What a farmers market feels like

At the height of summer, when it's really rockin', your local FM feels like a summer picnic where the best foods and all your friends come together and bask in sun and goodness...

Creating Our Universe

It's alarmingly easy to slip into head-down production mode, no matter what our day job is or our life looks like. I continually have to remind myself that, wait, this is the fun part. Living on 5 acres of emerging farm with my wonderful family and 12 sheep and 30-odd chickens and a variety of pets on an island in the middle of Puget Sound - that's the good stuff right there. Stop. Look Around. Breathe.

Keeping the To-Do list in a cage instead of snarling overhead just somehow sounds so much easier than it turns out to be. Obviously, you don't want to be lackadaisical about 35 animals or the seeds you've managed to coax out of the starter box, but sometimes the dishes have to sit in the sink and the dust bunnies must roam freely, or the joy of living never gets its moment in the sun.

I have had my head down quite a bit lately, pushed by the demands spring brings forth - baby animals and mamas, seeds that turn into tiny plants in a fierce insistence of the miraculous, fencing, water, dirt, the wasted landscape our harsh and never-ending winter has wrought - and wanting to attend to this last few months of elementary school for Dylan. The clock on his childhood is fast winding down, and the community of teachers and staff, the lush and beautiful demonstration food garden he helped to build, the playground and the giant paper mache Orcas in the brightly-lit lobby will soon reside in the closet of memory, replaced by the new special people and places he'll encounter across the parking lot in middle school.

And there are other demands on my time and energy and emotional bandwidth as well, just as all of us struggle to be the things we need to be for those close to us and the priorities we've set out for our lives. What form those demands take may be furry and elemental in my domain, complex and sophisticated in yours, but we all fight the demon of a 24 hour day.

That I might be losing this battle hit me going 50 miles an hour on a Seattle elevated highway 3 days ago. I lost all feeling in my left arm, my pulse shot up into the stratosphere and then my whole person wanted to jump out of my own skin. I had nowhere to go and my only child in the backseat. I was pretty sure I was stroking or heart-attacking and after about a minute of trying to talk myself into getting to the next exit, I just pulled over, climbed up the miniscule curb and called 911.

Don't want to over-react. Don't want to die and take my kid and who knows who else with me. Close call. Here in the U.S., especially with the high-deductible insurance we currently carry, the thought of sending the 911-medic-ambulance-emergency room train out of the station gives me more than a little pause. But, I dialed anyway and, strangely, as soon as I was talking to a real, live, medical person who had the power to magically send a highly advanced vehicle with bright flashing lights to come save me, my pulse started slowing down, my body retreated back into my skin, and I knew this was some kind of anxiety attack, not the end. I thanked the medic and promised to call back if I needed to.

So, as soon as I stopped shaking, we made our way back into traffic and onto the Seattle Green Festival where I marveled at how beautiful even the inside of a trade show looks when you're glad to be alive and holding your 10 year old's hand.

It is good to be alive. Very good. Money problems come and go. Dramas swirl around. Some projects turn out and some don't. Failure is part of being alive - a really important part in fact. And, most of all, it's easy to depend on the people closest to us to do all our heavy lifting. Our spouses, our friends, our parents, even our kids - we want them to love us and like us and support us always in everything all the time. We want them to make us laugh, and to laugh at our jokes but not our foibles. We ask that they adore our ideas and journey with us on our adventures. We want them to believe that we're great and to keep quiet if they don't.

But, that's a tall order. I am extraordinarily fortunate to count many rock-solid wonderful people in my life. My husband is awesome, my kid - of course. I have great parents, one of whom sparkles brightly just 40 feet away and another who supports me from a long distance and always has. And, I have a handful of loving, close, do-anything-for-me friends who hold my hand through tough days and celebrate my victories as their own.

Today, however, I visited a woman who helps put my body right on occasion and was reminded of the power of reaching out beyond those who know and love me. I saw quite clearly how important it is to bring the right people into my life for the right things - even if those things turn out to be unexpected - and not to rely on my close inner circle to feed all the corners of my soul.

I came to her to fix my body - that numb arm that has been acting up for some time - and she did that, sure, but fed my soul a rich broth of art and creativity and pure joy for this part of me - the part that sits down and documents this life and hopes that somewhere, someone finds these simple words some use. We laughed and conspired and mused. She shared ideas and passion and strategies.

When I left, my arm felt better and my soul felt nourished. Creating your own universe starts with knowing yourself and listening to your heart, but inviting unique and sharing people to jump on the carnival ride with you every now and then will make getting there a whole lot more fun.

Growing Up

We hosted Dylan's 11th birthday party today. 11. I know it's cliche, but how did THAT happen?? Every year is significant of course in its own way, but somehow 11 seems to me a true coming of age. 11 is the year I recall beginning to have a personal life, of having thoughts and feelings and relationships that I did not share with my parents. I developed friendships with people my mother didn't know. I did things on my own.

Dylan leads a more sheltered life than I did (and I led a pretty sheltered life, at least until then). My parents split up pretty much the week I turned 11. My mom packed the car with everything that could possibly fit into a Pinto station wagon - my physical space relegated to roughly 2 small dimensions - we waved good-bye to south Florida and made our way to a small town in New Mexico where she had lived before and had friends.

So, 11 for me meant a new town, a new school, new friends, and, as I was to discover, new enemies. It meant my mom went from full-time stay-at-home parent to full-time working mother. It meant going from a 3-bedroom house with a pool in the suburbs to a 2-bedroom slump block duplex just before the paved road petered out to dust.

So, some of my growing up at this age was environmental and necessary - but 11 is still 11 and it's the beginning of a new era. Gone are the party games of birthday parties past. I needn't have fretted about how to fill the time on this rainy day.

Our good friends, Dylan's god-parents, made the trip, as always, from Seattle to help and witness, with the youngest of our crowd, their son little 3-year old Pi. We devoured bison burgers and turkey dogs, the adults choking on the spicy lentil stew I brewed up and opting to stick around rather than drop off - always nice. Then, since all kids had been asked to arrive with any Harry Potter paraphenalia they had lying around, a spontaneous bout of wizardry broke out about the place, and the grown-ups just laid low so as not to be expelliarmussed or what have you.

Then it was ice cream pie time (party tip: if you make and serve ice cream pie, whatever else happens at your kid's party will be forgotten and the whole shebang will be deemed a rousing success. There will be 10 minutes of reverential silence as the pie is devoutly devoured. This is our third year on the ice cream pie - recipe below). A little more fun and games and then presents. 2:30 came and went and most folks were still here. How special is it when kids and their parents all genuinely enjoy each other?

We are so grateful for the wonderful, kind, beautiful, unique and self-possessed kids we are honored to have in our life and count as Dylan's friends. These are exhilarating and trying times coming up. Lots of decisions - decisions we now make as a threesome, instead of twosome - loom. Good, gentle, smart, and funny friends and their amazing parents will be the glue that holds adolescence together.

Happy birthday Dylan. You're the best.

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Ecstasy for Kids of All Ages: Fine Cooking's Ice Cream Pie

This is easier and faster than any cake you could come up with, including store-bought mixes. Bake the "crust" in the AM and forget about it until your party guests are chowing, then bring out the ice cream and it's ready in less than 5 minutes. You seriously have never seen anything disappear so fast.

Ask your child to pick his or her 3 favorite ice cream flavors. You'll need at least 2 pints of the very favorite, 1 each of the other two.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

You'll need 1 bag of Newman's Own chocolate wafers and about 6-7 tablespoons of melted unsalted butter and a bottle of squeezable chocolate sauce.

Pour the chocolate wafers into a food processor and pulse until you have fine crumbs (you can also put them in a big ziplock and roll a rolling pin over it). Pour the crumbs into a bowl and drizzle the melted butter over them and work the two together until you have have no dry crumbs left.

Butter a glass pie pan, pour the buttered crumbs in, and work the crumbs into a crust all around, pressing them.

Bake for 10 minutes, then cool on a wire rack until people are eating.

Take the ice creams out about 10 minutes before you're ready to serve, unless they're softer already. You want them scoopable. Take the favorite flavor and smear it about 1/2 inch thick over the crust as your foundation. Then scoop that flavor and the other two in alternating scoops across the whole plane of the pie. When all the space is filled, squeeze chocolate sauce in a pretty design of your choice across the whole thing. Serve right away!

Don't forget to save a bite or two for yourself.

Found Family

Most of us regard family as a mixed blessing. Some of us choose to stay close to the family we grew up with as we grow the next generation. Others make a different decision, to create a new life far away and control the duration and locale of extended family interactions. No matter which path we point ourselves down at the beginning of adulthood, one thing is almost certain: it will change.

My parents both fled their families for wider, more open social spaces. Both were the eldest of large numbers of brothers and sisters, both experienced poverty, and both wanted an education and a new life. Mom crossed the continent from one coast to another; Dad crossed hemispheres and a couple oceans, saying good-bye to the apartheid world he grew up in to make a new life in the fabled Land of Opportunity.

But, one result of these very reasonable decisions in my parents' life is that their next generation, me, was raised in a sort of extended family vacuum. The pros and cons of this can be debated for the rest of my days, but one benefit is undeniable: It has allowed/forced me to build my own extended family. I consider this journey one of my deepest lifelong pleasures and frankly greatest accomplishments.

My Life Family now consists of probably 4-6 friends and their families spread across the land. I am both proud and humbled that these relationships span from less than five years to over three decades. I find that as I get older, I understand the importance of having people in your contemporary world that carry the arc of your life in their psyche. It grounds you. It gives audience to red flags. It keeps you honest.

Today was Cookie Decorating Day. When this tradition started, I can't quite recall, but CDD is a simple pleasure Dylan and I await anxiously each December. Our roundtrip from door to door actually lasts longer than the event itself, but we don't care. We leave the house at 9AM, catch a ferry, and after a quick stop for coffee and hot chocolate, head north on the freeway to arrive at the warm and lovely home of the parents of one of my Life Family members around 11AM. Associate Life Family Members you could call them.

We all have our roles. Mamie and Linda have prepped the whole event by mixing the enormous quantities of cookie dough ahead of time and separating it into plastic-wrapped batches. Soup is simmering on the stove. The rolling station is usually in full swing by the time we arrive (not late 2 years in a row!). Robert rolls and cuts. I usually stand around and bla bla for awhile before a meaningful job presents itself since decorating is neither my forte nor my passion.

Evolution unfolds before us as the children's creations take on new complexities and their attention span lengthens each year. Talents are discovered or abandoned. New faces join. Every year is different; every year is the same. We start out full of chatter and ambition; we finish by making the largest cookies possible, accompanied by quiet musings and the final determination that every batch needs at least one tray of plains.

Whatever path you choose, it will change, revealing unexpected joys and surprise yearnings. My father ended up in the bosom of the very close-knit family of his second wife and revels in the ups and downs of family life. My mother now lives 40 feet from her daughter's family. My husband, also a family escapee, has come to enjoy his brothers and sisters in ways he could never have imagined when he boarded the plane leaving Melbourne.

And I have the joy of Cookie Decorating Day and some of the finest people around each holiday to remind me that we are all part of something larger and more wondrous than ourselves, if only we make a little space in our lives to let and keep others in.

Thanks to Mamie and Linda and the people they gather in their kitchen each December. Tradition is really the backbone of any family. See you next year.

Sundays

Somehow the Sunday after Thanksgiving is the Sunday-est Sunday of the year. We have hosted another big dinner, with our friends we have cleaned up in shifts for hours afterward. We have journeyed into the city to decorate gingerbread houses, visit, and shop. We've had turkey sandwiches and turkey burritos and microwaved stuffing and lamented once again that there are never enough left-over mashed potatoes.

And today, on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the final remnants of the feast will soon be simmering on the stovetop as green chile chicken and turkey stew made from the stock we boiled up yesterday.

Most people I know cherish their Sundays, across a wide array of reasons. My closest friends, both city and island, consider Sundays their untouchable family day. With lives crammed full all week long and friends to see on Saturdays, Sundays are held aside to share a leisurely breakfast, read the paper, flop in front the televised sport of the season, go for walks, and in our case, plant something. We all recharge.

We don't have TV at our house so the sports thing is out (although I sometimes crave it and I don't even like sports. Figure that out.) But, recently, we've added a standing activity to our Sundays that never fails to make me smile. Dylan's best friend comes over for the afternoon.

Dylan is an only child and his friend is the oldest of three. He recently switched schools and now the two boys, who were really only beginning to explore their friendship, don't see each other much. In fact, as school began, they stopped running into each other altogether. I did run into his mom, though, and we discovered that both boys missed their friendship and were also both struggling in similar ways in their social circles. They could really use a buddy right now.

One Sunday turned into two and then it just seemed natural to do this most weekends. Sometimes we get a sleepover in there as well. It makes me smile to hear laughter and boisterous one-upsmanship ring throughout our small house all afternoon.

We even have a routine: Unless it's pouring rain, the first hour has to be spent outside. Then they come in and usually it's Harry Potter on the computer, although today we've got Risk in the living room. Food fits in there somewhere, then they head back outside to work a little more on their project - a "mine" in the back forest. AKA a giant hole that takes two 10 year old boys about an hour a weekend to dig.

Every age of a child's life brings new promises and challenges. I'm finding 5th grade tough, for me. It is the first time in my son's life I don't have ready solutions to what faces him. He is facing academic and social problems that he must solve. I can support him, but I cannot fix what's wrong.

So, I like to think that these Sunday afternoons are a little like Roosevelt's "chicken in every pot" Sundays. These three or four hours together - digging, laughing, eating, and playing - give our sons the emotional nourishment they need to face the slings and arrows of the classroom and playground for the week, knowing that they will be there for each other, like each other just for who they are, in a few days once more.

Sundays are, indeed, for recharging our bodies and souls, ourselves and our families. This holiday we spend thinking about what we are grateful for, and I have a long list. Today I am grateful for this friend and this friendship and the strength it brings my son.

Giving Thanks for 20 Years

Here in the U.S., Thanksgiving is just around the corner. For me, it starts being "just around the corner" come November 1 because it's my very favorite holiday. I think other countries and cultures have a broad palette of celebrations, but here ours are mostly based either in religion or patriotism, save one: Thanksgiving. And 2008 marks the 20th year I've hosted dinner on this day.

I really like the idea of a day set aside for being grateful. A day to remember where we came from, think about where we'd like to go. A day to reflect on our good fortunes and send thoughts of thanks and goodwill to both those who have helped us and to those who need help.

Officially, Thanksgiving is the day we Americans remember that without the kindness and generosity of the First Americans, the Native Americans, our little experiment with the New World would have been over not much after it was begun. Of course, how the puritans, explorers, and opportunists would go forward and repay that generosity is another story. On Thanksgiving, we bow our heads in gratitude to those who shared their food and their seeds so that the settlers might survive.

Mythology aside, the relationships between those who were already here and those who came later were never so cut-and-dried as to have been either steadfast allies or sworn enemies. Like most of history, the truth was more complex, with individual and community alliances and disputes ebbing and flowing across the full spectrum of entanglements. There were trade agreements and raids, there was good faith and bad. For an excellent, fresh perspective on this era, I recommend Russell Shorto's Island at the Center of the World.

But that is history. Today we think of Thanksgiving in a few ways. The only two-day holiday on our calendar. Tortuous air travel. Insufferable relatives. A break from college before exams. The acceptable, although by no means common, moment to begin hearing Christmas music. Seeing our children. Seeing our parents. Shopping. And, obviously, food.

It's ironic that the way we choose to celebrate salvation from starvation is gluttony. Seems a little disrespectful somehow, doesn't it? Nonetheless, for a food-focused gal like me, That Thursday in November is nirvana. Strangely, however, each year Thanksgiving becomes less and less about the food I serve and more and more about the people at the table.

That table's gotten smaller over the years. The orphans and lost souls of our twenties and early thirties have gone on to find partners, have children, build lives and traditions of their own. But, around my table are many of the people who are truly vital to me. My wonderful husband and breathtaking son. My adventurous mom. My walking and kevetching buddy - my GGF (good girlfriend) as she calls us, and her family.

And, the woman I've shared that table with for 20 years. I invited Elise down to my mom's house in 1988 after she had just moved to Albuquerque and had yet to make many friends. We somehow managed a respectable feast on 1 stovetop burner and a sort of working oven. It was a long, fun day. We've never missed a Thanksgiving dinner together since, and we've got enough Turkey Day Adventure stories to fill a whole other blog.

When we started this tradition, we didn't know it would become a tradition. But year after year, we propped each other up through some pretty tough times, including two interstate moves. Thanksgiving became the touchstone of a shared life always in motion, always moving forward. We were two 20-somethings in New Mexico who met slopping prime rib in a "family style" restaurant. Then, college, moving, my marriage, graduate school, moving, her marriage, and beautiful sons for us both. Just like that, we're two 40-somethings in Washington.

We lead very different lives now, she and I. She and her husband are staunch city dwellers and have the worst ferry karma of anyone I know, making almost every visit to our island farm a comedy of errors. They both work full time at demanding professional jobs and are well-accomplished. They have lots of friends and lots of engagements.

Mark and I live in the country and between the two of us have maybe one foot on the career ladder. We break out in hives if we have to stay in the city more than a few hours. We don't get out much.

But, Elise's life and mine are as entwined as sisters'. We share a history and a journey and, consequently, a core. We know each other inside and out (and still love each other!) and know there's strength out there if we make a mistake or hit hard times. She's got my back; I've got hers.

We all know Thanksgiving is the time to pause and reflect on what we are grateful for. A toast to 20 years of friendship and the rich, satisfying full life I've been fortunate to build with the wind of love, hers and others', at my back.