It's 6AM. I've been awake since 3, and now I'm seated at the kitchen table, a mug of tea steeping, a yogurt open beside me, thinking about the park. It is hard to imagine leaving this community that has become so central to my weeks, to my rhythm of living, to my sense of neighborhood, to my heart. Over the weeks, we've sat on the grass talking about packing up my house, and my friends have asked about the boxes, the progress, how much stuff there is to go. They have all packed up houses before and commiserate with the size of the job, though now they live with only two, three, four bags of stuff -- maybe a guitar, too, maybe some books stashed at a friend's house or some art supplies somewhere, but that's it. It's a grounding perspective. These friends with their lives on their backs are the ones who have showered me with gifts these past months, showered Eden and Silas and Ben. I realize I never would have grown as I have without their friendships, the challenges of their past wounds, the challenges of experiencing homelessness with no clear roads out, the challenges of the addictions some of them wear so plainly, their kindness toward me over and over; I would not have experienced God's tenderness so deeply in my life without them. As I've sifted through drawers and shelves, I've found gifts and remembered others that I've received at the park -- so much to learn about generosity.
for me:
-a white angora sweater
-markers and pens for my art supplies
-a green wooden cross
-a shimmery shirt
-special stones
-a cook out with burgers for all
-a yellow dress
-an angel food cake
-St. Patrick's day decorations taped on the concrete walls for my going away
-purple ugg-like boots
-photos on facebook
-tea bags
-lengthy letters
-tears
-coffee cake
-apologies
-help cracking & beating dozens of eggs
-poems
-song lyrics
-remixed music
-heads of cauliflower
-guitar playing
-small paintings
-a beaded necklace
for Silas and Eden:
-purple sparkly nail polish
-numerous sprinklings of "fairy dust"
-jeans
-a Hurley t-shirt (that Ben wears...)
-a green bouncy ball
-a plastic shell-shaped pocket book
-sequined gypsy dress
-t-shirts, pants, shorts, leggings
-a huge oatmeal cookie for Eden so I didn't have to leave to feed her
-bubbles
-pushes on the swing
on and on...
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Amy's Meatloaf
I wouldn't say I love meatloaf in general, that I'd order it off any menu, or that I'm a general fan, but Amy's meatloaf I love -- hot or cold, on a plate or sandwich (had such a good sandwich today). Sometime before Silas was born, Amy taught me to make this and it kicked me into cooking. It couldn't be more simple, really, a perfectly friendly food, that even people who aren't fans of ground turkey or meatloaf tend to like.
Over the past week, the first trimester clouds have lifted; I've slowly found my hunger again and find myself eating three meals a day rather than one every hour. For the first time in months (literally) I cooked last night: roasted yellow cauliflower, polenta (or yellow grits, as Eden calls it), and Amy's meatloaf.
Amy's Meatloaf
1 lb ground turkey
2 eggs, beaten
oats (somewhere between 1/2 c-1c -- eyeball it, don't want it to be dry)
a good big squirt of ketchup
a few drops of Worcestershire
diced onion
diced celery
diced carrot
(add anything you like here -- grated zucchini, chopped parsley, chopped spinach. I have to make my vegetables, especially the onions, pretty tiny to disguise them from Eden)
Mix first five ingredients.
If you are using leaves -- parsley, spinach, kale -- or something fine like grated zucchini, mix in.
If you are using carrots/onion/celery, saute in pan to soften slightly and mix in.
Put in a loaf pan sprayed with non-stick spray.
Bake at 350 for an hour.
Over the past week, the first trimester clouds have lifted; I've slowly found my hunger again and find myself eating three meals a day rather than one every hour. For the first time in months (literally) I cooked last night: roasted yellow cauliflower, polenta (or yellow grits, as Eden calls it), and Amy's meatloaf.
Amy's Meatloaf
1 lb ground turkey
2 eggs, beaten
oats (somewhere between 1/2 c-1c -- eyeball it, don't want it to be dry)
a good big squirt of ketchup
a few drops of Worcestershire
diced onion
diced celery
diced carrot
(add anything you like here -- grated zucchini, chopped parsley, chopped spinach. I have to make my vegetables, especially the onions, pretty tiny to disguise them from Eden)
Mix first five ingredients.
If you are using leaves -- parsley, spinach, kale -- or something fine like grated zucchini, mix in.
If you are using carrots/onion/celery, saute in pan to soften slightly and mix in.
Put in a loaf pan sprayed with non-stick spray.
Bake at 350 for an hour.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Ben's words for goodbye
Years ago, when Ben and I lived in our first Costa Mesa house, a jewel box cottage tucked on the back of a lot, we read East of Eden aloud. We savored Steinbeck's descriptions of the poppies, seemingly illuminated from within, the soil, the wind, the landscape we already knew though it lay north of us. We cried when families broke and broke again, when babies died and brothers ached. We soaked in the stunning pain and beauty of living east of Eden.
On Saturday night we gathered with friends to say goodbye. (I pretended it was my birthday party to alleviate the gloom). After champagne, cups of soup, beautiful salads, cheeses, cake, we packed into our friend's living room, and told stories. Ben had words for each of his friends, but opened and closed with what follows. His words touch on much of what California has been for us, the people we've loved, the land we've made home:
Steinbeck borrowed the title of his book East of Eden from Genesis,Chapter 4, verse 16:
"And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, east of Eden."
That place, to the East of Eden, full of extremes, both lush and barren,
a cake mix in a box that says "just add water", a place so close to paradise
but so far from perfection, a place for the broken but protected, this is Steinbeck's California.
It is the land of dangerous possibility -- a land of discriminate opportunity, disproportionate success --
delivering a future determined by free will, ambition, and lots of luck.
It is my home -- a land, east of Eden, full of wonderful characters, wildflowers blooming out of the desert.
California has been the greatest home I've ever known. The beach, the sun,
the weather, the people -- the greatest of these is the people.
You are my community; my friends; my family. You are impossible to replace. I mourn this loss.
His words remind me that we are here -- where we love and lose, where we must listen for the next call and walk on -- here, just outside of Eden.
On Saturday night we gathered with friends to say goodbye. (I pretended it was my birthday party to alleviate the gloom). After champagne, cups of soup, beautiful salads, cheeses, cake, we packed into our friend's living room, and told stories. Ben had words for each of his friends, but opened and closed with what follows. His words touch on much of what California has been for us, the people we've loved, the land we've made home:
Steinbeck borrowed the title of his book East of Eden from Genesis,Chapter 4, verse 16:
"And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, east of Eden."
That place, to the East of Eden, full of extremes, both lush and barren,
a cake mix in a box that says "just add water", a place so close to paradise
but so far from perfection, a place for the broken but protected, this is Steinbeck's California.
It is the land of dangerous possibility -- a land of discriminate opportunity, disproportionate success --
delivering a future determined by free will, ambition, and lots of luck.
It is my home -- a land, east of Eden, full of wonderful characters, wildflowers blooming out of the desert.
California has been the greatest home I've ever known. The beach, the sun,
the weather, the people -- the greatest of these is the people.
You are my community; my friends; my family. You are impossible to replace. I mourn this loss.
His words remind me that we are here -- where we love and lose, where we must listen for the next call and walk on -- here, just outside of Eden.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Halfy
Today at 11 weeks pregnant, I seem to be coming out of the woods. Though I'm going to bed in the 8's and tossing myself awake by 5 each morning, the nausea is lifting!!!
Yesterday, Eden sat curled next to me on my bed and struck by inspiration, began rattling off names we could use if the baby is, as she hopes, a girl. Here is her list:
Polly
Nancy
Aquita
Isabella Polly
Eden (a different Eden)
Alana (how do you spell this? Elaina, Elena, Alena -- with a hard A beginning the second syllable?)
Curtain-a-bella
Finga-a-lella
Leela (a different Leela than our friend)
Alana Polly
Anancy
Silas's input has been less extensive:
If he's hairy, we should name him Perry. If he's gooey, let's name him Gary.
I like the name Jack.
This morning Silas also suggested that if the baby's born on his half birthday, which he very well may be, then we should call him Halfy.
For now, Halfy it is.
Yesterday, Eden sat curled next to me on my bed and struck by inspiration, began rattling off names we could use if the baby is, as she hopes, a girl. Here is her list:
Polly
Nancy
Aquita
Isabella Polly
Eden (a different Eden)
Alana (how do you spell this? Elaina, Elena, Alena -- with a hard A beginning the second syllable?)
Curtain-a-bella
Finga-a-lella
Leela (a different Leela than our friend)
Alana Polly
Anancy
Silas's input has been less extensive:
If he's hairy, we should name him Perry. If he's gooey, let's name him Gary.
I like the name Jack.
This morning Silas also suggested that if the baby's born on his half birthday, which he very well may be, then we should call him Halfy.
For now, Halfy it is.
Friday, March 02, 2012
Our "life song"
The other night, Max, Ella (7) and Finn (5) performed a song/rap/poem that Max wrote about their life -- one of Max's many pockets of creative expression. The three of them with their coordinated motions and the depth of the lyrics -- there was much to love.
Last night, Eden tugged at my arm in the kitchen and said, Mom, let's go make our life song.
Our life song?... Oh, you mean like Uncle Max's?
Yes. Our family song.
So we went into the living room and this is the song Eden dictated, our "Life Song":
We play monkey in the middle at the YMCA
and we watch sunsets, and we watch
deep clouds like sunsets rising in the air.
Well the most thing we love to do is snuggle
in our mom and dad's bed.
The most funnest thing is to watch the sunset
rising up in the sky in the morning time.
The important and lovable thing is
I sleep with giraffe-y to my heart's content.
I like to sleep with world-of-color
to my heart's content. I love it.
The most funnest thing was a long time ago
we went to the YMCA and played
monkey in the middle; I loved it.
I love to especially go to school and play with Rocket,
he's my best friend in the whole wide world,
and especially Ella -- she's my best friend here.
I like to look at pictures, look at swans everywhere --
I usually don't see them in my imagination.
Silas loves playing at school with Charlie.
Silas loves playing with baby Charlie.
I love when I play with Mom and Daddy.
And I love when I play in my bed, and especially,
not long ago, I like playing with my doll house
and especially right now, I like
standing on the carpet and playing this big beat.
Last night, Eden tugged at my arm in the kitchen and said, Mom, let's go make our life song.
Our life song?... Oh, you mean like Uncle Max's?
Yes. Our family song.
So we went into the living room and this is the song Eden dictated, our "Life Song":
We play monkey in the middle at the YMCA
and we watch sunsets, and we watch
deep clouds like sunsets rising in the air.
Well the most thing we love to do is snuggle
in our mom and dad's bed.
The most funnest thing is to watch the sunset
rising up in the sky in the morning time.
The important and lovable thing is
I sleep with giraffe-y to my heart's content.
I like to sleep with world-of-color
to my heart's content. I love it.
The most funnest thing was a long time ago
we went to the YMCA and played
monkey in the middle; I loved it.
I love to especially go to school and play with Rocket,
he's my best friend in the whole wide world,
and especially Ella -- she's my best friend here.
I like to look at pictures, look at swans everywhere --
I usually don't see them in my imagination.
Silas loves playing at school with Charlie.
Silas loves playing with baby Charlie.
I love when I play with Mom and Daddy.
And I love when I play in my bed, and especially,
not long ago, I like playing with my doll house
and especially right now, I like
standing on the carpet and playing this big beat.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
From Colorado
I just had my daily bowl of spaghetti with meat sauce -- the dinner Ben and I made our first night, apparently cooking for 20 instead of twelve. It seems to be the protein boost I need at most
Our week in Colorado is wrapping up. Though I brought two novels and a journal to fill my time while everyone skied, I have not touched them, which really is no surprise. Moyer family vacations -- regardless of who is or isn't skiing -- are full of many things, but never quiet reflection. This week has been full of conversations, snacks, drives through snow storms, tears before ski school, beaming pride after, cold hands, big family dinners, drop offs and pick ups, exploring, coat shopping (see previous entry), reports about skiing at 45 degree angles from Max and Ben, waves of nausea, occasional naps, cousin polar bear plunges egged on by uncle and aunt, hot tubbing on the deck, late night milkshakes and tater tots, episodes of Parenthood, and much cousin play.
The reality of the move hits unexpectedly. Yesterday, I realized I should delete a few things from my calendar, like Silas's art class two days after we leave. So I started clicking here and there, but unlike a paper calendar where you just cross things out, google calendar pops up a box asking to delete "only this instance" or "all following." Such finality! Over and over I had to click "all following" until I was just laughing at the tears streaming down my face.
And today is March 1. March. The month of the move when the date itself forces a countdown: 28 days.
Our week in Colorado is wrapping up. Though I brought two novels and a journal to fill my time while everyone skied, I have not touched them, which really is no surprise. Moyer family vacations -- regardless of who is or isn't skiing -- are full of many things, but never quiet reflection. This week has been full of conversations, snacks, drives through snow storms, tears before ski school, beaming pride after, cold hands, big family dinners, drop offs and pick ups, exploring, coat shopping (see previous entry), reports about skiing at 45 degree angles from Max and Ben, waves of nausea, occasional naps, cousin polar bear plunges egged on by uncle and aunt, hot tubbing on the deck, late night milkshakes and tater tots, episodes of Parenthood, and much cousin play.
The reality of the move hits unexpectedly. Yesterday, I realized I should delete a few things from my calendar, like Silas's art class two days after we leave. So I started clicking here and there, but unlike a paper calendar where you just cross things out, google calendar pops up a box asking to delete "only this instance" or "all following." Such finality! Over and over I had to click "all following" until I was just laughing at the tears streaming down my face.
And today is March 1. March. The month of the move when the date itself forces a countdown: 28 days.
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