Urban Organica

haiti projects

hand-embroidered, lavendar-filled eye pillows, "dragonfly"

One of the things we have planned for our life learning / unschooling this Fall is to start a business for the boys.  Different than most businesses, this will be a social-exchange program with one of our favorite organizations, Haiti Projects.  Some of the most elaborate, exquisite crafting I've ever seen comes out of Haiti, & specifically, the Cooperative d' Artisanat, or artist' co-op.  It's heartbeat is 180 women, knitting, sewing, & embroidering to provide much-needed cash for their families.  They also have a health clinic, community library, a micro-lending program for local farmers, & an education & tuition program.  Started by one of my dearest friends & mentors, it's now run by the Haitians themselves, as it should be.

This is my beloved friend Issamuel Jean-Louis, the project's General Director.  And creator of the community library.  A funny thing about being American is that I actually buy those stories about starving children & cultures living in deepest poverty.  I believe those stories that people are totally disempowered & without my help, they have no options.  Then my friends bring me back to reality & share with me the power of listening to other cultures as wellsprings of resourcefulness, cultural knowledge, character & sustainable practices that we simply do not have.  Case in point - Samuel, as we call him, has a room built under his house, 10 x 12 feet, that captures rain water.  He set it up for his mother, so she can water her garden for the 6 month stretches of no rain.  He also hates pasta, & so his mother doesn't make it.  Poverty or not, his father raised each of his 5 children to build & tend their own garden plots as contributions to the family table.  These are all things I aspire towards.  Except the pasta part.  I do that & I think I resent it.

Recently we had a sale for the uber-rich outside of Boston.  The hostess of this enchanted house surprised me by sending me to the kitchen first thing, so that I could have a home-base for my son & his snacks.  She had just come back from the grocery store, where she had gone to pick-up cherries for us while we worked.  She seemed down-to-earth enough, yet her kitchen, well, I couldn't tell which of the 3 rooms that were kitchens was the kitchen.  Her husband kept begging True to go walk his dogs around the property.  They invited 250 friends from every local yacht club.  Hardly any came, for something to do with the month of August & vacations.  It was a huge relief/disappointment  to the organizers, who had never had such an event, anyways.  By the end of the sale, the hosts had transformed into a King & Queen & went off to a benefit at the Museum.  It was all very surreal.

The entire scene really got my boy's juices flowing.  He had gone up to his great-granny's attic (she's that co-founder) for Haitian-knitted cell phone cases to sell that day.  She let him fill a basket high as he could, & sell each "treasure pouch" for $1.  Now we're home with a ton of treasure pouches in every color, & he wants to set up shop.  So we will.

We'll set up at the farmer's market & set up an Etsy shop for him. I'd like to have some of those Primitive Ram pillows on the couch up there.  This is my friend, a Haitian-born designer who also produces Boston's Fashion Week.  He's showing True this amazing & gigantic tablecloth.  I love when they get to learn from experts talking from their expertise.  He pretty much kicked my a** when it came to setting up product displays.  There's going to be some work involved for me here.  But the opportunity to support these mamas, these friends, Granny's life work, True as a social entrepreneur, & to get past my aversion to correspondence, is too great to be cynical about.  They all have too much to offer me.

umm, they did have a canoe for their wild pond + island, next to the ocean view

Immigration + Boat Beauty

There's something that happens when you become truly intimate with a place.  Something that happens years past the initial impression, beyond the honeymoon, through some nightmarish moments & the everyday.  You realize - I am home.  I am in a place that has absorbed me so completely that I am now able to look at it through both old & new eyes at the same time.

I have been soaking up a place & become overwhelmed by it.  

I watch my boys, tying the ropes, driving the boats, bailing the kayaks, taking off their diapers & putting on their lifejackets first thing in the morning.  I realize that this place is in their genes.  And I am an immigrant.  I can barely swim.  I have these mini fear-surges every time I drive them over a wave.  They scream, "faster, faster!"  They can't tie their shoes, not even the seven year-old, but both older boys, 7 & 3 years old, can throw the ropes off a docking boat, jump out of said moving boat, & tie the ropes onto a post or cleat.  As can the thousands of other children who live on this lake.  

I am clumsy with those ropes.  They fall in the water.  I have to reach out to grab the post with my arm, stretching it long, as I remember to turn off the engine.  And yet.  This year.  I can do it in my sleep.  The neighbors watched me with the unconditional love they reserve for immigrant islanders, as I smoothly docked the little work boat, A Whaler, they call them out here (Boston Whaler).  I felt so proud inside, it was my first smooth docking this year.  Then I missed my moment to tie up & the boat floated off towards the rocks, me with hands around the post & one toe pulling in the boat railing.  A large cruiser sent me 2 foot-waves, so I was at once flying & balancing, up, down, up, down.  At the next dock they played the ukulele while saying, "Now she's doing tai chi.  Hmm.  Tai Chi."

I am home, & yet I am really of another place.  I will not go back so easily.

I am always at some random cultural intersection.  Where are you?

Earth's Medicine :: Echinacea Popsicles

All the island kids are spent.  The combined requirements of the sun, the water, the granite-&-root-packed forest floor under their bare feet makes them crash hard when they're not looking.  They don't ever want to sleep, just like us.  Sleeping feels good, yes.  But so does life.

Given that there's a plane flight soon, with it's 8+ hours of recycled air, we've started looking at how to help these tired aggies from crashing even harder, with a cold or flu or something worse.  They're just so full-out right now, using every bit of their energy to work & to learn this aquatic life.  The little bit of sleep they get is only helping them to recuperate, & maybe even grow a little.

One thing we're doing is daily Echinacea, in the form of popsicles.  We're just using Traditional Medicinal's Triple Echinacea Tea, steeped for 1 1/2 hours, with lots of raw, local honey for some bee-fairy help.  We let them cool & we're popping them into dixie cups.  As the full-time Daddy right now, D really appreciates any time I give the kids any "projects," that don't include art supplies, crafting or homeschooling.  Like popsicles that require their attention, pulling the paper down, sticking their noses in it, ripping off the "wrappers" with their teeth.

These photos sum up so much of my view out here.  As the working parent, I get them when they're sleeping.  There was a moose that swam over to the island at 7am last week.  I missed it.  It would have made my whole life to see a giant moose, chest up, swimming the mile from Timber.  But I love this little moose, to.  And the loon.  True's been working on a loon call the neighbor's taught him.  Apparently, the loons answer back.  Old pillows.  I love these pillows, they are beautiful, the color of this wooden world.  And I hide them the moment the rest of the family leaves.  I am Allergic to their ancient dust with a capital A.  

They are tired, & they are home.  This is the first time they've claimed the "Happy Room" as their own.  Their father's old room, where he hung his baseball hats & displayed his prizes from the Arcades at Weir's Beach.  Now they go to Weir's Beach, they play skiball, eat fried dough & come home with tummy aches, bouncy balls, 3-inch decks of cards & pockets full of extra tickets that show up in the dryer.  We don't want to leave, we never do.  We're working on it.

Here's 2 food blogs I'm loving right now:

Baking Beauties & Homesick Texan.  Almost makes me want to be a Texan.  Almost.

soup + warming stations

It's 5 am, East Coast time.  Before the recession, I used to take the boys all day long & try to fit in time for myself whenever I could, which wasn't often.  Mostly because one can't find time for themselves if they are forever sticking their kids into everything they do.  I'm in love with family time. It's what I know best, it's where I feel the coziest & most protected.  I never really knew that I was drained until I cracked, agitated & worn out, bantering on about how I don't get to make things or travel the world.  Once I hit those walls the world would turn black & white for a few hours - yes, hours, as I lamented over how much I've given up for this dream I'm living.  D has always said I married too young, that he caught a girl with wanderlust.  He's right, except for the "too" part.  I plan on fitting these guys into all of my dreams, & I'm slowly learning the art of sequencing my hopes over time & space.

At home D would be working upstairs, & I'd take the kids on field trips.  We would both manage our businesses in our own ways, with him doing all the collaborating, the managing, & the "doing," while I'd coach our partners & management.  Of course, my love is the arts & contribution, so as the recession made it more & more clear that this was not the time for a green exotic car share, & I became less & less enamored with our partner's laser surgery clinics, I started to feel less & less inspired.  I'd look at my unfinished garments & illustrations.  I'd think, "I just want to work all day."  Really, I just wanted to control what was happening.

my ca "office," complete with dirty toddler socks + someone in my chair 

It hurt to lay off people we love, to close the doors on D's gorgeous garage, but it was happening with all of our peers.  It hurt me in a more intimate way to stop giving.  We've always had to budget ourselves, but we've always been lucky enough to be able to create incomes for others.  We've always gifted causes that were meaningful to us, even if we only had $60 in our bank account.  All the rules have changed, & it's an adventure trying to figure out the flow right now.  Do you hold on & hoard what's there, but then stop the flow?  

I think D & I lose vitality when we do that.  There's something about our nature that wants to be free-er than free, to hold on to nothing, while still experiencing the very best of life.  None of this energy is really ours, anyways, it comes from other sources & wants to go back out again.  Like if finances were water, most people are public water fountains that supply small amounts as needed, not holding on to much at all.   Some folks are great lakes with dams that hold everything back for themselves.  We want to be part of a delta, part of a great, lively ecosystem with constant movement.  It just feels like such a healthy image to hold, this idea of money, literally bio-survival tickets, circulating around & around, reaching every living creature, feeding & being changed by everything it touches.  And us, just a part of all that.

So now I'm here working, in a blessed part of the world that includes sitting in front of an endless glistening lake, but inside, at my computer.  I watched D today, gathering up the boys, one in every size, gathering snacks, snapping up their "buckle-buckles" (life jackets), basically wrangling 3 unwieldy animals.  He's yelling, he's tender.  He's military, he's present & listening to their ongoing narrative.  He's amazing.  They head out in the boat, all 4 of them tan with glints of gold in their hair.  And I'm thinking, "I just want to play all day." 

I'm so grateful for all the times he watched us leave without him.  He always said it was painful.  And my mama, working 3 jobs & not seeing us kids.  And my dad, a published writer & visionary, putting in all those years as a mail carrier.  Pops, working the fire department from beginning-to-end, with his electrical business on the side.  Work is work.  It can be a vocation. A calling, a joy.  And still, There's a physical element of wear & tear in every career.  There's people to love that we can't be with every second.  

So...when I do get to see them, I glad to have made some soup.  Because when they've been in the water & their lips are purple, it's nice to have a warming station of towels ready to lie on.  It's nice to have something warm to put in their bellies.  And even if they've been getting that all day already, I'm so glad to get a chance to help a little.

Rustic Lentil Soup + Quesadillas

In a pot throw 2 handfuls of wild rice, 2 handfuls of yellow lentils, 5 chopped celery stalks, 2 chopped carrots, 4 inches of water & some Organic Better-than-Bouillon.  Bring to a boil, lower heat & simmer for 40 minutes.  Shred organic white cheddar on 10 corn tortillas on baking sheets.  Broil to melt.  Stack the hot tortillas & cut into 6 wedges.  Pull them apart.  Serve the littles soup in mugs with a bit of milk to cool it off.  Feel comforted when they say it's the best soup they ever had, feel miffed when one announces, "I don't really like it."  Then be truly important & finish their food for them before going back to work.

chuck to shuck

There is one thing we are up to above all.  Being "time-rich."  No more working for work's sake or money or status or obligation.  Chucking the old so we can really celebrate.  Every second.  Organizing our lives, our values & our priorities to be together, to move slowly.  To have choice in the moment.  Because it's still possible to prep supper with the neighbors, outside.

To take the time to dress appropriately for dinner.  To learn such skills from a master & to laugh at the sticky/beautiful/oh-so-interesting corn silk.

To enjoy the cocktail hour.  To be surprised by your guests.  To experience generosity.

To squish together for an adventure.  To be a family of families.  To borrow each other's space without boundaries or pride.

To be shiny, happy & alive.  To be safely scared & to scream & to encourage madly, right out loud.

To sing "taps" as the sun sets, with hand motions & everything.  To hear the loon's slightly insane call.  To feel a full day's accomplishments, frustrations, love, sadness & wear melt into a quiet hope.

To enjoy cooking sans gadgets.  With 10 year-old clothespins & century-old saucepans.  To smell the food as it simmers over the course of an hour, or three.

To go to sleep after an honest-to-goodness spontaneous recital.  Or many.  One night after the next, each musician, each instrument in turn.

Being "time*rich" means being there for our lives.  Oh, how much life  I've missed for so many silly reasons! The world has slowed down, it's had to.  I'm part of the movement, of those catching our breaths, slowing the cycles of buying & accumulating while deferring our best hopes for ourselves.  Some of us are looking anew, letting go of our old dreams, goals & wants.  Seeing what's here.  Feeling grateful.

Will you join us?  Please email me!  Love, Thyme

to make a damsel fly

Happy Birthday Nay!

Thank you for always being up to something ~ many things.  Things that are interesting & exciting, that will make a difference for people & add beauty to our world.

Thank you for my life.  For My Brothers who are so Perfect & Amazing.  For being the Lola that the boys talk to & share with every single night in their sleeps.  For all of it.  

For always telling us that 

"'We were made in God's image' doesn't mean 'we have 2 hands, 2 eyes, 2 ears & a nose.'  It means you have a head of your own, can think your own thoughts & make your own decisions."

Thank you for reminding me that to think & grow is a divine act.  That it's good to change our minds & our actions.  It's important to question.  For being such a whole example of a woman, a community leader, an entrepreneur, a wife, a working mother, a healer, a gardner, a chef & an artist.

It would be a lot to live up to, but you never made that an option I'd have to deal with.  You always made sure to let us be ourselves, trying out systems & abandoning anything that was irrelevant.  

Thank you for making sure we were always loved, that we always knew it.  We do know it.  It's in our every cell.  I love you.  Me

Chickpea Nachos from my Forced Vacation

I never thought I'd be one of those folks who have to be forced to slow down.  Many times I've wondered at friends who must keep working, who can't stop, who want their vacations to end.   But I've never really been on so many deadlines before.  I won't explain why here, but I've been on a forced vacation the last few days, mostly because I just would not stop typing, drawing, designing, phone calling, typesetting, collaborating.  I haven't been sleeping, I've been on a sprint, I've been putting the kids down at nine, waking up at 1 & working until 5, then sleeping until 9 for 3 months.  Crazy.

So my mom said stop.  D said stop.  Everyone said stop.  So that's where I've been.  

Wonderfully, joyfully stopped.

And now I'm going again, at a much more balanced pace.

The Food

(Veggie Burgers on KinnickKinnick's YUMMY GF Buns, Steamed Broccoli with Lemon Juice & Sweet Potatoe Fries a la' Chris & Kim.)

All my good work books seem to fall in the lake.

The Office

Yes, I just get up from my desk, well, really a picnik table, & plop down on that bed & go to sleep now. Balance.  Just kidding.  Wouldn't that be something?  No, if I want to take a nap, I still have to wait until night time when the kids are sleeping, too.  I just get up, & go join them.  

Because there's still dishes & dinner to be made, after all.  Balance is never what we think.  It's just a little bit of everything.  

I've been working with  Tracy on redesigning the Gluten Free Lifestyle Kit.  We've been so sad to take this kit off the market, but it we've been adding all kinds of new features.  Here at the lake we eat Chickpea Nachos weekly!

Like all of those recipes, it comes together FAST (15 minutes!), is super-yummy & goes over with the boys.  I love not having to make a separate meal.

Chickpea Nachos

1 can chickpeas

1 lime or 1/2 lemon

cumin + chili powder

In a medium bowl, crush chickpeas with the back of a fork.  Sprinkle lotsa cumin & chili powder, squeeze with the citrus.  Stir & let sit.

1 bag blue chips

1 block of favorite cheese, shredded

2 green onions, chopped

1 can olives, sliced, or crushed

1 tomato, chopped

Spread chips evenly over a  large baking sheet.  Cover with chickpeas, cheese, green onions, olive & tomatoes.  Broil for a few minutes, watching carefully.  Use a spatula to divide into four sections, place in bowls & garnish with:

sour cream

salsa

romaine lettuce, shredded

See?  Fast, fast!!

cornhole vs organic family life

I am under a lot of pressure.  I know it doesn't look like it.  But it's true.  May I answer a couple of questions here?  (This has to do with the fact that there have been 7 NFL or college coaches & their wives on this island, 2 of them in my family.  I'll explain more in a minute). 

This island is obsessed with cornhole.  Cornhole.  On the dock.  In the woods.  Grown adults, college students, kids, toddlers, interior designers.  All throwing tube socks, filled with corn, into little holes.  Morning, noon & night.  It is very, very competitive.  Folks sit at the dining room table with their beers, dental floss, sewing needles & Sharpies, stitching regulation-approved bean bags. Really.  We mark them, Red.  Blue.  These bean bags have uniform colors.

The only person who can keep score is my truly brainiac brother-in-law, one of the aforementioned coaches.  The other ones sit at the sidelines, using their famous chicken-scratch to take field notes.  Hilariously, he's really the only one genius enough & confident enough to know the score at any given moment.  But I swear the rules change with the amount of alcohol consumed. 

With Dad & Grandpa watching this closely, my little guy takes on these bean bags with utmost reverence.

It is a metaphor for the over-all sense of competition here.  They compete in their sleep, gently, roughly, lovingly, seriously & lightly.  They do it with nudges, pushes, yelling, whispering, under their breath, as they give hugs & as they serve dinner.  It's great fun, because they are all deeply loving & encouraging, as well.

I love cornhole.  And I am non-competitive.  I'm no good at it.  I always end up jumping up & down, clapping & cheering on the others.  Even when I make the finals & lose at the last second.  I'm happy for them.   I can't get into it when folks are crushed over a loss.  Furious about a mistake.  Devastated over a game.  Winning or losing never affected my family paycheck, the mood in my home or where we moved next.  I try to be as compassionate as I can.  And I'm always ready to party when we win.

I've been asked a few questions up here in several different ways.

 Let me just answer...

~We are California natives.  We live in a community where "organic living" comes easy.  It is first nature & everything from the bikepaths to the grocery stores to the rec pool support our lifestyle.  Where we live, it is not extreme, far-fetched or difficult for our marriage.

~I birthed my babies at home, one with an MD who was equal partners with his midwives & 2 with midwives of over 30 years.  At all 3 births, those attendants were totally hands-off (with the exception of back rubs & loving words).  2 were born in the water & swam the first moments they were born.  One was born in my studio.  I worked, studied & visualized like an athlete before hand to have those births.  They were co-created with my boys, who were full participants in their births. 

~I am clear we are very lucky to have had those births.  There are folks we love who were even more intentional about their births. Mostly they went as planned, & sometimes they did not.  And they were the right births for those children, with meaning & gifts that showed up later.  

~I have been nursing or pregnant for over 8 years, with a break of 11 months.  I wear them constantly for the first 6 months. It helps me to know what their needs are & how they communicate, it let's them practice being resourceful & trusting the world, as I am their main resource then.  I tandem nursed the younger two.  I admit, it's difficult. I recommend that if it feels right.  But I hold that time in my heart, & those boys hold it in their smile & their swagger.  

~They have their own room, their own beds they use & they have a forever spot in our bed. 

~We are 100% organic in our home, from our mascara to our risotto.  And when we eat out, or with others, we are not.  Our chemical-free lifestyle is part of our healthcare.  

~We are clear that the vaccine decision is 12 different decisions.  That every parent needs to do their own research & come to their own right choice.  We are very informed on this subject, from what they are made of to the statistical, unbiased differences in the perceived dangers of aluminum vs. mercury.    That those who believe parents who opt out of certain vaccinations are "leaches," might first understand the history & purpose of each shot to make sure they are consistent & up-to-date with theirs, as well!  Our specific choices for each vaccine are personal, but let's just say that we nurse long enough & have our children home enough that most vaccines do not even apply to us from both a personal health & the public health perspective, according to the American Medical Association!!  www.thevaccinebook.com

~My son is a vegetarian/pescatarian.  D & Free eat organic, free-range, grass-fed bison & beef.  I eat organic, free-range chicken.  And we actually pray for "animal angels," bred or harvested specifically to help nourish our bodies & planet.  We did this after a decade as vegetarians.  We are a gluten-free family.  Are diets will shift as we shift.

~We are project-based "life-learners."  I was a homeschooler.  That feels healthy & right to me. The problems I have are problems that arise out of my larger commitments.  Worthwhile problems.  I start everything from the idea that any resource is available, any skill can be acquired.  We want this for our kids.  We support public schools & are part of a public charter created for homeschoolers.  They pay us to homeschool.

~We bike everywhere as our main source of transportation.  Our whole town does.

~I identify as a Filipino-American.  I am Pinay, I come from a huge & amazing tribe.  We belong to a culture based in an entirely different country, with 7,007 islands of it's own.

Whew!  

That's a long list of answers up there.  I don't walk around with a list or use my lifestyle as an ongoing conversation topic.  I expect differences.  However, I'm expected to use those differences to compete. On my sensitive soul, it often feels like I'm being asked to explain myself.  So.  This is my explanation. 

I have made examined choices.  I hope everyone does.  I feel empowered in those choices.  They are not better than anyone else's, & I may change my mind.  I can't compare my mothering, marriage or eating to others.   The rest is spilled milk.

next best thing to cousins

Watching these kids, who know each other so well, despite the 3,000 miles & 3 seasons apart, is a study in friendship.  I don't have lifelong friends, I have cousins.  It's moving to watch this other kind of family.  It's his dock or her dock.  They watch out for each other.  They care about the same things, like not being locked in their cabins with their younger siblings, playing Mastermind, making fairy houses & beating each other at tether ball in the woods.

And now, my boys have some real cousins here.  See that sweet heart on the left?  Yes.  I'm the proud auntie of that guy.  Oh, if you could see him dance!!  He lives on this coast, so this summer is my first time to really play with him.  At last night's party he crawled into my lap (after he had been in everyone else's) & let me feed him salmon & rice.  Is there anything more gratifying than feeding a little riri?

He's the same age as Real, 1 1/2, so it was sweet to watch them trading dominoes back-&-forth, before they started "pretending" to hand them over, then pulling them back in a baby-version of "psyche!"  You'd think they would both burst out crying, but they thought is was hilarious.

Later I sat by the fire with Free & some of the babies.  He looked up & said, "Oh, is that my birthday cake?!!"  And the sweet girl above held out a tin of dominoes, then sang, oh-so-softly, "Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you!"  Then he blew out his candles.

Earlier that night we had arrived from a long boat ride to pick up The Phantom Tollbooth for True, & she met us on our dock.  As Free tied the ropes, she reached over & scratched his head to say hello.  No words, just a little love.  The language of three year-olds.

This.  Oh, this is my new screensaver.  To remind me that they will indeed get into trouble.  Sometimes is will be with their little sibs / my babies.  And that it will be just the right amount of trouble.  That, if I stay out of the water, they will get themselves back out again.

16+ kids.  9+ families.  All next door, one antique cabin after the next.  They will likely know each other their whole lives long.  Amazing.   I wonder where are they going?   

I'm loving this family right now, so close to my own.

lake landing

Still Life, On the Rocks

What does a family do when they leave 104' for a rainy, lightning-filled island forest?

• Exhale.  
• Fill tube socks with ancient grains from the pantry for bean bags.
• Take those even-more-ancient jars & create temporary terrariums.
• Hold open our mouths & throw back our heads to drink it all in.

His Dragonfly with My Damselfly

• Save just-born fairy-bugs after their two-year status as water bugs.  It's a slow, fascinating process:

They emerge from the water as cricket-like creatures, find a quiet spot on the rocks & proceed to poke their heads out of their skins & crawl out of themselves.  Their wings are nothing but buds & their tails are still short & thick.  After a long, patient observation, the wings & tails begin to fill out, literally growing & forming before our eyes.  Color appears, & somehow, magically, they develop these crystal-clear slips of stained glass that will eventually hold them up in the sky.

Maybe more fascinating is the fact that many of them don't make it to the "perfect-form" of dragonfly or damselfly.  If they emerge from the water on a particularly wavy or windy day, those sweet wings will stick to each other or bend or otherwise form in a way that doesn't allow them to fly.  Sometimes we will "save" these bugs, picking them up & bringing them to a flower pot or laying them in the blueberry bushes.  And sometimes they become food for the ducks.  It's a reminder that life happens, it's not completely in our hands, there are mysteries & reasons way bigger than our understanding.  And there's no doubt that they're all miracles, all totally perfect.  I wonder about that desire to "save" things.  Is it a form of compassion or a form of judgement that "something's wrong."  Maybe nothing's wrong.  Maybe it is.

We just try to stay awake to the wonder.

Bustin' His Rump, Earnin' His Keep

• Get to work making our home a home.  De-rock the beach.  Set up our offices to work.  Unearth old clothes & fill the dressers.  Move around mattresses & make our beds.  Jump in to that cold, clean water & wash the plane away.

Land.