I’m Filing a Grievance

Most large companies have a Grievance Committee. It’s a grand idea, this group of people who are supposed to be impartial and who feel confident to judge the interpersonal dramas and slights that crop up whenever people interact. I want one right here at home. Thank you.

I’m not really sure how filing a grievance works, so I’m going to wing it. Now, a little back story. I’ve been a mom for my entire adult life. No, seriously. I was 22 when my first kid was born and not a particularly mature 22 year old, at that. I was also horribly, mentally fucked up but somehow I think that having children saved me and, after all, I didn’t turn out to be a horrible mother. Not that I did everything right! Not by a long-shot. But my children are all perfectly acceptable human beings. So there’s that. I’ve been doing this shit for a long time. 25 years last week, to be exact…or if you count from day one, 26.

Anyway, my grievances have to do with the feeling that I’m moving into a new period in my life and while simple domesticity makes me happy, trying to wrangle a bunch of uncooperative assholes into participating in it with me has become, ah…less rewarding.

1. Wash the goddamned dishes. Yes, mine too!

2. Pick up your mess and put it away. I don’t mean hide it in a corner, under a bed or in a randomly located drawer. Put that shit away or throw it away. Your choice.

3. Don’t eat a snack 15 minutes before I put supper on the table. You know I’m cooking. I do it every mother-fucking night. Same time, same station. Wait a few minutes and eat with the rest of us.

4. Laundry. Great God in heaven, the laundry. I wash it, fold it and stack it. All I ask is that you put it away and once you’ve worn it, turn the arms and legs all in the same direction so that I can fold it without going through a bunch of drama. It’s the least you can do. Seriously.

5. When I ask you to clean your bathroom, the one that only you use and to keep it company-ready? Just do it. It’s like 30 seconds per day. *Anyone* can handle that. No matter how shitty your work week is/was/will be.

6. On the rare occasion when I need you to help with something, don’t be an asshole. Just do it. I pushed you or your child out of my vagina. You can carry a load of firewood or help stack hay for one afternoon. You can. I promise.

7. Every once in a while say thanks. There’s actually a reason why this house isn’t filled with turds, dog hair, outgrown clothing, garbage, dirty laundry, dead animals, and decomposing compost. Yes, I realize that all of you help with that but would you do it if I didn’t ask? Hell no. There would be dead cats and rotten cabbage everywhere. So a simple thank you sometimes would be quite helpful. As would you doing something without being asked.

Love Mom/Wife

Honey for Seasonal Allergies

Extracting honey

There’s a lot of talk about using honey for seasonal allergies and I’m here to tell you that it’s working for me. The bees may be able to help you very specifically with allergies to local pollens. If you’re allergic to dogs, the honey probably won’t help.

For the past year I’ve been eating honey from our own backyard hives. In the Spring, I eat Spring honey. In the Autumn, I eat Fall honey. For one year now I have not needed to take one Claritin, not a dose of Benadryl, nothing. I have, on occasion, needed to blow my nose.

I’m not a scientist. I am, rather, a common sense-itist. Bees collect pollen from plants surrounding my (or your, or your neighbor’s) home. They bring it into the hive and store it as propolis or honey. In the Spring, when things are making you sneeze, the bees are making it into delicious sweetness that contains the equivalent of an allergy shot–a very small amount of whatever it is that ails you. Ditto in the Fall.

As to quantities, well, I’m probably not the best person to say. I eat a lot of honey. Every day I drink a quart of herbal decoction and in every mug, there is a generous spoonful of honey. That’s about 4 tablespoons of honey per day. Not for the faint of heart, thin of wallet or high of blood sugar. But what the hell? I’m not sneezing or dripping, nor do I feel as if there is a glass bubble over my head. That’s worth one heckuva lot.

Sources for local honey: check out Local Harvest; go to your farm market, especially the little stands dotted throughout Pungo (if you’re in the Tidewater area of Virginia, that is). Most of the farmers there allow beekeepers to use their farms to keep hives and then market the honey through their farm stands. The farther away the honey was made, the less it’s going to help you; contact Tidewater Beekeepers Association or Tidewater Beekeepers Guild for names of beekeepers who may be renegade keepers right in your neighborhood. Offer to bake them something in addition to paying, something that tastes good slathered in honey.

Potlach

Me at Castlerigg, Cumbria

Once upon a time my family participated in a group who practiced Native American ceremonial ways. There were sweat lodges, the main focus, but also charity work, dream work and, at Christmas time, a give-away.

The people involved were, for the most part, wonderful but because this was a spiritual thing and I was trying hard to work through some of my bullshit, there is one thing that I need to *say* regarding the give-away, because I was cut-off every time I tried to say during the ceremony.

A give-away ceremony, for those who don’t know, (at least in this context) was a time to give away something that you deeply value in order to open up a path for more goodness and something of greater value to come into your life. Generally speaking, these give-aways should be things that were difficult to part with, things that you really wanted to keep. A sacrifice was in order, not of blood but of material goods–something our current culture values even more than blood.

Some of the participants really got it. Others, not so much. One year my 4 year old daughter took her one-legged, stuffed elephant. This was a huge deal. What she originally wanted to take was her stuffed dog but by the time this rolled around I was too jaded to allow her to make that sacrifice, the giving away of her closest, most loved companion. I forced her into relinquishing second best. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’ve always held onto things that are of great monetary value, rather than let them go. At the first give-away I proffered an antique turquoise necklace. This was very difficult to let go of, though it really did need to be set free. The reasons it needed to be set free are these: it was a gift from a lover long gone; it made me feel sad and angry; it was a thing of beauty and delicacy laying unwanted and unworn. The biggest reason it was difficult for me to let go of though was that the damned thing was worth a thousand dollars.

You see, I have this weird sort of feast or famine mentality. Maybe part of this is because the strongest woman I ever knew and my one, constant, female role model was my maternal Grandmother who raised a brood during the Great Depression. She was frugal to the point where she rinsed paper towels and tin foil and hung them up to dry and reuse. Part of it is just a soul-deep need to make sure I have everything I need just in case the worst happens and because I was raised in a cash culture, money is something I would need and that turquoise necklace was worth a whole lot of it.

So when it was handed out by some cute little child that year, I wanted to talk about my issues with money and wanting to hang onto things that don’t matter, just the way the money is really not the thing of final value in life. But no, I was cut-off, talked over, the ceremony moved on. Someone else gave away a picture they grabbed off the wall before leaving home because it ‘called to them’. Another gave some coffee. Each of them was allowed to finish their story before the process moved forward.

The next year I brought a fringed, leather jacket. I had paid $400 for it when I was 20 years old. Let’s see, that would have been 1984. The jacket was still in beautiful condition, perfect, soft, with beadwork and long, jangling fringe. It had been too small for me for 20 years but I hung on for dear life, as though I would shrink back to a size 8 just so that I could wear that coat. The reasons that needed to go were: it symbolized a very strong cultural tendency that I had absorbed to brainwash myself into believing that I needed to be and would one day again, be very thin; it was symbolic of a desire to externalize my inner rebel so that the world could acknowledge it; it showed a desire to be something I never would be–an Indian–yet, somehow, the irony of that message wasn’t clear to me at the time. Again, it was also about the money. If the worst happened, that could could not only be used to stay warm, it could be cut into strips for binding splints, for sewing shoes, hell, it could BE a pair of nice moccasins. Tall ones!

Again, when I made the effort to explain the reasons why this was of such deep and abiding value to me, I was cut off and the ceremony moved on. Again, the others were allowed to finish speaking their peace.

Don’t get me wrong, not everyone gave stupid things like coffee or crystals they had picked up at the rock and gem shop that morning. There were some very deep and meaningful treasures offered, in my judgment and let’s face it, that’s all I’ve got.

The last year we went I decided that rather than offering something meaningful to me, I would take something impress the crowd and see how that went over. It was still a heartfelt gift, given in hopes of pleasing the recipient as well as those who didn’t want to hear about my fears of doing without, about how deeply difficult it is for me to give up these things. And this time they were pleased. I brought a deer skull, clean, a 7 pointer (a sacred number in many spiritually inclined circles), surrounded by the makings of prayer ties, ceremonially gathered cedar and desert sage, all on a bed of red muslin.

This last gift was the only time we participated when I was allowed to speak my full piece. I’m sure the idea previously was that I would brag about how much I had spent. I’m *sure* of it. The looks of disgust… The rude cutting off of my explanation behind the gifts…And in the end the acceptance of a gift that was of little meaning to me besides what was in finally receiving approval for giving something appropriate.

For many years I’ve carried this anger inside me. This feeling that I was judged unfairly and that those who I considered myself heart-bound to made me into something and someone I wasn’t. We have long-since walked away from participating for myriad reasons and it was a positive thing, this walking away. The need for closure on this issue still sits inside of me, or it did. This post is written in hopes that finally having my say will clear it.

Peace be with you
Síochán leat

Our World, This Moment

This has been a weird winter. Mostly warm, a little rain and not much of note. There hasn’t been the backslide into depression I normally undergo but it’s not February yet, so there’s still time. Yay.

Recently my daughters and I went to New York City for a few days. It was fun and there’s probably a blog post in it. I also am actively horse shopping. My daughter has almost outgrown her pony and soon we may also be shopping for another mount for her. We can’t seem to rent our country house and so we are going to use it for a weekend home where we have a riding ring, fewer mosquitos and more quiet.

My oldest child is now one quarter of a century old. Not sure how things moved so quickly. So here we are, with a new semester at our homeschool enrichment program beginning soon, a Valentine’s Ball and 4H activities to keep us busy.

There was a time when blogging was a much needed outlet for me due to extreme social isolation. Now, even though I’m only slightly less isolated, the blogging doesn’t seem to have the same kind of effect. Blogs that focus on one subject can be informative but are generally boring reading for day-to-day interest. Mommy blogs are great for relatives but none of ours read this one. Food blogs can be fun but with a kitchen like the one we have here there won’t be anything happening on that front for a while. Ages, probably.

But we have a new roof, a new year, a new semester and all of culturally approved newness must mean something good. Right?

Oh, and the seed order will be here soon. Real Yay! this time.

 

Bunnies! and how we keep them

We have had rabbits for years but when our very last Poo Bunny died we made the switch to show bunnies. A Poo Bunny is a rabbit you keep to eat the leftover lettuce and whose poo helps to grow the lettuce in the first place. Show bunnies have the obvious difference and the less obvious ones involving driving and spending more money.

Because our yard is infested with fox, raccoons, possums and the occasional eagle, osprey and hawk, we keep our rabbits inside the house. Better a bit more work than finding a trail of bunny fluff and no bunny.

As usual I was the idea generator and Mark was the manifester. We bought cages for each rabbit. I measured the cages and went to the hardware store and measured Rubbermaid totes to be sure the cages would fit inside. Mark cut 2x2s and screwed them so that they are about 5″ down inside the tote and run side-to-side. We put the cages down on top of the struts after removing the drip pans. This way the feces and urine fall through the wire and go into the plastic box.

With this set up, we can go several weeks before needing to empty the boxes and the bunnies cannot urinate out the sides of their cages. And they will if there is no guard.

I will sprinkle shredded paper or shavings on top of the litter in the tub once a week or so to keep the smell down and the cages are on a sun porch, not in our house proper. If they were in the living room or some such, it would probably be necessary to empty the boxes a bit more often.

Overall this has proven to be a very workable system for our rabbit keeping needs.

Happy New Year’s Day

Sarah says: Haaaaaappy New Yeeeear!

If you are supposed to spend the year doing whatever it is that you do on New Year’s Day, then we’re going to have a good year. We had a slow morning, spent the next few hours de-cluttering (de-Christmassing to be exact), had beans and greens for a late lunch and then the girls and I went to the barn where we spent some time playing with the pony, his new bitless bridle and giving him a bit of a messy clip.

The weather here is perfect today, sunny, breezy, in the 60s. Heck, Martina even practiced the pole-bending pattern while riding English.

It’s been one of those days when (almost) all is right with the world. 2012? Here’s looking at you kid.

Endings, Creating Space

I once bought a tub of sugar scrub at the health food store. I paid $18 for 12 oz of scrub. Then? I went home, used it, liked it, read the ingredients and decided to make my own. And it was good. So I gave it away as gifts to family and friends who all loved it and wanted more.

My husband noticed this and because he is financially focused, hard working and good at making money he told me that I should sell it. He told me this repeatedly. For years. Finally I gave in and tried. Sort of.

We lived in rural NC at the time, 45 minutes from everywhere and, at the time, I was homeschooling three children. A high school Junior, an 8th grader and a kindergardener. I also had several horses, chickens, goats, rabbits, dogs, cats and a flock of sheep to take care of. And a house. And three meals per day to cook and clean up after. And it was not so good.

But he insisted and pressed and pushed and I obeyed (even though I crossed my fingers and lied about that in our marriage ceremony). Eventually two of these kids graduated and we were living back in civilization again and I was selling my products through a lovely local company. Yet I still did not have the time or motivation (or capital) required to make a go of a small business. And, to be honest, the motivation was the thing most lacking. I don’t *want* to market my bath products. I want to make them and give them away as gifts.

Last week I broke the news to my husband who jumped like I had shot him. He started to argue with me but I laid it all out there and then dropped the, “I am just not doing going to it, so get over it,” card on the table. Maybe he understands, maybe he doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter.

I have dissolved the business, taken it off of the website it was marketed through and intend to use every bit of the remaining inventory on my own skin. So there. And do you know what? I feel a hundred pounds lighter. My entire life just became so much easier you wouldn’t believe it. No hours of downloads, packaging, concocting, or labeling. No festivals, vendors booths, no more tables to man for hours on end.

There are other things to be cast off. This is the time of year for doing this sort of thing, this creating space, reorganizing, cutting away the dead wood. What are you doing to make more room for YOU?