Sunday Scribblings: Milestone

Govinda walks!

He is the last one to go. This I know, I've spoken to the Universe about it, I know. This one has held on the longest. Siddhartha strolled away at eight and a half months, tiny and trotting. Sahaj wandered off at ten months, still yet straying. Judah cruised through the door at one year, tough and trampling! Govinda, a spider monkey, wrapped his legs around me for so long. And now, he must go.

He was most anxious, when saying goodbye to his womb-home yet not so eager to go, away from my hip. He saddled my waist, in a hand made sling, until I started to sway in one direction from his weight. Our biggest boy. These days, he sleeps all alone. Except for the shadows and the glow. And an everlasting flame. I wonder when he will become content with a simple kiss goodnight and a story to go.

Oh dear, Govinda. Looks like you are on the go!

Morning Fog

I stared into the valley: it was gone-

wholly submerged! A vast flat sea remained,
gray, with no waves, no beaches; all was one.


I may have seen a shadow then, an errant
shadow, bearing a bundle on its head.
I saw-and no more saw, in the same instant.

All I could hear were the uneasy screeches
of the lost birds, the yelping of the stray,
and, on that sea that lacked both waves and beaches,

the footsteps, neither near nor far away.

excerpt from
"In The Fog"
Giovanni Pascoli

I woke early this morning, I hadn't realized that my husband had already wandered off to his day. I walked outside and stood by myself. Everything held still, never speaking of day. I couldn't help wonder what else lived under the moonlight; many lives in between time. I felt a distant runaway.

Sunday Scribblings: Yes

We used to say yes to everything. A midnight trip to the Bay, slushy shoes and a bag full of sea salt and sand. Yes, we could make it back, later that morning, just in time for a quick cup of coffee and in the nick of time to start our work day. What about six children and the billy goat? Yes, lets get started. Eight is just enough. And Mr. Mutton? Indeed, the babies will love him! He'll gift us with plenty of gold: milk, cheese, butter. Wool. Casting on and "casting off". I will learn to make knit shawls and fuzzy sweaters. Or maybe we should escape to an island, call it our home, learn the native tongue, have babies and grow old. Yes, count me in. French Polynesia is only some where near four thousand nautical miles away. What if we find an apartment, in the center of a noir city, quit our humdrum jobs and create a way to stay afloat? Yes, why not. We can write a film script, a prequel or a sequel; zombies and social unjust. We can have it done by lunch. When the homeless lady needed a place to stay. Yes, by all means, we are moving out of this studio anyway. (The first bun is in the oven.) She can have the last month all to herself. We have packed up already, from I street to V street, just in time to receive our first little one. The communist boy on the streets needs a sweater? Yes, naturally, give him the vegan V sweater that I ordered off of the net for your birthday last year. He needs pencils and paper and a few books. Sure, give him Malcolm X and he will give us a list. He says we should read it now: Tolstoy, Lenin, and Engels. Emma, Karl, and the infamous manifesto. No reason to say no.

There was never really a reason to say no. That was four babies ago, when our world only presented unfettered proposals. Dreamy eyed and alive, we generally settled on yes and relieved ourselves of no. Not all of what was affirmative then actually came to fruition, though. Four babies instead of six, the Polynesian Islands still wait for us, Mr. Mutton, wakeful only in our Grimm thoughts, a draft or two has been scripted to some degree by both of us but never an exhaustive manuscript.

We used to say yes to everything. Maybe our ways have been naive, too trusting, and a bit unsophisticated, but after nearly ten years together as parents and partners, Aaron and I still find it difficult to say no. These days, saying yes is more essential than ever. Four admiring sets of eyes watch and wait for us to show them this world and its ominous and awe. Four pure and hope-filled hearts thirsty to live beyond this box. Yes, we will bring more babies than our parents ever knew. We will birth them at home with myrrh, frankincense, the goddesses, and the indigo moon. Yes, lets keep driving, cross the California border, through Eugene, and head a bit closer to the coast to a place called Deadwood, that no one has ever heard of. Then cross over the Delphian bridge (which I still believe was in Evil Dead Part 2) and make our way to the old farmstead on Alpha Farm. Yes, we will paint peace signs on cardboard, scribble pro-socialist mottoes on signboards, and wave our fists in the air on 16th and J. The temperature, 96, Judah resting on my hip, and his brothers shouting, "Stop this war. Honk for peace!" Yes, no doctors for me or for you. Yes, we will teach you at home. The same room that we eat dinner in you will call your classroom. Our days will be long and consumed with experiments, literature, song, and soul. Your days will be spent with mother and brothers, dancing and dueling and searching for art. Anointing our spirits and enjoying our latitude and playful moods.

As our home grow smaller and somehow the rooms filled with six, our hours had to accept limits, yet our senses never let go of "Yes".

Rain

Earth is pouring down upon us so eagerly these days.

Siddhartha has had such stimulating words to say."Oh my god, mom! It is raining so hard outside! It's like
Earth is a puddle."

He stunned me with this phrase, charmed by his words, I sat and rediscovered Earth: a pure lagoon underneath a bucket of stars, brand new, fourteen billion years ago. Solar and Milky, expanding and birthing. One lonely moon. Blue moon, new moon, full moon, one moon. Her many years floating in debris and dust. Countless prevalent species, eating and breeding and creeping amidst weeds and rust. Martians and men exploring, dancing their days away without gravity or trust. Cosmic yet solid. Material. Matter and mass. And eventually, annihilation, extinction, and obsolescence.
Earth, would be, a thing of the past.

We sat in the rain that day and felt water and vapor. Molecules, some still holding on; deciding and dancing, others forgiving themselves and letting go. The trinity asked me many questions that day. Govinda crawled around, splashed and soaked. I could only answer the boys from ideas that I had read about or from the moments I had felt. Their theories are always much more simple and palpable than mine, so easy to digest. We sat in a puddle that morning, steeping. Infused. So many ideas, not much to mistrust. "Absolutely, son. Earth could surely be a puddle and you and I, a mere speckle of star dust.

Sunday Scribblings: "The Good Old Days"

Fiji. Oceans ago. The river and laundry and enormous rocks. Chasing my mother, baskets tucked under her arms. My bangles, so many. The red scooter, wooden and worn. Coconut milk in the early morning. Warm rain, lizards slithering in the riches hues, teensy-weensy frogs. The earth, always an olive green. Chutney and pickle, onion and pepper. My kaleidoscopic world. Nani and the ghee; my grandmother and the melting butter. My mother, taller than trees, willowy and wise. Her scent was a fusion of clove, cardamom, and camphor. Her hair, onyx. Endless. Her eyes, tired and stone...
Sweet sixteen. An ocean away from home. Sloshed and stoned. Goodbye Daddy. Alone. California summers, the valley, and heat. Stale and sugar plump. Bittersweet. Friendship and solace. Midnight movies on the Old Sac lawn. Mushrooms and ice-cream and voices. Lip gloss and glow sticks. A sodden song. A river so long. Trips, talks, and a decade to treasure. Water, a wave, and the wash...
Adult. Acceptance, trial, renewal. A new shore. North Beach. More enormous rocks.

One Small Change while welcoming in the New Year

I recently discovered a beautiful challenge. An idea which is quickly inspiring a growing community that is moving toward creative and ecological change. One Small Change. Hip Mountain Mama and her idea for bloggers to make one sustainable lifestyle change each month until Earth Day. Fabulous. Count me in! Without any hesitation, I've accepted this challenge with a goal of only using cloth diapers for my tiniest boy. We have used cloth regularly, yet I have used disposables, out of convenience, here and there. I am quickly realizing that there is nothing convenient about disposables. The argument supporting cloth diapers, in my opinion, is clearly more sustainable, comfortable, and convenient. Considering the approximation of five million tons of untreated waste being deposited into landfills by means of disposables, every year and when thinking about the chemical used to make disposables adsorbent, sodium polyacrylate, I clearly feel that my one small change needs to start here!

Cloth diapers have supported little ones on their early flight since the dawn of time. Thanks, Hip Mountain Mama, for supporting our change!

At the end of Jingle Trail we found Snow Village

Sahaj and Judah take a trip to a tiny hamlet of frosty folk

and littoral treasures.

A sea without a shore. I never imagined it could be! A blanket
of snow, a milky man and his egg yolk nose, glistening bells and
their ancient spells, yet never a single sight of ocean blue; a
seashore that ended so new.

Thanks Liam and Tricia for the birthday bag that provoked

a visit to Snow Village.