. It is a fine read by a man who has devoted his life to small farms in our country. I’m enticed to read page after page of his prose—his stories of farms that have survived the storms of development and corporatization of food supplies. He strives to demonstrate by these stories that “farming is not just some lowly form of drudgery, but that it is an art and craft and an honorable profession. . .that good food is more than just about the confluence of technique and fertile soil, that it is the result of men and women who love their land, and who bring great passion to working with it.” This is the new agrarian movement he sees sweeping the country. How I wish more of this movement would find a foothold on the beautiful agriculture lands here on Kauai. Sigh. Seems like a wish that is just a whisper on the trade winds, lost in the shortsightedness that is so-called progress here.
SPANISH CHARD SQUARES
vegetable oil to coat baking pan
one package of spanish rice
one bunch of swiss chard
two beaten eggs
one cup shredded monterey jack cheese
one cup shredded cheddar cheese
freshly ground pepper
Preheat oven to 375 and oil 8 inch square baking pan. Cook rice according to directions. Steam chard until soft and drain well. Chop chard well and put into bowl. Add the eggs, cheeses, cooked rice and pepper. Mix thoroughly. Put mixture into baking pan and spread evenly. Bake until firm, about 20 minutes. Remove and cool for another 20 minutes. Cut into 16 squares and serve with salsa for dipping.
Say Good-bye to Packaged Foods
My recent goal has been to say good-bye to packaged foods. For two simple reasons.
I live on an island. The recycling program is abysmal. I actually have nine bins for recycling. Nine. Glass. Glass refundable. Plastic refundable. Plastic #1 and 2 only. Aluminum cans refundable. Tin cans. Newspaper. Scrap paper. Cardboard. All to be resorted almost daily, because such an inane system is hard for our guests in our farm stay cottages to comprehend. And all to be taken to the transfer station weekly. And then who knows where exactly it all goes from there. I would like to believe it really gets repurposed, but remain somewhat skeptical. So, what is left goes into the landfill. A landfill which is dangerously overfull, while the County endlessly debates where to put the next one. Even after recycling, there is at least a garbage can a week that goes out to the curb to get taken to that bulging landfill. So, the actual packaging of packaged food is an important issue for me.
I want to live a long and healthy life. In order to help that goal along, I am a compulsive label reader. The labels on most of the packaged foods are downright scary. I cannot even pronounce much of it, must less comprehend what chemicals are in it attempting to masquerade as food. Buying less processed foods is healthier and surely more delicious.
I simply cannot agree with the argument that these foods are easier and faster to prepare. What could be so difficult about having some brown rice cooking while you sauté some cut up chicken and add some vegetables? Or remembering to soak some black beans the evening before and adding vegetables, some chicken broth for a divine soup? I just don’t get it. Making your own broth to add is also easy. You have bought and roasted the chicken–simple enough. Just put the carcass into water the next day and cook low and slow for several hours. These seem to me to be enjoyable and rewarding efforts.
Buying in bulk has become a more attainable goal. Even our local supermarket has a bulk section. Besides, those jars lined up on the pantry shelf with rice, oats, nuts. beans, granola and the like in them are so aesthetically pleasing to my eye. So much more so than the garish packages. Vegetables and fruits have no packaging! And we should be eating more of those. And, while I am on that, don’t bother with those plastic bags for those. Just take your cloth shopping bag into the store and put all fruit and vegetables into that. I just line my produce drawer in the fridge with a kitchen towel and the fresh foods go right in there sans plastic bags.
We cannot heal all the woes of the world. But, there are some simple ones we surely can have control over. And what comes into our homes and is consumed by us is one of them. Next time you go to the market, stop and think. This time make just one choice differently of something not packaged. Next time two. And, before you know it, you will have significantly reduced the packaging that comes in and out of your home.
Is it really possible that just a few days ago I turned 65??!! The sheer volume of the number boggles my mind. Remembering how ancient that seemed just a flash ago make me realize just how those years have whizzed by. In a blink.
Wasn’t I just this carefree career gal flying off to ski holidays in Europe?
Wasn’t I just this young mama with a miracle in my arms?
I was all of those. Still am — somewhere inside. All have shaped me into the woman I am today. Life has been kind to me. My experiences have been mostly gentle, even those that weren’t.
Happy Birthday to me. May I be the wise old crone writing years from now —- didn’t I used to be that 65 year old with so much energy to give and so much love surrounding me??!!