The Funk

Someday I'll get off the mommy trip and back to posting about being a boho misfit in suburbia. I mean that was the original purpose of this blog. But for now my days are consumed with childcare of a toddler so this is what cha get.

Last night Drew got off early and since we are gearing up for our annual epic Guthrie Family camping trip we didn't have our usual Wednesday family dinner. It's been I don't know how many months we've had some real our small family time. Not that I don't love being around my whole village, it was just so fun to hang with the three of us - no coffee shop job, no outside family, no working late, nothing to prepare for or write.

When I was in college and feeling bogged down by finals, papers, working full time, boys, roommates, and other 20-something crap my girlfriends and I put on our best hot pinks and ponytails and headed down to this crappy bar, the Three B, that ironically had funk nite on Wednesdays, with our fake ID's to get loose with 50 cent PBRs in a can served by some crazy bulldike lesbian and rocked out to some Michael Jackson up on the creaky old stage. No boys allowed (tho once in a while someone broke the rule). We weren't lookin for no lovers, weren't lookin for romance, we just wanted to dance. (thanks Keb Mo'). It always put all the shit behind us. I don't know if it was the cheap beer, the hightops or just sweating out all the toxins, but I never felt better the next day - no hangover and always a clear head.

So last night in true Three B fashion, Drew lowered the lights, burnt the candles, put sevi in her hot pink skirt, and put on dance party USA in our living room. He even made some Tequila punch (maybe I'll share the recipe someday after I pitch Jose Cuervo). With the fans on high, we had Michael, Diana, Elton, The Rabbit Song, Prince, Steven Tyler and the Gang, and even an appearance by Freddy with "I want to Break Free" finishing out the night. We danced our pants off complete with hippie twirls, the Andrew shuffle, silk scarves, raisin' the roof, and gettin down low.

If you've been reading my blog these days, I've been feeling a little sorry for myself and just well, out of sorts. But sweating to the funk with my best guy and my favorite chick got me back in line. Sorry chiropractors, faith healers, Buddhists, and other new age philosophers, the best cure for a funk is to hear the funk in your living room. Here's a sample of our mix if you need a little funk in your day.

Empty Pad

What a cool name for a writer's laptop huh? I finally got my little netbook I was dreaming about (red by the way to ignite the passion), well actually got it a few weeks ago, but haven't written much on it.

Sad, this thing was supposed to offer me more opportunity to write. Like it came with a complimentary 2 extra uninterrupted hours a day. Free with purchase. Ha!

I even (with true latisha guilt ever since) skipped a session from my 10 week workshop and I'm having the hardest time getting my piece together for this week. I'm trying to figure out if it's writer's block or just plain exhaustion. Maybe a little of both. I'm hoping it's not cuz I'm just not a writer after all. There's always that doubt. You know how you hear about artists: they do what they do because they have to - no choice. I can't seem to show up these days to do the work. And yes, it feels like work.

But I tell myself since I'm still writing in my head it's still in me, somewhere. I constantly compose stories adventure by adventure, commentary snarky line by snarky line, and spend hours with my favorite: creative nonfiction putting literary twists on my past. I just need time. Or maybe I have it and I just need to restructure. Maybe even, I just need a simple break and I'll be right back to it. Either way, a change's gotta come.

questions

post partum's not real. it doesn't linger. its a made up excuse for weakness.

just when you think you've given yourself a reason to be better than all those weak mothers.

a fighting nap. a shameful early solo mimosa. a pound of burnt bacon. a pile of poo from a diaper that didnt stick - in her hair, her hands, the floor. ridiculous tears from a silly episode of Heroes about finding yourself at 11 in the morning.



are we ever healed?

what is mother...

is the tension, the drama, the chaos in my head? do i invite it, wait invent it?

im swimming. i drown. theN the sunflower, her bright petals bowed in my honor, takes her strong heart-shaped leaves and lifts me up. she turns my head with hers toward the burning sun.

i breathe.

she is risen

No, the Virgin Mary has not been resurrected. But ironically my computer crashed on Easter Weekend. She spent the next week at the Data Doctors, who did a bang-up job. -Highly recommend them if you are ever in need.- And we were in the middle of a major redecoration project at home, so though we got her back in three days, we only got her put back together two days ago.

As a result of being offline, these last few weeks have been an absolute dream. I spent so much time outside, so much time with Sevilla, played in the garden (actually helped, not just admired), read a book, organized my house, made some art and an herbal hair potion, and slept people. Really and truly slept. Having no wastoid option like the wormhole of the internet, I had an incredibly fulfilling week. The boho part of my misfit was reborn. But two days in, I already found myself engrossed in the rabbit hole that is the internet at 1 am last night. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I was there catching up on some major important stuff.

I got stuck on some sensational blog from a magazine I really respect and hope to maybe publish in someday. I won't post the link cuz I don't want to encourage sharing it. But it was another one of those really ingenious, totally new, never before said mommy wars type of post. This stuff always riles me up. Why can't we just stay out of other people's living rooms? These things are always prefaced with some arrogant disclaimer: "I can no longer let bad behaviour by others go on," or "As a human (or a mother) I feel it is my responsibility to say something," or my personal favorite, "It's time someone took a stand." As if they're opinion is so holy and right they would be damned had they not shared it with the world.

I get it. I don't have to read it. And I do quit when I find em, but people I get ambushed too. When I'm floating along reading the things that I know are safe from these silly fights and someone manages to sneak it in, what am I to do?

Okay so I'm four paragraphs in an off my point, sort of (see how this so easily happens!). This whole week without the internet has reminded me of the good stuff. No internet wormholes of mommy wars with some made up idea that I could actually make a difference in people's minds with my one comment among 40. No status updates to roll my eyes at. No viewing my every activity as a series of blog posts. Just plain fun with real live people who are not at war with each other.

This brings me back to the whole 'why blog' convo and where the misfit part fits in. To blog or not to blog? I can't decide. Before we were infected, I had a list of posts ready to be shared. I was gonna go blog crazy and get here every day, comment on every blog I read, really contribute. I mean how do you get a following, how do you become a part of the community unless you show up? Not to mention I get a lot from my virtual friendships: dinner ideas, decor tricks, mommy support, inspiration, writing feedback. But the suburban part of my misfit being dead for a few days reintroduced me to the community in which I've always gotten dinner ideas, decor tricks, mommy support, inspiration, and writing feedback. And, I can touch em. (or punch em if they start that whole mommy wars shit.)

Butternut Squash Dream Custard

Wednesdays are our usual family dinner nights. My folks come over, my husband gets off early, and I get to show of my culinary creativity. It's a great evening. We chose Wednesdays out of rebellion from Sundays, being nonreligious, and thought a mid-week gathering would help break up the monotony and get us through the last few tough days.

We have been reading Dr. Weil and experimenting with lots of tofu lately. Today I made the most amazing dessert. Butternut Squash Custard with a Gingersnap topping - out of tofu. Yes you heard me right. NO ONE could tell it was tofu, and everyone wanted more. It's sort of like a pumpkin creme brulee. Sevi loves it! If you're one of those crazy anti-soy people, sorry I'm a believer in soy and thankfully no one in my family is allergic. I only by organic unprocessed soy (tofu, edamame, miso, no additive milk) - no GMOs or soy products (cheese, yogurt, preservatives etc) in this house, but that's another rant for another post...

I calculated the calories and it turns out it's pretty damn good for a dessert. Considering the average Cheesecake Factory slice is about 800 calories, some up to 2000!!!! A 4 ounce serving of the Dream Custard is:

Without Topping/ With Topping/ Regular cheesecake

123 calories/ 152 calories/ 360 calories

2 g fat/ 4 g fat/ 25 g fat

.5 g sugar/ 2 g sugar/ 12 g sugar

21 g carbs/ 22 carbs/ 28 g carbs

6 g protein/ 6 g protein/ 8 g protein

1 g fiber/ 1 g fiber/ .4 g fiber

Since I have a few friends on WW, I had my super cousin-in-law do the WW points for those of you interested: 2 pts without topping 4 with topping.

How to:

1 package soft silken tofu

1 can (15 ounces) or 2 small squash, pumpkin (gourd of some kind)

2/3 c brown sugar

3 egg whites

3 tsp pumpkin pie spices of choice (i like trader joes allinone pumpkin pie spice but if i don't have it i go for cloves, cinnamon, ginger, cardamom)

topping:

8 small (quarter size again i like TJ's tripple snaps) ginger snap cookies

2 tb olive oil (or butter if your into that but i cant vouch for the calories here)

Puree tofu in food processor. Add gourd and spices. Spoon stir in egg. Pour into pie pan, or if you are cool enough separate custard dishes like creme brulee. Grind or crumble cookies, mix in olive oil. Set aside.

Cook custard at 400 for 20 min (should peel away from pan). Spread topping. Cook 20 min longer.

Be adventurous, try something new and enjoy, guilt free!!! Heck, add some whip cream!

a startling revelation

Working a part-time job can be exhausting. Mine has certainly taken its toll. I'm feeling rushed. It is the longest 20 hours of my week. I'm back to working weekends and a couple of evenings at a coffee shop. Since surprisingly few people get coffee after 6 pm we spend most of the time cleaning the cafe getting it ready for the next day.

I scrub toilets, mop floors, scour drains, shine sinks, wash dishes, polish silver, dust cabinets, clean ovens, and serve an occasional latte with polite conversation and a smile. So, as I'm sure you can imagine my house has fallen a little behind. I mean honestly, the last thing I want to do when I get home is stare down another inch of soap scum. Don't get me wrong we stay picked up and I actually like cleaning, and drew does what he can to help out, but...

Waking up at 6am after coming home around 11pm and finally getting to bed after midnight, I barely notice the neglect. But by 11 am or so I start making a mental list:

1. The oddly-colored splatter on the kitchen back splash of who knows what from who knows when.

2. The dark smudges on the tile, only visible in certain sunlight a fly trap to dirt from dripping sippy cups.

3. The sewage smell coming from my daughters bathroom, a result of many rinsed (we use cloth) poopy diapers and too much time between toilet scrubbings.

4. The small trail of pine shavings leading back to the litter box.

5. The fingerprinted windows, evidence of a little one's lost gazes into the jungle of our leaf-laden patio.

6. An art studio empty and clean from lack of use now turned into Kitty-Kat Hotel.

7. Spiralled dust curling around the ceiling fan between complaints of "why are my allergies so bad right now".

We aren't pigs. I promise. But what's a girl to do? In the short moments of the day where sevi takes a nap, exhausted, I often fall asleep with her (she sleeps in a twin bed) wasting any time I might have had to take care of such things. When I can get away, I start a book I know I'll never finish and put my feet up in my neglected and lonely garden. I desperately want to write but I haven't even pulled out my awesome new laptop I've had for a week. The only thing I can muster is a great list of post/piece ideas scribbled on bits of paper and bills.

I dream about the day when drew is rewarded for 'sticking it out' in the crap that has become the financial industry and I can give the coffee shop the ol heave ho once and for all. When I can return to my 1200 square foot paradise and concentrate on the one thing I never thought I'd miss so much: being a full-time stay-at-home mom.

Of herbs and family

Do you believe in the healing powers of nature? I do. We live by the mantra you are what you eat. Though we are flexible, we strive for a sustainable relationship with nature, our bodies, and our community.

We are learning to grow our own herbs. We seek out local CSA's and organic veggie co-ops. In our home we use a lot of oils and herbs - no, not that kind. We eat a concoction of natural herbs and spices to keep us heart healthy, mind healthy, odor free, well-balanced folks. Well, for the most part anyway. We stay away from chemically processed anything including toothpastes, deodorants, and cleaning materials. We are not militant about any of this, just interested in doing it for ourselves. My lovely aunt Carrie is however, interested in sharing her joy of this lifestyle with others.

She has recently enrolled at SWIHA to become an herbalist. I am so lucky. I get the benefit of her firsthand knowledge and advice without the cost. This weekend is one such example. The Southwest Conference on Botanical Medicine is here, and I get to go - for free. She was able to get me a pass at a student price and generous enough to treat me. The last herban adventure she took me on was so incredible in one day this two-day conference is sure to be even more amazing.

I'm excited for lectures on growing and cultivating herbs, making flower essences, using food as your pharmacy. Demonstrations on how Native Americans used the healing powers of the desert plants that are so easy not to notice. Mingling with like-minded folks who are as passionate about our relationship with nature as I am. And a whole two days with my beautiful aunt.

Thank you Carrie Jean for this amazing gift and for sharing your passions with me.

A Few Words about the Process

I've been getting deeper into the technical aspect of my writing these days. While my workshop gives me great prompts and deadlines, I still feel the need to be pushed on a technical level. I want to get better, no I want to get good. Though I still wonder if this is possible or if you're just born with it, I'm hopeful. I'm constantly in the middle of several books 'on writing' some I hate, some I love , some I reread over and again (especially Elements), and some I don't get. I've also discovered a couple of websites that keep me asking questions about my style and process as well as ones that just inspire me to keep going.

Recently, I discovered I'm a sketch writer. I prefer writing out sketches of pieces old school - pen and paper in a notebook - before getting to the computer. I usually put out much better stuff that way. When I sit at a computer with a new idea, I usually stare for a while then end up surfing the net. However, when I pull out my tattered spiral bound I can write for an hour without realizing time has passed.

There's something about the fact that my brain must slow down to not overwhelm my pen. There's also the mobility, I can be at the playground, on the patio, in the kitchen, on a break at work, etc. And then the fact that I hate my computer area and not only feel uninspired here but generally uncomfortable.

I found this out two weeks ago in my workshop. We were prompted to write about 'allowance' which is a pretty boring subject for me anyway; but I decided to try a new approach and just go for it at the computer. The result was the most dissatisfying piece I've written for the class yet. Unfinished, flat, wordy, chaotic - I hated it.

So I went back to my pen and paper and actually turned out a pretty good one the next week. So lesson learned. Routines and creativity don't have to be mutually exclusive.