A woman I had just met, I’ll call her Rita, sat across from me. Her task was to be with me, and later on, to take the rock when I offered it to her. I returned to myself, thinking through the instructions Dennis had given us.

While holding the rock, recall a situation that remains unresolved for you… a challenging situation, perhaps where feelings of guilt, anger, sadness, or fear linger.

Something came to mind, and my inner vision roamed around the situation, just remembering, noticing, and feeling. Eventually I settled on a few words, which I gave to the rock.

Striving to be understood, and the disappointment of being misunderstood.

It seemed important that it was a process — not just “being misunderstood” — but the attempt to be understood, and the disappointment of not.

I sat with the feeling, and I gave the feeling to the rock. And then it was time to give the rock away. I opened my eyes, and I told the words to Rita, and then I handed her the rock.

Now, I was to sit and notice what it felt like to be without the rock/that feeling. And to see if I was willing to allow a different experience/perspective to come in. It was okay if no other perspective came… there was no need to force anything. Just to see if there was a willingness there.

I immediately had an image of me kneeling, knee to knee, with the other person from the situation I had chosen, talking excitedly. And then I saw myself, up and dancing, twirling pirouettes, fast and exact, exciting. As if there were a force from within turning me, a force not mine but coming through me.

I noticed a sense of confusion, of not knowing quite what to do with all this energy, and a sense of unease. Was it really okay between us now?

And then a phrase — It’s okay to be misunderstood. — but it felt off somehow, and then this:

Misunderstandings happen.

A sense of relief, some sadness, a knowingness that this was it.

I sat with that, and then it was time to have the rock back. I told Rita the new words, and she extended her two clasped hands, the rock within them, and spoke he words back to me, “Misunderstandings happen.”

The warmth — of her hands, the rock — went through me, something so unexpected, and the warmth softened me, and I sat back, with the rock in my hands again.

Misunderstandings happen.

An image, then, of me, lying down, like all the sudden I’ve just fallen. I’m lying on my side, with my head resting on my extended arm. It is as if something has just died or ended, and I arrive in the next moment, when the something wakes up.

And then another image, of me approaching someone, to reconnect after a misunderstanding, and I stop in my tracks as the person (this person is no one in particular/many people at once) turns toward me.

Shame.

A sense of shame, which holds me back.

And then, yes, another image: Suddenly I am a swan, a white swan, and I extend my long beautiful neck toward my back, the folded wing, and I slowly and deliberately, and lovingly, preen away the shame.

~  *  ~  * ~

That is what happened when I did the rock exercise at a Hakomi workshop a couple of weeks ago. I give thanks to Dennis, who designed the exercise to allow participants to “experience releasing and softening around beliefs, judgments and long-held opinions that separate us from one another, and from our deepest Self.”

The weekend’s theme was unity.

And why yes, unity is another principle of Hakomi.

From Body-Centered Psychotherapy: The Hakomi Method by Ron Kurtz:

It’s not just the dialogue that’s significant, it’s the process itself. …[I]f you can get those parts communicating again, they may resolve their differences and come to harmony. It’s a sure thing they won’t if they don’t communicate. When the dialog takes place within a context of safety and concern, as in healing relationship, the chances for integration are that much greater. This drive to unite is the healing force. This process of communication organizes parts into wholes. That’s the healing.

… In using mindfulness, we create opportunities which allow the unconscious a clear chance to express and be seen, heard and felt. … When the client comes to insight, meaning, and self-acceptance, again it is one part understanding or accepting another.

… The unity principle states that the universe is fundamentally a web of relationships in which all aspects and components are inseparable from the whole and do not exist in isolation. …We embrace unity when we bring attention to aspects of ourselves and others that are in isolation and conflict. We embrace it when our way is acceptance and curiosity; when our goal is to bring together all aspects of the person: mind/mind, mind/body, self/universe; when we know as part of our being that we are connected, to each other and this world. That knowing is the healing power of this work.

So the rock exercise, a kinda new-agey yet effective way to have a few parts of me talk to each other. To reach harmony… not to engineer it but to experience it of its own accord. Who knows where those images come from? But that is my inner life. I am not the director of it… those images, memories, sensations come along and show me something. I witness, and attend.

~  *  ~  *  ~

… Swan medicine …

“The swan is one of the most powerful and ancient of totems. For those with this totem, the emotions will become more sensitive, and you will find yourself becoming more sensitive to the emotions of others as well.

The swan is usually pure white which makes it a solar symbol. The neck of the swan is long and graceful. The neck is the bridge area between the head (higher realms) and the body (lower worlds). In the swan totem, as you begin to realize your own true beauty, you unfold the ability to bridge to new realms and new powers. This ability to awaken to the inner beauty and bridge it to the outer world is part of what swan medicine can teach. It can show how to see the inner beauty within yourself or in others, regardless of outer appearances.” – Ted Andrews

Thank you, swan.

A tree fell across the path — a pine with a broad, low canopy, where the kids had loved to play. It seemed to have fallen slowly, and was resting there, leaning over, with most of its roots still in the ground.

It had become too heavy with snow and ice. Orlando was showing me the tracks in the snow he had found (raccoon), and then we were both standing in front of the tree. I visited with it. I had seen a few other neighbors readying to cut it, and I wanted to say goodbye.

Orlando said, “There’s a bird nest in that tree!” He remembered from before, and he and I looked for it near the top. The nest was big — about a foot and a half in diameter — and I pushed through the laden branches to reach it.

It came out in my hands intact, filled with snow, which I scooped away. The twigs were thick, almost as thick as my pinky, woven round a center filled with lichen, moss, pine needles, some fuzz. We speculated crow, and our eyes immediately looked to the sky.

And then back to the nest.

A place to come home to. A place to rest, and grow, and fledge. Orlando will climb another tree and place it there. An offering.

~  *  ~  *  ~

I didn’t intend to pick a word for this year, though I have done that before. What happened is that a few ideas came swirling around and coalesced into an idea, a vision, a practice.

It probably started with cleaning my office — this was no ordinary cleaning.

The office had become a de facto storage room, a place to put all those things that have nowhere else to go. Furniture that had been rearranged out of its spot, boxes that didn’t fit in the attic. This, on top of boxes that were never unpacked from our move. (Yes, we moved 15 months ago.)

I spent two days cleaning, and sorting, and putting away, and giving away. I created a little meditation nook for myself, something I haven’t had since before we moved.

The office is long and narrow (it’s essentially an expanded crawl space), and Rom and I share it. On my side, my desk is against one wall, bookshelves on the other. A window in between.

So I put a beautiful multi-hued green rug behind my office chair, along the bookshelves, and put my meditation bench on top of it, in front of a little tray that contains a candle, my mindfulness bell, and a statue of the Buddha.

I kept thinking, I am creating a sacred space.

~  *  ~  *  ~

And then we walked the labyrinth, as we do on New Year’s Eve every year.

Before I walk, I often set a little intention to be open to whatever arrives, to some sort of guidance or clarity. To be honest this walk was quite jumbled. Mica was asleep in Rom’s arms while Orlando walked with me. We walked in but then while Orlando and I were on the way out, Mica woke and wanted to join, so I began again with him, and we went to the middle, where he promptly turned around and walked straight out, so I followed him over to Rom, who was ready to leave.

In the midst of all that, what came to me as I was walking the labyrinth was this: Be love… open arms. An image of how I might offer open arms, to my children especially, to be a destination and a comfort…

To offer them a place to come home to… To receive and give.

I told myself to remember that, and that I could come back to it when I had more time for contemplation.

~  *  ~  *  ~

I didn’t come back to it, but it came back to me.

A week later I found myself at a nonresidential two-day retreat with my dear teacher Kamala Masters. She was giving a talk on Renunciation: The happiness of letting go. In particular, she was talking about letting go of greed, aversion, and delusion (not bad things to let go of, right?).

On the last day she talked about antidotes — those things we can do that grow the antidotes of greed, aversion, and delusion — and she mentioned the practices of generosity, gratitude, and love.

And it struck me: this is my year for love. To invite it in, and offer it freely.

To practice and feel and grow love.

A place to rest.

In the Buddhist tradition, love is talked about as the four brahma-viharas (“divine abodes” or “best homes”)…

• lovingkindness, which is felt as goodwill and friendliness toward others and oneself

• compassion, which is felt as a quivering of the heart, a sense of caring for the suffering of others and oneself

• sympathetic joy, which is felt as happiness over another’s (or one’s own) happiness

• equanimity, which is felt as an inner spaciousness, the ability to hold all the experiences of life

Many people are familiar with the lovingkindess practice (also called “metta”), but each abode has its own practice — phrases to say as you meditate. (I learned the equanimity practice from Kamala a few years ago.)

So sitting at that retreat, I knew, right then and there, that I would be practicing the brahma-viharas this year — all of them, each one for three months. And that I had built myself a little nest in which to do it.

A place to come home to.

It’s been waiting patiently for me.

~  *  ~  *  ~

What about you? What word, theme, or vision is coming into your life?

I can see now, scanning back, that I circled around these familiar themes: connection, clarity, feelings, nature, trust. It seems I’ve been writing the same story all year… oops! : )

But I think that’s how stories of the heart go, and I don’t mind the repetitions anymore. It took me years, but I’ve come to accept this apparent sameness as the gift it is — giving up the shame over not having already learned something and turning instead toward the glimmers of difference and deepening, to the richness of what is ever-available. The sweet sky.

Thank you to each of you who read, share, connect, pause, reflect, and add to what I write here. It is wonderful connecting to and learning from you. Thanks for visiting me here, on this sliver of the internet.

These offerings become a gathering, and I am grateful.

Thank you!

~  * ~  *  ~

Till the Water Is Clear If there ever was one, this just might be the Sweet Sky Manifesto. A post inspired by the prompt “lessons my children have taught me.”

Poetry in Motion and What Mica’s Up To Trust… listen, and then trust. Supporting my unique children in their learning journeys.

Feeling My Feelings So much of the trouble comes from feelings that are not fully felt, that have been thwarted and diverted. A simple story of a complex journey.

Who Gets to Choose When my kids show me all I think I’m teaching them.

What Did You Notice? Hakomi at home… how listening to Orlando talk about his stomach-ache helped the pain subside, and revealed what needed to be said.

Mountain Walk and Images of Loving 2011 In the mountains, at the sea, in the home… where the heart is.

That Apple Is Big Enough and So Am I Remembering the core of it.

~  *  ~  *  ~

And thank you to all who link here! Especially Rachel, Debra, and MJ, who sent many many folks my way this year!

This is Mica.

He was a few months old — five? — in this photo. I remember that time so clearly, he had emerged from the didymos wrapped against my chest and was lying around on the ground, atop the sheep’s skin, amid the patterns of the quilt made by my mother, just for him. He would laugh and look and wave and wiggle.

This photo was with a few others, a random assortment of photos plucked from envelopes and boxes, irresistible. A gathering. Me and my great grandma, when I was nine years old. Felipe the cat looking handsome and regal. My brother and his then-girlfriend, now-wife Wendi. Orlando in the lap of my dearest, oldest friend Laura. And Mica, being Mica.

I’d rediscovered the photos weeks ago, hidden away in a drawer, and then I got them out over the weekend and brought them with me to show to friends. But first I showed the kids and Rom, and we laughed over their baby selves, and over my kid self — “Who’s that?!”

And then the photos sat on my desk, near the computer. It was suddenly clear why I had collected them. I wanted to get frames for them and put them on my newly clean desk in my newly sacred office space.

I was typing when Orlando came and stood next to me. He looked down at Mica’s photo — it was on top.

He laughed about what a cute little guy Mica was, and then he walked behind me and off to my other side. “I don’t know why,” he said. “I don’t know why, but sometimes when Mica was a baby like that I would do things that made him cry.”

I stopped typing and slowly turned, open to him. He walked in a little closer, until he was at my side.

“I don’t know why I did that,” as if he were saying I want to understand why I did that.

“Well,” I started, softly touching his hair out of his eyes. “Well, maybe you were just a kid, trying to see how this new little thing worked. What would happen when you did things.”

“Maybe.” He knew there was more.

I went on, “Or maybe… well, maybe when Mica came things changed and he took up a lot of my time and attention, and you were missing that. Maybe you hurt him because you wanted him to go away, because you missed having my attention.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning into me, “I wanted your attention!”

“Yeah, I know.” We rested together.

“Do you remember that is why we first started using code red? So you had a way to get my attention without hurting anyone?”

He looked up at me, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, that’s why we made it up. Because I want to give attention to both of you.”

We were looking each other right in the eyes. And things were good, and then there was the next thing, whatever it may have been, that Orlando was walking toward, out of the room, and I was sitting in my chair, and I felt a surge of relief in my body: I wasn’t crazy. He was hurting the baby.

Because — wow, five years later, we can talk about it, it can move; we open, understand, and heal. In a moment.

The impetus to heal is there; I am not sure why it surprises me every time. Perhaps because it is wondrous to behold. Simple, tingly, and lovely: life, living itself.

~   ~   ~

One of the principles of Hakomi is organicity. I hear that word and I know what it means but then it doesn’t exist in any dictionary — not on its own, always as a part of the definition for organic.

But I know what it means — it means movement; of a whole; alive. The impetus of life, integrated within a system, continually seeking growth, wholeness.

Ron Kurtz explains it thus:

Healing is an act of self-recreation. One being cannot heal another. The other can only help or hinder. The organicity principle places the locus of healing and control within the client and the client-therapist relationship. The client’s growth and unfolding, his or her answers and resolutions, completions and new directions, are all within.

… When you embrace the organicity principle, you look for and follow natural processes. You do not impose a structure or an agenda on the process, but you seek the sources of movement and growth and support these. It is as simple as leaving the client time, after every interaction, to make the next move, to pursue his or her interests and direction — instead of, for example, asking a question about something that interests you. It is very easy, in a position of “authority” like therapist [or parent], to take control and run the whole session.

… In general, the principle of organicity asserts our respect for life and our faith in the healing power of the individual.

Now I think of how I might have waited longer, and perhaps not even mentioned the code red thing… I realize (again) how much more space there is available. Of how we will have this conversation again, if Orlando wants to. I don’t beat myself up; there is no disappointment. Rather, I feel only grateful to be a part of the matrix of my children’s lives, and I bow down to every moment of connection I’ve had with them, that we have had together to that bigger thing, whatever it may be.

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

– Khalil Gibran, from The Prophet

~   ~   ~

And as if this post weren’t long enough… going back to the seed of this post, more on being siblings:

The Story of the Other Brothers

Sibling Apology

I Love You, Now Go Away

Brotherly Love and Other Feelings

That’s how we began the year, but before that there was the month of December, another month of unschooling. A month in which I read these words by Joyce Fetteroll about how unschooling is like a million-piece puzzle.

We’re hard wired to pull understanding out of life. We’re pattern seeking creatures. Natural learning often doesn’t look like much of anything from the outside. But it’s like working on a million-piece jigsaw puzzle. Kids are working here and there, jumping all over the place, spending a chunk of time in one area, then seemingly abandoning it for another. It doesn’t look like progress. But by the time they’re teens, the connections they’ve been creating between all the areas they’ve been working on shows. And it’s not a bunch of memorized facts (that will fade) but a deeper understanding of how things work.

My kids do stuff. (I help.) I write down what we did daily. Then I summarize it.

I used to worry that these summaries would decontextualize all that the kids do, and give the impression that we lived our days from underneath category headings. But I don’t worry about that anymore because, to my surprise, the summaries have broadened rather than narrowed my perspective, and increased my trust in the process of natural learning. They show me just how big the puzzle is.

My kids are creating the connections; I am merely attempting to capture the vapor trail of what they’ve blazed through, a fleeting record of what they’ve touched and what has touched them. A record that gives only a peek into the connections that are forming.

I used to worry that these summaries would come across as checklists, but I realize now they’re more like a big-ass Jackson Pollock painting. It takes time. It has a lot of layers. It’s sticky and messy and beautiful and looks like many things at once. There’s a lot of paint that didn’t make it onto the canvas. We’re human beings — living, and learning. And leaving behind impressions of all that we do.

~

playing, creating, and making – lanterns, popcorn strings, bread, soup, and cupcakes for solstice. Orlando has been making his own snack (using the stove top), made potholders for Tia Joy and Grammy, and built a gingerbread house at the cohousing Solstice party.

Both kids made lots of paper snowflakes and Mica especially has been really into drawing. Mica has also been blazing through some work books, finishing the cut and paste book and two maze books in a matter of hours!

Orlando got really into the marble run, making lots of original creations, and they both did the usual mega-creations out of Legos, MagnaTiles, Froebel blocks, and wooden blocks. Plus indoor forts, playing “babies” with stuffed animals, doing Shrinky Dinks with an older friend, and playing Blokus (with their own rules) and Mancala.

reading – We read about solstice and being born: Hello, Baby and On the Day You Were Born (thanks, Erin!). Plus The Long Winter (which was long!) from the Little House series, which the kids just loved. It never ceases to amaze me how captivating those books are for child and adult alike.

We dipped into our World History book, with Orlando particularly wanting to read about the American Revolution, the French Revolution, and World War I and World War II.

And here is one of those things I love about homeschooling: a month or so ago, at Orlando’s outdoor school, the kids were given a family tree and told they could find out about people in their family who may have been part of history. I talked to my mom, asking her for information particularly about my dad’s dad, who was a gunner in the Navy during WWII. She and my dad wrote up a few pages of his story, including pictures of his boat, etc.

I had just received it a day or so before Orlando’s request to read the history book, so I pulled it out and appended it to our reading about World War II. It was an amazing melding of many generations, since my mom included anecdotes about my grandpa and me, and a very real illustration of one’s personal experience within and of history.

(Our World History book is the Usborne Encyclopedia but it looks like our edition is out of print and there is a newer one now.)

We continued reading about math: Blockhead: The Life of Fibonacci; What’s Your Angle, Pythagoras?; and the Sir Cumference series. Mica has been into the Iron Man and Incredibles comics and we’ve been reading some Star Wars chapter books. Others include Why Do Pigs Roll in Mud?, Penguins Swim But They Don’t Get Wet, How Many Spots Does a Leopard Have? and Steps and Stones, the second book in the Anh’s Anger series. The boys love it just as much as the first.

I read poems aloud as I put them into my poem notebook: Why I Wake Early, Stand Still, and this story about Aikido. We read a letter from our friend and neighbor Jules in France (and wrote back), and Orlando was the map-reader at the zoo.

talking about/exploring – Orlando asked me what the longest war in history was (The Hundred Years war), which led to questions about why wars happen, and a general conversation about resources, politics, patriotism, protection, et al. Mica wanted to know about alien abduction (after hearing it mentioned on the radio), and informed me that Jedi Knights are like meditators, and wondered about why there are hot and cold days.

After reading about Fibonacci, the usual counting of mandarin orange segments turned into figuring out if they were in the Fibonacci sequence. Interestingly, they mostly seemed to have nine segments (not a Fibonacci number) and sometimes eight (which is) or less frequently, ten (not).

Orlando wondered about percentages, figured out how the night-light turned on and off (it is light sensitive), and theorized about how  the switch on the shower works to make the water go from the faucet out the shower head.

And we all oohed and ahhed over the pond water samples we watched under the microscope (thanks, Grammy and Grandpa!).

We have a great clock that Orlando is always setting to match the actual time — so we talked about what time it is, how long until something was set to happen, etc.

listening – the kids spent a few afternoons building and drawing while listening to Wee Sing, Amanda Pig, and Where the Sidewalk Ends.

watching – we finished The Story of Math, and watched Kung Fu Panda, Finding Nemo, The Jungle Book, The Red Balloon, March of the Penguins, and CBeebies Fun with Phonics (which both kids loved, thanks to Monica for the recommendation).

words – writing thank you cards (both kids) and lots of word play, rhyming and riffing on sounds. Orlando has started spelling words phonetically by saying letters aloud, with me sounding it out for him.

out and about – to the beach for fish and chips and playing on the beach, to watch our friends in a play, to the emergency room for Mica’s stomach pain (that turned out to be… stomach pain!), The Museum of Flight, the Zoomasium, the bookstore, the dentist, the beach (a different one two times), the park, the river, errands, the tree farm, out to see the Christmas lights, to The Solstice Spiral walk, the cohousing talent show, our family’s annual Labyrinth walk, and the cohousing New Year’s bash!

Happy New Year!!

By the way, there is no official blog-hop this time, but feel free to share what your unschooling life is like in the comments, either with a write-up or a link. I would love to hear from you!

And thanks again to mb for the idea of doing these monthly summaries.

The Winter Solstice: The Sacred Traditions of Christmas
A detailed book, divided into sections — The Solstice Dream, Child of Wonder, The Green Bough, Old Sir Christmas, and Solstice Animals, with each chapter including ideas for modern-day rituals, songs, or practices you might want to try in your family.

While the book is heavily researched and detailed, I was surprised at how un-dense it felt. The author provides short paragraphs, building a pastiche of the traditions throughout time and place. Reading it informed me of the origin of many familiar traditions but also gave me a sense of how the winter holidays of Solstice and Christmas (and others) have become enmeshed over time. I came away with a sense of appreciation for the deep themes that the winter holidays share. I’m still reading, and am already compiling and gestating on ideas for rituals for next year.

Celebrating the Great Mother: A Handbook of Earth-Honoring Activities for Parents and Children
The book has two sections — Earth-Connected Parenting and The Festivals. To be honest, I skimmed through the first section, since much of it spoke of things I already knew or was doing. However, they did include a few nice practices for helping children connect with nature, and themselves (e.g., animal totems, edible weed walks, etc.). But I was really looking for specific information about the festivals.

Which brings us to the second part of the book! Each festival had its own chapter, and while there were not as many activities as I had expected, I appreciated those that were included (three per festival) and loved the perspective the book gives on seasons-based celebrations, beginning in the fall.

The Festivals
Mabon (Autumn Equinox)
Samhain (Day of the Dead)
Yule (Winter Solstice)
Imbolc (Stirring of the Seeds, early February)
Ostara (Spring Equinox)
Beltane (Flowering, May 1)
Litha (Summer Solstice)
Lughnasad (First Harvest/August 1)

The Shortest Day: Celebrating the Winter Solstice
I was a bit disappointed in the kids’ solstice books we checked out from the library — many of them were so oversimplified and really played up the whole “back in the day ‘primitive’ people thought the world was ending every winter!” thing. But this one was palatable, and I appreciated the ideas for activities in the back of the book (bird feeders, yellow muffins). Includes illustrations and a description of how the earth’s tilt and rotation causes the seasons.

(Ones we didn’t like: The Winter Solstice and A Solstice Tree for Jenny)

The Return of the Light: Twelve Tales from Around the World for the Winter Solstice
Orlando and I especially enjoyed this book, with Orlando (age 8 ) eagerly insisting that I “Read the next story! Read the next one!” Mica (age 5) also liked it, though there was at least one story that was too intense for him.

The book consists of folktales from around the world that tell of how the world gained sunlight, or lost and then regained sunlight. The tales are grouped into three themes — The Theft, The Surrender, and The Grace — with each story having its own brief explanation/introduction (which I often didn’t read; I found that the stories spoke for themselves). The back of the book includes solstice songs, and rites and games.

I am just beginning this whole solstice-natural holiday jaunt, so I am sure I will be reading more. I have a few books on hold at the library, mostly for adults.

If you have any holiday/festival/seasonal books you love, either for kids or grown-ups, I would love to hear about them!

Happy Holidays to all!!

I haven’t been a huge fan of Christmas as a grown-up (nothing against it, just not too energized by it), so once Rom and I had kids we chose to play it mellow, introducing the idea of Santa as the spirit of generosity (we never told the kids he was a real person) and having a slow Christmas morning with few but special gifts.

We also did our own Solstice celebration, but not every year — we’ve spent (traditional) Christmas with my parents and my siblings and their families every other year and were often traveling or already gone from home during Solstice.

The end result was that my kids weren’t really clear on what our own family’s traditions were.

Neither was I.

So this year I made the radical decision that we weren’t going to do Christmas and would instead celebrate Solstice. And that next year we won’t travel until after Solstice.

So there!

Except we kept saying things like “Today we’re going to get our Christm– I mean, Solstice Tree!” and “Honey, could you plug in the Chr–winter lights?”

It takes time to turn the tide of 2000 years. Or two.

Turns out my kids don’t even remember our Solstice celebration from the year before last. Sigh.

But they’re trying to get with the program. The other day, from the dark back seat of the car, Mica asked, “Mama? Why do we celebrate Solstice and not Christmas?”

I fumbled around saying stuff about how this is a special time of year, recognized by humans all over the world and throughout history, and that there are many celebrations that happen this time of year. That it’s a time to reflect inward, to come together with family and friends, to eat well and celebrate the earth’s bounty, even in this dark time, to recognize the passing of time and the importance of those we love by sharing our food and gifts with them, to help others who need it, and all that… and that instead of doing two different days, we’re going to do one day when we can honor all these impulses to celebrate.

What I didn’t say: I love the natural world, and I can get excited and geeked-out about foods and rituals for Solstice in a way I just can’t for Christmas.

And geek out I did — just a little bit. Rom was rooting for lots of treats to ensure that Solstice rivaled Christmas in sheer sugar weight, and got a huge Lego set for the kids’ gift. I got busy figuring out what we wanted to do and how in terms of ritual and food. (See how we balance each other out?)

We took what we wanted from Christmas (tree, stockings, generosity, and gifts) and what we wanted for Solstice (welcoming the sun, honoring the seasons, the earth, and the animals; a ritual to honor the coming of a new year) and ended up with our very own… Solstmas!!

To get some momentum going, a week before Solstice I created a simple advent calendar — putting green strips of paper on the wall, each with one or two getting-ready activities a day…

Day Six: We put up winter lights, which morphed into a snowflake-making extravaganza, thanks to Orlando.

Day Five: We got our own tree, from a u-cut farm. Our tree is so sweet and wonderful, though I have to say it was hard for me to cut it down. We thanked the tree, and I am hoping to use the wood from the tree in some way — either creating candle holders or curing the wood and burning it at summer solstice… But next year, maybe a big wreath.

Day Four: We decorated the tree, and made and bought gifts. Next year I hope to begin gift-making much earlier (does everyone say this every year?).

Day Three: We made popcorn and cranberry strings for the birds, and collected pine cones to make more bird feeders.

Day Two: We wrote down our memories of the year. This was really sweet — I used apple paper chains and strung them up along our doorway. I realized how wonderful it will be to save these and read them later, though I am sure there will be a few that will get a big ol’ “huh?” a few years down the road.

Some of our memories:

• tidepooling in Hawaii and seeing a dead moray eel
• when Hazel was born
• being at young families’ meal in cohousing
• going to visit Grammy and Grandpa up north
• when Ed died, and having a beautiful honoring of his life
• having a water balloon fight at my birthday party
• when Mama went paddleboarding in Hawaii
• saying goodbye (only temporarily!) to our friends as they sail the Atlantic

And we made tissue-paper glass jar lanterns…

… which we took with us on the annual cohousing Waking the Trees ritual, wherein we all grabbed pots and pans and drums and harmonicas and whatever else and paraded around the property serenading and thanking and encouraging the trees as the light returns…

Solstice Eve: Our Day of Darkness — we kept our lights off all day and night, using only the tree lights and candles — and made wish bread.

The bread turned out great (egg-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, and good!)… but the best part was making it, saying aloud our wishes for the next year as we stuck each raisin into the gooey dough.

Some of our wishes:

• good health for Grammy and Grandpa
• good health for all our family and friends!
• that all beings are healthy and happy, safe and free from suffering
• that I get a Lego!
• for creativity
• that our family always reconnects and repairs
• to spend time with friends and to see our cousins
• that our kids continue learning and growing and having fun
• to walk in the woods and take hikes as a family
• and many, many more! (there were a lot of raisins in that bread)

Solstice Day! We woke up to the lit-up tree, magically covered in candy canes (a tradition from my childhood), and opened stockings. We had wish bread and tea for breakfast, along with a big bowl of oranges and mangoes (the small yellow kind).

Then the kids opened the gifts. The idea was only one big gift a year but along with the Lego set, we got them a set of old-fashioned games (chess, checkers, backgammon, cribbage, mancala). And we never saw the kids again. Seriously, it’s now 5 o’clock and Orlando has just finished building the Lego set.

Okay, we saw them a little bit, like at lunch: herb bread, hearty veggie soup, baked salmon, golden beet salad, and solstice cupcakes!

As we sat down to eat, we turned the star on top of our tree into a sun, said a thank you prayer, and partook of our feast. Then we headed out for an afternoon at the beach — in the sun!

And then home for lounging around, cleaning, eating left-overs, and playing mancala.

* ~ * ~ *

A lot of our ideas came from Annie at Sensible Living… including the wish bread and memories of the year.

The idea for cupcakes came from The Shortest Day: Celebrating the Winter Solstice. But I made devil’s food cupcakes with white frosting and yellow decorations. I liked the idea of dark and light together.

I have a few big books about solstice, winter celebrations, etc., that I’m planning on reading (before December 2012!) and hope to continue to create meaning, fun, and connections for us during this season. Along with St. Nicholas’ Day earlier this month, and our upcoming New Year’s labyrinth walk (and releasing ceremony), I am feeling really good about our celebrations!

How about you? What traditions are you keeping, changing, adding in?

see the kid flying through the air?

{this moment}
a picture, from right now, to appreciate

home

When we moved in to cohousing, we had already met many folks here but it was still sweet to be welcomed with the time-tested tradition of a loaf of banana bread! I have angels here — the elder women who live with me here in cohousing: the bread-bringer and great-grandmother who lives a few doors down; the passionate advocate who always acknowledges my work and gifts as a mother; the one who makes sure I know how sweet and good she thinks I am; and my dharma big sister.

I hadn’t realized until writing this what a gift these women are to me! This is something I envisioned before living here — many generations, interwoven, the simplicity of kindness. And now it is.

health

My angel Laura, one of my oldest friends and my naturopath. What a wonderful gift — to have a friend with such a gift! She helped my body so much find its way to wholeness all those years ago, and she did it again this fall, through an amazing combination of deep listening, intuition, touch, and science.

Hakomi

First there is Ron, who passed away earlier this a year — a true angel leaving quite a legacy… the four he taught who are teaching me. These four who dedicate their hours, homes, intellects, and hearts, over and over, to students of all levels. They have created a true community, where I am able to learn amongst my peers, those who’ve graduated, those who are certified, those who are at the very beginning (as I once was).

They are my angels, modeling to me so much, how to relax into time, how to trust inner truth, how to go with the flow; and they are teaching me, literally, how to do the work of Hakomi.

And I receive the work of Hakomi — as a client angels have come to me, those parts of me who I’m rediscovering, who’ve been given the chance to come forth and receive new information, who’ve been given the chance to share, feel, transform… and fly free.

* * * Join in on Loving 2011!  * * *

Oh… well, I notice some sadness with this one, like I haven’t treated my time as precious enough. All the hours I’ve frittered away on the computer or spent feeling irritated or missing the chance to connect. But that is just Miss Gloom-and-Doom speaking. She comes around every once in a while, you know.

Day Thirteen: What Significant Compliment Were You Given This Year And What Did You Learn From It?

I was told, many times, and by different people, what a joy it was to be around me. That my excitement was contagious, and very cute. That my intense interest and integrity was inspiring to them, and fun.

What did I learn from that?

I learned that I could hardly believe them.

I learned that I am learning to believe those words.

I am learning that the little person who gets so excited often comes out of me in bursts and fits, and that then there is a holding back or reigning in… I am learning to become more conscious of my own excitement and my consciousness of it makes the excitement more real, and sustained, and turns it into something that I can participate more fully in. Seeing my excitement excite someone else – creating something to be shared together – I realize I am learning to have fun all over again.

Join in if you like — it’s not too late!

Start with tomorrow or go back and do the ones that resonate with you.