Here’s a recipe for chili that I serve with rice.

Chili with Beans
2 lbs. ground beef (not lean)
2 medium onions, chopped
6 cloves of garlic, minced
1 15 oz. can of pinto beans
1 4 oz. can chopped green chilis
1 4 oz. can chopped hot jalapeno pepper
1 cup tomato juice (V8 or water will do)
3 oz tomato paste
3 tsp. cumin
2 tsp. basil
3 tsp. or more chili powder
1.5 tsp. salt
black pepper to taste
cayenne pepper to taste
Tabasco sauce to taste

Brown ground beef and remove from pan; saute onion and half the garlic in drippings until translucent. Return beef to pan. Add the beans, chili & jalapeno pepper, juice, tomato paste, and spices. Stir together, cover, and simmer on low heat for up to 2 hours. Add the rest of the garlic in the last half hour. Serve over rice. Serves 12.

My mother would also add 1 chopped green pepper and .5 cup diced celery. That’s good too (my husband prefers it without).

Yes, I know it’s not December 1 yet. But I wanted to get into the spirit of the season so as to enjoy it fully. Below is the collection of nativity scenes I’ve had for years. On the far left is a plastic toy version that I received, I think, from my Great Aunt Jess. At least, that’s the story I remember but I don’t recall more context. I was eight; I drew inside the box they’re stored in — a fence, a star — to create the stable. The middle manger was originally my maternal grandfather’s; I think the essential pieces were once what my family used, and the tiny sheep and two shepherds were gifts to me when I was very young. On the right are some handmade nativities my mother collected and gave to me sometime in adulthood.

This next view is from my couch. On the right next to the candles are more ornaments my mother had for years. (Actually the candleholders were hers too — black iron leaves with red berries.) One of them, a cast iron wheelbarrow with tiny ball ornaments inside, used to be displayed on a marble-top table in my childhood living room. And the small tree my mother gave me in 1990 or so; it was the only tree I used for many years. Each year she gives me one or two tiny ornaments for it. Below our stockings hang by the chimney (sort of) with care. Mine is on the right; my mother made it. (Do you have any idea where I inherited my love of Christmas?) My husband’s stocking was knitted by his grandmother. Behind his is a guest stocking and one for the cats.

And lastly, this is what I see straight ahead from the couch. Because of allergies, we are faux tree folk. Christmas trees are my favorite part of Christmas. I don’t know how that happened; I guess as I left the religion of my youth and outgrew Santa, the tree remained. Many of the ornaments were gifts. The star at the top I made 22 years ago out of cardboard and foil, when I was too poor to afford a tree topper. It has never seemed important to replace it. And the snowflakes you see in the window? I cut those out of ordinary paper 22 years ago as well; in fact, I made 22 of them, and they hang in all the downstairs windows.

The kitchen holds fewer items… an advent wreath, the wooden plaques I made, and small glass ornaments hanging on the windows over the sink. I also have a wood ornament hanging by the sink, given by one of my sisters, that says, “Some of my best friends are flakes.” Heh. Oh, and there’s a small Advent calendar, again given to me by my mother. It’s old. You can tell because it tells the location of where it was printed: West Germany.

I decorated with lights in front outside, but it’s raining, and I take horrible pictures in the dark. I love how it looks when I return from a walk. The house is cozy, festive, and inviting.

We had a nontraditional Thanksgiving today. I felt much better; my stomach bug was brief, for which I’m grateful. In addition to making art and wrapping gifts, I made chocolate chip cookies. Dinner was chili with rice. I’ll make a traditional meal this weekend, when my husband feels better and can actually taste food again.

I’ve also made a decision to turn down the job offer from the company I worked for. Thanks to all who responded with comments and emails. The perspective helped. I am seriously interested in pursuing the non-profit opportunity, so I will develop that prospect. If that doesn’t come through, there will be other possibilities. I am at a point in my life where I prefer to work to live, rather than live to work. A job that would consume me to the point of excluding all else is a form of death. Is that dramatic, to put it that way? I don’t think so. Work is important; it has its place — among other important things, such as relationships, creativity, fun, relaxation.

While this has been a low-key holiday, it has still been good. I’m thankful we stayed home, actually. The traffic was horrible throughout the day; our jaunt to a park to hike would have taken more hours on the road than the hike itself. And I’m thankful for my peeps, my health, my needs being met and then some. I am grateful to be. I hope you are, too.

Ugh. Forget the turkey and cranberry sauce. The menu at Casa de Petro Harper features Nyquil and Immodium. My husband has had a nasty cold since Saturday. And I awoke today with a vicious headache which later morphed into intestinal chaos a la the Alien (or nearly). Fortunately the nasties didn’t hit until after I had my coffee brainstorming session. So with regard to AEM, I didn’t feel up to much in the creativity department. I’ve got a few coloring books that feature mandala designs and colored.

In any case, we’ll be laying low on Thanksgiving day. Eat some stuffing for us, will you?

This morning I had coffee with an acquaintance involved in a non-profit for which I volunteer. I have been passionate about this agency’s mission since discovering and joining them September 2004. I support them with my dollars as well as hours. I’ve admired her work style and enjoyed a growing friendship with her. It had been a few months since we’d visited. I called her Monday evening to set up a date, explaining that I was at a crossroads in my life and I wanted to get some inspiration and information from her. So today we tossed ideas around regarding my career, my dreams, and how I could gain experience if I wanted to learn about non-profit administration. Out of this a possibility arose.

The agency has some AmeriCorps positions they will be filling soon. She hadn’t thought I’d be interested because the stipend is low. But I am! I told her that I’d love to learn and gain more experience in project development, and that I’ve been curious about non-profit operations. So we chatted more about the job and details (time involvement, scope of duties). The job is 40 hours a week, and she said she wouldn’t want anyone working more than that, that the job can be done, and done well, within that schedule. The position also designates a certain percent of time for personal development, which means I would be sent to different trainings paid for by the agency. The scope of duties is broad, allowing us to tailor the position to my interests as they coincide with agency needs. Of the five positions, the one that most intrigues me would involve developing community projects in the south and east bay territories. This means I would make contacts with other non-profit agencies and community organizations, develop relationships with them and with volunteers, and learn other skills (such has how to write a grant). It’s all very juicy! And in addition to the stipend, there is a monetary reward at the end of service (which requires a minimum nine month commitment, which is quite reasonable). A nice chunk of money will be “forgiven” from my student loan balance.

They are interviewing in early December and the job would start in January. So there is keen mutual interest! I came home and bounced the prospect off my husband, who agrees that it sounds like a good opportunity. It’s not a certainty, of course. But it’s a viable, intriguing option that has enthused me!

Wow. Just, wow. I’m so glad I reached out to arrange a simple coffee date.

Well, the lab results are in, confirming what my body communicated to me all weekend. No more pregnancy.

At the same time, the company for which I worked last spring has an opportunity for a position that I am considering. I’m at the fork in the road, in the sense that if I took this job, it would demand my time and energy in a way that nothing else has. In other words, the job would be my first priority. I have no doubt I am capable. The question is, do I want it?

Do I want to give up my memoir writing group, my reguarly scheduled volunteer work, my time for art, my time for reading and blogging and seeing friends (not to mention my husband)? Do I want to live for the job, to be available for 7 a.m. meetings with principals or 7 p.m. meetings with parents, as well as during the school day and into the evenings and weekends? Do I want the responsibility for supervising 20 staff and 200 students over five school locations? Do I want the intensity of working for a startup company that has big plans and less than perfect implementation? Is it possible to do this and try again to get pregnant? Given my two pregnancy losses, if we are serious about trying to have a family, is this job a good idea? The stress level will be be higher than normal. Then again, should I shelve an opportunity because I want to get pregnant, when I may never succeed in having a child?

Or… do I want to find a part-time job or two, or look for less demanding but equally fulfilling full-time work, perhaps at a non-profit? Do I want to revisit the private coaching practice idea? You may notice that the right sidebar has changed a bit. I eliminated the links to psychology and mental health and replaced them with links that align with the theme of blog. My mission: express, discover, renew, create. When I think about the coaching practice, a couple areas of interest pop up. I have always enjoyed my volunteer work as a conversation partner with international students. This area has a significant international population. I think about cross-cultural coaching; that is, coaching people new to this culture to help them adjust and navigate the social customs, as well as practice speaking English. Would people pay for such a service? I would love to do that.

And I’m intrigued by creativity coaching as well. What does that mean, exactly? I’d have to figure out what I mean, what I offer, in that realm. The idea of helping people access their creativity as writers or visual artists appeals. So does the idea of applying creativity to life, to pursuing goals. I’m just brainstorming a bit here.

While I’ve been lonely at times, and a bit isolated and bored these past months, I have also reveled in the opportunities my unemployment provided. Opportunities to create. Time to create. What I need to do is apply a little more energy and thought to my life, to treat it as my own start-up. You see, one fact that attracts me to the job I’ve been offered is this: it’s there. It’s low-hanging fruit, easy to get. But is it ripe? Will it taste good?

The floor is open, if you care to put in your two cents.

[cross-posted at Knit Together]

This is my dad. He’s an introspective person. I get my voracious reading habit from him, as well as my inclination to tinker with words. He was a grade-school teacher, and an excellent one at that. For years I ran into adults who, upon learning my name, would ask if my father had been the teacher at their grade school. When I confirmed it, they would get a distant nostalgic look on their faces and speak fondly of what an impression he made on them. I took this photo during my trip up there in September. The linearity (yes, that is a word) was striking. All these lines moving in different directions seemed to capture the essence of my father: organized, complex, analytical.

“The Thinker” / 2005

Life’s too short to read crappy books, especially fiction. And that’s my assessment of Tom Robbins’ Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas. Sorry, Tom. I love your work, except this. The second-person perspective is jarring, and I just could not find anything remotely likeable about the main character whom I was supposed to “be” as I read. I gave it two chapters, which is reasonable, don’t you think? Now that I no longer feel some illogical obligation to finish every book I start, your book has been returned to the bookstore. I bought Kristin Gore’s Sammy’s Hill instead. I heard it was funny. It is.

More vials of blood will be drawn this morning for the doctor. The bleeding continues and I no longer feel the Hunger (the desperate intense NEED to eat), so I’m pretty sure what the outcome will be. Yet life’s too short to mope. I feel siezed by sadness, but I also was able to find contentment making art. I am alive, healthy, and actively creative in many ways. I’m still here, and I will embrace this — the sadness and anger and loss and the joy and pleasure and interaction.

My husband is taking me to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Ooo, a date. Perhaps we’ll go out to dinner afterward. Then I’ll settle into a hot bath and my good books in the evening. Toodles, people.

Given that it’s Art Everyday Month around here, you have probably noticed that several of my works focus on maternity and fertility, or they feature mothers and babies. I have claimed it is because my thoughts and energies are focused on trying to get pregnant.

The first time I got pregnant, I told all my family and friends (but not the Whole World) because I was incredibly, joyfully excited. Hey, I got pregnant, at age 42! It reassured me.

Then in July, at eight weeks, I lost the pregnancy. I had to share this news with my community. I decided to tell the world, too, on my blog, because it was a sorrow I just couldn’t omit from my writing. My husband and I decided that next time around, as a way of protecting ourselves, of moderating our hopes (with a nod to superstition wanting to avoid “jinxing” ourselves), we would wait to announce the good news until we were 12-16 weeks along. It’s a burden to have to un-tell good news.

But I’m not one for keeping secrets about myself. I’m a writer. My life is my fodder. What isn’t getting said in words is communicated by images. As my brother teased me affectionately, I am as subtle as a billboard.

I was pregnant. It was very early on, only six weeks and a few days. Now I am in the process of becoming unpregnant. Oh, maybe it will work out. The doctor tells me lots of women have spotting and successfully carry a pregnancy. Yes, okay. But cramps? Clots? Bright red blood? Continually? I don’t think this is a good sign. Blood tests were done, more will be done on Saturday for comparison of hormone levels. I’ll have a consultation on Tuesday. We’ll see.

It is so easy for people to say “better luck next time,” or “third time’s a charm,” or “at least it was early.” Because it’s hard to know what to say. Because they want to say something. Your silent witness and willingness to hold us in your heart for a moment is more than enough. I just needed to tell. There are no words that adequately respond to my sorrow, my sense of loss, my feeling of failure, my fear that it is too late, my uncertainty that I can continue trying and coping with the risk. There are no words to cover the fact that my life is ambiguous, that I left my career by moving here, that I don’t know what I’m here for, what to do with myself, how I am to fulfill my life purpose or mission, or how I am to earn a paycheck.

Oh, please just read and nod in empathy. The answers will come, they always do. I just need to continue seeking. Or waiting patiently. Or both.

Tuesday evening provided a needed change. The memoir group was to have met, but 50% of the group canceled. One didn’t feel well, and the other is in the midst of writing a novel this month and wanted to focus on that. So the remaining member and I met at a local bookstore for coffee and chatting. She’s quite involved in other creative activities, so I picked her brain about where to find such things.

For example, I learned that once a month at two county libraries, there are craft nights. People gather in a meeting room with their projects to socialize and work. And then there is Santa Cruz Free Skool, which sounded enticing. I shared my experience with Trance Dance and my inability to find it here. She had a few ideas. I did end up finding one event listed at a local spirituality center, but I missed the November event and nothing is listed for December. I was spoiled, because the facilitator in Austin has an excellent website and offers so much more than I could find here. The challenge with locating things here is that there is no one location to search under. In Austin, it was “trance dance” and “Austin.” Here one needs to try “bay area,” “silicon valley,” or each of the city names: San Jose, Santa Clara, Sunnyvale, Campbell, Cupertino, Mountain View, Atherton, Menlo Park, Milpitas, etc. And there are many more… how far one is willing to travel determines how many searches to try.

The visit with this friend was so energizing! I also learned a bit more about how she does collage and got a tip on the type of adhesive she uses. Then we parted, and I went and drooled over books for awhile. I’ve enjoyed the drawing I’ve done this month, but I do need some guidance in learning to see, drawing techniques, and understanding perspective. Because I’ve been restless, my husband actually assigned me to purchase two books. Whee! He teases me that I read dark existential “boot to the head” novels about people’s troubled lives. So one book had to be a fun novel. I chose Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas, since I’ve not read Tom Robbins in awhile. Then I picked from numerous drawing books one that seems to cover the basics, provide exercises, and is visually accessible: The Everything Drawing Book.

Today I took myself out. First I went to downtown Campbell, which I’d been told is pretty and has an excellent farm market on weekends. Yes, it is pretty. I’ll have to go back to see if the market lives up to hype. I visited a small pagan store there that my friend recommended. (Austin has that type of shop in abundance, but here, not so much.) I browsed through a used bookshop, where I found an older edition (in excellent shape) of The Natural Way to Draw : A Working Plan for Art Study, which is beyond my scope right now, but was highly recommended. Since it was $5, how could I say no? I also found a copy of a book I’d sent to my father but never did read myself, Uncle Tungsten : Memories of a Chemical Boyhood by Oliver Sacks. I’ve enjoyed Sacks’ other work, and this didn’t seem too “boot to the head” in nature. I also had a chance to admire, but not meet, the bookstore cat. His name is Isbn (get it? ISBN = International Standard Book Number). He was busy doing what cats do best. Sleeping.

From Campbell I went to Michaels to price adhesives (but didn’t buy, showing great restraint). I found at Home Depot more wonderful putty called Quakehold. I use it to hang un-framed artwork. It’s more malleable and sticky than other types of putty adhesives, and a little goes a long way. Then I did some holiday shopping, got my hair very slightly trimmed, and went to a do-it-yourself carwash. My poor car desperately needed it, and who knows? It usually rains after I wash my car. It’s unseasonably warm and dry here; we could use a change in weather. Washing my car meant it was ready for the two bumper stickers I’d got in June: “Keep Austin Weird” and “On Earth As It Is In Texas.” Yes, as lovely as it is here, I do miss good old hill country.

All that exploring and interacting tired me out, so I had a sweet two-hour nap afterward. The hub came home, I cooked dinner, and now I’m re-charged. I wonder what art will come of this?

Sleep courts and then spurns me. I teeter on the verge of plunging in and my body becomes instantly restless and aware, snapping me awake. I am hoping a cup of hot milk will help. Until then, perhaps a list of some kind is in order. (I would knit, which is soothing, but when I’m this tired I know I’ll just make mistakes.)

Things which bring pleasure:

• The scent of old houses — that historical, old-wood smell activates my sense memory of my maternal grandfather’s house.
• After roasting pumpkin seeds, they make a crinkling noise as they cool, much like the dying embers of a fire.
• Stella draping her 21 pounds across my torso when I snooze on the couch in the evening.
• Homemade apple pie (including crust), warm from the oven with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
• Days which sometimes dawn gray, or include rain – a nice variation from the constant sunshine.
• Talking on the phone with my sister.
• Creating with my hands: cooking, knitting, art.
• Long, warm baths.
• Clean bedding.
• Joking with my husband.
• Catching a good photograph.
• The feel of luxurious yarn.
• Music.
• Dark chocolate.
• A fire on a cold night.
• Internet technology.

This list could go on, but I suddenly feel sleepy, and this time it feels like it will stay.

Everyone, meet Henry. Stella is reporting for duty, making her acquaintance with him. A bowl of candy is at the ready. Have a fun night!

I’ve enjoyed Bonne Maman preserves for years, but only today I discovered the wonder that is their caramel spread. There was also chestnut spread on the shelf, but I decided to exercise restraint.

It’s quite delicious as a hot tea sweetener. I’m sure it will be a TBO (taste bud orgasm) on toast, or ice cream. (Why is it that we use “sin” and “sex” when describing a toothsome treat?)

I’m still around, but I’ve been, er, tangled up. Knitting is a fever, but it’s one I enjoy.

I haven’t picked up a book in a week. No desire to read! This is highly unusual, but I’m sure my interests will even out… a little reading, a little knitting, a little writing.

Speaking of writing, though, I’m very happy that a friend of mine has finished a novel she’s worked on for several years. I’m even happier that she’s asked me to read it! It’s her first complete work, and her goal will be to find an agent and get it published. Just like all the thousands of other novelists. But one never knows. It might happen. What pleases me is that regardless of whether she might get published, my friend feels the need to write as strongly as she needs to breathe. Creation for its own sake is a joy unto itself.

Today is my mother’s birthday. Mom taught me the art of homemaking. She managed a household budget on a modest income. She shopped wisely and sewed many of our clothes when I was really young. Mom learned the art of decoupage and furniture refinishing. At about the same age I am now, she took up crochet. I remember her projects — huge, colorful afghans. She has a green thumb, and her gardens are still beautiful and lush, with unique objects providing visual accents to the flora. My childhood home was decorated for holidays such as Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. She taught me to cook and allowed chaos in the kitchen. She taught me to iron. I remember messing up once only, with a red polyester turtleneck (mine); the iron was too hot, and I melted it. Now I never iron (call me lazy), but at least I know how. Wherever I’ve lived (and I’ve moved many times and lived in some tiny spaces), the space became home, because I couldn’t not make it homey. That’s my mother’s influence.

In recent years I’ve unleashed creativity in a different way, using collage and photography. Now knitting has entered my life and grabbed me by the lapels. For years and year that generative energy was spent working my way through two college degrees and other professional endeavors. Now that this has abated, there’s a whole new realm. I give my mother credit for starting me on this path — the journey of loving home.

Mom, I do love you so. I hope your birthday brings you joy — it does for me!

Ah, the joys of traveling west to east. My body clock ticks along on Pacific time and while my mind attempts vainly to convince it otherwise, the old bod thinks it’s only 11 p.m. (a perky hour for a night owl). The wee hours loom. We arise at 6:30 to head for Olean, New York, to visit my maternal relatives. Ugh! I’m going to be toast tomorrow later.

After an overnight in Olean, we’ll travel back to the Finger Lakes region, where I’ll be be deposited at my sister’s home for an overnight there. In addition to sister-bonding, I’ll visit with a neighbor child whom my sister mentors, and who thinks of my sister as an aunt. I’ve been peripherally involved in this girl’s life since she was about six (sending books to read, being a penpal), and she’s 14 now. She just started high school and is earnestly setting her goals for college. I will nurture that dream as much as I can in one evening. And there will be girly talk too, I’m sure.

Thus, the laptop shall remain behind. I’ll perhaps return to it Sunday when my sister and I get back to Syracuse. Or not. There are things to do, places to go. And I’m on dial-up service, which moves at a slower speed than evolution. Drives me nuts. How to you web-surfers without DSL or cable modem stand it?!

Enjoy your weekend, peoples. I’ll post again in a few days.

My mother collects cobalt blue glass. Afternoon light + blue glass = stunning color.

I noticed this rainbow but could not determine its source. The splash of color in an unexpected place required documentation! I think the fuzziness of the picture complements the rainbow’s loveliness.

I want to publicly state that my husband is so cool. He performed a labor of love. In fact, he did it twice.

Months ago he began ripping our CD collection into iTunes. Then for some reason — a chip hiccup, something with one of our drives — it was all wiped out. He’d done half, I think. With a sigh (and a few swear words), he started again.

Well, the project is now complete! We have a family cache of songs — 401 albums by 240 artists in 19 genres of music. Lately I’ve been playing it randomly. In the past hour I’ve listened to Damien Rice, the Eagles, Def Leppard, Tori Amos, the Crystal Method, October Project, the Capitol Steps, Animaniacs, the Sex Pistols, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Simon & Garfunkel, the Police, Concrete Blond, Fourplay, Bach, the Barenaked Ladies, and James Taylor. It’s my own private, noncommercial radio station: KAML. 🙂 And now, ’tis time for sleep.