Friday, May 28, 2010 | Writing |
Just read this longish piece by American poet Kay Ryan (it’s a few years old; thanks to Karl for pointing me to it). She is attending a poetry conference after a lifetime of preferring not to. She describes herself like this: “I love the solitary, the hermetic, the self-taught.”
As someone currently mulling the prospect of greater artistic collaboration, who has almost always avoided working with others–at least, when it comes to writing fiction and poetry–her witty words were delicious food for thought. Such as …
“I wanted my poems to fight their way … Fight and fight again. No networking, no friends in high places, no internships. I think that’s how poems finally have to live, alone without your help, so they should get used to it.”
“I think poets should take the lesson of the great aromatic eucalyptus tree and poison the soil beneath us.”
“I think it’s good to admit what a wolfish thing art is; I trust writers who know they aren’t nice.”
And finally … “Everything truly attended to is a spiritual practice, isn’t it?”
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Now, read my previous post if you haven’t already, because this post is an aside, a footnote to my day. Can you tell it’s writing day? I’m catching while catch-can.
Friday, May 28, 2010 | Bicycles, Green Dreams, Sick, Yoga |
Green Dream # 6 Front yard veggie patch.
Green Dream # 7 Re-purpose household items (ie. found this old curtain from our last house, hiding in the bottom of the linen closet, and it fits our front door; better yet, it replaces the lace curtain that has been there since we moved in SEVEN YEARS ago, which never ever felt like ours.)
Green Dream # 8 Wash, dry and re-use plastic bags. We haven’t bought new for years. When these run out, I am considering making/buying cloth bags instead. One question: for freezing food, especially liquid food, what would replace the plastic bag?
Green Dream # 9 Reusable mugs and water bottles. Milk in glass containers.
Green Dream # 10 Cloth wipes. We haven’t gone the no-toilet-paper route, however (as per No Impact Man). The used cloths are stored in a diaper stuff sack, (a welcome re-purposing that marks the end of our cloth diapering days). I launder them every other day.
Green Dream # 11 I just wanna ride my bicycle.
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This morning the house is Friday Quiet. Ah. I actually sighed while typing that last sentence–a good sigh, a cleansing sigh, as one might put it in yoga practice. I am drinking my ginger-garlic cold fighting brew, because apparently spring ain’t sprung without a touch of the ague. CJ caught it first, and I coughed all night long. Would I choose to set my internal alarm clock for 5:40am, or would I skip early morning yoga? My alarm went off (it’s inside my head; I set it when I’m falling off to sleep by picturing the numbers on the clock–the time at which I’d like to wake; and it almost never fails me). Turns out, I wanted that time for myself; how could I sleep through it? I couldn’t. I leapt out of bed.
Guess what? I’ve been biking to morning yoga. It takes less time than travelling by car, at least on the way there, because it’s downhill and there’s little traffic. Coming home takes more effort and attention (focus, blissed-out yoga brain, focus!), but I don’t lose more than a few minutes in the commute. I am riding Kevin’s old mountain bike, and the front-riding baby seat is perfect for stowing my bag; but I’m coveting a more upright ride that would fit my body better. Add it to the (short) list of Things I Covet.
(Also add: fire pit for the backyard).
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As I tinker with a slight re-design for this blog, I’ve changed “Eco-Attempts” to the friendlier and more optimistic “Green Dreams.” Riding bike is going on the list. I fully intend for that to be our family’s main summer transportation. My only concern is that the roads are not terribly safe for cyclists. Apparently a bike trailer was recently struck in the north part of the city, resulting in a broken arm for a small child; and the driver fled the scene.
Our cities are designed around cars. As Michael Enright put it, in a recent editorial on The Sunday Edition (a three-hour radio show that airs on CBC Radio One): There is no war on cars; the war was won ages ago, and we already know the victor: the car. The Walrus recently ran a fascinating article on green cities in Europe (Chris Turner’s “The New Grand Tour”), and the author’s description of cycling around Copenhagen on rented bicycles, one of which included a double seat on the front into which two children could be strapped … well, count this reader as pretty darn envious. He and his family cycled the city on lanes exclusively designated for bike traffic; they never felt safer.
In our city, we have a few paths on which only cyclists and pedestrians can travel, but the paths are broken by busy streets, across which one must dash without any marked crossing or traffic signals. I frequently let the kids bike on the sidewalk, and wrestle with biking on the sidewalk myself, considering that I’m pulling two vulnerable children behind me in a carrier.
I spend a lot of time coaching my children on how to be smart and safe pedestrians: no, it’s not fair, but even if a car is doing the wrong thing (ie. running a stop sign, or not giving the right-of-way to the pedestrian at a crossing, or swooping around a right-hand turn without checking for pedestrian traffic), the walker has to let the car do what it’s doing. Because in human versus car, car wins, human loses.
I wonder whether that’s an apt description of the peculiar lives we’ve built on the altar of car. Car wins, humans lose. Think of everything we sacrifice in order to propel ourselves inside our own individual motorized compartments. Think of the oil gushing out into the Gulf of Mexico, right now. Consider the air we breathe. Remember what it feels like to walk and talk, to exercise, and meet our neighbours, and take time. Cars give us convenience, without question. There are jobs that could not be done without cars (ie. midwife). But a lot of us don’t really need to use cars, not as often as we do, or think we do.
In thinking about my Green Dreams, I recognize that many of these choices and changes demand time. Hanging laundry to dry every day does take more time than throwing it into the drier–not a great deal more, but a bit. So does washing the dishes by hand. Baking my own bread. I’m still trying to figure out how to make snacks more convenient without falling prey to the ease of the prepackaged treat, grabbed as I dash a pack of hungry grumpy children to piano lessons. All of this extra labour would cut into my productivity, if I were employed at a regular job. But part of where I’m headed, I think, is viewing this home-based production as valuable on a number of levels. It doesn’t fit into the stock market. It doesn’t work comfortably with capitalism, but I’ve got a few problems with capitalism anyway; nothing in nature grows indefinitely, and it seems like madness to base a businesses’ success on eternal growth: it’s a recipe for corruption.
This work is valuable because it keeps me humble. It’s valuable because it’s my offering to the earth. It’s a small and humble offering, but so be it. I would like to offer my time–because I have it, and I’m grateful for that gift–to living creatively. Anyone who’s ever made anything knows that there is a great deal of invisible work behind what’s created. There is the original vision, changed and altered and made deeper by reflection and time, there is work, there is error and recognition of error, and incorporation of error, too, and there is luck, happenstance, improvisation. There are bursts of production and activity, and lulls of wondering, daydreaming, even doubt. There is sacrifice. You have to figure out if it’s worth it to you–figure out what you’re sacrificing, and why you want to.
Mostly, though, you just do it: you do the work you’ve chosen to do.
Thursday, May 27, 2010 | Big Thoughts |
I have so many things on my mind, and intentions to blog about each, but with little time to spare, today I just want to write about that–about time. I’m heading somewhere in my thinking. It’s taking time to unfold. I love the evolution of our family’s life, and how slowly but surely we’ve moved toward living differently, toward eating differently, thinking differently, opening our minds to possibilities. I love how our house itself has evolved over these years, accommodating the changes–more children, children growing, more space for food storage, more garden beds, more elaborate elements to the play structure. I love imagining what new changes will come.
Time itself is on my mind. The time that I have, and what I choose to do with it. It comes to me that the gift I have right now is time, and time is precious, it’s all we’ve got. It is a gift not to need to work to earn money (and it may not always be so). My time is spent doing things that I value regardless of what external rewards they bring. I don’t even mind doing the dishes, when I think of it as a small but important chore in the midst of this larger picture of family that I’m part of. The multiple tasks that make up my every day express so many things, but mostly they are an expression of commitment. This is what I’m doing right now.
I’d edging us toward many small changes: cloth wipes, bicycling, finding alternatives to packaged snacks (ideas, anyone???), and continuing to commit to choices we’ve already made.
I’m making different use of my time, too, and am amazed that it is possible to fit new things in: for example, getting up early several days a week to exercise. Who knew? Learning to play guitar while putting the kids to bed. Who knew?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010 | Birthdays, Holidays |
Our weekend involved more cake. I had not had time to bake in advance of Albus’s slumber party, so I thought, hey, this could be a party activity. It’s a credit to these sweet boys that they all said, “Yes!” when asked whether they’d like to make the cake. I decided to let them do as much as they wanted–read the recipe, measure the ingredients, dump, mix, beat the batter, work out amongst themselves who would do what. The resulting cake (sour cream chocolate) tasted fresh, light, and airy, and may have been even better than the previous evening’s cake. I should let children measure and stir every time.
The slumber party consisted of two guests (a third wasn’t able to come), no gifts, order-in pizza, cake, pop, a comic book shopping spree (Kevin had a blast witnessing the three boys making their excited decisions), and two movies. The boys set up the basement lair for themselves with three futons, but claimed to have all slept on the same bed, fighting for the same covers. They also reported being up till two o’clock in the morning (parents, I assure you, this could not have been true–we had the baby monitor set up in case of emergencies, and all was quiet after midnight … which is plenty late for three nine and almost-nine-year-old boys).
I got such pleasure listening to their party stories–how late, who had slept where, what they’d eaten for breakfast (chips and cheezies). After the guests went home, Albus appeared to be suffering from something resembling a hangover … lethargic, irritable, bored by everything. It’s hard for the party to end.
“All good things must come to an end,” I quoted cheerily last night as the children complained, at length and great volume, that “You’re ruining all of our fun!”
“Yup, that’s my job. I signed the parenting contract. I had to promise to ruin the fun, make my kids get enough sleep, force them to bathe and pick up their toys and throw their socks to the basement. It’s all in the contract. My hands are tied. What can I do?”
“Rip up the contract!” (That was Albus.)
The fuss was over bedtime. It was also over the end of the our long weekend. Listen, I was sad, too. Why must the fun end? Kevin and I got so much work done yesterday. I weeded the front bed, and trimmed the lilac (that was way too much fun; it was like giving a good haircut to a kid who really needs it … which, come to think of it, would describe Albus). Is that sad that I just conflated fun with getting so much work done? I even organized the linen closet (thanks, new Chatelaine; that may be the only good thing that comes out of the magazine’s re-design, in my opinion; so much saccharine fluff that I felt ill upon glancing through it, instant sugar-shock; and no Katrina Onstad, though I searched and searched; and this aside will be meaningless to all non-Canadian readers).
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There was more to our weekend. There was another party, and (believe it or not) even more cake. And that’s our new nephew pictured above with CJ and Fooey (photo by AppleApple), who visited from afar with his mum and grandma. And Kevin built that cool-looking box for the front veggie beds, and got the stones partially laid for our new walkway. Among much much else.
But I have a CJ on my lap stabbing me with a pencil, and a Fooey lying on the floor beside the stool shouting, “You’re wasting time for me to get dressed! When I even need you to get me dressed! I want a dress! You have to come upstairs, okay Mommy! Even if you say no, you have to come upstairs! This instant! I’m s’pposed to already be dressed in a dress!”
Yo. I signed the contract. What can I do?
Friday, May 21, 2010 | Uncategorized |
… I came to my senses and went with the whipped cream AND the chocolate sauce. And tomorrow he’ll be nine for real.
