Kids In Skeleton Shirts Eat Waffles!

I asked for waffles this morning and my hubby asked, “Where’s the waffle mix?”

I’m sure I gave a glare but then I laughed and replied, “When have I ever used a mix for waffles?”

(P.S. I’m not against using a mix for waffles. There are some really yummy ones out there. I just prefer making my own and it is usually less expensive.)

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together:
1 C Buckwheat Flour
1/2 C Coconut Flour
1/4 C Teff Flour
1 t Baking Soda
1/2 t Salt
1 T Date Sugar or Coconut Sugar

In a separate bowl, whisk together:
3 eggs
1 t Vanilla extract
1/2 t Lemon extract
1 1/2 C Drinkable Coconut Milk
1 C Olive oil

Grease and heat waffle press. Use as directed by manufacturer.
Dress with you family’s favourite toppings.

Olive oil, coconut milk, and buckwheat waffles.

Delightful!

Kids in skeleton shirts eat waffles!

“Normal” ?

What a day, what a week…what a month!

I was contemplating “normal” today and what that must be like.

Normal people probably don’t hang their clothes in the main area of their homes. Normal people probably don’t spontaneously bake Pear Raspberry crisp after 8pm with their hubby. Normal people probably don’t eat and drink wild things. Normal people probably aren’t “wild things”.

Ok, normal Americans probably don’t do these things. I’m painfully aware of my left side of normal American oddities.

Then my husband walks into the room today, I’m perusing blogs, and he says to me, “Do you know that I need your strength.”
I look into those dark chocolate brown eyes of his, “No. I didn’t know that or at least I thought I needed yours more.”

We hug!

I let go of the thought of being “normal” once more. I don’t really need it.

June 20th 2012, Summer Solstice at Mt. Pisgah main trail. Seriously getting vertical y’all!

Peace, love and the left side of normal American oddities.

Beltane/May Day

May 1st is generally a day that I am mindful of what I’m giving back to the Earth Mother, our community, and our family.

In celebration of this day I wildcrafted Lemon Balm and Cleaver then made Glycerite with these lovely plants.

Lemon Balm and Cleavers.

Also, I transplanted some starts.
Some of them have come from our boys’ hard work that started last Summer with them stripping Purple Kale seed pods (seed saving).

I’ll be selling some of the starts for donations that will go to the boys’ Summer fund. Purple Kales along with some Broccoli and Joi Choi (Bak Choi).

Purple Kale starts.

Happy May Day/Beltane and may your final bits of Spring bring you work for those busy hands and helpful heart-work in your family and community.

Peace, love, and heart-work.

Cleavers soaking in filtered water.

Happy Purple Kale close-up.

 

I take two sips of my morning coffee, I log on and I read this article:

http://globalgrind.com/news/michael-skolnik-trayvon-martin-george-zimmerman-race-sanford-florida-photos-pictures

I cry for the parents, for the boy who will never have_______ (so much to fill in that blank), and I wonder why can’t we look at our people (yes, OUR people) for who they are.

Then I’m driven to write, of course.
Was Michael Skolnik’s article not a call for his Caucasian brothers and sisters to respond to Trayvon Martin’s senseless murder?

I want to make something clear first. We don’t all live in cities or suburbs. The small county that I grew up in and still live in is very VERY Caucasian. What Mr. Skolnik describes here “I will never look suspicious to you, because of one thing and one thing only.  The color of my skin.  I am white.” That doesn’t work in my town. I’ve clutched my purse closer when in the presence of suspicious white folk. I’ve rushed home from the bus stop because I was being followed by a police vehicle and neighbors. When you live in a place that has a high crime rate with the root of it all pointing to methamphetamine…yeah, many many white people scare the shit out of me!

I get it Mr. Skolnik, you’re talking about the bigger picture here. But this is the world I know, in our little town, in a little valley.

Let’s get back to Trayvon. Trayvon!!!
Did you all look at his picture? What a beautiful boy he was! All of that is gone now. All of that beauty in what could have been a man is gone.

As my boys inch closer and closer to their teen years the bulk of our conversations lead back to compassion. COMPASSION. This, like anything, means something different to everyone. But I think that it has a common thread of respect and patience (the ability listen and to be present).

What compassion has taught me is to look past all walls, social/physical obstacles, and to see myself in another person.

Sometimes to find compassion we have to pull from deep down inside. It is taking all of me, reaching deep down to the root of my compassion, these days to have compassion for those who want to take my reproductive rights away from me. It is taking all of me to have compassion for those who cannot accept my husband and his birth son as our family. It is taking all of me give up the fight and to ride the waves of justice.

Now I ask you, how much more will OUR people have to lose before WE take action towards compassion? Why not teach it during math class? It has the word ‘compass’ in it, does it not?

If Mr. George Zimmerman had learned about compassion before seeing this boy walk down his street, however unfamiliar this boy may have been to him. He would have seen a kid not a thug-in-training or whatever Mr. Zimmerman saw instead. He would have seen a kid. That’s all. A kid.

His name is Trayvon. Mr. Zimmerman could have introduced himself. He could have asked him about his folks. He would have known Trayvon from then on. He could have done so many many different things besides what he did. If only he was carrying compassion instead of that semi-automatic weapon. If only! Well, all of that is gone now.

Now it is Mr. Zimmerman’s time to ride the waves of justice. I hope justice is brought, for real! And I hope one day his inner compass finds compassion and all of those like Mr. Zimmerman.

All I know, for my husband and me, is continuance to teach our boys about compassion. I will continue to see myself in others and I will continue to keep digging deep inside for that last ounce of compassion even when I think it is no longer there.

 

Food Swaping!

Food Swap is so fun! More fun than most things I do on a Sunday afternoon.

The finds get more and more interesting. I didn’t get any kraut this time, again, so I’m just going to have to make it myself and maybe savour some for the next Swap.

Food Swap March 2012

I brought Sunny Butters and Veggie Glycerite Tinctures for trades. I received some beautifully homemade goods. They are being reveled over in wonder and delight in our home.

Thank you friends! I hope to see you all at the next Swap!
Peace, love, and homemade wonders.

Chasing Rainbows

I’m hearing Joni Mitchell and Sting in my memories, that time in my life when I lived on a rainbow. With my Baby Sister and our handmade dolls, in our handmade cloths, digging our handmade garden.

We were well tended. Life was mud pies and ants in our pants. It was a simple way and it’s now the past.

Today, as are most days around here, it’s all about the simple things.

Today I’m chasing rainbows.

Rainbows on my kitchen walls.

That’s all for now.