Changing seasons

Yesterday, the last day of winter—
Minutes after my forlorn little blog post, I was sitting on my front porch with Moxie, pausing after our stroller walk, when completely out of the blue, she projectile-vomited, twice, with a force so powerful I later had to clean the INSIDE of a closed wooden chest which holds our shoes. As I sat there in astonishment, at the epicenter of the spew, I stripped mucky Moxie down and yelled for help from Rob, who just happened to be in the house at the time. Careful to keep his feet on dry land, he laughingly reached across the gorge and rescued our little puker from the great puddle that was once my lap. He kept on laughing as he took her into the bedroom to change her diaper and get her comfortably pajama-ed while I took care of the damage.

About the time I got the floor mopped up and the furniture clean I heard a loud exclamation. Still covered with barf, I ran in to find Rob hunched over a naked, startled baby Moxie on our bed, and pulling all four corners of her changing pad up around her. He was paralyzed. I knew exactly what had happened. "Geyser?" I asked. "She's in a pool of pee!" he cried desperately. "Grab something! Help!" I brought in a towel. We managed to make a less than devastating transfer; the bed only got wet on his side. Heh.

So this was a first—it was Moxie's first complex blowout. I know there's still room for another level of achievement, but hey, a 2-in-1 is impressive. And a funny way to conclude Mama's bout of personal melancholy.

Today, the first day of spring—
I got the last paper, a medical form, filled out and signed and turned in to the agency. There's nothing more to do now except drive to the courthouse Monday with my people, pay some legal fees, stand before the judge and smile and cry as he pronounces us a legal family. WHAT!

Moxie and I went a-thrifting, and found us each a good outfit to wear to court on Monday, and only spent $12. Hey!

Rob and Moxie and I attended the annual Book Collectors' Conference luncheon at BYU. Rob prints their keepsake every year, and this year he also taught a workshop on lino cuts. It was nice to see some friendly familiar faces, and to introduce them to our little party crasher.

We three spent the afternoon together. We visited the South Valley pound and pondered dog ownership AGAIN, considered adopting a hulking backyard bunny that looked like a dalmation, and watched with great interest as a prison inmate and one of the medical staff chased down a hellcat that flew out of its cage when someone opened the door to refresh its water. Have you ever watched an angry cat go insane escaping and run up walls?

We went on a ramble down Spanish Fork way. First, we got hooked by a promising sign that said HUGE ESTATE SALE and gave directions. We drove and drove, following more signs in this series, and after about a dozen arrows and maybe that many meandering miles, we found ourselves in Woodland Hills, up against the mountain. A nice place, forested, with a beautiful view and some good houses. But the estate sale? Cruddy leather couches, an old Pfaff, lampshades and worn out Mormon vinyl lps: Osmonds, MoTabs, Carpenters. Lots of beige and plaid. We were duped! But it was fun anticipating the treasures we didn't find. And it was interesting exploring that area.

We found an antique store we hadn't been in for some years, bought a small cheerful treasure. Discovered that Moxie seems to like creepy old dolls. Anything with a face, maybe, but the antique dollies appeared to capture her interest most. What does it mean? We'll have to pay a visit to Cat's Cradle Antiques soon to test her tolerance.

Finished off our time with BYU Creamery burgers and fries then headed for home. Rob and Moxie were both such great company today. Our little girl was bright and in great spirits all day and we all laughed together a lot. The world is beautiful right now with all its blooming and bursting. The only downside to this kind of fun day is that it has to end—Rob has to work late, and Moxie is peeved that she is called upon to sleep. Oh well, still worth it. A few rounds of reading, singing, fighting against the zzzs, succumbing, waking, crying and yelling, and I got her settled, for the night, finally, with kisses and promises that we'll have another day in a few hours.

I worked on a project while my people both worked on their own, and at the end of my day, I dipped into my "creative account" and ordered two instruments online. If you're still reading this travelogue, can you guess what they are?

It was a good first day of a new season. It feels like a party when the world begins coming to life. Makes me want to sing. Or make something sing.

It's oh snow quiet

Needs and wants

It's spring! The real beginning of the new year. I've been anticipating this day by eating flowers. The first front yard dandelion (of many to come—sorry, neighbors) peeped its yellow eye at me and I picked it and popped it into my mouth. It tasted like sunshine. The first violet appeared and I ate that too—delicious. I love spring so I could eat it up. I'm hungry for it it. Gimme. It's time to wake up, be reborn. I want to internalize this fresh gorgeous light and pop out all over with flowers and happy weeds.

It's been a while since I checked in with the Google Oracle and asked the great and powerful internet to explain me to myself. Here's what it revealed today:

• Georgia needs nuclear power.
• Georgia needs more virtual schools.
• Georgia needs migrant labor.
• Georgia needs a win here.
• Georgia needs more friends and fewer fans.
• Georgia needs more trauma centers.
• Georgia needs several transportation megaprojects.
• Georgia needs fosters.
• Georgia needs commuter rail.
• Georgia needs willpower.
• Georgia needs you.
• Georgia needs Christmas angels to help.
• Georgia needs assessment.
• Georgia needs to put foot down.
• Georgia needs more sunlight.
• Georgia needs to read more honestly.
• Georgia needs a home.
• Georgias need hope.

• Georgia wants to hear from farmers.
• Georgia wants strategic alliances.
• Georgia wants Rolling Stones to tour in 2012.
• Georgia wants less water released.
• Georgia wants to help husband get a job.
• Georgia wants foreigners to pronounce her name differently.
• Georgia wants to shock people into ending childhood obesity.
• Georgia wants to outlaw vasectomies.
• Georgia wants to make miscarriage a crime.
• Georgia wants a no child waiver.
• Georgia wants guarantees.
• Georgia wants a bit more than a penny.
• Georgia wants everyone to go fishing.
• Georgia wants to stand up without props.
• Georgia wants to come up.
• Georgia wants to order respect.
• Georgia wants to be on your mind.
• Georgia wants to help lead the way.
• Georgia wants her seat back.

And I say it's alright

Oh, oh, winter solstice!

When was I ever this glad for the sun to begin its yearly climb?

I am hungry for light.

(An ice ball we kicked along the path.)

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes!

Giving Thanks, Day 5

I'm not a fan of Daylight Savings Time, but I admit there is one weekend of every year when I feel thankful for it, and this one's it. Hurray for turning back the clock for an extra (potential) hour of sleep. I'm so tired this week that last night in my dream I was apologizing for being too sleep-deprived to think straight. Ugh. Tomorrow I teach in Relief Society, so I'm glad for the added rest and recup time. I'm about to catch the early train, instead of waiting till the wee hours (again, again, again). Golden slumbers to all—

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving

When I woke up this morning, it was unmistakably November. The weather was grey and wet and blowy, as if it just had to distinguish itself from October. It's funny how often this kind of big announcement seems to come on the first day of month anymore.

But despite its dismal halloo, I am committed to loving November. It's good, this advent of Thanksgiving. I think I'll join the ranks of bloggers who'll spend the month pouring out some gratitude and celebrating the cup that runs over with blessings.

Simple tonight—an attempt at a list, since I'm not feeling my best today (I'm looking at you, moon), but nevertheless a decent start. I'm thankful for:

• a near-perfect breakfast smoothie
• Ibuprofen (always and forever, always and forever)
• Mirjam's hot water bottle
• horizontalilty + cushions + gravity
• the digital projector we're babysitting for the next few weeks + a white wall + decent speakers
• Napoleon Dynamite for bazillionth time
• baked winter squash
• Mexican chocolate brownies
• a kind housemate, husband, and friend (rolled into one)
• lonely train whistles
• remote control
• answering machine
• Debby showing up with a rented DVD (Thor), fried potatoes, and fresh pineapple
• a clean bathroom
• quiet
• a working furnace
• learning that friends in dire straits are being helped and supported
• understanding that it's not the end of the world to lose a day to illness
• one of my new blog ideas becoming a reality
• sharing good things
• chasing after change (a right healthy sport)
• evening chapter of The Hobbit

Gastronomic illumination

What a nice autumn rain fell today, but oh, the greyness got to me after a few hours. When I'm really hungry for light, bright strong flavors can sometimes take the edge off. Today I needed garlic, and plenty of it. Those of you who came within six feet of me after lunch can verify that I got my fill. Lemon. Vinegar. Garden tomatoes. Cumin—oh, cumin! You were my salvation! On my fight-the-gloom menu this afternoon:

Moroccan Batter Bread
Black Bean Hummus
Freshly roasted tomatoes
Shredded green cabbage and jicama, tossed with rice vinegar, honey, and olive oil
& what might be the last of the season's Charentais melon

These made the day feel not so dreary. Want to give my menu a try and see what it can do for you? Here are my two main recipes:

Moroccan Batter Bread

1/3 cup olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
3 cups whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
3 eggs, beaten
1 tablespoon honey
1 spilling over cup rice milk
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 350F.
Spray a 11-inch loaf pan with cooking spray. Line bottom with parchment or waxed paper.
Warm the oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and sauté till soft. Remove from heat and allow to cool a bit.
Mix eggs with honey.
In a large bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, cumin, paprika, and cayenne. Make a well in the center and pour in the oil and onions, eggs and honey, milk, and parsley. Stir until just combined.
Pour batter into the pan. Bake in center of the oven for 60-70 minutes, or until a toothpick tester comes out clean.
Cool bread in pan on a wire rack 15 minutes. Remove bread from pan, peel off paper, and cool completely on rack before slicing.

*******

Black Bean Hummus

2 cups cooked black beans
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons tahini
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin
a shake of crushed red pepper flakes
extra-virgin olive oil
a shake of cayenne (optional)

In a food processor, combine beans, pressed garlic, lemon juice, tahini, salt, cumin, and red pepper flakes and process until desired smoothness, scraping down sides occasionally.
Serve in a bowl and garnish with a drizzle of olive oil and a shake of cayenne, if desired.

Bon appétit!

All things being equal

Equinox, a moment of balance. It came and went this morning at 9:03 a.m., while I was doing my morning study and meditating on personal liberty. Apropos.

The spirit of balance lingered today. I celebrated the even divide between dark and light by driving south with family for our annual grape-picking excursion at the home of some friends. Delicious green Himrods, those Utah beauties—oh! Soon my kitchen will be filled with the aroma of steaming grapes, and then we'll have the first provident bottles of 2011 ready to line the shelves of our pantry. I love the harvest season. And it's especially nice to begin refilling the coffers on a day of celestial balance.

On the drive down to Salem, I sat in the middle row of seats in my sister-in-law's van, next to my darling nephew, 3yo Finn. He announced to me happily, out of the blue, "Ga-ga, I KNOW you're gonna have a baby!" It seemed like all the grownups in the vehicle stopped breathing for a couple seconds, but maybe that was just me. I'm pretty sure this wasn't something Finn had heard from his parents, but I could be wrong about that too. Wherever it came from, I just laughed and accepted it. Why not? Who would know better than Finn? And who am I to doubt such an intelligent fellow? He made his powerful assertion again a little later: "Ga-ga, I KNOW you're gonna have a baby!" And then went on to describe to me how much he loves babies and likes to hold them, and I decided I would be very glad for him to hold mine once I have her... or find her... or him... or them... or... however this thing's going to happen. But I have it on good authority now; I'm gonna get one. Finn says.

Last year when we went grape-picking I was the beneficiary of another magical sentence, shared with me in a whisper while little arms were wrapped around my neck, a secret from my niece, Scout. Since it was a secret I won't share it, but it was a lovely shaft of light that came in through my ear and went straight into my heart to burn there all these months. I appreciate the tiny shiny voices of these people I love so much. I treasure their gifts and don't minimize them the least bit.

After today I'll be in my last week of my month-long garden detox diet. I took a Mason jar full of green smoothie with me grape-picking: it was lunch, if you use your imagination. There was enough that I gave everybody who was brave enough to try it a taste. Finn wanted a drink of it, so I helped him tip up the heavy jar and when it came down, he was wearing a Kermit green moustache. Ha! After his second swig, his moustache had grown into a perfect half-circle of swamp nog, plus a bright green unibrow from pressing the messy jar against his face. Pretty hilarious. I grabbed my camera but before I could shoot he'd sleeved his cheeks and was focused on the next part of lunch. (That green unibrow dried in place though, I'm tickled to report.) Scout saw me trying for a Kodak moment, so she obliged by taking her own big drink of my stuff and modeling the latest in lip fashion:

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." —Leonardo da Vinci

Miracles Are

Exhibit A.
You flew in the sky from there to here, to see your family, but you came to see me too, and I got to wrap my arms around you, and you are still you are still you are still my dear darling girl, my friend, my you-know-who. That's the sweetest blessing and benediction to a week that began with my getting dumped (thankfully not by Rob). That was the worst. You are the best. I love that we are still heart and soul friends and I hope I hope I hope that will always be our joy. I believe I believe I believe it will be.

Exhibit B.
You, amazing person who also flew in the sky from there to here, are exactly the person I expected. I don't brag like lots of people do that I am a good judge of character, because really, who can suss out that sort of information without a great deal of work and actual revelation? Such a declaration always embarrasses me. What I do claim is that it doesn't take long to love people, and every once in a while that feeling seems to predate the friendship itself. So when did I start knowing you, anyway? Logic says it must have been the first time I studied you in photos. But even then I felt a sense of recognition, so it must have been earlier still. Huh. Well, nice to meet you and finally get to say I like you out loud and to your face.

Exhibit C.
Thunder and rain. Comfort sounds.

Exhibit D.
After my third hamburger in less than 24 hours, I am completely ready and can hardly wait for The Great Garden Produce Purge of September. I wish I was starting my juice fast tomorrow, I am that tired of food, but I still have some prep to do. I am so ready to wash my brain and my whole system with veg and fruit. A full month of harvest season relief and bliss! It was that final devastating hamburger, the one at the ward picnic this evening, that pushed me over the edge. I don't care if I eat meat again till autumn. Or maybe ever. Ack!

Sliding (part 1)

Photography tip: If you want to capture a feeling of motion in a picture, it generally doesn't work to shoot straight into the oncoming action, like so:

and so:

and so:

and so:

or you wind up getting static shots that give no sense of speed. Shoot from the side or it will make little difference whether your subject moves rapidly (Rob) or slowly (Geo); what you'll end up with is a static image. As in this case, you could miss out on accurately demonstrating the whee of an overdue sliding lesson, sought by an eager, awkward novice and delivered with playful panache by a long-time pro, at Utah Lake on a bitingly cold New Year's Day. (But this doesn't mean it wasn't fun.)

More on this and other January subjects tomorrow. Happy 2011, everyone.

Spring Chicken

This is the eve of the end of a curse. Not The Curse, as in: lady business, the pip, uterine jihad, the monthly statement, rejoicing in my womanhood, moon-time, flying Bravo, Miss Scarlett's comin' home to Tara, Aunt Flo's in town from Red River—no, not that. But The Curse certainly does have something to do with this other curse I'm thinking of. This curse, from my gram, wasn't likely something she knowingly put upon me; it was more like an inheritance. Maybe that's too strong a word. Did I win it at her estate auction? I don't know.

It's not my intention right here and right now to spell out the terms of the curse—I'm actually in the process of trying to write a screenplay, a fiction which is loosely based on this mysterious alleged hex, and so, muse willing, I will have that to share at some point. Might be good for a few laughs. We'll see.

But tomorrow is my birthday, and as it comes and goes, I will at last be beyond the cursed familial power of 45. That's right. My clock is about to strike 46. F-o-r-t-y-s-i-x. Gasp if you must. Today was the first day I have not gasped myself. In fact, today I actually warmed to the number, and warmed to concept of... are you sitting down? (I am.) MIDDLE AGE. I admit it. I'm there. And I feel it, but guess what? It feels lovely and alive, and not in the least decrepit. Today "middle age" did not seem like the bugaboo I have previously believed it to be. Hey, I've lived a long time! And I'm going to live a lot longer! Where's the problem in that? Would you rather I stayed 21 forever? Would I rather? No, surprisingly, I wouldn't. Or maybe not so surprisingly; I was kind of a dumbbell at 21, although I think a right lovable one.

Today I actually felt like an adult and enjoyed it—now, there's an oddity!—and I felt like a happy, productive one. A young one too; I believe and have seen ample proof in remarkable friends that youth and age/experience can and should coexist harmoniously in one person. (Somebody please remind me to talk about my 98-year-old role model Maureen Bullock later.) It requires effort to keep the two forces in balance, but I'm not opposed to work, and I do appreciate a challenge. All day today I worked on a happy home-fix-up project and dwelt on the question, "What could possibly be repugnant about living and enjoying every single age?" Every moment I am moving forward is a good moment. Who wants to stay in the same spot forever? Sounds repulsively stagnant, and boring on top of it. You should try to get over your 21 Forever fixation, people. It's not healthy. I don't care if you live in a college town or a military town or a hip young urban thing town. I am surrounded by perpetually 20something university students and it looks as though I am finally old enough to be everyone's mother. I like people of all ages, so that's okay. Sadly though, sometimes young friends weed themselves out when they don't enjoy befriending the "elderly." But the ones who stay? Solid gold grasshoppers.

Excuse me while I embrace my season. That's Mrs. Summer to you, spring chicken.

Two more items of business:

• My darling friend Erika (who is boldly unafraid of her elders) honored me with a special award which I will post about after my birthday. Meanwhile, why not visit her blog? Thank you, Erika! I think you are beautiful too. So very.

• I have a special request of you, in case you're interested. As I begin my birthday celebrations I'm trolling for presents. But the gift I would ask you for is to tell me a story about yourself. It can be birthday-related or not. One year I asked the people who love me to send me photos of themselves (and I'm still collecting these, if that heartfelt emotion applies to you), and this year's storytelling is just another way for me to enjoy a snapshot of you. Doesn't have to be long, though it certainly doesn't have to be short. If you want to email it to me my address is: pogofig at gmail dot com

Sowing seeds, reaping media

NEIL: [who has been hoeing—picks up a large bag of seed packets] OK, I've plowed this bit, right. And now I'm going to sow it. [throws packets of seed down] This self-sufficiency thing really is amazing. We sow the seed, right. Nature grows the seed, and then, we eat the seed. And then, after that, we sow the seed, nature grows the seed, and then, we eat the seed. And then, after that again, we sow the seed, nature grows the seed...

RICK: Oh, shut up, Neil! Shut up! Shut up. It's pathetic. I mean, what about radical magazines? What about Kicker boots?! Can we grow them? No, we can't, can we?! The beauty of your plan, Neil, seems to rest on everyone being really into seeds.

NEIL: No no no, Rick. You don't understand the timeless wonder of the whole thing. We sow the seed! Nature grows the seed. We eat the seed. And then...

[Rick clobbers Neil with a shovel. Neil collapses, unmoving.]

So it has come and gone, the big project that's been burning a hole in my brain for the past season—the first-ever Utah County Community Seed Exchange. It was fun, and successful. Several local businesses were very generous with their donations, providing us with all sorts of seeds, seeds forever, packet after packet of swappable-edible-beautiful seed bounty. The folks who braved the weather (snow and slop) to take part and trade their treasures and tips were wonderful; I met so many delightful people. Some of them had questions. Some had answers. All had enthusiasm and interest. This event was sure proof that gardening builds character, because there wasn't a dud in the bunch! I feel really grateful to everyone who helped make it work—the donors, the swappers, the Extension service. We even had a few reporters on hand interviewing, photographing, videotaping—and I appreciate them very much. Old friends were reunited. New friendships were begun. Holy moly, what a treat! The day just flew. 

Now it's time to turn my attention to other projects, but half my brain is still taken up with a growing obsession (yep, pun intended). My yard and garden need a heckuva lot of work. And now I've got a revamped stash of beautiful seeds, all ready to be planted and nurtured. Wow! Exciting!

I got so caught up in the details of the exchange that I forgot to do things like pick up copies of the local paper when the pre-swap story ran and again when the post-swap story appeared. But I did read them online. Did you catch any of our newscaster's shout-outs? Here's the media lineup (and big thanks again to all who spread the word):

UPP online article

Daily Herald (pre-swap) article

Daily Herald (post-swap) article

BYU Universe Daily News at Noon video (you'll find the exchange story about halfway through)

If anyone who attended took photos and is willing to share, please contact me. My personal photographer experienced some technical difficulties that day, so I am essentially pictureless. 

Mwah! Now get planting, friends!

Hair is for horses

Rob and I took a morning walk along the river trail, down near the lake. The trees have turned wintry looking; the fallen leaves were all blown off the path and turning to mulchy meal. The water birds were all fluffed out; we came upon some ducks taking a break from the chilly water and warming their feet on the sunny pavement. We stopped and threw rocks to break up the thin layer of ice already formed at a little bend in the river. Ice already? Really? We climbed down the bank and walked out onto a mini-peninsula, because we could. Rob found me a new pair of sunglasses, which he said make me look hip. That's me, hip. We heard a strangely familiar sound—the one you always hear in old westerns when there's a shot of an Indian in the wilderness: an eagle's screech—only this cry came from a starling, the poseur. Funny to think of the grandiose thoughts that might have been going through that bird's head; maybe he wants to make movies, is hoping to be discovered. We all have our dreams.

We also had some nice encounters with other creatures walking the path. We met an old man and his two happy, companionable border collies. I adore that breed—so intelligent and sensitive. Really beautiful. I sometimes joke with Rob that he is a sheepdog—that's very much his nature in certain respects—so I'm already accustomed to the interpersonal dynamic; maybe we should get one after Izzy dies. The smaller of the man's two dogs attached herself to me and wanted petting and eye contact—oh, those copper eyes! I wanted to take her home. The man said the dogs had been a pair for more than nine years and he figured they'd had only one or two disagreements in all that time. For some reason, maybe just to have something to say, the man asked if we were going to church today. After a funny little discussion on that subject, he told us: "I'd rather be out on my horse wishin' I was at church than in church wishin' I was out on my horse." I hear that.

Near the end of our walk we met up with one of the horses whose pasture is adjacent to the river trail. We stopped and pulled up tempting grasses that were out of reach, and the horse gladly accepted our gifts. Munch, munch, munch—I hate the word munch normally, but it's exactly what a horse's grinding teeth sound like, and I don't mind it when I'm there in person. Such powerful jaws. This was a young horse. Once in a while the horse would turn its hay breath and rubber lips on me and sort of breathe with me and kiss on my nose, or take friendly nibbles at my shoulder. That was all sweet and delightful until while nuzzling my forehead the horse found a hunk of my hair to yank and chomp, like a clump of weeds, and I very nearly got scalp bangs. I managed to pry my hair out of his jaws and come away with most of the hunk roughly intact, but had to wear a slick of slobber till I could get home and wash my hair out. Ew.

Three more beautiful things about this day:

1. Rob's love and care.
2. Chris & Amy's first anniversary. I'm so happy you two found each other. You're a beautiful pair, and I love you so much. Congratulations on reaching this incredible milestone.
3. An early Thanksgiving pot luck with my terrific Bowen cousins. Nobody plays Apples to Apples like you guys. And having Marsha sing me her "Glitter Power" song was almost too much joy to experience and still survive.

Here's a sweet read: a nice short essay about horse love.

Fruits of November

Rob's Saturday baking spree —


The last of the season are always the sweetest—


Roses that smell like autumnal apples—


[Off-topic—Today's right brain activity: going into new-to-me shops and getting my eyes full of color and texture. Also, trying on too many hats and sniffing my way across a perfume display.]