rudderless

I hope next year brings-

More sleep (seriously, Rosy).

Less stuff. Already in the process of being accomplished. Nothing like condensing a family’s possessions to 33 feet of accommodations. It feels good. The condo is easier to keep picked up. We don’t miss what we’ve passed on. Purging is seriously good for the soul.

Boating/sailing/motoring/cruising. All of the above. With a kid in my lap and a nice breeze. That’d sure be nice.

An anchor in a new harbor. Literally and figuratively.

No babies. I love my girls but wow, there is so much of this that I do not want to live through again. I am looking forward to the next stage of growing up together.

A new bike.

Much magic. On Solstice morning we put out some tiny fairy dolls for Sophie. Every morning since, she finds one in the mix and says, “Oh Mommy, the Solstice Fairies are still here.” Like they’re alive. If that ain’t magic, I don’t know what is.

Homemade cheese. I really want to try making my own mozarella.

Limoncello. I love limoncello and wish I had some in the freezer.

School. Next year is the year to start thinking about my next step. I want to work with Hospice, and need to figure out the best means to making that happen. I assume it will be a Masters in Social Work.

Reading. for Sophie. She’s got so many pieces of the puzzle and is close to putting them all together. What a day that will be.

Friends into our Lives. Old and new, from away and nearby.

Universal Health Care would be nice, too.

But most of all, many adventures and quite a bit of dancing.

Best Of

This week I need to do a best of 2009. Perhaps a theme will keep me going.

Here are some of my highlights:

5-Minute Artisan Bread. I think I first made this in 2008 but by now we’ve perfected it into something we MUST consume often. Fresh bread with a good dash of butter, or jam, or pesto. You just can’t beat it. Next on the list are the whole-grain recipes that came in the most recent Mother Earth News.

Canning. I think I got my confidence from reading Cafemama and Dig This Chick (links on right), but the real mother of all goodness is Barbara Kingsolver. Her book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle totally changed my life. All three of these ladies are committed to a local, seasonal way of eating. They inspired me to try canning and wow, I will never be happy with store-bought apple butter or strawberry jam again. We’ve canned chutney and pesto, jams and fruit butters. It’s stupid easy and SO darn good, especially with a pressure cooker. On the food front, we’ve tried our darndest to prioritize buying organic potatoes, onions, tree fruits, and the rest of the “dirty dozen.” We look for local and refuse the cheap imports. My girls were beyond thrilled when we found the first of the Florida strawberry harvest on sale last week. We ate two pints of them on Christmas morning. I can’t wait for Maine farmer’s markets, the local farm cheese. It will be serious food heaven. We’ve also had some fun at our local organic farm this year. The tomato plant we bought two weeks ago is starting to bear her first fruits, which makes me happy. Working on the way we eat is an ongoing affair, but I find that it’s a fulfilling and tasty mission- one I’m happy to accept.

My bike has been a big part of things this year. I get a lot of questions about it and hope I can inspire just a few people driving by me to think about what they could do to get around a little slower, cleaner, simpler. The girls have never once complained about a bike ride (ok, just once). I’m not a gym-going type, so it is truly my outlet for exercise. I wrote a post on biking earlier this year and am proud to say I was Sarah’s first customer for a “Mamabikeorama” sticker. I imagine I’ll have to retire the trailer as the girls get bigger (it’s not made for Maine hills), but look forward to many years of hauling girls and stuff in inventive, gas-free ways.

Speaking of gas, the outboard on our dinghy is our only gas engine these days. The car has been a big deal. We were fortunate to be in a position to get a fuel-efficient vehicle and I’m SO glad we took the plunge. The TDI has been one more piece in our lesser-impact puzzle. My goal for 2009 was to continue to consider our choices as they impact our health, our planet, and our kids. I think we’ve continued to grow in the green hippie department. We wash our diapers, we recycle crazy amounts of junk, we made nearly everything we gave for the holidays this year. We have more work to do, for sure. And the biggest piece of the puzzle- the BOAT!- is about to come. It’s an ongoing mission which frankly defines our lives. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Last of the Crafting

Recycled wax candles. I made a couple of solstice candles that turned out to be too airy and burned right through in half an hour (too much ice- now I remember you add it to the wax a bit at a time). So we remelted them, added some wicks, and voila- purple candles for our upcoming birthday celebration. Sophie already has plans to make tissue paper lanterns with mason jars. Like these. I love the candle-making. It sums up the whole of the solstice/Hannukah/Christmas tradition with such a simple symbol. We have big plans for next year, including a bonfire if we can manage to get on our land in Maine!

On Christmas Day we crafted some gifts for our beloved birds, taking this great recipe from Zach’s site. They are hanging all over the yard and haven’t seen any action yet, but they are awfully cute to look at. Sophie was thrilled to hear that her homemade dog biscuits were well-received by the family canines. We’ve covered most of the bases, between dogs and birds, apple butter and pesto, brownies and deadly-good chocolate chip cookies. There’s only one thing left to say:

CHEERS to 2010!!! Happy last week of the year.

Eighteen Months

Dear Rosy Roo-

I missed your last birthday letter. I imagine all will be forgiven, but as this month races past I have so many things I need to remember and write down, so to be sure I don’t miss another beat, Happy Eighteen Month Birthday, three days early.

Wow! Wow! You are talking talking talking all the time. There is not much you won’t say, between the words you know and the words you parrot. From your, “Wake Up, Sophie!” in the morning to your, “Nigh-night, DREAM!” in the evening, the day is filled with Rosy narration. “Booby Nigh-night” will forever be associated with Thanksgiving in Atlanta. On the really long days you simply stomp to the stairs, lay your head on one and declare, “Booby Nigh-night!” There is “Mommy back!” and “Mogurt” and “Morange” (yogurt and orange, respectively). There are the days when you wrap up in a towel and say, “Nice and cozy.” There is “Kwiss” (chris) and “John-fan” (johnathan) and “Tabby” (tabitha). And the way you talk to yourself like I talk to you: “Shoes on baby! Shoes on!” I want to remember it always.

Sophie was an early talker, so I was prepared to hear your voice sooner than later, but it still surprises me to hear your observations, your humor, your games. All from someone so small.

You are my best baby. Still happy to curl in my lap or rock in my arms saying, “Baby! Rosy baby!” When we were in Atlanta your aunt Su said, “Rosy, when I have a baby, if she gives me half as many kisses as you give your mommy, I’ll be very happy.” Truly. I am so lucky.

I missed your seventeen month letter because we were in Atlanta, cooking Thanksgiving for your grandparents who were tending to Great-Granny Ross. We stayed a bit longer than we’d intended, and spent a week making a daily trek to the hospice playroom, where you’d play with your grandmother while I visited with mine. It’s among the most treasured weeks of my life. A time when everything else went into hibernation so that we might attend to the most important matter at hand. Granny was the epitome of love, generosity, acceptance. Holding her hand that week reminded me of the week we waited for you to come into the world. Patiently, slowly, and together. A week when nothing else mattered. You brought so much love to that household, as you do every day. But it was a special kind of love, for a special time.

I won’t soon forget you in your ladybug hat and your sister’s fleece traipsing through the cemetery on a very cold day in December. You and your sister were rays of sunshine in the midst of it all. Your tiny voice saying, “Joe-Pop!” as he read the eulogy. Your outstretched arms, your silly dances. They were such good medicine.

Thank you for being my best best bug. My sweet “booful arina” (beautiful ballerina). My Rosy Roo. I couldn’t love you more if I tried. It’d be too much to bear. I’m so lucky to know you.

love and happy half-birthday!!
mama

Happy Solstice!!!

The Shortest Day
So the shortest day came, and the year died,
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive,
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us–Listen!!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
This shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!!
—Susan Cooper

Pictures of our celebration coming soon. We spent yesterday on the little organic farm we love- a hayride, roasted corn, and a grape tomato seedling to bring home. It felt like a fitting celebration for a solstice. In Florida we’re lucky to have sun in the winter (the problem is too much in the summer!), so we’re busy planting.

Last night John spent three hours dipping candles for our solstice dinner tonight. We have two purple ice-cube pillar candles to burn, his tapers, and abundant little lights. Stockings to dig into, some treats to eat. It should be fun. May your holiday celebrating be merry and bright- happy solstice to all and to all, a great (long) night.

Quiet

This week has been insanely busy with an extra child to watch (Tabitha!) and holiday preparations in order (lots of Ball jars to fill). That said, things feel remarkably quiet after last month. Too quiet. Like there’s a big gaping hole in our family. Someone is missing, truly. We all miss her so much, but my mom misses her most of all. I’m quite sure of it.

We are gearing up for our little family celebration of the solstice on Monday. Filling stockings, lighting windows, planning our meal for the darkest night. We’ll open grandparent gifts for Christmas and still have quite a few to get in the mail! Sophie and I have a date tomorrow to see the “Coconutcracker,” a local production of her recent obsession. I figure we’ll see the “real” thing next year. Then Sunday we’re off to shop and visit our local organic farm, whose growing season us just beginning in this weird topsy-turvy climate of ours. John icicle lights on the porch have brought us reasonable temperatures in time for the first of winter. We’ll have pics to share, but if we don’t blog until . . . Happy Solstice, Happy Hannukah, Happy Christmas, happy all of it. Every last bit of it.

Back to Living

We are finally home, settling back into life. Last week was a whirlwind of planning, travel, and family. We spent the early days attending to logistics, writing up memories and hymns and verses we wanted for Granny. Buying new shoes for little girls (the second pair of brown “funeral shoes” Sophie’s had in little more than a year). When I told Sophie about Granny, she sat alone in my parent’s front room for a good fifteen minutes. She wouldn’t tell me what she was thinking about, but it was quite clear, and since then, she hasn’t asked a single thing about Granny’s departure. Apparently she understood just enough. And not too much, as the adults among us still have to hash over the details. We are all still processing the past month. And I don’t think we’ll ever be done missing our sweet sweet Mother and Grandmother.

Granny was buried not far from the log cabin where she grew up, only a few miles from her childhood church, just next to her mother. The service was about as personal as they come, thanks to my Mother’s careful planning. The tiny church was full of her nieces, nephews, cousins, sons, grandsons, daughters, granddaughters, and four great-grandchildren. One of my favorite quotes of the week was her niece saying, “Imagine that reunion when baby sister finally came home!” This was the same niece, Janice, who said at the service that Granny was among the most beautiful women she’d even laid eyes on. When she was young she said, “Aunt Colie, you’re never going to get old. You’re just going to pretty away.”

Pretty away. Colie was exceptionally beautiful. She was busy touching people even in her last days. Sheri, a nurse at Hospice Atlanta, came in one morning while I was there and Granny brought her right up close and said something to the tune of, “I see you doing your work with love.” She shared a few thoughts in a saint-like way and then closed her eyes again. Sheri brought her a poem by Joyce Kilmer, which I read at her service.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

84

We spent all morning at the hospice, playing, drinking coffee, telling stories, listening to her music. Dad and I took the girls home to nap. My mom shoved my sister and Corey off to walk their dog. She put on some music, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Granny was gone.

On the coldest day we’ve had in a long time.
We miss her so much already.

Granny

The quietest part of my day is the time I spend sitting with my grandmother. This week with her has been a gift. My sister, my dad, and I spend time everyday. My twin cousins, whom Granny helped raise, have been here from far reaches of the West, just to be with her. My mom has spent every night of the past three weeks at Granny’s side. We have heard her many wishes, her wisdom, her visions and verses. She has given tiny bits of herself to each of us, and as she leaves us, I feel like I’m carrying dozens of tiny packages. My arms are full of her. Brimming with pieces of her, all little gifts wrapped in beautiful boxes.

To my sister she said, “Faith, hope, and charity. Charity’s the most important.”
On Wednesday she told me, “There must be more acceptance, more love in our community. God said, ‘Lock no doors.’ He loves Muslims as much as he loves any Christian.”

She has been quoting John 3:16. John 3:17. The Lord’s prayer. Bits and pieces of verses and sentiments like, “The hairs on my head are numbered. You have to help Shirley (my mom) with the love. Organize the love.”

These four days of lucidity, of her being able to speak and share with us, have been greater than any Christmas gift, any Birthday card, any hug or kiss. They are how we feel connected to her, and to one another.

The lights are dimming. Exhaustion is setting in. Our hope is that she is beginning to feel less burdened, less responsible for the weight of the world. She has made herself heard, made herself clear. She will live on through us. We will be better because we knew her, because she loved us, because she is exactly who she is.

If I’ve ever met anyone I’d describe as saintly, it is Colie Ross. There are many paths to enlightenment. Many religions, many practices, many ways of living your life. She taught me that your path makes little difference. The way you choose to believe is irrelevant. As long as it asks you to be better, to ask more of yourself, to give more of yourself, to love, and to recognize that life is about far more than self-satisfaction. It can be arduous, it can be demanding, but to get to the peace that she has found in these last days, you must be altruistic, honest, and open no matter what the circumstances.

There is nothing selfish about this woman beside me. She is simply beautiful.