Kitchen Duty

One of my favorite foods, and one that is rather expensive to buy fresh, is ravioli. I decided to make some yesterday. Although the pasta was thicker than it should have been, I can see that it isn’t going to be as hard as I thought to make it a regular practice.

These bouts of domesticity come in waves, like wearing makeup. When I do them, I do them all. I am a slave in the kitchen, baking, cooking, cleaning. That was yesterday. Today I will eat popcorn and have a nap in the middle of the afternoon.

My week has been one hard conversation after another. It has left me with little to say. Now that I am suitably numb, I am going to pass along a little addictive site:

www.pipl.com

Go on... see where you are on the web.

Ostara: Spring Equinox

We have reached one of the two times a year that day and night are equal. A time where the cold of winter starts to seep away (if we are lucky) and the hopeful colours of spring flash on the side of the road in the forms of daffodils and tulips. The name of the festival is Ostara.

The word sounds similar to Easter, and in fact has the same origins. Easter is named after the goddess of the spring…Eostre. Eggs and small cakes were left as offerings to the goddess. Apparently she changed birds into rabbits during the winter so they could survive. The rabbits were still able to lay eggs and would leave highly decorated eggs for the goddess as a thank you for helping them survive the winter.


D has been away for the past few weeks and arrived yesterday (Ostara) around midday. This didn’t allow for much to be done but we did manage to blow eggs and dye them. I used the yokes to make lemon poppy seed muffins and tonight we are having a frittata to further our celebration. The alter has yet to change. Today was far too beautiful. We finished one more wall of the greenhouse and marveled at the mint, lemon balm and little springs of sage that survived the winter.

More important than the actual acts done during the day, are the thoughts that go along with this holiday. This is the time to plant new ideas, new dreams into the soil of the mind. I need to spend some time thinking about what these are to me. I seem to be floating around my life and am not having many intentions come into my life. However there is lots of newness coming my way, and for that I am thankful.

Happy Spring everyone. I hope you can feel the energy shift, even if the winter hasn’t, wherever you are.

Termites hatching...

It seems a long time ago that I took this photo. The first year it happened it seemed like it would never end. Hours of these recently hatched and horny as heck bugs trying to mate under my porch light. Because I didn't know what they were, and because I had a bed ridden friend in my care, I decided I should nuke them. I sprayed them like mad, with a spray that lingers in the air and deters newcomers. When I woke in the morning there were thousands of dead bugs, but there was also dead lizards, dead frogs, a dead rat and a dead bird. I killed an eco system. the following year I decided to leave them and they were gone by morning, sans wings (which were really hard to sweep up). The following years I did the same, and this was taken the last year I lived in Thailand. My friend, in the background, now lives in the UK (at the time he lived in Indonesia) as well and when we get together we often smile at the ways our lives have changed.

St Paddy's Day 2009

I posted this last year, and think it is just as appropriate this year. Thanks to "Stuff White People Like" which I think should be re-named "Stuff White People in North America like" because most of it doesn't apply to people in Europe.

"Normally if someone were to wake up at 7:00 in the morning, take the day off work, and get drunk at a bar before 10:00 a.m., they would be called an alcoholic, and not in the artistic, edgy way that white people are so fond of.

On March 17th, however, this exact same activity is called celebrating St. Patrick’s day. This very special white holiday recognizes Saint Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland who helped to bring Catholicism to the Emerald Isle. His ascetic life is celebrated every year by white people drinking large amounts of Irish-themed alcohol and listening to the Dropkick Murphys.

It is also the day of the year when you can make the most gains in your social and professional relationship with white people.

Most of the time, white people consider celebrations of European heritage to be racist unless they omit large swathes of the 16th through 20th centuries. But since the Irish never engaged in colonialism and were actually oppressed it is considered acceptable and encouraged to celebrate their ancestry. For this reason, 100% of white people are proud to claim that they are somewhat Irish.

A big part of St. Patrick’s Day is having white people feel particularly upset at the oppression of their ancestors that has in no way trickled down to them. If you find yourself talking with a white person who tells you about how their great grandfather was oppressed by both the English and the Americans, it is strongly recommended that you lend a sympathetic ear and shake your head in disbelief. It is never considered acceptable to say: “but you’re white now, so what’s the problem?”

It is also worth noting that on this day, there is always one trump card that never fails to gain respect and acclaim. When you are sitting at an Irish bar and someone orders a round of Guinness, you must take a single sip and while the other white people are savoring their drink, you say: “mmmm, I know it sounds cliche, but it really is true. Guinness just tastes better in Ireland.”

This comment will elicit an immediate and powerful response of people agreeing with your valuable insight. This statement also has the additional benefit of humiliating the members of your party who have not been to Ireland (and thus cannot confirm this proclamation). Having not traveled to Ireland and consumed a beer that is widely available in their hometown and throughout the world, they will immediately be perceived as provincial, uncultured, and inferior to you.

It is also strongly encouraged that you memorize the lyrics to “Jump Around.” It will come in handy."

Little lambs

I walked over to the pasture, about 20m from my house, and peered over the fence. The field, full of mama ewes and their lambs were alerted to my presence. I tried to stand long enough that they would carry on with their grazing and I could watch without thinking I was disrupting them.


Little lambs chased each other around watering holes. Their legs spindly and slightly off balance. Umbilical cords still attached and high pitched bleating- I was overwhelmed by maternal instinct.


Keeping a distance, just in case, I was amazed at how a mother could stand at one side of the field and bleat, and 3 lambs would come running from the other side. They would meet with the mother lowering her head onto the lamb and then lamb going in for some milk. Then they would all run together around to another part of the pasture.



It had me smiling like a sentimental fool.

I just went to take out the garbage. The country sky is so bright with stars. I could stay outside looking up forever. Then I heard it, the "baaaa" from the pasture. Then a half dozen sheep started to bleat. In all the sound I heard the precious voices of very small lambs.

Welcome to the world little ones. Enjoy the night sky. The cold air and the company of ladies that will keep you warm tonight.

I know where I will be walking with my camera tomorrow.

Now for a laugh...

This is absolutely fantastic:



And so is this:

Pedophilia in the media

For all the restrictions the Thai media have on what they publish, it is interesting what is allowed in the media. Recently there was an article in the Phuket Gazette about a British man who has been detained on pedophile charges.

In Canadian media, CTV reports a similar situation from a 2007 by saying:

"Three years ago, German police found digital photographic images of a man allegedly having sex with Asian boys.”

In Thailand, the Phuket Gazette uses language far more graphic and there is a photo of the person in question.

“Last night, Kathu Police Superintendent Grissak Songmoonnark showed the media a dossier of evidence containing graphic images of a Caucasian man alleged to be Mr Young performing anal sex on a boy whose age was estimated at no older than twelve.

Other incriminating images included pictures of the suspect having oral sex performed on him by young boys.”

It would provoke an interesting and heated debate to question which type of journalism is more ethical. Do you think there is a difference? Do you think one is better than the other?

Spring Photo Dump

Most of my days have been spent mucking about in my own yard or staring vacantly at the mess in our house. Along with recent hike photos, I decided to add some of the "around the house" photos to this photo dump.

My man picking wild garlic. Spring is here.

Baby clothing, Macworld, a map of our area and a wildflower book... all on the couch to my right.

Candy for my cravings to my left.

Tulips about to bloom.

A beautiful daffodil that has been trying to bloom for weeks.

Ooooo... I planted our strawberries!

Our first garden variety daffodils are coming out!

This plant was a gift from D this winter. It has had flowers continually since it was brought home. Bright circles of sunshine on very rainy days.

Fat Mama Fights Back to Deaf Ears

I belong to a pregnancy website that has forums where you can discuss issues that come along in your pregnancy. I belong to a few different groups. An eco group, a money saving group, a plus sized group and the group for women giving birth at the same time as me. Something that keeps coming up in every group, except the money saving one, is the negative perceptions women have in regards to their changing bodies. Now, as regular readers/ friends, you know that for the past few years I have been on a bit of a crusade about fat acceptance, especially in my own world.

What happens, though, when reading these forums, is that I almost want to shake these women into seeing the shit they write about themselves. I am not used to being around women who don't think about their self image in relationship to what they are taught to think. I don't really know how to deal with complete self loathing AND the ultimate fear of fat.

There is a woman whose partner said that he expected her to be her pre-baby weight within 4 weeks of giving birth. She is on a diet so she doesn't gain much weight during her pregnancy. It isn't like she is dumb, or infantile, she is a professional woman who is chosing to ignore statistics about her own health and that of her child.

Another woman talked about how she was shopping at the Gap and how an assistant, when told the woman was pregnant, said: Oh, I just thought you were fat. The comments to this woman's post were irate. All these pregnant women coming together to rally behind the offended. "You aren't fat" "I would have punched her in the face" "what a cow" "She's just jealous" "Was she fat?" "You can lose weight, she will always be a ____"

To which I wrote this:

You know, as someone who is actually fat, what I find insulting is that even if you were fat, it is not her job to judge you. It is her job to help you. I think this is a really awesome time in our pregnancy, before we really show but as our bodies change, to evaluate our femininity and roundness. We are supposed to be round now. I keep reading women in a panic about looking like "a fat cow" and the like. Well, I can tell you, from a fat cow's perspective, that ignorance is it's own penalty and people who judge (like that woman in the shop) will get theirs. It is a time, like we have on this forum, to rally as women not put women down.

Find your sexiness. We are the fricken bringers of life. We are goddesses. We are creating a new person. We hold the power, because without us, the population can't survive. That is heavy shit.

We are way above infantile humiliations.

Somehow I don't think it will make a difference.

the quiet hour

It is a soft morning. The sun is high but doesn’t seem bright in the ever raining sky of Kent. We had a long night. I woke to what sounded like people moving furniture upstairs. It was 3am and some strong sentiments regarding my neighbors started to arise. Then I realized it was the boiler over heating. I went downstairs and saw that we had left the flu and the air flow (temperature regulator) fully open on the Rayburn before going to bed. This means that the temp was jacked up as high as it would go. The Rayburn heats our water and the water was boiling in the attic. After letting the water run for ten minutes and watching the brown sediment that was released from the boil fill the bathtub, I thought about the hour.

3am.

The quiet hour.

Once the boiler became still our house returned to silence. In a matter of months I may be up at this time feeding our kid. As it stands now, I am trying to respect the amount of time I am given to rest. I relish in my comfort as I wake and know I can go back to bed. I leave things on the ground, small things, choking hazards, and am thankful for the ability to be lazy. I compare my thoughts on this time to the question “What would you do if you knew you were going to die in a year?”. Now now then, I don’t associate having a kid with death. I think it is rare in life when you actually know a time line when your life is going to make a major change. I also think it is a good time to think about your Self, because as many parents tell me, you don’t get to very often once your little one is born.

Work

There are moments when you see how much you have grown. For me, these are small moments where I smile to myself and carry on with what I was doing. Recently, a pattern I thought long gone has reemerged in my life. Desperation surrounding money. When I was younger, and I started out as a massage therapist, I would wish for any client to come through my door. I just wanted to pay the rent. I just wanted to be able to eat half decent food. My clients at that time were a mixture of hypochondriacs, flakes who would come in late for appointments, people who would argue over money, people who would try to get bargains, and every now and then… a perv. Slowly, over time, I started to hone in on my skill set, target specific clients and settle for less money (due to less clients) for people who were actually invested in their own health.

Since the recent drop in the economy, my mentally healthy, proactive clientele has slowly dropped away. Now I am around four months away from not being able to work and don’t have any clients. In a desperate manifestation, I managed to have two people call me this week. Both are very similar to the types of clients I saw at the beginning of my practice and this depressed me to no end. One just canceled and I was quite thankful.

I guess this is the time to really take a look at where I am. I need to get in touch with the fact that I have a kid inside me, instead of just the symptoms that it is creating. I need to figure what it is I want because part of me really has no desire to take on anyone's “stuff” by massaging them.




Evaluation.

Speaking of all things anal....


I have officially discovered the joy of prunes.