Want to Try Vegetarianism?

If you have been curious about vegetarianism or reducing meat in your diet, the Vegetarian Times June 2011 issue has a great 28-day Veg Challenge (much of it is online, complete with a newsletter) to help you out. There are recipes, meal suggestions, and mythbusters. Even though I've been a vegetarian for three full years (my anniversary is the Kentucky Derby), I found the issue very helpful. Also, the website always has a starter kit pdf. Enjoy!

How To Cook Your Life

I just watched a remarkable documentary, How to Cook Your Life, about Buddhist priest and cookbook author Edward Espe Brown (the title comes from Kosho Uchiyama Roshi's updated treatise Instructions for the Zen Cook by the 13th-century monk Eihei Dogen). I've written on Brown before, with regards to mindful baking, because his Tassajara cookbooks have been very influential. So, I was really interested to see the film.

And it was worth it. But in case you don't have Netflix, and also so I can reflect on what I saw, I wanted to share with you the bits that stuck with me most.

The Tenzo Kyokun

The film followed Brown into several kitchens, introducing us to the ritual of the Zen kitchen. There are chants from Dogen's treatise, Tenzo Kyokun, a reading of what seemed like gentle rules or "forms" of the kitchen, offerings to the Buddha, and "functional silence" so that everyone can work mindfully. Advises Dogen,

When washing rice, preparing vegetables, and so on, do so with your own hands, with close attention, vigorous exertion, and a sincere mind. Do not indulge in a single moment of carelessness or laziness. Do not allow attentiveness to one thing result in overlooking another. Do not yield a single drop in the ocean of merit; even a mountain of good karma can be augmented by a single particle of dust.

Attention is paid to everything, for Dogen suggests, and Brown repeats, "Having received [vegetables and rice] protect and be frugal with them, as if they were your own eyes." This reminds me of my in-laws adage about respecting and eating food because "each grain of rice is three drops of sweat on the farmer's back." Numerous shots in the film show Americans gorging on huge amounts of food, wasting much of it; people who live off dumpster-diving and urban foraging are interviewed about the waste in our culture.

Also appearing in the film are several cooks, both students in Brown's cooking classes and the staff of the Zen kitchen (I think it's the San Francisco Zen Center). The various cooks who speak talk about the give and take in Zen cooking, how they cook the food and the food cooks them. Says Brown, "When you're cooking, you're not just cooking. You're not just working on food. You're also working on yourself, you're working on other people." I might add, you're working for other people.

Walking Meditation

I've read about walking meditations but never seen one in action. It's so slow, so much slower than I could walk and balance at the same time these days. Brown, in one of his dharma talks, explained the technique: Lift. Step. Place. Sounds straightforward, but as he notes, a thought will come into your head. And it will be persistent. Just note, "thinking," like you would "lift, step, place," and go back to your walking. With my walking 10 minutes four times a day, I should try this meditation, again, but perhaps not as slowly. I imagine I can maybe keep up a pace like "step, step, step." My usual meditation practice, albeit in bed, of counting breaths, continues.

Big Mind, Kind Mind, Joyful Mind

In the Zen kitchen in the film are displayed the words "Grande Parental Mind," "Big Mind," and "Joyful Mind." The first Brown also describes as "kind mind." These ideas come from Suzuki Roshi, from whom Brown received the dharma, and they are guiding principles in this Zen kitchen. It rather reminded me of Like Water for Chocolate, the idea that the cook's feelings were transmitted through the food to the recipients. I can see how this would easily translate to the 5 o'clock dinner rush. If I keep a joyful mind, I don't get upset that recipes aren't working out or that I feel rushed--and I won't grump at the kids as they come into the kitchen. Instead, I can be happy that I'm preparing healthy, tasty food for my family to enjoy together, maybe even get them to help. Kind mind, which Brown compared to being like the kindness of grandparents to children, has to do, I think, with making right choices at the store and using ingredients that are kind, instead of rushing boxed mac and cheese or frozen nuggets on the table. But also creating a warm environment, making foods that they want to try, laughing and sharing. And the big mind keeps it all in perspective, as I stay mindful of the goal not only of my specific meal prep but the gift of food and togetherness, which we can recall with our candle-lighting blessing ritual. And if I can manage all that, dinner time will not only be food for the body but food for the soul.

The Teapot

I liked Brown's discussion of a beat-up old metal teapot, which seemed to touch him deeply. Examining its flaws, Brown drew a long metaphor to our lives. We get beat up with age, but we are still useful and willing to do our work. But our dents show our experience. Brown notes that sincerity is showing imperfections, instead of covering them up. It reminded me of the Japanese tea ceremony and the imperfect tea bowls, which exhibit the aesthetic of Wabi-Sabi, or imperfection, asymmetry, and the like, which are to remind the tea participants of nature and life.

The Biscuit

I love making biscuits, sourdough ones, with my starter. And so I was interested to hear of Brown's early troubles with biscuits: they weren't right. So he tried everything--butter, shortening, eggs, no eggs, different milk. Still not right. But what was his standard? He realized it was the Pillsbury biscuits of his youth. And so, he decided he needed to taste his biscuits, "the biscuits of today." And he realized they were delicious. We need to quit comparing ourselves, our lives, our creations to some impossible, artificial, unachievable, marketed standard. And homemade biscuits are wonderful.

The Duck in the Ocean

I will end this post in much the same way the film ends, with a poem Brown reads, from his mother's last letter before her death when he was only three. It's not about cooking, specifically, it's about everything:

"The Little Duck"

Now we are ready to look at something pretty special.

It is a duck riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf,

And he cuddles in the swells.

There is a big heaving in the Atlantic.

And he is part of it.

He can rest while the Atlantic heaves, because he rests in the Atlantic.

Probably he doesn't now how large the ocean is.

And neither do you.

But he realizes it.

And what does he do, I ask you?

He sits down in it.

He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity -- which it is.

That is religion, and the duck has it.

I like the little duck.

He doesn't know much.

But he has religion.

--Donald C. Babcock, New Yorker, 1947

Today

I saw my specialist in Manhattan today and he is still optimistic about my getting back to "normal" (mind you, that's normal for me!) by the end of June, but that means bedrest through Memorial Day. I will, however, be doing some walking in the pool 3 times a week (once we figure out those logistics), and then upping my walking on the other days to 10 minutes 4 times a day. If this doesn't work and there are still muscle spasms or weakness by Memorial Day, I'll have an MRI and epidural. If it gets worse with the increased exercise, we'll do the epidural earlier. So, let's hope for improvement! But I do feel better already, even more than last week.

So thank you for all your kind inquiries after me, your cards, emails, blog comments, calls, visits, and meals. They are all so appreciated and your support means so much to us.

The News

We were heading to bed when Mama checked her computer one last time. Oddly, across the top of the NYTimes was a breaking-news announcement that President Obama would be making a statement. It was around 10:30 on a Sunday night,well outside the usual news cycle, what kind of statement could he be making? And so we stayed up, surfing all of our usual news sites and finding very little . . . until we turned on the tv. Soon, word started trickling out: Osama bin Laden was dead.

I don't know how I feel about this. Is it closure from Sept. 11? Is it justice? Is it frightening to think of retaliation? Is it meaningful in the so-called war on terror? What happens next? How will this change our military actions? Do we believe that Pakistan didn't know?

I'll let more-informed heads than mine parse out the diplomatic and militaristic ramifications. I hope the survivors of the Sept. 11 attacks and the families of those who were lost feel some measure of justice and relief. I hope too that people in Afghanistan and Pakistan can eventually feel safe--I had no idea he had also arranged the killing of 30,000 Pakistanis. But I know this, I did not feel safer sending my kids to school today or considering heading into the city for my doctor's appointment tomorrow. The complacency I had happily fallen into sometime in the last ten years was gone in an instant. I think I feel less safe, more concerned. He seems more dangerous dead than alive, since he hadn't managed much in the last few years, that I know of, but could now be an inspirational martyr to a resurgence in terrorist violence here and abroad. Hopefully, I'm wrong. Perhaps I will feel relieved later.

Which wasn't how I would've expected to feel with such news.

Poetry Jam: Endings and Beginnings

While the official National Poetry Month just ended, poetry seems to have infiltrated our lives. The kids still want me to read several poems every night, often Jack Prelutsky. And tonight they wrote cinquains, or five-line poems, for their teachers for Teacher Appreciation Week. Perhaps most surprisingly of all, I've signed up for an online course on poetry and spirituality, a first in many ways--I have never taken an online course and I'm just not that familiar with poetry. So that's exciting. And so I end with something both spiritual and poetic, from a book my mom got me called Ten Poems to Change Your Life compiled by Roger Housden.

The Journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

For Mama Hungry

"I love you,

Not only for what you are,

But for what I am

When I am with you.

I love you,

Not only for what

You have made of yourself,

But for what

You are making of me.

I love you

For the part of me

That you bring out;

I love you

For putting your hand

Into my heaped-up heart

And passing over

All the foolish, weak things

That you can’t help

Dimly seeing there,

And for drawing out

Into the light

All the beautiful belongings

That no one else had looked

Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you

Are helping me to make

Of the lumber of my life

Not a tavern

But a temple;

Out of the works

Of my every day

Not a reproach

But a song.

I love you

Because you have done

More than any creed

Could have done

To make me good

And more than any fate

Could have done

To make me happy.

You have done it

Without a touch,

Without a word,

Without a sign.

You have done it

By being yourself.

Perhaps that is what

Being a friend means,

After all.”

--Roy Croft

Day 26

Friends and family have been checking in this week with calls, cards, and email--thank you all very much. And so I thought I'd post a quick update, mainly to say we're hanging in. I won't quite say "barely," because we try to keep it in perspective, but in truth we're all a little frayed and tired and frustrated. And the bulk of the burden rests heavily on Mama's shoulders, which is hard to carry so long.

But not quite all alone. Our nanny is working out beautifully and the kids really like her. Plus, friends are bringing meals and are providing much needed support, assistance, communications, and visits.

I go to the doctor on Tuesday to see what our next step is. I'm hopeful that I'll be allowed up more, but respect his decision. It is frustrating and lonely and boring in bed all the time, but I meditate so as not to dwell on everything I'm missing, which has been a lot. Fortunately, I'm not really in any pain, but I know better than to rush this and reinjure the disc, especially knowing that the burden of my recovery falls on my family and friends.

So, that's where we are. The kids have parties today, after kung fu, and Mama has some errands. A friend came for a long and delightful visit, plus a meal, yesterday--thanks, Mommy Goose! Another friend is coming today--looking forward to it, Mama Teacher. Tomorrow, I think we have Glee and Legos on the agenda. In fact, Bud wants to combine the two--he wants to make a Lego version of McKinley High with all the characters. Sis was putting together a Kurt mini-fig this morning of her own design. Bud can't figure out how to make Artie's wheelchair. And they were both listening to Lady Gaga on their little music players as they did it.

All in all, it's pretty good.

The Writing on the Paper

An article in the NYTimes today bemoaned the loss of cursive writing. Students might be taught, briefly, how to write in cursive, but usually stick to block print. In fact, one college student, not only unable to write in cursive, was even being unable to read her own grandmother's writing. "It was kind of cryptic," she said.

It makes me want to go write a long letter in cursive, something I use off and on in my nightly journalling, depending on my mood. I can write faster in cursive, though my writing is neater in block print.

I would be sad to think my kids would not be able to read my handwriting, or their Gommie's. Pop's handwriting is pretty blocky (hmmmm, so is his sister's, my aunt Paula). But his mother's, my grandmother's, is downright illegible, even to me, as it seems to be one long line with some short loops and dots.

But there's hope: our kids are learning cursive, or at least the beginning blocks, as their school teaches the loopy D'Nealian form of printing so that kids can more easily learn cursive next. I didn't learn D'Nealian so it's funny to remember to add loops and such when I print for them so they can read it (because they never identify my unadorned "i"). Funny though, to see first words and writings, with all the flourishes.

Congratulations and Good Luck!

I APPEAL to you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God - what is good and acceptable and perfect. Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

Romans 12: 1-2, 9-18

Thoughts and Prayers

As our skies darken here and thunderstorms threaten, my thoughts continue to turn to the people in Alabama and other states who have suffered and died during the recent horrendous outbreak of more than 100 separate tornadoes. My prayers are with them.

Amen

Do you pray? Or send good thoughts or vibes or wishes? What do you pray for? What do you think prayer does? Who hears? Does anyone need to hear you or is it only about your own consciousness or something in between like good energy out into the world? How does it work? Does it have power?

As a "recovering atheist," I am mystified by prayer. In fact, for decades I never prayed, believing that prayers could only be addressed to an identifiable God, in whom I did not believe. But, through meditation, I have become more aware of prayer, more comfortable with it, less rigid in my definition (though, as I understand it, some people say that meditation is not prayer. For me, now, it is). And I'm embracing the mystery. And so I've been reading and synthesizing . . . . my sources were rather haphazardly discovered, not researched in a methodical way (this is in no way a complete bibliography on the analysis of prayer), but perhaps more meaningful because I came across them in that synergy that happens when you are thinking on something.

What is a Prayer?

Rick Hamlin recently asked on HuffPost, "Do you need to believe in God to pray?" Without giving an answer as to how or why or if prayer works, he believes that by "holding a good thought" the universe answers. Even St. Paul, quotes Hamlin, in his letters to the Philippians, said, "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." Odd to think of Paul teaching agnostics to pray . . . .

As part of his discussion on "Why 'Do You Believe in God' is the Wrong Question to Ask," (yes, I do read a lot about religion on HuffPost), Rabbi Mitelman says a more meaningful question would be asking about when you are most connected to others. He refers to Jewish theologian Martin Buber, who "taught that the most spiritual moments occur when we are truly in relationship with others . . . . our most powerful and most memorable moments occur when we truly feel "there" with and for another person." Might that also be a prayer? Or the connection created by telling someone, or being told, that you will pray for them?

Hawk Cam

Check out the soon-to-be-hatching eggs of red-tail hawks Violet and Bobby 12 stories above NYC!

A New Pledge

After more than six weeks on medications--two antibiotics, steroids, nasal inhaler, nasal spray, muscle relaxers, painkillers, anti-inflammatories, licocaine injections--two of which I'm still on, I've given a lot of thought to giving my body a natural break. I won't say these are toxins, if only because they've certainly helped me, but I am leery of the effects of so much over a short period of time. Beyond that, I just have a need to put only natural things in my body for awhile, when I can. I've heard that some doctors suggest to chemo patients that they embrace a vegan diet during treatment, if only to give their systems a rest from digesting meat. And while I'm not in any way in the same place as a chemo patient, I can see the value of such a break.

But mercy, the ideas I've read online. Just Google "cleanse" or "detox" and you'll be amazed at the suggestions. Overly processed powders mixed in juices. Or wheatgrass. Nothing but maple syrup and lemons in water, I think was one. Or was it cayenne pepper. Or the more natural juices and smoothies, raw, with all manner of green vegetable. Plus colonics.

I don't think I can go for that either. The ingredients might be natural (except those powders) but the idea isn't. And so I'm trying to think of my own plan. Nothing extreme, because I'm not a doctor or nutritionist or naturopath. But I'm looking at veganism, with the addition of no refined sugar or gluten, for a week or more, something like the vegan workshop Sew and Sow did (and here). Maybe even 40 days.

Remember last year? My 40 day pledge? The Bread Pledge. The Bread Miracle. I made all our family's bread products for 40 days. And beyond. Until my back injury, I was still making a loaf or two a week; it had been a year since we'd purchased a loaf of bread. But in the beginning of the pledge, I didn't really even know how to bake but learned from friends at church and received recipes from family. It's one of the best things I've ever done.

It's that time of year again. The UU 40/40 pledge began on Earth Day. But I didn't. In fact, the idea of combining veganism with the pledge only occurred to me yesterday. I'm part of the way there, further than I was as a bread-baker, because I'm already a vegetarian. But I love my dairy products and rely on eggs. I also eat refined grains and sugar. Those will be harder to give up than dairy and eggs, I imagine. And I don't want to be the kind of vegan, however temporarily, that relies on overly processed soy and fake meats.

But I'm not starting yet, mainly because I'm not really in charge of my food right now. Friends are bringing some meals (thank you! thank you!). Mama is cobbling together everything else, for breakfast and snacks that can be stored in my room so I can get to them. Now is not the time to put even more restrictions on things while people are being so generous and helpful and while I cannot do things for myself. It also gives me some time to investigate and research how and what I want to do

Meanwhile, Mama is undergoing her own food transformation, having listened to Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma during her commute for the last week or so. CAFOs, antibiotics, pesticides, corn, etc etc etc. Did you know there is butane in Chicken McNuggets? She is not really considering vegetarianism but wants to give her meat-eating a lot of mindful attention. And she is now firmly committed to local, organic, humane, and less meat in general, as much as we possibly can, which includes when we eat out . . . and thus trying to wean Sis from chicken fingers and Bud from ranch burgers.

And she's agreed to join me in the vegan pledge, or whatever I end up calling it. I'll let you know. Hopefully soon.

My Privilege

A few weeks ago, the sermon at church focused on privilege and it has stayed with me since then, both theoretically and personally.

As the lay speaker noted, sociologists say “we look forward or sideways, not backwards, when we evaluate our social status.” In other words, we look where we want to be, we look where we are and how we stack up. We don't think about those we aren't trying to emulate or surpass. But these people, he noted, make up the majority of the world. He asked us to imagine lining up the world's population, from most privileged to least. Who would be at the end of the line? Women; people who are illiterate; people who live in countries where leaders are not elected; people who don't have $5 a day; people who aren't white and don't speak English. In other words, no one sitting in our church that day.

We are the privileged, even when we don't realize it because we are too concerned about privileges and status we don't have. The speaker talked about our culture, focused on individualism and competition, which allows us to credit our privilege to luck or hard work. In turn, it allows us to blame those who aren't as privileged for being lazy or unlucky. He quoted Diane Goodman, in her book Promoting Diversity and Social Justice: “The more people are self-oriented, feel responsible for their own survival, and become obsessed with their success, the more they see others as competitors….As a result, it is easier to turn one’s back on people who are oppressed.”

How, then, do we become aware of our own privilege and work for justice for the underprivileged? The speaker mentioned three motivations for this: empathy, morality, and self-interest. Yes, self-interest, or recognizing how eliminating the advantages of privilege helps everyone.

It was then that I recognized, truly, our privilege. I often think of myself in terms of my volunteering. But, where do I volunteer? At a local historical society because I enjoy it. At my kids' school, to make their school better. At church to help the congregation. All of these solidify my own privilege and that of my family and friends. It does nothing to help people who truly need help.

In only one way can I see that I help the wider community, beyond frequent petition signing and charitable donations: I am a public school Democrat. We have the resources and opportunity to either send our children to expensive private schools or to homeschool them. But we opt for public schools for one main reason: we realize that our kids will not grow up in a vacuum but in a community and the best way to ensure the health of the community is to help all of its members. And education of children is the best way to do that,as studies have shown that education combats poverty, crime, poor health, and other ills. By being involved in the public schools, which are under attack during this budget crisis, we hope to ensure the best education for our whole community. Of course, this is in our own self-interest and, at times, our resolve wavers and we think about our other options, because we selfishly wonder about risking the quality of our children's education for social justice. But, as a recent article in the NYTimes noted, “paradoxically, the kind of parents who follow debates about parenting — typically more affluent and educated — are those who may have the least to worry about" (see Motherlode, too). Of course, the article continues, "But there is a group for whom the debate is really important: low-income parents." The people behind us in the privilege line. And so our own self-interest motivates us to look beyond our privilege. I hope.

I now see our privilege everywhere, most tangibly in my recent back injury. My partner could take time off to care for me. Because of good insurance, and our ability to meet the co-pay, I can see a renown specialist in back pain in NYC. We can afford the medicines, the home medical equipment. My mom could come for an extended visit to support us. We can afford an almost-full time nanny while I recover. And, because my partner has an understanding and generous work place, she can take time off, and even beyond that, afford that I'm a stay-at-home mom, so that I'm not missing work right now on top of it all. Even more complexly, though, you might say my back injury is the result of privilege because were I in the back of the proverbial line, I would have stronger back muscles because of constant labor.

And so privilege is before me, in more ways than one, and I won't just say that we are lucky or that we've worked hard; I won't deny that it is privilege based on where, when, and to whom we were born and by whom we were raised and that our kids will be privileged for those same reasons. I don't mean to brag about this privilege, just to confront it, realize it, acknowledge it.

Which brings me, of all places, to Gwyneth Paltrow. There's a lot of online dissing of Paltrow, of her GOOP newsletter for upperclass women, of her UK Elle quote "I am who I am. I can’t pretend to be somebody who makes $25,000 a year," and, most recently her interview with Popeater, "I think my work ethic is the reason why I'm successful. I think that a lot of people don't want to put in effort and it's easier to not change, not do something good for you... [They're just] pissed off at someone else doing that. Everything in my life that's good is because I worked my ass off to get it and to maintain it." Keli Goff, of Huffington Post, recently took Paltrow to task:

this interview finally made me understand why she engenders such enmity among so many. It's not because she's pretty and talented (okay, that may be part of it). It's because, like a lot of privileged people, she's under the delusion that she earned everything that she has, and then has the audacity to gloat about it.

In an age in which America's class-divide is greater than it's ever been, our patience has simply waned for the George W. Bushes and Gwyneth Paltrows of the world -- people who were born on third base and act like they hit a triple. America was founded on the idea that everyone has equal opportunity to carve out their piece of the American Dream, but increasingly that's becoming less and less of a reality. And there's something infuriating about listening to people born into the Dream -- silver rattle in one hand, silver spoon in the other -- lecture the rest of us on how easy it is to obtain -- if we're just willing to "work our asses off" like they do.

Now, I like some of Paltrow's movies, have little interest in her website, and have loved her on "Glee." I don't know her, don't know what she's really like, don't know what she does for charities, and recognize that tabloids like to create news and controversy and of course outright fabrications. But Goff's discussion of privilege focuses on the idea that the sermon did: some of us in the front of the line don't always look back and don't recognize what our privilege really is.

I want to look back. I want to think of ways to share my privilege, think about ways that I can engage in the social justice so central to my faith. As the speaker at church noted, justice comes up twice in the UU principles. We affirm and promote:

2. Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;

6. The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;

What's important to me? What can I do? And I realize that it's food. Good food, plentiful food, for everyone. Food shared at the dinner table to promote stronger families. Food given to school children so they can concentrate in class. Food for families who have to decide between meals and rent. Food for people who don't get a meal a day. From better school lunches to the local food pantry, from Share Our Strength and similar organizations to buying local and fair trade and organic to help food producers locally and global, being aware of all of these issues and reflecting them in our shopping and eating. Helping people have food will be my privilege.

Glee Love

From Kurt's Sunset Boulevard solo to the Warblers' goodbye, from Santana's Lebanese shirt to that final Gaga dance, and all the talk of self-love and acceptance in between, I loved this episode.

With one exception, where's Sue?

Off to a Good Start

Today was our first day with Nanny, our new professional childcare provider who will watch the kids between coming home from school and Mama's arrival home from work while I'm still on bedrest and then regaining my mobility. And everything went wonderfully, especially all things considered--Gommie's departure today, the first day back at school after spring break, a miserable spring break of vomiting. She took the kids for a long stint at "Goose Poop Park," helped them do their homework, fed them lunch and snack and dinner, and whatever else went on downstairs out of earshot of my bed. And even when Bud kept coming upstairs for a cuddle, sad over Gommie's departure (and wondering if it was caused by Nanny's arrival, instead of the other way around), she gently and sympathetically coaxed him back into more positive endeavors, all the while respecting his sadness and need to be with me. Better even than Mary Poppins, I would venture . . . though I'm not sure she sings.

Though, of course, not better than Gommie.

Thanks, Mom!

I don't think I can top the thank-you note I wrote in the fall after you and Dad stayed up here almost a month taking care of all of us after my first back injury.

Then again, I didn't think I would need to, in the sense of being in the same situation again so soon.

But I was.

And you were there.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for tirelessly, good-naturedly, generously, kindly taking care of me, of the kids, of all of us for these last three, extremely difficult and challenging at the end with the stomach flu, weeks. We couldn't have done it without you. And while I wouldn't have done it again if I could have chosen, I'm glad to have done it with you. Even the crappy last week.

I love you!

Poetry Jam: The Ogre's Oeuvre

Our poetry reading continues nightly with a singular focus: Jack Prelutsky, creator of Awful Ogre, and the first Children's Poet Laureate. Mama picked up several of his collections at the library, including It's Raining Pigs and Noodles, The Dragons are Singing Tonight, Read a Rhyme Write a Rhyme, and A Nonny Mouse Writes Again. And both kids remembered that their teachers had read one of the poems, "A Creature in the Classroom." Apropos of going back to school after break, no?

"Creature in the Classroom"

by Jack Prelutsky

It appeared inside our classroom

at a quarter after ten,

it gobbled up the blackboard,

three erasers and a pen.

It gobbled teacher's apple

and it bopped her with the core.

"How dare you!" she responded.

"You must leave us....there's the door."

The Creature didn't listen

but described an arabesque

as it gobbled all her pencils,

seven notebooks and her desk.

Teacher stated calmly,

"Sir! you simply cannot stay,

I'll report you to the principal

unless you go away!"

But the thing continued eating,

it ate paper, swallowed ink,

as it gobbled up our homework

I believe I saw it wink.

Teacher finally lost her temper,

"OUT!" she shouted at the creature.

The creature hopped beside her

and GLOPP....it gobbled the teacher.

Crying a River

Bud started it last week, "If Nanny comes, Gommie is leaving, isn't she?"

And he's cried pretty much daily since then, "Can't she leave on Tuesday instead? Or in May? Or just stay here?"

Last night, Gommie and I took turns, ill-timed for poetry reading. Gommie would choke up on a line and pass the book to me and then I would choke up and pass it back. Mama finally had to finish the poem.

And then this morning, Sis sat on the floor of Gommie's room and cried while she got dressed.

But the actual separation, when the kids headed off to school, was relatively painless. With no tears . . . .

A Special Visitor

We had a special visitor sometime Friday night, who left wet footprints downstairs. The visitor even left two gifts--a "Tootsie" marmalade tabby cat for Bud and a "Knuffle bunny" a la Mo Willems's books for Sis.

Can you guess who it was?

Yep, the Easter Penguin.