resolution

on the other side of today:

new year

now.

Before,

I didn't notice the timbre of the day

its resonance to eye and ear

intersecting rhythms

the qualities of light

tonal implications

acute emotions

particularities

yesterday: paw and claw prints

in a carpet of crushed diamonds

each flake refracts the gradient sapphire

sky

snow weightless as pollen

today is melting

the air is heavy

and everything is falling

slow motion into green

trees hang

dripping clocks

watchful thaw

mouths

Our daily nature walk and study--like pottery, the perfect word, your smile, piano love, the secret place, little river and our fire--save my life.

Tracks in the snow reveal the limits of my world and yours. Yes Horus, small animals live here.

We sing Frere Jacques and Adeste Fideles on Skedaddle Ridge. Cloudy bright. Sleeping girl child.

Mama, says the little boy, What are Chickadees all about?

Chickadees

my sweet

are

flying flying finding food, finding seeds eating, seeds and food and fuel and flying making nests seeing trees, and trees and finding flying feeding eggs laying eggs, and hatching eggs and chicks and worms and finding food, flying finding food and eating food, flying singing, singing eating food, go away, go away, sky and snow and trees flying trees, flying sky, flying sitting in the trees again.

blessings to

birds, trees

root & leaf

this year, I resolve

to walk

to play

to work

to have and hold

to be gentle

and to let go

happy new year to you, my love, my children, my family, my friends.

xo

the world, each day

each day

open road

slow water

white weather

sleeping fields

baby bunting

long walk

back home

Christmas, Solstice, Yule

The Family Photo.

Our tree, on its way home.

Soft Glow.

Tall tree, little girl.

Treva and her cousin.

Dad is very skilled at snowflake-making.

Just a taste of the awesome extravagance of Carleton County lights.

New sled.
Christmas pudding aflame.

Piling into the car to go carolling.

Treasures from Santa.

Discovery.

Dad helps to open presents.

Chickpea fudge for gifting.

A piggyback ride from P. through the snow.

Tractor. Only here, friends. Only in Carleton County.

Happy boy.

Holidays. Horus and I fell asleep last night singing Christmas carols together. Meditations on rain and snow and rain again. Our daily walk up the mountain, around Circle Trail and through Fallsbrook, takes longer now that the snow is well established, finally. A welcome diversion from the errands and planning and preparations.

Solstice and Christmas intermingle, and our happy dog-eared amalgamation of mythologies and beliefs. We light our candles and sing our songs, and when I feel the crush of stress and time and timing, I repeat my mantra, the principles of Huna (the spiritual tradition of Hawaii--random, I know), which make much more universal sense to me than the nagging ten commandments (even though many visitors take the liberty of making fun of me for my hand-written scroll of the following in our living room. Harumph. Philistines.):

* the world is what I think it is

* there are no limits

* energy flows where attention goes

* now is the moment of power

* to love is to be happy with

* all power comes from within

* effectiveness is the measure of truth

I, like many others, listened in rapt attention to the most recent instalment of the Munk debates, aired on CBC radio a couple of weeks ago. Hitchens vs. Blair on religion (or not), and Hitchens won by a landslide in terms of rhetorical finesse and in all other ways. I agree with most of Hitchens' arguments against religion on the whole, and I absolutely share Hitchens' view of the Bible as historical document detailing an extinct culture's mythologies. He did, unfortunately, utter some arrogant and simplistic drivel about the importance of freeing women from the shackles of animal reproductive cycles--the point of contention being, for me, his tone more than anything else. The main issue I have with Hitchens, is that despite his erudition, he isn't intelligent enough (apparently) to figure out that while he is right about the sham and the shame and the evil perpetuated in the name of religion, he doesn't seem to "get" nuance or subjectivity or magic (although he still scorns these openly). Hitchens makes sense, but arrogance combined with verbal acuity can be a bit deafening. Poor Tony. Lee pointed out that he, predictably, sounded like a politician trying to rationalize.

I wonder what Hitchens would think of Marilynne Robinson's book Absence of Mind in which Robinson suggests that Science is useful and wonderful but that it does not and cannot explain the full spectrum of human experience (including religious or spiritual feeling in all its messy sweetness).

Both Blair and Hitchens supported the war in Iraq. Hm.

So. Christmas. We did it all. We found our tree on the land where we will build our house--a tall lanky pine--and before we cut, we had a small ceremony with carols and some solemn words. Then a day of tea and decorating.

On the night after Solstice, we had a beautiful supper at our house (perfect roast and carrot salad brought over by T,L, P and the kids, and other goodies), and then a beautiful outdoor Christingle ceremony, after which we hopped in the truck and went carolling door to door at a few homes in Knowlesville. A couple of our victims told us that years ago, carolling used to be a big deal, but that no one does it anymore. Well, let us revive the tradition for your listening pleasure! Everyone was thrilled. We were thrilled with ourselves. The kids were giddy with thrill. Everyone stayed up too late, and it was lovely.

In Fredericton, on Christmas eve day, we sold our works which went swimmingly, and then we attended the family service at Christ Church Cathedral (the lack of solemnity of the service in strong contrast to the majestic architecture of the building), then hurried home to Carleton County for family visiting, then back home to the little cottage to wait for (and help) Santa Claus.

I still wholeheartedly believe in Santa Claus, and I am so appreciative to my parents for their gentleness in incorporating the subtleties of this tradition into my life. There was never any grand revelation that Santa Claus isn't "real"--which would have been cruel and a terrible shock and disappointment to hear. It was simply that the idea of metaphor and symbolism gradually took over from my more literal understanding of Father Christmas and his message of generosity, thoughtfulness and goodness. But for Horus, for now, the magic is the real, and so was the sparkle and glow of Christmas morning.

The issue of gifts is a tricky one, but I think we navigated well through the mire. And we are fortunate in that all of the art shows that we do in November give ample opportunity for trading with other craftspeople. So, most of the gifts Horus received were handmade with love: a beautiful Waldorf-style soft doll (which he immediately named "Izzie"), some gorgeous hand-carved wooden animal figures and stacking toys, an intricately detailed wooden doll house, and, of course, books.

Christmas in Carleton County is growing on me, not least due to the incredible display of lights that decorate every second house even in Knowlesville, the back end of nowhere. I love love LOVE the lights, in every way, and I think Lee has had enough of me forcing him to stop the truck every six minutes so I can take pictures...I have a whole ridiculous series now. They're gorgeous. (In fact, many of them I used for a series of greeting cards that I made, and I sold heaps at the market). I know people grumble about the waste of electricity, but please, it seems that they're mostly LEDs at this point (although I still prefer the soft glow of incandescent bulbs). Sigh. Gramie Clark thoughtfully gave Horus a set of solar-powered outdoor lights, but I stupidly forgot about them on the one sunny day...lots of Gray lately, which means limited power. We are taking trips to the church in Florenceville to bathe, as there is no hot water here to speak of.

And of course, I have already mucked up my weekly book review routine, but I feel I have a good reason: I am still reading a book that is continuing to have a profound and revolutionary effect on me...I have mentioned Naomi Aldort before in this blog, but I had never, until now, actually read her published book on parenting, Raising our Children, Raising Ourselves. It is extraordinary. I can't wait to tell you more, but I will say that it has radically transformed my response to situations with Horus that would previously have caused me a lot of stress and anxiety. I am, already, a far better parent thanks to this book, and I will definitely speak about it in depth, soon.

In any case, there are twelve days of Christmas, and we are on day 3. It's already seven thirty am now, oh dear. Stoke the stove, boil the water. Greet the day.

Merry Happy Season!

Oh! And our Christmas pudding [drenched in brandy] lit up after all--even though Horus kept trying to blow it out like a birthday cake (Horus! We want the fire! We want the fire to burn!). Hijinks ensue.

xo

In Praise of Curly

The beautiful canine companion of our good friends died a few days ago, and this sad event reminded me of how much I love Curly, and of how much our animals bring to our lives. I have not always been so aware of this, or so appreciative. Curly, we love you.

Tuesday Recipe: Breakfast Soup

Miso. Increasingly, one of our breakfast staples is miso soup. Made from fermented soy beans, miso, an often pungent savoury bean paste, is a key ingredient in Japanese soups, as well as a staple in sauces and seasonings. Miso is a healing food; high in protein, rich in b12 and trace minerals, linked to enhanced immune function and protective against cancer, miso is also a wonderful wholesome fast food. All manner of leftovers can be quickly and easily transformed into a scrumptious and warming soup when added to miso mixed with boiling water (about a cup and a half of water to a tablespoon of miso. This is a wonderful alternative to the empty calories and insulin spike of denatured cereals. Horus loves it. This morning, last night's broccoli, sweet potato and chicken was transformed into a deluxe stew that was immediately and lustily devoured by a hungry little boy, as always. I do not believe that children have a biological aversion to green vegetables (as some would argue). All children, when presented with whole, real, simply prepared vegetables as the bulk of every meal, develop a preference for healthy vitality foods. Sugar and refined foods are not only unnecessary, but have a detrimental effect on the overall well–being of our children.

Normal. It takes some effort, but it is not impossible--nor even terribly difficult--to create a different "normal" for our kids when it comes to food. Other parents are often surprised to find out that my kids *really* don't eat refined foods. At all. There will be treats at Christmas, of course--I will be making a grain-free fruit cake with no refined sugar, and there will be a very small organic dark chocolate father Christmas figure in Horus' stocking. But at our house, even Santa's preference is mandarin oranges and a pomegranate. I have parenting challenges like everyone, but food is not an area of argument, and this is strategic. I make a conscious effort to normalize whole foods, and to create a positive atmosphere around food and mealtimes. Horus always eats what he is presented, without discussion. This is simply what we have established as normal. You can too.

Music. Sublime voices, mellifluous rhythms and counter-rhythms, complex arrangements, atonal segues, interesting scales, the relief of accord and resolve, and, again (this is a trend, for me, I guess) a beautiful austerity. My current musical pick of the season is Chanticleer's Holiday album "Our Heart's Joy". Gorgeous Renaissance motets, a cycle of linked Spirituals, and intriguingly arranged classics. Chanticleer's version of O Come o come Emmanuel is a revelation.

Desires. A Dexter cow, an amaryllis, and a wood-handled swiss army knife (I saw this at the mec store, but doesn't seem to be online yet. hm. Psst. Dad!).

And. I only had a chance to be with my two oldest sons Cedar and Kristjan briefly while I was in Vancouver. Nonetheless, I was fortunate enough to see that they are beautiful, bright, curious, musical, talented, strong and confident. I send warmth, light and joy to them in the New Year.

Flight

Mum helped me pack in the afternoon. It was bittersweet. We were all--myself, Horus, Treva and mum--a bit anxious and emotions ran somewhat high. At nine-thirty pm (our flight leaves at ten-thirty), mum was outside in the wet warm west coast evening, sawing my maple branches so that they would fit in the rubbermaid container (long story), and I was still trying to figure out how to reduce the pile of duffle bags to fifty pounds each (success times six!). We arrived at the airport a bit late, of course, so I was dropped off with the kids and the stuff, the benefit to which was that the potentially messy tearful send-off was cut short...Bye Mum. I love you.

I have been very ambivalent about our return. My two remaining grandparents are granny on my dad's side, and Grandpa on my mum's side. They are both very important people in my life, and they are both near the end of their lives on this earth. Will I see them again? My reunion with Cedar and Kristjan was not what I had expected, or hoped for. The missing of my family began upon stepping into the glassy glossy airport. Checking bags and collecting boarding passes through a scrim of tears. I pulled myself together though, and Horus was a perfect little peach throughout all of it; the gauntlet of security, the gate-finding, and the waiting and waiting. Our flights were delayed, and the planes were full, and the stopover in Toronto was long and arduous. Over the course of the month that we were in Vancouver, Treva has transformed herself into a wide-eyed, all-knowing, talkative, curious and, if not plump, then hardy, strong and substantial little girl-baby. She is heavy enough for the backpack certainly, but I had only the front carrier, and it was a bit of an agonizing schlep.

We flew overnight. As predicted, the kids slept like sweet exhausted puppies, and I managed to doze for a little while in the tiny ancient plane that took us from Toronto to Fredericton. I woke before landing, to the aerial view: miles and acres of snow-dusted shrubby bush that surrounds our tiny capital.

When we arrived, the kids and I were the last off the plane, and instead of marching through the accordion habitrail tunnels that surreally connect passengers from airport to plane in the larger airports, we emerged into the windy dull bright maritime morning cold, and down the stairs to tarmac yard. Lee was standing in the doorway of the airport, and it was a welcome relief to see him. Curly was waiting for us in the truck. Joyful reunion.

Now. (Is it strange that the limns of of now and then can be drawn on a map...)

We drive through the backroads home. Signs of human habitation thin as we move further away from the city, and I see with new eyes, the beauty of this place. The starkness of the landscape is emphasized by the the modest and austere bungalows that stand solitary and naked on the edge of sleeping fields. I have renewed appreciation for the quality of light here, and the mood of solemn calm. Things are what they are. Everything is real. There is an honesty to this stringently beautiful terrain that I have learned to adore. I am thankful for this place, and the people in my life here, for giving me the opportunity to cultivate a more rich and faceted perspective.

By the time we reach the crest of the hill at Armond and the expanse of our valley between Skedaddle and Ketchum ridge, my ambivalence lifts. I am glad to be here. In grand Knowlesville style, it takes five attempts before our truck makes it up the driveway. C. and G. are just arriving back as well, and I wind the window down and said hi. At the cottage, we are met by a very sleek and happy Hula cat. Lee starts a fire, and we huddle for warmth. Horus re-acquaints himself with his old wooden toys while I unpacked a bit (careful to keep the Christmas loot hidden) and then we eat a small meal. Before bed, we play the piano and sing Christmas carols, and our family-band rendition of We Three Kings (piano, voice and shakuhachi) is stellar.

I am so thankful to the many friends and family who kept our clay from freezing, and our kitten cared-for. E., and probably A., and I'm sure T & L, and also E. and A. for sharing the responsibility for Curly.

Peaches and Vanilla are both carrying goat-babies, to be born in the spring, and we will pick mama goats up tomorrow. Finally.

Home home home.

Wednesday Book Review: Hold On to Your Kids

Hold On To Your Kids

by Gordon Neufeld

One of the primary arguments against homeschooling is that many believe that unless children are institutionalized according to age from toddlerhood to adolescence (school), they will be effectively deprived of proper "socialization". The idea that children need other children, or that they learn essential life skills from other children, permeates our society. When our kids reach adolescence, it is taken for granted that they will become angst-ridden, silent, withdrawn, angry and obtuse. It is considered "normal" that children and teenagers will rebel against their parents, attaching themselves to their peers, and rejecting the previous generation.

But in many societies--many past, some present--this is not the case. In some families, children look to their parents as role models throughout their childhoods, and continue to respect their parents as role-models, and follow their parents' example until they reach adulthood.

What if children actually learn how to be adults, from adults? What if the practice of segregating our kids with other kids, has more to do with creating willing consumers, than independent, free-thinking, intelligent creatives?

In Gordon Neufeld's groundbreaking book "Hold On to Your Kids", he explains that in our current culture, the phenomenon of "peer-orientation" has eroded parents' natural authority. If a child is not attached to his or her parents, she will attach to peers, and to whomever a child is attached, she will subsequently follow (think about the effects of advertising on kids). When Neufeld talks about natural authority, he means the kind of authority that is never spoken or named, but which occurs without effort when a child is deeply connected.

The core of this book deals with attachment, and the incredible importance of fostering a strong and healthy attachment with one's children, but this translates into an overall philosophy and approach to parenting that can be implemented throughout life. This book will help parents drop the anxiety, dispense with the latest parenting self-help manuals, and instead tap into the fundamental and natural connection they have to their kids. Neufeld argues that attachment, rather than complex strategies of coercion or punishment and reward, are the foundation of a positive relationship between parents and children.

I was fortunate enough to attend a parenting conference several years ago featuring Gordon Neufeld as the headline speaker. I really liked the guy, and as the father of five children, he has implemented all of what he talks about. In addition to "Hold On to Your Kids" the book, Neufeld has videos and other products available on his website, which are also excellent. He has also created the Neufeld Institute which offers courses for parents and educators. Highly recommended.

Tuesday Recipe: Carrot Flan

I really am so happy to be home in Vancouver, and yet looking forward to being home in New Brunswick, and somewhat torn between the two. I am so far away, wherever I am. And the two places offer such a radically different life experience; both rich in ways the other is not. I keep getting chastised for my analysis, (poor little me) so I will shut up about the specifics (for once), but one aspect in particular of being in Vancouver that can't compare to New Brunswick, is that my family is here. How do I love these crazy people? In all ways. Is it age and perspective that allows me to be increasingly charmed by their idiosyncrasies? Maybe just life experience. I don't mean lowered expectations at all, but I am aware, finally, that there are way bigger jerks in the world. Hm. And then also the final realization that they're not jerks at all, and are, in fact pretty superb and loyal and wonderful people. I really do love them.

The hilarity and pathos were at an apex yesterday, as mum, in good humour, cooked delicious things all day for a constant stream of friends and visitors, while I chased Horus and nursed Treva, and John and J. (John's gorgeous, civilized, smart and lovely girlfriend whom we all adore) chatted with Alexandra's girlfriends, and Alex herself was inappropriate and obnoxious and got away with it, (because she is the the irreverent one, and desperately funny), and then Gramps arrived for dinner, and Alex gave a fashion show, and John and I argued about Socialist Libertarianism, and J. was understanding about everything, and Gramps (90 years old in May) threatened to take everyone out in his yacht in the spring, and told the same story for the eighteenth time this week while Horus fell asleep in his arms, and Alex told me to stop correcting him, because it's just not worth it, and then Gramps left early, and I got upset, and then we all ate pomegranate seeds and clotted cream for dessert, and then Mum, John, and J. and I played boggle instead of Scrabble and John beat everyone soundly.

My mother is a super chef, and has catered entirely to my preference for whole foods, organic, no sweet, no grain, alkaline for the most part, combined with local free range meat--a diet that is fairly ubiquitous here, so easily accommodated--and to her benefit, as well, of course.

The following is my mother's Carrot Flan recipe. (Photograph above). This is a ridiculously easy dish, and absolutely toothsome--savoury, but with a hint of root-y vegetal sweetness.

chop an onion or two, and sautee in a four tablespoons or so of butter. Or use duck fat, which is my preference

grate 5 or 6 large carrots and a parsnip or two (don't worry about the parsnip if you don't have one in the cold room--but it does add a sublime and mysterious dimension)

add to the carrots, the following:

a sprig or two of parsley, chopped

a tablespoon or two of dijon

a teaspoon or so of oregano

5 or 6 eggs

1/2 cup of cream or milk, depending on your proclivities. I prefer cream, of course, the creamier the better. (edit: I take this for granted now, but please don't bother with store-bought pasteurized dairy products...coconut milk is a great substitute)

a pinch of nutmeg

grease a pie pan or a shallow casserole dish, pour the mixture in, pop it in the oven, and bake at 325 or 350 F, until done (20 minutes or so?)

I have decided to publish a weekly recipe--every Tuesday--in an attempt to inject some structure into these postings. Also, I love to cook, and I'm pretty passionate about eating for optimal health. This might segue into a separate blog about food...we shall see. But I am quite looking forward to sharing my adventures in cooking with seasonal and local ingredients, especially over the upcoming holidays.

* * *

On a different note: I sometimes worry that this blog lacks cohesion, and that combined with my sometimes-shoddy editing, this might make for an irritating read...in addition to the nature of my opinions, which, I have been informed on many occasions, are irritating...and more! True, that this space is a bit of a disparate mix of soap-box, family photo album, rant and junk drawer... O well. I still strange to run into acquaintances who tell me that they read this stuff. Strange, but mostly very sweet, so thank you, everyone. And hi Mum, etc.

I do read several blogs, but I am not an avid maker of comments. I try to keep a bit of a low profile, believe it or not, because I do tend to get sucked into online arguments which take up lots of time...and although I read and write in the virtual world, I try not to live there (here)...

I like blogs with purpose, meat, texture, muscle and beauty. Or a combination of these. I am biased towards ad-free sites when it comes to personal blogs. I appreciate and understand the need/desire to make money as writers, but inasmuch as entering a blog is like walking into a room or a foreign land, advertising changes the atmosphere for me, in a negative way.

I value this place as a space that is mine. But I also recognize that this public journal is, like all the others, my little pool in the wilderness, where I can gaze at my reflection all day long...and that these private echo chambers are probably more a sign of the decline of public discourse, than of enlightenment.

City, Family, Feasting, Friends

There are lots of good things, and I focus my attention on these:

Our neighbourhood coffee shop. The best lattes, a kids bookshelf, and a comfy sofa by the fire...

I snapped this table to show Lee. I have a thing for round tables. This one is made from reclaimed teak. Pretty lovely.

Fruit compote.

Sumptuous treats in all the shops. I don't indulge, but it does look beautiful, and festive.

Love Apples. I do indulge...

...like Botticelli's lady of the pomegranate, holding her babe.

The Orpheum theatre, and the annual Bach Choir Christmas concert. My first-born son Cedar sings. Third row. Centre. Tall. I am proud.

My little sister.

Horus, and J.

Little ones at the luncheon party.

Auntie and Treva.

Organic grass-fed beef from the Fraser Valley. Rare.

The Family: J., Alex, Mum, and my little brother, John.

Yukon Gold, and wax beans.

Great-Grandpa.

My mother's mince.

Pears in-season.

And the pear's essential counterpart, in my mind; blue cheese. I'll have to share the most delicious salad recipe soon...

Sitting by the hearth after a long day of feasting, family & friends.