dearest friends
branch art installations
the Winemaker
an incredible meal, after a 21 day cleanse
mountains, snowshoeing, and light
these four
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
12.01.2012
3.30.2012
more currently cooking
K. and I recently completed a 21-day detox. Together we quit coffee/caffeine, gluten, sugar, dairy, animal products, processed foods, and alcohol. The first week we ate mostly produce but also got to have olive oil, avocado, and nuts. The second week we added in some fish and tofu, and the final week we got to enjoy a couple of eggs.
All in all I felt great and lost eight pounds (not the reason I was doing it, but not a bad thing either, eh? :) ). The best part, though, was preparing diverse meals together and taking turns cooking with Kia, eating different nutrients every day, and relating to food in a very communal, healthy way. Sharing meals more regularly is something I've long wanted to do more of, and this finally seems to be a year when that is happening. Housesitting at an incredible house this past three weeks has certainly helped--a big long wooden table where we've had I think at least ten shared meals and six dinner parties.
Meyers-Briggs J that I am, I can't resist listing out some of the good food we've been having:
*Grilled salmon, with grilled bok choy and orange-avocado salsa
*Avocado-vanilla smoothie (one avo, one cup pear nectar, one teaspoon vanilla= incredible)
*Red lentil soup
*Baked sweet potato with nutmeg, orange, toasted nuts, and cinnamon for breakfast
*Quinoa with poached egg (yes, I've learned to poach eggs, which preserves the most nutrients), wilted spinach, carrot, cucumber, and chive
*Vegetable-miso soup with chickpeas
*Crispy roasted cauliflower
*Tofu scramble with collard greens and tumeric
*Rice noodles with brocolli-almond pesto
*Toasted coconut muesli
*Baked tilapia with sweet-potato fries
*Spicy black bean salad
*Homemade chickpea burgers
2.08.2012
McTeacher's night at Blue Ridge
Yes, I can say it now: I have worked at McDonalds.
Okay, truth be told, I don't think I've visited the establishment since something like 2004, and when I first found out about the school fundraiser, I admit I felt a little morally conflicted. But I couldn't resist the opportunity to see all our kiddos, so this Tuesday night, I could be found on 9th, preparing desserts.
Did you know they sell hard ice cream and coffee there now? Crazy times! I made McFlurries, Sundaes, and many messes, chatted it up with Spanish-speaking and teenage employees, and found an item on the menu that is, count them, 1090 calories. The Big Breakfast with Hotcakes (Regular Size Biscuit) but without syrup & margarine.
Put that in your pipe!
1.07.2012
it takes an ocean not to break
In Bellingham two weeks ago, L., J., and I crashed a wedding. On a napkin I scribbled this snatch of handwritten vow, ''For freedom from doubt and suspicion, I commit to interpret your behavior seeking to understand in love.''
Now, aside from the fact that any man saying that to a woman, or person saying that to a person, makes me want to weep, all this reflection on the salient and unspoken rules of classes and cultures has me thinking: when you exist in the dominant experience, or at least the headlining one, unintentional ignorance and/or willful oblivion comes easy.
When the different does appear (in the form of homelessness, minority cultures, women's experiences, etc), it is so easy to regard with distrust and suspicion, which we know gives birth to judgment and pride. In the flicker of a brain wave, you are ruler of your own universe, miles and miles from the heart of God.
But to learn to seek to understand and face situations and cultures and people not being wise in your own eyes, giving the stories of others fullest attention and questions and empathy--now this may be something like that woman Wisdom! And oh, how I want to walk closely with her!
10.11.2011
wishing to share a cup of chai with you
It's interesting how easy it is to skirt real conversation in life. I don't just mean by using email, texting, or brief messages, but I also mean in our actual interactions with each other.
T.E. once told me how rare he found real, actual conversation, you know with two people actually doing a somewhat balanced amount of sharing and listening (not just story-trading or topping!), of give and take. I remember sort of being surprised when he said that, like, well, maybe you're just too quiet or something... but I think it's true.
I think real conversation takes work, maybe more work than most of us are used to in our addiction to instant-gratuity, and I also think it's kind of scary for people, to actually open up about their lives and thoughts and questions and allow another person access and even, on some level, say. Because to really let someone in is also implicitly trusting them to judge you fairly, to not write you off if they disagree. To keep listening and practicing empathy and also telling you the truth.
We have made our own stories so cheap, resorting to them before we have practiced the long art and discipline of conversation with another person, and so ascertained him/her desirous/deserving to hear; R. told me once after dropping a big piece of hers onto a new acquaintance how she thought, ''Wait--that is a pearl! I want to be careful.''
K. was telling me Sunday about a dinner she just had with a boy. She said something about a documentary she had seen in class (in an interested, informative, curious, moved-by, sharing way), and he immediately got defensive and closed-up, like he took it personally, when she was just trying to reflect.
Why do we do that? Why do we get uncomfortable and shut down when someone says something we disagree with? Especially in a public place, I think that can feel really unsafe... when some kind of opinion is presented as the Obvious Right, and so we are afraid to publicly think differently. And I always jump to, ''Well, this conversation is just honestly lower than what I'm interested in, so I'm not anti-these people, I just don't want to participate.'' Like it's a lost cause or something.
I don't know what I'm trying to say, except that I wish I could go to some kind of group of people, of friends, who didn't show up with the assumption that everyone else feels the same way as them about things, or that trace attitude of being the Enlightened or Right one. A people who want to talk and listen and ask and share (platicar, I always think, though the google translation of that word is terrible) about faith and life and the meaning and narrative they see or long for and the questions of why and who and for what? Why are we all so afraid of this?
Both my friends who call truth by the name Jesus and my friends on the search for truth, for the divine, it's like we are all so quick to be offended, to shut down, to refuse to engage in conversation. I count myself. I think part of the reason we can't talk about politics and questions and beliefs is that we don't know how without feeling we have to establish ourselves or feel directly attacked by someone else's opinion. And sometimes we even let our opinions sound like attacks. So we talk about sports and the weather and work and gossip instead. Or we attend awkward meetings where we are in the closeted minority and so don't/can't engage and feel alone.
And why do we even have to have an opinion on so many things?
I want to give people the benefit of the doubt. To try to learn from everyone what I can. I want conversation to be more relaxed again. I don't want to live my life arrogant and enlightened and making other people feel unsafe when I say what I think. I want to live as someone who invites others to share, who listens well, who provides safety, and who tells the truth as best she can in a way that furthers conversation, the wanting.
T.E. once told me how rare he found real, actual conversation, you know with two people actually doing a somewhat balanced amount of sharing and listening (not just story-trading or topping!), of give and take. I remember sort of being surprised when he said that, like, well, maybe you're just too quiet or something... but I think it's true.
I think real conversation takes work, maybe more work than most of us are used to in our addiction to instant-gratuity, and I also think it's kind of scary for people, to actually open up about their lives and thoughts and questions and allow another person access and even, on some level, say. Because to really let someone in is also implicitly trusting them to judge you fairly, to not write you off if they disagree. To keep listening and practicing empathy and also telling you the truth.
We have made our own stories so cheap, resorting to them before we have practiced the long art and discipline of conversation with another person, and so ascertained him/her desirous/deserving to hear; R. told me once after dropping a big piece of hers onto a new acquaintance how she thought, ''Wait--that is a pearl! I want to be careful.''
K. was telling me Sunday about a dinner she just had with a boy. She said something about a documentary she had seen in class (in an interested, informative, curious, moved-by, sharing way), and he immediately got defensive and closed-up, like he took it personally, when she was just trying to reflect.
Why do we do that? Why do we get uncomfortable and shut down when someone says something we disagree with? Especially in a public place, I think that can feel really unsafe... when some kind of opinion is presented as the Obvious Right, and so we are afraid to publicly think differently. And I always jump to, ''Well, this conversation is just honestly lower than what I'm interested in, so I'm not anti-these people, I just don't want to participate.'' Like it's a lost cause or something.
I don't know what I'm trying to say, except that I wish I could go to some kind of group of people, of friends, who didn't show up with the assumption that everyone else feels the same way as them about things, or that trace attitude of being the Enlightened or Right one. A people who want to talk and listen and ask and share (platicar, I always think, though the google translation of that word is terrible) about faith and life and the meaning and narrative they see or long for and the questions of why and who and for what? Why are we all so afraid of this?
Both my friends who call truth by the name Jesus and my friends on the search for truth, for the divine, it's like we are all so quick to be offended, to shut down, to refuse to engage in conversation. I count myself. I think part of the reason we can't talk about politics and questions and beliefs is that we don't know how without feeling we have to establish ourselves or feel directly attacked by someone else's opinion. And sometimes we even let our opinions sound like attacks. So we talk about sports and the weather and work and gossip instead. Or we attend awkward meetings where we are in the closeted minority and so don't/can't engage and feel alone.
And why do we even have to have an opinion on so many things?
I want to give people the benefit of the doubt. To try to learn from everyone what I can. I want conversation to be more relaxed again. I don't want to live my life arrogant and enlightened and making other people feel unsafe when I say what I think. I want to live as someone who invites others to share, who listens well, who provides safety, and who tells the truth as best she can in a way that furthers conversation, the wanting.
1.19.2011
If you´re a northerner with a free weekend in February, consider attending this.
The Justice Conference is about the nature of justice. Justice as the foundation of human rights. Justice as the expression of equality. Justice as the fabric of freedom. Justice as forgiveness. Justice as reconciliation. Justice as restored relationship between the creator and the created. Justice as the very nature of God.
The Justice Conference is about the location of justice. Justice at work on Monday morning. Justice as driving to the store in the suburbs. Justice as playing soccer on the pavement in the projects. Justice as selling sugar in the slums of Kenya. Justice as brainstorming in the corporate boardroom. Justice as the small decisions made every day. Justice as the shared universal maxim.
The Justice Conference is about the work of justice. Justice as a call. Justice as a commission. Justice as vocation. Justice as worship. Justice as identity. Justice as service. Justice as sacrifice.
1.29.2010
6.07.2009
Happy birthday, Kate!
She is my oldest friend, my true hermana. A traveler, an artist, and an (up-and-coming) midwife.
To 21 more years together, full of home-grown vegetables and painted murals, of adventures walking and many long hours talking over a glass of wine or a mug of tea. We burn at both ends.
To 21 more years together, full of home-grown vegetables and painted murals, of adventures walking and many long hours talking over a glass of wine or a mug of tea. We burn at both ends.
12.02.2008
11.01.2008
r.i.j.
something happens when you come around,
like i can smell the north better (here in the tropics?)
autumn woodsmoke; crisp, full-bodied apples; sage & mint & pine
a tie-dyed girl with wild hair,
child of the island,
an unexpected sister.
always thinking & moving--longboarding, surfing, playing soccer
reading Wollstonecraft, the Prophet, Shakespeare
what is it that is so capturing?
i love your volvo & your scandinavian sweaters,
your yellow sports bras & capital-script handwriting,
i admire your commitment to depth, your honesty
each unfolding piece of story you entrust to me
you speak poetry and pour out prophecy
& i am honored by your patient listening and thoughtful questions
strewn with lavender, lilies, and sunflowers
the garden in your heart is lovely and teeming with life
you, dear one, are a woman of overwhelming strength and beauty
and everywhere you dance, you shine.
like i can smell the north better (here in the tropics?)
autumn woodsmoke; crisp, full-bodied apples; sage & mint & pine
a tie-dyed girl with wild hair,
child of the island,
an unexpected sister.
always thinking & moving--longboarding, surfing, playing soccer
reading Wollstonecraft, the Prophet, Shakespeare
what is it that is so capturing?
i love your volvo & your scandinavian sweaters,
your yellow sports bras & capital-script handwriting,
i admire your commitment to depth, your honesty
each unfolding piece of story you entrust to me
you speak poetry and pour out prophecy
& i am honored by your patient listening and thoughtful questions
strewn with lavender, lilies, and sunflowers
the garden in your heart is lovely and teeming with life
you, dear one, are a woman of overwhelming strength and beauty
and everywhere you dance, you shine.
4.08.2008
of north beach & little italians
This one with the dark eyes who rides a bike all over Los Angeles came to visit me this weekend.
She was balm for my cracked heart.
You should probably get to know her.
She was balm for my cracked heart.
You should probably get to know her.
2.19.2008
on the roof we read a script of sacred words;
we sing disjointed, ardent songs
under waxing moon and cloud-shrouded stars.
thanks be to G-d for the difficulty and softness of our days--
thanks be to Goddess for carrying us forever in her arms.
enlarge our hearts! we cry
but oh, how i love protection!!
we sing disjointed, ardent songs
under waxing moon and cloud-shrouded stars.
thanks be to G-d for the difficulty and softness of our days--
thanks be to Goddess for carrying us forever in her arms.
enlarge our hearts! we cry
but oh, how i love protection!!
12.19.2007
11.18.2007
rejoice and hold hands
A bonfire night, to celebrate Trevor and Jenelle's birthdays, and a couple others, too. 20 of us on the beach, smoking pipes and humming melodies, beating djembes and a few of the guys with flame throwers, spitting oil to breathe out fire like dragons. Real dragonfire. A raucous celebration.
All of us skinny dipping, girls to one side, boys to the other, our bums white in the glow of the mist and cloud overhead. And I walk barefoot, my toes curling into all this pale sand...
I would like a real peace pipe, I think. I mentioned this and Jesse talked about one made by both Israelis and Palestinians, half and half. I would like one like that, smoked in a circle with real, conflict-ridden, multi-cultured friends.
A few partying highschool boys came to our little circle and hung out for a while. They asked where we were from and someone responded, "All over the world." And it was unthought of, unconsidered, but true.
Later, we moved to an apartment to smoke hookah and dance, eat beautiful homemade desserts and laugh together. Oh, these California Novembers... how I love these nights.
All of us skinny dipping, girls to one side, boys to the other, our bums white in the glow of the mist and cloud overhead. And I walk barefoot, my toes curling into all this pale sand...
I would like a real peace pipe, I think. I mentioned this and Jesse talked about one made by both Israelis and Palestinians, half and half. I would like one like that, smoked in a circle with real, conflict-ridden, multi-cultured friends.
A few partying highschool boys came to our little circle and hung out for a while. They asked where we were from and someone responded, "All over the world." And it was unthought of, unconsidered, but true.
Later, we moved to an apartment to smoke hookah and dance, eat beautiful homemade desserts and laugh together. Oh, these California Novembers... how I love these nights.
10.12.2007
These days are a bit lonely, and my heart aches a little. For autumn and for missed friends and for your nearness, Yeshua. Every piece of community is a rich, warm liquid in my throat, a blessed island in the sea of chaos and homework and disconnect.
Last night, I randomly ended up at Bread of Life talking to Don and Cynthia and Bill. Don is probably 55 or 60 and his parents are in their 80's now. Cynthia told me she was born in New York City in 1926 and came West when she was 21. Bill told me, his eyes twinkling, that they met in October (1946?) and married in April because he wanted to marry her before someone else did. He had just gotten out of the war and started a job as a civil engineer for Los Angeles.
They talked about raising Don and his siblings in Portland, about their grandchildren, about Don's education at UCLA and Cyntha's jaw cancer... I know they're not homeless, per se; Don takes care of his parents, but things like Bread of Life, free dinner and community at a park, keep them fed and loved.
What is it like being so poor? Being without health care? Honestly valuing every conversation with another?
Today, I got a surprise package from Jenn with a Tunisian scarf (she just came back from there) and lots of random notes and funny pictures. Arianna left a tea bag and note in my mailstop.
And suddenly, Adonai, you're not so distant and not so elusive. You're a mystery, but Mystery who holds me. And I am very small, and not so wise, and not so humble. My heart is torn, but maybe it's getting softer. And I am safe in the cleft of your rock, beneathe your wings.
Last night, I randomly ended up at Bread of Life talking to Don and Cynthia and Bill. Don is probably 55 or 60 and his parents are in their 80's now. Cynthia told me she was born in New York City in 1926 and came West when she was 21. Bill told me, his eyes twinkling, that they met in October (1946?) and married in April because he wanted to marry her before someone else did. He had just gotten out of the war and started a job as a civil engineer for Los Angeles.
They talked about raising Don and his siblings in Portland, about their grandchildren, about Don's education at UCLA and Cyntha's jaw cancer... I know they're not homeless, per se; Don takes care of his parents, but things like Bread of Life, free dinner and community at a park, keep them fed and loved.
What is it like being so poor? Being without health care? Honestly valuing every conversation with another?
Today, I got a surprise package from Jenn with a Tunisian scarf (she just came back from there) and lots of random notes and funny pictures. Arianna left a tea bag and note in my mailstop.
And suddenly, Adonai, you're not so distant and not so elusive. You're a mystery, but Mystery who holds me. And I am very small, and not so wise, and not so humble. My heart is torn, but maybe it's getting softer. And I am safe in the cleft of your rock, beneathe your wings.
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