Good Morning

Gatha for waking up:

Waking up this morning, I smile.
Twenty-four brand new hours are before me.
I vow to life full in each moment
and to look at all beings with
the eyes of compassion.

It's been a week of "life in a bed," up and down the whole time. I must not have fully herniated the disc until Friday and so find myself not as well off today as I was mid-last week. But I'm standing and walking a bit, which becomes very important to me.

On another note, the week has seen the demise of my church. On Tuesday, the minister resigned. Yesterday, the congregation voted to sell the church buildings to pay off debt (including the minister). The congregation will continue to exist, such as it is, but without a minister or a space, which begs the question of what kind of church that can be. I'm sad in many ways, even if I see the rationality and inevitability of it all. But, our minister was our friend, supporting us and celebrating with us for more than six years. We were married in that church (a few times!) and the kids were dedicated there. Through it, I found non-violent communication, meditation, the bread pledge miracle, and all of Unitarian Universalism. What will it be not to have it as it's been? I feel a bit lost at sea, grasping for a float to hang onto. I recognize that this opportunity gives the congregation a chance to redefine and redesign itself, something I know needs doing for our spiritual and financial health, but it has come on so fast.

And then, one of the main touchstones of my mothering, Mothering Magazine, has suddenly ceased publication. It's disappearance leaves me bereft, even though there is an online community (of which I've never been a part). The magazine would arrive regularly, offering ideas and inspirations but also challenging my ideas of motherhood--because the magazine was frequently to the left of where I stood--allowing me to reconsider, reevaluate, and reaffirm my beliefs. Now, it is gone, too.

So, my spirits are flagging somewhat, a week into this. Beyond my back and the church, I've missed parties. I'm canceling volunteer activities, including the historic house tours I was so excited to give and the school lessons I was excited to teach to Bud's class. I'm almost entirely dependent on Mama Hungry and Gommie; the kids are staying away because I'm delicate (they can't jump on my bed) and not fun.

It's morning, though, and Monday at that, so I will embrace the new 24 hours before me, glad at least to have them.

Mystery Reader

It was the annual spring bookfair today and I ventured out for the first time.   With my meds, my brace, and several breaks on the nurse's couch...all my precautions.   Gommie and I helped Sis and Bud choose Star Wars books, among other things.  I even found a Mrs. Piggly Wiggly book, from my own childhood.  Plus a few books for Cousin Hungry.  And even something for Mama, from my own magic trunk.

The highlight was Gommie being the mystery reader for Sis's class, with hints about her liking hiking and boating, being from far away, and being someone's grandmother.  Of course, Sis guessed, but so did some of her classmates who had seen Gommie before (at kindergarten and preschool).  Bud, who was allowed to join the class for the event, knew but didn't give it away.   Gommie read Awful Ogre, My Garden by Henkes, and Tango Makes Three, about the penguin with the two dads.  It felt subversive to hear the pro-gay family book in kindergarten, but the teacher had requested it.  And it was fine.  In fact, I was very proud of and honored by Gommie, who has embraced and loved us even if we're not like, well, the other penguins.

In fact, the day was great.  That is, until my back popped again this afternoon.  So, I'm back to life in a bed with another appointment next week.  It'll be okay, especially because I know it could be worse.  My regret from last time was becoming isolated, depressed, and being too scared to try to get up. Trying to have no regrets this time.  Or, at least different ones.

Magic Suitcase

Today when the doorbell rang and it was a package (not Neighbor Boy), Sis said, "It's for Mama's magic trunk!" 

It wasn't, but Gommie had a surprise from her "magic suitcase":  Buck-ee Beaver t-shirt.  Power to the beaver!

Power to the Magic Suitcase!

Wow

I think I figured it out...the official Google Blogger app for Android.

So, I've meditated by counting my breaths, read the entire NYTimes, read blogs, emailed some, reviewed my decent tour....don't want to wake up snoring Mama with reading light or conversation, can't safely maneuver by myself around house right now....I'm not uncomfortable or stressful, just wide awake, probably meds messing with my sleep somehow because I was up for the same 2 hours plus last night.

But at least I figured out a way to post.

Updates:
*Gommie arrived to great enthusiasm and relief.  She has played legos and bakugan, been read Elephant and Piggie to, read Awful Ogre poems, gone to kung Fo, distributed candy and a puzzle book, and watched two episodes of Glee. 

*that pic of Cousin Hungry she brought is precious and very much reminds me of aunt banana.

*on tap today...daisies field trip.  Without me.

trying something...but i cant seem to post from my phone. except as a title. ive been up since 3:30....no pain, no stress....but am stuck here

A Silver Lining

While riding curled up in the backseat of Mama's car to and from the city today, I could only see the rain and the world through the moon roof, a unique perspective of I-95 and the city.

And for the first time this season, I noticed buds flowering on the trees overhead.

Poetry Jam: A Special Shel

Tonight, we put aside the Awful Ogre for a bit (only because we couldn't locate the books right away) and read some Shel Silverstein, a favorite of my childhood. But this wasn't Where the Sidewalk Ends or A Light in the Attic (staples of my youth; I memorized "One Sister for Sale" for 6th-grade Language Arts!), or even the topsy-turvy Runny Babbit. Nope, we read Giraffe and a Half, a silly poem that builds upon and then dismantles itself sorta like the recent If You Give a Mouse . . . books, but in poetry form so that the kids could chant along as each line repeated from the page before (you know, like "There Was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly.") So, funny and participatory, predictable and unpredictable, with Silverstein's wonderfully quirky line drawings.

Can't wait to add more Silverstein to our jam . . . just maybe not "One Sister for Sale!"

While I Was Sleeping . . .

. . . on Sunday night, I herniated my disc again.

Yep, in my sleep, the immediate cause being an inadvertent twitch, the bigger picture being three weeks of coughing.

It didn't seem quite as bad this time, perhaps because of my previous experiences with this kind of pain, my meditation practice, quick intervention (ice/bolster/advil/valium/topical botanical cream), and/or the extent of the injury. But I still couldn't walk or stand on Monday and my physiatrist wanted to see me or send me to the hospital.

So today, we traveled down to the city, an arduous drive made more painful by road construction on 2nd Avenue, where I met with my specialist (who is so wonderful, returning all calls quickly, even that 2 a.m. page), got 6 injections at the base of my spine, and a new-and-improved "Iron Mommy" brace with built in heat/cold core. He's still very optimistic about me, especially since we caught this early, which I didn't know was important. It was worth the 6-hour ordeal.

The kids stayed at home, thanks to the tender-loving-caring generosity of Mrs. Cadbury. I'll be buying her mini eggs by the bushel next year! Thank you so much. It took such a weight off my mind to a). prevent the children from hearing me moan in the car and cry in the doctor's office and b). know that they were having fun and well cared for.

And Mama Teacher, who always has enough on her plate but makes room for more like you would for dessert (and seems so happy to do it), babysat and entertained me while Mama Hungry fetched medicines and heat patches. Sending you a (virtual, at your indication) case of Reese's peanut butter mini Easter eggs.

Then there's Mama, who was a well-organized trooper through the whole thing, remembering pillows and snacks and music (she had downloaded most of the Glee albums for the occasion), and held me hand and stroked my hair and made me laugh. And loves me even when I feel the most broken.

Not sure what the next days and weeks hold, though I'm proud to say I'm walking a bit already (mind you, that's about 6 days earlier than August). I'm still postponing lots of things, including things I postponed during the bout with bronchitis. But I'm hoping to stay more connected than last time.

And best of all, though perhaps not for her, Gommie arrives for her previously scheduled visit tomorrow. Moms always make things better.

(Which I should add, is the real downside to being a mom out-of-commission, but I'm not going there tonight.)

Poetry Jam: Awful Ogres

Jack Prelutsky, the children's Poet Laureate, has been the focus of our nightly poetry jam this weekend, as we read his Awful Ogre, Running Wild. The kids are fascinated by the crazy things the one-eyed ogre does, as well as the lush illustrations of such. In fact, instead of just reading a poem a day, I've read several both before and during dinner. It works perfectly because I usually need to stand and walk a bit during the meal so now I just pick up the book and read a poem. From "Awful Ogre Paints a Picture" to "Awful Ogres Goes on a Picnic" and "Awful Ogre Enters a Cook Off" (I'm guessing at the titles because Bud took the book to bed; no worries, Sis got Awful Ogre's Awful Day at the library today and has it in bed with her). They so enjoy hearing the poems and discussing the wacky things Awful Ogre does that they wanted to write their own ogre poem. About Awful Ogre on a boat. With his friends the bunny and penguin. But, assuring them that few poems are finished in the first draft, we didn't quite complete it at dinner tonight and I'll post it later. After a few more nights of reading Awful Ogre. . . .

Special Sponge Cake

We prepared a special treat for Mama yesterday, something we'd be planning for more than a week:

Don't they look cute? Yummy vanilla petit fours.

With our favorite rainbow sprinkles.

And our own special sponge "cake" recipe, ingredients above.

Suffice it to say, she was tickled.

A Poem A Day

. . . Keeps the doldrums at bay.

Perhaps . . . so, in celebration of National Poetry Month, we've just decided to read a poem everyday, at dinnertime.

But we got started early with "Jabberwocky."

Because who can resist "slithy toves?"

We'll have to get Pop to perform his ode to seabirds, "What a peculiar bird is a Peli-can!/His beak can hold more than his belly can!"

What are your favorite poems?

Happy April!

"Whanne that April with his shoures sote

The droughte of March hath perced to the rote."

--Prologue, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales

Yep, I'm going to start writing posts in Middle English!

Ha ha ha.

Just quoting a verse my dad likes to chant, one of the verses he memorized in school (along with "Luck" by W.W. Gibson*).

Happy spring! And happy April is Poetry Month!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

*Luck

by W.W. GIBSON

What bring you, sailor, home from the sea-
Coffers of gold and of ivory?

When first I went to sea as a lad
A new jack-knife was all I had:

And I've sailed for fifty years and three
To the coasts of gold and of ivory:

And now at the end of a lucky life,
Well, still I've got my old jack-knife.

Generosity Incarnate

A friend, whom I will now call Mrs. Cadbury (as opposed to Madame Director), just came by with a get-well present.

Of Cadbury mini eggs.

Not ones she got at the store, because there aren't any. These are from her own private stockpile!

I'm touched by the kindness and generosity of the enormous chocolate gesture, from a woman who tells me she keeps some frozen in her freezer for around August when she has a craving.

Thank you so much, Mrs. Cadbury! I feel better already.

Lost Recipe

It's either Google search or me.

I thought I had posted a recipe for "hamburger macaroni soup" but I can't find it, either through a Blogspot or Google site search.

And while only Bud liked it when I originally made it a few months back, they both inhaled the frozen leftovers tonight.

I know it had ground beef, carrots, onion, celery, corn, and some kind of stock, plus macaroni. I think it has ketchup, maybe Maggi or Worcestershire sauce. Something that gives it a slightly reddish-orange tinge, but sweet, too. No telling.

Except, having thought I would never make it again, now I must because they are asking for it. Again and again. Which is a breakthrough because they usually don't like tomato-based soups or soups with beef.

Nothing irks me like losing a recipe.

I Love Their School

I love my kids' school.

• They had a special Jump-a-thon today in P.E. for the American Heart Association. I like how the school encourages the kids to think of others (same with the fundraiser for Japan via the Red Cross).
• Tonight is a special math night, where the kids will play age-appropriate math games with their friends and family.
• Tomorrow, I'm teaching a Junior Achievement lesson, the first of five, for Bud's class. Get this: on money! It's just one of the extra programs the school does.
• Next week, there is the school-wide book fair.
• And--SHHH! don't tell--Gommie is going to be Mystery Reader in Sis's class.
• Sis's teacher has been reading Charlotte's Web to them, which Sis is really enjoying. She feels so grown up to be hearing a novel at school.
• The principal, school administrator, consultants and specialists, permanent substitutes, even the school nurse, recognize all the parents and are so friendly.
• Parents are encouraged (but not pressured) to help out: I'll be back in a few weeks to do literacy groups and library work.
• Oh, and to attend my parent reading group, where we're discussing Jim Trelease's Read Aloud Handbook.
• The PTSA is very active, hosting a program last night on school community, among other things (like sponsoring and subsidizing field trips, school supplies, etc etc etc)
• There is going to be an in-house field trip soon, with a Mad Science group coming to do experiments with the kids.
• And then an author is visiting for a talk and book signing.
• I'm beginning to get to know the other parents and children (the ones beyond the Girl Scout troop)--I know, it's April so that took awhile--and just picked up Sis and Bud from a playdate at new friend's (Little L) house. They've also played with Little I and will be at a birthday party for Little E soon.
• Bud's kindergarten teacher, joking with me today about coming home with us for snack, saw that Bud believed her and said we could hangout sometime when school was over. So I invited her to their big, all-morning kindergarten summer Lego birthday bash. And she said she'd come if she is in town!
• All of that is in addition to the engaging and inspiring instruction in reading, math, science, social skills, self-discipline, music, art, library, P.E. Spanish, that they do everyday.
• And they haven't even geared up for the end-of-the-year yet!

The Last of It

Okay, I'm hoping this is the last post for a long time about my health, by way of explaining why I'm not posting, returning calls or email, etc., because I'm sick of it. And if I am, you must be . . . . I went to an Ear/Nose/Throat doctor today and do have an infection for which I will be taking steroids and another antibiotic, since it's lasted so long. He says I should feel better as early as tomorrow. (Of course, I'm well aware that it could all be a lot worse, but it has been enough to get me down, especially because all of the coughing has been affecting my back.)

YIPPEE!

If that doesn't work, the navy bean soup I have in the slow cooker should.

Other Side of the Coin

I just posted about baker's mistakes, food gone to waste (sometimes) in the name of practice, experience, product testing.

And then I read Mark Bittman's piece on why he is fasting, along with numerous clergy and other activists, to protest the enormous and egregious cuts in the current H.R. 1, including to such programs as:

• WIC (aid for Women, Infants, and Children)
• international food aid that reaches 18 million people worldwide
• international health aid that reaches 4 million people worldwide
• Food Stamps

While I'm not sure I am up for a fast just now, I will be reading more about the issues at Bread for the World (the religious organization behind the fast) and Share Our Strength (fighting childhood hunger in the U.S., though not involved in the fast).

Baker's Dozen

. . . of mistakes, that is. Check out this hilarious (and oddly comforting) photos of mistakes from the professional kitchen of King Arthur Flour.

What Do You Call Someone From Connecticut?

Connecticutter? Connecticutan? Connecticutite?

No, as the joke goes: a commuter.

I'm learning why there isn't a name for people from or who live in Connecticut. No one thinks of it that way. You're from Stamford or Greenwich, Ridgefield or New Canaan, Milford or New Haven, Guildford or Branford. Town pride is central. Town history is paramount. Town divisions are clear.

As a Texan, I find it all rather strange. I come from a state that is all about the state identity. Sure, East Texas vs. West, the Valley vs. the Panhandle, and then there's Austin . . . . but everyone is a Texan. Sure, there are Houstonians and Dallasites, but you don't hear that a lot (what's a person from Austin? A Longhorn.) We fly the flag, we know the song. We remember the Alamo (each in his or her own way, of course). Don't mess with us.

I'm not sure I could pick the state flag of Connecticut out of a lineup. And is there even a song? I do know we're the Nutmeg State and that there was a Liberty Tree somewhere. That about sums up my state knowledge (though, granted, I wasn't raised here. But, unlike in Texas, kids do not take a year of their state's history here so they're not indoctrinated with state pride or info in the same way). But I do know my town's seal. And I now know my town's extensive history, as offered through the lens of its local historical society (every town has one), with all the local characters and important locales. But the next town up? or over? That was them.

Of course, I'm not an "us." I'm a new resident foreigner compared to people whose families have been here, quite literally, for almost 400 years. Seriously, a famous Revolutionary War hero is pictured in the historical society and one of his (albeit indirect, by marriage) descendants was the kiddos' preschool teacher. Sure, one of my relatives was a Yankee (if I remember correctly, Gommie's grandfather was born in Fall River, MA, which is pretty Yankee), but not from this town, so it doesn't count. Besides, I believe his parents were Canadians and he later hightailed it to Texas.

Anyway, I'm wondering, now, if this is somehow connected to secession, the Civil War, and states' rights. Are southern states more proud of themselves as states than northern states? My experiences living elsewhere skews my perspective--New Yorkers in the city think of themselves in burrough or city terms, if not racial or ethnic ones, often because most of them are not natives (I consider myself an honorary New Yorker); Chicago residents are "Chicagoans," not really Illinois . . . what's a person from Illinois called? Do you have any insights?

So, quirky as it is here in Connecticut, it's rather endearing to be so local. And I'm enjoying my local sense of history, which really connects me to this place and its people, as I learn that our house stands where the sheep once grazed and the peach trees (I know, seems wrong up here) grew, with the Tories having congregated just up the road.

Egg Shortage

There are no more Cadbury mini eggs.

And I've checked.

Apparently, this happens every year. People buy them as soon as they see them. Stores run out. There are no second shipments.

Not to the department store, the grocery stores, or the drugstore I visited.

Maybe I'm what you called addicted? obsessed? with those little eggs. I like them, for sure, but I can usually do without them. I've noticed, however, that in my current not-feeling-so-great state, I like them more than usual. And have been looking for them.

I lucked out this morning: I found two small purple bags at the drugstore, the last of their yearly stock. Someone had hidden them among the jellybeans, perhaps in hopes of coming back for them! But I know that purple when I see it . . . . It might not take me to Easter, but it'll take me through the week. Because, Lambeth, I don't crave the red meat you think would do me good, I want those little, pastel-colored, candy-coated chocolate eggs.

Thank heavens the kids don't like them, because this Easter Bunny is not sure she could share.