Happy Lughnasadh! Here's a She Scripture.

Alona 26:22

"Yea, she that repenteth and exerciseth faith, and bringeth forth good works, and prayeth continually without ceasing—unto such it is given to know the mysteries of Goddess; yea, unto such it shall be given to reveal things which never have been revealed; yea, and it shall be given unto such to bring thousands of souls to repentance, even as it has been given  unto us to bring these our sisters to repentance."






Stay tuned for pictures and a report on a double Lughnasadh celebration :)

And there it goes...

How long should one indulge in sorrow and self-pity over a perceived rejection?  Something that very probably means absolutely nothing, and yet hurts anyway?  How long does the heart get to trump the intellect before awareness and reason reassert control of experiencing?

Forthcoming: words on why so many of us feel kicked down in to the litany of "I am not good enough."

A new way to look at breastfeeding

This guy is a total genius.  The end.

An Ode to Tree

My husband, that is.  Though I do love trees.  And not really an ode.  It's too late at night to write an ode.  I just wanted to gush a little bit about the awesomeness of my Tree.  Yesterday I was made aware of something that is so incredibly difficult for me emotionally that I completely shut down for most of the day.  Tree took care of Sprout, dragged me out of the house to make me be human, and was kind and gentle and sensitive the whole day long (this is hard for manly men sometimes, and it deserves recognition. forthcoming: a post on what I mean by manly men).
Today he got up early with me and Sprout to go on a desert hike instead of sleeping in like he really, really wanted to do.  I can see him making huge effort to patient with both of us, though he has been dealing with a an awful lot of stress and emotional difficulty himself.  I know well how HARD it is to be patient and loving when you are feeling like you're duct-taped inside a refrigerator box with an angry bear (thank you, Hyperbole and a Half, for that potent description).  So this is just a small list of little things that add up to one great big warm fuzzy in my heart.  I feel loved and appreciated, and relieved.
Even when we argue, he is still Tree, and I am his Dryad.  He's in my corner when it matters most, and he's a fierce defender and stalwart companion.  I love you, Tree.

I borrowed the picture from: http://www.josephinewall.co.uk/natures_embrace.html

That's it. I'm having my cake and EATING IT TOO.

I am just starting classes for a degree in anthropology.  I adore anthropology.  It took me twelve years to realize what it was that I wanted to study in college.  So here I am, mother of Sprout, wife of Tree, proclaiming my freedom from the vision of the domestic goddess I thought I'd become.  I want to be an anthropologist.  I want to pursue graduate degrees.  I want "Dr." to be a part of my name (though really, that's just a pride thing, I really don't know that I want to spend THAT much time on my own education...)

I don't want ten children.  I have a hard enough time with one dear child.  He's a handful, but not as insane as some children I've seen.  I want him to have a happy, contented, loving mommy--not a screaming banshee who stays repressed and creatively shut down and resents her children and then feels guilty.  I'm thinking two will be enough because I don't believe in creating a child and then not giving him any siblings.  It's just mean.

I want to travel to distant places, using my education to help people--mostly women and mothers who need better nutrition or freedom from oppression so their children can grow healthy and strong.  Starving and malnourished/obese children make me angry.  That should not happen.  WE KNOW BETTER. (but that's a post for another day)

I want to bring my family with me--all two of my children and Tree.  Tree is going into green energy.  The things we could do together!! We could save little villages, or improve a slum.  Our children would learn by BEING places, not just reading about them.  They would learn charity and selflessness and hard work.  They would have freedom to pursue any academics or education they desired instead of having it shoved down their throats behind a desk, surrounded only by children their own age who don't know anything.

In between traveling, I would return home to our little house on a homestead owned by friends and we would do hard work on our little farm and contribute to our own community.  My love of cooking and canning and even hanging laundry outside to dry would be satisfied.  My children could milk their own goats or cow, and collect eggs from the chickens after weeding the organic garden.

And then I'd go inside to write.  I want to write fiction fantasy from a feminist's perspective.  I want to be published as a scientist--for what, I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll figure something out in the next few years!

This is my ideal life.  The exciting thing is that it's all possible!  It's even probable!  We have been so blessed in having what we need financially, even during times of want and strain.  And we are blessed in our freedom of mind and spirit and heart, despite the somewhat restrictive culture we live in.

It is such a relief to acknowledge that the dreams I've spouted for years (and secretly worried about) are entirely cultural in origin.  My search for acceptance and love has always pointed in the same direction: a whole bunch of children, clean house, organized finances, organized and full pantry, home-sewn clothes, farm animals, and a garden that actually produces.  In other words, I wanted to be my sister-in-law.

The fact of the matter: trying to become something I'm not, even if I do a fabulous job at it, will never earn me the love and acceptance that I crave.  I cannot control the emotions of people in my family or of my peers.  I can only be the best me that is possible.  I can only follow the driving passions that are in my very soul, untouched by the crust of my past and the expectations of the ones who raised me.

To spray, or not to spray

A couple of nice young men who reminded me of missionaries came to our door this evening selling pest control services.  They're organic-based, great customer service, and only $30/month.  Apparently around here pest control is something pretty much everybody does--it's like a utility bill.
My first inclination is to say "YES YES YES! Get rid of the creepy bugs and the scorpions that I can't see!!"  But then I have a couple problems:
1) We are starving college students right now and really don't need the bill when we haven't even seen any pests around the house except a couple ants that aren't bugging us (get it? get it? hahaha)
2) Shouldn't I be trying to live IN nature?

So the first problem pretty much means we aren't getting pest control because the husband has control of the purse strings (which I have absolutely no problem with, btw.  We'd be in a cardboard box if I was in charge).

As for the second problem.  This is not my natural habitat.  I don't belong in a desert, I belong in a forest on a mountain somewhere overlooking a lake.  Lots and lots and lots of trees.  But I do believe that every creature and creation has a spirit.  The earth has a spirit, plants have spirits, the creepy bugs have spirits.  They all have the right to a life and pursuit of happiness.  They deserve to fulfill the reason for their existence.  The fact is, they really aren't hurting me.  I don't even see them, so there's no serious anxiety problems.  They aren't biting us, or eating our food.  Shouldn't I just let them alone?  Live in harmony with all living things?  How can I proclaim to love nature when I am at war with little creatures just because they make me want to run away screaming or jump on a chair?
I can't relax in nature if I'm getting attacked though.  Going out at night in a green area around here is just asking to be swarmed with something.  I can't even take a walk because there are cockroaches skittering across my path every two feet.  It's not a very peaceful thing, and makes meditation difficult, to say the least.  Large bugs make my skin crawl.  Especially when there are a lot of them.
So now I'm at war with myself.  Fortunately I don't have to find a resolution to this war any time soon, but it's really making me think.

Sticks and Stones

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!"
My dad used to make us recite this in a singsong voice after getting into a fight.  I believe his intention was to disarm the antagonist, or whoever was spewing nasty things at the other.



And it was a big, giant load of HORSESHIT.





Words hurt more than sticks or stones.  I'd rather be beaten or stoned than have someone I love say something nasty to me.  The sister closest in age to me while growing up was a master at saying something nasty that provoked me into hitting her.  Guess who got punished after that interchange?  It didn't change when she grew up either.  She just became better at it--using a tone of voice, or a particular attitude instead of actual words to convey her disdainful superiority regarding something I was talking about.  Unfortunately, there are others in my life who have the same talent.  It's not always passive aggressive either--sometimes it's blatant.  And when they choose to exercise this talent, I want to hide in the corner and lick my wounds.  Or hit them.
I am not excluding myself from this problem, however.  Over the past year or so, my own language has gotten nastier.  Out of self-defense sometimes, but really it's just me letting my inside-my-head voice take a little too much control.  There has to be a way to find the middle road.  We should all be ok with expressing feelings and communicating in an emotionally healthy way and not repressing ourselves to be 'nice'.
But please don't call me a bitch.  Even if you think I'm being one, all it does is knock me down for the rest of the day.  If you love me, that will never be your goal.  If you love me, your goal will be to see if I'm suffering and then alleviate what you can.
And if I love you, I'll also try to tame the knee-jerk response that makes me want to call you an asshole and walk away.