cooking something up for Christmas

You always do too much for Christmas, Rose told me the other day. You give me too many things. I feel bad setting one gift aside to open the next.

With such wonderful wisdom to combat my usual mama-guilt, I have begun gathering ideas for a gentle Christmas this year. One of the things I want to do is compile a recipe book for Rose, who loves cooking and baking. I'm asking friends and family to share their favourite recipes or advice. Also, each recipe, or set of kitchen tips, will have a small story attached - a memory or description from the one who contributed it. These will all be written into a handmade book which I hope she will keep, and to which she will add her own recipes and kitchen wisdom, over time.




And so I ask you if you have any special recipes you would be willing to share with my girl. I'm hoping in particular for a multi-cultural collection. And I would love it if you could include a paragraph or two of description to accompany the recipe - for example, a memory you have of this food, or a vignette of your daily life, or a word-portrait of the place you live.




If you would be interested in doing this, please email your recipe to me. I am trying to think of a giveaway I can offer as reciprocation - but just now, my thanks will have to do. I am wanting to offer a free tarot card reading some time soon, which is really the limit of my meagre talent, especially now I seldom make fairies and gnomes (for whatever they were worth.) But that will have to wait until Rose has recovered from the flu.

I do believe that, with her request for a smaller and simpler Christmas, Rose is expressing the mood I also have been feeling for the past few weeks - a call of gentleness, a coming home to the way we always loved to be. I might just have to write a bedtime story about this past year, this adventure we took through barren, rock-strewn plains before returning to our warm valley.

in appreciation

I am thankful today.

I give thanks that I was provided a vision of the little girl who drives everyone crazy as instead a beautiful child of light, a star dartling the red and the blue to colour our lives if only we could see it, a treasure of love and laughter who never walks but dances across the room. I ask for a brave and true heart so I may share my vision with those who don't see it.

I give thanks that, when all the other girls stiffen and smirk on this child's approach, my own smiles and has some kind and patient words to say to her. I humbly ask for enough words to tell her how very proud of her I am.




I give thanks that I was blessed to understand those other girls are wonderful too - delicate flowers who need their space. I pray I can commiserate with them and still with the other child's mother too, and everyone knows I am being genuine on both sides!

I give thanks that I got my child home after she suddenly developed a fever an hour and half from home or any remedy. I appreciate deeply that she did not throw up during the walk to the bus stop, the wait for a bus, the long twisting drive, the uncertain downhill walk home. I say thank you thank you thank you for the shortcut we discovered.




I give thanks that her fever is finally coming down and she is actually eating a warm honey sandwich. Nothing makes this mother's heart more settled than seeing her child eat.


I give thanks for having been witness to the friendship of two women - my nana and my honorary aunt. Sixty years of friendship. Young mothers together on a peaceful cul de sac, children running between their houses. Wives on motor boats, in yacht clubs beside their husbands. Old ladies living next door, creeping along supermarket aisles together, visiting the doctor together ... and now one lies dying, and the other must go for surgery tomorrow, and I wonder if they will ever see each other again, this side of forever. I pray for their consolation and courage.





I give thanks for all my dear blog friends, and I hope you have a beautiful day.

structure, school & soul

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I was determined to complete the moving process within one week so we could return this Monday to our usual school routine. More and more lately I have felt the desire to strengthen our daily and weekly rhythms, and return as much as possible to the gentle, soft, innocent life we enjoyed before coming to the new city. Now that we are in a new new city, I do believe this can be achieved.




I raised Rose in an atmosphere of softness and stories. And yes, earthy practicality too. Because she is intellectual, we have also done a lot of high-powered thinking and scholastic exploration. But our environment and attitudes were gentle, partly to counter all the mental energy, but mostly because I believe in extending the haven of childhood as long as possible, to provide a strong foundation and a kind of psychological shelter for when she has grown up.

Much of this dissolved under the pressures of the past year. But the crystals of it remain, and can be solidified once more.




At ten, Rose faces increased pressure to be cool, materialistic, insolent, rebellious, smarmy, and all the other unpleasant things we see from many children her age. Thankfully, we don't have these problems yet, and her friends have mainly been wonderful - but I can hear the dragons of adolescence roaring from just over the hill! More than ever I am determined to keep my girl "different" - which is to say, kind-hearted, compassionate, polite, self-esteeming, responsible, sensible, courageous, and willing to be her true self despite peer pressure to conform.

I know what a struggle this may be. Courage plays a huge part. It takes real bravery to dress a certain way, take pleasure in one's own intelligence, enjoy certain pastimes, even though other children do not do the same. It takes courage simply to be a homeschooled teenager. I believe the way to help a child with this is to strengthen, encourage, and celebrate them within the family, so they have the confidence to be themselves in the world.




So now that we have our home and can re-establish that dear, familiar environment, those supportive routines and disciplines, I have thrown myself headlong into the battle. It can be described in one word.

Simplicity.

Fewer expectations. Fewer things. Calmer, more stream-lined days. Less words. Organising instructions into small pieces that build on each other. Mindful, meaningful lessons.




Here is a good resource which I found from the always beautiful and inspiring Uncommon Grace and also the charming Are So Happy.

nesting

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The wind comes in from shadowy island forests, gathering sea dreams, threading through lemonwood leaves. We sit and hug our knees in the dark garden, a little cold, our eyes full of fireworks residue - red, gold, glory. We swallow the wind, speak it back again as stories.

imagine running away towards the edge of the world, just you and me with a backpack full of chocolate ... imagine stretching out under stars on a long lonely wharf ... imagine sailing by the lamp of the great white moon ...

We pile up our books and put things in baskets.










A sad bird goes back to her flockmates with the hope of a gentle indoors home. When she hears her brothers tweeting, she scrambles and cries, trying to get to them through the walls of her carry box. And a half-crazed bird goes back to being a happy bachelor. He sings again, after three days of bewildered silence at the onslaught of inconsolable tears (which for budgies sounds like squawk, squawk).

Some things love to fly and shimmy and sing in sunshine and wind. Some things love the comfort of a skyless home.




In the twilight we take our rose-scented dog wandering beneath the soft trees. We watch children run between each other's houses. We bring home wild roses and hopes and bright cheeks.




And Rose scoots, round and round, as if all the bricked-up stillness of the past year is uncoiling from within her.

what lies beneath

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on the letting go ...

succulent sunshine
fish & chips salted by sea wind
a big book of Robert Frost's prose
coming by chance upon good friends and spending the afternoon with them
children roaming the beach
mothers laughing in the leaf-fretted shade
fresh strawberries shared around
gathering wildflowers
walking home through trees and gentle peace

... there is such happiness to be found when you relinquish the troubling things.

so far

I step carefully through my morning, too tired to trust the ground. My daughter scoots around and around the house. All my concern about the wind was for nothing. This is the windiest place I've ever lived. And Rose rides through it, smiling as I haven't seen her smile in months, letting her tension fly away.

It's not my Place, but it's a nice home to spend some years.




The garage floods. Housemate swore the washing machine was all ready to go, but hadn't connected the outlet pipe. Oh well, I didn't want to use that now-soaking computer anyway. And I saved my baby photos just in time.

A spur-winged plover flies past. Thrushes in the hedge sing gorgeously. We could be in meadows, in wooded hills far from suburbia, if we go by the evidence of birdsong, windsong, and the white peace alone.

As for the new bird, she will not be quiet. Actually, that kind of loud piercing chirping is an astonishingly effective form of torture. The neighbours must hate us already.

Rain comes. It falls so gently, graciously. I can hear it on the concrete, in the gutters, through the trees. I can hear the rain.




We now have three chairs. And that's all we're going to have for a very long while. I stand for a moment in my schoolroom, with one hand on the table I made, covered with the softly flowering tablecloth I made. Here's my ground. In my strength and my independence and the things I will do for my child. Next week we will begin lessons again.




The housemate phones. This afternoon, can you flatten and fold boxes for my friend who is moving this weekend? I look around at my still-boxed lounge and schoolroom, my pile of clothes, my newspaper-wrapped dishes that need washing, my bags of books, my dirty floors, my laundry that now must be handwashed and line dried (despite the rain), and I sigh.

There will be pancakes for pudding.

today

woke 6am from guilt-ridden dreams, dragged self from bed

made breakfast as quietly as possible

sat for some treasured quiet time on laptop - but only 15 minutes left of battery, and electric cable is in sleeping child's bedroom

worked on story, decided nanowrimo is not for people with too much professional history to write "any old junk" for the sake of speed (sorry no offence to those doing it)

unpacked books until others got up

made breakfast for Rose, got dressed

more unpacking

washed walls, windows, doors, started setting up homeschooling room

set up nature table

hung new curtain in homeschooling room

hung fleece fairies and two framed paintings in homeschooling room

two sets of new tables and chairs arrived in large terrifying boxes

toilet broke

went out for lunch, spent two hours doing huge amount of shopping to replace food spoiled during move

magically transformed shortest checkout queue into slowest simply by the power of my presence. twice.

purchased beautiful little girl budgie, she turned out to be histronic, squawking loudly all afternoon

made up cage for new budgie, poured seed into container and into great heaps all over concrete deck

convinced child sweeping seed from deck was an educational pursuit which furthermore would earn her my undying esteem

fixed toilet

put up hooks for towels and dressing gowns, discovered too late that had permanently attached the wrong ones on bathroom door

just about crippled self putting together one chair (five to go) and large table using incorrect screwdriver and hands that fit child-sized gloves, wished for first time for husband (who could divorce me once table and chairs were constructed)

called away from my table to help housemate construct theirs

noticed housemate has hands almost twice my size but made no comment

attended to hysterical bird, decided her name is Anne because she talks too much

hand-washed laundry as washing machine not yet connected, put in spin dryer

returned to constructing second chair

handled chaos as dog ran away and child gave screaming chase along busy road

welcomed home very happy dog, very white-faced child

secured dog indoors with amazing show of wordless patience and restraint, managed to calm child

made dinner

ate dinner while watching celebrity chef demonstrate how to make scones, supposed no one has grandmothers any more to teach them these things

listened to housemate hammering in screws for their glass table

moved rowdy budgies into garage out of concern for neighbours, realised this only caused the noise to echo loudly, discovered child making shushing noises could calm them, pondered how to set up camp bed for child in garage so she could shush at them all night

helped housemate carry their table to its new location

assured housemate the table looked just fine without the little plastic thingamys which had accidentally been left off, and therefore complete deconstruction and subsequent correct reconstruction was entirely unnecessary

put in desperate call to friend who is a budgie breeder, listened politely to her excitement at us having such a happy, ready-to-breed bird on our hands, judged from her gleeful advice to "put them in the sunshine and listen to them talk to each other" that a covered cage in a darkened room is the best option

while on phone to friend, boy budgie, who has lived happily outside in new cage for three days now, suddenly proves he can actually escape cage by sliding through bars - spent next twenty minutes weaving colourful ribbon through bars to prevent further escape (sorry lad, you must accept your romantic destiny)

happily sacrificed embroidered couch cover as budgie cage cover in the interests of sanity

returned to efforts with second chair only to discover hands have no strength left

folded laundry and put away

cleaned shower

persuaded child to set fireworks off tomorrow night

fed dog

washed dishes

tucked child into bed, hugged and talked with her for a while

argued with self that enough work had been done today to excuse pudding of low fat ice cream and strawberries, lost argument, sat down with cup of tea and handful of cashew nuts to write blog post

discovered had no remaining capacity for complete sentences

noticed several emails awaiting my attention, decided to answer them in the morning

arranged new bed for dog

greeted child in search of drink of water, assessed loose tooth, did further tucking in and hugging

am now going to bed

sahar dedyshka

It seems we have a domovoy here. He hasn't thrown anything at us yet, but he does not like the bedroom assignments I have made. His response to them has been a strong offensive odour only I can smell! So tonight we will be sleeping in different rooms. I certainly do not wish to offend my domovoy since I am lucky enough to have him.

In England, these creatures are known as hobs.




Once we lived in a house with a very unhappy domovoy. The house had been mistreated over the years by former occupants, and was dreadfully haunted. (Infact, it was rather famous for its haunting.) The domovoy had become maddened and would throw things, make loud banging noises, and scratch the walls. I wish I understood then what I do now; perhaps I might have been able to soothe him in some way.

The house we have just left was absolutely tranquil in terms of spirits. Something lived in the deeper shadows of the back room which no one used, but it never really bothered us. It was quite strange really to live without an obvious spirit presence around us. We had come from a place where we literally bumped into them in our kitchen and watched them run happily along the hallway, and got up to open the front door for them, mistakenly thinking their footsteps were of our housemate coming home from work. I think that the lack of this at Rose Cottage contributed towards its lack of homeliness.

And now I must go on with my unpacking. Many blessings to you all.

the riverside teahouse

We have moved in. What a lovely home! We have done a little unpacking, a little cleaning, but are trying to take things slowly as there is a long busy week ahead of us and we are not as young as we once were. Really, I was surprised by how little I could carry today! Gone are the days I could lug boxes alongside the powerfully muscled Moving Men.

We had Chinese takeaways for dinner then began what we are determined will be our new after-dinner ritual: we went for a walk along the river and through the park. Although it is not as beautiful as an English countryside, the neighbourhood has a real charm which already has drawn us in.

Rose pointed out that there are lovely pink and crimson manuka (tea) trees in our garden, so we have formally named our new home The Teahouse. Or as I shall always consider it, since if two words are good then surely nine are even better,

The teahouse by the river,
under the lemonwood trees.

See, it already has its own tiny poem. It's that kind of house.

But I am very tired now. So I wish you good night.

house of winds and lemons and love

Her name is Lillian. Actually, I think her name is Claire, but everyone else says Lillian, for important spiritual reasons which I appreciate since my own daughter has Lily as part of her name for those same reasons, so I will quietly concur before she simply becomes, from rapid habit, New House.

She smiles at us as we walk through her spaces cleaning them, blessing them, filling them with our dreams. She showed me how I could get my big, sunlit schoolroom in the room without right angles after all. She shared her own vision of a cosy lounge as I vacuumed the back room, and I saw all at once how it could indeed work.

I sense she wants to be lived in. I sense she loves being cleaned, coddled, opened, filled up with light.




I hope you all had a blessed holyday, whether it was Halloween, All Hallow's Eve, Samhain, or Beltane. We tried to wash our faces in rose petal dew this morning, as is our custom on this day, but the sun had already dried the flowers. So we washed our feet amongst the grass instead. I gave Rose a bird-decorated box filled with fire-coloured, gold-hearted chocolates and a candle to celebrate the light. She also got an azalea bush which she planted at the new house. If we weren't in the middle of moving, we would have gone out gathering flowers and making brightly coloured suncatchers for our windows.

I am so looking forward to the restoration of our warm and peacefully rhythmic life once more.

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