Calling All Beets

The following words aren't mine, but they give a better window into my current state of mind than my own possibly could:

The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The onion has as many pages as War and Peace, every one of which is poignant enough to make a strong man weep, but the various ivory parchments of the onion and the stinging green bookmark of the onion are quickly charred by belly juices and bowel bacteria. Only the beet departs the body the same color as it went in.

Beets consumed at dinner will, come morning, stock a toilet bowl with crimson fish, their hue attesting to beet's chromatic immunity to the powerful digestive acids and thoroughgoing microbes that can turn the reddest pimento, the orangest carrot, the yellowest squash into a single disgusting shade of brown.

At birth we are red-faced, round, intense, pure. The crimson fire of universal consciousness burns in us. Gradually, however, we are devoured by parents, gulped by schools, chewed up by peers, swallowed by social institutions, wolfed by bad habits, and gnawed by age; and by the time we have been digested, cow style, in those six stomachs, we emerge a single disgusting shade of brown.

The lesson of the beet, then, is this: hold on to your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. Once you're brown, you'll find that you're blue. As blue as indigo. And you know what that means:

Indigo.
Indigoing.
Indigone.



Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

Training Myself to Slow Down

The end of the year is sneaking up on me again; I was lulled into a sense of timelessness by the clear skies and brisk air of early December, but all it takes are some Christmas lights, a few holiday parties, and a forecast of snow to remind me that the year is rushing on, with or without me.

A whirlwind of a weekend is in my future: Neil and I run the Jingle Bell Run here in Bellingham tomorrow morning, bright and early. Saturday and Sunday will be filled with Seattle friends, Secret Santas, White Elephants, and probably too much champagne.

And on Monday I'm hopping the Empire Builder train the 2300 miles home to Michigan. This will be my third year riding the old rail, and, though the realities of little sleep and a sore ass don't quite match the romanticism I still insist on associating with the train, I really love traveling at this slower pace. Time to reflect and to look forward, time to craft, read and open up conversations with strangers. Yep, I'm still sentimental about the train (though anyone willing to provide some healthy competition for Amtrak has my full support!).



I'm very excited to see my family, to reconnect with old friends and old places; to go out to movies and eat too much cold cereal; to listen to Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton sing incredible Christmas carols; to go sledding with my mom, thrift-store shopping with my sister, out to Indian food with my brother, cook with my dad, trade stories with Jac, go on runs and walks with Corinne and Sara, and watch Erica try on wedding dresses (!).



And to know that when I come back (still unsure as to whether that will be by train or plane) there is a home waiting for me back in Bellingham! A new one. Yes, another move is in my and Neil's future. But this one is a matter of a few miles - to a yurt near a couple of good friends, and with plenty of room to grow food. It certainly can feel like a burden to have made some many homes over the years, but it's impossible to put a value on the friendships I've made in the process and the freedom it takes to be able to be so mobile.



So, with that, roll on December ... with this in mind:

Slow down and enjoy life. It's not only the scenery you miss by going too fast - you also miss the sense of where you are going and why. -Eddie Cantor

Halloween Musings ... In December

Halloween might not seem like the most thought-provoking of holidays, it's true. That said, for the past several years, my mind has been haunted by the same question come Halloween night. It has nothing to do with what costume I'll wear, nor is it the hesitant - How much candy corn can I get away with eating before my body really starts to pay for it?

No, the answers to those two make themselves clear pretty quickly.



This one though, this one still perplexes me:

How did that girl in the Hooters costume
make me feel?

I'm sure you've seen her. She's huddled in a large group of her similarly-dressed peers (sexy maids, cops, kittens, etc) walking quickly across campus or running into a bar. My freshman year roommate dressed as a Hooters girl - along with the other 50 women in her sorority. I guess that first year of college is when I became aware of the phenomenon that is the hyper-sexy Halloween costume.


So how has that Hooters girl made me feel over these past 8 years?

Disgusted. Insecure. Angry. Invisible. Judgmental. Sad. Hopeless.

Quite the range of emotions, though you'll notice not one of them is positive. And I know I'm not alone here. I've had several conversations (mostly with women) about this same thing, and it's something we feel strongly about.

So what's really bothering us? And what do we do about it?

A common thread I've noticed is the tendency to place the blame squarely on the spaghetti-strapped shoulders of the women in these situations: they're so desperate for attention that they're willing to go out half-naked in the freezing cold - setting womankind back 50 years in the process. It seems obvious, and I've certainly thought it. But remember, there's a (warmly-dressed) "pimp" on the arm of most every "hoe" you see out on Halloween night. Men are part of this too, and part of a larger system that not only asks, but expects, women to sexualize themselves every day and not just on October 31st. If only it were a one-night deal!

Demonizing women is not going to bring us any closer to feeling better about these situations; and, as tempting an alternative as it is, I'm afraid that just shifting the blame onto men won't offer any solutions either.

But some shift is indeed in order. As is my way when faced with what feel like insurmountable problems, I do two things:

1) I get overwhelmed

and

2) I try to start thinking of small ways I can affect change in my life.



So here goes: A trip to a shoe store or the bra rack quickly reveals that I am not a cookie-cutter woman. But a trip to the women-only Olympus Spa in Lynnwood reminds me that most women aren't. Nothing like a room full of naked women to help you realize what a beautiful and varied machine the human body is. A machine we're hooked to for the long haul - and so of course we have a vested interest in it. But if we could shift that interest moreso to how it works instead of how it looks, I think we'd be healthier and happier for it. It's hard to untangle my socialized perception of beauty, and so it's difficult to say what I would want my body to look like if I didn't have any external influences to consider. But I know how I want it to feel - STRONG.

And so I try to keep that in the forefront of my mind. And to notice and mention the strength and shine in those around me. It's certainly not a given that the people you care about and spend the most time with are also people that help you to feel good about yourself; but what if it was? I feel lucky to be a part of a beautiful (and strong and sexy) community - of women and men - who are wading through this together. My hope is that our ripples (ripples that have done so much to minimize my own struggles with self-image over the past four years) will continue to patiently and inclusively broaden.


So this year - how did that Hooters costume make me feel?


Inspired and Excited.



Inspired to start talking about it

and Excited about my costume!

So I have to ask - how does that girl in the Hooters costume make you feel?

Chasing Time

December begins; It begins with a full moon, and in Bellingham it begins with rain (this comes as no surprise). Three weeks will bring about the beginning of both winter and my 26th trip around the sun. I often marvel at time, how quickly it passes, and how difficult it is to wrap my mind around something like 25 years of living. But I've made a conscious decision to try to no longer chase after time, to stop wishing it would stop or attempt to pin it down. Instead, I'd like to get to a point where I'm content with the idea that my past follows me; it flows through my veins, and it's written in my memory. It has its hands all over the present, but the present is still malleable, open, new.

I've thought about these ideas in all sorts of contexts: my relationship with my family, the possibility of creating something new (artistically, socially, culturally), my understanding (or lack thereof) of death, and even in the marathon I ran last weekend.



The whole of last weekend (beginning with a beautiful and wholly nourishing Thanksgiving celebration in Port Angeles and ending with 26.2 miles that went as well as I could have ever hoped) is still sending its positive vibrations through me - and likely will for quite some time. Its foundation, friends and family whose creative spirits and kind hearts I am forever grateful to have in my life, supports and inspires me daily. It's impossible to explain how wonderful it felt to see a group of familiar smiling faces at the end of the marathon (a race that became easier and more enjoyable once I stopped chasing time and started listening to my body in the moment). And harder still to say what it means to me to know that these people bless my life past, present and future.



To say the least, I am thankful.





Happy December,
erin.

Abundance

There's a clear sense of ritual here, of customs and practices wedded to the culture. Old as time itself. I feel these missing in my life, and wonder if there's a greater sense of meaning and connectivity in trying to create them - to rebuild a culture.

20 February 2009

Gokarna, Karnataka, India

My time in India only reinforced for me just how young America truly is (and how much it likes to ignore its youth - but didn't we all?). While I get frustrated with what feels like my nation's arrogance, I want to focus instead on creating an alternative.

Tomorrow marks the United State's holiday of Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. Of course I can't erase "Thanksgiving" from its true historical context, a grim reality that most Americans are all too happy to ignore in favor of football and turkey legs.

But what I gravitate toward in the day is the chance to recreate it - so many beautiful components are already there! A late-fall feast celebrating our shared abundance, and giving thanks to each other, to the food, and to the natural elements that have made it all possible - now that's a holiday. And as I gather tomorrow with a great group of friends, it will be with a deep feeling of gratitude for all of the blessings I enjoy. And hope, too. Hope that in time we as a country will leave behind entirely the oppressive nature of our beginnings, choosing instead to keep (and nourish) the innovative and pioneering and, most importantly, the collective spirit that got us here.

So Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you're able to enjoy yourselves with the people you love, creating the day for yourself in whatever way you like. In fact, I hope you're able to do that every day.


** And when you're cuddled up on Sunday morning, eating the leftovers of your leftovers, be thinking of a certain blog writer who is running the Seattle Marathon! I will be thankful for the finish.


Peace and pumpkin pie,
erin.

Evaluating Value

Have I told you I have a sugar daddy? I do.




He's an Environmental Scientist, makes ten bucks an hour (once Uncle Sam takes his cut), has paid my portion of the rent on more than one occasion, and happily kicks in more than his fair share for items ranging from ice cream cones to the hottest Goodwill fashions.




And do you know what else?


He has a sugar momma!




She's an Unemployed Farmer, makes between zero and twelve dollars an hour (usually under the table), cooks a mean carrot ginger soup, and has made great strides in securing his (and her) storage veggies for the entire winter. Why, just yesterday she turned their compost pile and canned 7 pints of quince jelly (and that was by 2 o'clock!).



Money - and specifically, its scarcity - has made its way into my consciousness more so this year than any other. True, I've never been rich (my career interests have ranged from English Teacher to Farmer if that gives you a window into my financial aspirations). And luckily, I've also never been poor - or at least in a situation where I have felt desperate for money.

But since I've been old enough to work a job, I've most always been regularly employed. And so this year has been an experiment in stringing together odd jobs when I can, and finding satisfaction and validation in the other contributions I'm able to make. It's hard to stack jars of apple butter and piles of folded laundry against a rent check, and I've spent plenty of time feeling guilty about the status of my bank account. But I think I'm coming to a place, with a lot of support (emotional and financial) from Neil and plenty of great conversations with both friends and acquaintances on the subject (our relationship with money is yet another elephant in the room that we don't give ourselves a forum to really examine), where I'm allowing myself to give value to what I contribute .

But it's just as useless to ignore money's worth as it is to obsess over it. And I'm finding the middle ground, a healthy relationship with money, is a hard one to occupy. In trying to get there, I find Henrik Ibsen's words pretty on point:

"Money may be the husk of many things, but not the kernel. It brings you food, but not appetite; medicine, but not health; acquaintances, but not friends; servants, but not faithfulness; days of joy, but not peace and happiness."

My friend Jim has described his relative wealth as "money energy," a way that he can fuel and support the values and projects he believes in. If you look in the dictionary for the word generous, there is a picture of Jim. Those of you who have met him would certainly agree. And for those of you who haven't, but would like to - don't worry; if you're meant to cross paths, you most definitely will.

For the past couple of years, on the first or second weekend of October, I've gone to the Tonasket Barter Faire (aka Okanogan Family Faire) These events began as an opportunity to celebrate the end of the farming season, reconnect with your community and stock up on your winter essentials, trading your wool blankets, say, for some walnuts or cheese or potatoes. Why not have a bonfire and play some music while you're at it? I really recommend going to (or creating!) a barter faire as a way to meet some great people, rekindle your creative fires, and rethink the monetary system (So ... how many pounds of potatoes is your wooden bowl worth to me?) Tonasket's Barter Faire has grown exponentially in the 36 years since it started, and has come to include vendors of all sorts, people from far and wide, and - money.

On the ride home from this year's Barter Faire (Neil and I brought garlic braids, quince, and all kinds of canned goods.), I was feeling like a bit of a jerk when one of the first things I did was to start counting up the money we earned that weekend. Scratch that, I felt like a big jerk. We came back with honey, walnuts, squash, artwork, onions, everything we wanted to stock up on for the winter - and more - and here I was focusing on the dollars and cents. HUGE jerk.

Until Neil said this: "Erin, there's nothing to feel badly about. One of the things we bartered for this weekend was money energy. We'll need that too this winter."


My sugar daddy isn't much of a talker, but sometimes he says just the right thing.








So I'm quite obviously new to this blogging deal, but of course I wouldn't mind making it an interactive thing. I'm wildly curious about how other people are mulling these ideas over:


* Where are you at in your relationship with money?
* Are you - or have you ever been - in a bread winner/bread baker dynamic? And how did you make it work? Or maybe it didn't? How do gender roles factor into that relationship?
* What experiences have you had with events or ideas that feature different ways of understanding value (ie barter faires or alternative currencies)?
* Do you hate money?
* Do you love it?


What do you think?

"Do the best you can in the place where you are and be kind."

Scott Nearing's words have resonated with me since I first read them (written across the front of a card from my beautiful friend Beth). They suggest a pathway to a level of inner peace and simplicity that I think few people really reach. And of course there are reasons for that. Any person who has given this thing called life a try knows the obstacles to contentment: dysfunctional relationships, self-doubt, debt, disease, envy, the seeming impossibility of conjuring (nevermind sustaining) empathy with people whose lives look nothing like your own. Feeling lost.

What I like about Nearing's words is that they seem to meet us where we are. They don't even hint at some level of perfection that we should be looking to attain. And they acknowledge that we're in this alone and together.


Some background on Scott Nearing and his wife, Helen:

Throughout their lives, Helen & Scott Nearing were a living example of [better, simpler choices]. Their experience, memorialized in Living the Good Life and a string of other books, has been an inspiration to thousands of people looking for an alternative to modern industrialism. On their homesteads first in Vermont and later Penobscott Bay, Maine, the Nearings built, made, grew and collected nearly everything they needed. Yet they still found plenty of time for nourishing their inner lives and giving to others - through music, education, writing and speaking.



I've been inspired by these two and drawn to the homesteading lifestyle for some time now. I find a richness and a depth to my life when I manage to lead it in a way that is as simple as I can make it. Sure, I've felt self-conscious when catching up with old friends has meant telling stories about weeding carrots and braiding garlic. And I'm no purist - I can acknowledge the amazing opportunities that can come about when you voluntarily complicate your own life (ie 3 months in India). But I whole-heartedly believe that if we focused more on the kernels and less on the husks in our worlds, the simple life has a lot to offer.

So maybe that's where I'll take this blog. A meditation on simplicity. The irony of using the internet to talk about the simple life is not lost on me, but I never said this would be contradiction-free! In fact, the contradictions are what make it real, interesting, human. Or so I hope.

love and light,
erin.

hello out there

I've often said that I don't care much for my own writing - this isn't false modesty. My relationship with language is dysfunctional, or at least inconsistent. I struggle with the inadequacy of words to capture a moment or to convey a feeling, and I know there is no substitute for the sound of laughter, the weight of the air, or the powerful silent language that eyes speak. That said, I'm starting this blog because I also love to communicate, and I believe my best words are reserved for other people (even the unknown audience of cyberspace). I'm not sure if it will eventually have a theme or a focus - I'm in the midst of finding those for myself - and so for now I'll let it parallel my life as it will. Some writings from the past (my first posting is something I wrote while in India, an experience I'd like to channel more of), some from the present, and other people's words as well, I'm sure.

And so it goes.

it begins

the stones don't struggle.
they sit and wait, shaped by wind and water,
creating the landscape and offering seclusion,
a place to stop,
to sit,
to feel ancient.
enveloped in a history with no beginning and no end

didn't we invent time?
and don't we still, in its passage,
create the pulses,
the ticks and the tocks,
the years, the candles, the distinctions?

and yet we suffocate in its expectations,
feeling younger than we'd like to be,
older than we are.
celebrating birth,
but running from death's uncertain promise.
numb to our own existence,
asking questions in a language whose words have no meaning.

we consume our experiences and feel malnourished afterward.


today is different.

today begins when the light brightens in the suns eyes
and the earth swells upward with energy to meet the heavens.
it begins with internal rhythms whose beats we may not recognize,
but whose wisdom is true and purpose is pure.

it begins without a struggle.