A handful of minutes before my son was born there was a moment of panic. Mostly mine, but judging by the nurse spinning around and running to the phone after ‘checking’ me, I gathered there was some haste on the part of the health professionals as well. I was screaming all kinds of things to anyone who would listen, feeling completely out of control as people poured in like rain in response to what must have been an 'all-hands-on-deck' call. After 17 hours of contractions, I was somehow surprised about what was about to happen. Like it had caught me off guard. And this was my second child so I really can’t say the experience was completely new.
A kind and gentle, soft-spoken nurse came over to me, held my hand while we waited for the doctor to arrive and said: ‘You are panicking’. ‘No shit’, I said.
‘This you can control’, she whispered.
I had a baby falling out of me and I was terrified. The pain was unbearable. And here was this woman telling me I still had some blooming control in my repertoire. Someone has got to be kidding me!
At the time I thought she meant that I could control whether I had the baby or not. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable choice to have. But then I looked into her serene face and felt her tiny hand holding mine. She meant that I didn’t need to panic. And somehow, I calmed down. I looked into her eyes, breathed as she asked me to, and calmed down.
I recently heard about people who get themselves in a frantic pickle and their neurons keep firing rapidly long after the stimuli have been removed. These are likely the ones that make mountains out of molehills. The ones who make your heart race and your blood pressure go up when you only imagine them entering the room.
Would it help me to know that I am one of those people? That for the longest time I had my panic button permanently switched to the ‘on’ position? I look around me and see what others view as a serene and gentle life of bucolic lovelihood. Yup, I see it too. But all of it had perhaps been viewed through the panic lens. Was I hanging on to the ‘holy shit’ handle even when there was no longer a risk of an accident?
Being with my first child was a peaceful experience for me. Even after we tore off our bathroom in late November the year she was born and decided to build a thousand square foot addition ‘before winter’. I bathed with my little one in a room that barely snuck above freezing that winter and somehow I managed to keep my sanity. Returned to work I did after a year and I recall expressing gratitude for the great balance I had in my life. A job in the city where I could use my brain and visit with adults. A life in the country where I could sow my wild seeds. A family to make noise around me in the evenings. A long, quiet drive to collect my thoughts each day.
Then I got pregnant again. There was more snow that year than ever before on the last month before my maternity leave. And I commuted 75km each way with a 2 year old through snowstorms night after night after night after night. I had morning sickness the entire pregnancy, all day long, and would have to pull over repeatedly to humour the nausea. I was in hell. And terrified that I would not survive and that I wasn’t properly able to care for the one child I already had. But survive I did. I ramped up my resources and gave it all I had.
I never blamed that little guy who came into the world two years after my first. I loved him with every bit of the heart that I had. How could I not? But I was never the same again. I stayed that woman driving in the snowstorm, white-knuckled, in blackness, hormonal and exhausted with a two-year old asking questions from the backseat. Looking back, I don’t know how I did it.
It has taken over a year to undo the perma-panic that settled in that year and stayed alive and well for the first three years of my son’s life. I was that person that people would often say ‘calm down’ to. (Why, oh why, do people say that? Don’t they know it is a sure way to freak a person out?)
But there were those assuring eyes of the nurse, Lee, on the night my son was born. She was my grandmother. My aunt. My mother. My Goddess. She was every woman grabbing me by the reigns and effortlessly leading the wild one inside of me back to the barn. I let her take me there because she put the power in my own tiny little hands in that moment.
This you can control.
I went for a run yesterday against every bit of my will. I didn’t feel like going. I felt heavy and lazy and I didn’t care in the least about any dumb goals I had set. The sun was shining, the dogs were antsy but I didn’t care. I wanted to forget the whole thing. But a kinder, gentler side led me to my running shoes and sent me out the door anyway.
There is so much racket going on in the brain. The entire run I watched the sewage of my mind loll about like a ship through stormy waters as it attempted to make my feet stop moving. The ship still sails. The weather still turns. And despite the racket, I can still choose to be the calm observer – all the while still getting my exercise.
I can’t change the weather. But deciding to override the drama - this I can control. The more I practice this, the more I believe it. And that’s a switch I’d like to make stuck for a while.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Squash Fries
Now that the snow looks to be taking up residence around here, we are officially wrapping up our season of growing vegetables. The greenhouse has gone to sleep for the winter (we don’t heat it until the seedlings start to grow in the early spring). The potatoes, carrots, brussel sprouts and squash are all tucked away aiming to give our family a winter’s worth of nutrition. There may be a handful of squash deliveries yet to make to restaurants and stores but that would be about all.
As Christmas approaches, I wanted to share one of my favourite dishes. It happens to go over well with the liluns too, which is always a bonus for me. Squash fries. As potato beetles are a-plenty around here it is always uncertain whether we will see a potato crop. We have been creative over the years with our bounty of squash and come up with this easy delight.
First, cut open the squash (I use Acorn, Butternut, Celebration or one of the other velvety, not mealy ones). Scoop out the seeds with an ice cream scoop and place face down on a baking sheet. Turn the oven on at 350F and leave them in there for approximately 15-20 minutes. They should still be firm put slightly softened by this effort, thereby easier to work with. Turn the oven off and let the squash cool before handling. You may want to remove them from the oven if your oven heats up quickly.
Cut the squash into slivers about 2 inches wide at the widest part. Peel off the skin being careful to keep the form of the flesh. Now cube the orange fleshy part into 1-2 inch cubes. Similar sized cubes would be desirable for consistent baking times.
Alternatively, you can peel the squash when it is raw (this can be tricky depending on whether the skin is tough or not – sometimes a potato peeler is an option). Then cut it in half, scoop out the seeds and cut into cubes. You can throw these cubes in the freezer for another day which is what I have done.
Our family Christmas gatherings are often potluck and this makes an excellent dish to bring and blast with heat once at your destination.
When you’re ready to make the fries, distribute olive oil or pats of butter around a baking sheet. I have no fear of butter and use a good ½ cup over a large cookie pan. Place in a preheated oven on the middle rack at around 400F. Once you can lift the cube from the pan with a spatula, turn the lot of them over to brown the other side after around 20 minutes. They are ready when the edges start to brown slightly and the fat layer in the pan is sizzling like a deep fryer.
Try not to overcook these or they will turn to mush. The key is to get a crispy outside, and a softened inside all the while holding a shape.
If you are blessed with loved ones around you and food to eat, here’s wishing you a wonderful season of baking, eating and visiting.
As Christmas approaches, I wanted to share one of my favourite dishes. It happens to go over well with the liluns too, which is always a bonus for me. Squash fries. As potato beetles are a-plenty around here it is always uncertain whether we will see a potato crop. We have been creative over the years with our bounty of squash and come up with this easy delight.
First, cut open the squash (I use Acorn, Butternut, Celebration or one of the other velvety, not mealy ones). Scoop out the seeds with an ice cream scoop and place face down on a baking sheet. Turn the oven on at 350F and leave them in there for approximately 15-20 minutes. They should still be firm put slightly softened by this effort, thereby easier to work with. Turn the oven off and let the squash cool before handling. You may want to remove them from the oven if your oven heats up quickly.
Cut the squash into slivers about 2 inches wide at the widest part. Peel off the skin being careful to keep the form of the flesh. Now cube the orange fleshy part into 1-2 inch cubes. Similar sized cubes would be desirable for consistent baking times.
Alternatively, you can peel the squash when it is raw (this can be tricky depending on whether the skin is tough or not – sometimes a potato peeler is an option). Then cut it in half, scoop out the seeds and cut into cubes. You can throw these cubes in the freezer for another day which is what I have done.
 | Raw Butternut Squash Cubes Ready for the Freezer |
Our family Christmas gatherings are often potluck and this makes an excellent dish to bring and blast with heat once at your destination.
When you’re ready to make the fries, distribute olive oil or pats of butter around a baking sheet. I have no fear of butter and use a good ½ cup over a large cookie pan. Place in a preheated oven on the middle rack at around 400F. Once you can lift the cube from the pan with a spatula, turn the lot of them over to brown the other side after around 20 minutes. They are ready when the edges start to brown slightly and the fat layer in the pan is sizzling like a deep fryer.
Try not to overcook these or they will turn to mush. The key is to get a crispy outside, and a softened inside all the while holding a shape.
If you are blessed with loved ones around you and food to eat, here’s wishing you a wonderful season of baking, eating and visiting.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Making Friends with Guilt and Envy
I have a confession to make. Things that other people do or say can send me reeling. With guilt, envy, feelings of being inadequate, or a certain brand of lonely emptiness (which I take to be the opposite of connection). It is fair to say that I am a sensitive type. But I think that’s the easy way out. Here’s another route.
I so often let the projections of other people get inside of me. Those negative voices spilling over with fear and echoing the voices in my own head. The ones that say I can’t. And they are very loud at what they do.
Lately I’ve been focusing on the ones that say I can. This is where envy comes in. All of those I envy are those that are reaching for something bigger in their lives. Not relative to me. Just bigger on their own scales. I’ve been turning up the volume on possibilities and avoiding the faces and places that like to share their grief with me. I’ve put down the sword of destruction and picked up the art of building and being creative.
I think as ‘keepers’ it is really important to have your own wagon. What the hell is she talking about now, you ask? I mean you have two choices. To stroll along behind someone else’s wagon arranging all the excess debris that flies off of it. The stuff they can’t handle or don’t know how to do. Or you can make your own wagon and ride alongside them.
Having your very own wagon means you have to put yourself into it. Probably drive it. Decide on the shape, paint the edges. Is it a fast or slow one? Large or small? Covered or open? Where is it going? So much more simple to follow along behind someone else’s, right?
I have learned the hard way that trying to help other people with their wagons all day long without having one of my own is a sure way to die inside. Without a destination of my own, my little spirit shrunk like a dried flower.
If I were God, I would simply say: how dare you not nourish and tend to your flower. What right have you to let yourself disappear?
Like a flowering plant, we humans need to keep growing and challenging ourselves to keep reaching for light. We need to thrive on energy and give beauty and fragrance to the world around us. Well, maybe not all kinds of fragrance but you get the metaphor.
Here is the thing about having your own wagon. (Now in case you’ve gotten confused about whether you’re a wagon or a flower, stay with me, it’ll all come together). When you have your own wheels, you can take others for a ride in it. You can carry the load for another. You can fill it with flowers even, can’t you?
Anger. Jealousy. Guilt. These nasty clouds can spread grey over an otherwise lovely day. But I’ve finally learned their power. In order to survive they need an empty shell, or wagonless wagon, a flowerless flower.
For the first time since the beginning of this blog I am comfortable with the definition of what feminism truly means. It is the ability of a woman to be the central figure in her own life. It has nothing to do with how much she has to care for, or how she sets her priorities. It is the choice to be able to put one’s own basic needs first. Including the important need to grow, seek light, take in water. Create a life. Fill it with needy things. But still breathe from only one center.
And jealousy preys on those who forget they need their own standards and goals. Those that know in their heart of hearts they are not living up to their full potential. Guilt is not far behind envy, whispering in your ear that you should be headed somewhere different.
We are told as women to not be so hard on ourselves. Not take on too much. It isn’t about taking on too much. The ambitions of women today are not at fault for the overloaded families marching around.
Lately I think my greatest fault was not taking on enough. Not focusing on the things that were central to my happiness and worrying far too much about what was expected of me. Who needed what from me. What was the most urgent priority of the day. I needed more of the real stuff. Less of the business that belongs to others in the first place.
The one thing we are told to instill in our children is a sense of self. Confidence in what they have to offer the world. So where in there should a mother give up her own offering for the sake of that of another? When did I hop off my own wagon to leave it rot somewhere to make sure that others fully functioned at their greatest capacity?
Somewhere before I had kids. Slightly before marriage. Somewhere around the time I moved into my first home, which happened to be on 100 acres of farmland.
There is nobody to blame but myself. Everybody expected me to stay on course. Chase my potential with all the vim and vigour of the person I was when this journey began.
But somewhere back there I left it behind. For a good cause, of course. It seemed necessary. Nobody would argue that giving it all up for your kids, your husband, the family business, the animals and plants in need of care isn’t a noble undertaking.
But I forgot my wagon.
I let guilt drag me down. I thought if I served myself I would be a terrible wife and mother. I let envy fester. I considered myself less worthy of all the great things others had. I wasn’t smart enough. Not good enough. Did not have enough money, support, energy, vision…
Envy and guilt were only ever the canary in the mine. They showed me loud and clear that I was capable of more. That I didn’t have to solely revolve around the needs of others. That I could be my own master. That I could build more, create more, extend more. On my own terms. Not in a stand-off kind of way. But as a woman who knows what she needs to survive and doesn’t try to ignore those needs to build up another.
I am starting to see that restoring my own wagon actually gives me energy. There is much more joy and laughter around me these days. And room to move and grow. I don’t suffocate quite as easily. I don’t anger as quickly. I sleep better. I attract positive people more readily. I no longer limit myself with rules about how I couldn’t, shouldn’t, won’t, haven’t, can’t.
I don’t envy others quite as much because I feel ultimately capable of anything I set my mind to. Or better yet, I know what to do when envy sneaks up. Spend more time on my own potential, that is. I don’t feel the same guilt because I see the reward and how others gain so much more from me in the wake of these new beliefs.
What can I say? I was given the ability to flower. Why wait until spring to make it so? Why not make like a Christmas cactus and give myself and others the gift of colour right now?
I so often let the projections of other people get inside of me. Those negative voices spilling over with fear and echoing the voices in my own head. The ones that say I can’t. And they are very loud at what they do.
Lately I’ve been focusing on the ones that say I can. This is where envy comes in. All of those I envy are those that are reaching for something bigger in their lives. Not relative to me. Just bigger on their own scales. I’ve been turning up the volume on possibilities and avoiding the faces and places that like to share their grief with me. I’ve put down the sword of destruction and picked up the art of building and being creative.
I think as ‘keepers’ it is really important to have your own wagon. What the hell is she talking about now, you ask? I mean you have two choices. To stroll along behind someone else’s wagon arranging all the excess debris that flies off of it. The stuff they can’t handle or don’t know how to do. Or you can make your own wagon and ride alongside them.
Having your very own wagon means you have to put yourself into it. Probably drive it. Decide on the shape, paint the edges. Is it a fast or slow one? Large or small? Covered or open? Where is it going? So much more simple to follow along behind someone else’s, right?
I have learned the hard way that trying to help other people with their wagons all day long without having one of my own is a sure way to die inside. Without a destination of my own, my little spirit shrunk like a dried flower.
If I were God, I would simply say: how dare you not nourish and tend to your flower. What right have you to let yourself disappear?
Like a flowering plant, we humans need to keep growing and challenging ourselves to keep reaching for light. We need to thrive on energy and give beauty and fragrance to the world around us. Well, maybe not all kinds of fragrance but you get the metaphor.
Here is the thing about having your own wagon. (Now in case you’ve gotten confused about whether you’re a wagon or a flower, stay with me, it’ll all come together). When you have your own wheels, you can take others for a ride in it. You can carry the load for another. You can fill it with flowers even, can’t you?
Anger. Jealousy. Guilt. These nasty clouds can spread grey over an otherwise lovely day. But I’ve finally learned their power. In order to survive they need an empty shell, or wagonless wagon, a flowerless flower.
For the first time since the beginning of this blog I am comfortable with the definition of what feminism truly means. It is the ability of a woman to be the central figure in her own life. It has nothing to do with how much she has to care for, or how she sets her priorities. It is the choice to be able to put one’s own basic needs first. Including the important need to grow, seek light, take in water. Create a life. Fill it with needy things. But still breathe from only one center.
And jealousy preys on those who forget they need their own standards and goals. Those that know in their heart of hearts they are not living up to their full potential. Guilt is not far behind envy, whispering in your ear that you should be headed somewhere different.
We are told as women to not be so hard on ourselves. Not take on too much. It isn’t about taking on too much. The ambitions of women today are not at fault for the overloaded families marching around.
Lately I think my greatest fault was not taking on enough. Not focusing on the things that were central to my happiness and worrying far too much about what was expected of me. Who needed what from me. What was the most urgent priority of the day. I needed more of the real stuff. Less of the business that belongs to others in the first place.
The one thing we are told to instill in our children is a sense of self. Confidence in what they have to offer the world. So where in there should a mother give up her own offering for the sake of that of another? When did I hop off my own wagon to leave it rot somewhere to make sure that others fully functioned at their greatest capacity?
Somewhere before I had kids. Slightly before marriage. Somewhere around the time I moved into my first home, which happened to be on 100 acres of farmland.
There is nobody to blame but myself. Everybody expected me to stay on course. Chase my potential with all the vim and vigour of the person I was when this journey began.
But somewhere back there I left it behind. For a good cause, of course. It seemed necessary. Nobody would argue that giving it all up for your kids, your husband, the family business, the animals and plants in need of care isn’t a noble undertaking.
But I forgot my wagon.
I let guilt drag me down. I thought if I served myself I would be a terrible wife and mother. I let envy fester. I considered myself less worthy of all the great things others had. I wasn’t smart enough. Not good enough. Did not have enough money, support, energy, vision…
Envy and guilt were only ever the canary in the mine. They showed me loud and clear that I was capable of more. That I didn’t have to solely revolve around the needs of others. That I could be my own master. That I could build more, create more, extend more. On my own terms. Not in a stand-off kind of way. But as a woman who knows what she needs to survive and doesn’t try to ignore those needs to build up another.
I am starting to see that restoring my own wagon actually gives me energy. There is much more joy and laughter around me these days. And room to move and grow. I don’t suffocate quite as easily. I don’t anger as quickly. I sleep better. I attract positive people more readily. I no longer limit myself with rules about how I couldn’t, shouldn’t, won’t, haven’t, can’t.
I don’t envy others quite as much because I feel ultimately capable of anything I set my mind to. Or better yet, I know what to do when envy sneaks up. Spend more time on my own potential, that is. I don’t feel the same guilt because I see the reward and how others gain so much more from me in the wake of these new beliefs.
What can I say? I was given the ability to flower. Why wait until spring to make it so? Why not make like a Christmas cactus and give myself and others the gift of colour right now?
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