Dirty Jobs challenge!

There are some really dirty jobs in life. The ones on TV are ok, but honestly, some of them, not so bad! Today I scrubbed toilets, cleaned puke off the carpets and seats in the van, picked up dog crap from the yard, did 4 loads of laundry (so far) and sludged out the utility sink (that the washing machine dumps into). Is it just my family, or is doing laundry GROSS!? I am definitely of the opinion that Mike Rowe should be a Mommy for a month. I bet he TOTALLY makes us laugh cleaning up blow-out diapers, scrubbing vomit off the wall by the bed, cleaning out the fridge (after how many years?), or cleaning up the bathroom after a gang of kids. Disgusting!

Cleaning bathrooms is a mom-job that is not, perhaps, my forte. Loving my kids is just not enough. Neither is cooking for them, washing them, nursing them back to health, or reading to them. Not to mention keeping them clothed, teaching them to speak, walk, jump, skip, hop, paint, write, love, share, rock in a rocking chair w/out tipping over backwards, ride a plastic dinosaur, empty their pockets before putting pants in the laundry, and about 3 trillion other skills that everyone expects everyone else to know. Speaking of which: in the laundry crap bucket this morning:

1 dinosaur
1 astronaut
36 cents
1 acorn top
several very clean dollars
1 sticker of an apple
1 bus pas (probably no good any more anyway, but ya never know!)
1 movie ticket stub
1 small yellow eraser
1 black pen
1 lip gloss
1 bouncy ball (small)
a pr of blue sunglasses
and a koala bear.And some clothes - I swear!

I know that there is satisfaction to be taken from having a clean house, clean, well behaved kids, and at least something to eat round about sunset (or before, in these parts). I know this in my head and heart. But it doesn't feel very satisfying to me. I'm not sure what would work better, since going to a job wouldn't mean that JAC would stay home and do all this work. It would mean me yelling at him and them to HELP OUT, and still doing most of it myself, and going to work. Not really positive change, imo. But honestly, the level of grossity that we have reached (you do NOT want to know what blueberry pancakes look like after about 2.5 hrs. of digestion) is beyond anything I may have ever imagined being a parent would be, when we started on this journey almost 12 yrs ago. It's amazing, the crap I bag and tag. I'd be much better off in the ME's office, except I couldn't STAND cutting into a body, even a dead one. I love being a mom, but there are some SERIOUS drawbacks - one's even Mike Rowe is too scared to take on. :D

Mother's Day Revisited

I was 35 weeks pregnant, had just survived my first round of sciatica (and was bound to have 2 more gruesome events before the pregnancy was over) and was, as I recall, feeling pretty great! I woke early as usual, about 6am, and went for my walk - a neighborhood walk up to Blundell, past the Safeway Plaza and down into the residential section South of Blundell and West of No. 2 Rd. Walk walk walk heading mostly South, out onto Francis, and up Minler. When I got back home, that Sunday, Jerry was up, and I didn't even realize the sanctity of that moment, he and I (with my big ass and bigger belly) alone, together. He cooked breakfast with his sure strong hands, trying not to speak with me too much, to just enjoy the morning. He brought me a card, signed from the Greeble, and some flowers he'd picked up the night before and cut and laid into a simple vase. He poured me juice and whipped the eggs. He was overwhelmed, I knew, as was I, with the enormity of our endeavour - this baby, the greeble, was going to be here by Father's Day, but not (hopefully) Mother's Day. So instead of waiting 11 months for my own celebration of parenthood, Jerry made this day special for me. I have lost to the memory vault many of the specifics, I remember going to Van Dusen Gardens, a place we celebrated quite a few birthdays and events, and I remember his efforts over the stove that warm Mother's Day morning before I was even the mother of the girl we know today. I remember feeling loved, and that being a mama might be scary and stepping into a great unknown, but it was also filled with potent love, deep and steadying.

Today, as I walked around the neighborhood, a different neighborhood in a different country, 12 years later, my children (and husband) sleeping soundly and warm in their beds, I have not a whit of regret for what got left behind in my life, in order to make this work. I know there are real moments of frustration and feeling fed up with all that it takes to make everything run smoothly - or at least sort of smoothly! - but I would not trade this job for all the accolades, awards, or gold in the world. When I came in, Jerry was in the kitchen, cleaning up a sinkful of plates from Chinese food last night. He asked me if I would like breakfast before taking the older one to her religion class, before teaching there myself, and I said I would LOVE breakfast - his breakfast. Because he may not be mushy or say I love you enough to me or make love to me often enough or remember to say thank you for dinner or the 8 trillion loads of laundry or for wiping the piss off the toilet, but he sure makes a mean breakfast!

Recent pics with the new HS10

Theresa took the one of Zami, and Beckey took the squirrel. I took the boring ones - except Brooke, kicking ass in a game the girls won 23-9. Woah.

365 x 2

In 2007 I joined with a small group of gals to document our year - 365 photos that showed everything from our luxuries to our loves, our despair to the beauty of nature. Lots of pictures of our kids, food, books, husbands, yards, windows. It was a ton of fun, we all really enjoyed it. Now that I have a great new tool, I plan to do this again! I am very excited. I started it the day I got the camera, and am keen to continue to click pics.

Meanwhile, tomorrow I repeat a different 365 - a year ago Tuesday, I cooked a ton of food for the teachers and staff at Beckey's school - an appreciation luncheon. Lots of people purchased, baked, boiled, broiled, washed, cut, and schlepped food to thank and celebrate all the hard work that they do for our kids. We may pay out for it, but I, among others, are keen to appreciate and be grateful for their hard work and caring. This year it will be dairy-free pumpkin-cupcakes with (tofu) cream cheese topping and shaved dark chocolate, cut fruit, and maybe something else, cookies? Lemon bars? I'm on dessert duty, which is fun.

And in other repeat performances, the ASO is offering their annual kiddie concert at Ohav Shalom on Wednesday. Somehow I have beein reigned in to do driving, again - I will have now seen it more than 5 times! Ilyse has Ben's Bar Mitzvah next weekend, and Amy is working, so happy me will drive, get Starbucks, return and drop the kids at school, then go off and do something ... productive. I don't resent it, really, I sort of wistfully wish I had something better going on, but I don't. Writing is slow right now - happening, but slow. So high ho, high ho. I'm off to the ASO. duh dum da dum duh dum da dum high ho, high ho high ho high ho ...

Plunging

I felt OCD, like perhaps medication would have helped, wondered whether other people experience this, contemplated why is this so hard, and considered whether I was getting trapped in a candid camera commercial. Pulling the trigger on the purchase of a durable household good simply should NOT be this hard. I miss living in places where the level of information, choice, and variety of goods is much more limited, making purchasing goods EASY. There may not always be the perfect fit of product to need, but generally people manage with what is available; move on, and make do. Having to choose between 300+ cameras was painful in the extreme! Even narrowing it down to 5 or 6 was hard, because this store doesn't carry Canons, that one doesn't carry Sony, this other one over there doesn't carry Olympus or Fuji or Canon, but has lots of Sony and Panasonic... so no one stop shopping except for the big box stores, which don't carry the type of camera I really was looking for. Midway between here and there is where I wanted to land, unfortunately there was broken glass and much rock at the bottom, and not a lot of water to cushion the leap - treacherous territory. Having taken the plunge, I feel I can get back to washing floors, watching trampoline flips, and driving carpool. Phew! I never thought I'd appreciate the drudgery, honestly, but I do. Clicking my heals and meaning it!

Tomorrow I go try to improve the status of midwives in NY which is looking to be an all day event - for sure I can do the AM part, the PM part is still a maybe, as it's O's first day back to school in 2 weeks. I'd like to - I haven't visited Senator Breslin since I lobbied for no-mo-GMO a few yrs ago (Orin was in the Ergo), but if he's very ornery I am ok giving it a pass. Orin, not the Senator lol!

I am also really looking forward to getting some big work done on my writing this next 2 weeks. I am afraid I am getting stuck in a place that is a little slow, and I am not wanting to plateau yet. I want more done, I want it to sear and bubble before it plateaus. Loving the work!

Vacation has come and gone, Easter baskets filled, dumped, consumed, eggs dyed, eggs found,
feast feted and Passover matzo smeared and salted. I enjoyed the passover feast better than the Easter spread, more sides, more veggies, but I know JAC likes his Easter ham, so I celebrate that it was all good, and all us. Family celebrations ROCK! It is helping me to let go of needing Beckey to Bat Mitzvah, though why she wouldn't want to still kind of escapes me.

Take your best shot!

It is hard for me to believe, concieve, that I am the only person out there with the following qualifications:

*soccer/softball mom (football, rugby, lacross and track would absolutely count, my kids just don't do those)
*interested in both macro and telephoto options
*camera and computer literate, but not fluent, and not really interested in learning the whole language
*limited in budget mostly because spending more doesn't get ME more, though it does buy more whistles and bells
*the time has come to get a better, bigger zoom, camera. 3x zoom on the little pocket camera isn't cutting it too many times.

Do I need all of the fancy attributes like panoromic 260 shooting and burst photography? Not really. I want a good steady camera that can take pics from behind the outfield or up into the roller coaster, that has a fast aperture and ISO setting, and a low F-stop. I want something big enough to hold comfortably, small enough and light enough to accompany on a short-ish hike. I'm not taking it backpacking, just wanting it to be able to move w/out a backpack of it's own. I don't want multiple lenses, I can't afford them and am likely to damage them moving them back and forth. I'd rather not have to use a tripod most of the time, so HUGE doesn't seem fitting. I do like a view finder, because sometimes outside, the LCD is hard to read. I do want an SD card because despite all the Mac equipment I've clung to all my life, I actually like being able to communicate easily between computers and printers at home and in shops where I am likely to print my photos.

So what are the options???

#1 on my list right now is the Fuji Finepix HS10. which no one has in stock right now. It's at Amazon, so I could buy it ($500 no card, no reader), and return it if I don't like it, but I pay shipping return, which isn't free, and I shouldn't have to pay to just try out a nice new camera. I could drive down to NYC and pick one up, hold it, at B&H photo. But again, that's 5hrs+ of driving just to get to touch one of these little ladies? Hmmm. Or I can wait. It could be MONTHS before it is in local stores, so forget this being a b'day gift.

#2 on my list is the Canon XS1is which has a lot of what the Fuji has, but the Fuji has a longer lens (would I use it, or need it?), and the Canon has a fully articulated LDC. The Fuji also has a really cool little sensor at the viewfinder (in addition to the manual button) that knows when you are looking through the viewfinder, so it automatically switches between the two for you. Kinda cool. :D Fuji also has a fully manual (no electronic) zoom, so I never have to wait for the zoom engine to catch up with me. I really like the physical feel of zooming, something very kinesthetic about doing it myself that I like. Canon has a great reputation for quality build (and the little Elph I have has been great that way - 3 years and counting!), where as the Fuji's I've had haven't made it past the 3 yr mark yet. On one the lens went, on the other the power toggle collapsed. The Canon is slightly more expensive, about 10% more.

#3 is a big jump down - a savings of $150 is nothing to sneeze at! But the trade offs are big too. To keep to the basics (SD card, 18x+ Optical zoom, 8MP+, 2 or 3 stabilizers, viewfinder, and a quick turnover (shot to shot time), I eliminate about 1/2 of the options out there (that use XD or other memory cards, that are too slow, that don't have viewfinders, or that don't stabilize well enough for the big lens) leaving a small number that all sort of tie for 3rd place.

There's the Panasonic Lumix, which is slower than either the Canon or the HS10, the smaller lighter, less wonderful Canon SX20is, and the Nikon Coolpix P100. They are fine cameras, but none of them have all of the things I'm looking for. The Nikon comes closest, using a CMOS sensor that allows the camera to take somewhat better photos of moving objects (like my soccer star) or in low light (like at parties and amusement parks at evening or at night). It is an improved technology, not new, but better than it used to be and better than the more traditional CCD sensor that has been used in small cameras for more than a decade of digital photography. The SX20is uses a CCD still, but the SX1is uses the CMOS, as does the HS10.

So - can anyone help me figure this out? It's just slightly more money than I am comfortable spending w/out repercussion.

Religious Crisis

Being Jewish, a religious crisis could easily be tanks and loss of lives in the East Bank, or Gaza, strained international relations, and global tag with armed support. Thankfully, this particular crisis is NOT about loss of life, though it might be loss of income. Not ours, the Synagogues. I'm not sure that this is about the Synagogue we belong to at all, but I am having a serious crisis of faith in why I persist in being a Jew, practicing Judiasm, wanting Jewery. I think, on my most visceral level, that I like the depth of belonging to something old. No one knows when whomever in my family did first commit to a single, omnipotent God, did that. Turn of the 1st Century? Turn of the 10th Century? 1840? There is no record, written or otherwise. Perhaps someday I will write about that.
Second, I like that there is this tribe of people out there that I can relate to on a level in addition to: sports, politics, weather patterns, entertainment. Jews are just about everywhere, and in general do a good job taking care of each other, especially in times of need. Being part of this little club means, well, I'm part of the club! Being Bat Mitzvah and a member is ... what? What does one 'gain' from going through the process?

I am having this crisis, I think, because Rebecca is in Religious school in order to become Bat Mitzvah. She can't, however, become Bat Mitzvah when she 'should', because there is a rule in this Synagogue (which I doubt is very unique) that each child must go through 4 years of religious education before they are eligible for Bar or Bat Mitzvah. So I am thinking through why we want to do this, more and more, as she is increasingly coming under scrutiny to participate at a specific (minimal) level, OR ELSE! (says the rabbi)

On some level there is Jewish education, in addition to education. For her Bat Mitzvah, like I did, she will lead the congregation in the Friday night and Saturday morning services (though not a Rabbi, so not technically in charge), and she offers her words in the sermon. She's done presentations, she gets exposed to that in both school and scouts (she's already presented to both adults and kids, and will continue to do so in both groups). Coming 'of age' means becoming indebted to Judiasm, to the Jewish community. The child is now able to do as much in the Jewish world as an adult - get married, participate in a minyan, say the Kaddish. However, according to Jewish law, she can do these without Bat Mitzvah. In fact there is no law anywhere in the torah about the ceremony we now call Bar or Bat Mitzvah; it's a convention. So this is me, buying into the social convention of Bat Mitzvah because...do I have a good reason? Do I need a good reason? Does it give my child a goal, a specifically Jewish goal, after which ... what? She is required by no law to participate in Jewery, believe in Judiasm, or do anything Jewish if she doesn't want to. If she wants this, the education and the party surrounding her coming of age, I can support it. If she doesn't, I refuse to buy into the litany of ridiculous rules, mostly random, that guide the education of a Jewish child into their bar or bat mitzvah. It sure seems to be that doing the ceremony by itself, without the education and understanding, is useless to both the child and the community. But doing the education, and letting the ceremony go? That feels right. It feels less like a fake Christmas (or Halloween in February), than wanting to know more and understand her own history. She can decide for herself, even as a child, whether this is something that she WANTS to do, as I can find no earthly reason to do it (other than the gifts).

It isn't that I don't want to pay, or that she shouldn't feel supported to go through this process. I'm simply not convinced that, being a non-believer, it is not entirely hypocritical for me to pursue this line of faith, with or without Rebecca. She will, someday, regret having had to go through it - or having not gone through it - either way. So I will leave the door open for now, understanding that there are 3 weekends we will lose her to overnight camp, many Sundays that she will be cooped up and under-appreciated, and her understanding of the history and culture of the Jews will expand - for better and for neutral.

School, school, and more school.

Although he's five already, Orin didn't make the cut off for Kindergarten this year. He's been attending the Temple Israel Nursery School, which I can't say enough good things about. He went there last year too, and loved it. Because he's on the older side, and because I was worried about him getting bored, we signed him up for the Hebrew Immersion class, which meets twice a week after the English class for about 2 hrs, and twice a week from 9-1. Once a week he has just the English class 9-1. So he goes 5 days a week, and half the week he has half days, half the week he goes 9-2:30. I thought in addition to the language development aspect, he would be getting ready for full day 5 days a week Kindergarten, which can otherwise be a big surprise for kids who are going to nursery school 3 days a week, half day. I liked the transition, and I liked the extra time it gave me.

He's been happy with the school, but he surely does complain about having to speak in Hebrew during the Hebrew class! It is actually making him work a little bit, for the first time, and he is feeling it. He is also very good at it. At this point in the year, he can listen and respond in Hebrew to most comments from his teacher (Teacher in Hebrew: You got a haircut, Joshua got a haircut - what's with all this haircuts! Orin in Hebrew: I don't know! Me (in English): Springtime! Teacher in Hebrew: Yes! Pesach!). He can count to thirty easily, knows the names of common classroom/household items, colors, seasons, weather, and songs and dances. He prides himself on being able to help Beckey with her Hebrew homework! Complain comshplaine. He's proud and working hard and this is all good. Even at 5.

So what's to happen for Kindergarten? I considered three private and the public option (no, not THAT public option!). Public is very crowded (24/class), and there is a real emphasis on 1) table skills (worksheets, being quiet, coloring within the lines kind of stuff) 2) hitting goals of public curriculum for Kindergartners (reading readiness, writing skills, adding and subtraction concepts, numerology). There is no science, history, music, art, or language (as in: foreign) requirements, and little is achieved there. Art on a cart, weekly gym and music (until that gets cut with new budget cuts), and a cotton candy party for Thanksgiving. Not what I can call quality, and not going to keep this one engaged. My guess is that unengaged, he will become trouble for the teacher, himself, and the other students. Eek!

Private option 1: too small. Otherwise wonderful, but the classes are teeny.
Private option 2: excellent choice, great class size and nice curriculum, but little in the way of student led learning.
Private option 3: Montessori. The plusses were enormous, the minuses small. And he LOVED his classroom visit. LOVED it. We have made our choice, and are loving that he loves this option. All I can hope for is that he continues to love it long after the agony of the choosing is forgotten.


This is not WHMS, it is the Rockford Montessori Preschool in Michigan. Orin's classroom looks interchangeable, except it has huge feathered headdresses hanging on the wall, and drawn images of the circulatory system on life size cutouts of their little preschool bodies. Pictures of their prenatal sonograms are taped to the door. And there are fish and guinea pigs and a turtle, or maybe it's a frog? There is music playing, and there is wooden furniture, not plastic. Things are labeled in Spanish as well as English, and there are about 1/3 of all the books in the classroom library in Spanish.

Back at it

Oh and the ideas just keep flowing! Things I've considered lately:

Thinking of how one might build their own steamer for making hot steamed soy chai, and then realizing that the Starbucks chai mix is really SO much better than the Tazo mix...there's no comparison. leaving me still paying 4.80 per, and delaying the wondrous kick start that they give my day, often for hours.

Why adults do things to stop kids from thinking so wonderfully, differently. School, social niceties, loss of freedoms as a result of poor behavior in other places (grounding/punishment) all stop kids from thinking things that, though they may not always be original, are often quite aside from the norm (meaning, where parents expect their children to be, what teachers expect of children). Orin has come up with some very original thoughts lately, things like which part of God is in him, and what color an egg is before it is ripe. My first thought was: why would he think these things? My second, I am SO glad he is thinking these things! And it was then that I decided against public school. It isn't even so much that teachers/schools expect children to think inside specific boxes, but that there is a tremendous amount of pressure on children by other children to think in specific ways. He chose to wear long johns to school today, though it is due to be 60F again, because they are orange. He thinks orange is cheerful, and he says he likes to bring cheerful pants to school, where some of the kids (younger, typically) are sad. Who wears clothes to bring cheer? Amazing! Why would an adult ever want to restrict a child from wearing inappropriate clothing that bring cheer or think about the color of eggs? I love it!

Also considered: never, ever vote for me for any political position. Ever. I can't resist even a twinkie, nor a single girl scout cookie! There is no WAY I'd be a good politician, no matter how good my intentions.

How grateful I am not to have been living this lifetime in some previous era. More sickness, less intellect in the general population, severe governments, prolific wars, unspeakable violence everywhere. I'll pass and be grateful for NOW. And hope that improvements continue to make living a positive, joyous experience.

Wondering about living abroad with children. How different, difficult, delicious it would be.

Thinking of the paperwork still to do. Not happily: school paperwork for Orin, registration w/the school district for Orin, and taxes. I did manage to finish my census paperwork. :D

Trying to squeeze in a weekend away...maybe w/Beckey, Theresa and Catherine. But when??

There was more, ideas that fleet so fleetingly that I hardly have time to trace their outline, let alone giving them time to take root. Summer camps, dinner, getting a new container garden planted. Loving being alive!

Hmmm- has it really been since October? And I have exactly 22 minutes to write, before having to feed the boy, make his lunch, brush his teeth, and scoot out the door for carpool? Well, that sucks. Because right now I feel inspired like I haven't for eons to write something here, something to share.

First off, I want to thank you if you read this. I appreciate your visit.

Secondly, it is SPRING here! There are daffys pushing up through the cold, wet dirt. We are raking the last of the fall debris off the lawn with regularity now - it should be gone by summer. And we are whiling away time outdoors in shirtsleeves! How wonderful it feels! Rejuvenation is the word of the day! I hope some of the excitement we feel about this is coming over to you, because it is a fabulous, season-only feeling that I know I missed in places where I didn't live in 4 season weather. It's special, the life and death of the floral world. The grass is still brownish, and most of the trees are still bare, but the birds are back in force, loud and cheerful as ever, and the last of the snow is in piles under the trees, in the shade. A couple more days of near 60F weather, and it'll be gone! Woot woot!

Thirdly, I am feeling productive in ways I haven't for eons. Like scrubbing the corners of the kitchen floor, making food that is both healthy and tasty, and using up stuff from the freezer. The downstairs freezer, the one tucked into a corner of the boiler room where food goes in, and in and in. Food is now coming back out - something about the melting snow makes me want to empty these large refrigerating devices and defrost them, clean them out completely.

Fourthly, I can do my walks outside, 3+ miles on a regular basis, and not give myself pneumonia. The cold here is merciless. I see joggers out on those freezing wintry mornings, or worse - at night - and wonder how their physical bodies cope with that kind of stress! I'd kill myself trying to do that. So being able to power walk outside with the birds and the bees is a really refreshing activity. If I want to, I can drive down to the Pine Bush or some other nice trail and spend 45 minutes out there, which so far I'm ok skipping. Even just the paved roads hold, for me right now, the powerful life of Spring, that awesome sight of color and mud and life that has been missing for so many months.

Lastly, it seems like it's been forever since I wrote anything about us, our little family. Beckey has had an amazing year - starting with being in Seussical, making choices that are important to her, having good friends, enjoying the year in Sherrie's class, working assiduously on her school materials, and having a great ski season with Dad. Orin has grown a lot, he's not such a peanut now! And he's doing a great job of sharing with his friends and enjoying the entertainment possibilities of the Mario Brothers on his DS. He's starting to get sight words and feels so proud when he reads, though he is not exactly bursting to do it. Soccer season is heading our way, and I hope he has a great time again this Spring! Jerry has had a mostly healthy year, since he was sick sick sick in the Fall. Actually, I don't think he missed even a day being sick since he had that lung crud in October/November. I have had a couple illnesses, but recovered well. I've been writing pretty steadily, dropped 20lbs, and have my A1C back under the limit. I've committed to teaching another class next year on Jewish Culture, which should be interesting, and have enjoyed teaching the Ethical Dilemmas class this year. I've had a couple interesting speakers in, watched movies, and given the kids a lot to think about - peer pressure, family ethics, legal and medical ethics, etc. It's been fun and interesting!

Ok, my time is up. Happy St. Patty's yesterday to everyone, happy Pesach and Easter coming. Enjoy the love around you, the colors electric and all the lovely bones.

To your health

Health care is not really that complicated. Right now, in this country, there's three kinds of health care, the kind before you get sick, the kind when you are sick, and the emergency my kid just flipped off his bike and his brains are leaking kind. There's also a HUGE army of people who support all of these folks, the thousands of nurses and technicians. Some of them are overworked and underpaid, some of them are well paid and have great working conditions. In all of these cases, they are ALL required by every society. From the mountainous jungles of Papua New Guinea to the urban jungles of Chicago and NY, everyone has moments (or loved ones who have moments) when they need the services of a well trained doctor.


As I understand it, the first kind requires a small army of people who can diagnose, read pictures, are compassionate and kind and have time for people, enjoy being exposed to colds, flus, and the chicken pox, and who don't mind popping boils or checking on hemorrhoids. This group used to include people who liked to birth babies, make house calls, and be there with the priest (or Rabbi) at the end of life, but not so much now a days. Now it's more about prescriptions and vaccinations, but the idea remains the same. In general, the costs from these visits is reasonably low, with the possible exception of some expensive lab tests which can run into the thousands.


The second kind require specialists but they ALSO have to be good with people. They deal with cancer, lupus, MS, CFS, CP, benign brain tumors, endocrine fuck ups, and a hundred thousand other chronic problems that people suffer from. They have long term relationships with their patients, like the first folks, but they are also only seen BECAUSE you are sick, like the 3rd folks. This coverage is typically much more expensive than your typical well check or pap smear; they perform more tests, and may offer new, cutting edge science to help with specific problems. Their role is to improve the quality of life of people, as well as save lives and detect illnesses. Nothing easy about this job, folks.

So then there's the 3rd kind, which is kind of like the 2nd kind, except these are the smarty pants who will fix your daddy's broken artery, who shave bones, mend burns, and play Lotto with nerve endings. Remember Lotto? Ok. So these folks really don't have to have the people skills of the first or second group. They work fast and furiously to save life or limb (or both), and have no time to connect to the patient as a whole person, it's all about the brains leaking out of the helmet, or controlling the stroke that is currently paralyzing that sweet old woman from down the block. They perform miracles, or try to, and are the front line of our critical care medical personnel. This part is UBER expensive, requiring every resource available, including ambulances (by air, land, and sea), surgeries, medicines, anesthetics, tests, pictures, etc.

How do other places figure out how to include 1) everyone who needs medical coverage (that'd be everyone) and 2) all the people in the first and third, and as many in the second group as humanely possible (do you eliminate the cancer specialists? the endocrine specialists? the dermatologists?) without breaking the bank? Evidently, France is the #1 country for health coverage (Bismark system) in terms of statistics, but the Nordic countries for customer satisfaction. Australia and Japan both scored well for survivor rates, and many Asian countries for combining a private/public system that stresses diet and exercise (gentle, like tai chi) as a method for dealing with stress, aging, and genetic propensity for disease. In Canada, there are abundant sport and leisure halls across the country, very low cost or free for residents. They generally include skating, swimming, and have gyms where people row, step, or walk/run according to their ability. They don't need a membership to an expensive YMCA or gym, they just need to walk or drive down the road. Kids are 30% leaner there, parents do more with sport on a regular basis (ok, a lot of this is hockey, I know, but still - they are getting out on the ice and mooooving!), and honestly, there is more FUN to be had within the family doing stuff than sitting around playing video games! They GET it!


It costs less to keep a healthier population healthy. Per capita, we spend way more than any other country in the world on health care (about US$17,000 per person per year), where as it's closer to US$6000 in Canada and US$4500 in Australia (possibly even less in France, where Viagra isn't covered because, as we heard, ze franchmen zey do not need zis!). And we still don't get it right! Have you known someone who went years without getting checked at the doctor (did they say outright that this is because of money? My friends won't say it outright, but a $20+ co-pay for every doctor visit sure adds up!), or kids who don't get mental health assistance, or parents who don't get marriage counseling etc etc etc. This is a long list, and we haven't even gotten to people who can't afford cancer treatment, who don't test their blood or take meds for diabetes or high blood pressure. It does come down to being the one who is responsible for your own health (and of the health of the people whom you love the most - parents, children, spouses, siblings etc.). If you choose to slack off every day, eat junk, and don't eat healthy foods (meaning foods that assist your body in being healthful), if you choose to eliminate organic from your grocery list because it's more expensive, realize that that choice may have very expensive consequences. Cancer is SO freaking expensive. But that's a far away bridge, hopefully one you don't have to cross ever, but god forbid, and worse, it happens to your son or daughter, you will have to live and die with those burdens.
There is no easy way to shift from a system that seeks only to get ahead and earn the holy dollar to one that respects the integrity of life of all Americans. Mistakes are going to be made. But basically there needs to be a card that says "this is me, and I am entitled to live here and be healthy". A beaurocracy already exists, Medicare and Medicaid already care for so many Americans. Tightening up this ship, and making this coverage available to every single American is not that far away - but it does depend on the heartfelt charity of our leaders, reverence for a high quality of life, and yeah, a little elbow grease from your average shlump. I will send out this prayer to your health, because you are alive, and you, just like me, have a body that requires fine tuning. Not being perfect relates to our physical and non-physical bodies. As hard as it will be to figure this out, there is almost nothing more important to the health and happiness, the potential productivity, future economy, and greatness, of this incredible nation than taking care of ourselves 100%.

What we don't know might just kill us.

This may not be popular (amongst whom - only a few friends read this, and I don't really think they would care) in general society, but I think the flu is a good thing. I think death is a good thing. I think it's GREAT to be alive, to live, to share, to make love and jump off waterfalls and relax in a hammock. I think it's amazing to birth babies and raise puppies and eat chocolate. I love that we get to do all this in a country where I can choose whether or not to vaccinate myself and my children (in conference w/my amazing husband, who just *might* be reading this). I love how much information there is out there, how many things people can do to make this a better world to be a part of, and how we can share or withdraw ourselves as our moods sway. But I also think it's ok to go back to being part of that BIGGER something, that spiritual only realm that some call god and others energy and even others call Nirvana. I am not afraid of death, and all the people I know who have died (most of whom were old) were not afraid to die. They, and I, are/am afraid of SUFFERING. Medicine was once the realm solely (no pun intended) of retroactive care - I hurt, how can I fix this. Dentistry, surgery, oncology, even mental health are all predominantly in the realm of retroactive health care. GP's are one of the lone surviving groups who can and do care for people proactively, but they are the dying breed. So much of allopatric medicine is focused on specialized (retroactive) care, that the GP can't earn much in comparison. It's the garbage man (I mean sanitation engineer) of the medical establishment - that if you can't cut neurosurgery or handle the emotional weight of oncology, oh go be a GP. Sad sad sad. Dying now means not having to pay bills, take pills, get cleaned up by some nursing staff, be a burden to your family, get Alzheimers, or wonder whether you will fall on this trip to the bathroom, or the next. It's sometimes a blessing when you are in chronic pain and your option is to be chronically doped. It can bring peace to your loved ones and offer solace to those in constant mental pain. Fear of this unknown place, death, is not real, not tangible, but frightening in that something is there, in the dark, a monster waiting for me, kind of way. Will it hurt? Will I like it after I get there? Will I be alone? If we don't know, we don't know. That doesn't make it a bad place. Losing people (me, my children, my husband and parents and siblings included) is ALWAYS sad and hard, but it's not always bad. Selective use of that awful badness of death for children, for those who are murdered by terrorists or crazy people, for those who would never have chosen that outcome, feels appropriate to me, but let's let people die who are done with this place. It's not the only place, in all likelihood, we just don't know.

How much green
can a green thumb green
if a green thumb
just ain't
green?


I spent the morning wiping O's nose, making soup, reading Olive Kitteridge. It wasn't the easiest read for me, and Orin was busy w/Legos. Come afternoon, regardless of the last 12 pages I have left to read, I decided to venture outside. Miraculously, his nose stopped dripping, we found the hedge clipper in the new back shed (duh, took me a while), and hopped to it. I hadn't gotten two bushes in, before the neighbor's lawn care professional showed up - possibly 19 years old - donned his mask, poured, walked, sprayed. I could smell it from across the street. So could Orin. Send him inside? Hope the wind blows? Resent? Leave a note? It was all so overwhelmingly disgusting to me that I sort of panicked and cut a little deep into the third bush.

Hard decisions are not normally a part of daily life. If we decide to get the chemo, it's not a big debate, usually. If we switch banks or buy a new window, it's not huge. Even the car buying grief I endured three years ago seems trivial next to the future health of my children, and their own progeny. Possibly prodigy. Not likely if we commit them to an earth filled with poison, worms who endure toxic spray multiple times per lifetime. We put up with the voles and moles, quite happily; they don't actually DO much beside tunnel and eat insects. What's not to like? Why do they need to inject poison to be rid of them? What are those people doing on their lawn that they can't have moles co-exist? There is only one old man, maybe beyond his 80's now. I am in disbelief.

It's not that I didn't know that my own neighbors were doing this all along - those bright yellow flags, undated, stick around for days and weeks after a spray. We can't walk the dog much for a few days. And I can really smell the stench of chemicals, like being back in the Greeley lab about a week before end of term. The flags are good - they let the unwary neighborhood traveler know not to get too close, especially those with canine companions. They let kids know that they shouldn't retrieve that football, just go play some tennis. They should be dated, they should be removed with some regularity. But it's better to have them than not. Except that they seriously raise my ire, bright spots of disgust in a world, currently, filled with scarlet maple leaves, scurrying squirrels, and clear blue skies. How to wreck a perfectly good afternoon? Watch that kid dump a bag full of nasties right in front of your lawn, in front of your preschooler, dribbling it into the street and onto your own lawn, while knowing that it is a truly unnecessary evil.

Vacating

I'm ready for a vacation. I know I just got home, haven't even finished the laundry! The car has lost 9 pounds of sand, the tent is finally dry, the towels are stacked; the camper is back in dry dock, the fridge and cupboards empty, the floor, well, the floor needs to be replaced (another story) but it's clean and everything has been tidied and dried and de-muddified. The trip to the Cape has come and gone, a beautiful trip, a sandy, muddy, cotton candy trip where the kids fished (and caught fish!), Jerry tanned (and burned), and mama read books, lots of good books!
It was a trip where we noticed the flowers,
rode bikes on dirt roads, and enjoyed the freedom of having vacated our lives - phones, jobs, bills, mail, all left 150 miles behind. I didn't think of writing, Rebecca didn't practice Hebrew, Orin left phonetics far behind. There were moments of hammock swinging for us all, finger smashes, bike crashes, jiffy popping, and lots of ice cream. SPF 85 became part of my vocabulary. We found starfish and many kinds of crabs, built/crusaded against/commandeered castles of sand, played games and waded through muddy rain shaped lakes. We ate wonderful food, met people who entertained and were so kind to us.

There were moments of angst, with 5 of us in the 114 sq foot trailer, but we came out of it having had a good time, and knowing ourselves and each other just that much better.

Cha cha cha changes!

I have been working on a written piece for about 9 years. It's big. Bigger than I am, most days. I keep trying to break it down, make it simpler, systematize the process to bring it into focus. It keeps growing, new characters who add life and color and depth keep popping into my head, out of my head (quite literally, and onto the pages before me). I can't even type-write this thing, it keeps morphing. It isn't ready to be born, obviously, and yet, the changes that it undergoes seem to be part of it's birth, part of the process of making it real.

When I was pregnant with Rebecca, even at the end of my pregnancy, even though I was HUGE, like apartment building huge, it still wasn't 'real'. We didn't HAVE a baby. There were kicks and pains, there was growth and change in my body, but the changes that have wrought the most significant scarring, that have left me shaken and disillusioned about who I was, let alone who I am, they were invisible at that time. And after she was born I was ... unreachable. I focused on her, from diaper to diaper. There were moments of loneliness, of disbelief, anger, frustration, of awe and there were moments I was right out of my mind with mama-lion hormones and insanity. But still it didn't FEEL real. I still felt like this was somehow NOW, not who I was for the rest of my life, Amen. There were moments when I would look at her, her sweaty curls plastered underneath a bucket hat, her fist tight around the handle of a sand shovel, or see the hummus smooshed all over her face and clothes and know, in my soul, that this was the most perfect creation I could ever imagine myself being a part of. But until recently, I don't think I'd matured into understanding that it IS for the rest of my life. I can't ever walk away from who she is, or where, or how. She is constantly with me, as is my little boikie. They are part of every breath, and that change is visceral. There is no going back. It makes the book look like playdough in an artists studio! But both are real to me, and this I take as a symbol of my own maturity. It's new to me (being the late bloomer that I am), but I hope to take it for a nice long ride.

How can I bring this writing into a place where I accept, unconditionally, it's nature. Where I understand that it will continue to change, as my children do, and I will not love it less for the pimples, mistakes, bad language, poor choice of friends, or bad co-ordination in the heat of the game? It's not real, it's not material, and yet...and yet it owns a place. It resides, it grows, it changes. Well, all deliberation on the topic aside, it is clear to me that (for me?) dealing with change is fucking hard.

Making it right

This is seriously what I think of when my mind wanders back to summer camp. Canoe races, lots of wooden buildings, bunks with foot lockers, dirt trails leading into secretive places, lakes with gleep. Camp Chingachgook (Gin-ga-cook) has all these (and more!). There are things going on there that are just awesome, and the kids come back year after year because they are so much fun. So why did I cry for half the journey home? I couldn't even say goodbye to her counselor, I was blubbering so hard. Well, I admit that I wish it were me, getting ready to swim 220yds, to prove my worth in front of my unknown peers, all of us shivering on the waterfront. I wish it were me, sleeping in my sleeping bag for the first time this summer, on a bunk with a new sheet (green and blue polka dots), a good book, and a weeny little book light. I wish it were me getting up at reveille, passing on polar bear swim, looking at that boy in canoeing. I do. I don't regret any of the years that have passed since I last graced summer camp, but I miss it. I miss being taken care of, being paid for, being part of a cabin, part of a unit that I wasn't responsible for. It's hard being a mom all the time. It's my job to constantly make things right. It's not always fun, or even entertaining, though occasionally it is some of each. But sometimes it's just driving back to the store to return a broken item, or clothing purchased one size too small. Occasionally it means leaving my nice spacious bed with my snuggly warm husband and sleeping in with the stuffed animals and random baby blankets that both my kids love to sleep with, and keeping half awake so I don't fall off the edge of the bed. Sometimes it's just drive - to this friend's house, to school for a forgotten book, to camp. To replace lost items. It's a labor of love from the first moment until you realize that it isn't happening anymore...not very often, anyway.

So I cried my way home from camp, letting Jerry drive, knowing there is no way to make this right. Letting them grow and fly - it's already right, it just hurts. I'd like to compare it to some kind of painful dentistry, or perhaps an appendectomy, but really there's nothing wrong, just hurting. She's in a beautiful place in the world, between childhood and teenhood, on a gorgeous lake, in a wonderful mountainous State Park. It really doesn't get much better. I guess it's already alright.

Old and new, again

Interesting thing, this facebook revolution. One old timer is going onto World Poker Tournament, some are having babies, families, life changing incidences that we sweep through in two words, rocking their universe, leaving grown men and women shaken and sweaty. A few die, already. Some I feel green meanies growing in my gut, they are living lives I envy and have achieved things I dream about. Others, well, not so much. I look at my little people, sleeping, windows open, and wonder where I'd be without them...Botswana, drinking red bush tea? India, eating curries and picking fruit from the trees in my yard? Lonely? Impressed with all I have achieved, or dismayed at all that I haven't. It's a fun way to kill a few quiet minutes...there are so few, why not really enjoy them!

In reconnecting to people from the past, I have come to appreciate so much more all that I have here, now. My friends, without whom I have no idea how I'd make it through each week. My husband, who has stuck by me think and thin, who was there for the birth of our children, next to me, touching me, connected. To my children, who have learned how to annoy me like no other beings on the planet, and who bring out such joy, pleasure in the moment, and searingly deep love. In an instant it can, it will, all be gone. But for this moment, I have depth of appreciation.

An old car, junk or parts or a home for rats, or sold, rebuilt, repainted, dents removed and retamed, it can sit idle after having driven dutifully for an eon of miles. Loved or not, it becomes part of a landscape of history, same as a dirty diaper or an empty soup can. It doesn't much matter how useful it was (diapers, nothing more useful to the mother of a baby!), or even how much it as loved (my old dolphin necklace is somewhere out there). It is a member of the heap. It is part of a historical clan and, memories not withstanding, it is part of the future, not the past or present. I found out on Facebook that a friend of mine's old car has finally bit the dust, a car I traveled in cross country, up and down the coasts, camping in Yosemite, and across the Mexico border for cases of Tequila.

Luka Benjamin was born the other day, a new old soul. He's part of this heap of today, though he is all about tomorrow - in a tomorrow he will be five, swinging the bat, begging for new cleats. In a tomorrow he will be 16, singing on the rooftop and emulating Kenneth Grahame's Frog. In a heartbeat of tomorrows he will find love, dance between trees, find cures or write interesting things or make beautiful sculpture. Right now he wakes long enough to find a nipple and fart. I found out he was born checking into Facebook.

And so it goes. Game scores, births, deaths. They're all on facebook, where old is new and new is old and it's just plain living to check in and say I'm still here, too.

Why Does this Man Still Have His Job

I would like to know why he still has his job? I would like to know if he's going to have an audit done. If he's facing insecurity about paying his mortgage? If he's wondering whether there's enough money to fix his teeth or put his kid through school. I'm seriously wondering where the transparency of our behavior comes from - the media? 'Cause that is a dangerous place for us, as Americans, to allow our political, business, NGO, our entire society to remain. I hope that he can believe in the system enough to know that he should step down, because even if he's a nice guy, even if, overall he's an asset to the company, he does not deserve his job. He does not deserve our trust. He made one JUMBO mistake. People have made significantly smaller mistakes and landed in jail, lost their fortunes (not just the fortunes of others), lost their families, their self respect. SMALLER mistakes. Less significant to our entire country. So what is UP with this fella? A NICE guy would make a public apology, and step aside for someone else to pick up the pieces...
About Bank Of America
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

Making pizza

I figure we spend somewhere around $700/mo on food in this household. That includes Jerry's lunches out, my soy chais, and sweets and treats for the kids - some of which we make and some of which we buy. Certainly it is cheaper to buy ingredients than it is to buy take out or restaurant food in general (the good news is that my kids are big fans of places like Panera where soup and salad together cost about $6). I make at least one big pot of soup a week, plus a chili, curry, or other stew like product. We have pasta once a week, and at least once a week I let JAC take over the stove and he makes himself and the kids chicken, steak or chops. The other nights we do something interesting with leftovers, or have take out. I have had serious cravings, lately, for pizza. My friend Sandy turned me on to Spinners, which did have good pizza! I LOVED Lou Bea's, which is super garlicky! And Andriano's is a reliable stand by. The biggest thing these places have in common (aside from being slightly grungy and reeking of pizza) is that they all produce a thin crust pizza. I guess I like thin crust pizzas!! So now I need to find a recipe that allows me to do this at home. I am going to try the one below next. Probably on Thursday. It comes well recommended. Wish me luck!





Peter Reinhart's Napoletana Pizza Dough Recipe

Heidi notes: Peter's recipe says the olive (or vegetable oil) is optional. I use it every time - always olive oil, not vegetable oil. I love the moisture and suppleness it adds to the dough, and it makes your hands soft too.

4 1/2 cups (20.25 ounces) unbleached high-gluten, bread, or all-purpose flour, chilled
1 3/4 (.44 ounce) teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon (.11 ounce) instant yeast
1/4 cup (2 ounces) olive oil (optional)
1 3/4 cups (14 ounces) water, ice cold (40°F)
Semolina flour or cornmeal for dusting

1. Stir together the flour, salt, and instant yeast in a 4-quart bowl (or in the bowl of an electric mixer). With a large metal spoon, stir in the oil and the cold water until the flour is all absorbed (or mix on low speed with the paddle attachment), If you are mixing by hand, repeatedly dip one of your hands or the metal spoon into cold water and use it, much like a dough hook, to work the dough vigorously into a smooth mass while rotating the bowl in a circular motion with the other hand. Reverse the circular motion a few times to develop the gluten further. Do this for 5 to 7 minutes, or until the dough is smooth and the ingredients are evenly distributed. If you are using an electric mixer, switch to the dough hook and mix on medium speed for 5 to 7 minutes, or as long as it takes to create a smooth, sticky dough. The dough should clear the sides of the bowl but stick to the bottom of the bowl. If the dough is too wet and doesn't come off the sides of the bowl, sprinkle in some more flour just until it clears the sides. If it clears the bottom of the bowl, dribble in a tea- spoon or two of cold water. The finished dough will be springy, elastic, and sticky, not just tacky, and register 50 to 55F.

2. Sprinkle flour on the counter and transfer the dough to the counter. Prepare a sheet pan by lining it with baking parchment and misting the parchment with spray oil (or lightly oil the parchment). Using a metal dough scraper, cut the dough into 6 equal pieces (or larger if you are comfortable shaping large pizzas), You can dip the scraper into the water between cuts to keep the dough from sticking to it, Sprinkle flour over the dough. Make sure your hands are dry and then flour them. Lift each piece and gently round it into a ball. If the dough sticks to your hands, dip your hands into the flour again. Transfer the dough balls to the sheet pan, Mist the dough generously with spray oil and slip the pan into a food-grade plastic bag.

3. Put the pan into the refrigerator overnight to rest the dough, or keep for up to 3 days. (Note: If you want to save some of the dough for future baking, you can store the dough balls in a zippered freezer bag. Dip each dough ball into a bowl that has a few tablespoons of oil in it, rolling the dough in the oil, and then put each ball into a separate bag. You can place the bags into the freezer for up to 3 months. Transfer them to the refrigerator the day before you plan to make pizza.)

4. On the day you plan to make the pizza, remove the desired number of dough balls from the refrigerator 2 hours before making the pizza. Dust the counter with flour, and then mist the counter with spray oil. Place the dough balls on top of the floured counter and sprinkle them with flour; dust your hands with flour. Gently press the dough into flat disks about 1/2 inch thick and 5 inches in diameter. Sprinkle the dough with flour, mist it again with spray oil, and cover the dough loosely with plastic wrap or a food-grade plastic bag. Let rest for 2 hours.

5. At least 45 minutes before making the pizza, place a baking stone either on the floor of the oven (for gas ovens), or on a rack in the lower third of the oven. Preheat the oven as hot as possible, up to 800F (most home ovens will go only to 500 to 550F, but some will go higher). If you do not have a baking stone, you can use the back of a sheet pan, but do not preheat the pan.

6. Generously dust a peel or the back of a sheet pan with semolina flour or cornmeal. Make the pizzas one at a time. Dip your hands, including the backs of your hands and knuckles, in flour and lift I piece of dough by getting under it with a pastry scraper. Very gently lay the dough across your fists and carefully stretch it by bouncing the dough in a circular motion on your hands, carefully giving it a little stretch with each bounce. If it begins to stick to your hands, lay it down on the floured counter and reflour your hands, then continue shaping it. Once the dough has expanded outward, move to a full toss as shown on page 208. If you have trouble tossing the dough, or if the dough keeps springing back, let it rest for 5 to 20 minutes so the gluten can relax, and try again. You can also resort to using a rolling pin, though this isn't as effective as the toss method.

7. When the dough is stretched out to your satisfaction (about 9 to 12 inches in diameter for a 6-ounce piece of dough), lay it on the peel or pan, making sure there is enough semolina flour or cornmeal to allow it to slide. Lightly top it with sauce and then with your other top- pings, remembering that the best pizzas are topped with a less-is-more philosophy. The American "kitchen sink" approach is counterproductive, as it makes the crust more difficult to bake. A few, usually no more than 3 or 4 toppings, including sauce and cheese is sufficient.

8. Slide the topped pizza onto the stone (or bake directly on the sheet pan) and close the door. Wait 2 minutes, then take a peek. If it needs to be rotated 180 degrees for even baking, do so. The pizza should take about 5 to 8 minutes to bake. If the top gets done before the bottom, you will need to move the stone to a lower self before the next round. if the bottom crisps before the cheese caramelizes, then you will need to raise the stone for subsequent bakes.

9. Remove the pizza from the oven and transfer to a cutting board. Wait 3 to 5 minutes before slicing and serving, to allow the cheese to set slightly.

Makes six 6-ounce pizza crusts.

from The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart (Ten Speed Press) - reprinted with permission

Wood Smoke

My husband and I were married in his sister's living room on December 31st. Poinsettas were our bouquets, and Christmas Tree lights were our candelabras. We all went out to a Denny's kind of place for brunch afterward, and toasted over the pumpkin pie our Matron of Honour brought us, in place of a wedding cake. It was exceptionally kind of her to do that, given that she and our Best Man had to wake at a god-awful hour to make the ferry that brought them to the Mainland to attend our wedding. After brunch, we went to a bookstore and browsed, perhaps an hour or so, and then ... I can't remember.

The day after our marriage, I we drove up to see his parents, about an hour from his sister's place. We brought with a little cake, to celebrate with them. Their place is an acreage, a bubbly salmon creek runs below the wrap around porch. After cake and beer, we went out to the fire pit, no less than three feet in diameter, and my sweetie built me a fire any good pyro would be proud to call his own. A few squirts of jet fuel, some barely sawed tree stumps, and I could feel my skin tanning in just a few minutes. We stayed a couple of days, and the smell of woodsmoke was strong in his lumberjack style flannel shirts, his baseball caps, his quilted down vest. If the fire ever went out, I didn't notice. There was always one burning when I went out there to warm my toes with him.

Soon after the wedding (bad of me to not remember, I know) my new husband and I went camping. Winter camping. In British Columbia. His first words of wisdom to his new bride - don't get your ass wet. We spent a lot of time hiking around, sitting wrapped in sleeping bags by a (significantly smaller) campfire, snuggled in our little tent, and we kept each other's asses dry.

We've made many visits back to that amazing creek-fed property, and he and his sister co-own it, now that both his parents have passed on. We recently got a phone call from his sister, who related a story - between guffaws and bursts of uncontrollable giggles - how her extremely capable and normally compulsively safety-conscious husband (and my own husband's best friend) nearly burned down the entire compound, leaving the fire to have his supper. It would, in fact, be the way for that lovely place to go, extending the diameter of that fire pit to include the house, barn, garage, the river bank, the woodland to the North and the entire creek and mountain beyond to the West. But it didn't. Clever man figured out how to save us and it and laugh about the story in it's many retellings. The smell of wood smoke is strong there, decades of it. Half a century of woodsmoke curled around the pine branches above the pit, laying like dew between the daffodils in the Spring, and resting on the tidy buildings in all seasons.

Yesterday, after a lovely day off from wrangling and driving our beautiful children, I returned to a monstrous hug from our 4yo boy. I sank my head deep into his baggy hoody sweatshirt, between the soft fabric and his even softer skin, and he covered my face with his startling blond hair. I breathed in deeply, like a yoga exercise, taking in the woodsmoke that hung on him like a cape. I looked at my husband, hauling out the detritus of our back yard in a wheel barrow, and gave up a prayer of deepest thanks. It hasn't been perfect, but the smell of woodsmoke always brings me back to keeping my ass warm, and loving the man who makes my heart sing.