bauhauswife

New Website!

2012-02-12T17:46:00.000-08:00

How do I hate the program with which I post to this ugly out-dated blog? So much! Sorry about the crap formatting. I'm switching blogging platforms very very soon. Excited!

Trauma, Love, Pain, Fat, and Letting Go

2012-02-12T17:32:00.001-08:00

We attended a surprise birthday party in Carleton County last night, and then made the 3 hour drive through the snow while the kids slept, worn out from playing with hoards of adoring and adorable extended family. To be honest, I dread family events--those involving my own biological family and everyone else's. Don't worry--no one is exempt. It's not you, it's me! The precursor to such events usually involves me acting up somehow--small tantrums, usually directed at my nearly-angelic (ha) long-suffering husband. My ability to be an adult is *so* much improved now, compared with my late teens and early twenties, but nonetheless, it is a grotesque aspect of my personality...oh wait! No no. This is not an aspect of my personality. This is learned behaviour, or habit. Or something. Yes, I know. I've said it all before.

In any case, we all had a lovely time (once I *arrive* at whatever family event is happening, it's all ok. It's getting there that I find stressful) and I was on my best behaviour, (charming!) and Horus and Treva also behaved beautifully, and didn't even protest too much when I ordered them steamed broccoli, steamed carrots, and a plain skinless chicken breast, while everyone else ate fish and chips and bread and cake and pop. Actually I did have to hand over a few fistfuls of fries to prevent mutiny, and I simply left the room when Horus was passed a plate of the trans-fat soaked artificially coloured cancer cake. It's fine! Do whatever you want! Defy my authority as a parent! Go ahead and snicker at my insanity! Go ahead and dismiss my attempts to raise children who still have their own teeth at the age of 26! Let them eat cake! See?! I'm relaxed, I'm chill. It's all totally fine!

>Admittedly, I do find it frustrating to be the only person in the room who gives a hoot about good nutrition--for the sake of my kids, and their health, and their idea of their own normalcy, that of their parents, and the way of the world. But I am studying to become an RHN (Registered Holistic Nutritionist) right now, as well as Pilates instructor, and it's nice to now belong to a network of like-minds. Actually, I think for most people, figuring out what we *should* be eating and what we should be avoiding is very easy. But it is difficult to implement what we discover, mostly because crap is the default.

I also think it's difficult for people to eat well, and not too much, because of the trauma that so many of us experience as children. Does this sound wacky and crystally? But wait. I have actually been thinking about this quite a lot. The rates of obesity (according to the calculation of BMI) in North America are astounding. But the question is always *why* is everyone so fat? Yes, people eat too much, yes people eat the wrong things, but why? Obesity is one of the last frontiers of prejudice. It is still considered to be socially acceptable--sort of--to discriminate against the overweight, and I know that people who are obese are treated unfairly, and poorly, and this is absolutely not ok, as far as I am concerned.

I have rather iconoclastic views on addiction and mental illness. To be precise, I don't believe that addiction and mental illness exist--or not as concrete psychological states of chemical imbalance that can, or should, be treated with a little pill. This view, however strange, is actually one that is being confirmed by recent science--check this article here. This is not to say, of course, that people don't feel a genuine compulsion to behave a certain way--to eat too much, to abuse drugs or alcohol, or to behave in ways that hurt and humiliate their families. It is a terrible thing, to feel trapped. Trapped inside negative emotions, hurtful memories, bad relationships, dead places. For a long time, I have harboured a little theory that obesity is not an issue of nutrition, but rather of trauma--usually childhood trauma. I have been fortunate enough to have had some incredibly enlightening conversations with friends over the years. One extremely dear friend of mine, a beautiful and brilliant woman in her 60s, told me once with absolute clarity that "it's hard work getting fat." What she meant was that for her, eating to the point of changing her body was an *almost* conscious process, linked to experiences of sexual abuse, issues with relationships, and the realization that desexualizing herself was a form of self-protection from the world in general, and male advances in particular. I found this to be an almost shocking, but exhilaratingly honest explanation. For a little while now, I have been exploring the underlying reasons for why we eat to the point of obesity, or drink to the point of oblivion, or abuse ourselves through disordered consumption in general. When I happened by chance to be listening to the CBC a few weeks ago, I was totally floored to hear an hour-long documentary on ideas on the work of Dr. Vincent Felliti and his ACE study--one of the largest studies ever implemented, on the connection between childhood trauma and health--particularly obestiy and addiction--in later life. What Dr. Felliti found, is that those children who grew up having to negotiate traumatic experiences like physical, emotional or sexual abuse, or a parent who is chronically depressed or mentally ill, or emotional neglect, or the absence of a parent, were *far* more likely to grow up with significant physical health problems, most notably, obesity. But assuming that this is true--that the most significant factor pointing to addiction is trauma, then what can we do about this, as adults? While conventional treatments for obesity involve dieting (to little effect, usually), and conventional treatments for trauma involve talk therapy, venting, and medication, I think the answer lies in first acknowledging the unassailable connection between trauma and addiction, and then treating trauma through the body. >Peter Levine and David Berceli are teachers and researchers who share a similar theory of trauma as being body-based. While talk therapy often re-traumatizes individuals who are forced to live through their negative experiences again, in their description, trauma releasing exercises allow individuals to process and release trauma in the body. Both Levine and Berceli (although they work in slightly different modalities) have worked with victims of war-torn countries who have experienced some of the most horrifying atrocity, with great success.

I personally believe that trauma is far more common in our culture that most of us realize. I believe that babies experience a high degree of trauma during the mainstream hospital birth process which often involves a cocktail of synthetic drugs running through their bodies in order to stimulate the birth process when these babies are not ready to be born, and then a cascade of interventions that are harmful to babies' bodies and psyches. Many boy babies are still circumcised in our culture, a primal wound to their sexual organs that I believe causes a trauma all the more terrible because the "memory" is not held consciously, but rather, again, in the body--and this can be, and often is, expressed in negative ways during adulthood.

Comparisons *are* odious, aren't they? Ultimately, we all process experiences differently, and we *all* experience events that are potentially traumatic. I experienced a terrible birth process as a baby, but although my home life growing up wasn't perfect, my parents cared for me, and did their best--they did well! Life has been hard for me, nonetheless--as it is hard for everyone. Hard to figure out what to do about having married--too young--someone that I didn't love. Hard to forgive myself and others for the circumcstances that led to my separation from my two oldest sons. Hard to forgive and get over rape and sexual assault. Hard to get over the wrongs that have been inflicted on me by the various "systems". Hard to get over pills and powders and oblivion. At one point, things were *really* hard. But ultimately, we all must absolutely must take responsibility for our experiences and our reactions to the things that other people say and do. It sounds hackneyed, but No one can make us feel a certain way. To assume that we are unique in our pain and rage is the ultimate in selfishness. And to vomit our baggage all over friends, acquaintances and our various virtual public communities is the height of narcissism. I have certainly gone overboard in this department. Lots. But I'm working on it! I get a lot out of public debate, discussion, and the ability to share my thoughts online. It is a fine line between openness, honesty, and being outright offensive. I'm sure I'll continue to mess up from time to time (birth & bras--yeah). I apologize in advance. Anyway.

PS: Treva is using the toilet absolutely reliably now, when we're at home. We still wear a diaper when we're heading out, but she's getting the hang of public toilets, too. Yay Treva! And you know what? We are using disposable diapers. There are reasons for this, but no excuse. I totally and completely disapprove. So there we are.

PPS: I think a lot of people are miserable because they feel stuck in relationships with people they may not really want to be with. This is a terrible situation that I understand first hand. My first marriage was based on my desperately needing to escape, and being too young to realize that I could do it all on my own. And I think the reason why I have not enitrely lost my mind, of late (despite feeling a little bit stressed out about...stuff) is that however maddening and irritating Lee can be, we *are* (as everyone we know assures us) right for each other. We have managed to hold on to love, and passion, and we are both dedicated to our kids, and our family unit. And everything is going to be ok. I'm just getting warmed up for Valentine's day here. Ok. enough.

And, Again

2012-02-06T17:50:00.001-08:00

And For a little more on the subject, here is an excellent short documentary on circumcision.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEkAg3a0EVE&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Another Rant On the Horrors of Circumcision

2012-02-06T17:41:00.001-08:00

Well, yes. I have just had another facebook argument on the topic of circumcision. It is so futile, I know, and I have managed to resist online scrapping for many months now. Not sure what happened today--but I thought I would share the following which are essentially my responses to a passionate defense of circumcision that sprung from my posting the following photograph on my wall:

There are no "benefits" of circumcision for men. Unless you believe that it is beneficial to undergo trauma that permanently reduces sexual function and sexual pleasure. The idea that cirumcision reduces HIV rates is severely, pathetically flawed, as is the idea that circumcision can reduce rates of infection of the foreskin. Having the eyelids of infants removed would reduce rates of conjunctivitis, considerably. Removing women's breasts pre-emptively would also significantly reduce breast cancer rates. But we don't do that kind of thing, do we?

Nontheless, I believe that circumcision should be legal and available to any adult man who would choose to have his foreskin cut off. Babies and children should be protected from the unnecessary removal of body parts, and the choice should be theirs to make during adulthood.Thanks to Facebook, the international intactivist movement has grown considerably, and more parents are becoming aware of the irreversible harm done to baby boys in the form of circumcision. I have received plenty of hate mail as a result of publicly voicing my views on the topic. I have received countless messages from parents who had planned to circumcise their children, but who have reconsidered after reading material posted by the thousands of people who are agitating against circumcision on this online space. I have also received heartbreaking messages of remorse from parents who have circumcised one son, but reconsidered the procedure with subsequent boys. I have received even more hearbreaking messages from men who were circumcised as babies without their consent, and who feel exremely violated and damaged as a result. There is a growing movement of Jewish parents who, after researching the facts and arguments, have become staunch intactivists, and this movement has been advanced thanks to Facebook.

I am not sure what you might mean, A., by "dangerous ground to tread". Yes, this is a sensitive topic. All the more reason to make sure that circumcision is *only* undertaken with informed consent of the patient himself (which can only be given as an adult) as it is a procedure that cannot be reversed. Yes, every parent must make decisions on behalf of their children who cannot speak for themselves, but there are limits to this, in our society, and I strongly believe that the limits should extend to amputating functional body parts without a significant reason. I am very sorry if my posts have traumatised anyone, but I am quite sure that my online musings are less traumatising than being forcibly held down on a sterile field after only being in the world for a few days, and having one's penis surgically altered.

Infant circumcision is legal in Canada. But I do not believe it is legitimate. And I predict that in the future public opinion will sway so far against the procedure that indeed Canada's laws will be changed. This is why I, and many other thousands of people will continue to post and share material on fb that draws attention to the issue. Circumcision *is* a throwback to mediaeval times. And the newborn is certainly forcibly held down, as E. has pointed out. In fact, several baby boys have lost their sexual organs during "botched" procedures. The use of anaesthetic does not necessarily mitigate trauma (and according to the extremely interesting documentary posted above, many circumcisions are still often performed without any anaesthesia). Trauma from circumcision affects men throughout their lives and this is clear from the many circumcised men who feel residual trauma, despite the procedure having taken place during infancy, despite anaesthetic.

On the subject of healing (and I do apologize for perhaps getting a little bit graphic here, feel free not to read on) to say that the skin "heals fully and readily" is astounding to me--the circumcised penis is a changed organ, and an exposed membrane. This is inherently painful. As a mother, the very prospect is abhorrent to me, and I simply, still, astounded that anyone could ever allow or witness or condone or good god *perform* such a heinous act. I am not saying this to be inflammatory, just that I have to say this because I think it's...abuse. There are many men with whom I have spoken directly, who feel extremely violated by having experienced circ. and who feel that this is an issue of fundamental human rights: to be free to one's body, to have sovereignty over our body--a whole body, the body they were born with. I agree.

Surgery should never be preemptive, for anyone, ever, except consenting adults. First, do no harm. Surgery should only be performed in the case of acute injury or disease, as a form of direct response to disorder. But the fact is, most circumcisions are performed for aesthetic reasons (and the documentary above reminds us that in Canada, the procedure is officially considered to be "cosmetic"--a national designation clearly at odds with the opinion of the New England Medical Journal). Performing cosmetic surgery on an infant so that he will resemble his father who was similarly mutilated is grotesque (and this *is* one of the reasons most often given for choosing to circ.). This cannot be allowed in our society and I will continue to talk and holler and post all about it.

Yes, all parents make mistakes. And I believe that all parents love their children. And I know that parents who choose circumcision love their children. But for young adult men whose parents chose NOT to have them circumcised, these men need not regret: they can call a doctor and sign themselves up. For those boys and men whose parents DO choose to have them circumcised in their first days of life, they will never be able to undo or to make any decision about what many men feel is an affront to their very *self*. (Although again, according to the video above, perhaps there are some steps that can be taken to, er, refurbish). I am genuinely glad that there are circumcised men who feel entirely unbothered by the fact of their circumcision. But the suggestion that this topic is somehow too sensitive or inappropriate for public discussion is ludicrous. Facebook has been wildly successful as a forum for disseminating ideas pertaining to justice, politics and human rights. For me and many others, circumcision *is* a human rights issue, and if, in my defense of boy babies, I happen to offend, again, I am sorry, but this is a sacrifice I am willing to make.

Kid Funnies and Giving Birth in a Bra

2012-02-04T18:12:00.001-08:00

Treva enters the room.

Horus: Ah look! The Doctor has arrived! Hello Doctor! [Treva, apparently, is the doctor]

[Doctors are exotic around here: neither of the kids have seen one, in person. They exist as mysterious entities that appear in storybooks from time to time, their purpose vague, but somewhat dark. But Horus and Treva do know that they are associated with hospitals, and they both know that hospitals are a place we *never* want to end up.]

A few minutes later...

Me: Horus! You just hit your sister! What is going on?!

Horus: I didn't just hit my sister. I just hit my good friend The Doctor.

Hm.

* * *

Everything about this pregnancy is easy, even non-descript. I assume this is because I'm old, and I've done it a million times. It's not that I'm not excited--on the contrary, I am increasingly thrilled to be having another baby. Treva is SO adorable and lovely and sweet...but not a baby anymore. Every day she speaks more clearly and is more able to express her specific wishes, opinions and desires. I love her and everything about the dynamic between her and her brother. But babies are quite incredible, and I am totally at ease with the prospect of another one here, with us, soon.

But I don't remember what I even thought about while I was pregnant before, and thinking entirely about being pregnant. Navel-gazing is right. I am not so interested anymore, either with other women's experiences of birth, I find. Or not unless we are in person. And then most women are crazy defensive about their (generally awful, imho) birth experiences anyway.

But here's a potentially insulting and insensitive (of course) query for you: What on *earth* is with all the youtube videos of natural homebirths, often unassisted, in which the birthing woman is wearing a ***bra***???? Am I the only woman out there for whom this is a major slice of cognitive dissonance? You've gone to all the trouble of fighting upstream to get that perfect birth, you have made sure--by staying at home--that no one is going to stick their fingers where they don't belong, or electronically monitor your "progress", or threaten you with a c-section, or cut the cord while it still pulses, or rip your placenta out of your body...and then you catch your baby and bring it up to your wet skin, and it takes its first breath, nuzzling into your breasts, finding your nipples, covered in pheromones and bacteria specific only to you, only to this child...except that instead of warm raw skin, breast, nipple, the first thing your child smells, feels, touches against his or her cheek is the synthetic lace of a sports bra???? Huh? What? I am so completely totally not getting it. It's fine! Do whatever you want! No big deal! I don't care! I don't mind! But in a way, it's the little things. The little things mean something. I have been so happy lately, to read articles about the *importance* of NOT putting those stupid little hats on newborn babies. The skin has to breathe, the mother has to smell the baby, the vernix has to be absorbed into the skin, motherbaby, skin to skin. So very important. So take your damned bra off. If this means you have to turn the camera off for the sake of modesty (???? the child is coming out of your vagina! ?)...then maybe the camera should be off in the first place. I'm sure that in the grand scheme, the bra is not the most salient of issues. But on a personal level, I am puzzled that any woman giving birth in an even relatively undisturbed/disturbing environment would be able to tolerate being encased like this.

I am really looking forward to my next birth, and to the pure sensation of reverting entirely to my primal self. During my birth processes, I can't stand having a hair elastic holding my ponytail back let alone a sports bra. Anyway.

To each her own, truly. I just have to ask.

Hate mail, here we go. (sigh)

(PS: It's wintery out there)

Fifteen Weeks

2012-02-03T02:52:00.000-08:00

Hi Baby. You're in there.

Birth Day

2012-01-29T17:28:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I turned 31. Wow! My mum gave birth to me when she was 31. Actually, her birthday is on the 22nd, so she was only 31 for a few days before I arrived. I called her yesterday and she said, "Well Yolande, I guess we have come full-circle." No Mum, not quite yet, I hope.

My birthday day was a bit of a cluster of misfortune, as I fell on the ice the day before quite badly, and then later that day (the 27th), I slashed two fingers on my hand with broken pottery (I was holding a bowl, Treva flailed, and somehow I got mangled). So I went to work on the day of, limping and with my paw in bandages, but I managed not to talk too much about how sorry I felt for myself, and I think being forced to walk up and down stairs and to bend up and down putting books away was actually a good thing, because my leg feels a bit better today. My hand, on the other hand, is bad, and I won't be able to play the piano properly for a little while (although I am quite adept at re-arranging fingering configurations on the fly--who needs those third and fourth fingers, anyway?). I probably should have gotten stitches, but as you probably know, I'm not really into the whole hospital scene, and I'm sure it will all be fine. Oh dear. I also didn't tell anyone at work that it was my birthday. I've only been at the library for a couple of weeks now, and I felt as though not sharing was the grown up thing to do. Now that I'm all grown up, of course. That, and birthdays always stress me out--it's not about getting old...so I don't really know what it is, but there you go. I take full responsibility for whatever psychological issues caused me to fall and try to cut my own hand off...One of the essential life lessons I have learned in 31 years: No, there are no accidents. And Yes, it is my fault, and not yours, cruel world.

When I got home from work, the kids were already asleep which made me sad, but I did receive a beautiful card from Horus, and Lee and the kids trekked around Fredericton and found a gorgeous piece of Turquoise from Arizona, a hunk of Lapis Lazuli, a lovely square crystal (chosen by Horus), and two rough rubies and emeralds. Jewels! Lee also bought me the latest Ceramics Monthly, a large rectangular canvas (I am working on a series of new oil paintings! yay!) and a six-pack of fake beer, which was kind of a joke. I did drink one--I kind of like it, which is hugely declasse and embarrasing, I know, and probably not something I should be sharing here...secrets and revelations, whoa.

Today, Horus and Treva, and Curly and Snowy and Oscar (the cat) and I went on a fantastic nature walk in the glorious sun, and because we have a little bit of snow on the ground (finally!), Horus got to wear the snowshoes that my Dad sent for Xmas, and he trekked just like a pro, and I couldn't help but reminisce about living in Knowlesville and our nature walks there, and the way Horus would run as fast as his little legs could carry him over to T. and L.'s house to slip his feet into L. and M.'s snowshoes which were so big and awkward and non-functional for him then...and now he's a big boy, jogging surefootedly over the tundra (ok, not quite tundra). I am so proud of him. And I think I have neglected to mention here that he is reading now--as in really, fully, and completely, reading words. He's not speedy or totally adept yet, but he is able to sound words out phonetically, and when we are out and about in the world, he has been pointing out street signs and signage in general, with an almost-sense of surprise that he himself can decipher these hitherto mysterious symbols. While there are so many countless areas of parenting in which I feel delinquent and lesser-than, literacy is not one of them. I know many parents believe that delaying reading instruction is a good thing, but I am just so thrilled that Horus is learning to read in a way that feels, for him, like a natural extension of his knowledge and curiosity about the world. In fact, I truly believe that most kids could learn to read this way, and that all it really takes are parents who read to them constantly...and who forego the screen in favour of the book.

But maybe this isn't all. Reading to one's kids is important, but I think also the way in which we read to our children makes a big difference. I have always had a cornucopia of books of various levels on hand--partly because Treva is interested too, and she needs some simpler material to break up the barrage of the more advanced stuff that Horus is into, but also because when we are looking at the simpler texts, I quietly and without fanfare encourage Horus to sound the words out, and we read together. We also parse everything we read, extensively--usually each page. Hm. How do you think this or that character felt about *that*? or Gee, I don't know if I would want this to happen to me! We discuss every motivation and each outcome, and I realize that this functions like an early form of narration, and is the foundation and pre-cursor to becoming a good writer, essayist, thinker. At this point, as Horus is on the cusp of running with all of this, I have been thinking about doing a couple of lessons a day from Siegfried Engelmann's fantastic book "Teach Your Child To Read in 100 Easy Lessons", which is, in my opinion, the urtext of reading instruction. Actually, my mum worked with in Vancouver in the 70s, whose ideas at that time around the ability of ANY child to learn to read given the right context, were considered quite radical. My mother worked with children with autism and down's syndrome and used Engelmann's program to great effect.

Reading material is an interesting one. So many newer children's titles--especially the early readers--are based on content, themes, or philosophies which I'm really not terribly fond of. But as Horus gets older, I am able to be more flexible. He really loves the Geronimo Stilton series, which I don't adore as much, because behind the flashy colours and formatting, the storylines are rather thin and without a strong moral backbone. Horus also loves Tintin and Asterix, which are essentially, inappropriate, but which I allow nonetheless, because of course, I love them, and it could be worse. Also, I think most of my knowledge of world history was gleaned from Asterix. Hm. This is maybe not good. Anyway. We have found some treasures in the library early reading sections: readers published in the 50s and 60s which feature animal children and a strong parental figure who allows the children to explore and almost get into trouble...and then mother or father swoop in, calmly and lovingly saving the day, and reinforcing the importance of home, hearth and family.

Well, anyway. The kids are asleep now, and I am sitting in front of the fire, and I'm 31, and I'm ok. I hope you're ok, too. yo

Connections

2012-01-25T11:20:00.001-08:00

Still feeling super-emotional and porous to the world. But maybe this has less to do with pregnancy, and more to do with who I am. Maybe it's a strength rather than a weakness--an aspect of connectedness. The world is the home of love and sadness. I work a lot, now, and I miss Horus and Treva terribly when I'm gone. Then I remember that they are with their good father, and that he takes them out to split wood, and to work in the studio, and they are never left with strangers, or institutionalized, and I feel very very lucky. And of course, I continue to make pottery, and I am looking forward to having a bit more time in the studio coming up. We have firings and shows ahead, and everything is going, and I am moving with the flow. I like being in the world. Finding balance. We women are pretty amazing.I was almost late for work the other day. I didn't stop to pick up the middle-aged bedraggled lady, hitchhiking through Rothesay. I drove on, considered doubling back, but kept going. The guilt clung for several blocks, and then resumed when I realized the initial bout of guilt had passed. Excuses excuses, enough to cover my own fear and shame. Who am I?

The older woman at the grocery store checkout seemed really grumpy at first, but I smiled and we ended up telling each other our life stories while she rang in my discounted organic yogurt, bananas and other items. I'm good at talking, and sometimes I give myself a silent challenge, to engage with someone I don't know. I try to check in with my own mind, and success is when I end up feeling like the other person has given me a gift, rather than the other way around. We thanked each other for the conversation, and I nearly started to cry, pushing my cart away. These small moments of pure beauty are so excruciating.

I made it to an opening at Gallery78 last week, and saw some old friends and some new art works. I felt loved, and known, and among peers and it was really good. Lives on paper, canvas, within the walls of rooms, in each other's eyes. It is so good to connect with friends.

Last week, Lee came in to the house from the studio and left a pool of clay sludge on the kitchen floor entrance. I calmed myself, and then again, day after day, as I asked him over and over again to please clean it up. Seven days later, I sent him a text in the morning, with a formal request, to please mop that 4 foot by 4 foot section of the floor. I have stopped asking him to do other household tasks, and have resolved to be grateful when anything at all happens. But when the clay was still on the floor when I got home at 10:30pm from work, I raged at him--but quietly, as the kids were asleep. Then I called a hotel in Saint John, and nearly made a reservation for that night. Then Tree woke up, and instead of wasting $100 on my sense of righteousness, I got into bed with the kids and tried to sleep while they wiggled and snuggled, delighted by having me there with them. I'm tired this morning. I wonder if the clay will still be there tonight when I get home. Lee is a very nice person. And a great artist. And I am kind, forgiving, understanding. I don't want to be treated like a maid, but I am increasingly conscious of prioritizing my kids' sense of stability and peace. I have wrecked others' lives by my [former] inability to compromise, and to overlook. I sometimes read the blogs of Christian mothers and wives, and while the fundamental philosophy behind their ideas around being a "good" wife and mother I find bizarre, unenlightened, and/or self-abnegating, I kind of get it, too. On a basic level, peace is very holy. And Love should be stronger than pride. How to navigate these waters? I have no idea.

Right Now...

2012-01-22T18:15:00.001-08:00

Going On Right Now

1. Treva's eyes are green. They are also changeable enough that Lee and I argue about whether or not they are green (me: green, Lee: blue). In any case, she is beautiful, and mischievous. We all adore her, even her older brother who was nearly the cause of a blackeye on account of having pushed her off her bench at the kitchen counter during an argument yesterday. It's a zoo.

2. Horus, despite his little-sister-attacks is heartbreakingly sweet, and unbelievably bright and articulate--and only occasionally, excruciating. And we all adore him, especially his little sister. We now have a membership at the new Y in Fredericton. Both Horus and Treva have been taking swimming lessons, and Horus is doing gymnastics and dance as well. For some reason, my otherwise exuberant son is dramatically subdued during his dance class, and has so far just been comfortable watching the proceedings, rather than participating. On the other hand, he's right in there at gym and swim, and I love the way he proudly wears his royal blue rubber bathing cap even though he is the only one out there whose mother's conflict over the importance of learning to swim and the dangers of chlorine is manifest thus. Also, during his last swimming lesson, Lee accompanied him to the change room, and when Horus jumped in, the fact that his two legs had been pushed into one swimsuit short meant that upon entering the water, he was, er, exposed entirely, and the teacher had to remove him, and bring him over to the parental observation spot where I quickly, and as discreetly as possible, readjusted his bathing suit, while giving Lee the "how is it possible for you to mess this up" look. Later, Lee and I were at the window with the other parents as Horus did his dance class. We watched him stand and watch the other kids. I turned to Lee and said "Is Horus The Weird Kid?" Like father, like son, said Lee. Well there you go. He comes by it honestly. And maybe it's not entirely my fault. (For the record, Lee is a fantastic dancer--Horus is, too, and I'm sure he'll become comfortable with dance class soon enough).

3. Lee and I have been playing squash twice a week. I am at that stage of pregnancy where I look not quite pregnant, but just thick and disproportioned. This is fine.

4. I started my new job at the library. I spent four straight hours shelving books on Thursday, and truly enjoyed every minute of it. Quiet contemplation surrounded by literature. And Christian Fiction. Oh well. Reading is important. Even if it is moralistic romance in which the protagonist is tempted, but inevitably chooses the path of the lord.

5. I have a new piano student. He is seven years old and has mild autism. He is utterly charming and totally sweet, and we have *really* connected. As he was leaving on Wednesday night, he stood in the doorway of the studio reception and said, "Yolande, I heart you!!!", with bell-clear exuberance. I find teaching piano continually rewarding and, to be honest, magical. It is interesting to me, however, that the process of practising (which *is* hard work) begins as a rather foreigh concept to most of my students, a large percentage of whom spend a large percentage of their time in front of the tv or video games. I truly do not understand the lure of video games for parents. From what I've seen, the peace and quiet that parents receive when their kids are being babysat by the screen is more than made up for by the whining and whingeing and negotiating and discussion that goes on around when the kids can please please pretty please play next. It seems to me to be a much better bet just to teach the kid to read and put a pile of books in front of her. What the hell is the point of homeschooling, if they're spending all their time virtually? Again, I find myself straining to relate to other parents' version of moderation. There will be no television watching in my home. Period. There will *never* be any video games in my home. Period. If my children want to play video games, they can darn well grow up, move out at age 23 (or so) and then waste their every waking minute, if they so desire. Until then, I will be insisting that they learn to learn, learn to work, learn to practice, and learn to read for fun. So there. My abhorrence of video games is due to many factors, including the fog that overtakes one when absorbed in such a non-task, and the general nothingness of the non-activity. There is no knowledge gained, no actual action taken, no narrative (to speak of) explored, nothing *done*. Unlike reading literature, which is soul food, medicinal, instructional, empowering, and empathy-building. I could go on, but thankfully, I won't.

6. I have ordered seeds, (hope seeds!) and I'm dreaming of gardening with Horus and Treva. Our very own vegetable garden. Thrills. Floating row covers? Or cold frames? Decisions.

7. I haven't written anything pottery-related for a long time...but things are percolating, and Lee and I have some big exciting plans...you will find out soon enough!

8. Happy Birthday, Mum! I am just about to call you. xoxoxoxoxoo yo

Before you go for that Vasectomy...

2012-01-22T13:17:00.001-08:00

It seems that everywhere I look, people I care about are having surgery. I stay away from conventional medicine as much as possible, myself, but there are some procedures that I hope so much you will stay away from, too. I have an idea for an article entitled "6 Medical Procedures You Might Want to Avoid at All Costs". Headlines, hey. Here is an outline:

Circumcision, evidently. The practice is absolutely disgusting, abusive, and wrong, and there is strong scientific evidence that the experience *does* affect the emotional well-being of baby boys, as well as creating lifelong damage to the victim's sexuality. Those who attribute a decrease in rates of HIV among circumcised men are looking at skewed numbers, and faulty reasoning. First, do no harm. There is a reason why most uncircumcised men do NOT eventually choose to have the ends of their penises cut off--it's barbaric. For the small minority who do, the practice should be available--for adults only. But please, leave your innocent child alone.

I could create a list of dozens if I included all the unnecessary and dangerous procedures surrounding childbirth, but I'll stick to ultrasound and caesarean in this category. I wouldn't be surprised if, in the coming years, the ubiquitous use of ultrasound we see today, will come to be viewed as evidence of our lack of awareness of its significant risks, just as smoking was at one point seen to be benign. Scientific proof exists that ultrasound is potentially dangerous, and that it does change brain cells. Unfortunately, the practice is a money-maker for the manufacturers of medical technology, as well as for clinics and doctors. Pregnant women are rarely ever presented with balanced information on the risks, or the fact that there is a lack of proof that ultrasound provides any benefit whatsoever.

In New Brunswick, the caesarean section rate is a whopping [almost] 30% of all births, rather than the 2% rate that responsible holistic birth attendants feel would reflect the actual necessity. The other day I read another blog post by a woman whose highly medically managed pregnancy ended in c-section after she was induced, put in a pitocin drip, and still, *still*! the baby didn't want to come out at 39.5 weeks. Fancy that. Despite how c-section is presented to women by the medical community, it has nonetheless been proven to be *more* risky and dangerous for both mother and baby for a number of reasons, and can result in long-term damage to a woman's bladder.

It seems as though tonsillectomies have recently gone out of favour, and I really applaud this. Evidence shows that the procedure doesn't actually work to reduce infection rates, and I suppose I remain fundamentally against the surgical removal of a body part if there is any alternative treatment available. Rather than surgically removing the tonsils, I think most kids would benefit from nutritional therapy, stress reduction, and holistic help, rather than extraction.

While most of my younger friends are having babies now (late twenties, early thirties), I have another group of friends, finished with childbearing, who are having, or encouraging their male partners to have, vasectomy. This is a big one, and a sensitive topic, but a topic which I feel is desperately in need of some awareness. It seems that there are few men who really realize the incredible risks. In fact, there is a high number of men who receive this operation and then deeply regret it, or end up pursuing a reversal procedure which is also fraught with potential problems, not to mention being very expensive. The negative side-effects of vasectomy include pain during sex and ejaculation, which can (and often does) last for years, or forever, as well as high rates of impotence, a progressively lowered sex drive, and even auto-immune issues resulting from a backup of sperm (which even a sterilized man still produces but which has no, er, outlet after vasectomy) which can cause a range of debilitating symptoms. I find it incredibly surprising that any man would consent to be sterilized. Philosophically, it seems like a strange message to be sending about one's self. But when it comes to personal philosophy, of course, to each his own. But I think if men were given a more complete view of the potential lifelong harm of vasectomy, fewer men would want to play russian roulette with his sexuality, especially during the prime of their lives. And perhaps if there were fewer vasectomies performed, there would be less need for medications like viagra. Just a thought. I am fairly sure that if the risks were fully explained, more men and women would feel that the inconveniences of non-invasive birth control pale in comparison to the often-irreversible harm that vasectomy can do to individuals, and to relationships.

And finally, hyterectomy. Like vasectomy for men, I believe that hysterectomy is a tragic outcome for a woman, especially as the procedure essentially removes the locus of a woman's...womanhood. Luckily, more and more doctors are realizing that in most cases, hysterectomy is not in fact necessary and should be avoided at all costs. The side effects of hysterectomy include the following: weight gain, depression, anxiety, irritability, headaches, fatigue, low sex drive, vaginal dryness, painful intercourse, urinary problems, hair loss, osteoporosis. I recently heard of someone having a hysterectomy on account of uterine prolapse. It is so sad to me that any doctor would suggest the surgical removal of the hormonal centre of a woman's femaleness, rather than recommending that she make the lifestyle changes (exercise and diet) that could remedy many problems of the uterus holistically.

Anyway. My central point is that I think most surgery is undertaken rather lightly. Please research thoroughly whatever medical procedure has been recommended to you. Many cannot be undone.

Midwifery, Doppler Danger, Ultrasound Risks, & Carla Hartley

2012-01-18T05:39:00.001-08:00

***sorry about the formatting here, no idea. No idea.

I have been thinking about birth, again, lately. At one point I thought I might work in the birth "industry", but I am clearly not cut out for it. The flack and abuse that women working for women take--not to mention the outright persecution and even the threat of imprisonment. Wow. And there are the inane assumptions made about the benefits of registered midwifery. No thanks. The more babies I have, the more convinced I am that birth is safer the further away from the hospital one can get. Can you get yourself pregnant without the assistance of a physician? Then you can give birth without an expert, too. At one point, I was optimistic that the birth culture of our society was being transformed for the better. This was over 10 years ago, and I was an idealistic young doula. Unfortunately, things are clearly worse than ever. Feminism stops at birth; the majority of otherwise-liberated women allow themselves to be assaulted and their babies subjected to harm during the birth process, and then they turn around and smile, justifying the experience as normal, or even lifesaving. Then they wonder why they suffer from postpartum depression. But wait! There's a little pill for that, too...

Carla Hartley is one of the bravest and most outspoken critics of hospital birth, midwifery legislation, and the use of ultrasound radiation on unborn children. Her writing tends to be polarizing, and she has certainly made enemies by courageously sticking to her convictions...and I completely agree with most of what she has to say. Her style is raw and...somewhat uncut, like mine, I guess. (And we're both staunch intactivists, so thats nice)

As with Carla, one of my own pet subjects is ultrasound. For the past 12 years, I have been sharing what I know about ultrasound: mainly that there is no proof whatsoever that ultrasound is safe, and that there *is* evidence to show that ultrasound creates changes in the infant brain. Enough said (as far as I am concerned). I really appreciate, in Carla's little piece below, her mention of the effect of ultrasound on whale migration, and other facts. Enough said. Nonetheless, the grand majority of all the women I know have chosen to subject their babies to this procedure--even the smartest, most well-educated, and most embodied of these women. In fact, most of my shares with other women on the subject of the potential dangers of ultrasound have been met with outright hostility if not deep suspicion that I am trying to disturb the status quo, or push my own personal agenda. I *really* don't get it. Apparently, the thrill of finding out the sex of the child, and that souvenir ultrasound photograph are more important or desirable than taking a cautious first-do-no-harm approach to protecting the infant's brain development. I DO understand the pressure that women feel from the so-called experts. But considering the information widely available on the dangers of ultrasound, and the lack of evidence that ultrasound contributes in any positive way to outcomes...it is not something I would ever choose during my pregnancy.

Breathe. Yeah. I get really upset about this.

The following is a little overview of Doppler and Ultrasound dangers by Carla Hartley. She is on facebook, and I believe she is the administrator for the group called "Doppler Danger", which I highly recommend checking out if you are a parent, or thinking of becoming one.

Ultrasound*********By Carla Hartley

These are a few of the articles I have posted on Doppler Danger....more to come

* Don't stop researching when you find the answers you want.

* Please remember that there is absolutely no ethical way to PROVE that ultrasound, including dopplers, is safe for the unborn and there will be no funding for studies to prove that this cash cow is dangerous.* Study the many ways this technology is applied, connect the dots. HOWEVER, Just based on how they respond to it, we need to stop shooting sound waves at babies. Just to be completely honest.... I had one ultrasound with one of my babies and cried the whole time....she kept turning her face right and left trying to get away from it but she was trapped. That experience made me more determined than ever to research this topic and share what I find. (I also used a doppler on her several times....she is by far the shortest of my children...none of the rest had any ultrasound exposure.) Please share this note with your friends....if the actual data that is damning concerning babies doesn't change their minds....maybe just reading about the other uses of the technology would help them connect the dots..it cleans rust off of pipes, it kills sperm, it heats muscles, it changes the migratory patterns of whales........IF more mothers are stroking during pregnancy, birth and right after....could it be connected to the ultrasound breaking up clots as one of my brilliant students pointed out today? We need to take this seriously and not brush it off as another "birth choice".....if there is potential to harm babies that outweighs the potential to help babies, should it be considered a choice? If the potential to help outweighs the potential to harm (and how the heck would we ever actually know that since we can neither predict or measure the potential harm to any individual baby at any given moment) then it would be appropriate use of technology but even then should be used only by those with calibrated machines under strict guidelines based on actual data....in other words uncalibrated dopplers would NOT be considered safe....under any circumstances....ever dropped the bag the doppler is in? there goes the calibration....Start with these, and if you find more you think I should add to the list, please let me know. Babies are worth our best efforts....really. - doppler dangerhttp://www.drmomma.org/2010/07/ultrasound-powerful-dangerous-unethical.htmlhttp://feminine-earth.com/questionable_safety_of_prenatal_ultrasound.pdfhttp://www.wddty.com/scans-linked-to-baby-deaths.htmlhttp://www.livestrong.com/article/136464-fetal-ultrasound-risks/http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfaUQCp6L1s&feature=youtu.behttp://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/20149552http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=107398242640953http://www.sovereignindependent.com/?p=3613http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1678458/pdf/bmj00028-0017.pdfhttp://www.nibib.nih.gov/HealthEdu/eAdvances/30Apr10http://www.primalhealthresearch.com/search.php (several here)http://www.pnas.org/content/103/34/12903.fullhttp://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC522144/http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2001/12/19/ultrasound.aspx?aid=CD945http://www.facebook.com/notes/ana-sola/can-a-single-musical-note-repair-your-dna/1015027046483012http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m0816/is_2_23/ai_n19328634/http://www.chem-tox.com/pregnancy/ultrasound.htmhttp://douglassreport.com/2004/05/28/negative-effects-of-ultra-sounds/http://www.slate.com/id/2131574http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/youropinions.php?opinionid=5239http://www.aamishop.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=8&products_id=115http://aamishop.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=8&products_id=155http://www.ehow.com/about_5347776_dangers-fetal-doppler.htmlhttp://midwiferytoday.com/articles/ultrasoundrodgers.asphttp://www.midwiferytoday.com/articles/ultrasound.asphttp://www.jultrasoundmed.org/http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/08/100817161100.htmhttp://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1364783/Ultrasound-scans-linked-to-brain-damage-in-babies.htmlhttp://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=190088292561&id=100000311853481&ref=sharehttp://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=190088292561http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=327078&id=100000311853481&ref=fbx_albumhttp://www.plus-size-pregnancy.org/Prenatal%20Testing/prenataltest-ultrasoundsafety.htmhttp://www.themidwifenextdoor.com/?p=410http://www.squidoo.com/noultrasoundhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZDinmnt60shttp://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/03/100315103808.htmhttp://www.birth.com.au/Ultrasounds/Physical-effects-and-research.aspx?p=1http://www.naturalnews.com/028853_ultrasound_fetus.htmlhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfaUQCp6L1shttp://www.kindredcommunity.com/articles/ultrasound-scans-cause-for-concern/p/1279http://www.greenhealthwatch.com/newsstories/newslatest/latest0701/ultrasound-hurt.htmlhttp://authenticmidwiferyeducationfromaami.blogspot.com/2009/09/high-tech-midwifery-i-wrote-for.htmlhttp://www.ob-ultrasound.net/history1.htmlhttp://www.fda.gov/ForConsumers/ConsumerUpdates/ucm095508.htmhttp://www.planetc1.com/cgi-bin/n/v.cgi?c=1&id=1155156248http://www.aims.org.uk/Journal/Vol11No4/ultra2.htmhttp://www.facebook.com/l.php?http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21874769u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.aims.org.uk%2FJournal%2FVol17No1%2Fultrasound.htm&h=49108http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/uog.6381/abstracthttp://icpa4kids.org/research/pregnancy/ultrasound.htmhttp://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21874769http://chem-tox.com/pregnancy/ultrasound.htmhttp://www.articlesnatch.com/Article/Is-Pregnancy-Ultrasound-Risky-/56304http://educate-yourself.org/cn/2001/ultrasoundandbraindamage19dec01.shtmlhttp://www.birth.com.au/Ultrasounds/Physical-effects-and-research.aspx?p=1http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=136084462561&id=100000311853481&ref=sharehttp://www.joyousbirth.info/forums/showthread.php?t=71http://www.unhinderedliving.com/pultra.htmlhttp://cnx.org/content/m16192/latest/http://www.facebook.com/posted.php?id=100000311853481&start=100&hash=4f61283458b3f1f602c7d80b34c3829dhttp://www.brooksidepress.org/Products/Military_OBGYN/Ultrasound/2ndand3rdTrimesterUltrasoundScanning.htmhttp://www.thefreelibrary.com/Ultrasound+safety+and+collapsing+bubbles.-a04600240http://www.thefreelibrary.com/Ultrasound+in+pregnancy.-a0223286198http://www.scienceblog.com/community/older/2001/D/200114632.htmlhttp://www.everyday-wisdom.com/dangers-of-ultrasound.htmlhttp://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m0816/is_2_23/ai_n19328634/https://www.asrt.org/content/News/IndustryNewsBriefs/Sono/studyshows062408.aspxhttp://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=25545&id=100000311853481&ref=fbx_albumhttp://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=188616677561&id=100000311853481&ref=sharehttp://showdogsupersite.com/kenlclub/breedvet/doppler.htmlhttp://www.compleatmother.com/ultrasound_danger.htmhttp://www.drbenkim.com/articles-ultrasound-pregnancy.htmlhttp://consumercide.com/health/preg_ultra_uhl.htmlhttp://www.alternamoms.com/ultrasound.htmlhttp://consumercide.com/health/preg_ultra_edyo.htmlhttp://www.prohealth.com/autism/blog/boardDetail.cfm?id=27http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=187152516598&id=661010165&ref=sharehttp://www.phulson.ca/ptl/ultrasonic/img003.htmlhttp://www.autismspeaks.org/science/science_news/ultrasound.phphttp://www.naturalnews.com/025396.htmlhttp://www.bigbaby.org.uk/are_estimates_of_weight_accurate.htmlhttp://www.lamaze.org/OnlineCommunity/AskanExpert/tabid/363/aff/12/aft/19097/afv/topic/Default.aspxhttp://fullmoonsdaughter.com/blog/category/ultrasound/http://www.leaderu.com/ftissues/ft9304/articles/kristol.htmlhttp://radiology.rsna.org/content/131/1/177.shorthttp://www.sarahbuckley.com/ultrasound-scans-cause-for-concern/http://www.aimsusa.org/ultrasnd.htmhttp://www.midwiferytoday.com/articles/ultrasoundwagner.asphttp://www.dangerousdecibels.orghttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonic_weaponhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ultrasound#Ability_to_hear_ultrasound read Anne Frye's opinion on the topic in Holistic Midwifery

It was So Cold

2012-01-16T09:04:00.001-08:00

It was so cold, so we took a shorter nature walk than usual.

Then we came home and read books, and played in the living room.

Apparently, Treva has a thing for shoes (just like her Mum). I had put the red sequined mary-janes away, but the kids found them. "Pony hoofs"! announced Horus, and wore them on his feet, until his little sister protested. So Tree got one for a foot, and Horus kept one for a hoof.

Hula.

Horus loves games. Jenga is our newest addition. Lee and I remember playing it as kids, too.

A Boy and his Father, Ice Skating at Officer's Square

2012-01-16T08:57:00.001-08:00

Fredericton, New Brunswick. Lord Beaverbrook looks on.

Our Daily Walk is my Daily Bread

2012-01-08T14:50:00.001-08:00

Beauty.

Free popsicle from the universe.

Fields and fields to explore.

Spot the cat (Oscar does the whole walk with us).

Treva and her mother.

As usual, Horus whined during the first half of the walk. I'm never quite sure what will pop him out of this state, but so far I haven't yet given in to his early pleadings for us to turn back and go home. Today, I stopped, having noticed some bright green moss. "Look Horus, they're like tiny Christmas trees." No, they're not Christmas trees, Mum. "Oh, well no, you're quite right. Do you know what they're called?" No. "A type of moss. But I'm not sure of the name. Maybe we should look that up when we get home." What is *this* tree called, Mum? "Oh, that's a Cedar tree." Like my big brother! "You got it!".

The observation of bright green moss reminded me of the album Light Green Leaves by Little Wings, so I downloaded that when I got home, and was reminded of my sweet friend Allison who I haven't seen in so long, and our North End Halifax time in the purple house, staying up so late and uh oh, it's morningtime again. xoxoxox

Seven Hundred New Brunswick Homes, Lost in the Woods

2012-01-08T14:39:00.001-08:00

I have been intensely emotional lately. But not angry! believe it or not. Just weepy. Even remotely poignant children's books leave me in tears. Anything involving animals in danger is liable to send me under. The CBC Ideas program on women's equality (lack thereof) was nearly unbearable. And another CBC documentary on disadvantaged children finding inspiration and success in their community choir made me cry.

The four of us went to a Queenstown potluck last night, and it was a good scene. Lots of other kids, and someone had made a marshmallow/canned orange/coconut/miracle-whip salad, which is emphatically not on my list of healthy foods, but seeing it sitting there in its faceted glass bowl, muted artificial candy colours glistening, reminded me of my grandmother who died several years ago now. I never thought I would ever see marshmallow salad served again, without even a whiff of irony. It was comforting, somehow. Even though I don't ever want my children consuming anything of the sort. Sigh. Food is political, whether we like it or not. It is also nostalgia.

So, the marshmallow salad nearly made me cry, and then I noticed a photo display on one of the walls of the orange hall, where, apparently, all Queenstown potlucks are held, as well as a monthly dance, which we will *definitely* be attending, next time. The photographs were black and white: a collection of houses, all wood-siding, all built, by my estimation, from around 1890-1920, all heartbreakingly beautiful. Then I realized what I was looking at: documentation of just a handful of the homes that belonged to families who were evicted from what is now the Gagetown military training base. Upon making the connection, my throat started to close and I honestly thought I was going to break down. This is the history of our province: seven hundred families displaced for the sake of the expansion of the military industrial complex. Seven hundred gorgeous, functional homes, schools and business, built with real wood, in a vernacular that speaks to the history of our province: farms, woods, homesteads. In 1953, the families were moved out. Some moved down to the river (where we are), and some, apparently, to the Sussex area, where there was more land available for farming (now that the Gagetown community had been stolen by the army). For the next 20 or so years, the houses were left to crumble. Then finally, they were razed to the ground. A few buildings were salvaged, including the Orange Hall, which was moved, and where we had gathered this night to share food and company. Our own house, our forge, our barns, in Queenstown, on the Saint John River, might have been one of those broken homes, but luckily, it still stands where it was built, close enough to the water to be out of harm's way. I love that our house is known as Anne Fawcett's house, and then by the nurse who lived there before, and then by the original family--what was their name again?--who raised four children within these quaint walls.

I believe that the sentiments behind the disregard the government had for those 700 families, the prioritization of the military over real community and shared history--these feelings have been absorbed by the culture of New Brunswickers, unconsciously. Institutionalized disrespect for the built environment is difficult to rail against, as an individual. When the institution holds no value for something, this disrespect is internalized by real people. This is why we continue to neglect beautiful buildings now. Century homes all over New Brunswick continue to disappear at an astounding rate, or are covered with toxic vinyl, or are left to disintegrate. If you live in an old house, please take good care of it. Maybe someday there will be a shift in consciousness, and a renewed appreciation for what our buildings say about us, and what we care about. Maybe someday your 130 year old home will be worth *more* than the airtight plastic bungalow next door. This is the reality in places like British Columbia. Maybe if we give it 20 years or so, the same will be the case in NB.

PS: I have started a little food blog project, and you may be relieved to know that it has nothing to do with the emoting and venting that goes on here. I post a new recipe or idea every day, based on the subject of easy, healthy, whole foods, with a focus on grain-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, fuss-free eating. Check it out here, at www.forgekitchen.tumblr.com if you like. Forgive the awkward format/posting. I'm new to tumblr. Ok! Have a beautiful night....yo

Good Days

2012-01-05T20:31:00.001-08:00

Lots of nature walks. Happy kids. Old barns.

A Cold Day

2012-01-04T17:21:00.001-08:00

It really did feel like winter today. Dry, cold, windy. We finally trekked up behind our house and into the woods, and we found a great trail, that looks like a four-wheeler route. We did knock on the door of the neighbour who lives furthest up the road, before the woods, to ask about whether or not it would be ok for us to walk...but they weren't home, so we went ahead, and hiked for a while, until the trail started to ascend sharply. Horus began the walk whiny, but I persisted gently, and he came to rapidly, becoming more enthusiastic as we went on. We examined the ice patterns, and skated with our boots on the frozen puddles. After a while, Treva, in the backpack, started to protest, and I realized that she is ready to walk, and that despite her lightness, she really isn't a baby anymore. So she hopped out and trundled along, falling every second step, and then I would yank her up again by the scruff of her snowsuit...we developed a good system.

Ice Skating! Silliness! Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T09:10:00.001-08:00

Let's start with silliness, shall we? Treva does like berries. We still have some frozen ones left from summer picking. This little girl is irresistible to me, even when covered in blueberry juice. She has started really chatting up a storm. Reading books, she sees a sheep: "Beep! Beep! Mama! Beep!" she says. When Horus came back from a drive with Dad, she saw her big brother through the window, and vibrating with excitement, pointed at him, "Hi Ho! Hi Ho! Hi Ho!" I adore her. We all do.

Ice skating for the very first time ever was utterly hilarious and totally charming. In the car, on the way to the rink (I can't wait until it gets cold enough to skate outside!), Horus said, "Mum, I'm a little bit scared about skating", and I said, "Yes. That makes sense. It is absolutely ok for you to feel a little bit scared. It's your first time ice skating! But we will all be together, and we'll help each other out. I'm a bit scared too. I am *not* an expert skater, I can assure you."

Once we arrived at the rink, it took about 3 hours to get all of our gear on, of course. Treva really couldn't stand properly at all in her skates, but when we stepped on the ice, Horus totally, one hundred percent went for it. He just headed out there, falling constantly, getting right back up, and doing it all over again. I was so ridiculously proud of his gumption, and grit. He does get whiny occasionally, like all kids, and sometimes, at exactly the wrong time (as far as MY agenda goes) he behaves like a little turd. Don't we all. But the real Horus, the core of who this kid really is, is a confident, fearless and kind person. And I'm really proud of him.

Ultimately, Treva loved skating too, and when someone gave us a plastic frame thingy, we concocted a method of draping her arms over the cross-bar and kind of dragging her along...and she had a blast.

Thanks for the skates, Santa!

New Year's Eve was quiet and happy and sad. As per our tradition, we set off some fireworks and the kids got sparklers, and we yelled Happy New Year, and the kids went to bed well before midnight. Now, of course, I feel deflated, and irritable, and I am steeling myself to take down the Christmas tree, and put away the ornaments, and clean everything up, and get back to normal, except that there is no normal, and life continues to be a muddle of extraordinary and difficult and beautiful and painful and sweet and frustrating moments, and I suppose all we can do is keep trying, or try to let go. I really don't know.

Home and Hood and Old Love

2012-01-01T08:42:00.001-08:00

I can barely keep up with the weather. So changeable. I think I took these photographs a day or two before Christmas...but I wanted to post them anyway, even on this first day of January. The snow is gone now, and overall, winter seems rather absent. We went back to Florenceville, Bristol, Hartland last week to tie up a few things. Amazing how noticeably colder it is just a few hours north. I miss the *real* winter, a little bit. I think weather does affect the collective demeanour of a community. It is just a little tiny bit harder to live in Carleton County, vs. Queens. During our little trek north, we stopped in on Great Gramy Treva, whom we have missed, and who looked well. She told us she had skyped with a relative the other day. This prompted me to ask her about her childhood. Big Treva grew up with no electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing, and transportation by horse and buggy. When she was young, there were no dams along the Saint John River, and at Christmastime, she would cross the frozen river on foot, and then walk again for a couple of hours to reach the little store where they were allowed, once a year, to buy some candies for the holidays. Her sister, Doreen, crossed the river ice in late winter one year, and swore she could hear the sound of running water. She made it across late that night. In the morning, the ice was gone, and the river was running in full force. Doreen, like Treva, is still alive, but living in Toronto, having left for the big city at age 16.

I called my grandpa the other day. He is in the hospital. He fell a year and a half ago, damaging his hip, and he has been confined to a wheelchair ever since, which still, seems so strange and wrong, and so unlike the Real Gramps. This time, the day after Christmas he felt strange, and ill, and so my sister called the ambulance. I miss him all the time. I told him, over the phone, that he should bloody well do his physio exercises and he'd be as good as new, walking again and everything. He said, "Yo, you're telling me this, you're mother is telling me this. Do your exercises. But you know what? When it's my time to go, I'm going to go! It doesn't bother me one bit. It's going to happen. It's going to happen pretty soon, Yo."

No. No no no no no. But I had started to cry, and my voice got squeaky, and all I could say was "Ok Gramps. We'll talk about it later. I love you, Grandpa." And that was all.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to do if Gramps dies. I might just not be ok.

Horus Sings on Christmas Morning

2011-12-27T08:17:00.001-08:00

I know, I know. I am becoming one of those unbearable parents who can't resist posting this and that...I guess I am ok with this. Because I *really* can't resist sharing this video of Horus: Christmas morning, on the ukelele, being his massively charming self. We really really love this kid.

Third Day

2011-12-27T08:14:00.001-08:00

Well. The third day of Christmas. We have had a beautiful week. The snow on Christmas eve felt like the perfect gift, as we headed off to the Christmas Eve service at St. Stephen's, the tiny Anglican church just a few doors down from our home. St. Stephen's used to be its own parish, I believe, but was amalgamated into the larger Anglican community of the Gagetown area, and now the Christmas Eve service is the only time the church is open. But on Christmas Eve, the exquisite little wooden church was packed.I have been going to church regularly with Horus. (A friend: "I thought you didn't believe in church." Me: "I don't believe in church, or the Bible, or religion, or the concept of God that is usually promulgated by zealots... but I still find it worthwhile to go to church. And I like to sing.") So Horus knows the drill.

And the service was beautiful. but I guess because it was Christmas Eve, and everyone was wired and tired...the whole experience was excruciating, on account of the fact that my two children were completely losing their minds, and finally, after singing and visiting with what seemed like the entire population of Queenstown--the apple farmers, the neighbours, all the lovely people--we left a bit early once Horus began to make his version of dinosaur sounds. But overall, it was nice, and we felt warm, and loved and I felt access to the miracle of Christmas, which is, in my mind, the perfection of our original face; the newborn child, the profound simplicity of birth, and the choice that we all have: to love.

Santa was a bit grumpy after the church meltdown, so once we had read a couple of stories and sang a few Christmas songs, everyone was sent to bed, and I helped the elves clean the house, and arrange all the look just so; ready to be discovered by Horus and Treva in the morning. This really is the first Christmas with full comprehension from Horus, and because of this, Treva is more aware of the occasion than she would be without a big brother.

When the kids woke up at 6:30 in the morning, they came into our room, and I asked Horus, groggily, if Santa Claus had come, and he said, I don't know, so I told him to go downstairs and take a look. It was still dark, but we had left the Christmas tree lights on. Horus' expression, when he ran back upstairs, was a perfect and sincere rendition of the cliche of childhood Christmas wonder and elation. "Mum. Mum. Dad." He is breathless. "Santa Claus DID come. He really did. And he brought me trucks and a guitar [ukelele] and ice skates!!!". Well. We had better go downstairs and check it out. And Santa Claus certainly had arrived. The kids both got skates (and helmets), and a variety of vehicles (one of which, from Gramy and Grampy Clark, makes an extremely loud, penetrating and persistent battery-powered sound. Help.). And Treva received some lovely outfits and a beautiful hand-made doll, and we all got gorgeous books galore.

And from Lee, whom I often underestimate, I received a ring--a stunning, gold and faceted onyx ring, which I had admired off-handedly in a shop several weeks before, and which had NEVER crossed my mind as even a potential xmas gift for myself. I had not even hinted--it was just a passing comment. but when I opened the huge box, then the slightly smaller box inside, then the tiny clamshell jewel box...I was *totally* floored...and thrilled. My new ring is elegant, and retro, and gorgeous, and slightly flashy, but also understated, and I love it.

Christmas Day unfolded in the usual Christmas Day kind of way. We feasted and lounged and played and the turkey cooked and by dinnertime, the food was done, and delicious, despite the fact that only the top element in our stove works, and therefore everything tends to cook drastically on the top half, while remaining miraculously raw below. It was fine. I missed my family, and I think Lee missed his, but we called everyone and talked, and thanked them all for the wonderful gifts, and it was good.

Now, the feast continues, and the quiet mellow sinks in a bit, although Horus has been going strong on the ukelele since Christmas morning, and seems destined for the stage--although I leave this entirely up to him, of course. Lunch today is turkey soup with ginger and cilantro, and we are going to find a place to learn to ice-skate--Gagetown, if their rink is open. And the year is coming to a close, and I am resolving once again:

*to be happier

* to be more grateful

* to be more tolerate (or to just be even a little bit tolerant)

* to be kind * to be more organized

* to dedicate a portion of my time each month to those in need--I am thinking of volunteering to teach or play piano once a month for the special care home up the road from us...hm.

* to take time to nurture myself amid the chaos

* to slow down, just a little bit

* to write every single day

I know the New Year brings changes and challenges. I start another new job at the Fredericton Public LIbrary in the new year, and I will be completing several certifications as a fitness trainer, Pilates instructor, and the course I am taking to become a Registered Holistic Nutritionist. And we will be welcoming another child into our family in the summer season. And we will be re-building our kiln here in Queenstown, and firing several times. And Lee and I have a pretty major exhibition at the Circle Craft Gallery in Vancouver in September, and we will also be organizing and participating in a show of New Brunswick woodfired ceramics at Gallery 78 here in Fredericton. So much going on. Life is full. Holy crow. Enjoy the Christmas Season, everyone.Love, YO

Happy Merry Everywhere

2011-12-22T04:17:00.001-08:00

My Mum called me the other day. Apparently, my godmother, J., had called her after reading my last post, concerned about the fact that I seem...not to happy with--people. (This is how Mum put it). Well, yes. It was a rough week. I do concede to being subject somewhat to wide hormonal swing of pregnancy. But truthfully, the bite and dark and impressive disinhibition is really just a result of being my unpleasant self. (J.--I'm completely ok, sorry about stressing you, and mostly, I think my indignation was mostly pre-emptive. Oh well).

(Lee and I are in the car. Lee drives, as is his manly expectation. I am in mid-rant, on the subject of some injustice or another. I look over, and catch his expression--pained weariness. You know what?! I bark, This is who I am. And if you didn't really really like this kind of thing, why the hell did you marry me? I like it. I really like it, says Lee quickly. I giggle. And Lee, of course, is relieved, having once again diffused masterfully.)

For the past several weeks, I have been vibrating with anticipation for the Gagetown Christmas pageant. The kids didn't really care one way or another, and Treva didn't fully get it, of course, but I have been deeply attached to the idea of my little shepherd and angel, up on stage. My parenting style is a weird conflation of attachment principles, and my own mother's enthusiastic approach. Overall, I believe deeply in respecting my children's sense of self, and their own agency when it comes to decision-making. But I'm definitely not going to cater to, or encourage what people like to call "shyness". Wherever we go, I witness parents kneeling down next to their children, and asking weakly, mealy-voiced: Bobby, would you like to go up on stage all by yourself? Of course, Bobby looks back at his mother, lip quivering, and shakes his head "no", having just received permission (or encouragement) from her to be frightened. I prefer the following approach: Horus! You're going to be a shepherd! It'll be great! Here. Put this on. And away he goes.

And away he went. Horus was one of the youngest--*the* youngest?--in the pageant, and he was fantastic. (Oh wait--except for my beloved friend K, and her 6 month old, J., who played Mary and Jesus--the whole thing was kind of lovely and hilarious and I deeply appreciated the fact that it was readable both as irony and entirely straight). Horus' part involved walking up on stage, and then standing. So yes, I'm not actually getting too worked up about it...but I am! And Treva? Wasn't going to happen. Although she did try to follow her big brother behind the curtain, before someone retrieved her, and stuck a piece of shortbread in her hand (which upset me, of course, but I kept my cool).

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The pageant was only last week! Before that, on the 17th of December, my second son, Kristjan, turned 8 years old. So, thank you, nasty people, stalkers and friends, for failing to be unbearable, by pointing out to me that actually, I will soon have five children--not three! I do know this. What a strange situation. How many kids do you have? strangers ask. My answer mostly depends of the amount of time we have. If we're going to be there for a little while, I say, Four! (smile), and then I explain that my two oldest sons live with their father in Vancouver, and this is all wonderful--happy happy kids. If we're just in passing, I say, Two little ones at home--and now of course, another on the way. I have learned to not get caught up with the shadow looks of judgement and disapproval, the questions lurking around the issue of my missing boys. How could you possibly understand the situation? In any case, everyone loves to hate a bad bad mother. I think the fact that Horus and Treva are so clearly loved, confident, brilliant and cared-for tends to complicate even more. I suppose all of our issues and idiosyncrasies are a kind of filter. I know my friends.

I believe that the date I had with Horus--just he and I, at the Imperial Theatre in Saint John, to see the Nutcracker Ballet!--fell on the same day that Kristjan turned 8, *and* performed in the Vancouver Ballet production of The Nutcracker. Kristjan, apparently, has been taking several ballet classes a week, and is a very talented and dedicated dancer. I am so intensely proud. And I cried quietly throughout the entire Saint John performance, seeing Kristjan in every little boy dancer. I am ok. (How is this possible? And yet, I am). But it never goes away. And I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Not even you. Most days, anyway, not even you.

Tonight, we are heading to the Shambhala Buddhist Centre for their Solstice children's celebration. And the Christmas eve service is being held at St. Stephen's gorgeous little Anglican church, just a few minutes down the road from our house. And I feel at home here. And our home is warm and cozy. And my husband is severely artistic which is a good portion of his considerable charm, and strength. And we are very very lucky. To be as fortunate as we are. To have each other. And Santa Claus is coming, having gone way overboard as usual.

Merry Happy Season, everyone. Yo

No, I Don't Want to Talk

2011-12-15T04:31:00.001-08:00

Yah. I'm pregnant. And the only thing I am interested in hearing from anyone, is NOTHING, or, from the really uber-thrilled, "congratulations". That's it. If you're concerned about the population here on planet earth, and you feel that I am personally implicated in the demise of civilization or the ozone layer, shove it. If you're concerned about how I'm going to manage as the sole financial contributor (teaching piano two days a week) with three children, and a severely artistic husband, SO AM I. If you think it might be clever to couch your disapproval with a "gee whiz, THREE kids!!! wow!!!" or a "WHoa! another one!!!", please. Keep it to yourself. And if you feel the need to give me a short tutorial on birth control, you can just go ahead and F*** yourself. Even I know that that won't get you knocked up--heaven forbid.

Happy Freaking Holidays.

First Trimester

2011-12-06T01:57:00.001-08:00

Which last picture of me? This one! Horus took it. In general, I am exhausted and grumpy and achy and a little bit sad. But I'm ok.

New Life, Unassisted, Winter

2011-12-04T19:35:00.001-08:00

I am becoming acquainted with the turn and dip and waver of these new country roads. Landmarks and patterns have started to appear. I feel so lucky to have such a gorgeous commute, and to still be tethered by the beautiful river. It is still a bit strange to be away from the kids--even if it is only for a day and a half a week. But I am so grateful that Lee is able to be with the kids when I am not. I am so happy with this hood.I continue to adore teaching piano--increasingly, actually. My students are all brilliant in their own way, and I possess an almost endless reserve of patience ...keeping in mind that my lessons run for half an hour, of course. Mrs. Drover, my piano teacher while growing up, was a major influence on me, then and now. But until starting this teaching position, I didn't realize the degree to which her approach to the piano and to pedagogy was so formative for me. In many ways, my piano lesson was a bit of a refuge for me, as a kid. On the other hand, I also remember my own stubbornness and indolence as a piano student, and I am especially pained on Mrs. Drover's behalf, now that I'm sitting on the other side of the bench, so to speak. Sigh.Everything is...good. Lee and I have slept in our own bed, in our own room, for three nights now. It is luxurious, and quite fun. We are playing grown-ups! So nice to have the kids trundle in in the mornings to snuggle. Horus and Tree have been getting along quite well lately. Things seem more balanced, certainly, now that Treva can hold her own, communicate, and, I hate to say it, but, fight back.We bought some lobster from a guy at the Gagetown Christmas market, and had a fantastic feast. I told Horus that he could absolutely cut all the feelers and legs off the lobster with the garden secateurs. I said no to the hammer at first, but gave in quickly, and he made a glorious mess on the floor. It was grand. That last picture is of me, taken by Horus. Yes! I am growing another one. Lee and I had just talked about our five year plan, which would involve another child in....five years! So this was...surprising. But we are all thrilled, actually. Well, Lee was thrilled immediately (which is so totally heartening and sweet), and I rallied, and now we are both Really, really thrilled. Horus frequently comes up to me, pats my belly and says "I just can't believe the is another baby in there". He is sure it's a boy. This one will come into the world in the summer season, and I am very happy to be settling into a peaceful, unassisted, un-interfered-with pregnancy and birth. I keep remembering that if I were in the system, they would be trying to poke me with needles an radiate my baby just about now. I noticed a 3d ultrasound facility in Rothesay last week. So frightening. No. No, I am well, and so is this small person growing in my body. Of course, yesterday, and three days ago, I was a quivering wreck, ultra-sensitive and weepy. But this passes. And there is a quality of catharsis to the emotional stuff of early pregnancy that relieves, affirms life. Lee has learned to deflect and defer. He really is a great guy.

Spirit

2011-11-27T03:12:00.001-08:00

The kids and I went to the Boyce market yesterday. We had a great time, actually. It was nice and warm, and Horus didn't run away. Curious boy. We picked up a huge wreath outside, and we're going to make a few of our own. I like a big, abundant, off-kilter, organic look. Sparse wreaths seem so sad (while I adore sparse Christmas tress). Actually, I love everything about this season. And clearly, the true meaning of Christmas is that unassisted homebirth is the safest and most humane birthing practice, and that it produces children who are especially peaceful, powerful, and compassionate. In case anyone was wondering about the True Meaning of Christmas. I tried to check out "Christmas in the Village" in Gagetown, but I hadn't slept a wink the night before, and I realized once we arrived, that I also haven't showered, in possibly over a week or two. Ugh. This is not the image you are trying to project to the world, Yolande. Dirty, haggared thirty year old. Then we walked into a crafty arts collective shop, Horus went over to look at a toy, and an overly punctilious, arrogant, busybody of an old man came up and terrorized him, grabbing the toy completely inppropriately, and then speaking above Horus' head, telling his octagenarian cohorts that This kid shouldn't be touching the crafts, blah blah. I marched over and asked with strained politeness, Is there a problem? It SEEMS as though there is a problem, although I couldn't possibly understand why, as my son was simply using this toy as intended. It IS a toy, is it not?

And of course, in retrospect, I wish I had also said, FURTHERmore, I am insulted by the implication that if any damage were to be done to this TOY, that I not would immediately pay for the damned thing. In fact, I came into this shop with money burning a hole in my pocket. I might even have bought that bloody hand-wrought maple grasshopper pull toy, but there's no way in hell I'm going to hand over any cash after your incredible rudeness to my son who for possibly the first time in his life is out in public and not wreaking havoc on all and sundry. Etc.

But instead I stopped at, It IS a toy, is it not? and then I turned to Horus who was [justifiably] just about to break-down over having some strange old guy come and grab the toy from his hands, unannounced, and I bent down and looked in to his eyes, filling with tears, and I said, You have not done anything wrong. I wanted you to play with the toy, but this man has a problem with that, but I'll talk to you about this when we get to the car. And then I picked Horus and Treva up, and I marched out.

During my little spiel, the man retained a pursed and sneering slight smile, and I imagined wives and girlfriends and daughters and children, disrespected, laughed at, and diminished year after year. Probably just quietly. I'm sure this man is a good guy, you know? But even in the smallest gesture, the refusal to see an individual is wearing on a person's spirit.

The following photographs show my new counter (yay!!!), and the top level of our big barn, which will be my piano and pilates studio, and the gallery space (for now, until the front barn can be renovated. I'm thinking strawbale...

Snow Day, or, Domestic Bliss

2011-11-24T23:42:00.001-08:00

Lately:

Big changes. The barn is now nearly a studio. Lee and I are on the same page. Treva is trying so hard to talk, but as yet, still sounds like a little cave-girl. (A cave-girl with major attitude. Adorable attitude. And I think, when faced with a stroppy, scrappy older brother, attitude is called-for). Christmas stories. Christmas songs; on the piano, in the car, and a capella on a walk. Not only did Lee do the dishes, but my four-months-in-the-making kitchen counter appeared like magic last night, and I am beyond thrilled. The three-inch thick slab of pine looks amazing, and the wait was entirely worth it. I tried to take a photograph, but the light is terrible right now, and the rest of the kitchen is slightly disastrous, so i'll wait until tomorrow for an official reveal.

Snow and cold broke through the temperate fall, and we had our first snow day. I stayed home from work on Wednesday on account of the weather. The kids and I read books, made music, and...cookies! And why didn't I take any photographs of the birds? I love the birds, and I love having plenty of bird feeders around during the winter. Within only a couple of days of finally setting up the feeders, we suddenly, once again, are able to observe the societies, cultures and clubs consisting of finches and jays and mourning doves. It is such a gift to be able to look out the window and watch this world of feathered hunger, intensity, competition, anger and connection. For the birds.

We don't really do sweets, so my announcement that cookies were on the agenda was met with a joyful cacophony. The following is my own recipe. It worked beautifully for the biscuits, and made for a chewy and delicious bite, although I don't think this is the right formulation for architectural business (the gingerbread house!). Slightly crumbly, as rice-flour-based baking generally is. However, the Chia flour does possess gelatinous properties and helps to bind everything together, and the addition of a tiny bit of wheat flour also helps with consistency. We decorated these guys with the goodies I could find in our pantry: raisins left over from hallowe'en, pieces of dried fig, pine nuts, madacamia nuts, walnuts. Goji berries would have been a colourful touch, and I wish I had had cacao nibs for a fun, healthy, chocolate-y something. Next time.

Yolande's Low-Gluten Gingerbread Cookie Dough

1/3 cup almond flour
1/3 cup coconut flour
1/3 cup chia flour
1/2 cup rice flour
1/2 cup organic wheat flour (or a little more to ensure a roll-able dough)--we use flour from the Speerville mill, nb
1/2 tsp unrefined sea salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1/3 cup raw honey
1/3 cup blackstrap molasses
1/2 cup organic butter
1 egg
1 tsp each, powdered ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg

Mix everything together. Add a bit more flour (wheat and/or rice) if necessary, so that the dough isn't too sticky. Roll, break out the cookie cutters, decorate, bake.

Although most health-food stores (and probably even the big box supermarkets, now), sell items like almond flour, chia, and coconut flours, these still may be tricky to come across. I order quite often from a Toronto-based company called Upaya Naturals, which focuses on raw organic and vegan ingredients and natural, non-toxic personal care products. I am a relatively recent convert to the Tooth Soap that they sell, which, unlike fluoride-based conventional toothpastes, and even the more mainstream "natural" toothpastes (Tom's), is actually healthy and promotes tooth and gum health. Completely weird to be gushing about tooth soap, I know, but I am *really* into it...and of course, my advertising is entirely free...

Next on the agenda: collecting tips to make our wreaths, and Xmas cakes and puddings. I have been really relishing these past few days at home. I'm not quite ready to share ALL of the recent developments, but suffice it to say...big stuff is going down. And yet, I'm feeling really ok. Even the Apple attack of a couple of days ago was short, cathartic, and, I sheepishly admit, pleasingly dramatic. But it is clear, that when we can stay home--when Lee can work in the studio, come in for meals, be visited by the kids when they need to get out of the house...and when I am playing the full-out Mum role, harmony drifts in with more frequency. I am feeling more open to changing plans and expectations based on new information as it arises. Life is so totally and completely strange.

And...if anyone knows how to rotate photos in picasa, either before or after uploading them onto a blog...Let me know!

Addendum

2011-11-22T20:34:00.001-08:00

Oh, and an addendum to an earlier post: The guy next door is NOT a nutcase *because* he believes that Jesus Saves, nor because he has a giant fluorescent variety cinema sign that reads in brilliant multicolour, *Jesus Saves*, right outside our front window and for the viewing pleasure of anyone in a passing vehicle. I don't even deny that for many, Jesus does save. Or whatever you like. Or He likes. Or whatever.

I think he's a nutcase because he shows up on the doorstep of every new family in town, trying to convert them to the way of the Lord. Don't get me wrong--I don't think it's a negative thing, necessarily, to be a nutcase. I am certainly one (and have been called a billion times worse). So please don't send me hate mail about how hateful I am. Incidentally, our [very nice, really] neighbour trained as a preacher in good old Carleton County. Which will always have a special place in my heart--sincerely! Pure ambivalence. In extremes (and subtleties, of course).

Oh, and not-so-secretly, we *love* the Jesus Saves sign. Very cool & edgy.

Domestic Rage

2011-11-22T20:18:00.001-08:00

I suppose I am actually confused about the concept of "content development". I *would* like to make this blog better [faster, younger, more professional, hardy har] or...no. I have other "website" ideas, including actually trying to run this thing like a business. It's crazy. Save it in the cloud. Cloudship Starship Warship Mothership.

Pottery. Where to begin? Where to end. I don't know. It's a surprise.

Here is another secret. *I* can't actually parse an English sentence, Grandad. But I can write a bloody damned good one. And I understand that if it's better for ME, then it's better for

Gretchen and ME.

****Not Gretchen and I ****

Please get it right. It makes you sound smart. Or at least, competent.

There is a little bit of an element of; it is always intensely obnoxious and even mildly abhorrent to ever comment negatively on anyone's grammar,

Whatever. Whatever whatever whatever.

Do you write your blog longhand? Do the posts have characteristics based on the implementation process of the first draft?

I came home from work at 9pm. I looked in the sink. I fetched a sack. I piled the dishes into the sack. And the pots and pans. I gently placed the sack outdoors.

Then we talked. Shrilly, shrewishly, I began to raise my voice. When he turned and walked away, I picked an apple from the counter and threw it at him, hitting the trunk by the front door, spattering apple shrapnel

on the purrrrrsian

rug

it was a dark moment for everyone.

what the f*** am I doing here?

There was a parallel life.

He's in the kitchen now. Washing the dishes.

Frost in the Mornings and...Spanking (again)

2011-11-21T04:30:00.001-08:00

My mum, who lives in Vancouver, and who hasn't seen the kids for several months, told me on the phone the other day, that Treva looks like an "absolutely delightful kid", and I replied honestly, that she absolutely is, without a doubt, totally and completely delightful. Despite the occasional blow-outs, she and Horus actually get along really well, and the moments of tenderness between then more than make up for the antagonism.

We have been hanging out at the church in Florenceville-Bristol for the past couple of days, while we work on pottery stuff. At one point, yesterday, while I was cleaning up and running a bath for the kids, I stopped for a moment and looked at my little ones, these sweetie pies, and I felt a wave of extreme sadness...this is already gone. I guess it's pretty fantastic that at 30, I DO understand how fleeting their little-ness, and time, really is. I suppose that this visceral sensation of time and its passing should give me increased perspective and perhaps increased compassion.

I am trying to bring up the subject of the radically opposing views that people can, and often do, have, within the same family. This has been weighing on me greatly in the past little while. I was doing a course at UNB on Worldviews, and while the concept was not new to me, the treatment and examination of the idea of worldview was quite...enlightening. How to reconcile with family members who hold a radically different worldview than one's own, especially when it comes to child-rearing. When Cedar and Kristjan were born, 10 and almost 8 years ago, I thought my mother and I were on completely different pages. But after having lived in Carleton County for a couple of years, and now that I have children with Lee, it is clear that my mother and I are kindred spirits, and that there are people out there who *really* don't get me, and who I *really* don't get. This, of course, doesn't mean we can't be friends (or family). "Getting along" with people is actually really important to me. I am into common ground, forgiveness and compassion. I am opinionated and passionate, but despite how I might come across online, I do not relish conflict, and I make a big effort to maintain peace and harmony during family gatherings. But sometimes, in retrospect, I realize that I SHOULD have been more vociferous in objecting to certain things, or to explaining my position, or in insisting that my children not be exposed to certain influences or practices.

I recently engaged with someone in a rather heated debate over whether or not it is a "good" idea to spank chidlren as a form of discipline. Or rather, I attempted to debate...but honestly, the nonsensical and outrageous arguments made in favour of corporal punishment from the other person were so outlandish, that I was essentially rendered speechless. I think my own ineffectuality in formulating a cogent argument against...hitting little kids (WTF???!??!?) was just totally demoralizing, and is probably the reason why I am still upset about it, now. No, the fact that there are *actually* people out there who believe that it is right, normal, useful, educational, and even IMPORtant, to hit one's children...and that these people are in fact very close to me....just blows my freaking mind. I don't even know where to begin.

As I have said before (do I really need to say this? Maybe, so I'll say it again), I am NOT a perfect parent. I have made so many mistakes, it's ridiculous. I have done things as a parent, that I am totally ashamed of. But to use religion or custom, or upbringing, as a pretext for a passionate defense of how essential it is to "teach" children, through physical abuse, right from wrong, or the harsh reality of living in the world...this is just totally nuts. And I find it very difficult to be compassionate in the face of this kind of ignorance. And I find that my repugnance towards these kinds of ideas is affecting my ability to overlook the negative, and to focus on the positive.

Is this a clash of worldview? Is this simply culture, place and time? As soon as we leave Fredericton to pass through Millville and into Carleton County, I feel a strange veil descend. There is something about the atmosphere that changes, for me. It's a bit of a conservative twilight zone...the religiosity wafts over everything, and the morality is thick. I like to visit--strange, interesting. But I'm glad we now live in a place where I see and sense my own values reflected in the wider culture. Even with a "Jesus Saves" sign outside our front window. Because the thing is, when we go to town, and when we see our neighbours...everyone AGREES with us, that the Jesus Saves guy is a nut-case. Big, huge sighs of relief. Every day.

Fam-Damily

2011-11-14T05:17:00.001-08:00

The past couple of weeks have been Full. Did I miss Hallowe'en? Here are the photos, which I have been posting everywhere, because I love them so much...everything was pretty impromptu this year...trick or treaters arrived before Lee and the kids returned from town, and I ended up handing out apples and oranges to the streams of visitors. I couldn't believe how many kids came by. It is so heartening that we live in such a spirited neighbourhood.

Everyone we have met in this new hood, it seems, is itching to sign Horus and Treva up for the Gagetown community school. There are ever-louder rumblings, apparently, about closing the school, as has been the case for many other small schools around New Brunswick in favour of streaming the kids into the larger institutions. Closing Gagetown would mean bussing the kids to Oromocto. I have mixed feelings about the enthusiasm I have encountered vis a vis my kids' participation. I do recognize the importance of small community schools--not just for the kids in question, but for everyone. I try to remain flexible, although for now, I am still very committed to homeschooling. There are so many reasons for this--I believe that kids who are institutionalized end up lacking in terms of normal socialization (yes, this is contrary to popular opinion)--that "socialization" in the school system means becoming familiar with destructive cultural influences, crap food, bullying, consumption, and hyper-sexuality. I am also utterly convinced that the educational and intellectual standards in New Brunswick schools (and throughout Canada) are painfully inadequate. Despite this inadequacy in the standards department, according to the CBC this morning, large segments of the elementary school population are still unable to meet these very basic requirements, especially in the area of language (I believe the study looked at French Language performance, in particular). I know teachers do their best, and that the "problem" is complex, and multi-faceted. But I also know that I am fortunate enough to possess the skills to impart knowledge, ability and a real joy in learning, to my children. And I also know, that as a parent, there is no way that I could tolerate the bureaucracy, the insane rules and regulations, asenseless homework, make-work projects, or the glaring mediocrity of the system. The free babysitting is not enough.

Sigh.

Christmas is kind of sort of already here...and I kind of adore it, the music, the lights, the everything. In any case, resistance is futile, so we may as well enjoy it, no? The kids are already super-excited, and I have already acquired WAY too much in the way of loot and gifts, despite vowing not to... Horus and I went to value village the other day and came away with a stack of new xmas books. I am careful to stay away from books that portray a literal interpretation of any biblical story, although I am completely open to generous interpetations of the Biblical Christmas. It's a mine-field out there, though, isn't it, parents? Someone told Horus the other day that "God made you", which opened up quite the discussion: Where did we *actually* come from? (stardust! zygotes! sex!) What IS God? (Stardust! The miracle of birth, death, decomposition) Often Horus, people have differing views of what "God" means, etc., and of course, we do NOT approve of any "God" who makes cruel and stupid rules about gay people, or who condones the hitting of children, or who has no sense of humour whatsoever--if it's mean, it's not God. I try to negotiate these issues with sensitivity, but I have observed that many Christians don't seem to appreciate the inappropriateness of the vociferousness of their beliefs (there's an awkward and ridiculous sentence for you!). Even at my most strident, I'm not actually going door-to-door expounding on the supremacy of the church of mud, fire, books, breastfeeding, the buddha, and happy human sexuality. But gee, maybe I should get on to that.

Despite the seasonal spirit, the weather has been beautifully mild and even warm...we managed to fit in some kite-flying one day, thanks to our neighbour who keeps bringing over piles of toys when he gets the opportunity to continue to clean out his barn...

Our house continues to feel more and more like home. The kids' room is actually almost set up, and Lee and I can finally see the floor of our room. Our new apprentice arrives today. Everything will be fine!

Days and Days

2011-10-22T14:07:00.001-07:00

There was a day, a week or so ago, when we took a walk down to the wharf, and Oscar, our very own "cat about town", came along, and Horus collected about two dozen mussel shells "for the kiln".

Now, that day, as well as the birthday, have passed. The cake was extremely ugly, but fairly delicious (apples from the orchard down the road, cinnamon, dates, etc.) After the little party at our house, Horus and Lee drove to the Village Bistro in Hampton to see Tim Isaac and Nina perform as "Lovestorm". Horus had an incredible time.

I woke up yesterday morning early, to finish making pots in my new makeshift studio on the verandah...and the leaves had gone, all of a sudden. Strange.

Location:Queenstown, NB

Happy Birthday Horus!

2011-10-18T08:53:00.001-07:00

Horus Francis Clark: You were born three years ago today, in an old church on the banks of the Beautiful River. Your Daddy caught you, and we cried. I love you apples and cornfields and wide skies, and the deep blue ocean. My boy. *sigh*

husband

2011-10-17T20:57:00.001-07:00

Lee turns 35 on the 19th of October. Husband: I give you a little photo/poetry essay. For you. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxo.

For your birthday

a field of green/gold fronds

wind and power
wood
yellow/white
or black

swift current swept
river stones

cool earth flush with
death's damp bounty

leaves on fire

carapace to carbon

We are so many mouths, Jesse
[wheat from chaff]
sometimes somehow all
ways letting slide
twisting

perpetual unravel and reworking
warp and weft and broken threads

But in this story*

You and I are now immune
Pirates on the boat

after dangling our fragile selves over the edges

selvedge ripped

seduced

drunk piano music
life drawing

We left in time
drop out
walk on

Six years since I lost my
apples on Agricola street

We remind each other

Yesterday, alone at *Church
as you look at me from the water

[I am the cameraman] woman

tuned.

with perfect purpose
(casual; soft yet swift)
you slip the wet from your
naked sleeves
brown forearm to wrist

ripples on the surface

of my skin I know
who I am
and what I am to you

one and two

* * *

Dear Readers:

Send the kids to Gramy's.
Have a bath together.
Have fun.
yo

Location:i love you

I Am Breaking Up With You

2011-10-14T02:26:00.001-07:00

Treva and Horus will be awake soon. I've been up since 4 am, hating myself: for never being able to shut up, for my excessive pride, for being eternally undignified, for the erroneous idea that I can do it all, for my bad temper, for falling short of my parenting ideals and my artistic ideals, for being a crappy wife, for being a terrible and absent friend, for being ungrateful for all that I have...and more!

I would like a magical fairy to descend, tap me on the forehead, and transform me into one of those very very calm and nurturing women who seem to be able to just effortlessly gather and organize their families and to achieve great things, and to do all of this without complaint.

I want to break up with myself. In fact, I want to break up with myself, get a restraining order against myself, and then hire a lawyer to divorce me from myself, and then to sue myself for ruining my life.

More Thanks, More Giving

2011-10-10T17:16:00.001-07:00

Look Mum, Look. We have finished our supper, and while Lee clears the table, I take the kids out, one first, then the other. I see the Moon, and the moon sees me. Spirit bless the moon, and spirit bless me. Then, Moon Lady. Then Starlight. Look at all the universes, Mum, says Horus. I know every one of them. Yes, yes you do. We say goodnight to the truck, the trees, the rocks, the rosehips. Then run in and tag your sister. Her turn.

Giving Thanks is an excellent habit. Here we go again:

Pumpkins at the farm next door.

A snake, run over on the road; biology and road-safety lesson in one.

Missing and Loving the backroads drive to Carleton County.

Young Clarks, and a full-out Family Dinner.

A Summer-warm Thanksgiving.

Big-truck joy.

Spinning in circles on the banks of the Mighty Saint John River.

Generations. (Gramy Clark, and my scrumptious nephew, Cole, who has to be one of the most beautiful and contented babies around. I am occupying my role as obnoxious auntie quiet well, thank you, as I exhort his parents to give in to his obvious desire to gnaw on a turkey bone...success! I really hated people like me when I was a new parent. *sigh*)

Being irresistibly drawn to tractors of all sizes.

Your smile. Your sweetness.

Turkey soup with ginger and cilantro.

Unexpected treasure (highbush cranberries) on a walk in the woods.

Running water.

New Friends. Amazing new friends. Kindred spirits.

The way you carry your machete.

Hot fire. Quiet time. The pleasures of work, play, family, love and art. A couple of months ago, I felt like things were falling apart. Maybe there is a similar pain in the coming-together. Perhaps falling-apart and coming-together are indistinguishable in the early stages. Change is so hard. For me more than for others? No, that can't be. I cry and scream, but then again, I'm always kicking up the dust. Now is the moment of power. Everything is all about the hour by hour.

yo

Location:Queenstown & Simonds, NB

Giving Thanks

2011-10-07T16:19:00.001-07:00

And thus, the most impromptu and least organized attempt I have yet to make at Thanksgiving Dinner...was a resounding success.

I did have the presence of mind to baste and brine the turkey the night before, and as soon as I woke up this morning, I simply popped the turkey in the oven, made a quick and scrumptious cabbage, wild rice, bacon and walnut stuffing, bunged a few sweet potatoes and a squash into the oven along with the turkey, and whipped up my sweet-potato pumpkin pie...

A couple of hours before the food was ready, I called my lovely and charming friend K. who lives down the road, and then the kids and Lee and I went down the road just a little way, to the Webb Orchard, where, in the space of about 20 minutes, we picked 117 pounds of Honeycrisp apples, and bagged 45 pounds of squash, while Treva napped in the truck.

I have found myself coveting a root cellar lately, but our basement is old and cold, and so the apples and squash should be just fine down there...as long as we can keep the mice out of our bounty. Cats! Get to work.

K. and her absolutely gorgeous and adorable little one J. brought blackberries that they picked just down the road in the warmer months, and I quickly heated them with a little wild honey added at the end, to make a fabulous coulis that we poured to great effect over the cake/pudding for dessert.

The turkey was, miraculously, perfect, and the trimmings universally held to be delicious, and our little house, two days after Lee had fully installed our hardy and beautiful jotul stove, is very warm.

And now, finally, we will be heading back to Carleton County, to fire our bourrigama for the last time this season. Will we have the chance to move the kiln before the snow arrives? I think perhaps not. But everything will be ok.

I am Thankful. I am so thankful for my family: for Lee (despite, and on account of--simultaneously--his idiosyncracies). For my children, all four of them, for who they are, for what they have given me, and for who they will become. For my parents and their unwavering support. For my Grandpa, and his example of how to be happy. For all of my grandparents, and their good genes, and their tenacity. For our animals. For the fact that I am so profoundly fortunate to have a house, a home, a garden. For apples. For the rosehips that I had the presence of mind to gather this evening before dark, before the frost descends in force.

Location:Queenstown, New Brunswick

Astounding Family

2011-10-05T17:45:00.001-07:00

It is astounding, isn't it? The power of a good day. Somehow, a great day, can seem to almost reset weeks of shit. But it isn't really "the" day in and of itself, is it? It is the metaphor of goodness...the concentrated goodness of a good day that can kind of draw in its net, the good nuggets of all the previous mediocre days, and somehow synthesize the possiblity of harmony, and success (whatever that may consist of; changing as it does, from one week to another), translating these little pockets of positivity, into part of the fabric of our whole, that reads, This will somehow be ok.

Today was a Good Day: we read books, we planted the last of the stragglers in the garden before the soile freezes, we installed the woodstove [finally!], and we ate three squre meals.

My Dad left the day before yesterday. Before driving him to his hotel in Moncton, where he would stay in order to catch his flight out west early the next morning, I insisted on getting lost trying to find Shediac, where we dined at the last restaurant open for the seaon specializing in lobster. Our waiter at the inn with the yellow shingles was efficient, courteous and extremely competent. Dad guessed he was from Europe somewhere. I said no, he must be Acadian, seriously...but of course when Dad pressed him, it turned out that he hailed from Croatia. We perused the menu, but when our guy mentioned that he could do the full lobster dinner with vegetables in season, and prawns in coconut sauce, Dad asked for the market price as a formality, then slapped his menu shut. Our Croatian dude broke out the bibs.

We were the only ones in the restaurant at four o'clock in the afternoon, and we laughed and cried, drank too much muscat-scented Argentinian white, and made a mess with lobster shells. It was pretty much perfect.

After dropping Dad off, and getting upset, I drove home, and for once, the little car seemed ok, until fifteen minutes from the Gagetown turnoff, when it started to rattle, and then the gears started to slip... I made it home, but there is [still] clearly something wrong.

The next day, yesterday, I drove into Saint John early, to fully prepare myself for my first day as a Piano teacher.

I studied classical piano in a serious way, as a kid. But by the age of 15 or so, after acquiring my Grade 9 Royal Conservatory accreditation, my family life was so shattered and scattered, that I didn't have the focus or foundation or support to continue. I taught piano for a while while in my first years of university, but never really felt it...

Now here I am. I applied for the position of Administrative Assistant for the music school I now work for. When they saw on my resume that I had taught piano previously, they pleaded with me to teach, and despite my honest protestations, I was informed that I would be perfect; that most of the students are beginners; that everything would be fine.

For the past month, during my Dad's visit, I have been studying every pedagogy book I can get my hands on, as well as brushing up on my repertoire, with the full recognition that my experience as a student of Mrs. Drover's made up a hugely formative chunk of my education; musical, and otherwise.

I was terrified during the hours leading up to my classes yesterday, but somehow, when my students arrived, I found that I know exactly what to do; Discover who they are. Know them. Appreciate them. Hone in on the diamond edges of their personality; their hilariousness, their sensitivities, their quirks. Recognize in them their unassailable musicality--wherever that resides, and whatever that may look like.

When I walked out into the parking lot after teaching yesterday, under the metronomic fierceness of the sudden and emphatic rain, I felt like a complete genius. They liked me. Knowing that all six students that I worked with that afternoon had left energized, and motivated, and slightly more in love with themselves as musicians than when they had walked in...I was ecstatic! ...but also slightly morose.

My Father's presence had been slightly massively irritating...and strange, in that I was able to get a handle on just how much things have not changed...or just how much some small areas of pain will never go away. But still, I love him, and I will somehow miss his blustery presence in our lives.

xoxoxo
yo

Location:Queenstown, NB

Where is your Piano?

2011-09-24T23:58:00.001-07:00

(We went to the Fredericton museum after the farmer's market this morning. Horus found a skateboarding mentor who was generous enough to let Horus try. "Are you a boy?" Horus asked, eventually. "Yeah". said the kid. They bonded.)

I am seriously tired, irritated with Dad, annoyed with everyone, but also ok. We finally had the family dinner at Lee's parents', and Dad, miraculously, behaved himself, and I think even charmed The Clarks, a little bit; I begged Dad not to bring up Religion, his hilarious/horrible observations of New Brunswick, Vodka, breasts and bums, or anything even potentially controversial...and somehow he toned it down, and it all worked. By the end of the meal, everyone had retreated to the living room while my dad and Lee's dad talked politics, a subject on which they both seemed to find common ground: amazing. My appreciation of, and gratitude towards Lee's parents increases with the years. They are genuine, kind, and good. They are really wonderful grandparents. And I think, all told, my father is enjoying his non-holiday...but my fears are also kind-of real; we don't fit in, I don't fit in, or somehow I do, I guess, and all these people, (all insane in their own special way) are my family. Yes yes yes. You are all my family.

After dinner, I forced Justin, my not-so- little-anymore-brother-in-law (wow. Justin was still in highschool when Lee and I first met) to drive down to the church and help me move the piano and that huge white shelf, in the dark, despite Lee's protestations (can't see, it's too late, I'm too tired, forget about it. Yo: do you have to be so negative, always, and why won't you ever learn that when I have decided to move a piano, that's what I'm bloody well going to do?) and I essentially lifted one entire end of the piano myself with Justin on the other end, and Dad (invalid at the moment, back problems) was very impressed, which for some bizarre reason was quite important to me.

Shall I confess here? Over the past few months, I have become a major gym devotee, which is absolutely new to me, and yet completely addictive in a very positive way. Slinking off to the gym in the early hours of the morning has given me an intense sense of purpose, massive amounts of energy, and is, I am sure, making possible some of the feats of strength--mental and physical--that I have been employing in order to do this thing; life.

I love being alone in the mornings, I love being alone with my thoughts, I love the weird formality of the gym; all the anonymous sweating bodies, the strange codified ritual of it all. The workout is a talisman, a metaphor for coping. The competition at the gym is both palpable and muted, but also friendly, somehow--almost overwhelmingly compassionate, actually. Everyone walks into the gym for the first time with some kind of issue...Now, after attending regularly for about 4 months, I feel better, and perhaps I look better, than I ever have. I highly recommend getting one's physical shit together by age thirty while there is still time to be healthy, to take responsibility for one's well-being, to not look like hell. Well, not looking like hell is nice, but even nicer, is moving half of one's piano with no problem at all. I suppose it is true that the gym is a bizarre little community, heaving with quasi-religiosity. I am quietly known, now, and I recognize the others, too. Stratification is inevitable; the nervous newbies, the older lifers, the severely overweight who have hit bottom, the anorexics. We are all there; not hoping for transformation, but actually creating transformation within ourselves with each clean & press. It is beautiful.

I feel changed, and new, and powerful.

I painted the living room an almost-black, and it suits very well the sofa that I picked up from the side of the road (which Lee of course, protested; silly man), and I love it all. I also painted the stairs a gunmetal gray, which I hate, unfortunately, and will be re-painting with almost-black...

I adore this house more and more; the counter that I rescued from the barn, (which Lee protested; silly man), the wood-frame sash windows that are so old, they have no sash. The pantry, and the perfectly modest rooms. The wood floors everywhere, the high ceilings, the incredible outbuildings. It is still very scruffy, and probably will be, forever. I also adore having a stove and refrigerator. Another major confession, I guess. Although after living with no fridge for two years, I seriously bless the thing every time I open it to find food--still good!--that I bought three days ago.

To be entirely fair, Lee protests my elaborate plans mostly out of weariness. I am slightly energetic, I know. I have been staying up late every night, finishing my schoolwork and then painting into the early hours. It's not so much that Lee cares about my interior design decisions; just that he is sick and tired of moving heavy things around...but I do feel satisfied once one of my projects is complete, and I can at least elicit a grunt of approval from my good-natured husband. He is not so bad.

ok.

Location:Fredericton, NB

Summer's End

2011-09-19T21:22:00.001-07:00

Everything has been so full. Where did the summer slip away to? Horus is curious, joyful, and excited about Fall and Winter. Such a little boy, with only vague memories about the shift in season. He keeps me optimistic about the cold.

As a family, we have undergone some drastic changes over the past few months. This has been exciting, and draining. Everything takes longer and with more effort than we anticipate. Treva's birthday crept up on me, and instead of a lovely party in our freshly painted Queenstown house, we lit candles at the kiln site, and our birthday girl took a ride on Grampy Clark's lawnmower.

(Horus wearing auntie's scarf. We love her unexpected gifts, sent by mail.)

We said goodbye to some beloved friends, the firing didn't quite happen (yet), and as I write, midnight, I am covered in paint after finally getting to the living room (black trim and floors! The wallpaper stays--for now).

The last days of warm weather have passed, but we managed to make it to the wharf across the street from our house, where Horus swam like a fish, and Treva paddled happily. I am susceptible to sadness at the passing of the season, but the sentiment is fleeting and intermittent, and assuaged by the beauty that is everywhere, always...especially here, it seems; New Brunswick.

We officially left Knowlesville with our truck and trailer laden with the last of our personal items, during the weekend of the Fallsbrook Centre Fall Fair. There, we saw friends, heard wonderful music, and I quietly said So Long.

The goodies above, are made by a wonderful homeschooling friend of mine, Emilie Patterson. I stocked up on one of Emilie's birthday crowns for Horus. (Emilie: Do you sell your children's items on etsy? I need some more letters!) Dud birthday parties are well-suited to one-year olds, but I am determined to make a 'do' about Horus' third birthday, coming up in October.

Here is our last swim at the wharf--the water was still warm, but the river was high. That day, the duck-hunters were out, scoping the situation before the duck hunt begins on October 1st. Duck is one of my favourite meals. The hunters told us to come back to the wharf during the hunt, promising that we would end up taking some birds home to pluck, and eat. Yum.

Horus' swimming lessons over the summer were such a hit; he is wonderfully confident in the water now, and we have started fall lessons in Fredericton.

And then, just like that, Autumn arrives.

My Dad is here now, visiting us from Vancouver. Lots of fun with Wicked Old Grandpa Tom, and our new furry friend. It has been great having Dad here to help out. He is floored by how different the East Coast is, from the "wild and wooly west". We are trying to ensure that he gets the full treatment: leaves! lobster! an absence of traffic jams!

Queens county already feels like home. Such gorgeousness; views and vistas, red sunsets, orchards galore. We live two minutes from an orchard with U-pick Honeycrisp. I am in heaven.

Last weekend was the Queens County Fair in the village of Gagetown, just down the road from our house. Despite my father's unfortunate (and mistaken) view that Vancouver remains the centre of the universe, I can sense him breaking, just a little bit. How could anyone not be charmed by the casual realness of NB? Well, I suppose it has taken me a few years to really 'get it'. That's ok. I get it now.

Lee took the kids to the fair without me on the Friday. It wasn't until we were all there together the day after, that he off-handedly informed me that he had put Horus on the tilt-a-whirl with some random older girls...twice. And he loved it. Somehow my boys convinced me to give it a (wait for it) whirl with them, while Grandpa Tom hung out with Treva. I was utterly terrified, and screamed throughout...Horus was a bit alarmed. "Why aren't you laughing, mum?" he asked, mid-tilt.

Before we left the fair, Horus heard the fiddle from afar, and ran to the bandstand, enthralled. The crowd of mostly seniors adored his dancing, and the way he insinuated himself into the audience. Do you see him up there?

Yesterday evening, we drove down the 102 for a few minutes, to the Evandale Resort, at the Evandale Ferry crossing. It was a beautiful evening, and before eating in the dining room, we had a last swim at the pool, as management had turned off the heat the day before, in preparation for closing the pool for the winter. Even Lee (who is extremely particular about when and where he swims: ie, rarely) jumped in, and we splashed till dusk, while Grandpa Tom played lifeguard. Then, tired but happy, we feasted on a traditional turkey and ham supper.

The light is different now. The trees are turning in rows along the banks of the Beautiful River. I remind myself that every season is full of its own expression of beauty. I just hope we can get the chimney fixed, the woodstove installed, the wood split, the studio moved, the foyer painted, the clothes put away...etc. Before the cold well and truly hits.

I start a new job at the beginning of October. I will be teaching piano for a music school in Saint John--just three days a week. I think with proper planning and the right attitude we can do it all; pottery, kids, life.

I am hopeful.

Location:Queenstown, New Brunswick

Yolande Teaches Pottery!

2011-08-30T05:41:00.001-07:00

This is my class! I have been teaching a short workshop series at the Charlotte Street Art Centre, in Fredericton, and it has been proceeding fabulously. I love seeing adult students begin their clay play tentatively...and then *really* get into it. Most people, despite their protestations, have a very intuitive connection with clay, and everyone loves taking the wheel for a spin. I am even thinking of developing a pottery program that I can take to senior's residences--good idea, right?!

It has been wonderful working with the amazing staff at the Charlotte Street Art Centre. In fact, I have been invited to be a guest blogger for their new website. I'll let you all know when my article on "becoming a professional artist" (!!!) is live.

Location:Fredericton

Seeking Balance

2011-08-30T05:23:00.001-07:00

Horus is letting me know loud and clear that our pace, and the hectic nature of our lives right now is impossible...We had a disastrous day at the market the other day. We are usually at Boyce every Saturday with pottery, but last week, Horus and Treva and I were there all morning, and Horus was wired; he has developed a habit of running away--not maliciously, or to escape, necessarily, but he is intensely curious, physical, interested, and above all, independent, and he likes to just, jog off--saying hi to everyone, checking things out, etc. But nonetheless, whoosh. Gone. I get a lot of flack, directly and indirectly, for being, what I think people perceive as being overly relaxed in some ways. Yes, for those who know me, this is deeply and agonizingly ironic. Ha. But when it comes to physical risk, I think that most children are held back and "protected from danger" to their detriment. I have never stopped my children from climbing stairs as soon as they are ready, and while they have taken a few tumbles, I am always right there, watching, but giving them as much physical freedom as they need. But of course, in the grocery store, the market, the library, and pretty much every public space, there is a pervasive culture of "safety" and "prevention" that I see as existing more in the realm of the religious than in reality. Life is unsafe, and no amount of protective strategies, legislation, or magical thinking is going to alter that fact. But, it is impossible for me to adequately explain to Horus that the world sees him as being much less competent than he actually is. It's not only that, of course. We are all exhausted and overwhelmed. Horus is pissed off, and this is usually expressed in public during our more arduous outings. Honestly, at home, his glorious warmth, generosity with his sister, and overall loveliness and brilliance far outweigh his darker moments.. Actually, it's kind of bizarre to me, because in my family, I was the opposite: delightful in public, even from Horus' age (He will be 3 in October), and it was my family who received the hideous (sullen, rageful, depressive, obsessive--but, I realize now, actually relatively mild, benign, and--dare I say--normal) flipside until I was 17 (when after another major blowout which culminated in my mother throwing my entire wardrobe [significant, even then] out of our 2nd story window. Mum kicked me out in the form of finding an apartment for me to live in, in a fabulous brick building in South Granville). Anyway. The point is, everything feels a bit like it's gone to hell, or on its way. Our studio, life, clothes, pots, pans, and most importantly, art works and books (of course) are scattered from Knowlesville to Florenceville, to Queenstown, the vehicles are breaking down, the exhibitions are fast approaching, and I'm hoping to claw my marriage back from the precipice of disaster. Don't worry, we'll be fine. I'm also (hopefully!) going to being a part-time piano teaching position in Saint John very soon, which should be really excellent actually, and I'm totally looking forward to it. I still believe that all our goals are possible, with planning. And I think we can do it, and still maintain a calm, stimulating, enriching homelife. I am becoming an enthusiastic convert to productivity "systems". I definitely feel happier and more together to the degree that I can get even a little bit more organized...

I think everything will be ok. I keep reminding myself that once we are moved in, the kiln is moved, and we have a home...I think I am a bit sad. Carleton County has never really been my home. I was just reflecting on the fact that pretty much everyone who is my friend in Carleton County, told me at some point over the past four years, that I should just leave CC, because I don't belong. I guess I harboured fantasies at one point of proving everyone wrong, but no. They were not wrong. And although I kind of love it here, and I feel a strong connection on account of my children having being born here...but in general, I have had enough. Lots of little things. Lee and the kids and I visited the Bristol market a couple of weeks ago. Everything was ok, until the Christian soft-rock music starting wafting from the bandstand, LOUD. Lee and I looked at each other, and wordlessly concluded that we were being chased away. I will be happy to be out of the Bible belt, and away from such a concentrated vibe of moral certainty, and conservatism.

And even though I win the bad parent award of the week (low patience, short fuse, high expectations, stress), there are certain areas which I feel are moving in the right direction, with rhythm. Our little homeschooling project, for example. I have mentioned a little bit in other posts, that my approach to education is essentially an amalgam of different theories, tempered by my experience of working with kids, and of having my own--Thank you, Mistakes and Grave Errors! So much perspective. Not to say that I really know what I am doing, but so far, our "homeschool" process feels just right.

I have been introducing Horus to some basic phonics books, which we read together in exactly the same spirit as we do stories--no stress, all fun--and as a result of this, and our constant reading together of street signs, menus, labels, etc., Horus knows the names and sounds of most of the letters without a problem, and is beginning to put the sounds together. It is truly thrilling to me, to see these flickers of comprehension wash over his face while we read together. I am also using a series of phonics books with Horus called "Explode the Code", and the name is apt, because I can almost see before my eyes, that he is directly cracking the code. And it is pretty adorable to see Treva next to us, reading right along, and even scanning the words with her finger just like her brother. I have absolutely no interest in creating a prodigy, or in pushing Horus beyond his abilities. I simply think that the intellectual abilites of most children are underestimated, and that reading is possible and even desirable for most kids at a young age.

Starting in September, Horus will be taking weekly swimming and gymnastics lessons, and we will start "school", which will consist of a slightly more regular time in the mornings after breakfast, during which we will read for an hour--a treat at any time of day--and then head to the piano to "play", and then do a *tiny* little math lesson--5 minutes or so.

So while I have kind of always rejected the description of "unschooling" as an ethos, I am understanding more and more that "unschooling" really just involves a more independent and radically personal form of learning, and that unschooling can certainly incorporate curriculum to some degree.

I still find myself drawn to many Christian-based educational theories, even though, at this stage, if asked to describe my religious affiliation, I would have to say a combination of Art, Fire worshipping, Aesthetic Anglicanism, Aspirational Zen (ha), Babies, the universal truth of the Tao, Rumi, and a dash of Jesus the Hippie. I do seem to tend towards the radical.

Charlotte Mason's work fits here, as does a new book that I am reading called "A Little Way of Homeschooling" by Suzie Andres. The book's subtitle reads "Thirteen Families Discover Catholic Unschooling". "A Little Way" is an excellent, broad work that gives 13 very personal accounts of what may seem at first to be a contradictory choice for Catholic families. But within each narrative, the freedom that these families feel using an unschooling approach is palpable and quite inspiring. Because our culture is so heavily based around the institution in all forms, every family who homeschools really has to thoughtfully create their own educational model--even when relying on, or deriving inspiration from, curriculum work.

I am really looking forward to being able to implement some of the ideas I have gleaned from Charlotte Mason, my research into the ENKI curriculum, as well as snippets of Math-U-See...once we are at Home!

Anyway. Irene came and went, blowing all the Hollyhock blossoms off the long stalks that stood sentinel next to the robin's egg blue door of the Knowlesville cottage.

The last stages of moving are ahead, and so is Fall.

Action cuts through uncertainty. I keep going.

Location:Carleton County, NB

August

2011-08-18T08:59:00.001-07:00

Busy August. Earlier in the season, Horus, Treva and I protested against shale gas exploration in our beautiful province. We have enjoyed the glut of berries, butter lettuce. Hard work. Swimming at the Queenstown wharf, steps from our... new home, studio, gallery. We have lit our fire a few times now, and more to come. Stellar Shino. Perfectly imperfect pots. Major shifts in outlook, approach. On the brink of cracking open. Loving the way action cuts through uncertainty and inertia. So much wood to be split. Mushroom hunting on the nature walk. Autumn comes so soon. Family. Our four-year wedding Anniversary. Family gatherings with four generations in attendance. Feeling lucky to be in the thick of it; creative, happy Freak Show. Making and mothering. Good friends and their galvanizing visits. Time spinning. We have almost mastered the barbecue; a group effort. Glorious Food. I can't think of anything better to do with a basket of Chanterelles from the woods, than make an omelette with fresh cream and good butter...can you? Paul and Phil's watermelon gazpacho was exquisite. It is still summer.

Looking forward to my time in the studio. One more woodfiring here in South Knowlesville, then we are home in Queenstown.

Yolande

Location:Knowlesville, NB

Cubs

2011-07-31T18:42:00.001-07:00

These children. They are so amazing.

Glorious Summer

2011-07-14T11:40:00.000-07:00

The Green Forest. Horus does our nature walk barefoot.

Horus is heading into the third week of swimming. I wasn't completely sure this was a good idea when I first signed him up, as he is younger then the other kids. But, he is also extremely articulate, confident, and game. So we gave it a try...and Horus loves swimming, loves his charming instructor, and generally enjoys the routine of being there every day. I have been flabbergasted by how quickly he has developed a feel for the water, and real skills. Horus self-propells! I am so grateful to my mum for really getting me and A. and J. out there and involved in classes and activities. Mum loved fun and physical fitness, but she also pointedly wanted to make sure that my siblings and I were all equipped with life skills that would give us a survival edge, I guess. Well, I agree Mum, so thanks. We do live by the river, after all.

This one is too cute, and still tiny and skinny, and hilarious, and walking everywhere all the time, and sticking up for herself when it comes to her big brother, and delightful in all ways.

Berries. We went.

And picked.

June Buzz

2011-06-21T07:50:00.000-07:00

We are very happy. Delighted, in fact, with the sense of somehow being on the right track. We are steadily packing and planning, and we will be moving into our new house, studio, gallery, garden and future kiln, in Queenstown, New Brunswick, very soon. The Queenstown house is a stunner: beautiful, eccentric, ancient and disastrous (with excellent bones), and it suits us very well. We are also, simultaneously, delighted to be here in Knowlesville still, taking a very long and luxurious goodbye interspersed with little roadtrips to Queen's county. We have had many visitors over the past couple of weeks, to what has, for the past two years, been our home in K-ville, and I have mostly successfully adjusted my my own personal conception of progress to fit reality…There are only a couple of corners of the garden here on the Artful Acre where the weeds do not entirely prevail--again, a beautiful disaster. Moving always makes me a bit sad, especially the haphazard discoveries in nooks and crannies that elicit memories both sweet and bitter. Beloved friends on account of whom the thought of leaving makes me slightly sick. Garden plans are adjusted and modified for a different landscape...a different climate, even. I think Queenstown is zone 4 to Knowlesville's 3b, and I have heard from many people that the bugs are less intense at our new home. That's ok with me.

Treva is increasingly hilarious. She walks like a drunken sailor, and enjoys a good rant and a rave a couple of times a day. One of her favourite things to do is to climb all the way up the very steep and very narrow staircase at the Artful Acre, and then make a big announcement when she gets to the top. And then she requests a lift to go down again.

Friends have been everything lately. We (the Knowlesville crew) all got together for a Sunday supper last weekend. E. and J. presided, and hosted beautifully: the most scrumptious, succulent burgers made from Johann's lamb, veg kebabs, and E. outdid herself with the raw milk (thank you Shiva) creme brulee, which was initially bruleed with a blow torch, then finished in the oven--all very dramatic.

Everyone hung out after feasting, and chatted while Horus and Treva roamed the kitchen, playing generously together. Apart from the chicken incident when we first arrived, it was a lovely evening.

There is only one tiny corner of the garden in Knowlesville where the weeds do not prevail...But I have decided to try to make the official move to Queenstown sooner rather than later. The plants will come with us tomorrow in the car. Lee has been in Halifax for the past couple of days. It is nice to see him especially motivated to set up our home, studio insulation, woodstoves, etc. There is much to do before winter. Nevermind that. And Happy Solstice.

W. and R.'s visit was unexpected, and wonderful. And we did lots of wood piling which means we are actually wood-ready for our upcoming firing. The ever-present hard work is punctuated by buggy nature walks. Even poor Treva who looked positively beat up thanks to countless bloody moose and black fly bites, has developed a bit of a resistance. It has to happen, eventually.

Thanks guys. We love you.

2011-06-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

I only ever take the back roads if I can help it. The drive from Knowlesville to Fredericton through Millville then Keswick, and Burtt's corner, is stunning. I love that I can get to the city without seeing strip mall. I love the landscape here. But this drive is painful, too, because all across Carleton County, and all over New Brunswick, our history is being erased, encased in the ubiquitous, cancerous polyvinyl chloride. It seems as though every time I venture out, there is another gorgeous old wood house or barn that has either been razed to the ground to make way for another plastic prefab or violated by vinyl. Two more beautiful structures in downtown Hartland have been destroyed this way in just the past couple of weeks.

Our built environment is our culture. Our buildings speak to our values. Our buildings create the kind of lives we live, and reflect the relationships we maintain with ourselves, between each other.

Let's try to save these beautiful buildings. They are an endangered species.

Papilio Canadensis. The Tiger Swallowtail is Horus' favourite butterfly.

A glut of rhubarb, still.

Cawliflower and wild sockeye sushi.

Sandbox days.

The Keswick chip stop. We stopped for a drink of water, and the lights looked so lovely...

The World

2011-06-08T02:57:00.000-07:00

Yes, the world...In the past week or so, the big media items have included the revelation that cell phones cause brain cancer (ok, they're not *sure*, but their suspicions are enough for the World Health Organization to proclaim this as a possibility, which I read primarily as a cautious slide into a full admission). The next bombshell is...that many common ingredients in sunscreens are potentially harmful--carcinogenic, perhaps? Really?! Again, I have been concerned about cell phones and commercial sunscreens as health risks for the past thirteen years, and everyone has been telling me I am crazy. The most concerning aspect of these recent mentions is that people don't really seem to care that much...we pick and choose our poison, I suppose. On the other hand, medical professionals are finally openly discussing the fact that mood-altering drugs (anti-depressants, etc.) are no more effective than placebo, and everyone suddenly seems a little more comfortable proclaiming the idea that depression is in fact NOT an illness, but rather, (obviously), a symptom of living an inauthentic life...I have always totally rejected the idea of depression/anxiety/hyperactivity etc., as pathology. People get depressed because their lives are depressing. This is less romantic than the rhetoric of great suffering that is perpetuated in our culture, and everyone seems to really adore their little pills--even if their only effect is increased risk of suicide and fatness--but my choice remains personal transformation, rather than dependence. Not so for many many people. I continue to be somewhat shocked by the revelations all around me about antidepressant use. It seems like many mothers that I know are being "treated" for some kind of mood disorder. I'm simply baffled, that's all. That so many smart, lovely women are so willing to relinquish control and power...over their own MINDS no less. Madness.

Summer

2011-06-07T17:33:00.000-07:00

The weather is tentative and changeable, still. Sunny mornings fade into cloudy afternoons. Patchy rain. We are on our own out here in Knowlesville; ourselves and E. who is housesitting at Big Red. Horus and Treva have been playing beautifully together, and Treva is especially fond of trampoline fun. She is fearless, and loves it when her brother bounces her fiercely. Although she has taken many steps on her own, she prefers, still, her little half-crab walk. "Her kick-wheel leg only goes one way!" exclaimed Horus, intrigued, observant, proud of his little sister.

We have been out and about a lot. House business, moving, vehicles, trips to the city. Horus has been requesting the park frequently after a couple of hours being dragged around in the truck. I grew up at Trimble park in Vancouver, and I don't mind the park scene as a parent, in general. I like that Horus and Treva remain in our sphere, but that they can dip in and out of interactions with other children and return to the family matrix at their leisure. I also enjoy observing the way other parents communicate with their kids; power dynamics, bodies.

Late one afternoon, we go to a local park in the nearest big small town in Carleton County. At the water-themed play structure, Lee and I watch Horus as he watches the group of beautiful teenagers. Long-haired nymphets bust out of their short shorts. Lanky overgrown young men grab the girls around their waists and fling them effortlessly into the splash. They all seem so casual about their bodies; oblivious to the evidence, all around them, of what suburbia does. In just ten years they too may be heaving around the equivalent of a second self. An albatross. A carapace. I am still determined not to succumb to this. It's not quite too late.

Horus found a slim brown snake in the rain barrel. We watched the snake for a long time.

I am so happy to have returned to our routine of taking daily nature walks. I will really miss the woods and the wilds here. I am taking in the woods with every muscle, all my eyes. There will be woods in Queenstown. And water. It will be nice to be close to the river again--close to a swimming spot no less! We stopped in at a friend's house and he asked us if we would be doing any boating. Hm. I took sailing lessons as a kid at Jericho. Sasha and I sailed lasers. One year we were at the club every morning for two weeks. My memories are of small things, magnified; the texture of sand stuck under the elastic of our bathing suits. Boat shoes waterlogged; their sound on the deck while we cleaned the sails. The gasp upon capsizing again.

Wide, Deep, Real

2011-06-03T04:36:00.000-07:00

We had supper with good friends last night. The conversation devolved a bit into a discussion about New Brunswick and identity and apathy and effort, and the future of our own lives and of Carleton County. Generally the news of our upcoming move to Queens County is met with immediate understanding. I would have felt much less ambivalent than I do now had this move happened after only a short stint in CC. Now that I have lived here for a few years, the nuanced reality is wide, deep, complex, like anywhere real. I will miss the friends I have here so much. Queenstown isn't really that far away, but it is different. Everything will be different.

I ran into a lovely friend a couple of days ago who is from Carleton County. She mentioned that even her father, who has lived here all his life, is still considered "from away". That little phrase is pondered throughout the maritimes. The friend and I observed though, while standing in the parking lot, that things have, in fact, shifted a little bit in the past few years in CC. There are glimmerings of awareness, small movements which are heartening. A few families that we knew both knew who have taken up homesteading. Market gardens, homebirths. The little exhibition I organized at the KAN centre went well. I feel like I am leaving Knowlesville and Carleton County on a positive note.

The internet tells me that yes, the Globe can be delivered to Queenstown, New Brunswick, and only two days late. Could it be true? We humans rationalize every decision, looking for the bright...at first. I find myself categorizing experiences now: did that exchange or observation support our move away from here? Or am I going to miss that? What am I looking forward to? Back and forth. The change feels weighty. It is a challenge to calm myself down and inhabit the moment at hand. Lee and I are both craving stability. We have both moved so much in our adult lives. And I am very conscious of how discombobulating a change like this can be for little ones. Horus is slightly anxious. He is still in the thick of missing France and our life there. In moments of frustration--unrelated, it seems to me--he will suddenly pronounce, I'm not going to Queenstown ever! At other times, he has casually told me that he doesn't mind the Queenstown house. I will move there, Mum, he says, I will.

Did I mention that Treva is walking? It is such a thrill to see her taking off, teetering tenuously on those little frog legs, bright eyes, big smile. She is an absolute joy. So is her big brother.

Bittersweet

2011-06-01T01:01:00.000-07:00

Everything at once.

Treva took her first steps on Sunday the 29th of May.

Lee and I are uncle and aunt again--a gorgeous strapping boy was born this morning.

Lee and Horus started taking apart the firebox of our bourrigama this after noon.

T & L are back, and the kids seemed to be getting along well--the trampoline is a great equalizer. Horus is big enough to hold his own, now.

We are in the process of buying that house up there, located in Queenstown, New Brunswick. Queenstown is close to Gagetown (the town, not the military base) and is on the Saint John River. We drove out there yesterday, then took the ferry to Jemseg on the way back. Green and gold; orchards and pasture.

All of these changes are bittersweet. I love Knowlesville more and more. Its expanse and scope, the ragged edge of wilderness always pressing up against us, enveloping. Our friends here, family.

I have struggled with living in Carleton County, but I felt that I had come to terms with the aspects of life here that both grate and enrich--many of these are one and the same. But I do like the idea of being closer to Fredericton and Saint John, and of living nearer to our friends who are also artists--Gagetown is certainly a little arts and pottery hub... Lee lived near Queenstown for a winter when he worked for David Eastwood. He has fond memories and attachment. I think I am more upset about leaving Carleton County than Lee is. But I'm looking forward to the dock and swimming hole just down the road from "our" house. We will take our solar panel with us, and our studio will be off-grid. I am looking forward to having a fridge, though--even a very small energy-efficient one...And I am looking forward to reliable hot water. But the thought of leaving Knowlesville is painful. So many of us, actually. Exodus.

If all these plans take shape, we will be doing some minor renovations this summer on the house (paint, kitchen) as well as insulating the outbuildings in order to create a proper studio, gallery, and living situation. When this is done, or serviceable, we will be building our new Anagama, hopefully before winter. The house has beautiful bones, and period details. It is the perfect size, with three small bedrooms upstairs. The barns are magnificent. Having all of our pottery gear and our gallery and our home and our kiln in one place will be...revolutionary. Generally, we are happy and excited.

Return

2011-05-22T16:58:00.001-07:00

Down the road from the Bergerie, Puycelsi.

At the imposing cathedral in Albi.

Merry Go Round.

Jean picking daisies the night we had the campfire. Puycelsi in the distance.

Treva in the dress from Jenny.

Le Pont Neuf, Toulouse.

Cousin Eric: excellent tour-guide, gracious host. Toulouse.

Treva, beginning to get her sea legs. She does this one-handed already, now.

Our last day in Puycelsi was rather gray.

But Horus made sure to do lots of good-bye tours in his lawn-mower.

We are home now. So much has happened in the past week, I can barely keep up...And our last days in France were so jam-packed with touristy goodness that I kind of gave up on the blog a little bit--but not on documentation, oh no. So many photographs. Here are just a few of the good ones. Castles and more castles, cathedrals, flowers. Of course, we came back to rain, and a messy house, and a disastrous studio...but in all, happy pets and incredibly generous and helpful friends and family. You know who you are. Thank you. Quercy--Thank you. Time is strange, and so is space. How weird to think that all the petals are gone now, replaced by other plants now in bloom. Croissants which were once for us, eaten by other people. The other side of the world.

Castles

2011-05-03T14:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we visited the nearby village of Bruniquel. At the top of the hill, the castle of Bruniquel looks out on to the Averon river, and more glorious countryside. We were among only a handful of visitors and had the castle pretty much to ourselves...Horus was enchanted; we all were.

One of the first rooms displays reproductions of stone-age sculptures, tools, and skeletal remains that were found at the site.

And a bronze dinosaur sculpture (?)

Tourist dorkiness. The room suits us, no?

Flowers for Mummy, many times a day.

Horus pretends to wash his hands in the huge stone sink in the castle kitchen.

Lee inspects the flue while Horus starts up the stove, little fire expert that he is.

Shoulder ride with Quercy.

Green ruin: the Knight's meeting hall, next to the dungeon.

Little Warrior.

En garde!

After Bruniquel, we went to Penne, just down the road. The castle at Penne is different, but equally stunning--possibly more so. It is in the process of being restored, but its state of disrepair is utterly enchanting.

Penne.

Touche! Almost.

Rock snack.

More roses.

Breastfeeding, and a Birthday in France

2011-04-23T08:01:00.000-07:00

France is an alternate universe. Everywhere I go, nursing Treva along the way, people come up to me, cooing and exclaiming about how magnificent the children are, and how fantastic it is that I am nursing Tree all over the place. I found the following two postcards in a nowhere-country corner store.

Translation: The Milky Way

Sleeping Milk Beauty

Little Prince of the breast, child nourished by breasts

so full, so round, so soft

Traveller on the milky way.

Drink your sweet milk. Oh! Breasts!

The full jugs of milk, they're not for us [just for baby].

I can't wait for the time when this kind of open, sensual acceptance of breastfeeding is really part of Canadian culture.

We went to the Giroussens pottery market the other day. Giroussens has been a French pottery centre since the 1500s. The crowd was shoulder-to shoulder, and by the time we reached the end of the main road, lined with tables, plinths and displays, we were parched, and grateful to find that the cafe had set up tables on the cobbled street. At the majority of French cafes, one sits and orders at the table as in a proper restaurant, so we sat. This particular cafe was clearly family-run, and our waiter was a boy. High waisted jeans, still-round child-body. Heart-shaped face. Buttoned-down shirt. He brought us menus. His hair is shaggy. Running shoes. Blue eyes. But I hear him first, and whip around. This is Cedar. How can Cedar be here, ten years old now, waiting at tables in a remote French village? His stance, his voice. The same clarity and earnestness that I know from before, but I also know that these aspects of my son are no longer foremost; his circumstances--fortunate, privileged-- have taught him otherwise already. I have a weird flash of crazy, and a moment of thinking this is it, and a competing sense of sanity that stops me from reaching for this boy's arm, from smelling his hair. Let's get out of here, sweetheart, I'll hold your hand, and then the air is melty and everything is so hot, and suddenly I'm crying, then the boy is back, the perrier is on the table, and I just have to let it go again, and I do, and Treva and Horus and Lee are there, and I'm fine.

Cedar's birthday is today, so happy birthday kid.

Growing up in France

2011-04-20T17:40:00.000-07:00

I know the picture thing is getting out of hand...we're having a good time. The kids are growing up. Treva is standing on her own, and loves to walk holding hands. She has a funny right leg that wants to go..."She has a kick-wheel leg already", says her Papa. Go Treva!

In Bloom

2011-04-20T17:06:00.000-07:00

Since we have been in Puycelsi, the roses have bloomed. Utter, total, sublime gorgeousness. The scent permeates the cobbled walkways and is intoxicating. To step out the door into the village is to be enveloped by their perfume. All of the flowers pictured below are literally steps from our home here in SouthWestern France. Yes, a cliche in words and photographs, but I defy anyone to be here and not be captivated. It feels like walking through...not a romance novel at all, but a really excellent poem. Or something like that. It's just good.

Le Marche de St. Antonin

2011-04-18T15:59:00.000-07:00

We wake up and eat our croissants (when in Rome). Q. and his beautiful and lovely friend, Julia, arrive, and they take a little walk with the kids while Lee and I finish a couple of pieces in the studio. We pack up some teabowls each and then jump into the Fiat, which, miraculously, holds six people legally (les gendarmes are always on the prowl for loose passengers, or so we've heard).

The highway is a narrow serpentine road that leads through a valley thick with vineyard, orchard, walnut plantation, past the Chateau Bruniquel perched on a jutting rock, through tunnels, under rounded masonry bridges, to the picturesque town of St. Antonin. St. Antonin is, according to our French friends, "full of Englishmen" who are taking refuge from chilly Britain. The market in St. Antonin, puts any outdoor vending experience I have had in Canada, to great shame. I know that the St. Antonin market is utterly subdued compared with many other markets in the world; I have been to Morocco, and the markets there are certainly on another level. But I loved the St. Antonin market, and what fascinated me most about it, is possibly the fact that it is actually quite similar to the markets I have been to in Canada, but unique in the way of crucial details that really make all the difference. Its tonal qualities are worlds apart.

The market here envelops the main street and spills out into several adjoining side streets also. There are no boundaries, or access points, or zones. It overflows. It is a cornucopia of everything anyone could want, pretty much; fresh food, flowers, Art, chesses galore, fresh and cured meats, and several stalls that sell the ubiquitous French shopping basket, woven, with leather handles. Dogs roam looking for scraps, livestock stand around, cars swerve in and out; people, beasts, autos, horse-drawn carts--it all flows somehow, and it all works out with the utmost grace and aesthetic panache. (And we might have a chance to sell some of our pottery in St. Antonin after our little gallery exhibition--just for fun, which would be swell, I think.)

I have been struck, many times during this trip, by how arbitrary social conventions really are; how cultural mores--the decisions that we, as a society make about how our cities, towns, neighbourhoods are to be constructed and lived in--are really arbitrary. The way we do things... Laws and rules and regulations that are taken for granted in one place are different, or even flipped when somewhere else. France is widely held--and this is part of the mythology of France--to be an extremely bureaucratic country. In the village of Puycelsi, for example, committees and panels come together to pass or deny even the slightest chance to the facade of buildings, or to the repair of even the most obscure stone wall. Then again, the village of Puycelsi has been immaculately preserved, and is an astonishingly beautiful heritage site. On the other hand, the market is an absolute riot of freedom; colour, expression, cars, animals, food, spilling out into the middle of the streets; all are welcome. Canada, and my local region, province, in particular, seems to suffer from the restrictiveness of ALL these idiotic rules and regulations. The markets I have attended and participated in are pale and wan and intensely uptight and retentive in comparison to St. Antonin. Do not walk over the dotted line. Stay in the little box. No pets allowed. Health regulations. Despite the fact that many of the rules that are put in place in order to supposedly protect our health, are in fact politically motivated, or simply stupid...Despite the fact that life, no matter where we are, will impose its own variables that will undoubtably put a spanner in the works of any attempt to "regulate" anything...Nonetheless, the only form of "regulation" that I can abide, is self-regulation. And it does seem that the vendors and farmers that we met at the market are functioning under an overall umbrella of self-respect, and a continued striving for quality that seems to permeate France--compared with what I'm used to. Did you hear that in Fredericton there is a new by-law involving the licensing of cats? God help me. Surely there must be more to do with one's time...I LOVE seeing all the dogs and cats lolling around the streets and strolling down the walkways, and the fact that NO ONE is ever phased, or disturbed, and that we all learn to step over and around the shit. It's very honest. Merde.

Sigh. I am entertaining little fantasies of finding some way of staying in France...And I am also simply enjoying this experience of feeling very free; a certain kind of freedom. One that I value.

Every time we see Bandite (the dog) on the way to the cafe in the afternoon, Horus insists that "We must speak French to French dogs, Mum!" Alors, bonjour Bandite.

Fresh fresh vegetables and fruit.

Cheese stands. Real cheese. Made from Raw Milk (yes, it's one of my things).

The donkey and the dog, tied up to the railing outside a real estate office.

Eggs!

Dried fruit.

Patisserie.

Cured sausage; cepes, chorizo, canard, poivre, etc.

More real cheese!

The Spice Lady.

Treva has developed quite a taste for Roquefort. Which is great, because neither Lee nor Horus are terribly fond of blue cheese. All the more for us, little girl.

Then we visited Audrey and Justin...

Honoured Guests

2011-04-16T14:17:00.000-07:00

After another late night of making, we woke to find that friends had stopped by the bergerie (the clutch of buildings on the ramparts that make up Studio LaGrane). Barbara, a slight and lovely young mum, Kita, dreadlocked sauvage, and their beautiful daughter Lily, hung out with Horus, Lee and Treva. Then Jean-Denis, the strapping young sous-chef at the bistro stopped by. I took my turn in the studio and finished a couple of firebox vases. Jean-Denis came while I was finishing a large tsubo, and remarked that "Tu ne touches pas mal, toi", which I took as the compliment it was, coming from a guy clearly steeped in the machismo of the French cooking world.

In the late afternoon while the sun haemorrhaged into the infinitude of farm, hill, forest, steeples, and stone ruins that surround Puycelsi on all sides, we packed up a couple of bottles of wine and blankets and trekked down the cobbled road, and cut into the path that leads past the LaGrane kiln. Huge Garry Oak, Boxwood and a riot of weeds and wildflowers reached and wavered in the delicate wind. Q. met us halfway down, and pointed out the tiny wild orchids that punctuated the walkway. When we reached the party, the barbeque was already on, and the guests had arrived; gorgeous women who were, of course, pristinely turned out and ultimately glamorous, poking at the fire in their bangles and high heeled boots. Vegetable kebabs, sausages, bbq pork bellies, and the most unctuous magret de canard I have ever tasted (I have to try barbequeing the lovely magret that can be acquired from the duck guy at the Fredericton market). The picnic table groaned under the weight of this and more, and bottle after bottle of wine was opened. Among the three or four dogs in attendance, they alone shared several helpings of meat, stolen directly from the grill, which elicited only indulgent laughter from the guests, as pets are certainly revered here as much, if not more so than children. Although Horus and Treva are absolutely treated as honoured guests wherever we go.