Movin'

Upkeep of two blogs has not been the most time-sensitive task for the mother of a toddler. For now I'm combining these two blogs into one by posting my thoughts at Bean's Talk along with updates for the family on what my daughter, Lucine, is doing.

Though it never really got off the ground, I do hope to be able to find a place to collect and share my writings and thoughts in the future. It will just have to be in the venue I share with my daughter for the moment.

Blessings

Friday Bliss

Things that make me smile this Friday:

Plump little yellow buds on bitterbrush, just about to bloom

My little blonde girl running toward me with her arms outstretched yelling "dee deet"

Warm spring breezes on my face

The desert peach is blooming

Spring Memories

written Spring 1998
for M.A.

Unsigned letter found under a pillow

This letter is pointless,
we speak everyday

but
I wanted to tell you,
without having to tell you,

I'm afriad you'll be
in my dreams tonight.

It always happens,
recurring nightmare,
I dream of someone and
POOF!

they disappear,
just like flowers

at a cheap magician's
last performance.

Imagining you have disappeared
from my sight,

like a hummingbird
after the first frost,
makes me shiver.

I think I would miss
that freckle on your lip

and the way you smell
the crook of my neck
when I'm cooking.

This letter can't say
anything you haven't
already heard my hands

say when they
run across your eyebrow
and laugh.

I keep wondering if
you are an illusion,

a fun house reflection
that will befuddle the fingertips
when they reach out
to touch you.

You always
surprise me --

calling when I
least expect;

standing in the doorway
in the exact moment
I'm thinking of you;

by not being
the immature
football player

I was afraid you might be.

I don't like sleeping
alone anymore.

It's comforting to know
the face I wake up to
mid-sleep

is flesh,
and not the reflected
remnants of a dream.

Explain

Cognitive understanding is big for me. I need to understand. I need to have things explained. I used to be happy when someone gave me the answer to a question, or the results of an event or process. I wanted to take the pieces and see what the picture looked like once they were all put together. But I didn't always care to do the assembly; I was only interested in the end result.

What kind of bird is it? (but I'm not all that interested in subtlety of the markings)
What does Yeats mean when he uses the image of the gyre? (not how did he come up with this concept and where else does it manifest itself in his writings, his philosophy?)

But I'm not so easily pleased anymore.

I hate to admit it but I'm finally reaching the cognitive maturity I wish I would have had while I was still in school.

I feel like an idiot for admiting that I was never that smart, never asked the better questions. But I'm trying to get more comfortable being stupid. When I was teaching I fell into that nasty habit of being smarter than my students (damn those freshman). And it made me what I can't stand: A stubborn idiot who thinks they're always right, and so doesn't go look it up and confirm what they think they know.

Quando estaba en Mexico

I found this one hiding in a file of musings and freewrites that I call "Random Shit." I thought of my friend Nessie, who was on this trip with me.

Quando estaba en Mexico

When I was in Mexico,
hell, part of me is still there,
sand in my hair,
ocean smell on my body,
drinking at the mayor’s liquor stand
with Scottie -- big red belly
hanging over his shorts
and scabby rashed shins,
drinking on his birthday
no different than any other day.

A ten-year old boy rides up on a bike,
dirty cheeks, hair in his eyes,
and holds out a package full of pictures –
inside are a granddaughter
who Scottie has never seen,
and an estranged daughter
now a mother.
It's been 12 years, he says.
I can still see his face as he grabbed
the handlebars of his large tricycle
and rode down the beach.

Think of it all like a story, Cory says,
frame each moment in words.
The chickens we wake to every morning.
The dolphins just offshore.
Maria, and the fushia flowers
trailing off her balcony.
And the yellow-bellied sea snake
Pelmis platurus
that I found lying dead on the beach.

Trails across oceans

I've been having the urge to live in a foreign country for so long now that I can't even remember when it began. I remember it hitting me most strongly when I came back from my first trip to Europe. I realized with startling clarity that for the last 2 1/2 months I had been carrying everything I needed in a 30-pound pack on my back. I hadn't missed any of my stuff back home. In fact I had felt remarkably unburdened.

I came home and cleaned out my house, giving or throwing away more than half of what I owned at the time. That took a lot of courage for my inner packrat. But, man, there's an amazing high that comes with letting go. I've been considering letting go again.

Mike and I have been talking about taking some time to live abroad for a while after he's done with his degree. I started looking into this last fall since I knew it would go through several incarnations. At the moment we're looking at New Zealand.

It's scary, the prospect of selling or giving away a lot of our belongings and moving halfway around the world. I'm not sure what in me has changed, but that fear is part of the reason I want to do this. Or maybe I'm more terrified of stagnation than I am of jumping off that cliff. I love my family, and they are the real reason I haven't done this before now. I was afraid that in leaving them behind I might hurt their feelings, that they might miss me, that they might think I was doing something stupid, that I might actaully do soemthing stupid and disappoint them.

But I've been hesitating for so long that I feel like one of those wind-up cars that is so wound, it's going to sling-shot across the room. I've found all these reasons to justify it, but truthfully, I need the thought of it as much as I want the reality. Especially being at home with the Bean, walking in circles, I need something, a landmark on the horizon, to move toward. The sight of it alone gives me hope.

I'm sure many of my friends and family think it has a lot to do with my transition from an academic to a stay-at-home mom, but truthfully that's not it at all. It's my escape goat. He's finally gotten loose from his pasture.


PS. (If you haven't, read the blog entry on escape goats, do. It's poetic and so very true.)

Circles

I've found myself wandering the same trails lately. Circles. Facciamo in giro, is what they would say when I was in Italy. Circles are comforting, mindless, but they get old after awhile. They build my momentum for launching off into something new.

Mike and I found a book, Afoot and Afield in Reno/Tahoe, that details some great trails in this area. We tried yesterday, but our grand attempts didn't get us much further than Thomas Creek park in Galena.



Though this morning I did rediscover the beauty of my backyard

Shepherd's Pie

We just discovered this one. Right in time for Saint Patty's! And with Guinness. What more could a girl ask for?

Ingredients:
1 1/2 Lbs. ground (minced) lamb or beef (or mixture of the two)
1 large onion peeled and finely chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 sticks celery, finely chopped
2-3 carrots, peeled and finely chopped or grated
2 tsp fresh oregano
2 tsp fresh rosemary
1-2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1/2 cup peas (optional)
1 pint of Guinness
8 oz. can of peeled, chopped tomatoes
3 Lbs. potatoes, peeled and cubed
3 tbsp butter
2-3 tbsp half and half or whipping cream
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
freshly chopped parsley to garnish

Directions:
Marinate lamb in Guinness overnight in the refrigerator. Next day remove meat from marinade and place in saucepan (reserve marinade) with onion, celery, garlic and carrots. Add approximately 4 tbsp of marinade and cook gently for 10 minutes or so, stirring frequently until meat is well-sealed and almost cooked.

Add tomatoes, oregano, rosemary, seasonings and Worcestershire sauce and simmer for 15-20 minutes (You can add the rest of marinade and use a gravy thickener to make additional thicker sauce. This is optional).

Meanwhile, cook potatoes in boiling salted water until tender (approximately 20 minutes). Mash potatoes until smooth or use a whip. Add butter and fold until potatoes are creamy. Place potatoes in a pastry bag fitted with a large star nozzle and pipe evenly over meat mixture which is now in an oven dish; or, spread potatoes evenly with a spoon and fork up the potatoes for texture.

Cook in oven for 30-40 minutes at 400 degrees until top is golden brown. Sprinkle with chopped parsley and serve. Serves 4-6.

NW Reno Greenbelts

My daughter Lucine and I have spent the winter trying to get out as much as possible with a minimum of driving. This has left us walking the greenbelts (I call them brown belts as they are seldom green) that double as flood run-off areas in the northwest part of town.

While repetative after awhile, the birding is descent. Last week we saw a female norther harrier and a killdeer, in addition to the regular sparrows, finches, dove, and quail. Other regulars in the last week have been a red-tailed hawk, white-crowned sparrows, and a northern flicker.

There are also playgrounds dotted throughout these paths, which keeps me motivated to get out even when I'm tired. (I don't feel like going but she needs to get out.) Between Luci and the dog my guess is that we'll be logging a lot of miles this summer.

Mike has been coming with us every Saturday for a long walk or hike, either around the neighborhood or in the Sierras. So far this year we've snowshoed Tahoe Meadows and up near Spooner Summit. We've hiked up the Hunter Creek trail until we hit conifers and the vegetation and birds began to change. Other weekends we've just hit the paved trails down by the Truckee river or the brownbelts around northwest Reno.

Last Saturday I caught him and Luci having a bonding moment.

Sunset Salutation

sunset pinking the crevice
where the mountains sigh in their saddle
of snow and dark
shadows of soil

I welcome the cold that creeps into my skin
I welcome the tingling in my feet
I welcome the fog that drifts from my lips
I welcome the fading light

I fill myself with the murmurings of the Earth
the energy that I receive
and give
with every breath

When you inhale, breathe in the entire universe.
When you exhale, re-create the world.

Parmesean Beer Bread

recipe courtesy of H. D. S. Anderson

The recipe for the bread originally has basil in it. You can take it out or add other interesting things like sun dried tomatoes, olives (not black though, not enough flavor), or whatever you think of. Personally, I always add a bit of chopped garlic.

Ingredients:
Olive oil for baking sheet
3 ¼ cup all-purpose flour
1 package active dry yeast
1 ¼ teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper ( I use a bit more)
¾-1 cup grated hard cheese (Parmesean, Asagio)
1 12oz. bottle of beer, preferably ale
Flour for work surface
Chopped basil, fresh or dried

Heat over to 400F and oil baking sheet.
In a bowl combine flour, yeast, salt, pepper, and cheese.
Add the beer and stir until mix just comes together (it may be a little dry, but once you knead it everything will be a-okay).
Turn dough out onto a floured surface. Sprinkle with basil (or whatever ingredients you choose to add) and knead until incorporated. Shape dough, place on baking sheet and bake for 40-45 minutes.

For the Love of Fruit

The leaf when loved becomes a flower,
the flower when loved becomes a fruit.
Italian proverb

half-melted ice slides
discreet down hills and valley
teased nipple hardens

crushed plum rests mid-thigh
violet flames ignite sweet trails
from apex to knee
creating new veins and nerves
to trace. my heart beat echoes.

the curve of my arm
is a melon rind offer
of honey-dewed flesh

watermelon seeds
slip down the slick sides
of my waist and hips

seedful grape oozes
over salty lips and tongue
swallow the water-
fall trickling down my throat
at its base a flower blooms

Orange Inspiration

Recently I rediscovered the color orange. I was pondering the color as I stood in the kitchen cleaning the polen from an oriental lily off my hands. It wouldn't come off. Orange has been like that ever since.

I think of orange as the color of desire. I have for a long time. I'm not sure why. Sunsets? The sensuality of sucking a slice of orange? I can't stop thinking about it. I looked back through my poetry from years ago. Actually, nine years, a graduate degree, and a kid ago. In my file there are "Wild Poppies," "Killing Oranges," "Calico," "Close Inspection of a Grapefruit," and "Marmalade Moon." I didn't realize until now that I was that into the color.

Blogs, especially more personal blogs, are interesting because they ask you to define who you are and/or what you do. I am a writer, a martial artist, a teacher, an outdoorswoman. A mom, a lover, and a friend. I am goofy, pensive, strong, and loyal. I want to be more humble and compassionate.

I want to be inspired.