Zen Life Kit

There’s a lot of talk about Zen these days, but not much understanding about what it is, or how to be Zen. This kit will introduce you to Zen and how you can awaken to it in your life. The kit contains:

• $50 gift card to East-West Bookstore in Mountain View, CA
• Two books, signed by author Karen Maezen Miller

  Karen Maezen Miller calls herself an errant wife, delinquent mother, reluctant dog walker, expert laundress and stationmaster of the full catastrophe. In real life, she is a Zen Buddhist priest at the Hazy Moon Zen Center in Los Angeles. She and her family live in Sierra Madre, California, with a century-old Japanese garden in their backyard.

  Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood
  

  Combining humor, honesty, and plainspoken advice, Momma Zen distills the doubts and frustrations of parenting into vignettes of Zen wisdom. Drawing on her experience as a first-time mother, and on her years of Zen meditation and study, Miller explores how the daily challenges of parenthood can become the most profound spiritual journey of our lives. This compelling and wise memoir follows the timeline of early motherhood from pregnancy through toddlerhood. Momma Zen takes readers on a transformative journey, charting a mother’s growth beyond naive expectations and disorientation to finding fulfillment in ordinary tasks, developing greater self-awareness and acceptance—to the gradual discovery of “maternal bliss,” a state of abiding happiness and ease that is available to us all. In her gentle and reassuring voice, Karen Miller convinces us that ancient and authentic spiritual lessons can be as familiar as a lullaby, as ordinary as pureed peas, and as frequent as a sleepless night. She offers encouragement for the hard days, consolation for the long haul, and the lightheartedness every new mom needs to face the crooked path of motherhood straight on.

  –Amazon description

  Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life
  

  It’s easy to think that meaning, fulfillment, and bliss are “out there,” somewhere outside of our daily routine. But in this playful yet profound reflection on awareness, the compelling voice of a contemporary woman reveals the happiness at the bottom of the laundry basket, the love in the kitchen sink, and the peace possible in one’s own backyard. Follow Karen Maezen Miller through youthful ambition and self-absorption, beyond a broken marriage, and into the steady calm of a so-called ordinary life. In her hands, household chores and caregiving tasks become opportunities for self-examination, lessons in relationship, and liberating moments of selflessness. With attention, it’s the little things — even the unexpected, unpleasant, and unwanted things — that count.

  –Amazon description

• A handmade bookmark
• A small statue of goddess Quan Yin, one of the most universally beloved of deities in the Buddhist tradition. She is the embodiment of compassionate loving kindness.
• A Jacob’s Musical Car Charms to soothe and relax as you navigate the busy highways of life. Chime maker Jacob Sokoloff hand tunes these car chimes to produce a musical sound guaranteed to make you smile.
• A box of Morningstar Incense

Donated by the Harper Family
Value $100

Yet I struggle. When I think back over my childhood and school experiences, I don’t wax nostalgic. The first memories that come to mind are not happy ones. In a perfect storm combining my personality, family milieu, and the outside world, I entered kindergarten absolutely not ready for school or the world.

I was a timid, docile child, perceptive and agonizingly sensitive. I had older sisters who were in school full-time when I was pre-school age, so I had no experience playing with peers and navigating the conflict that arises from this. My first day of kindergarten I was so scared I refused to eat snack and cried. Throughout elementary school I seemed to attract unkind treatment. By the time I entered middle school, my way of dealing with peers was to bury my nose in a book and remain detached. I didn’t socialize much with people in or out of school. My self-confidence measured near zero.

One evening I talked with Hub about a school memory that still causes tears (and if I get started, I recall others that do too). My husband asked, “What would you have wished for?” The six-year-old me had a ready answer: to feel safe.

I have since written in a private post at least 20 events at or near school through my youth that generated a lot of pain then and have the power to still. Now, I know that many people experienced bullying or hurtful incidents in school. My husband has even described memories. However, he (and others) don’t carry the pain as I do, and don’t project it all onto their child’s life. Re-reading my list, I have to remind myself that these incidents occurred over thousands of days of school. I’m certain that many of those days were at least neutral, and just as many were happy days, or contained happy moments. My life wasn’t a torment every single day. My list of injuries strikes me as banal.

So what the hell is the problem?

The pain is not something I nurture; I don’t ruminate anymore over my past injuries. It comes unbidden, rising and engulfing me like a rapid tide whenever I observe my child encountering difficulty (e.g., rejection — whether perceived by her or real). I am transported instantly to childhood and respond accordingly, but this is overlaid with the protectiveness of a mother, and so all my energy goes awry. I personalize Claire’s experiences as my own. It interferes with my ability to be present for her.

Part of this pain is just a parent’s burden. We worry about our children. We ache for them. We want to protect them. Yet I feel that somehow I respond internally in a way that many (most?) other parents don’t. I feel raw and unable to maintain composure. Claire detects and absorbs my anxiety.

Observing Claire deal with her hurt feelings brings a mixture of pain on her behalf, irritation that she’s not tougher, and fear for her well-being in the world. I cannot control what she encounters out there when she starts school full-time this fall. However, I can provide a loving, peaceful, supportive home environment; home can be safe haven. But only if I manage to separate my angst-ridden ego from its Herculean attachment to my past.

So here is my question (italicized below), arising from a Mary Oliver poem, “Wild Geese”:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Tell me your despair. Tell me your childhood school memories. Are they happy or harsh, or a mix? Tell me if they still rule you, and if not, how did you win freedom?

The child is made of one hundred.

The child has a hundred languages,
a hundred hands,
a hundred thoughts,
a hundred ways of thinking, of playing, of speaking.

A hundred, always a hundred,
ways of listening,
of marveling,
of loving,
a hundred joys for singing and understanding,
a hundred worlds to discover,
a hundred worlds to invent,
a hundred worlds to dream.
The child has a hundred languages (and a hundred hundred hundred more),
but they steal ninety nine.
The school and the culture separate the head from the body.
They tell the child:
to think without hands,
do without heads,
to listen and not to speak,
to understand without joy,
to love and to marvel… only at Easter and Christmas.
They tell the child:
to discover the world already there and of the hundred they steal ninety nine.
They tell the child:
that work and play,
reality and fantasy,
science and imagination,
sky and earth,
reason and dream,
are things that do not belong together.
And thus they tell the child that the hundred is not there.
The child says no way. The hundred is there.

–Loris Malaguzzi, Italian Early Childhood Education Specialist, 1994

Yesterday we went for a hike at Uvas Canyon County Park. Her empathy is blooming, and it’s heartwarming to observe. We saw a sign pointing out poison sumac, and as we walked away Claire blew it a kiss. I asked her why, and she said she was going to blow kisses to all poisonous trees to be friendly. And later we saw a sign explaining that rattlesnakes live in the area, that they are an important part of the community, and to be cautious. Claire thought the drawing of the snake looked sad, and she wanted him not to be lonely. Nevertheless, I assured her, the snake likes to have alone time, and we need to respect the woods by not wandering off the path or putting our hands into places we can’t see into.

When we started our hike, first we explored the bark of a madrone tree:

We passed a tree with an interesting sign. We were unable to see the bees, but we saw a spot on the trunk high up where a large limb had broken and left a big gap, and we guessed the bees might be there.

Daddy pointed out the roots on this tree. How often to you get to see what a tree looks like underground? Claire found the roots a little scary and also said they look like a maze.

The stream burbled as we walked, and we enjoyed the variation of rock. The water flowing over the black rock was eyecatching.

The trail was uphill, and Claire was getting hungry and tired. We stopped often. Our explorer made herself at home in the dirt. She found acorn caps, a feather, and interesting leaves. She took a dirt bath — handfuls of dirt thrown up in the air over herself!

When she wasn’t taking a rest, she was doing this!

The watched the dance of sun and shade.

We looked closely at how nature had arranged her designs.

We noticed how the sky was reflected by the water, and how leaves made a dent on the surface.

It was idyllic to sit on the bank and listen. I accidentally dislodged a moderately sized rock. At first I tried to place it back. It had been sitting there for many years, I’m sure. I pondered how all the rocks had probably been where they were for hundreds of years or more. If I threw the rock into the stream, I would change the way things had been for centuries. Do you ever ponder that when you’re in nature? I decided to plunk the rock into the water, where it will likely stay for another era.

Not all rocks were arranged by happenstance. To support the trail, park employees long ago built a wall. What captured our attention is how thoroughly moss had made a home of it.

We reached Upper Falls, but Claire for some reason was scared. There was a small ledge and wood fence, and perhaps this made her nervous.

So we continued up to Basin Falls. It was possible to climb up close to the basin, although Claire decided to wash rocks instead.

They needed a thorough scrubbing!

We looked closely at the water, and how droplets made rings. The stream was clear as glass.

We spent many, many minutes at the edge. She threw small stones, leaves, and dust into the water. She tried to hit a larger rock with a small one and cheered when she succeeded!

On the last leg of our hike, Claire wanted to really get into her exploration. Since I carry spare shoes, undies, and leggings in the car, this was not a problem. She pretended she was a gazelle at the water’s edge.

It was a beautiful day; being in nature made us all mellow and happy. We drove on to see Uvas Reservoir.

The county allows fishing (catch and release), and Claire wants to learn. So do I! I never did try it out as a kid. We made reservations to camp at Uvas Canyon later in the fall, our first camping excursion. Now we just need to gather our supplies. We’re all very excited about this! It’s such a blessing to live this close to wild spaces.

You make me sneeze
because I’m allergic to you
the library’s a mess
I’m the best of the rest

Oh me-oh my-oh
You get the funnest job to do
Abe Lincoln brushed his teeth
But now he’s got ahold of you

You need a lot of things to do
You can do all the best things
But now you know what
Edwin knows the caden(?)

Now a ball a bust
Now it’s time to go read
Now you know what
I am not so sleepy
But now you gotta but

Now listen to me
Now the world be gone
Run run run run
Not so tired at all

We all ate the pizza
we wish we are ballerina
And now you got to be quiet
Because of the oldest day

You kept a lot of things
I wish I could do that
Now I really moan
Now I can’t really do that

I painted on the wall
Wubba wubba wub-ba
Now it’s time to take your bath
Now a time out floor
I was thinking of my dinner
Now it’s time for more

Now there’s only a few things
Just until your more
These are my books
These are my books

Here is Claire playing:

This is a close-up of her hand (to show scale) setting the table:

And a close-up of the teeny tiny cups:

Another party from this morning (notice the buttons — they make handy plates):

The other day, Claire created an ocean with a blue scarf and proceeded to have a huge party on the beach next to it. Then baby got in the water and floated away, and then there was a shark attack! She needed saving, so everyone came to her aid:

She also has numerous (100+) plastic animals she plays with. Today the barn became a home for the tigers and a lion, plus a cat or two. The hand-knit hat that my Gramma Leola knit for me as a child was their bed, and the mittens were sleeping bags for other friends:

One little tiger wandered out and got lost:

And when Claire is not busy playing with teeny tiny toys, she practices her back float…

…and spends time reading (mostly looking at pictures and telling herself the story):

…and jumping into the instructor’s arms.

We’ve also been playing with our food:

One day Claire asked for a knife and began slicing up pepper slices I’d given her. Once she cut them all, she ate them. Never before had she asked to do this, and she demonstrated real dexterity at cutting. That brain of hers is always growing!

Yesterday we took a day trip to Mount Madonna County Park. It’s a gorgeous park, and they also have campgrounds, which we may reserve for later. Here’s the scenic view of the valley:

And up-close views of beautiful mosses and lichen:

We saw California banana slugs:

And a Santa Cruz Gartersnake basking in a spot of sun:

The redwoods are amazing:

These were the Twin Giants:

We had fun hiking the trails:

We visited the Henry Miller Summer Home ruins, and Claire hopped around:

A view from within the former house:

Claire had many questions about the former house and why no one took care of it anymore:

We walked and walked, and later she had a nap on the way home:

We’ve played with paint and paper plates:

And we’ve started collecting our spare change in a jar which we decorated. We’ll empty it periodically and use it to donate to the food bank, or the Family Giving Tree, or some other worthy organization.

And so our summer continues!

A white rabbit is pulled out of a top hat. Because it is an extremely large rabbit, the trick takes many billions of years. All mortals are born at the very tip of the rabbit’s fine hairs, where they are in a position to wonder at the impossibility of the trick. But as they grow older they work themselves ever deeper into the fur. And there they stay. They become so comfortable they never risk crawling back up the fragile hairs again. Only philosophers embark on this perilous expedition to the outermost reaches of language and existence. Some of them fall off, but others cling on desperately and yell at the people nestling deep in the snug softness, stuffing themselves with delicious food and drink.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” they yell, “we are floating in space!” But none of the people down there care.

“What a bunch of troublemakers!” they say. And they keep on chatting: Would you pass the butter, please? How much have our stocks risen today? What is the price of tomatoes?

-Jostein Gaarder, Sophie’s World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy

At preschool, Claire had a tendency to hurtle into tears if a small thing didn’t go her way, or if she perceived some other child’s behavior as a slight. My response typically had been to croon, hug, and comfort. For instance, one day she brought a stuffed animal with her. In circle time we sing hello to everybody. When we sang hello to her and went on to the next child, she wanted us to sing hello to her animal. When we didn’t, she was more than crestfallen; she was crushed. She burst into sobs, got up, and came running to me.

Claire worried a lot about the other kids not liking her. She thought they might laugh at or make fun of her. (At this age, the kids are only just starting to play together, and she was worried about that?) She was moody. She wanted to control and direct the story of all the pretend play with other kids (and Mommy and Daddy). On the days I was working at the school, she wanted all of my attention. Especially when it came time for me to be in parent discussion.

I began to feel less like a mother and more like her pawn. The neediness in her was insatiable, and her behavior more like a tyrant. I talked with her teacher about it, and she suggested I back off a little. As an example, she talked about the day we didn’t sing hello to her animal. The teacher said, “Your response was to cuddle and reinforce the sadness. But another way to respond is to say, ‘That’s just not what we do here! We sing hello to the students, not all their toys!’ And to help her to lighten up and see it isn’t a big deal.”

And that’s when I realized something. I was teetering on the brink of overcompensating for my own childhood. Not every occasion of disappointment requires deep empathy. Part of my duty as a mother is to prepare Claire to ride with changes, to be flexible. I also had not realized how frightening it must be for Claire to have as much power over me as she did. When she was a baby, she needed all of me, and I gave it. What she needs now, as she moves into the world, is to need less of me. So I began to set more boundaries on what she could have of me. One day she forgot a toy in the car that she wanted for show and tell; it had been her task to remember. When I would not take her back to the car to retrieve it — since we’d gotten to class — Claire gave a world-class demonstration of temper. But I held firm, and she survived and learned a lesson about responsibility.

I continued to heed the teacher’s words that “what you pay attention to grows” and gave more attention to joy than sorrow. Remarkably, within a couple of weeks I, the teacher, and other parents noticed a significant change. Claire began to play with the kids more and less by herself. She participated more in circle time, singing and dancing. She didn’t intrude on me during discussion and instead after snack said, “Bye Mom!” and went outside to play for the last hour. She didn’t attempt to check on me, to get my attention or tell me “something important.”

To sleep, perchance…

When Claire turned three she attempted to stop napping. Her doctor expressed concern about this, because, she said, three-year-olds still really do need a nap. It was true. Claire only slept 9-10 hours at night, and I could see she benefitted from her naps. After a week of refusing to nap, Claire was falling over with exhaustion and emotionally explosive. She also got really sick with a high fever the day before we took a big trip.

Doctor suggested I offer incentives, e.g., “If you nap, you can watch a show after.” (Or whatever special treat might work for Claire.) The bribe of extra t.v. worked until it didn’t — about one week. I tried quiet time, during which she wouldn’t fall asleep but would rock and listen to music for an hour, but this still didn’t provide her the rest she needed. So I returned to the way we handled naps for the first seven months of her life. I rocked her, sang to her, and held her for the duration of the nap, dozing with her.

This worked well. We had preschool two afternoons a week and it was clear those took a toll, but over the school year her stamina increased. And with the steady increase of stamina came the resistance to nap again. I was able to override her refusal most of the time, sometimes by cajoling, other times by threatening (I’ll leave the room and close the door).

When I went away for my getaway weekend, Claire didn’t nap, of course. And when I returned, I allowed this to remain. She is adjusting. She is slightly more tired during the day than she used to be, but it seems a steady state. Her night sleep has increased somewhat, and the quiet hour rejuvenates us both. Best of all, a new world is opening up, the one where we can be unconcerned about “getting home in time” for the nap window. And rather than a two-hour semi-nap sitting up with a crick in my neck, I get one blessed hour to meditate and read while she rocks and listens to music.

So skinny she hula hoops with a cheerio

In April we took our cat to the vet for a blood test, and Claire happened to step on the huge dog scale for fun. The scale read her weight as 28 pounds. I was shocked. It couldn’t be right! She weighed 29 pounds at her annual visit last September!

I’d always fretted about Claire’s nutrition and eating habits. Except for bologna and hot dogs, she eschewed meat. She refuses all forms of milk: cow, soy, almond, flavored, regular, etc. She doesn’t eat much yogurt or cheese. She eats veggies, but only mostly raw. She eats fruit, but only a certain few. Meals involved me asking her what she wanted to eat and trying to please her. Dinners meant cooking something I knew she’d eat, but her whims changed. For awhile I even fed her separately.

Yet here she was weighing less. So we went to her doctor. I learned she had grown taller — 2.5 inches since last September, and since she hadn’t been gaining her growth curve was a little skewed. Her BMI is 13 (what I wouldn’t give for that). Overall, the doctor wasn’t worried because growth occurred. She suggested I take the PAMF Feeding Your Preschooler class for ideas I might use. I came away with a huge list of food Claire does eat and saw that for the most part she is eating well. I learned that my concept of portion sizes for kids was distorted. I learned that we’d be better served if I quit offering her snacks (even salad veggies) to eat while she watched PBS before dinner.

So I relaxed. We have all meals and snacks at table now. I established a firmer schedule and held to it; if she doesn’t eat snack when it’s snack time and decides she’s hungry before lunch/dinner, she just has to wait. I decide what to offer and she either eats or not. I sit with her for all meals (it’s no fun to eat by yourself). I’ve cooked more foods I like despite knowing she won’t probably eat them. Every meal now has bread on the table along with salad, so she’ll get something in her. And guess what has happened? Claire is trying more foods! She has decided she likes pepperoni pizza (previously only cheese would do), cherries, and breakfast sausage.

This combination of releasing the worry and desire to control and establishing parent-driven meal times and menus has freed us. I do my job: offer healthy foods at appropriate times. She does her job deciding whether and what to eat. Talk at mealtimes now focuses on topics other than food, and “encouragement” to eat more. I don’t think she’s gained weight so far, but I see now that I can relax and accept my little petite “Eclaire” and enjoy her. We enjoy each other and our meals more now.

The last step of toddlerhood

I want to keep potty-training stories to a minimum in consideration of Claire’s privacy. Suffice it to say that she’s been ready and resistant for some time, but in part her resistance reflected my own. There have been attempts to use the potty since she was two, but I didn’t push because I feared a power struggle. But last week Claire declared she wanted to wear panties (for the second month in a row, the first being April but she quit after a weekend). And I said okay, and that it meant the changing pad, diaper pail, and all Pull-ups were going away forever. (She hugged her changing pad good-bye.)

The first few days were rocky, and I despaired. But we have persisted, and I’ve devised a way to encourage and reward her daily for her effort and increasing competence. She knows she will be enrolled in swimming lessons now, and that after our trip east she’ll get a “princess bike” she yearns for. For shorter-term rewards, she’s getting smaller things. She wanted pink “tap shoes” (Mary Janes), and so this was her gift for completing one week of using the potty. She also lately pines for “princess bubble bath” and, of all things, an American flag, so her gift for the end of the second week will likely be those. They are small, tangible reinforcements of her success. Not too far in the future I see the sticker chart, small candies, and weekly prizes will fade as this function just becomes a routine in her life.

Momma is all grown up! At least for now, for this age and stage and minute. And Claire? Well, she jumps for joy!

In 2006, out of nowhere (and everywhere) a woman contacted me after reading my blog. She had read about my attempts to get pregnant, the miscarriages, the misgivings. She had recently published a book and asked if I would be interested in a complimentary copy. I said yes, although I couldn’t bring myself to read it for quite awhile. Once I was pregnant with Claire, I did read it, devoured it with gratitude and gusto, and I repeatedly returned to that book for comfort and wisdom.

That woman’s name is Karen Maezen Miller. She is a Zen Buddhist priest, a wife, and a mother. I credit her with helping me remain sane and growing into motherhood. After Claire was born and began to exhibit colic, I was panicked and beside myself with agony. Claire wasn’t sleeping. Hub was doing his best but he wasn’t sleeping either. I was terrified I’d do something wrong. Many emails sailed between us — me writing laments, she responding with love. And even though we’d never met, Maezen offered a gift: to come up one weekend and help out with Claire so Hub and I could rest. We talked on the phone to discuss it, and it turned out that this was enough at the time; just knowing the offer was sincere and standing and hearing her voice in the wilderness helped.

I’d seen Maezen subsequently three times; in 2008 she and her daughter visited me and Claire briefly just before Claire’s first birthday; in 2009 at the Mother’s Symposium and 2010 at a one-day retreat. I read her second book. I pondered her thoughts about the importance of having a teacher. And finally, last weekend, I had my first weekend ever away from home and Claire. I drove to Sierra Madre to spend the weekend with Maezen and her family; I also attended a beginner’s meditation class and a dharma talk at Hazy Moon Zen Center. And there it dawned on me that I already have a teacher — Maezen! — and that without realizing it I’d become a student.

It is time to commit. It is time to practice. So I’d like to introduce my new best friend, the “cushion of kindness,” as Maezen calls it. The technical name is zafu. And when I sit on my zafu, this is called zazen. This is where the revolution takes place. Facing a blank wall, alone, silent, counting my breaths, and being awake.

I am not yet in a position of making a formal commitment. That will come when it comes. It is not lost on me that one of my favorite quotes, which I encountered in 1998, is by Hui-Neng, a Zen monastic from the 7th/8th century. “The secret is within your self.” It’s been there all along, waiting for me to look, and see.

The other watershed quote that inspired me to move from Syracuse to Austin in the early 90s was by Sir Edmund Hilary, organizer of a Mount Everest Expedition, and it too rings familiarly as I observe what is changing. The snippet that motivated me I have italicized, but the entire quote is priceless.

“Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his/her way. I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets: What ever you can do, or dream you can; begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

My next trip to Sierra Madre will probably be later in the summer or fall, when they offer a three-day retreat at the center. So, hello world! My name is Kathryn and I am, at last, “abuddha” (awake).

Green For Life, by Victoria Boutenko: This book explains nutrition in a very accessible manner, providing scientific data and references to studies to support its claims. I am skeptical of a few claims (such as gray hair returning to its natural color after adding green smoothies to one’s diet), but the majority of information makes practical sense and is upheld by general standards of nutrition. The book is concise and printed on high-quality paper.

Green Smoothie Revolution: The Radical Leap Towards Natural Health, by Victoria Boutenko: This second book by Boutenko provides the core information on the benefit of green smoothies. The majority of the book contains recipes (i.e., inspiration for mixing) of smoothies. (It’s also concise and printed on high quality paper, meaning it will hold up over long-term use and doesn’t take up much kitchen shelf space.) In both books, I like the author’s voice. She writes in a way that is educated yet understated.

The Green Smoothie Diet: The Natural Program for Extraordinary Health: I returned this one to the bookstore. It’s a regurgitation of Boutenko’s general ideas (even the title) but without any references to scientific or medical studies. It read an awful lot like a sales pitch for Blendtec, and rather than a bibliography of resources at the end it contained pages and pages of testimonials. While they make for entertaining reading, they are anecdotal, and I’m not going to base my nutrition decisions on the hallelujahs of strangers. The paper was also cheap, the kind that will yellow and grow brittle in a couple of years.

Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker, by Robin Robertson: while I browsed the shelves, struggling to decide whether to purchase Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian (an enormous book and pricey), I came across this one. I use my slow cooker quite a bit. I was pleased to see a book chock full of delicious dishes to make. They can be adapted for vegans as well, although I’m unlikely to ever take that route.

Vegan Unplugged: A Pantry Cuisine Cookbook and Survival Guide, by Jon Robertson: While I just wrote that I won’t become vegan, what intrigued me about this book was its niche — a book specifically written with the question of how to survive if the power goes out for a long time. The book explains how to create a pantry full of goods for the recipes it provides. There are about 17 recipes requiring no cooking at all. Different methods of creating heat (wood, gas stove, sterno) are discussed. There’s also a five-day meal plan for vegans who might drive somewhere; they can bring their own food to the in-law’s (for camping this is good as well). (I once dated a vegan and we had the hardest time finding places he could and would eat.) Most of the recipes sound delicious and are ones I’d make anyhow.

The other day I roasted a whole chicken. I noticed something in my reaction while preparing and later eating it. As I took it out of the wrapper, for the first time it felt a little weird to be handling flesh. Not quite obscene, but a little foreign. Claire asked what it was, and I said it was a chicken. She pointed to the wings and inquired of them; after I answered she laughed and said, “Food with wings! That’s silly!” (Claire is almost vegetarian; the only meat she eats are kosher hot dogs from Trader Joe’s, Oscar Meyer baloney, my pulled pork, the rare fish stick, and an occasional strip of bacon. She refuses milk still but will once in awhile eat cheese or yogurt.)

Anyhow, once the chicken was roasted I was ravenous to eat it. What I wanted and enjoyed the most was the crispy seasoned skin. I ate the meat and it was tasty, but I was satisfied with one portion. The next day I used the meat to add to dinner salads, and while it tasted all right it seemed superfluous. I ate a chicken sandwich today, and again it was all right, but not the tasty concoction I used to salivate over. Now I’m cooking the carcass for soup, but it smells odd to me in the house. It smells like… flesh cooking. It smells slightly revolting. Hmmm.

I wonder what’s up?

There are other, less toxic avenues I started down. One is to consume green smoothies. I’ve not done much research for scientific findings of the health benefits of green smoothies (particularly regarding cancer prevention), but from so many books I’ve read (Michael Pollan, Mark Bitman, etc.), an increase in consumption of these foods can only promote health.

I don’t have the high-tech blender suggested for this (they are pricey at $400, though I’m told worth it). If I stay the course, maybe I’ll get one. Depends on how many blenders I burn out. The cool thing is that so far the smoothies I make taste good. I’m told some of the greens I might end up using make for a less sweet concoction. But thus far this is the recipe I’m using: two generous handfuls of spinach; 1 small banana; 1 pear; 1 cup grapes. (Or I could go with more pears, no grapes, etc.). About a tablespoon of grade B maple syrup, and 1.5 cups of water. I blend the hell out of it for two minutes.

Voila! A truly tasty beverage (even comes in my favorite color!).

“If a child is to keep his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in.”

–Rachel Carson

Also, more egg:

So I’ve been planting plants, bulbs, and seeds with Claire. We’ve planted rosemary, basil, oregano, and thyme, as well as lavender and jasmine. I’ve also planted Lily of the Valley bulbs, Asiatic Lily bulbs, and a Bleeding Heart bulb. As for seeds, Claire and I sowed plenty: pansies, poppies, zinnias, daisies, and sunflowers, as well as some wildflower mix. We’ll see how well this all grows.

The challenge comes when I surf the internet researching plants and garden planning. There are so, so many sites with lovely plants for sale. I want them all, even though I haven’t the space for them. I also want trellises, a raised bed for vegetables, and on and on.

I must remember this is all a process done in stages. We have various spots of our land than need different major bits of work. We also plan to re-do the back patio and put up a shade awning, and before I start planting around those spaces I need to leave room for the mess and see how the awning affects light near the house. The front of the house also has a couple spots needing major attention, as well as the west side of the house, which is compacted soil and rock from where it used to store the previous owner’s trailer. All in good time. We replaced the fence on the west side; it looks nice, and we had a four-foot gate installed as well, which is a boon for lugging supplies to and fro.

It was so wonderful to spend the weekend outside doing all this. Claire loves it too. My dream of giving her a place to dig in the dirt came true. She also met some snails, which she is not shy about carrying around and playing with. Unfortunately one met its demise at her hands. While she played with it (“he” was her pet), the shell cracked. So she tried to help it move into a new shell (we have a basket of small seashells outside). I explained to her this wasn’t like a hermit crab; he couldn’t just move out and in. But — while I didn’t witness this — I think she tried to help it move into a small seashell, and in the process it got squished. I heard her lament that her friend “went away.” She was sad, but not for long. Our garden does not lack for those creatures.

Since we spent most of the weekend outside, the poor house needs attention. Now I want a magic broom to sweep, and a magic vacuum, and dishwasher fairies. Or at the least a maid service! But alas, I’ll need to take up these tasks myself. I will do so, gratefully.