Fair Isle in Unfair Times

One of my husband's friends recently lost his mother. When she died, she left quite a bit of wool and knitting--including a large in-process colorwork sweater intended for him.



The friend sent it home with David for me to look at--and I'm pretty sure it is a worsted-weight Norwegian-style sweater planned to be a cardigan. There is no yarn with the project, and no pattern.





The sleeves are finished with the exception of stitching the facings under...



...and the body is finished up to the top--but it needs to be steeked, the neck and edge stitches picked up, etc.



It would mean a great deal to David's friend to have the sweater finished.

Does anyone recognize the pattern, by any chance? Might anyone know what the yarn is?

I'd love suggestions about how to proceed. Any ideas?

To the Rescue

There is nothing like a torn bed sheet,
some random building tools,
a beautiful summer day,
and a little imagination.

To Be...Or...

The Wisdom to Survive

A Vision

If we will have the wisdom to survive,

to stand like slow-growing trees on a ruined place,
Renewing it, enriching it,
If we will make our seasons welcome here,
Asking not too much of earth or heaven.

Then a long time after we are dead
the lives our lives prepare will live here,
Their houses strongly placed upon the valley sides,
Fields and gardens rich in the windows.
The river will run clear,
as we will never know it,
And over it, birdsong like a canopy.

On the levels of the hills will be green meadows,
Stock bells in noon shade.
On the steeps where greed and ignorance cut down the old forest,
An old forest will stand,
Its rich leaf-fall drifting on its roots.
The veins of forgotten springs will have opened.

Families will be singing in the fields.
In their voices they will hear a music risen out of the ground.
They will take nothing from the ground they will not return,
whatever the grief at parting.
Memory, native to this valley,
will spread over it like a grove,
and memory will grow into legend,
legend into song, song into sacrament.

The abundance of this place,
the songs of its people and its birds,
will be health and wisdom and indwelling light.
This is no paradise or dream.
Its hardship is its possibility.


--Wendell Berry

The Phone is Ringing...

This morning I am entering the Green Phone Booth for the last time. Running through the rain that just won't stop around here, my superhero cape is soaking wet, heavy, and dripping all over my spandex leggings hemp calf-length skirt and high-heel go-go boots worn-out Birkenstocks.

Continued here...

A New Beginning

From the time I was four or five years old, I kept a diary chronicling my days. At first, I wrote about my adventures with other children in the neighborhood. As I grew up, I noted what was served for lunch in the school cafeteria, and then for an unforgivable number of years about which boy attracted my attention, and then about how big a nerd I was--how alienated that left me from my highschool-full of beautiful and rich classmates.

When I entered graduate school in history and began writing advanced research papers based on primary documents, I panicked. Yikes! For so many years I had imagined my diaries as letters to myself. Now I suddenly realized that I had an audience, whether I liked it or not: HISTORIANS OF THE FUTURE.

I stopped writing in my diary. I burned the many volumes in one giant bonfire.

But I struggled: how does one evaluate one's life, one's days, without writing about them?

Blogging allowed me to return--only by making that terrifying elusive (and evaluative) historian-of-the-future into real live readers who could comment--ideally with lovely stories, interesting thoughts, and kind support, but also with swinging fists when they felt necessary.

When I started this blog, it was a knitting blog. What pleasure it was to talk about my fibery obsessions and also to share my finished objects with others! Luckily, the wonder that is Ravelry has completely supplanted that need.

As time has gone by, I have worked through some fairly intense personal issues (including the illness of my father) in the pages of this blog. I don't know how to thank my readers for the depth of compassion I have received during these times. But it wasn't just my readers' comments on and off the blog; just the fact that I had this place to write to sometimes made a difference, too.

For the last months, I have been part of a magnificent project: the Green Phone Booth. Here a group of five fabulous "green sheros" have talked about green-caped superheroic efforts--and also our normal everyday efforts--to address the environmental issues that confront this world. I am inspired daily by this amazing group of women and the acts they do. But I feel awkward every week when I try to imagine what piece of information I can pass on that will enlighten anybody. It turns out I have very little instruction or advice to give. (Who would have thunk it?! Poe could have warned me that the didactic is almost always heresy and waste.)

So my blogging isn't about teaching whatever I think I might know.

Blogging, for me, needs to be all about navel gazing.

Do I believe my navel is really of such great importance to the universe? If not, might the universe at least be reflected in my navel? Dare I even wonder if anyone cares about what I think might be going on in my own personal belly-button?

When I get too far from the goal of analyzing my own umbilicus, I start panicking about what other people will think: if they will be disinterested in my writing, dulled by what I think are insights, disappointed in my efforts, sick of it all.

Honestly? I am trying really hard to tell myself that I don't care, that I won't worry whether you are all so bored to tears that you'd rather watch the weeds take over our backyard than read what I am writing (instead of weeding the backyard). Whatever fictive/real "audience" is out there must be better than any imaginary future-historians I could conjure to write for. (And you are, dear readers, you are! You can't imagine what I can imagine.)

Sometimes this blog takes time away from living. I am both a homeschooling mother and a writer of academic books. And I prefer both knitting and reading to blogging.

So I will tell you that I am not promising to write more than about one post a week or so.

And these posts will be random. They may be about knitting, about parenting, about homeschooling, about environmental issues, about the books I read and the music I hear and the plays I attend. They may be about politics or the collapse of civilization as we know it. You know Edgar Allan Poe will never be far from my wings. Shakespeare will appear occasionally. The history of race in America informs everything, as does my weird Jewish-Atheist personal crises which recur constantly. Beethoven, and disability politics, and Suzuki violin--they might stick their necks in. My fencing son will insist on getting a touch in occasionally. And yes--there will be food and gardening, too.

I very much needed this sabbatical. It has been wonderful. But, like the end of all great vacations, I am ready to come home. I hope to have all of you with me as I pull the suitcase out of the car and up the stairs, back to this site.

I hope you will all join me.

This blog is On Sabbatical

...until at least June 1, 2009.

APLS in Eden: A Carnival of Nature

(Update: the carnival is now posted over at the Green Phone Booth)

Announcement:

Every month I look forward to reading the Affluent Persons Living Sustainably carnival. Topics in the past have ranged from the mechanics of buying locally to the ways we think about our children and future generations when we try to green up our lives. I've really been enjoying all the posts in the new January edition about the mind games we play as we try to live more sustainable lives.

I am honored to be the host for the February edition of the APLS carnival. The topic for the month will be NATURE AND THE ENVIRONMENT.

I think I must be the Last Parent in the World to read Richard Louv's excellent book, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder. Louv's work is complex, thoughtful, and beautifully written. The author argues that a deep connection with nature leads to a calmer mind, a fitter body, and a more socially mature relationship with the world. Yet we are raising an entire generation with "denatured childhoods"--that is, childhoods where entertainment is more about electronic screens than it is about free play in the wild. Louv asked us to consider how these disconnected youngsters can ever become the good stewards of the land that we need in this era of environmental crisis.

I would love to see what connections you see between experiences in nature and your own efforts to live more sustainably.

What is "nature" in the first place? How is our experience of the natural world different in a place of awesome majesty (like the Grand Canyon), a place of more basic but still unstructured land like a local forest, and a more constructed outdoor space like a garden or park? What if we're just reading about an area we may never have seen, like a rainforest or a desert savanna?

What makes nature so powerful or meaningful? How has your experience with the natural world shaped your own environmentalism? Is love of the natural world an essential motivation for sustainability? Have you found ways to share a connection to nature with your loved ones, young and old?

To participate in February's carnival, please submit your posts to aplscarnival (at) gmail (dot) com by February 13. The carnival will be published at the Green Phone Booth on February 20.

Making Vinegar

My partner and our 9yo son went apple picking one gorgeous autumn day this fall. With their incredible harvest, we made crisps, baked apples, and apple sauce. We also dried hundreds of slices in the dehydrator. Some of them we packed up as holiday presents. Some we enjoyed as car snacks on our interminable winter drive to our families. And others we'll enjoy, cooked into pies, as the winter proceeds.

As we cut up the fresh apples in preparation for those treats, we put all the cores and skins and seeds in a big jar. When it was about two thirds full, I topped it up with water and then covered with a tea towel. The mixture stood on our indoor porch for a while, waiting for fermentation.

CONTINUED over at the Green Phone Booth

Eating Local on the Road

I've not been posting much recently about our efforts to eat locally, but that does not mean we haven't been doing it! At home, much of our diet is sourced locally--so much that we sometimes take it for granted. Quite often, we realize half way through a meal that all ingredients other than salt and pepper are local.

On the road, however, it is a little more difficult. Our two week vacation to visit our families has had a few local moments--including one of my favorite annual traditions: roasted oysters, gathered and prepared in coastal South Carolina where my parents are from. Delicious!

Begin It Now

Until one is committed there is hesitancy,

the chance to draw back,

always ineffectiveness concerning all acts of initiative and creation.

There is one elementary truth,

the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans;

That the moment one definitely commits oneself,

then providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have otherwise occurred.

A whole stream of events issue from the decision,

raising one’s favor, all manner of unforeseen incidents, and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.

Whatever you do, begin it.

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Begin it now.


--Goethe
(or not)

Living...as Quiet as a Mouse

'Twas the night before Christmas...

and in the hotel kitchenette, my partner David was cleaning out the coffee maker. After removing the (disposable) filter full of used grounds, he looked around and said, "Hey--where's the compost bucket?"

CONTINUED HERE

Happy Hanukkah!

May your windows and your hearts glow with light during this season.

Blackboard art by 9yo Son

Here Comes the Sun

Inspired by JessTrev, David and our 9yo son made a lovely bread to help us celebrate the Winter Solstice:



(Click on the picture for a full view.)

JessTrev includes the delicious bread recipe in her post. Check it out!

Son enjoyed making butter from scratch as well. We half-filled a pint jar with heavy cream, added a marble, and shook for about fifteen minutes.



The sun bread and the fresh butter seem to have done the trick. We woke this morning to watch the sun rise--and we're eagerly awaiting more light and more warmth to grace the coming days.

Ho, ho, ho!

Although our atheist-Jewish family does not celebrate Christmas, we have many friends who do--including this man, the farm manager at a cut-your-own Christmas tree farm:



I knit him the Santa hat from brilliant non-Christmas-oriented pattern for the Bearded Toque. (I think I am going to have to knit the regular one for a particular sometimes-bearded relative.)

I gave Bill the hat the day of a big dinner party. Many people tried it on that evening, and you can see some pictures of the various models here in a Flickr folder.

I'll include one shot of my favorite model (my 9yo son) showing off the hat here:



I hope all of you are having as much fun as I am preparing for upcoming holidays!

The Season of Giving

A day or two ago, I heard someone on the radio talk about volunteering to hand out sacks of groceries at a food bank, only to have the food run out long before the needy people did. The volunteer was profoundly moved when she faced the next person in line and had to tell her she would have to go home empty-handed. There was no more food for her to take home to her family.

Charities have been struggling during the economic crisis as more and more people need their services.

Interestingly, at the same time that so many people are suffering, many people are giving more than ever before. CONTINUED HERE

A New Me

?

I'm so sorry it has been so long since I've written. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ready to let go of this blog: to just live life, to post once a week (when I'm on schedule) at Green Phone Booth. I could read blogs again! I could read period again--books and the like!

I feel overwhelmed by the minimal demands of my day-to-day. Back when I was writing academic book after academic book, I had an excuse for not getting anything done. Now I don't. I sit at home watching my child grow up, watching my houseplants freeze in our cold home, watching the world go by, dreaming up new projects that I barely start because just bathing is enough for one day...

I feel guilty for not getting more done. I feel guilty for throwing away my Ivy League education, yada yada. I feel guilty for presenting a model my child probably has no idea he should feel pressured about. I feel guilty for presenting very few models other than a mother who blogs intermittently, knits obsessively, reads about the end of the world while sitting on the couch, and drinks red wine.

So yes, I am on vacation for a little while. More eventually.

Famine

courtesy of Lil Acorn Studio

Last spring I got very interested in foraging. My family took a hike through a local forest with a knowledgeable acquaintance who pointed out edible foods along our route. Our interest and confidence were both stoked by books such as The Forager's Harvest as well as the classic Stalking The Wild Asparagus.

What could be easier or more local than food that naturally grew in a place, with no labor from us?

During the early spring, my family collected quarts of dandelions and canned pints of delicious jelly. We picked purslane and sorrel which graced our stir-fries. And we eagerly awaited fall when we could collect acorns--and try everything from sugar-coated acorns to acorn-flour bread.

Last year, my young son and I collected zillions of acorns for art projects and pretending. We filled my backpack one afternoon as we waited for the bus, we picked them up on every walk, we heard their falls on our roof. Before I threw in a load of laundry, I had to pick acorns out of pockets.

But when was that, exactly? This year I waited, and waited. Still no acorns. Did we miss the season somehow?

CONTINUED HERE

Already sick of leftovers...

Local Thanksgiving

Although on Thursday we attended a friend's Thanksgiving, on Friday we cooked our own meal--all local and some of it from our own backyard garden.

* * *

For several years, we've split our celebratory meal into two. This allows us to have a full menu, not starve in the early part of the day, and not get too extraordinarily stuffed at the end.

For lunch, we served a salad of our backyard-grown arugula, local feta seasoned with Herbes de Provence (found at the farmers market), and a homemade maple-mustard vinaigrette.



We completed our midday section with a thick and spicy pumpkin soup. After roasting the tan pumpkin for about 45 minutes, I scooped out the flesh and added it to some sauteed onions and apples that I had going in the soup pot. Then I threw in some some vegetable-peeling stock, a bit of cream, pureed hot peppers, and a pinch of non-local curry powder. A warming preparation for an afternoon of cooking.



* * *

Dinner was more elaborate.

We acquired the local turkey from our Amish dairy supplier and served it with all our favorite sides.



Using corn we grew and ground ourselves, I made a skillet of all-corn cornbread, then crumbled it up and added mushrooms, onions, and some of our own backyard mustard greens. Throw in a couple of eggs, a bit of turkey broth seasoned with sage and rosemary, and then bake in a casserole for about half and hour. Surprisingly delicious. I felt quite proud eating what we had nurtured from seed.

Our main vegetable was roasted Brussels sprouts--an all-time favorite around here. There is very little that is easier to make. Cut the orbs in half length-wise, toss them on a baking sheet with oil, salt, and pepper, then roast until brown and slightly crispy. I throw them in with whatever else I am cooking, so the temperature varies--but ideally, try something around 400 degrees.

Because we could not find local cranberries, we substituted a thrown-together relish: cherry preserves I canned over the summer with some farmers-market horseradish. It was the same combination of sweet and tart--but it reminded me more of Passover than it did of Thanksgiving...

We also served two of our pickles, both canned with produce we grew ourselves. The green beans were spicy and garlicy, while the lemon cukes were sweet and mild. Great combo.



We drank a bottle of white made by our county's own vineyard. A bit sweet, which went well with the turkey.

* * *

To end our local feast, we made a sweet potato pie with a whole-wheat crust, served it with maple whipped cream, and ate it in front of a lovely fire.



We all were satiated and slept very, very well.

Blocking Dragons

David has been knitting dragon scarves recently:

a dark green one for our 9yo son, and this purple one (temporarily modeled by our son) which we wrapped up and gave to a young purple-obsessed dragon fan.



What a funny little pattern! Watching my partner knit it was amusing as he juggled three needles in order to create the scales.

The scarf was quite a hit. My favorite part is the round metal eyes we found in the button collection--a leftover from a 1950s sweater, perhaps?

Thanksgiving

In a few minutes, we're off to the home of our close friends' parents' house where we will celebrate Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, we will cook our own local feast, but today we'll enjoy the company of a family who has adopted the three of us for many holidays over the past seven years. They live only an hour away--unlike our own families--and it always makes holidays special to have an extended clan of many generations surrounding us at times when we cannot be with our own parents and siblings.



This year, we're taking birthday presents to three of the members of this fall-birthday crowd. Two are celebrating their 40ths, and 1 just turned 7 years old. I love to wrap things up in reusable wrapping. This time I used silk scarves, all home-dyed play-cloths which my son used regularly for many years.

Listening

I've been thinking a great deal about the changing meaning of sustainability. Behaviors that used to seem weird or "hippie" now seem like wise financial moves. In this world of economic chaos, people are planting their own vegetable gardens and canning their extra produce, hopping on public transportation to commute to work, repairing equipment they might have simply replaced last year, and reducing the amount of purchasing they are doing as the holiday season approaches.

As Green Bean said in her post yesterday, "We are no longer hooked on shopping." Buy Nothing Day no longer seems so counter-cultural. Most of us just don't have that money burning holes through our pockets right now.

Many of us are new to a life of frugality. We don't yet have a fully satisfactory alternative in mind to the old American dream of acquisition. I've heard a remarkable number of people muttering about the "sad" or "empty" season of giving we are about to face.

CONTINUED HERE

Why must we have such cold, dark days this time of year?

My 9yo son has been inspired by all my own frantic finishing to start his own project:



...a colorful hat, knit in the round.

Right now, though, he's put his needles down and is playing the piano, picking out the tune to "Up She Rises" and singing at the top of his lungs!

Our family has decided to kick off the Dark Days Challenge by making a local breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and sausage.



The eggs and sausage came from our Amish dairy source. Delicious, easy, and filling.

The pancakes were more complicated. Although the wheat was not grown locally, we bought it in bulk and ground it ourselves with a little human-powered grinder. (You can see which human we're talking about in that link.)



We then made a sourdough starter with that flour. The jar of starter lives on the counter of our very cold kitchen. We feed it regularly and when the half-gallon jar gets too full...



...we pull out a two cups of the starter, add sugar to taste (a tablespoon or two is our usual, depending on the cook) as well as three or four tablespoons of melted butter or oil. Throw in a pinch of salt. If the mixture seems too loose for pancakes, add enough flour to thicken it up a bit. If you like, stir in an egg, or some grated apple, or blueberries, or whatever. Then add a teaspoon of baking soda to the batter. You can dilute it in a tiny amount of water first or you can just pour it in. Stir it and let the batter foam for a moment as you heat up a skillet.

Remember those volcanoes we made in elementary school with baking soda and vinegar? These pancakes work on the same principle. The sourdough starter mixed with soda causes the release of gas which allows the pancakes to rise without baking powder.

The flavor is a bit different from "sweet" pancakes, but we think they are absolutely delicious with farmer's market maple syrup!

Feather and Fan

Over the last few days as I've been working my way through blocking all those shawls sitting in the corner, I've been knitting this lovely silk-and-mohair scarf with the classic feather and fan pattern:



I still have a few things left in my knitting basket to finish up before I cast on something new. However, I am getting my startitis out by facilitating my son's new knitting project: his first hat!

Prairie Shawl

Well, this is the last shawl I have left to be blocked. I finished it quite some time ago except for its bath and stretching:



This, the Heartland Lace Shawl by Evelyn Clark, will be a present for a very young friend who loves to put on a prairie costume and bonnet. I thought she needed a shawl to go with her outfit!

Another finished blocking project...

I loved every minute of knitting this intricate Diamond Fantasy shawl, made from Shaefer Andrea silk yarn in the Emily Dickinson colorway. It will look beautiful on its future owner, a delicately-built woman who will look lovely in this color. Can't wait to see her wearing it!

Public and Private Acts

Last year I learned how important the farm bill was to the way this nation approaches the way we eat. Recently, I've been moved by various requests to have an organic vegetable garden on the White House Lawn. And now, I'm learning how important it is to work for a reasonable Secretary of Agriculture. We need to make food a national issue, not just a personal one.

But the way this nation thinks about food and the way we eat is at some level private. And it is easy to get overwhelmed and start believing that our personal choices make very little difference. Our personal decisions will not solve all the world's problems. We are going to need the large-scale governmental decisions--symbolic as well as real--to truly make a more sustainable society.

And yet... CONTINUED HERE

Here is the beautifully simple Forest Canopy shawl, knit in Schaefer Anne. The colorway: Julia Child. I'm such a sucker for the Memorable Women series...

I knit this shawl during academic conferences--and will wear it to the next one!

Cashmere Cowl

In my quest to finally get some of those not-quite-finished projects out of my project pile, I finally sewed in the ends of this luscious cowl, knit following the Pasmina Cowl pattern from Last-Minute Knitted Gifts using Jade Sapphire's 2-ply Mongolian Cashmere in the Lilac colorway:



Although it looks kind of silly with my sweatshirt, I can't take this amazingly-soft knitwear off!

November is for Completion...?

For the last two Novembers, I have participated in NaKniSweMo--a challenge to knit an entire sweater in a single month. In 2007, I knitted a castle sweater for my son. In 2008, I knit a wild entrelac sweater for me. This year, I've dedicated my knitting month to finishing some of the myriad projects I have in the works, many of which are moments from completion.

I have two sweaters that just need buttons and blocking. I have three completed shawls that only need blocking. (Two of them I finished up this month after having them on needles for ages.) I have a balaclava which I will be gifting in mid-December, a pair of gloves missing the fingers on one hand, a beautiful lace scarf about three quarters finished, another scarf which just needs a serious block, and a colorwork cardigan I would love to knit on again now that a chill is in the air.

Well, and yes, I did cast on a simple new project on Election Night: a baby cable stole I plan to wear to the Inauguration.



Right now I can't stop working on it to put the shawls on wires. And I can't put the electric mattress cover on the bed until I've got them finished, since I can't stick pins into it.

Should I knit now and freeze tonight, or waste twenty minutes of my precious knitting time in order to block one of these babies?

Evening Knitting

I was planning to sit down after my son went to sleep and write a long cogent analysis of the world...

but...



I'm going to bind off the final row of my "conference" shawl. Details--and blocking!--tomorrow.

Tonight, my son and I are attending the opening reception for Cranial Vault, an art installation in our local community center about my friend Tom's challenging experiences over the last decade. As the exhibit advertising states, "Using commissioned artwork, medical images, found sound, and collectibles, the exhibit reflects one man’s journey from a middle-of-the-night grand mal seizure through cancer treatment and brain surgery to a survivor’s new normal. Part curiosity shop, part medical illustration, and part memoir, the exhibit serves as an experiential travelogue of a trip, nine years and continuing."

As part of the celebration of this amazing exhibit, the curators are inviting viewers to participate by filling in their own phrenology map.

Here is mine:



You can check out my son's head over at his blog.

I met Tom and his wife and daughter at a party held by mutual friends. Our two families hit it off--and by the end of a long but casual conversation, they invited us to what they said might seem kind of weird: a brain surgery anniversary.

I almost fell off my chair. "You're kidding! I celebrate the anniversaries of my brain surgery, too!"

I think they might have thought I was teasing or making fun of Tom--but I was completely serious. (You can read my whole story at that link.)

Although my experience was intense, I was very lucky to have a non-cancerous tumor which did not threaten my life. Although I have some side effects from the tumor and surgery, my status is completely stable and I am now healthy.

Tom continues to face new symptoms, new doctors, and new treatments all the time. There are new dangers and fears as well. But as he says, "It doesn't make sense to me to approach any of this with pity or a lack of joy. There are a lot of ways all of us can approach fear and uncertainty. Humor is one of them. I wouldn't choose it any other way."

Saying Goodbye

David leaves early tomorrow morning for 5 or 6 days in order to attend a conference. Son and I thought about going with him--it is a conference filled with interesting people, and it is in an especially interesting place this year--but at the last minute decided to stay home. Right now, I am already imagining the loneliness that will quickly set in.

Son and I have created a full calendar to keep us busy until David's return. We have exciting adventures planned, special meals thought out, and meetings with friends scheduled.

But tonight, we say our goodbyes. After a special meal of roasted chicken, roasted Brussels sprouts, and mushroom risotto, we'll watch David pack his bags while we play word games or sing family songs. We'll finish our family bedtime read--then tuck in our son, turn out our lights, and light a candle. Sweet dreams.

Being Radical, Being Traditional

...

When David and I decided to have a child together, we both were politicized in a new way: an intensely personal and traditional way. The experience of raising a child made me more aware of the importance of taking one's ethics deeply into one's day-to-day life choices. I had a home birth, breastfed my son for three and a half years, and chose to unschool/homeschool him.

The funny thing for me was realizing that what I defined as radical parenting was exactly what our grandmothers and great-grandmothers had done. What I began to realize is that contemporary culture had taken away experiences that had naturally belonged to women--often in the name of convenience and modernity. These moments which had previously belonged to real people (and to their friends and communities) were now too often controlled by corporate medicine. It seemed like a radical act just to remember our past and learn lessons from our grandmothers.

In 2005, the Smithsonian Folklife Festival featured the theme of Food Culture USA. Suddenly, it became clear to me that those traditional-radical decisions I made regarding parenting had their parallels in all aspects of my life. I had been assuming that those decisions were entirely private, but it now became clear to me that these radical traditions were my personal source of power in the public world.

I had long since absorbed from my hobby-farmer grandmother that dietary fiber is at the heart of moral fiber. Now at the booths on the National Mall, I was realizing how many other people had learned this same lesson and played out its truth way beyond where my own mind had taken me.


CLICK HERE FOR THE FULL POST

Shh...

At the Green Festival, I attended a workshop with with Max Simon about meditation. I really liked his style: quiet and focussed, yet not too "spiritual" in his discussion.

I am obsessed with trying to figure myself out, trying to make ethical sense of my daily life, and trying to come to terms with the role of Judaism in my life. But I immediately feel excluded as soon as someone starts using the rhetoric of spirituality. Sometimes I can recognize religious people's talk of a "still, small voice" as pretty much the same thing I mean when I talk about an inner dialectic.

Dialectic basically just means thinking about ideas by having deep conversations with other people, with other intellects. Moments of tension and contradiction arise--but respectful open conversation allows both people to arrive at a place of higher thinking, of better thought, than they could have achieved alone. Great minds do not think alike; they create harmonies which make complex music.

Inner dialectic is just my shorthand way of referring to interior thoughts brought to the logical mind. Sitting down to examine one's emotional reactions, one's assumptions, or one's feelings can so easily stir up one's fierce judgmental side. I'm often quite ashamed of what I find rattling around my subconscious, and I often try to deny it or block it out entirely. But that negative chastising is not the goal here at all. Coming to those thoughts with acceptance and then playing them off against one's ethical commitments, one's goals, and one's sense of logic can allow us to understand more fully how and why we act. Playing these two kinds of ideas off each other can allow us to polish our logical functioning and see more fully into our ethics beliefs, allowing us to grow profoundly.

That inner dialectic happens for me when I sit down with the express intent of examining my life, my self. It happens quite often when I sit down to write--which is why writing is both my career and a big part of my personal daily practice aside from my work. I've kept a diary since I was about four years old--sometimes listing nothing more than what I ate for lunch (which seemed to matter a lot during first grade and has again now that I've started gardening, "eating local," and following food blogs). Sometimes I wrote about what got said in Quaker meeting, or about relationships with friends and lovers. Sometimes I wrote about politics or even knitting. Hey--you pretty much know what I write about if you follow this blog regularly.

* * *

Well, I certainly used this personal dialectic to veer away completely from what Max Simon was talking about...

Although meditation has some of the same goals as what I am calling "the inner dialectic," I suppose, it really confronts that idea of accepting one's interior thoughts without judgment. Ideas come and go as one sits quietly. Even without the deliberate analysis that the inner dialectic requires, Simon and other meditation experts argue that the quiet self-focus happens and one learns to pay attention in a much deeper way.

I was moved by what he said in his opening and I looked forward to the coming hour. Then he announced that we would walk into the center of the busy festival, all plop down and close our ideas, and do a "public display of meditation."

My first thought was about to think about how important the idea of knitting in public (or KIP'ing) is for many knitters. I've knit in public since I was a little girl and had grandmothers and great aunts who knit and crocheted and quilted in public, so it has always seemed quite normal and natural to me.

The idea of meditating in public, though--well that seemed not only embarrassing but impossible. "Isn't meditation pretty much defined by silence?" I thought to myself.

My second thought, even less charitable, was that this was a huge gimmick that Simon was using to advertise his wares.

But--I decided to go ahead and do it anyway. I followed the other participants out of the room into the public arena, feeling incredibly uneasy as we walked deliberately and silently in a long single-file line. Walking in that line, I felt like I was part of a spectacle.

On cue, we sat down on the floor and in a few seconds closed our eyes.

And I was instantly calm and unaware of specific noise. (Being hard of hearing helps me at these times, I assume. Closing my eyes always makes a lot of sound go away.) My breath was slow and my mind much quieter than I could have predicted. Let me make it clear that I mean my mind was quieter than I expected just for the limited amount of time I meditated--even if I had been in a quiet spot.

What fascinated me most was how intimately familiar it all felt.

I already know this quiet, focussed feeling.

It is the way I feel when I knit in silence. In fact, when I first closed my eyes, the first thought that popped across my awareness was knitting in my hands, rows of garter, knit stitch after slow knit stitch.

And now, as I feel intellectually that I should wrap up this post with some great word of wisdom, my yarn is calling to me, asking that I come to it instead--and breathe deeply, with acceptance, awareness, and calm.

Puppet Clown

Chilling

My family had a lovely time on Saturday at the DC Green Festival. We walked around the enormous exhibit hall and tasted fair-trade chocolate, admired gorgeous handmade gifts and clothing, contemplated buying solar-powered LED holiday lights to hang in our sukkah, and enjoyed vegan soul food for lunch. We also talked to installers about fixing our ancient rope-and-pulley windows, met community leaders from a variety of organizations, and took in a few interesting lectures.





Our 9yo son had a wonderful time hanging out at the teen booth. He took a class on bike maintenance, made a shopping bag out of a used t-shirt, and learned how to yo-yo. He also learned how to play the nose harp. (Don't ask...)

As always, crowds this large leave me exhausted and ornery. Crowds this big focusing on buying and selling stuff--no matter how responsible that stuff might be--leave me even more overwhelmed.

* * *

Given the purchase-oriented nature of much of the fair, I was not expecting to be as motivated to work on changing the efficiency of our house as I have been since we returned from the festival.

For a long time we've been thinking about replacing our 1970 refrigerator. Unfortunately, it appears that today's refrigerators are all much larger--and a larger fridge will not fit in the spot. We've been trying for a while to grapple with the fact that when our fridge eventually dies, we'll have to rip out the upper cabinets and the pantry on that wall just to fit a new one in.

Often we wonder how much electricity our current fridge uses. While old refrigerators are notoriously inefficient, ours is so small compared to newer models that we've wondered if it might not be quite so awful after all. So I bought a Kill-a-Wattand plugged the fridge in last night. I'll let you know how our tests go!

One replacement option we've considered is a hyper-efficient Sunfrost fridge-only model. We do have a chest freezer downstairs to supplement. But would we go crazy having to go downstairs just for ice cream?

As I keep asking myself that question, I realize that worrying about this kind of small inconvenience is ridiculous. Our grandparents and great-grandparents grew up without much in the way of the stuff we now consider absolutely essential. That doesn't mean we should get that particular fridge at all--just that I need to be a bit more aware of the sense of entitlement and expectation with which I approach my life.

* * *

Tomorrow: a post about some non-product-oriented experiences at the Green Festival.

Obama the Riveter?

Yes, I promise this is the last Obama post for a little while:

This and other very funny pictures found here.

We had a lovely power-free Shabbat evening (violated only to take these pictures at the end)...



playing games with a necklace chain making shapes for others to guess...



and drinking Chicagos--a drink of brandy, triple sec (replaced here with homemade kumquat liqueur), bitters, and champagne:



I'm afraid I had enough Chicago in me that by the end I started being very, very sacrilegious and singing "Barack Obama" instead of "Baruch atah..."

Rebirth

I am still trying to come back down to earth after Obama's victory Tuesday evening.

Here are two of my favorite post-election quotes:


"I'm at a christening. It's my christening as a born-again American."
--Norman Lear


"We've crossed over to a better place and a more hopeful time. Not simply because of one man, but because we were prescient enough to have recognized ourselves and the true nature of America reflected in that one man. From there, we set about the task of freeing ourselves from the darkness of this decade and the skulking shadows that have for too long haunted us. In this respect, all of us -- all races -- are a little more free at last. After all these years, we've finally arrived at moment when America feels like it's supposed to feel. This January 20th, all of America will be stepping through those doors with President and Mrs. Obama as the dark ride of the last eight years reaches its long-overdue conclusion -- a conclusion more joyful and overwhelming than I think any of us fully anticipated prior to 11 p.m. eastern time Tuesday night -- when we pushed beyond a crucial threshold on our way to a more perfect union."
--Bob Cesca

Earning the Letter

Today over at the Green Phone Booth, I picture a very special honorary guest with whom we will gladly share our phone booth. Come visit!

An American Diary

12:40, Tuesday afternoon

Just returned from the polls, wearing my "I Voted" sticker. I've never had this kind of faith in a presidential candidate before--even when I was my son's innocent age watching as my own proud mother pulled the curtain to cast her vote for Jimmy Carter. In my adulthood, I have happily voted for Dukakis, for Clinton, for Gore, for Kerry. But I could not imagine that any of them could live up to what I wanted in a leader.

Today it is different. I don't know what people felt when they pulled the ballot for FDR, for Kennedy. Like I do today? I'm thinking about what MLK called "the fierce urgency of now." Now it is our responsibility, our time. "We are the ones we have been waiting for!"


2:40pm, Tuesday afternoon

I am weeping. How can a 40-something-year-old woman be so emotional in the face of possibility? "In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope."


4:40pm, Tuesday afternoon

Son is taking a late-afternoon nap in preparation for a late evening watching the returns. I think about my 9yo boy and the fear he has faced this year as he came into awareness of climate change, of peak energy, of bits of the financial crisis. I want this time ahead of us to be filled not just with whatever difficulties we must face but also with the hope, the caring, the sense of duty that Obama inspires in Americans. "These are our hands; What are we gonna build with them?"

Leading the Way

I finished Sharon Astyk's Depletion and Abundance: Life on the New Home Frontwith a feeling not only of hope, but also with a feeling of radical responsibility. What I love best about Astyk's book is the author's unshakable commitment to her inner ethical compass. Usually, I am very resistant to authors telling me to do what they think is right for the world. But Astyk combines belief in universal morals (like truly committing our lives to taking care of elderly parents and children, connecting with our communities, and helping strangers in need) with acceptance and respect for diversity. Instead of feeling like she is preaching at me, I feel like she is inspiring me to try to live up to my ideals and attempt to be my highest self.

For the full review, check out my post over at The Blogging Bookworm.

Caring

I keep crying happy tears when looking at these wonderful Obama family pictures. This is what I need in the White House! Fundamentally, I trust that anyone who protects, respects, loves, and enjoys his family this much will do the same for this nation.

And don't miss these great romantic moments--and these--between the Barack and Michelle!

Natural Born

The US Constitution requires that all presidents be natural born citizens of this country. Candidates born as citizens of another country then naturalized can serve in all but this highest of government roles.

But what is a "natural born citizen"? It is not defined by the Constitution at all.

Interestingly, people have questioned both Obama's status and McCain's status.

* * *

Obama was born in Hawaii according to his campaign and the birth certificate they published on his website.

Some have suggested, based on what most people see as extremely problematic evidence, that he was in fact born in Kenya. In order to question Obama's qualification, you have to accept this argument. (I am not telling you to believe it at all in real life--I certainly don't--but just play along with me for a minute.)

Very few people believe one actually has to be born on US soil to be "natural born"--since you are born a citizen if one of your parents is a US citizen, as Obama's mother was. But the complication in this case is that the law at the time required the parent to reside for 5 years after the age of 14 within the US--and Obama's mother was only 18yo and therefore had not resided anywhere for 5 years after the age of 18. Surely this is not what the founders of the Constitution were fighting against....

The law was later changed and made retroactive so Obama would in fact be covered anyway, even if he was born in Kenya.

But if you really want to get nit-picky (which can be an enjoyable intellectual activity at times), you could argue that it is impossible to be a natural born citizen if you've already been alive for a few years. A natural rebirth?

* * *

McCain's case is pretty similar. He was by all accounts born in the Panama Canal in 1936. At the time of his birth, birth in the Canal Zone did not lead to US citizenship. Although his parents were both US citizens, if you believe that "natural born" means you have to be born on the soil of the country, then McCain would not qualify.

But he's safe--right?--since a law passed when he was a year old retroactively made him a citizen. But, oops, just like in the case of a Kenyan-born Obama, McCain's situation would require a rebirth....

All of this is pretty crazy, as Senator Lindsey Graham says(who I never ever agree with in any other case): It would be incomprehensible to him if the son of a military officer was born in a military station and could therefore not run for president. Just as crazy as being penalized for having an underage mother.

* * *

When I was talking about this absolutely inconsequential quagmire of a game with David, our 9yo son explained the he in fact knew exactly what "natural born" means.

"I could be president!" He realized. "I was born at home, and you didn't have drugs or anything, right? I was natural born!"

Shakespeare's Macbeth would approve.

Smaller Footsteps