Seven Thoughts on the Seventh Day of Quarantine

1) There is something luxurious about it. Time has always been more valuable to me than money. But now! Time unfurls before me in almost unimaginable stretches. How to make the most of it? How to find the opportunities? The gifts?

2) Fear, panic and worry are lurking beneath every moment like the dark shapes of sharks in water. Many friends have mentioned these waves of emotion that can catch and hurtle you so unexpectedly. My mind has run every possible worst case scenario on high speed fast forward hundreds of times. Hospitals lined with trenches of bodies. Or never again leaving the house without a mask and hand sanitizer in my purse. Or worse, never leaving the house again. Not to mention the visions of harm to my children or grandparents, which I can't even bear to write out.

3) We are so lucky. To have this ten acres to roam. To have food falling from the trees. To have a routine that was relatively undisturbed by this- our children are not yet in school and my husband and I work alternate days so one of us can always be with them. What about people who live paycheck to paycheck, or are undocumented or sick, or were all alone to begin with? How can I reach and care for them?

4) My digital life is so important right now. These virtual connections are suddenly precious. I've never video called so much in my life. And it feels good to see another face looking back at you, even when it is tense or frightened or a little giddy from all this down time.

5) I am witnessing the Fall of Rome. Any illusions or hopes we had about America being the only world superpower are crumbling before our eyes. Watching Trump so painfully out of his depth has actually kindled a little of my compassion for him. I can only look at this on the macro/global level or the micro/local level. The national news frenzy lights up my anxiety like a hissing bomb fuse.

6) Limiting news exposure feels essential. Right now I am limiting my news consumption to 15 minutes while my children are taking their naps. (Or aiming for that anyway). My digital diet feels as important as my actual food intake right now. I can only ingest so much additional worry and fear without being poisoned.

7) Father Richard Rohr and the Center for Action and Contemplation are doing so much to help me make this crisis meaningful. Because it is an opportunity for a profound transformation. A chance to confront our deepest fears and watch them lose their hold on us as we move through them. Whether the fears become realized or pass us over, simply repressing them will not work.

Something in me finds this challenge immensely satisfying. How can I look my fear in the face? How can I summon all my courage and human compassion and rise to this moment? Because all of us find ourselves here, now, for a reason.

Letting Go of Natural Birth When Baby is Breech.

Remember the scene in Cool Hand Luke where the bossman makes him dig a ditch and then fill it again- over, and over, and over again?

I've been having that feeling lately- I feel surrounded by work and tasks and unsettled business when the person growing inside of me needs quiet and calm and simplicity.

How to balance all of this? It feels like a heroic effort is required, like I need to find a part of myself I didn't know about. Isn't that what Luke does in the film? He gives his whole self to the task of being free.

My pregnancy has been positively blissful. I've not had any nausea, swelling or pre-term labor. In fact, I've relished every moment of feeling this little life stirring inside me. On a recent visit to our midwife, we discovered that our sweet baby is positioned head up. There is still a little time for baby to flip to a more optimal birthing position, but in the meantime, we are doing everthing we can to encourage our little person to put that head down and roll like hell.

Eric bought an inversion table on craigslist, so I'm spending nearly 20 minutes every day hanging upside down, as prescribed on Spinning Babies. He also bought some moxibustion sticks. These little herb sticks are mugwort (doesn't that sound like it's from Harry Potter?) burned into charcoal form. He lights the ends like a cigar and holds the heated ends just above my pinky toes. In Chinese medicine, the pinky toe is linked to the uterus, and I imagine this makes it relax and open. Either way, it feels rather nice. I'm also continuing to see a chiropractor who came highly recommended from one of my Waldorf colleagues. Her job is to help align the pelvis and release the sacrum so that baby has the space to move freely.

So far, all of these interventions have amounted to nothing.

I've tried to avoid getting attached to a birth plan. In fact, I've rather resisted writing one since we were so delighted with the practices at Minnesota Birth Center. I felt that imagining the order I wanted things to go didn't really make sense- that I would be better able to trust my body to do what it needs to do in labor if I didn't have a plan in my mind going in. I felt I could be more instinctive this way.

There is still time for things to shift, but a scheduled c-section is no longer just hypothetical. I have to confess there is so much I dislike about the idea of a hospital birth. The bright lights. The strangers. The smell of strong disinfectants covering the faint, acrid smell of sick people.

I believe a natural birth is better for both baby and for me- in the release of hormones that happens, in the powerful contractions that wring the baby and let both of us know that something tremendous is happening.

There is irony in that I was a breech birth, too. My sweet mum labored with me for 28 hours before finally submitting to a surgical birth. It was definitely not the birth they planned, and my dad still talks about how it felt like a failure.

I have done a lot of crying in the past few weeks, trying to come to terms with this bump in the road. In a way, it's a marvelous lesson about parenthood- a reminder that my plans are no longer mine alone to execute. This little person inside of me has their own will and will come in their own time and in their own way.

A midwife of thirty years teared up as she heard my story. "Becky," she said, looking right into my heart. "I have never seen a birth that wasn't beautiful."

Simple Pleasures: Going Up North

Wildflowers picked from the ditches beside the dirt road leading to the cabin. 

Minnesotans may love summer but they love their cabins even more. Eric and I joke that we really messed up when we married one another since neither one of us has a cabin in the family. Luckily, some good friends invited us to join them up north recently.

It was an idyllic weekend on a lake with only seven homes on it. It was so quiet that when a car pulled up across the way, you could hear the gravel crunching beneath the tires. There were two loons nesting on the lake, and they had a tiny baby just a week old. Stasha and I stole across the glassy water in a canoe and got close enough to see the mother's ox blood red eyes.

On the drive up, we stopped at Lavaliers farm and picked hundreds of strawberries that were shiny jewels of perfect juice. Our fingers and mouths were stained pink all weekend. We cooked some incredible meals- is there anything more summery than grilled sweet corn, burgers and watermelon?

We slept underneath taxidermy dear heads in a genuine log cabin that has been in her family for three generations. In fact, her grandfather told us that he first visited when he was just a few weeks old. There were no passable roads to the lake, so the only way in was by canoe, and that very canoe served as his crib that first summer.

Besides the complete stillness, the lovely company, and jumping off the dock into the icy cold water, I loved picking wildflowers with my friend. The boys joined us and we all picked tiny, delicious wild raspberries. We had fun turning the flowers into arrangements in whatever containers we could find in her grandmother's cupboards, jelly jars, bowls and an old tin camp cup.

After two days of slow and quiet, it felt so good to get back to my life in the city. I can see the magic of a going up north- it's just far enough that your mind can get quiet and not long enough to set your expectations impossibly high like you would with a vacation in the Carribean. And going up north isn't necessarily about packing in a million adrenaline packed highs- it's more about slowing down and appreciating what's already there; people you love, the beauty of the natural world and the way even mundane tasks can be pleasurable when you aren't rushing.

What has rejuvenated you this summer? Have you taken time for a vacation?

I filled an old tin camp cup with odds and ends found in the woods. 

Sugar Rush

Four Pack Donut Painting by DoubleStarRanch 

A few weeks back my Dad asked Eric and I to see Fed Up, a documentary about processed food in the American diet. It was a compilation of the usual litany of offences.

There was a critique of the food pyramid, suggesting that it supports America's corporate bread basket instead of nourishing the American public. Did you know the FDA was created to sell more food to the American public? But that it is also entrusted with caring for public health? This documentary argues that there is a basic and impossible contradiction inherent in these two agendas. Fed Up also touched on the interesting correlation between a marketplace saturated with low fat, lite and low calorie options and our nation's expanding waistlines. Since removing fat also removes flavor and in manufactured food, this means that sugar or salt, or both, in large quantities are added to make up the difference. Bottom line- don't eat low fat foods. (Michael Pollan and many others have been telling us this for years.)

But information that was new to me, or that at least sunk in more deeply this time, was that sugar in nature is almost always accompanied by fiber, which slows the body's digestion, allowing it to absorb more nutrients and release insulin more slowly. In processed foods, the fiber is removed, meaning that sugar is dumped directly into your bloodstream as insulin, which is eventually converted to fat. So a calorie from an almond is not the same as a calorie from a bottle of Coke.

Donut Conversation by Mgenomgenom

This all reminded me of a recent article in National Geographic magazine, Sugar, A Not So Sweet Story, charting the Western obsession with sugar, it's ugly association with slavery and our exponentially increasing consumption of it.

"In 1700 the average Englishman consumed 4 pounds a year. In 1800 the common man ate 18 pounds of sugar. In 1870 that same sweet-toothed bloke was eating 47 pounds annually. Was he satisfied? Of course not! By 1900 he was up to 100 pounds a year. "

I eat a staggering amount of sugar every day. We don't eat much processed food in our house, preferring to cook for ourselves whenever possible. But I let my sweet tooth run the show, often having as many as three sweet treats in a single day. (Take yesterday for instance- I had a slice of rhubarb pie, a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce and cookies and not one, but two slices of strawberry cake iced with cream cheese frosting!)

Half a Dozen Donuts by ShopAnnShen

That's in addition to all the hidden sugars I'm likely eating, in foods like peanut butter or bread. Shameful, really. I'd like to curb this terrible habit, especially with my baby on the way. If I want my little one to have a  healthy relationship with sugar, I need to cultivate my own moderation.

Cutting sugar out completely has proven extremely difficult. Limiting it to weekends via the common sense saying "No sweets, seconds or snacks except on days that start with S" hasn't worked either. Even limiting it to one treat a day has tested my willpower. What to do? Have you battled a sugar habit? What did you do to help curb your appetite?

For now, I'm keeping the fridge stocked with gorgeous fruit so it's the first thing I see when I open the door and I bought a little supply of chewing gum to pop when the craving hits. I also brewed a big batch of mint iced tea to sip on with ice and lemon- a perfect summer treat. From what I've read, cravings lessen after a week and can dissipate completely after 8 weeks. The trick is making it that long!

Water the Flowers, Not the Weeds.

Quillebeuf, at the Mouth of Seine by William Turner

Moving back to Minnesota has inspired me to put down roots, metaphorically and physically. Having an investment in a place means a lot to me after our nomadic lifestyle. I've planted a garden for the first time this year, and I enjoyed including perennials that will take years to become truly established. My grandmother and aunt gave me transplants from their gardens, including a peony bush, a rhubarb plant that came from my great grandmother's farm in Austin Minnesota, and a pretty wisp of a white bleeding heart for the shade garden out front.

We've been here for about two years now, and I've enjoyed creating a life in Minneapolis far more than I expected. The satisfaction I feel has many sources, but one of the most enduring was a decision to focus on the positive and avoid complaints. It's that old saying- water the flowers, not the weeds.

I first learned to direct my thinking in Bikram class, where Mark, my teacher,  urged me to smile when I felt discomfort or frustration. He suggested breathing deeply and avoiding making grunting or groaning noises, which send the message from your mind to your body that you can't handle what you are experiencing. "Your mind gives up WAY before your body does," he said. I was amazed that I could stop grunting easily and that smiling really did make the postures more bearable- even fun. I became curious about other ways to create endurance and resilience in my mind and body.

Laughter Yoga embodies much of the same philosophy, but without the physical demands. Instead, you just need to a willingness to fake it, whether you feel like laughing or not. Mary, my teacher, says the idea is to practice making laughter your first response to frustration and discomfort to see how that shifts things.

When we moved back to Minnesota from Hawaii, I made a conscious choice to avoid complaining about the weather. Since griping about the weather is Minnesota's official state sport, it isn't always easy. But for me, complaining is not as innocuous as it might appear. It actually puts my brain in a groove where I'm actually seeking out other things to be grumpy about. And believe me, there is never a shortage of things to be grumpy about.

The weather is one area where I most definitely have no control at all. So I chose not to complain about it, doing my best to accept whatever comes and be prepared for it. I have begun to extend this no complaining philosophy to other, far more important, things in my life too. I'm prone to ruminating on people and situations in my life, forming judgments about their choices and how they affect me and expressing mystification at their motivations.

I'm making an effort to change the stories I tell myself about other people, and especially what I saw out loud about others. It's way harder than not complaining about the weather, because it feels far more personal. But in the relationships where I have been able to change my story about what is going on, I've seen huge shifts. A relationship that felt tense and uncomfortable has become relaxed and friendly in the course of a year. I suspect the major change was my effort to suspend judgement and be kind in my thoughts and words. If only I could do that in every relationship!

Yesterday, a storm rolled across the sky. I could have felt discouraged at a rainy day in our precariously short summer, but instead I was transfixed by the sky. It was a breathtaking study of light and shadow, roiling blue black clouds mixing with brilliant sunlight and shimmering white wisps of fog. William Turner would have had a field day painting the scene. What beauty.

Learning from The Peony.

These beauties came from Sevald Nursery at Mill City Farmer's Market in Minneapolis.

Peonies are my favorite flower, and have been since I was twelve years old. In Minnesota, peonies bloom for two to three weeks from early to mid June, in a glorious explosion of color ranging from satiny ballet slipper pink to the deep fuschia of a fine Cabernet. As June deepens, the blossoms swell, burst and begin to hang heavily from their skinny green stems. After a rainstorm, their ruffly layers of petals fill with condensation and their massive heads sink deeply into the damp lawns.

Cut a few to bring inside while the heads are still the size of a kumquat, and they will open. At first, it's slow and lazy, but suddenly the blossom unfurls into a glorious dish of velvety petals almost five inches wide, revealing a fringe of feathery yellow stamens. It feels almost indecent to look deeply into their centers, as though one is considering the depths of the finely ruffled tulle petticoats of the Moulin Rouge dancers in the days of Toulouse-Lautrec.

And then, spent from the effort of this decadent display, the petals will begin to slip off, in a dramatic pile of plumage, like a tropical bird molting. The pile of soft, perfect petals in a spectacular mound of color and texture is so beautiful, I hesitate to discard them right away, instead, leaving them scattered on the tabletop like precious confetti.

What is it that makes a peony so delightful? You will rarely find them in supermarket bouquets, since they are so delicate and short lived, but here in Minnesota, people plant them in their yards with abandon. They are plants that offer little in the way of daily or immediate reward. The flowering season is perilously short- two to three weeks in early to mid June is the longest one can expect. The rest of the year, they aren't particularly lovely as a shrub- just a lot of scraggly green leaves. A sturdy perennial, peonies take several years to get established, sending thick, strong roots, deep, deep into the earth. A peony bush may take as long as five years to begin producing flowers prodigiously, but once they get going, they can be exceptionally long lived plants, lasting forty to fifty years.

For me, each of these details is worth considering. The peony's enduring appeal lies particularly with it's fleeting but unfettered flowering. You must wait, and wait and wait. The buds are tight and compact, with the diligence and dignity of internal work being done. The anticipation and enchantment only grows as you watch the bud slowly begin to swell and ripen. And then, in an instant, they give every last ounce of beauty they can muster, withholding nothing of their full, rich and complete abandon. There is nothing shy about a peony in full bloom.

It's a short season, but it comes back every year, without fail. I'd like to live my life that way. I'd like to prepare with a deep inner concentration and focus. Slowly, I will build momentum. Then, when the moment arrives, I'll let all the beauty I've known flood through me in a display so ostentatious and un-self conscious that even the denouement is beautiful.

What to Wear When You're Expecting

I've loved watching my belly grow and managed to make it through the first five months of my pregnancy without buying a stitch of maternity clothing. In fact, my strategy so far has been to avoid maternity clothing as much as possible. I have only four more months to go, I have lots of flowy summer options to enjoy, and the majority of maternity clothing is dumpy and expensive.

I'd been wearing my regular pants by simply using a rubber band to extend the waistband- looping it through the buttonhole and attaching the two ends to the button. The trick to hide your exposed fly is a very long top. (I'd heard mixed reviews about the bellaband, have any of you tried it?)  But in the last few weeks, even that extra 3 to 5 inches has started to feel constrictive, so I finally caved and bought some new clothes for my changing shape. Here's what's getting the most play in my closet right now.

1. Maternity Jeans

White jeans are a summertime staple, and these are comfortable and inexpensive.

There is something quite humiliating about the elastic top that reaches just beneath my breasts like an enormous gertle, but I'm choosing to relish the humor of the situation because it's a lot more comfortable than my rubber band hack! I was glad to find an inexpensive pair of maternity jeans in white at Target.

I love white jeans because they have a way of perking up everything you pair with them. They look crisp, cheerful and a little tropical.

2. Anything Striped

Stripes accentuate the new curves of a baby bump. 

Perhaps because this is my first pregnancy, I've wanted to play up my growing bump. I'll probably only look like this twice in my entire life, so I'd better enjoy it!  To this end, my closet is steadily filling up with stripes. I love the way they make my belly look larger- exaggerating it like a Dr. Seuss illustration. So far, I've rounded out my collection of striped shirts at the thrift shop, going a size up from my usual and looking for soft cotton fabrics with a bit of stretch. I also find that I want a bit of extra length in the torso to cover that extra curve of skin. These tops from Boden continue to be in regular rotation.

3. A Breezy Tunic

Tunics are easy and chic for summer, and they have plenty of room for baby!

I became partial to tunics while we lived in Hawaii. They are the perfect beach cover up and in natural materials like silk, linen and cotton, they are loose and breathable. Luckily, they are also great for pregnancy, often hanging almost to mid thigh for a nice amount of coverage with a free waist. I love styles with pretty embroidery, tassel ties or a delicate print like this silk style from Joie. I have a few that were a splurge even at the discount retailer Century 21 on my trip to New York a few summers back. Mine is covered in the sweetest little bunny print, and I always feel extra pretty when I slip it on. I love that it's something I enjoyed wearing before I was pregnant too.

4. A Great Dress

A flattering maternity dress in stretch jersey is a smart buy.

I'm feeling quite lucky to be at the height of my pregnancy in summertime, with our baby due in mid October, because summer clothing is so light, breezy and inexpensive. I've been wearing lots of dresses, especially in fabrics with a bit of stretch, like jersey and cotton. I normally don't do maxi dresses, as I am on the short side and they tend to make one look even smaller. However, I'm enjoying the ease of wearing more body conscious styles- in stripes of course!

Another thing I'm feeling conscious of is not wanting to show as much skin as usual. My breasts seem to have practically quadrupled in size, and I'm not eager to work 5 inches of cleavage. My mum bought me this pretty maternity dress and it is super flattering without feeling bare. I love making it look fresh by pairing it with different accessories.

I once read that on the set of "Funny Face", Audrey Hepburn packed nothing more than a pair of black cigarette pants, a crisp white shirt, ballet flats and an Hermes scarf. Depending on the day, the scarf served as belt, shawl, headband, skirt or top, but she always looked fresh and chic. If only I could be as doggedly minimalist!

5. Amulet Jewelry

Jewelry to remind you only to accept love
and kindness for yourself and baby.

Pregnancy seems almost to make your body a symbolic object. People touch your belly or suddenly start sharing intimate details of their birth stories or parenting experiences. I find that most people have been more warm and open with me, but occasionally their fear and anxieties come tumbling out too. I am doing my best to only accept kind, loving attention for myself and our baby, but sometimes it would be nice to ward off weird energy from other people.

A friend recently told me that in many eastern cultures, women wear the nazar to protect them from the evil eye during pregnancy. Wearing a protective amulet as a reminder to only welcome the positive makes sense to me and I immediately began hunting for something similar.

There are hundreds of options online, but I rather like the delicacy of this bracelet, with a chain that wraps around the wrist twice. (And of course, I love the shimmer and shine of rhinestones too!)

What did you wear during pregnancy? Did you have one or two go to pieces or did you have fun experimenting with different looks throughout?

Before & After: Bistro Chairs

Before: Our patio table was cheap and dated looking, and the grill was hogging up a lot of extra room. 

Minnesotans cherish their summertime. With the winters we endure here, being outside in pleasant weather takes on a religious fervor. Living in the city means we have to maximize every inch of available outdoor space, since we don't have a large yard. This patio is a shared space, regularly used by most of the residents in our building.

We've been revamping this outdoor room since we moved in two years ago, living with it and making adjustments as we thought of them or could afford it. We replaced a glaring overhead light with softly glowing cafe lights using a lightbulb outlet converter to avoid hiring an electrician to rewire our 120 year old house. I planted herbs in the window boxes and switched out a tired, not-so-white-anymore rug for a more durable black one to handle the heavy traffic of the front entrance. I also rehabbed the mailboxes with chalkboard paint, a great move for an apartment building where the names on the boxes change frequently.

The final touch was replacing this ghastly patio table and chairs, that's been around the place for more than ten years. I hated the cheap looking plastic chairs, and the umbrella hole in a table sitting on a covered porch. We also added a grill to the set up, but it all felt quite tight and constricted.

I found a few patio ideas I liked online at Target and World Market, but I felt they were overpriced for their quality, style and durability. I needed a round table that could comfortably seat four. I decided to see what I could find locally.

Before: We purchased 10 of these bistro chairs
on Craigslist for $70. 

We found a lovely wicker table with a heavy glass top on Craigslist that looked right at home outside. We found the chairs separately, though they needed some serious rehabbing. They were rusty and the seats needed cushions to make them comfortable enough for daily use. However, the shape was just what I was looking for, and I felt up to a little elbow grease. Poor Eric got suckered in too.

He kindly and dutifully scrubbed down all ten chairs with sandpaper and steel wool. Then he coated
the chairs with  Rustoleum spray-paint in Soft Iron. He also found replacement chair feet to keep them from scratching up the deck.

Next, I went over to S.R. Harris to pick up cushion foam and upholstery fabric. I painstakingly traced the wooden seats onto the foam, and cut it out. I used the seat as a pattern for the fabric too, adding four inches to the perimeter of the circle to allow it to comfortably cover the seat. I used a staple gun to cover the cushions, and Eric screwed them back in.

We also moved the grill to a smaller, unused nook on the other side of the patio which opened up a lot of space and helped it all to feel much more relaxed and inviting. The grill is getting more play too, since it's far easier to cook without bumping into the table and chairs. As a final touch, I've been toying with an indoor outdoor rug under the eating area, but I think there is just too much dust and debris to keep it looking great.

After: Painstaking Sanding, Spraypainting and reupholstering gave us a pretty new look. 

I'm pretty delighted with the results of all the tinkering. I think it looks far more polished and airy and I like the way the new furniture complements the iron railings and accents the orange red shades of the bricks. We've been spending lots of time out here already, and the new look feels much more inviting to me.

Do you have any "outdoor rooms" at your place? What have you done to make them more user friendly? If you have mosquito prevention tricks, I'd love to hear them!

The Big Reveal: What Scares Me About Motherhood

The Venus of Willendorf, a paleolithic image of motherhood. 

If you want people to reveal themselves to you in surprising ways, I highly recommend pregnancy. A telltale belly brings a steady stream of people sharing their labor stories, offering snippets of parenting wisdom and unloading their fears and anxieties. It's fascinating.

Pregnancy in Conversation 

"How are you feeling?" is a common question, clearly meant as a friendly gesture. The truth is that my body has very much enjoyed pregnancy so far. I'm in my 19th week, and I've been quite comfortable- no morning sickness, no swelling, no aches or pains. Just breasts that have ripened to four times their normal size- perhaps the size of smallish cantaloupe. What I've discovered is that this question is often an opportunity for the asker to delve into the trials and tribulations of their own pregnancy, highlighting each and every moment of suffering. Sometimes people even seem slightly disappointed when I answer that I feel marvelous.

Another thing that happens when you're pregnant is that people start to tell you all the things you won't ever do again. Now that you're an expectant parent, heels are apparently out, (too hard on your back) as is jewelry that baby may want to grab and cling to. Going to the theater will never happen again because finding a babysitter is nearly impossible, and besides, you'll never want to leave your baby for a single instant.

What Scares Me about Motherhood

I hesitate to even go on the record with these observations, since I concede the possibility that this advice is all true. I know that having a child will change my life in ways I cannot forsee. But to me, that's the adventure of the thing. I'd like to let it unfold without preconceptions.

The thing I fear most about parenthood is a condition of overwhelmed frumpiness. In our culture, the stressed out mom who tries to do it all is both celebrated and vilified. There are at least two prototypes.

The All Star Mom

She's a PTA leading, cupcake baking, designer diaper bag wielding cliche. Her google calendar is overflowing with band practices, birthday parties and horseback riding lessons but she still finds time to have her hair blown out, pull together a chic outfit and run a lifestyle business empire on the side. Let's call Gwyneth Paltrow a prototypical example. Our culture would have us believe that this woman is the ideal who we should all aspire to emulate. If we can't be her, we are doomed to hate her because she appears to succeed where we fail.

The Mom Who Laughs It Off

She has given up totally on herself in order to meet the extraordinary demands of parenthood. She hasn't bothered to find a bra that fits after giving birth and is still running around in a sagging nursing bra with frayed elastic. She hasn't had a haircut in years. Every ounce of energy goes into catering to her family. It's all about feeding them, getting them where they need to be and then collapsing in a heap whenever possible, heaving deep sighs and making humorous, self deprecating comments about how little she's managed to accomplish. Our culture idealizes and condemns this mom too. There is a special kind of adoration  for her self sacrifice and willingness to become small in the service of others. And yet, we also wish she could just get it together.

And then, There's Parenthood. 

I feel convinced that there is an experience of parenthood that exists beyond these dualities. What babies do is simple: they exist in the present moment. That's what makes them such holy beings. We look at them and recognize how special it is to live in a sensory world without judgement. We marvel at their life of unknowable possibility.

I believe the job of parenthood is to observe the unfolding of a child's life as it happens across many years. You are a witness as they develop into unique beings with their own curious habits, personalities and talents. I believe that holding to that sacred duty should make you more of what you are. Being a parent isn't about making your child the center of your universe at the expense of all else. It's about bearing witness to their remarkable process of discovery, growth and self actualization. Of course, that means finding new depths within yourself, not giving up on high heels or the theater.

Book Report: The Unsettling of America

Wendell Berry has been calling me for many years. His thoughts glowed like gems in Michael Pollan's books and I've heard his poems from time to time on The Writer's Almanac. But, my illuminated path brought me to him now, at this moment, after about a year of settling into the Waldorf approach to education, and family life.

The Unsettling of Americais about farming, but it's author argues that this subject touches all others. His central argument is that the Industrial Revolution was dedicated to specialization and expertise, which eventually lead to isolation. Modern life has applied specialization and the rule of experts to every aspect of human existence; in farms, factories, schools, hospitals, churches and banks. The trouble is that isolation is deadly to a human being. We thrive on making connections, on our sense of being part of a whole, and on working jointly. 

Though this title was first published in 1975, many of the problems he described  have become further exaggerated. For an example, look at our increased reliance on technology that insists that we connect to each other by being alone in a room sitting before a screen. Consider the way consumerism has become the supreme method of personal expression and goods have become cheap in both senses- inexpensive, yes, but shoddy and disposable too. 

This dislocation and constant striving to separate systems into finer and finer parts, is what I find so deeply appealing about the Waldorf approach. At it's best, it is rooted firmly in holism.

I am not a machine that can be separated into parts and then reassembled, made to run quicker, faster, and more efficiently. Instead, I am a creature with parts that all function differently, but rely on complex integration to work with greater depth and wisdom over time, as I develop my capacities.

I have a spirit, which can experience things my mind and body cannot. It can sense elation, freedom and despair. It knows things my mind and body don't- it has foresight, and the power to restore. It relishes mystery, beauty and the unknowable.

I have a body, which gives physical sensation to my existence- it gives me access to the bounty of sensual experience, the delight of a ripe cherry- perhaps too many, like Zorba the Greek. My body knows the pleasure of sinking into my bed after a long day of hard work, the smell of my husband's unwashed hair, or the texture of his beard on the soft skin of my neck.

I have a mind which relishes the task of absorbing new information, then analyzing it's strengths and weaknesses, then synthesizing it into something that belongs to me because I have applied myself to it and created my own thought from it. My mind enjoys a puzzle, a challenge, sorting, organizing and solving.

But none of these parts of my being can function totally independently of one another. My body must be fed and well for my mind to be engaged. My spirit must be willing, even delighted, for my mind to take on the task of learning with sustained effort. My body's sensations are what help me feel the existence of my spirit- the soaring feeling in my chest that echoes and thrums in the soaring arches of St. Peter's Basillica- that is my spirit stirring restlessly, but it was my body that let me feel it's existence, and my mind that helped me name and reflect on it.

The point is that for me as a human being, these complex systems must interact and work together. They can't be singled out or walled off from one another and still allow me to grow and change- which is what all healthy living things must do.

Here is one particularly eloquent passage about unity. He quotes Sir Albert Howard's words: "Real organization always involves real responsibility," and describes how this man went from the laboratory to the fields to stop studying and start knowing.

"He unspecialized his vision, so as to see the necessary unity of the concerns of agriculture, as well as the convergence of these concerns with concerns of other kinds: biological, historical, medical, moral  and so on. He sought to establish upon agriculture the same kind of unifying cycle that preserves health, fertility and renewal in nature: The Wheel of Life, by which death supersedes life and rises again from what is dying and decayed.

It remains to be said only what has often been said before, that the best human cultures also have this unity. Their concerns and enterprises are not fragmented, scattered out,  at variance or in contention with one another...If a culture is to hope for any considerable longevity, then the relationships within it must, in recognition of their interdependence, be predominantly cooperative, rather than competitive.

A people cannot live long at each other's expense or at the expense of their cultural birthright-just as an agriculture cannot live long at the expense of it's soil or it's workforce, just as in a natural system the competitions among species must be limited if all are to survive...

The definitive relationships in the universe are thus not competitive, but interdependent...Under the discipline of unity, knowledge and morality come together...To know anything at all becomes a moral predicament. Aware that there is no such thing as a specialized- or even an entirely limitable or controllable-effect, one becomes responsible for judgments as well as facts. Aware that as an agricultural scientist he had 'one great subject' Sir Albert Howard could no longer ask What can I do with what I know? without also asking How can I be responsible for what I know? "

Unity offers the sense of purpose and responsibility that is so woefully absent from the culture I live in. If I can see myself as part of the place I live in, with other people who depend on me and on whom I depend, then the decisions I make have a greater weight, because they are not contained to my life alone.

When I am responsible only for myself, I don't always make healthy or conscientious decisions. (Like, eating PopTarts for dinner with the T.V on.) But when I am responsible to those around me, I am motivated to do my best. (Cooking for days to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for our community of transplanted friends in Hawaii.) Simplistic examples, to be sure, but tangible ones.

Money is like Manure.

Money, Money, Money, Money. It's fascinating stuff. I'm not very accountable with the little bit that I do have- I spend it on eating out, entertainment, shopping, and it's easy to lose sight of long term goals. Since Eric and I have a goal of running Becky Kazana together full time, I recently decided to actually write down those goals, so I'd have a way to measure our progress and to remind myself of the larger benefits of the daily sacrifices it takes to be thrifty.

I turned our goals into an illustration for our fridge. It'a an interesting portrait- remember what Holly Golightly's mobster accountant tells her in Breakfast at Tiffany's? He says her receipts could be turned into a best selling novel. I imagine that's true of almost anyone's bank account.

Our goals include saving money for a baby or two, money for our emotional and physical health, money for travel (those are airplanes, dressed in the national costumes of places we might want to visit!) and money as a result of creative work- a reward for being a producer, not just a consumer.

Another of my cherished movie axioms about money comes from Hello, Dolly!. She quotes her late husband, saying "Money is like manure. It should be spread around, encouraging young things to grow." Originally, I loved his because I thought of it as avoiding stinginess or miserliness. You can't take it with you, so enjoy it, right? But I think it also means that wealth is something that you must cultivate, care for. Money on it's own isn't an end. It's what you can grow with it, what you nurture with it that makes it valuable. For me, that's my health- my relationships, my body, my mind, and the experiences I will gather over the course of a lifetime. It isn't things, the way I used to think it would be.

City Groceries

One of the great pleasures of living in a city again has been the access to such extraordinary food. In Hawaii, we enjoyed beautiful local papayas, with their orange pink flesh and black seeds glistening like shiny pearls, freshly caught ahi in sushi and poke studded with salt and black pepper, and local favorites like crunchy, salty sweet seaweed salad and roasted seaweed chips. But for fine dining, we were mostly on our own. There was nothing to be had but overpriced steaks and chocolate lava cake.

Here in Minneapolis, there is no shortage of incredible places to try, and we've had fun working our way through. The Lowry, Rye,  Burch Steak, Sebastian Joe's, Nightengale and Roat Osha are all within walking distance.

But the grocery stores have been the most refreshing change of pace. We live across from The Wedge which is a community run co-op, and the place we go most frequently for a gallon of milk or eggs. But Kowalski's is definitely my favorite stop. It's a luxe shopping experience, with beautiful lighting and aisles set closer together to feel more like a boutique than a supermarket. Last time I was in, I discovered some recipe cards for creating a perfect cheese board, complete with suggestions for cracker, jam and wine pairings. I felt inspired to have a fall wine and cheese party, and started musing about music, a guest list and which linens to use. It made me glad to be back in a city again, where access to fine things is as simple as a stroll down my block.

Mailbox Refresher

Our mailboxes looked like this. I took matters into my own hands. Goo gone and a razor blade got the sticky mishmash of labels off. I sanded them with a fine grade sandpaper and gave them several coats of black Chalkboard Paint .  

Next, I used a chalk pen to write all the names directly on the box. It's a great solution for an apartment, because we can just wipe it clean when someone moves in or out and add the new line up of names. Our mail carrier actually thanked me. "I can see who lives here!" she said.

 I"m looking forward to returning to my long absence from blogging soon, I need to reclaim my creative space and am glad to have this spot waiting. Where are your creative energies flowing right now?

Makeover the Moon

 I found this little fellow during a thrifting expedition. He decided to come home with me and spent a few months serving as a paperweight on my desk. I liked his hand carved features, but wasn't sure how best to accentuate them. Then a few weeks ago, inspiration struck and I spent a pleasant morning on my front porch with a cup of coffee, sanding out his rough edges. Next, I added a little iridescent paint and an eye screw. I strung a few glass glitter stars strung on some fishing line and...

now he's shimmering and swinging sweet dreams over our heads each night. I'm crazy about his garbo-esque eyebrows. After all, if the moon can't get away with stage makeup, who can? What have you made new lately?

Delicious Caramels & Caramel Corn from Annie B's!

Annie B's makes incredible caramels and candied popcorn. They are always running fun contests on their Facebook and Twitter pages.

They recently asked: In 10 words or less, tell us why your mom is the best, and win her some caramel-y goodness!

I replied: She still hasn't stopped reading me fairy tales. I'm 30. #WhyMyMomRules #GiveHerCandy

I made the mistake of having them send the candy loot to my house- when really, it should have gone to straight to my wonderful mum. I think you know what happened next... The sweet note inside warned that the popcorn was especially addictive, and it didn't take me long to polish it off.

In fact, I just had to place another order to make it up to my sweet mother, who really does still read me fairy tales.

Best of all, the caramel corn is gluten free, perfect for my Mom, recently diagnosed with Celiac disease and who recently celebrated one year of living gluten-free. She says she feels like a new woman since cutting out flour

I have a feeling she's going to enjoy every sweet, salty, buttery and delicious morsel.

Merci Annie B's!

Escape from the Internet: A Digital Diet for Creativity

Escape Key by Elhorno

Being submerged in the internet for work each day means that managing my screen time has become a central issue in my life. I'm developing tricks for limiting technology use so I can stay present in my life. One is the digital diet outlined here. I like the simple metaphor of food he uses, because we all have to eat, but what, how much and when, all need to be tailored to our own bodies. 

I've personalized my digital diet by staying offline before and after work, (including my smartphone). For me, the five to eight hour window at work to check and reply to emails and get updated on Facebook is more than sufficient. I've also begun using mindfulness practices, list making and task batching to keep focused- a huge challenge since managing social media is my job! The cyclops we know as television is still part of my life, though I like to keep it at less than one hour per day, preferably none. 

However, none of this addresses the issue of finding time to be creative outside of work. Brene Brown says, "Unused creativity is not benign. It metastasizes." This haunts me, and I feel it with increasing urgency being back in a city so devoted to the arts. 

I've been trying to see a live arts performance at least once a month, since the Twin Cities is second only to New York City in theater seats per capita. The quality is impressive, and it's quite affordable if we see something edgy. During each of these performances, I feel that pang Brown spoke of. It's a squeeze of admiration, awe and jealousy for the people up on stage who are living their dream so fearlessly. It's not that I want to be a great actor. It's that I am an artist and I am not practicing my art. 

In the film Pollock, Lee Krasner says, "You are Jackson Pollock and you don't paint!", and it is her deepest recrimination. He's also a womanizer, and an alcoholic, but she can't forgive how he has turned his back on his talent. 

When I had the luxury of more time to pursue my creative work, I often wasted it on household tasks. I love to potter around my house, baking, organizing, crafting and sometimes, blogging about it. But do those things develop me as an artist? They are creative, but are they art? Are they the one, unique song of my soul? 

I don't think so. They are things I do to feel productive, without actually tackling the work. Artistic work is internal, it means peering into your own soul and seeing what bubbles up from that dark, deep, mysterious well. The housework is tangible, I can see the result when I sort my underwear drawer or mop the floor. Art  sometimes has a physical result, a drawing, an essay, but that isn't the reason for it. That is just an after image, a footprint, a shadow. The real thing art does is to fills you up, in an invisible way, with satisfaction at the effort of looking, taking, and making. It also fills you with a yearning for more of that. 

So how can it be that something so good for me can be so hard to do? So hard to make time for? What is stopping me? My jobs aren't stopping me. My housework isn't stopping me. The internet isn't stopping me. It's me stopping me. But why? Where does fear come from when only good things have ever come from practicing art? 

Do you wrestle with finding time to be creative? Do you want to take the time to listen to the song of your heart, but also feel afraid to listen? 

How to Choose a Yoga Studio

"Shoulder Stand" Original Drawing by Becky Kazana. Please do no reproduce without permission.  

Finding the right yoga studio is like choosing a church. You are looking for something intangible, a mood, a vibe. All of these places are pretty similar; usually clean, bare rooms with polished wood floors, maybe a wall of mirrors, maybe plants, maybe candles, maybe a singing bowl. Some use music, some don't. Some are hot, some warm, some cool. The teachers are important, but you will learn something from every person you take class with. The style of yoga is part of it- but you will learn something from every practice, from Hatha to Bikram.

Since arriving in Minneapolis, I'd gone the Groupon route, trying out Heat Yoga, Core Power, Minnehaha Yoga, Your Yoga, and Yoga Studio. I've barely scratched the surface of studios in my area- there is Life Power, Iyengar Yoga and a Bikram studio, all within easy walking distance of my apartment.

So far, One Yoga has definitely been my favorite. They offer a wide variety of classes in many styles, almost every hour, so there is always a class that is convenient. But the intangible something is in the air. Bold letters on the door announce "YOU ARE ENTERING A CALM PLACE." and it's true. You can feel it when you walk in. The rush and bustle drain away as you pull off your wet boots and hang your coat on a peg, find a spot to unfurl your mat and go inward, slowly and deeply.

During practice recently, I had an idea to make this drawing. I love looking at my legs and feet in shoulder stand- they always look so tiny and far off up there, and it's nice to send all the blood flowing in the opposite direction from feet to head for a change. I often have a dream that I am looking at my hands, feet or body from a distance as they slowly swell gigantic and then shrink back down to teeny tiny, and somehow this pose reminds me of that. Everything in your life is a matter of perspective, plain and simple.

Do you practice yoga? What's your favorite pose right now? What do you look for in a teacher? A studio? Do tell!

Movie Review: Ruby Sparks

Ruby Sparksis the story of a wunderkind writer, Calvin, who wrote a masterpiece as a teenager. Now in his  thirties, he's trying to come up with a second novel. He's suffering from writer's block. It's terrible. He's seeing a shrink and his only real friend is his brother. He's gotten a puppy called Scotty, who appears to be as neurotic as he is (he pees like a girl dog), in the vague hope that a dog will help him meet people when he's hiking.

One night he dreams about a beautiful red headed girl, back-lit by the sun, and begins to write about her. His writer's block seems cured- he's writing obsessively about Ruby, as though through the typewriter he's actually spending time with her. He realizes that he's falling in love with this character- and that she isn't real. But he is too lonely, too full of anxiety to stop writing.

That's when Ruby turns up in his kitchen, exactly as he'd envisioned her in the dream, munching on cereal. He's terrified at first, convinced that he's losing his mind. When he takes her out on the street and strangers can see her too, he stops resisting. Why shouldn't he fall in love with her? After all, she's the perfect woman, his dream girl! She was made for him- by him.

Now, in a typical romantic comedy, things would play out from here along the silliest and most trivial lines. But here, they go for the jugular to get at the heart of what makes relationships so difficult.

All relationships are like a mirror. The people we love show us things about ourselves. A new lover, especially reflects a version of yourself that you want to believe in and adore. But as time goes on, the beautiful light fades. We are forced to see ourselves as we really are in the mundane, day-to-day moments of our lives. When faced with our own imperfections, we don't want to gaze as closely at ourselves, and so we begin to look for imperfections in the other person instead.

That moment of dissatisfaction is where the premise of Ruby Sparks gets really interesting. What if you can change the person you're in love with? What if you can control what they say and do? This is the perfect scenario, right? They will love you unconditionally, and you will never have to change.

Calvin tries to resist at first, but it starts to look as if Ruby might not stay with him left to her own free will, and he changes the rule book. He begins to tinker with her, adding lines to his novel so that she will adore him more, never want to leave him, and be miserable without him. She becomes despondent when he goes out to get the mail. In following scenes, she clings to him like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Unable to take life as a conjoined twin, he writes instead that she is filled with joy. Suddenly Ruby is deliriously  vacantly, creepily happy about absolutely everything.

Calvin discovers that controlling Ruby's thoughts and feelings destroys his reasons for loving her. Free will is essential to the idea of true love. It's part of the mystery of it- that someone could have the planet full of people to chose from, and from those billions, they plucked you, and you them. What a beautiful mystery!

I won't spoil the resolution for you, I will simply say that this film was a wonderfully thorough investigation of why and how love works and how freedom and risk are the only ways to the ecstasy of true love.

Mama Artists

Having babies has been on my "Maybe Someday" list for a long time. But something is shifting.

Eric surprised me with tickets to Verdi's La Traviata at the Cowles Center. It was a stripped down production with no sets or costumes. One of the sopranos was gloriously, Venus of Willendorf-ishly pregnant. She stood in the spotlights in her black evening gown, hair spun into a French twist, neck and wrists dripping with glittering jewelry. I couldn't stop looking at her belly as she sang- watching it lift and pulse as she belted out arias. I imagined the little baby inside of her, listening to those sounds vibrating all around her body, comprehending none of it, but understanding it perfectly.

A few weeks later, we went to see the James Sewell Ballet at the very same theater. The dances ranged from traditional to modern, the performers wearing tutus in one sequence and leopard spotted spandex in another. One of the dancers, long and lanky with acres of neck and legs, was also pregnant. She wore a sheer black blouse over a black bra and tiny shorts- her belly sitting low and oval, like an ostrich egg. Her pregnancy was unmistakable and yet not the first thing you noticed. Her confidence and self possession shined out of every movement she made. She leaped and jumped all over the stage, so light and free in her changed body. I wondered the about her and her baby- what was their life like? How had she decided to get pregnant? Was this her first baby? Did she ever feel nervous moving like that with a baby?

I thought about these two women for weeks. How strange see two hometown performers in different mediums both pregnant at separate shows only a few weeks apart. Both women were doing creative work that demanded so much from their bodies- they had to be completely engaged in what they were doing. Both could have opted out, maybe were even advised to, yet neither one did.

You can choose to become lost to yourself. You can ignore the lessons life offers you by looking at the wrong things, avoiding pain, deadening your feelings, zoning out. So it must be the same with parenthood. Children can either be something to lose yourself in, or something to discover yourself through.

Entering into parenthood feels even more sacred than marriage to me. You are guiding a spirit into a body, teaching it how to be human, how to move through the world. You must be worthy of imitation, in the words of Rudolf Steiner. It fills me with awe to even think of it- bringing something from the void. By mixing my soul with my husband's, we can bring forth a new being- it's such an honor and tremendous responsibility.

That's why seeing those Mamas up there touched me so much- I couldn't look away. For them, motherhood didn't stop their work, it enhanced it. It pushed them further into the mystery of living, pushed them deeper into the reasons they make art to begin with. At it's best, art puts you in touch with the unknowable, the awesome, the deep possibilities. And at it's best, parenthood offers you the same lessons. I wonder why I never understood that before.

A Murder of Crows Stay the Night

"A Murder of Crows" original illustration by Becky Kazana. Please do not reproduce without permission. 

Crows don't migrate like some birds, and there is a massive group of them circling in Minneapolis this winter. You can see them fluttering through the air like bits of singed paper, especially in the evenings at dusk. I've seen them roosting in different places- always in tall trees and often in loosely formed clusters, not too near one another, but most definitely in a group.

The other night as we were starting dinner, I noticed their calls outside the window and went to look out. Sure enough, they were all settling in the tall oak trees that line our street. These glossy black birds are so associated with Gothic literature and bad omens, (a group of crows is called a "murder" after all,) that it felt a little eerie. On the other hand, Eric loves to tell me how they are among the smartest animals on earth, able to solve complex problems, use tools and recognize and distinguish human faces. It's not their fault Edgar Allen Poe decided to immortalize one in a spooky poem.

Their acrid calls and awkward shuffling is rather endearing when you imagine them as a gaggle of cranky old men. They certainly were striking up there silhouetted in the tangle of branches as the sky darkened around them. In the morning, they were all gone, a spray of splintered branches on the sidewalk and snow the only evidence of their night spent on our street.