Be Still

Maybe it is because we're in the midst of the busiest couple weeks of the year, but I have been thinking a lot about the loveliness of home time, of staying in my pjs and making bread at 1:00 in the afternoon and just being with my own little family without a laundry list of to do's, parties, projects, obligations, and work shifts. I haven't had a day like that in a long, long time and I can feel myself teetering on the brink of exhaustion. My brilliant sister once described the difference between being an introvert and an extrovert as either feeling that social situations "fill you" or "drain you." I fall firmly into the filling up category when it comes to people, and being a pleaser by nature I have a hard time saying no to social engagements and I'm always interested in planning events where I can see those I love. I also think I'm always rah rah rah party because I spend a good number of hours each day at home with kids, insulated from outside connection. Getting out really means something to me, it's a break from routine, and I tend to thrive on it. But I also tend to create, plan, and commit to a lot of extra curricular situations that tax my family's resources both financially and in terms of our chance to be together as a family unit-2 parents x 2 kids.

I think it's pretty impossible to change what fundamentally floats your boat, so I know I will never become a hermit long term. But I do think it is time for me to hunker down a bit and get re-centered with my family. Last year I read about an idea on the wonderful crafty blog Inchmark about taking a week to "BE STILL" as a family. The idea is really just what it sounds, to make an organized and committed stab at retreating to do nothing and to enjoy that state of peace. Inchmark does this at the start of the holiday season, but I'm thinking the perfect time for my family to make this a yearly tradition will be the first week of the new year. It feels like an intuitive way to start off 2011 and I'm always happy to set a worthy goal right from the get go. I'm in love with short term, manageable resolutions that can wither after 7 days!

In our week of being still I plan to resist the urge to make plans, to go out to dinner, or work late. The week will give us a chance to read books out loud and privately, do puzzles, play with our new Christmas bells and whistles, and to sit by candlelight. I imagine some walks and maybe a few craft projects but lots of time by the fire, slow simmering soups, music listening, design magazines and Roald Dahl on our laps. No friends, no play dates, no errands, no outside activities, just me, myself, and mine own at home on Summerhill Drive.

It sounds pretty heavenly, right? I really don't mean to sound all bah humbug because I truly am looking forward to another glorious week of Christmas break with friends and loved ones and fun activities and parties, but I hope that knowing that the stillness is coming January 1 will help me to soak up the love, the bubbly, and the joy of this crazy, hectic, glorious season that much more. Turn outward so I can happily turn inward.....

Glad tidings to you...

I think Dr. Seuss is one of the great American literary treasures. Everything he wrote was pretty much pitch perfect (and in trisyllabic rhythm, no less!) and represent heavy ideological thinking packaged in a humorous, wacky, and utterly original style. I just ran across his "A Prayer for a Child" and thought it was a perfect little message to send out into the computering ether this holiday season. Enjoy, and please have yourselves a merry little Christmas-with peace and good will toward all.....

Prayer for a Child

From here on earth,
From my small place
I ask of You
Way out in space:
In every land
What You and I
Both understand…

Please tell all men
That Peace is Good.
That’s all
That need be understood
In every world
In Your great sky.
(We understand.
Both you and I.)

-Theodore Seuss Geisel

written in 1955 for Colliers magazine and accompanied by above illustration

Finding the fa la la la la

I really do love this season. I'm no banner waving Christian so honestly "the reason for the season" is just part of what I love about Christmas. The lore of St Nicholas and the idea of celebrating the Solstice, the longest night of the year with it's thoughts of a brighter, warmer, greener future, also make me pretty giddy. I love the fresh beginning of the New Year approaching and vow every January 1 to tackle aspirations and try harder to fix stubborn habits. It's a glorious time to look both backwards and forwards.

I got choked up reading The Polar Express to Flynn last night. It happens every time I read that line about how it used to be that all the boy's childhood friends could hear Santa's sleigh bell and over time as they grew up even his sister could not hear it, could not find the magic of Christmas. It feels all too familiar now that I'm an adult. I usually feel two or three moments of full fledged excitement during the season, and like I said, I love all the history and tradition surrounding this time of year. But my heartfelt moments and excitement now seem so fleeting and are quickly over taken by the exhaustion of social engagements (seriously why does everyone have a party just this time of year? I'd welcome something say the 2nd weekend in February?); the fear of over spending and debt and spoiling already spoiled children; the wondering whether I need to have misc. gifts ready for the random neighbor or friend caller which then brings on anger about the feelings of obligation instead of generosity the holidays can incite; and lastly, hoping that I've been 'fun' and present enough to make the season as magical for my kids as it felt for me as a child. I used to spend the whole month in pretty much a state of over-excited hyper activity! My sister and I would plan elaborate Christmas Eve programs for our relatives, reading stories or acting out puppet shows or lip synching to Andy Williams' Christmas record. I would eagerly await the Christmas Eve call from Santa who mysteriously knew so much about me. (A belated thank you Charlie Seldin! I think you fooled me for 10 years.) All of December was a blur of anticipation. Now it's pretty much just a blur.

Of course a lot of the spirit of Christmas can't help but dissipate when it's my Amex, and not Santa, footing the bill to make the magic happen. I read this frightening article awhile back that said it will cost today's parents $222,360 to raise a child born in 2009. Gulp! During Christmas, it feels like that number is right around the corner. Stocking stuffers and whim buys and trying to be 'fair' to one kid and the other adds up. I try to reign myself in but its hard not to get caught up in the mania when you are out on the front lines of commerce!

Honestly probably the best boost I had at discovering the real magic of Christmas, the kind that just might still come from Santa's workshop, is when I perused Made by Joel's wonderful creations for his children. (I've mentioned him before here.) Not only do his toys and projects look great visually but they are geniusly simple and interactive. They harness the imgination, dexterity, and natural curiousity of kids. Those are the type of playthings I like to have around. And while I did make a few crumby Christmas purchases for my kids, (hello horrendous peace sign nail polish kit and squishy salamanders purchased as at the register whims) I am hoping to redeem myself and my standards by making a little something with my own two hands to put under the tree. I'm going old school and want to introduce my kids to the pleasure of analog telephoning, tin can style! Look how cute these are! It will be an interesting experiment to see if something so hands on and homemade can compete on Christmas morning in a sea of batteries, remote controls, and plastic Playmobil. Fingers crossed! Even if those fingers are painted with glittery peace sign polish...

Tis the season...

I come from a small family and have just one sibling to call my own. But lucky for me, she's amazing. Amy is probably the most trustworthy person I know, capable of holding onto triumphs and confessions and heart aches with perfect loyalty and thoughtful advice. She's probably aided in this by what seems to me an adept moral compass and a keen listening ear. She's one of those people who never seems ruffled regardless of how much is on her plate. She quietly accomplishes more than most people I know, but she isn't one to get all braggadocio about it, so few people actually realize the zillion tiny balls she throws into the air every day. She's always the 3 c's-calm, cool, and collected- and since I feel I spend half my days in twits and fits- I've always deeply admired and even coveted her degree of zen.

Amy's full of good ideas too and she absolutely made my day this week by sending a lovely little holiday note via snail mail. Inside were a few photos of cute items she'd seen in catalogs and on each she'd labeled Al or Jaren. The note simply said "because I really am a lover of the idea that the thought really does count for something...here are just a few things I would love to be buying for you this holiday season!"

Isn't that fantastic? Knowing that her family and mine, along with most people I know, are in financial lock down this holiday season, I absolutely adored this note from my sister. In fact it truly felt like she'd sent me a gift. And I agree with her sentiment completely. It really is the thought that counts and I felt loved, pegged, appreciated, and thought of just as I would have if she'd actually bought me these things. (All of which did happen to be right on point, by the way. I mean, look at those boots! A match made in heaven.) It was brilliant and made me want to go on a fake vision board style shopping spree for everyone on my list this year, cutting and tearing magazine and catalog photos and wrapping them up. I would wager that a family Christmas party could still feel pretty great even if everyone opened a gift with a photo of an item, instead of the actual item, inside.

I think it's easy to forget in the mania of the holidays that gift giving doesn't have to be an elaborate, expensive enterprise. The best gifts are the ones given thoughtfully, whether they are big or small. It's an art to be a good gift giver and to me this doesn't just mean you are a good shopper and always have something for someone. When done correctly, a gift is a true manifestation of who someone is- you "get" them enough to choose something they would choose for themselves- or you have paid enough attention to someone to know what they are most in need of.

We should really think before we buy all of the time, but especially at Christmas. I believe in the ritual of giving this time of year, it's symbolic and Christian and all that good stuff. We shouldn't complacently let it become yet another meaningless display of our buying power. If you are looking for a little Christmas time inspiration, treat yourself and read the wonderful O. Henry story The Gift of the Magi. You can give it a whirl here or seek out a copy of the above version illustrated by Lisbeth Zwerger. It's gorgeous and good for the kiddos to boot. Let's hope we can all be a little Della & Jim to each other and those we love this year!

Happy Holidays!

Living History

In the last year, all the oldest generation of my family has all but died. I have no grandparents left, and since I started out with 3 sets thanks to a complicated family tree, that's saying something. My great aunt Shirley is the sole survivor in the 80+ crowd of my bloodline. (She's a great one to have left though. Any of you who know me well have heard me talk about Shirley. She's one serious kook and someone not to be trifled with. She embodies sentiments of another time when she says phrases like "great scott" or "my heavenly days, Alli" or "it's on the Boulevard" --meaning Foothill Blvd. She is a keeper and a true family matriarch now.) We are so lucky to have her with us still.

Holidays make me think about family. And this year, it feels a little strange not having the older set to anchor my family to our usual traditions and events. I can already see how not having my grandmother Mere around is going to mean seeing my uncles, aunts, and cousins much less. Time passes and family traditions evolve. It makes sense, times change and families grow, but I picture how difficult it must be for the person in their twilight years, who was once at the center of a family, to suddenly feel more like a leaf on a much larger tree. In one way I suppose that's what we all want when we start a family of our own, to witness something so much larger than ourselves taking shape, but it is easy to fantasize about that when you are stuck in your prime years, little family emerging and growing. It might be a bit more bitter pill to swallow when you are the old one at the table struggling to keep up with the conversation about ipads and Facebook and Toy Story 3.

One of the things I admire about traditional cultures is the way elderly people are revered and honored. Even once you die, you are still an important piece of society because the concept of respected "ancestors" is so central to many of these cultures. Some even believe the ancestor spirits are ever-present influencing for better or worse what happens in the daily life of the living. I like this belief that those who went before should inform the decisions you make in your life. It seems so comforting and smart, kind of like listening to a life coach or something. But it's simply a foreign notion in American life. I'm not saying we don't mourn our dead, of course we do, but we don't collectively spend much time thinking about what the previous generation would want us to do. It feels irrelevant in our world of personal choice and fixation with progress. Looking back isn't an American, or some might even say Western, direction of thought.

I can't say that I always listened rapt when Mere or other grandparents were telling their tales or doling out advice, but now that I can't hear it, I miss the chance to. I'd really love to ask Mere some questions about her carmel sauce technique and hear my Grandma Lou say "Raoul and Felipe" (her names for the 2 elevators in her building) in her best tongue rolling Spanish accent. I think it's difficult not to see our elderly as stereotypes. We forget to look past the wrinkles and bad Christmas sweatshirts and see their former youth spent full of days that probably really resembled our own. I wish that I could have looked further past Mere's critical eye for decadence and material possessions and focused more on the reasons behind her criticism. What was it like living through the depression and having your mother sew wedding dresses to put clothes on your back?

I find it a wee bit ironic that we fixate on our kids knowing factoids of history like "1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue", and yet most of us couldn't probably give a significant personal family history date like when our parents were married or the year our grandparents were born. Living history, that's what or older family members are. I'm a fan of living history. I know I'm always referencing, nerd-like, radio shows, but I truly adore the tiny segments on NPR made by Storycorps. Usually less than 5 minutes, they are snippets of interviews between family members or friends. It's just one person asking another person about their life and significant (or not) moments from it. I love hearing these intimate pieces of a stranger's story and how the interviewer relates to it. It is surprisingly hard to interview someone you know well. I took my Dad into a Storycorp booth a couple summers ago when they were traveling through SLC and we recorded an interview. It was an experience I treasure-emotional wreck of an interviewer though I was- and I now have a documented, recorded piece of our shared living family history. It makes me proud. But why haven't I extended this experience to pretty much everyone I know, particularly those I know who are likely in their last years?

Storycorps motto is "Every life matters." I believe this too, so this holiday season, when I am sure to see my family, old and grey and young and dewy alike, I am going to challenge myself to think like an interviewer and find out some facts and life history about those around me. Storycorps has a list of great questions to use as a stepping off point. It might not be the usual cocktail hour conversation but it is something I know I can fell good about doing. Check the list out. Maybe you will find out that you want some of these answers for yourself at your next holiday shindig?.....

An early thanksgiving

I have a real affection for the radio talk show Radio West. (In fact, Jaren loves to tease me about my boyfriend being the show's host, Doug Fabrizio.) I don't listen to it daily or even regularly, but if I'm ever in the car at 11:00 you better believe I'm tuning in and likely really enjoying it. I have been exposed to so many new ideas and interesting personal stories because of this show. I think it would be a dream job to research and read about random things and people and then get to quiz someone about the who, what, where, when, and why. It's endless, really, the fascinating things we can learn about each other and this world if we choose to do so.

I was lucky to catch a good chunk of Radio West this week which was an interview with David Campbell, a guy who just wrote a book called American Grace. The book is an attempt to figure out why America remains such a religious nation compared to similar economic/social countries like those in Western Europe, and why our different religious sects don't necessarily divide us a nation. In America, we've kept our religions remarkably intact and even growing. Campbell posits that it has a lot to do with our nation's entrepreneurial take on religion-it's personal here, not a required religion adopted by the state or government, and because of that, religion is able to be really responsive and fitting to personal needs and tastes. It's rather interesting to me that this means that the vitality of religion (and perhaps our nation) still comes down to what our country's founders felt, that celebrating and honoring religious freedom is key.

One of the most compelling parts of the interview to me was when Campbell mentioned that in random samples across the US if he asked people the question whether they say any type of grace before a meal, it was pretty much universally 50/50; half say grace, half don't. This statistic was true regardless of where he was in the country, regardless of age or social status, etc. I found this surprising. I'm not even sure if I thought more or less people would still be blessing their food, but I thought the fact that it breaks down so perfectly across the country was significant and worth thinking about. What does it mean to not say some kind of thank you out loud before you eat? Is something lost if saying grace becomes a relic of the past or the fervent?

Not being a religious family, I confess that me and mine rarely say grace or a prayer before dinner, and yet in the abstract I realize how much this bothers me. It isn't about hellfire and brimstone or God per se. For me, it is really about the true meaning of grace as an expression of gratitude, regardless of what the specific words are or whom they are directed to. This is a heart of the matter subject for me since I think if I could sum up my religiousity/spirituality in one single word it would be gratitude. I have faith in giving thanks. I have faith in believing that the world around me is truly amazing and that those I interact with are unique and amazing too. As a parent, the qualities I hope to impart in my kids are kindness and graciousness. Call it Christian. Call it being all you can be. I don't really care. I just hate to think that by opting out of saying grace I might be helping to foster an environment in my home that equates to entitlement...the we have this just because we do, irrespective of the work it took to have it, mentality. We all work for our money but also someone else worked to grow it, make it, dream it into being. (And the it here is a fill in the blank, mind you. It can be anything.) Ultimately you can call it God, you can call it the Universe, or you can call it a long chain of humanity cooperatively organized to make it so....but isn't there room in all of those views for an expression of mindful gratitude? I can't see the harm in directing a few quiet minutes to thankfulness each day.

Out of curiousity, I looked up some different traditions around saying grace at the dinner table and was quite inspired by what is out there. I thought this list of Christian/God centered texts had some nice ones. I also thought this list compiled from all different religions was interesting. None of them feel quite right for me but I think I'm going to try and experiment and see if I can come up with one that suits my family. I started simply last night by asking everyone to say one thing they are grateful for. It wasn't earth shattering--Flynn's was Santa for heaven's sake--but it set a tone for the meal that made me quite happy.

It's fitting to bring this all up in the month of Thanksgiving, isn't it? I adore Thanksgiving and hate that it gets swept under the rug in the vaccuum between commerical Halloween and even more commercial Christmas. I love that the holiday is about the simple act of appreciation and giving thanks. I love the Mayflower. I love the Pilgrim story and even have a soft spot for crazy Pilgrim dress. I'd wear a pair of square toed buckle shoes any day and this is 300 years later! I intend to make these cute paper Pilgrim hats the required dress code at the Harbertson family turkey day meal. And you'd better believe it, this Thanksgiving we'll be primed and ready for grace!

Dollar store woes

In my life as a parent, there is no retail hell quite as visceral as taking my children to the Dollar store. It's a fate I try hard to skirt, avoiding the places like the plague that they are. They are just so full of constant temptation for children-balloons, obnoxious holiday decor, sparkly crap, plastic toy wonderlands, and cavity inducing treats. And it doesn't take a 6 year old long to figure out just how cheap $1 is compared to normal shopping experiences. Because of the toll it takes on my psyche we rarely go to the Dollar store, but every major holiday seems to chip away at my resolve and we always end up there for something random-this Halloween it was glow sticks for trick or treating. So the dollar store conundrum is fresh on my mind.

I really don't think dollar stores are responsible for cultural decay, but I'm not joking when I say that I think places like it have contributed directly to it. I think All A Dollar, Big Lots, and the like have done a lot to harm our mindset as a culture, and especially our consumer culture, so central to the American way of life. The value we place on goods is irretriveably altered when we pay only $1 for them. We don't expect much out of the product's design, we don't expect it to exude taste, we aren't supporting the labor market that produced the product, and we certainly don't expect it to last. I have issue with all of these things going by the wayside, but encouraging disposability is to me really egregious. I bet 50% of land fills are now filled with the broken down rejects someone bought at the freaking dollar store! Trust me, I tried this summer, and it is hard to unload the stuff at a garage sale, let alone have it hang around for years in your own closet.

Last summer I read an awesome book called Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture. It was an enlightening read about the global practices behind producing goods cheaply and the psychology of how good deals and cheap goods have infiltrated our consumer experience and mentality. The book depressed me on a lot of levels--thinking of the plight of the foreign worker making silly products for hours on end that no one needs in dangerous conditions is a hard pill to swallow-but the thing that really struck me most was the way cheap goods have changed our expectations of products and therefore our expectation of workmanship and quality. It is frightening to think that we have traded in the concept of heirloom quality for sheer quantity or the hope of a larger bank balance in exchange for inexpensive goods.

Being married to a craftsman, someone who can build actual useable things from scratch, I've learned the value of creating by hand. I've seen the work it takes to produce a chair from a hunk of wood, and it is something so hard to put a price on. It's someone's time, sure, but it's also someone's knowledge and someone's pride in what they produce. It is intensely personal work to make something by hand. And it's that sense of the personal that sets the creation apart from mass production goods. Anyone can buy a dresser from IKEA and save a bundle but is there a story behind the item, a point of view, other than how cheap it was or the frustration of putting it together?! Can you name something you own that you feel you would want to pass on to your children? Why do you feel this way about it? What sets it apart from everything else you own? I'm willing to wager you aren't looking at something you bought at IKEA or the Dollar store.

Things that we truly value are priceless. Literally. You cannot put a dollar figure on them and yet that is the only criteria shoppers use when perusing the aisles of dollar store establishments. "But it's so cheap!" "Can you believe this is only a dollar?" And that's exactly the mentality that gets all of us. These places thrive because it feels good to get a big bang out of a little buck. A 6 year old feels it, we feel it. It's a difficult thing to combat and a very difficult thing to say no to, especially in tight times like these. But I think it's worth considering the impact buying cheap has on us as a culture and on us as a personal consumer.

I've accepted my impact politically and socially as a consumer, but I'm not willing to accept the classic American consumer moniker if it means increasing trash, not treasure, on the planet. If we as Americans are consumers above all, let's be good ones. Let's elevate our possessions to being bastions of good taste, design, sustainability, and personality. Ghandi's old saying "we must be the change we wish to see in the world" was surely never meant for consumer practices, but I'm convinced there isn't a more political, or aesthetic- altering, stand we can take as a culture. I think we could change the fabric of culture more quickly by refusing to buy cheap than by the ballot box. It's an interesting power to wield, the power of the wallet, and definitely something worth our thoughtful attention when making those purchases that make the world, our world, go round.

p.s. The author of Cheap was interviewed on Radio West last year. I seriously heart our local radio west situation, and this episode is a great one hour program on all these topics and more. Give the podcast a listen if you can!

Big ups and trying not to fall down

I love when the inner world of my heart and the outer world converge. I've had a lot of sunny moments this past week that match the absolute golden beauty of these late fall days. Exciting things are afoot for me and for Jaren and the kids seem to be happily progressing. Feelings of deep gratitude for my uber-lovely parents and all the support and gracious generosity they bestow on me and mine are making me feel full. I am so lucky to have the kind of parents who are equal parts friend, confidant, and cheerleader. They have gotten me through rough patches since I was a wee thing and here they are still, at 35, stepping up to babysit my kiddos, allay my fears-both real and imagined, and buoy my reality. I am so, so lucky.

And to top it off, I got to go to the desert this weekend! I think Utah is a gem on many levels, but I don't think words can describe the magic of the red rock desert. When I head south, I feel like I'm going home. I love Southern Utah in the spring when the desert landscape is alive with flowers and life that defy the arid landscape, but Fall is pretty damn spectacular. The huge Cottonwoods lining all the rivers and washes were blazing yellow, and against the blue sky and deep amber rock it was almost too much contrast, kind of like technicolor or a hand colored photograph. We treated our kids to their first Goblin Valley experience and they were just the right ages to scramble and climb among the rock formations and really take it in. We spent the time hanging and hiking with dear friends and admiring the grandeur of a very mighty landscape. Again, it made me feel full of light and love.

It's a lucky life to lead and I know I'm blessed or fortunate or whatever you want to call it. I get worried when things feel like they are on the uptake, though, like something is bound to come crashing down. It's the "every action has an equal and opposite reaction" equation. Is it human nature to feel this?

I can't recall where I first learned about the term momento mori, a Latin phrase that translates to "remember you must die" or "remember you will die" but I've been pretty fascinated with the idea for awhile. Manifestations of momento mori occur in a lot of architecture and art, especially from the Middle Ages and Puritan era--most are dark paintings full of grumpy old men holding skulls or oversized time pieces or the occasional church with human bones and skulls prominently displayed, symbols of impending death. Macabre though it may be, I love this concept. I've been considering carrying a little momento mori of my own, something that cautions me to think about the now. I love the idea of reminding myself, even in my most light hearted and happy state, that time is always short, life cannot be lived forever. It's counter intuitive, but I find this comforts me. My biggest fear just might be letting my very own life pass me by; to feel regret or that I did not live to the fullest extent of who I am. To me, that can really only be achieved if I stay mindful about TODAY. This very minute is really all that we can control right? Who knows what will happen next?

I like skulls and black. And a pocket watch is cool, but I don't think I can go that literal with my momento mori. So I'm thinking, for me, what better manifestation of momento mori than to carry around the perfect little smooth rock I collected in the desert this weekend. It feels good to my fingertips and fits perfectly in my pocket. Rounded by eons of time, rinsed by flood and rain, and baked over and over again in the scorching desert sun, it is a tiny fragment of one of the most beautiful pieces of this Earth. Let's hope its tangible presence in my jeans helps me strive to be a beautiful fragment in this crazy world too......

Who says you can't teach old dogs new tricks?

Just when I think the state of things is in the toilet and that humans have successfully destroyed the delicate balance of the planet for good, something comes along to make me re-evaluate and feel hopeful. I do believe progress is being made on the waste front. I've never understood why when one company discovers a great, eco-friendly solution, all other companies aren't required to follow suit. Interestingly, it seems that consumers (more and more) are forcing this issue, not government, and maybe that is the genius of the capitalist culture? We are taking a stand and requiring our products and our companies to consider the waste and the pollution their businesses create. Money talks way louder than politicians, I guess, and that puts us as consumers in a pretty powerful position, but one that also requires responsibility.

Plastic water bottles (think Dasani, Aquafina) are a huge pet peeve of mine. I can't think of another product that more appropriately represents all that is wrong with mainstream America. Buying something in place of something you already pay for via your faucet at home is itself ridiculous, and then made even more so since consumer protection places have consistently revealed that fancy "spring" water is rarely from any place more pure than a faucet anyway, and in fact is subject to fewer regulations. It's just tap water that has been repackaged and refrigerated for your convenience. Plus plastic water bottles have become a serious blight to our environment. Though plastic bottles are recyclable, less than half end up in recycling bins, the rest of the billions go to the landfill where it will take several hundreds of years for the plastic to photodegrade into smaller bits, which still never completely disappear from the soil and the water system. And to make matters worse, it takes barrels and barrels of oil to manufacture the bottles in the first place, a definite waste of finite resources.

Americans drink more bottled water than any nation on Earth and we probably have the easiest access to plumbed water. Ironic, right? Consumer awareness creeps in, however, and I have started to notice just how many people carry stainless and plastic water bottles now, filled at home, rather than purchasing yet another plastic bottle. Not only is it budget conscious, it is so much more earth friendly and those stainless bottles are indestructible (unless you put them full in the freezer and forget about them like Jaren did-in that scenario they explode!) Even the plastic bottles themselves are beginning to be made from biodegradable components, the best ones being 100% plant based and able to degrade completely in 75 days. That's progress, folks!

I'd love to see the same thing happen with the Ziploc style plastic baggie business. Fabric, oilcloth, and glass containers are much better looking anyway! Check out these cutie pies sold on Etsy, they are my personal favorite. But I'm seeing a lot of things like this pop up in Whole Foods and even my "normal" grocery store. Change creeps in. I mostly remember to bring my cloth bags to the store now. (Finally realizing I needed to keep them in the car was a major boon for that issue.) And I am watching to see if California will become the first state to completely ban single use plastic bags from retail stores, a measure that hopefully will lead to an eventual national ban, or at least increased consumer awareness.

Perhaps these are small peeves to voice, but seriously, en masse, think of how much plastic waste we as the biggest consumers in the word could avert with just small decisions and small lifestyle changes. Lord knows that if the American public doesn't put up a fuss about these issues, nothing will change. Big companies will just keep pumping out unnecessary products that are bad for the Earth and therefore bad for humans. It's back to the old "you must be the change you wish to see in the world" Ghandi deal. I believe we can do it if we stay vigilant and stay open to changing our habits.

But if you need a little more incentive to stop buying those flats of bottled water at Costco, or pretty much any other plastic item, check out these photos from the amazing Chris Jordan taken of albatross chicks near Midway Island in the North Pacific ocean. Our oceans are becoming a wasteland of floating plastic, and sea birds and other sea life are eating our trash and dying because of it. The photos are tragic and telling and hopefully a true harbinger of hopeful change.....

PARLEZ VOUS MONEY?

I hate money, or more properly said, I hate the lack of it. It's a super drag to be poor! Prioritizing needs and not factoring in wants takes a toll on the psyche. I've recently had to say no to an expense that meant something to me-an annual trip with girlfriends whom I dearly love. It just wasn't in the cards, or the bank account this year, and owning up to this truth, as right as it was, has been surprisingly difficult.

I don't know about you, but we live with a certain amount of subterfuge in our finances. Absolute zero is never actually absolute zero, thanks to modern day credit and card-age. It is so easy to live beyond actual means, especially when means fluctuate as wildly as ours do. We are used to a feast or famine cycle around here, and it is all too easy for us to think we are just paying for something now, in the interim, until the big money comes up or the paycheck gets sent from the last job or whatever excuse we offer up. Saying no to the recent trip was a manifestation, an exercise, in acknowledging what I can actually afford RIGHT NOW, with the bottom dollar, rather than what I would like to afford. I do that neat "what I would like to afford" & purchase trick all the time. And it feels good in the moment, whereas this no/denial thing hurts a lot in the moment. I hate to miss out on fun. I hate to miss out on memories and chick flick movie marathons, and Ketel One popsicles, damn it! But big picture me is attempting to focus in on what is gained from a sacrifice like this. It's a pretty tidy, short list at this point, but I have to admit to feeling a nice sense of responsible control and a good dose of putting family needs first. It gets down to brass tax sometimes, and I have to be willing to ask myself whether a trip for me or snow boots or dance lessons for the kids is priority. Kids will win every time when you put us head to head. And that actually feels good to acknowledge. It makes me feel like a bona fide grown up, even if grown ups do get to have less fun.

I think one of the interesting things about money is that it definitely makes the world go round, but in my world, no one ever talks about it. I don't know what a single friend or family member in my life makes or how much they live on. I don't know whether someone could retire young or whether they hoarde food stamps in their purse. It's simply not a subject we breach. It feels awkward to even write about money to me. I feel exposed, judged, and gauche. What is this about? Is there a reason to keep money a behind closed doors topic, whether you are talking about wealth or poverty? Why does it feel so strange to "admit" that I can't afford something? And why do I so rarely hear others express this simple fact? There is no way every single person I know has massive savings and plenty of dough. Financial statistics for my generation, not to mention the current financial climate, just don't bear that out.

It makes me wonder if the language of affordability is a bit like learning a foreign tongue, something that only practice can make fluent? Perhaps it is time for our entire culture to take a little Rosetta Stone course in money talk? I wouldn't mind having a few well rehearsed phrases in my arsenal, ways to politely explain to a friend or loved one that I can't afford a certain something, or "I've exceeded my monthly budget for eating out, oops!", without feeling any ensuing awkwardness and/or pity. I guess that's the crux of it all. We seem to be trained in this culture to believe that when we talk about our money we are revealing something private, personal. But in a way, money couldn't be less so. It's cold, hard cash at the end of the day; flimsy paper. It represents facts and sociology but not really an iota of personality. It reveals something about me, but more in a text book way than anything interesting. Talking about money in the positive or in the negative seems like it shouldn't be dirty laundry. It should just be about admitting the status quo and making decisions based on it.

And probably there are plenty of people out there who do treat it that way, I've just never been one of them. But I'd like to try to be. I'm a huge believer that silence on any subject gives it an unnamed power; the if we don't name it, we can't fix it (or we continue to fear it) paradigm. I hope that owning up to my own patch of scarcity right now is brave. It feels brave. It feels a bit like I've been caught with my pants down too, but I'm going to go ahead and assume you won't mind the view. :) But let's be clear. There's no pity party going on here. And there shouldn't be. Good things come out of want, that's something I know: reinvention, creativity, and honest to goodness gratitude. I see A LOT of wealth in that trio.

Summer's bounty

September feels like a big, lickery kiss. The breeze is soft and whispery and feels like such an antidote to the hot heat of the previous months. The chill in the morning and the evening makes for the best "windows open" sleeping weather of the year. I've always loved September. It brings the changes of Fall to your door, but gradually enough that you can still soak up the last gasps of summer. I can see the clumps of orange starting to form on the mountainside and all the edges of my aspen leaves are ringed and crispy, getting ready to change, but for now I'm still in my t-shirt and shorts working in the garden with my sunglasses on.

My garden still isn't quite up to snuff (learning curve!) but I'm proud of the successes we've had this year. We've harvested lots of beets and carrots, herbs of every stripe, cucumbers, and cherry tomatoes. My big tomatoes are just barely ripening which means once again I've started them off a little too late. I would have liked to get the BLT situation up and running back in August! Jaren and I have a tradition of planting morning glory seeds every spring along whatever fence line we live by. It has been fun to watch them creep up the fence all summer. This year's patch is glorious, a mix of solid sky blue and blue and white striped flowers. I love their trumpet shape and the fact that they only open until the heat of the day takes over. It's like a little welcome to this day sign to me every morning.

I think the garden treasure I'm happiest about this summer is our peach tree. Neglected for years and under watered, we babied it this summer. We pruned it really hard last fall following the traditional rule to keep the tree to 3 main branches. We read up on the proper way to thin the masses of hard little green fruits that pop out by the hundreds in the spring after blossom time, and were shocked to learn that you take 90% of these off so that the tree can concentrate on growing the peaches you do leave on into delicious, big fruits. We've watched the 100 or so peaches left on the tree ripen all summer, going from pale yellowish green and fist sized to baseball round and a deep orange kissed with heavy burgundy. We fondled them until we were sure they were perfectly ripe and a little bit soft to the fingertip before we picked. Last night we celebrated our patience and filled an entire bucket with huge, perfectly ripe, beautiful, peaches. I made cobbler and we sat on the deck soaking in the fact that we grew these little puppies from scratch! It was one of the most satisfying moments of my summer.

Celebrating harvests is a great end of summer ritual. In a future year when I get the tomato thing down I want to have a tomato tasting party like this one I saw in Martha Stewart Living. The last couple years have taught me that I love to can and preserve and I'm eager to put up salsa, peaches,pickles, and jam over the next couple of weeks. The steamy kitchen should also make for a nice antidote to the fresh chill in the air.

Enjoy your last gasps of summer.....it's a special time of year.

Farm Fresh

It is difficult to express the devotion I feel to our three chickens without sounding completely nuts. But over the 6 months or so we''ve had them, the relationship has become, well, a relationship. When we started down the road of chicken raising, I figured it was going to be a great learning experience and an opportunity to connect directly with an important and every day food source. I didn't expect that my family would be charmed to the point of love by the actual chickens themselves.

Matilda, Honey, and Macaroni have become a part of the family. They are legitimate pets (something I am grateful for given the fact that due to allergies this family will never have a conventional cat or dog) and a source of nearly constant entertainment around here. They have distinct personalities and excel at different things. Honey is our best insect hunter. She can find, or steal from the others, an insect faster than you can believe. Matilda is skittish, but self-assured. She has a regal long neck and does a funny side to side neck wagging thing when you hold her, almost like a dance. Macaroni is our crowd pleaser. She is so full of personality and spunk, I really feel like we've had conversations. She's the most aware of us and seems to genuinely want to interact. And as if all this weren't enough, they eat our leftover food scraps and fertilize our yard!

My kids are in love with having chickens. Cleo is the mother hen and takes her role as chicken boss, protector, and trainer quite seriously. She spends a good hour at least with them every day-petting, handling, and no doubt, torturing them with attention. She attempted to teach them some skills this summer like walking around a maze of golf balls and getting them to sit after a pat on the head. Those efforts haven't been all that successful, but she did manage to get each chicken to jump up to her head height (4 ft) to retrieve raisins and sunflower seeds to eat. When they free range around the yard, both kids hold them and do things like swing in the hammock or dig in the sandbox with a chicken on their lap. I believe all three chickens have taken rides on bikes and scooters-please don't call PETA. The interactions are hilarious and I admire so much the fearlessness and love both Cleo and Flynn show for these animals.

Being chicken owners has had a few annoyances, of course. We used to let them free range all day in the yard but when they went from cute little baby chicks who would stay by our side and aimlessly peck the ground to full grown chickens capable of scratching up and pecking at every single beautiful plant in the yard, we started to get mad. As of last month, Jaren and I both felt the damage was enough to require that they stay cooped and in their run full time. (Luckily we were able to move the coop to a new area to create a much larger space for the chickens and kids to roam together.) The poop is pretty annoying and definitely has a way of sticking deeply to shoes. They are messy eaters and spoil their clean water with dirt the minute you set it down. We've had a scare with a neighbors dog taking a nip at Matilda, and one night we accidentally shut the gate to the coop area when the chickens were out, and when we came home after dark, found all three chickens asleep roosting in trees and on the fence out in the open in our yard.

But seriously these issues are nothing compared to the fun and enrichment the chickens have brought to our family. And let me tell you

the very best thing that has happened to us in weeks was coming home from our vacation to learn that MACARONI IS NOW AN EGG LAYING HEN! Hip hip hooray! Now fully mature, Macaroni has started laying daily eggs and they are lovely; small in size, perfectly oval, and a light brown creamy color. Cleo runs down to the coop in the morning and gathers the egg and every day her excitement is just as much as the day before. It is like a daily treasure hunt for her. I personally love the sound Macaroni makes once she's laid...it's like a triumphant little announcement: BBBOKKK! BBBBOK! BBBOOOKKKK! You can't help but feel her pride embedded in the sound.

It is pretty great to have a pet give you something back-something useful and edible even! Mac's eggs are delicious. The yolks are bright orange, not yellow like the ones I buy, and they taste seriously creamy and rich. I like eggs but I know once all three hens start laying I'm going to have to get serious about ways to use up all the egg plenty. I see lots of crepes, german pancakes, quiches, and egg sandwiches in my future. Tough life!

P.S. Lucky, lucky me...my sister in law, Lisa, is a wonderful photographer and at Flynn's recent bday party captured the above shots of my kids with their chickens. I am so glad to have these moments captured! Thank you, Lisa! Check out her work at http://www.3peasphoto.blogspot.com/

I still love summer and am a very official Motorist.

I certainly hope absence makes the heart grow fonder because I have been plain absent around these parts, haven't I? Chalk it up to summer travels, minor states of emergencies, and a general feeling of my life being on fast forward. Oh, and school is starting and I possibly went a bit mad and joined the PTA board of Cleo's school! Hello, time commitment!

I'm sad for summer to be coming to a close-there will never be enough days at the pool or bbq'd chicken in my book- but I am feeling ready to usher back some structure in my household. I've been sadly delinquent in crafting and reading and cooking anything that requires time in the oven. My heel callouses are out of hand and it is probably time to put on a pair of socks again. But man, it has been a fun summer. Swimming and tubing on rivers, learning to fly fish, hiking and smelling like campfire, sticky sheets and fans in the window; gin and tonics and fun bbqs and new groovy vintage patio set out on our deck; dirt under my nails and hummingbirds zooming overhead; clouds of white roses and cascades of blue morning glories; training chickens to jump; watching Flynn learn to ride a scooter; sandbox digging, Cleo's fairy house making; road trips and camping plans and happy babies being born and made. Life fairly overflows during summer doesn't it? And summer, I'm still not done with you yet!

We just returned from our annual summer road trip. For the last three years we've made a plan with one of my best friends from college to meet up and camp or spend a few days in a cabin somewhere we want to explore. It has become a great tradition, one made even sweeter by the fact that our daughters are only 3 months apart and fast friends. (We are pretty sure they think they are some kind of relation-some hybrid form between cousins and sisters.) I've gone off about my love of the road trip before, and I can't help but do it again. It is truly the best way to travel if you like landscape and regionalism and believe in the luxury of time. That is probably the single most ironic thing about road trips-the method of transport may not be luxurious and its definitely not convenient- but the act of meandering state to state without regard to time truly is. As a culture, we pride ourselves on quick flights to Vegas and convenient non- stops direct to Paris from Salt Lake, and yet there is nothing in those kind of journeys that makes me feel relaxed, and even less that engages me or piques my interest about where it is I'm traveling to. LIfe looks lifeless when seen from 30,000 feet.

When I lived in New York and rode the subway everywhere, the whole city felt to me like a disorienting mish-mash of disparate locations; walk up a set of stairs at 59th Street stop and you get Bloomingdales, walk up another set at the Bowery and you get restaurant store supply shops and cheap booze. It always felt like a puzzle (or teleporting) and it wasn't until we bought a car and drove the city more that I started to notice the subtle ways the pieces and neighborhoods fit and flowed from one to the next. The same thing happens for me on road trips. I love to watch the land flatten out into grassy plains and deep gorges and then rise up again into voluptuous mountains. You can literally see the tectonics and erosion at play. I like to watch the idiosyncrasies of local places-how some farmers in an area are suddenly partial to circular hay bales and others stick with the tried and true rectangles. Or the way that American cars take over the road as soon as you leave any sizable city. I like that I know that pretty much every small town in America has something called the Knotty Pine. And I love that road signs on forgotten highways often refer to drivers as "motorists" in the very 1950s technical way that we still call our summer cooling devices "air conditioners".

It's really satisfying to me to be thorough, I guess. And road trips are nothing but thorough. There is no way around the hundreds of miles of sagebrush plains that is so much of the West. But instead of noticing the expanse of more of the same, I try and relish it, waiting in suspense for the land to shift and the next town to come into view. It's really great work if you can get it, but believe me, you can get it if you try.

(All photos above are from the recent trip and courtesy of the awesome Hipstamatic app and Shake it app for the iphone. Everything looks better all old-timey doesn't it?)

Words to the wiser...

It's been the kind of day where high expectations turn sour. My kids started swimming lessons at a new place and I was eager for them to recreate the kind of memories I had growing up swimming and diving on teams, making lifelong friends, enjoying the sun and the chemical smell of chlorine on brown skin and greenish hair, as well as learning a skill that has led me to a lifetime of healthy exercise and pride. Both my kids have become pretty good in the water this summer; Cleo just on the brink of figuring out freestyle and actual strokes and Flynn suddenly fully able to submerge his body and figure out how to come up for air without the choking/gagging fits that make early swimming pool adventures so freaky. So needless to say, it felt like the right moment to pull in an "expert" and take things to the next level with some lessons. Wrong. Cleo was self conscious about her new earplugs (she just had ear surgery and adenoids taken out) and complained throughout the lesson about the frigid water and the too tight googles, and Flynn, who was fine swimming before the lesson started, showing off for the teacher and everything, utterly and completely lost his shit as soon as two little boys got in screaming and crying for their moms. He was all of the sudden terrified and started crying for me and basically punching and kicking the teacher in the face for 20 minutes. My expectations once again did not match reality which led to lots of disappointed tension around these parts. And then my increasingly not so trusty Volvo conked out again putting it a wrench in plans and now I'm staring down the barrel of a $2000 repair bill that I can't afford and thinking, how did this glorious Summer Monday go so wrong?

I have a delightful best friend with an equally delightful mother who once told me years ago that she loved to clean her house because "it was the only area in her life she could control." It made sense to me then and it makes sense to me now. It made a lot of sense to me today as I seethed and anxiously wrung hands wondering what I should do with the car, with the day, with the crazy children fighting at my feet....I realized that folding laundry and doing dishes and organizing my toiletries was the only clarity I had. I don't think it made me any less grumpy, but it definitely calmed the nerves and made me feel a sense of much needed control in a world where everything was starting to feel like an aimless spinning top.

Maybe it is my semi-Mormon upbringing, or the Pioneer "put your shoulder to the wheel" genes, but I've always had trouble settling into being idle. Don't get me wrong, I still indulge very frequently in non-productivity, but it never feels as natural as I hoped or want , certainly never as guiltless. I go out on the deck at dusk to sit and watch the aspen leaves quake and all I can think of is the laundry I need to change over, or the email I need to reply to, or the fact that I didn't vacuum my car or call Grandma Great. I think idleness feels too often like indulgence in our culture and it is probably to our detriment. I once read a book called How to be Idle which I thoroughly enjoyed and would recommend, espousing the art of idleness alla Oscar Wilde--watching clouds move, taking naps, playing ukelele, coming up with delightful quips, drinking gin at midday--.and though on the face of things I love the idea of "chateau relaxo" ways of being (a phrase my once guru and boss Chrisanne coined and i dearly love) and not having an agenda, in practice, I find I end up getting depressed with myself. I think I need to have purpose in my day. I need to have goals and be able to make decisions, otherwise I become stuck. But a day like today teaches me that there is a difference in having purpose and having expectations. Purpose is having hopeful definition, a road map of sorts, expectations are plain fallacy. The world works in mysterious ways and believing that it's my way or the highway seems only to lead me to disappointment....and lots of cleaning!

i heart my main man

I'm single moming it again and I've been really missing the influence of my main man on me and on the kids. There are just some things in the parenting world that seem to naturally be a Dad's domain. In my home, Jaren reigns supreme at being the joker and inserting laughter into the house when it is most needed. He's renown for his bedtime story voices. He does "the bubble", "the westerner", "the singer" and "the robot" with equal gusto. He also cleverly inserts the kids names (or the word poopie) into just about every story we read to the endless delight of both Cleo and Flynn. We have two children who are unable to fall asleep without back tickles and since both kids are primarily used to my magic fingers they sometimes put up a fight when it is Jaren's turn to tickle their backs at bedtime. Being the genius Dad he is, he invented a game to compete; he tickles according to animal. The elephant tickle being a hard pound like big ole elephant hooves beating up and down your spine; the bumblebee brings light pinches all over the back; and the whale a big thunk from way above once and only once. His clever approach to parenting is always a delight to me and a definite delight to our kids. They are so lucky to have someone in their life who can make them smile and teach them that life is just not much fun without humor. Come to think of it, I'm pretty lucky too.

I also thank my lucky stars that I married someone who knows a thing or two about working with his hands. Jaren is a skilled craftsman in just about every respect, he can build furniture and entire kitchens for heaven's sake! But what really gets me is his ability to just get in there and figure something out, no previous experience required. He is inherently capable. In the time I've known him he's taught himself how to be a plumber, an electrician, a landscaper, an IT guy, a drywaller, a car mechanic, and a father. Pretty impressive list, no? I know not all men are created equal in the do it yourself or spatial/mechanical vein, and there is no shame in hiring out, but what a gift it is to give your family that kind of hand's on capability. I love that Flynn already knows what a socket wrench and a screw gun are. And Cleo has already swung the hammer and watched her Dad, legs sticking out from under the engine, changing the oil. They get to see their Dad being a do-er and that means something in today's culture of instant gratification. And me? I get to day dream about endless house, garden, and kids projects knowing full well who I can rope in to do the job. :)

Three cheers to Jaren and to the men out there who keep traditions and knowledge and capability alive. And just so you don't think I'm only tooting my own man's horn, check out this A-mAZING blog made by joel. Now here is a Dad making and doing all in the name of parenting and entertaining his kids. The projects are simply too awesome to be described. (Not to mention being aesthetically perfect and sophisticated.) You must go check them out for yourself.