Trains pass this house many times a day and sound their horns at the crossings. They blend into the soundscape of birds, wind moving through pines, settling walls. My boy and I have new rhythms and new favorites, new jobs and new home offices. He learns to drive on a cherry red Ford pickup. We spend time with sisters, cousins, and uncles. Our voices echo through empty rooms with bare floors and walls. ...
Friday morning. Quiet, soul-enriching playlist on Spotify and my hands in the dirt, propagating life in the only way available to me now.
On the second to last day of this year, I stand at the clothesline and pin damp sheets and pillowcases still smelling of lavender. They snap and twist in the cold wind. I’m surrounded by all the[…] Inside, I watch the bone broth simmer through the glass lid. The bubbles wiggle the chicken feet floating on the surface of the golden liquid. And I’m sick and worn down to just the warp in spots. My eyes burn and my ears are blocked and ringing still with the leaving, that final gift that pricks and throbs like so many tiny shards of […] ...
I could barely believe the beauty of Manhattan Beach. Lemon trees and succulents in nearly every front yard, warm and fragrant breezes, my feet in soft sand after a painfully long winter. I’d never before attended a wedding held outside in the rain, but now I can heartily recommend it: huge smiles peeking out from under dripping raincoat hoods and umbrellas, steam rising from the pavement, the sound of water all around. ...
Surgery would never be my first choice to treat any dysfunction. But sometimes our bodies need raw, physical intervention to function properly, and are opened, and our insides are rearranged by skilled doctors with the best of intentions. As I write this, a loved one of mine is snuggled up in his bed, recovering from his second surgery in three months. Nothing life-threatening, but surgery nonetheless. His recovery will include several days spent in bed, followed by several weeks of crutches and physical therapy. I’m by no means an expert on natural healing (really I have so much to learn) but I believe in the power of preventative care, am learning more and more about nutrition as medicine, and am wide open to ancient and naturopathic healing wisdom. I thought it might be worth sharing about how I prepare our home for convalescence, and the natural remedies I use to encourage rest and healing. ...
The tender friendships one gives up, on parting, leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious feeling of a treasure somewhere buried. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Southern Mail, 1929, translated from French by Curtis Cate The truest, most loving friends in the world helped us pack our truck and clean our house on a Friday night. Kids raced around, got underfoot and played hot potato. Crazy Phil discovered some 20 year-old homemade pickles in my basement. Despite the corroded lids, despite the fact that the pickles were floating around in a murky, green water filled with unidentifiable objects of plant origin, he ate them. Then he passed them around. Video of that disgusting event here. There was pizza and a little drinking and my girlfriends washed my bathrooms, packed my food, washed my fridges, and slipped care packages of new toys and goodies into the truck for us to discover on our arrival. Their acts of kindness that night filled my heart to overflowing. ...
I’m reusing last year’s bamboo tomato teepees (assembled and installed Martha-style last spring) to support my tomato plants. Bamboo supports are natural and biodegradable, cheap, and a lot nicer in appearance (in my opinion) than metal cages. This year I added jute twine to provide side support for the plants as they grow in the center of each teepee, something that Martha’s gardener did not really discuss but something that I definitely could have used last summer. I tied one end of the jute to the first pole, wrapped the twine around the second and third poles, then returned to the first pole and tied it off. I added enough layers of these “triangles” to hopefully let me weave the growing plants in and out for support. ...
Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful. — William Morris We are moving in two months, so I am taking William Morris’ words to heart. I am making choices, selling off, giving away. I feel stripped down to a ribbon inside. I move from room to room, pulling items out of corners and closets. I hold each thing in my hand, feel its weight, and I whisper to myself: And this? Does this matter to you? Will its loss tear through you, leave you broken and wanting? ...
I work with my hands to heal: A pencil roll for my sweet artist. New cotton coasters to protect wood. A Minecraft t-shirt repurposed into a journal for a birthday gift to a friend. Pages of pen and ink mandalas, to quiet my mind.