giving thanks for my mother, inspired cooking, and the arts

mom's cute webcam pic for her FB page

Tues., Jan. 10:  I give thanks for my mother.  She conceived me (with some help of course) and carried me in her womb, labored for 36 hours, and bears a scar where they finally decided to cut her open and remove me from her body.  Though I did not grow up with her (I was raised by my father from birth) we have always had a great relationship, one that has only grown deeper with time.  Those of you who know me well know the full story here - perhaps I will write it some time.  She is one of my best friends, one of the wisest women I know, and always a voice of reason in my life.

Wed., Jan. 11:  I give thanks for spontaneous inspiration in the kitchen.  Growing up, I think my dad may have cooked for us a total of 10 times, or maybe a few more, but I think at least half of those meals were hot dog sandwiches or franks and beans.  We ate out a lot of the time.  Sometimes, Eileen, my half-brother's mom who lived under us in the first-floor apartment of the house I grew up in, would cook dinner for me, but I didn't usually witness the process.

I did not grow up around anyone preparing meals.  The only memories I can really think of where I witnessed some major cooking was at my aunt's and granddad's on holidays, and that was some major cooking that went on for hours and hours, resulting in quite a feast, where you eat on and off all day.  Now, I'm a wife, and a mother of three, and there has definitely been a bit of a learning curve here.  I discovered in my adult years that I'm a pretty good 'intuitive' cook, meaning I keep healthy ingredients around and can usually hook up a good meal by throwing some of those ingredients together.  

However, cooking for yourself or one other person is one thing.  And, I've done alot of eating out in my adult years for sure, esp. since so many were spent leading a hustle 'n' bustle kinda life.  Now, I'm responsible for providing 3 meals a day for 3 other people (baby Din is still pretty exclusively on my milk) and myself.  This is no small feat.  Honestly, I'm usually wingin' it.  I'm not a recipe kinda gal.  Meal planning sounds nice, but it's not very realistic for me, given that I'm the type of person who often has difficulty planning beyond the next hour, except for really important things of course.  My main strategy is simply to keep good, healthy, yummy food around, and then see what comes together when it's time to eat.  (We don't have set meal times either.)

So what led to this post was a bit of spontaneous genius in the kitchen on Wednesday night.  At shortly after 7 pm, I thought, hmmm, what should we have for dinner?  I thawed some chicken in the nuker (in the basement - I resort to its' use in emergencies only ;), scrambled two eggs in coconut oil, added some frozen veggie fried rice to that, a few squirts of Bragg's Liquid Aminos, and threw the chicken in a separate pan with olive oil, drizzled with raw cider vinegar, added some Celtic sea salt and other spices, and then some fresh garlic.  Sounds good, but kinda a typical meal around here, and Atom and I have both been getting a bit 'bored' with food, so... I decided to put the rice on a corn tortilla, topped with the chicken, and then topped with a slice of cheese.  Popped into the toaster oven to melt the cheese, and voila!  Delicious.  Yummy yum.


Thurs., Jan. 12:  I give thanks for the arts, all kinds, for they have the ability to give voice to the heart, mind, and spirit, and release, inspire, feel understood, bring joy, and heal.  There has been a lot of grieving, reflecting, spontaneous weeping, and ruminating going on of late, off & on over the past few months.  (See a past post here and the FB page of a friend who left this world a few weeks ago here.)  It is making my thyroid ache.  As I said in that previous post, so much of the weeping and sorrow is not for my own grief, but for others' suffering.  I am an empath, and I think part of my purpose is to help transmute those very difficult emotions.  I just have to be careful not to let them get stuck in my body.

One of the things that helps me with that is listening to good music, and especially music that makes me want to sing.  So, yesterday I was listening to this really awesome album, 'Be OK' by Ingrid Michaelson.  Over and over.  It felt so good.  In fact, I think I'm gonna put it on repeat again, right now.  It's so awesome how sometimes just the right music comes on at just the right time, speaking to your life.  In this case, I felt like it was speaking more to my dear friend (who has just gone through the most difficult time of her life) than it was to me, but it helped, and I sang and sang, and sent her love all the while.

(As a sidenote, if you're suffering, or have ever felt suicidal:  Just don't get caught up listening to some sad music over and over while drinking copious amounts of alcohol when you're depressed.  That's a bad idea.  Switch it up.  Feel the misery, for a little while.  Then find something that gives you some shred of hope and happiness.  If you can't force yourself to stop wallowing, find a kid, yours or someone else's and hug them, play with them for 5 minutes.  That will make you feel better, at least for a little while.  Most kids have this great intuitive sense that tells them when you need a really good hug or a laugh.)

We hosted our co-op/tribe at our house yesterday.  I gave a lesson with a brief overview of the history of art from cave painting to the present, looking at the trends and styles that evolved over time, and the factors that influenced those trends.  And then, we painted.  Anything we wanted.  And it felt so good.  Here are ours.  The pics aren't great - I just took them on the webcam, but I'll share anyway.  

Phoe's painting: acrylic on cardboard.

Adobe's painting - her variation of Genevra DaBenci: acrylic on canvas

my painting - in progress still: acrylic on masonite

 My thanks for the arts is so infinite that I could write a whole book on it.  There will be more to come on the matter, I'm sure, but this post has been long enough already.  Visual and performing arts have pervaded my life for as long as I can remember.  My given name, Artis Mooney, aptly translates to 'wealth of art'.  Artis - Latin - 'of art'; Mooney - Gaelic - 'wealth'.

XO

giving thanks for my life, physical work, and lovely weather

Sat., Jan 7:  I give thanks for my life.  We went to a memorial service for a friend who chose to leave this world at the young age of 28.  The outpouring of love for this person was tremendous, and he left behind a family and huge crew of friends who will miss his presence so very much.  Life is such a gift, to be treasured, and though the road can be insufferable at times, we must always remember that others suffer too, that no matter how great our suffering, someone has it worse, and that 'this too shall pass'.  Count your blessings, and keep moving forward.

me & my sweeties in our backyard.  what you see is only a small fraction of the wood around here.  good exercise.  :) 

Sun., Jan 8:  I give thanks for physical work and a healthy body.  I stacked a ton of wood on the front porch today (all of which my darling husband first cut and stacked at the back and side of the house) - which was a good thing apparently, since we got snow yesterday.  I love work like this; it can be very meditative for me.  I am so happy to have a body that works well, with no major aches and pains, in cooperation with my mind and spirit.  During my last pregnancy I was so incredibly sore for a good number of months that I really understood how difficult it must be to live with chronic pain that never goes away.  At least I knew, or hoped, that mine would subside once this lovely little being finally emerged into the world.  I cannot imagine suffering like that with no end in sight.  I will offer the insight, however, that meditation helped me tremendously with the pain, on the days I had the wherewithal to make myself sit mindfully still for at least ten minutes. 

Mon., Jan 9:  I give thanks for the weather!  The snow was lovely, and it's nice to have a change of seasons, change of scenery, change of ambience, and yes, even a change of temperature.  It's so silly when we complain about the weather, and some people always seem to want it to be something other than what it is.  I love it all.  True, I'm a bit wimpy about the cold in wintertime, however, I have my awesome wood stove and that makes it so much more enjoyable.  I love keeping the fire burnin'.

birth & death, & everything in between

a grave marker in the beautiful Sierra Vista Cemetary in Taos, NM

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

there is a field.  I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn't make any sense."

Rumi

It's been an emotional few weeks.  Quite a bit of weeping.

Mitakuye Oyasin.  We are all related.  I do believe that beyond these bodies, we are all one, and the sentiment of this poem by Rumi resonates deeply with me - yet still, the reality of mortality can be hard to deal with.

Two weeks ago today, our dear sweet neighbor and landlord Mr. Bowyer passed away.  I truly miss him and wish that we had spent more time with him.  His presence was comforting, and pretty much every warm day that we had, he would be out in his wheelchair, either in his beautiful big backyard, or occasionally in the front driveway.  Adobe liked to take friends over to meet him, outside or in the house.  He had an open-door policy.  He was a real sweetheart, and I feel that he loved knowing there was a nice family here enjoying this house, which we do, so much.  I wish that we had had him over for dinner sometime, which just seemed like it would be tricky because of his big automatic wheelchair, with both entrances to the house being a few steps up, but I really wish now that we had made it happen, somehow.    
     My heart aches when I'm in the kitchen, where I'd always look out the window and see him across the yard getting fresh air and sunshine.  My heart aches any time I look over at the house, and think about the fact that he (his living body) is no longer there, and his grandson, who's just a couple years older than me, is now there alone, after all these years of living with him, and helping to care for him, and being his buddy.  But I know that he is still here, I feel his spirit around us, over the trees and the grass, and the houses, and I talk to him. 
     I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to pay last respects while there was still breath in his body.  I wept so much on the way to the hospital, going into the room, and when I was saying goodbye to him.  I wish that I had had a couple minutes alone with him, but the room was full of family members and his caretakers.  I wanted so much just to give him a little Reiki, and a kiss on the cheek.  I did whisper in his ear that we loved him and would miss him so much.  And even though he was unconscious, I know he heard me. 
     Yes, he was not a member of my blood family, but I love him, and this is my first experience really of 'losing' someone that I am used to seeing on a regular basis.  The only other family member who has passed on was my grandfather, and I loved him so much, but I hadn't seen him for ten years.  In both cases, there is regret, and things I wish I'd done when they were alive.
     My granddad's funeral is the only one I've been to.  Mr. Bowyer's is delayed until January, because it will be at Arlington Cemetary, and they are booked up.  My granddad's viewing and funeral gave me great comfort & closure - I wept over him, and kissed him, and stroked his hair, and his Buddha earlobes, and talked to him, and told him how much I loved him.  He looked so small lying there, a shell of the big robust man I knew, so full of life, the man who threw great parties on the holidays for his family, who would sing, and tell stories, and enlist me and my cousins to perform for him, much in the way he did with my mother and her sister apparently.

This morning, I am attending another funeral.  Two days ago, my dance teacher (from age 7 to 18), Ms. Sparks, passed on.  More regrets.  I have been talking for years about going to visit her, right here in Arlington, and never did.  I'm so thankful though for the many great memories that I have of her from my childhood, and for the focus she brought to my childhood, the influence she had on my life, and the training she gave me, which along with others, helped me to support myself by teaching dance for many of my adult years.  I did get a chance to thank her, many years ago, but I wish that I had gone and told her these things again, and told her how much I loved her.  Today, I will be doing alot more weeping, I'm sure.

I weep for the pain of our knowledge of our own mortality.
I weep for the pain that causes my father, and for the wish that he will find resolve with this before his time comes.
I weep for the pain and sorrow of loved ones who miss that special person they will see no more.
I weep for the pain of humanity.
I weep for the pain of mothers and fathers who have lost a child.
I weep for the pain of children who have lost their parents.
I weep for all of the suffering in the world.
I weep because change is so hard sometimes.
I weep with gratitude and joy for the gifts in my life, first and foremost being my family.
I weep with gratitude and awe for this amazing baby and my other children who have chosen me as their mother.
I weep with gratitude and joy for life.