One Moe Marek

We are busier around here than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest...or so my husband likes to say!

Work for both is beyond crazy. I'm prepping for my evening side work of cutting and tying mass amounts of holiday ribbon with a glass of vino. There is a tree to put up, preferably when we are in a more energetic and festive spirit so that is put off for another day or so. There is a mild, craziness-induced food funk to spin out of (wouldn't it just be easier to eat out for the next three weeks until it's over??). A mild food funk which I'm working on tonight by giving T inspiration and letting him ride the wave...more on that below. And some shopping and household planning to do.

Holiday shopping?

Nope.

Kitty shopping!

Well, not shopping for a kitty exactly, but shopping for the kitty. To adequately supply ourselves to bring her home, to our home, which makes our home more of a home.

What's been a'brewin' around here is that we're adopting a beautiful 8-month-old kitten. Katelyn, one of my lovely co-workers is moving at the end of the month (tomorrow!) and has to be minus said little black kitten by then. And is graciously allowing us to bring her into our fold of rascally rapscallions.

Yep...we've taken on one Moe Marek.

I've been talking about it with Katelyn -- and Terry -- for weeks. We've been hedging and hemming and hawing all month long. Even with the mouse population expanding (we're up to 30+ captures in the past 2-3 weeks) and the potential mouse-aversion-related-perks having a cat could affect, we couldn't make a decision.

I realize now that we couldn't decide because we kept focusing on the negative, what introducing a kitty into our lives would cost us -- physically, mentally, financially. What we didn't account for was the benefits.

We were dependent on choosing with our heads, not our hearts.

When Katelyn brought the kitty over last night for a visit -- I think as much for her to feel comfortable with the home we could provide as much as for us to see how the kitty might get along with Trooper, and us, we melted. OK, I'll speak for myself (T has a reputation as a non-cat preferrer to protect) -- I melted. The moment she crawled into my arms I was had.

And what struck me in that moment was that I kept saying no to a new member of our family because I was too afraid to open my heart.

It's the same thing that kept my mom saying she would never have another dog when she had to put her last one down a couple years ago.

She adopted a puppy this past summer.

It's the same thing that kept me from ever inviting another cat into my life after my furry childhood chum died of cancer -- the morning after I told her she didn't need to hold on any longer, that I would be OK -- nearly 20 years ago.

Until now. I guess I'm a little slower on the uptake...

How can I be so unafraid of my own death and so devastated by the thought of the mortality of those around me?

So much so that I didn't want to open my home or my heart to another living being. Not another one. Not now with the only other animal companion I've ever had turning 13 years old and nearing the inevitable end of her life (but, come on, aren't we all??).

Aren't I just asking for trouble?

Until I held the kitty in my arms and felt how much more complete our lives would be by expanding our family and opening ourselves to another being, I never realized what I was turning my back on in my quest for safety -- the joy of fully living life.

It's the fight between the rational mind who believes that hurt is the only thing that could possibly result from recklessly opening our hearts to one another, and the heart that yearns for that unequivocal connection. For the simple experience of opening ourselves to the mystery of the unknown. Of opening ourselves to Love.

It feels like a small triumph to follow heart over mind...again. To give into the irrational desire for communion in a world that likes to remind us we're alone. To allow the wisdom of intuition to trump the Fear that can rule our lives if we let it.

Why not be a little reckless if it means our heart learns to grow, like the Grinch's, three sizes each day? What else is this life for?

Stay tuned for pics of the puddy-tat. She will be with us for good -- and the shenanigans will begin -- on Friday...when I rescue her from the vet where she goes to get her important kitty surgeries tomorrow morning. Good luck, baby!//

What's For Dinner Tonight?

T does his best cooking when he's offered a challenge, even when he's not in the mood for it. I was in the mood for one of his impromptu pasta dishes, so I went to the store, picked up red pepper, asparagus, green onions, zucchini, mushrooms and tomatoes, a carton of organic cream (what can I say? The girl wants what the girl wants...) and said, well?

Even though he's exhausted, he met the challenge and got to work. 

If it matters...the wine is mine. :)

A tablespoon of Pino's Press Garlic Gusto olive oil (which is AMAZING -- we sell it at the bakery BTW), sauteed veggies and more garlic (YUM), a splash of white wine, fresh-dried basil and thyme from the garden.

Finished with a touch (or two) of cream. Sniff, sniff...sooooooo good!

Can't even tell he's shredding a little parm over the top, can you? I mean besides the mean top shadowing and all...

The professional dude garnishes!

Super sauce served over angel hair pasta and finished with love!

Mmm...pasta!

Thanks, my dear! Over the top delicious as I knew it would be. Here...let me get the dishes...

Whew! Food funk averted for another night!

What inspires you this evening?

First Harvest

Ah, the beauty of summer! It is in the garden, for sure. A new venture for us, growing veggies, and it is already proving to be a most exciting responsibility. Exciting responsibility? Really? It struck me today as I crawled around on my hands and knees between the rows, picking fists-full of cilantro and fragrant basil, a shiny red pepper, a few gorgeous yellow pear tomatoes, and some pungent radishes -- every creation, every new endeavor is ripe with responsibility. But it is also abundant in its rewards.

With the new house last fall came the delicious opportunity for my inaugural vegetable garden this summer. Now I've been known to let the daily maintenance of things fall by the wayside if I have other, more intriguing interests to pursue. So as the cool of the spring gave way to longer days and a warmer sun, I wasn't thinking about responsibility. I was thinking about creating a masterpiece and getting those cute little seedlings into the ground. Weeding? Watering? And eventually harvesting and processing the garden's bounty?

Well, I figured, there had to be a garden before there could be a bounty to worry about. First things first. I managed to get most of the plants in the ground fairly early in the season. Gratefully, Mother Nature has lent me a helping hand in the watering department...thank you! But weeding and harvesting is another story.

I could have been meticulous with keeping the weeds down, bringing my inner perfectionist into play. After all, it was my first garden...shouldn't it look pretty? I must admit, I did go into this adventure with that fantasy. I imagined myself out in the garden every afternoon, putzing around, pulling weeds, whistling while I worked. Of course, I didn't realize I had this expectation about the garden until my back went out shortly after waging war on the buckthorn starts in our newly acquired woods. As I lay resting and healing, as days turned to weeks, the weeds in the garden got thick and unruly.

Knowing weeding was out of the question and that I didn't want the garden I had hoped for for so many years to go to seed, I got creative...I cut up big paper sacks to lay between the rows. Pretty? Not so much. But it got the job done. With my new endeavor came the responsibility to keep it up. There was no rule book that said how it needed to happen. Left to my own devices, I was my own expert, my own teacher. To maintain my creation in my partnership with Mother Nature, I needed to do my part...however I could.

So today, with a healthier back, I reap the first of many harvests from our backyard oasis and look forward to homemade pizza with pesto and tomatoes and peppers for dinner. As I create anew in my kitchen from the bounty of the garden, I can't help but wonder -- how often do we set aside the risk of a new undertaking because we are afraid it will be too much work? Because we aren't sure where to begin, or worse yet, how to maintain our vision?

What I know for sure is that the responsibility inherent in living a creative life full of risks and new adventures never tasted so good!//

Season of Bounty

My hiatus is over. My much needed respite has come to an end. For now. As we wend our way into Fall, thoughts turn toward nestling in, mulling over all the experiences from past months. For the purposes of this blog, it might have been nice to have been writing about them as they occurred. But like the seasons, there is a time to reap and a time to sow. Turn, turn, turn...

Fall is about celebrating the bounty of the harvest. And what bounty we have this season! As I write, I'm looking out from my new library at the myriad trees that make up our new backyard -- maples and aspen in transition from green to gold -- giving thanks for new space that we're fortunate enough to call our home. There are birdfeeders to fill, gardens to dig in, leaves to rake, a lawn to mow and I find myself overflowing with gratitude at the simplicity of domestic chores to occupy my hands while my mind gets to flit from thought to thought as the birds from branch to branch.

Soon, these chores move indoors for the winter. But until then, I will spend every possible moment communing with what is now "our" land, which is less about ownership as it is partnership -- this land is simply ours to steward as best we can for as long as we're able with open and loving hearts. This is our gift -- to give and to receive, to welcome and be welcomed, to love and be loved. What I've learned is this is not just about partnership with our land, but with the whole of our lives.

It is in this new space that I invite the changes that the natural cycles of life and death and rebirth bring when we're willing to pay attention to their wisdom. Who will I become with the room to spread my wings? With space to open to the full range of possibility? Earlier this year, I dared ask the question: what is available to me here, right now, in this moment? The answer was simply to open to my part in the great dance of this life and to embrace that my part is ever-growing, ever-changing as we all are. I couldn't have been more amazed at what new adventures showed up when I did...

So I ask, what question will you dare to ask of your life?//

Diving In

Last Friday evening, I had the unique opportunity to be a part of a Kirtan -- the ancient yogic art of mantra chanting -- through the local yoga center where I study. I have had some exposure to chanting in various yoga classes over the past couple months and I've been enthralled and intrigued. When I heard about this event, I knew without a doubt I needed to be a part of it.

Music and singing were formative for me, some core of who I was coming into this world. All the years of my childhood and into college, singing was my thing -- a part of choirs, singing solos, a memeber of acapella groups, dancing around the house belting out the soundtracks to Fame or Grease. Something in me settles to feel my own voice vibrating in my chest. And I haven't sung beyond the safe enclosure of my car in years.

As the hour of the Kirtan approached, as I did the dishes and then got ready to go, I was sick with apprehension. My mind bobbed and weaved through all the possible excuses I could come up with for not going. Not going?! I tuned into the stream of consciousness, the flurry of madness rampaging through my brain. At first, my intent was to shut it up, to reason with it, to turn it off. Then, in the spirit of the yogini I am becoming, my intent shifted to bearing witness, with interest, to what was attempting to hijack me, pleading with me to tuck tail and run, and why.

Snow was lightly beginning to fall as I pulled out of our drive. I was able to acknowledge that I wasn't nervous going to the yoga center; I practically live there these days. Still, my heart raced. I knew I wanted to go and knew that, for whatever reason, I needed to be there. So what was the problem? I sat momentarily in the car once I arrived, watching the snow drift and melt on the windshield before mustering the courage to go in.

As I settled myself onto my bolster and into my comfortable mediation position, as the music and chanting began, as my voice blended effortlessly into the chorus joined together that evening, my heart welled up with gratitude. With gratitude and relief. As we sang of Shanti (peace) and began to split into spontaneous rounds and harmonies, tears sprang from my eyes and the death-grip in my chest began to give way. It occured to me that this was what my soul longed for, and what my ego had simultaneously feared: Power born of my own voice, of my own willingness to take a risk and try something new. I showed up to myself, to the calling, and chose to participate fully in my life in that moment.

Isn't this all the Universe really asks of us? To participate in the divine creative partnership we were born into, manage to forget, and then spend the bulk of our lives trying to reconnect with?

This night was a homecoming that I can only believe my ego feared I could never find...or feared for its future ruling the roost when I did. Despite the fear, we owe it to ourselves to dive headlong into the water of our lives -- and trust that the rest will take care of itself.//