notes from an escalator

kung hai fat choi!

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 01:30:00 +0000

Almost one year ago, I leaned up against the railing of a Chinese junk on a New Year's boat cruise, and tried to soak in the view of Victoria Harbor with Hong Kong's crowded skyline as backdrop. It was a beautifully clear night, if a bit chilly, and we were enjoying an open bar and a steak dinner with friends, waiting for the fireworks display over our heads. I had a 3 month old at home (and an almost 3 year old), and we were both aching, I think, at the separation, though I didn't regret the experience at all, knowing how our lives were about to change. Matt had just barely begun the job search, and I remember wondering where we would celebrate the next Chinese New Year, knowing that wherever it was, it would be very different.

And different it was in many ways, but in others, not so much. We knew we wanted to somehow keep this celebration alive in our family. The great thing, however, about celebrating someone else's holiday is that there is absolutely no guilt or anxiety about having to do everything, or do it right. For instance, if it really was our holiday, then we would have to turn the house inside out with major spring cleaning, get everyone new clothes and wait in crazy long lines at the bank to procure fresh new bills for the lai see packets.

Instead, I got out our New Year decorations that conveniently pull the eye away from the dust, looked online to find a (hip hop!) lion dance up in Cleveland, and threw some chocolate squares in the red envelopes. There were no long lines to contend with, no displays of ferrero rocher candies everywhere you look, no flower market with its riotous beauty, no anxiety about how much lai see to give the doormen.

We debated having friends over or not, since it was to conclude Matt's monthly weekend on duty. But we did, and like always, I am so glad we did. Hospitality is a lot like exercise, I've decided. Rarely do you feel like you have the energy, but then the doing of it gives you far more energy and love than it takes.

We made pinwheels (the advantage of having an art teacher for a friend!), ate lots of food (egg tarts! I made egg tarts! They were easy, and I figured out a dairy-free, gluten free crust that was actually flaky), and then went outside with sparklers and a floating lantern. We felt blessed to have new friends to share this with, and happy that Chinese New year will continue to mean something to Finn. Even though I missed the flower market, my (indoors, forced) forsythia branches bloomed just in time. And though our little sparklers paled in comparison to Hong Kong fireworks, they were perhaps even more beautiful for the little hands that got to hold them.

All in all, it was an auspicious beginning to the Year of the Dragon, a down payment on what we can only hope will be a year of continued feasts with new friends, and more beauty than can be held in one's hand.

We're not starving.

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 20:43:00 +0000

Cumin and garlic scented carnitas, braised in their own juices, then made crispy in the rendered lard and piled on corn tortillas with avocado, cilantro and lime.
Cornmeal-battered fish sticks with corn muffins, oven fries, and coleslaw.
Mushroom risotto and roasted, brined chicken with crispy kale.
Roast beef, yorkshire pudding, and roasted root veggies.
Crepes with creamed spinach and prosciutto.
Steaming bowls of pho, filled with rice noodles, bean sprouts, rare sliced beef, cilantro, mint and lime.
Individual baked egg custards, rich with coconut milk and cinnamon.
Peanut butter rice krispy treats.

This doesn't sound like deprivation, does it? We're certainly not starving.

I can't say we've never eaten better, or that I don't miss soft runny cheese and a good baguette. But -- I can say, and say truly, that we've eaten better the past month than we have since moving to Ohio. School started, Matt's evening duties piled up, and pretty soon our evening meals were thrown together affairs that were fine, perfectly nutritious (and to be honest, probably better than most people's thrown together meals.) But there was little love put into the planning or execution of these meals, and the mealtime showed it. Oh, not that there was chaos or anything. But it perfectly coincided with a picky stage in Finn's eating journey, and so without our even realizing it, dinner was spent discussing how much Finn should eat of any particular food and how long he should stay at the table. And you know that once big brother has left the table, little sister isn't far behind.

But then. Then wheat and yeast had to make a speedy exit from our kitchen, and along went many of our quick meal standbys: ramen, pasta, sandwiches, french toast. And once I got serious about eliminating all the soy, most conveniences foods disappeared as well.

In truth, it's not a hard diet to follow. There are plenty of available foods out there. You just have to cook, and mostly from scratch.

That first night, I made pho, something we had eaten often in Hong Kong but rarely since coming home. And you know what? Matt and I couldn't stop exclaiming over it, Finn told me I made the bestest pho in the world and we all had second helpings. An hour later, we got up to start bath time. An hour later! Finn told us about preschool, Willa made us all laugh, and we felt like a family.
The next night, homemade fish sticks and oven fries and crispy kale accomplished the same miracle. We stayed at the table, we ate, we laughed.
It hasn't stopped. Forced to pour more energy and effort into the food we ate, that food transformed itself again at the table and became a harness, keeping us there, lingering, enjoying both the meal and each other.

It's an old story, really, and hardly unique. A story about restrictions inspiring creativity, and love changing mere food into a meal. You'd think I wouldn't be surprised by this, seeing as how I've studied and written about the many meanings food has in our lives, how often I've said that the best way to get kids to eat is just to cook good food and enjoy eating it yourself. You'd think that with culinary education and years of professional cooking I wouldn't let myself get into a rut. I know it sounds Pollyanna-ish to say this, but it's true: Willa's allergies have been a gift to us.

And as for the allergies themselves, well, eliminating those foods has been a gift as well. She is sleeping through the night for the first time in her life, and we are sleeping through the night for the first time in 15 months. A wonder, it is.

A few specific notes on gluten-free cooking, in case any of you face this, or want to bake for someone who does.
1. glutenfreegirl.com is my go-to site for recipes, ideas, information.
2. I actually do very little gluten-free baking. It's just easier to concentrate on everything that we can eat, like rice, oats, and corn, than worry about making substitutions.
3. The exceptions to this are quick breads, things like muffins, popovers, pancakes, and waffles. Thus far I have found that I can use gluten-free flour blends (like this one from KAF or this whole grain one) in all my regular recipes, without the addition of gums or other weird things, as long as I measure by weight, not volume. This does mean primarily sticking to KAF cookbooks, since they include weights in the recipes.
4. Lunch has been the hardest meal for me to figure out. This diet really requires cooking, and I'm used to cooking breakfast (oatmeal has been our standby for years) and dinner. But lunch has been for so long cheese and crackers, peanut butter sandwiches, or a cup of yogurt. And yes, there are many gluten free convenience foods out there, but since we also can't do soy, dairy and yeast it eliminates a lot. So I've started doing more "breakfasty" things at lunch--pancakes, waffles, eggs. I also make up extra pancakes and waffles and keep them in the freezer to use like bread for making sandwiches or little snacks.
5. Coconuts. This really pertains more to dairy free than gluten free, but can I just say that we might in fact be starving if not for coconuts? We use the oil for almost everything, but especially as a butter substitute when I want a solid fat for creaming. And we use the milk in everything too: mashed potatoes, smoothies, pumpkin pie, frosting, rice. And my best coconut success story: if you scrape the thick cream part off the top and chill it, you can whip it into something very like whipped cream, which goes a long way towards making Thanksgiving feel like Thanksgiving and Christmas feel like Christmas.

fourth candle

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 04:15:00 +0000

Well, here we are again, the fourth week of advent and I'm afraid that I've squandered this beautiful season of waiting and stillness by scurrying around, making, ordering, researching, doing. How hard it is for me to keep the quiet in this busy time! Perhaps I need to declare a fast from so much doing. What would it look like to simply not make gifts, nor decorations or cookies or holiday cards or any of those other things that I love so but end up costing too much in my spirit and my ability to move through these days slowly, calmly, open to any opportunities for hospitality and love? Of course balance is the answer, right? Not extremes. It's just that my balance always seems to be tilting toward busy, slipping towards more instead of less.

We found out last week that in addition to Willa's dairy allergy, she also can't have wheat, soy, yeast or chocolate. And this has set me reeling a bit ... trying to figure out how to feed her (and myself, as long as I'm nursing) without making separate meals, and with plenty of protein and fat and calories. It's necessarily taking quite a bit of time these days, thinking, planning, reading and learning. It will get easier, of that I'm confident, but for now it's a bit inconvenient, to put it mildly. (Inconvenient but totally worth it. She's already sleeping so much better and the thought that she's been in pain for the last 13 months is enough to make this baker gladly banish flour from her kitchen.)

So I'm letting go ... holiday cards this year will be New Year's greetings. Willa's Christmas presents will be done in January. Christmas cookies are just going to be different this year. (But hey--several of those cookies you all recommended as dairy free options are also flour-free. And there's always marshmallows!) Traveling will be a challenge. I'm figuring out which restaurants have gluten free options ... did you know that many fast food french fries are dipped in flour before being fried? And that soy sauce has wheat in it? Oy vey.

In the midst of all this scurrying and learning and trying to say no, it's good to remember Sunday's lectionary readings and hear of Mary, being told by an angel that she will bear the Savior of the world, and to hear her amazing, impossible "yes." Yes, she says, to public ridicule and shame, to disappointing and perhaps losing her betrothed, to swollen ankles and a sore back. Her advent wasn't easy either--nine months of pregnancy culminating in a donkey ride and labor in a stable. Her advent--and Christmas too--wasn't cozy and calm, one great feast of homemade goodies and twinkling lights. And if Christmas is about anything it's about God coming near, about learning to see God in the middle of our crazy days, in the midst of pain and sleeplessness and grief.

So maybe Advent doesn't have to be the rarefied season of stillness and quiet that I imagine. Maybe it's ok for it to be busy and harried just as life so often is. God, after all, entered into human life just as it is, not as we want it to be. He envelops this world with love, says Padraig O Tuama, just as Mary swaddled her babe, just as we wrap our gifts.

So if you are up late addressing cards, wrapping presents, baking or traveling, if you are feeling stressed and tired and far too busy, I invite you to just embrace that busy-ness right now instead of bemoaning it. Look for God in the wrapping paper, in the flour bin, in the ever-ticking clock. Yes, let go wherever you can, simplify as much as possible, but then feel God's peace in the midst of the storm instead of waiting for the storm to be over. It's there, and you can carry that stillness with you as you go.

The peace of the Lord be always with you, my friends.

one woman's compost is another woman's pickle

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 19:41:00 +0000

Hmm. A title like that certainly sets me squarely within a certain demographic, doesn't it? Anyway, we've been doing a lot of it around here--canning, that is, and it hasn't been a bad thing at all. Au contraire ... I don't know when we'll get to have our own garden again, but when we do, it's going to be a pickling garden. Tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbage, a few peppers, onions and garlic. And some chilis. Should be just right for ketchup, tomato jam, pickles, saurkraut and kimchee.

Why am I telling you about all this now, you may ask, in the middle of advent, with snow on the ground? Well, besides my slowness at getting around to posting things, it is only recently that we have fully benefitted from having a store of canned items on the shelves. No fresh veg for tonight's dinner? No problem, grab some pickles and some kimchee and we'll call it good. Need some fruit for breakfast? Thank you, homemade applesauce!

But really it's because I've had numerous conversations lately about things like cloth diapers and homemade yogurt. Things that are daunting to consider when you haven't done them before, but that can be incorporated into a life such that they hardly feel like extra work. For me, canning was that thing that alternately attracted me and intimidated me. For years I've wanted to experiment with funky flavored jams and sauces, I've wanted the health benefits of lacto-fermented pickles, I've wanted to keep eating September's tomatoes into the spring. But oh, the botulism! The failed seals! The time in a hot steamy kitchen!

This fall I took the plunge, armed with my great aunt's canning jars and several books from the library. I read instructions over and over, I sanitized like crazy, I felt ridiculously proud over lids that popped just like they were supposed to.

And you know what? It wasn't so bad. Not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. Just like anything, once you understand the process and have a system in place, what initially required huge effort gradually takes less and less, until the work slips easily into the rhythm of the day. Canning isn't going to become part of our weekly routine, like making bread and washing diapers is, but it will be part of our seasonal rhythms, the way we celebrate and take advantage of the harvest. So here's a little prod of encouragement--if there is something that you've wanted to change about your life, or wanted to experiment with--something like using cloth napkins instead of paper, or making your own granola for breakfast--well, there's nothing like doing it.

Want further instructions for the things I've mentioned?
Bread: No-knead is a good place to start.
Granola: Here's our current favorite recipe.
Yogurt: We use the instructions and process from The Frugal Gourmet Keeps the Feast, but there are plenty of directions online.
Diapers: Green Mountain Diapers is a great resource for information/washing instructions, and also a great source of reasonably priced diapers.

and the canning we did:
lacto-fermented pickles: instructions from W ild Fermentation.
tomato jam: recipe here.
ketchup: recipe from Well Preserved.
chili sauce: recipe also from Well Preserved.
watermelon rind pickles: recipe from My Mother's Southern Kitchen.

Rhythm of the Home

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 02:31:00 +0000

Just a quickie: I'm excited to tell you that I have a little piece in the winter edition of Rhythm of the Home. If you aren't familiar with it, it's a wonderful, seasonal resource for family crafts and activities. Check it out!

A few other things we're excited about around here:

:: An owl who lives somewhere in the neighborhood, and visits at night with his who-who-whooooting. Finn heard it on his own the other night, and was so thrilled he could hardly sleep. Plans are afoot for an owling adventure ...

::Pork fat from our local egg farmer, rendered into lard! Not nearly as hard as I expected ... and oh, those cracklings are good snacks for a little girl who needs to gain weight. Now visions of pie crusts and fried chicken are dancing in my head.

::Putting together a list of dairy free cookies I can make this year. I'm a firm believer that Christmas cookies should be different than those made the rest of the year (no chocolate chip cookies!) ... but now they also need to be butterless and that's tough. No spritz, no russian teacakes. Here's what I'm thinking so far: both gingerbread and fruitcake bites will be fine with lard instead of butter, since they don't depend on butter for flavor. Fairy pillows (marshmallows) will once again make an appearance in my kitchen, as will almond clouds and chocolate covered pretzels. And I'm going to try a ganache with coconut milk for the fabulous layered peppermint bark. Any other thoughts?

::St. Nicholas visited our house today, for the second year now. I think it's a tradition we're going to stick with, just as a way to honor the man and the generosity that inspired Santa Claus. In our house, we read books and tell stories about him in the days leading up to Dec 6. And then the day itself is a day for getting (a new Christmas book and something handknit to keep warm) and a day for giving--the day we shop for toys that will be given to charity.

::and a little thought for you to inspire some quiet as you go through these busy days:

We can make our mind
so like still water
That beings gather about us
that they may see,
It may be, their own images,
and so live for a moment
With a clearer, perhaps even with
a fiercer life because of
our quiet.

source unknown, attributed to W.B. Yeats

and so it begins ...

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 02:24:00 +0000

We're starting simply this year. Traveling over Thanksgiving meant I was surprised to walk into church on Sunday and find it was already Advent, a season that has become increasingly important to me. So we bought some greens, fashioned a wreath, sang a few songs, and lit that first candle. It was simple, and it felt just right.

I've been reading To Dance with God, by Gertrude Mueller Nelson, a book about incorporating the church's liturgical seasons into home and family life, and she has some profound things to say about Advent. Do you know the story about the origins of the advent wreath, that people took wheels off their carts and wagons and brought them inside, festooning them with light, making a clear statement that this cold, dark time is a different time, a time to turn inward rather than produce? Isn't that amazing? Think what it would mean if took a wheel off our car to use for a wreath ... it would be less a decoration than a discipline, a forced slowing down and simplification.

November was a tough month for us ... a month when the busyness of boarding school life threatened to wash over us, and we both felt like we were drowning. I'm still adjusting, I think, to the absence of Retchel. I knew I was spoiled in Hong Kong, having someone help even a few hours each week with child care, housecleaning and laundry. But knowing you are spoiled doesn't make it any easier to adjust to not being spoiled, and I just keep waiting for someone else to show up and fold the clothes. So we've talked, we've schemed, we devised some systems, and I think we're in a better spot now. Just having a plan does me so much good.

Anyway, in the midst of this, I kept reading about the importance of slowing down even when the pace of life picks up, about mindfulness and breathing. And while it's easy to pass it off as cliche mumbo-jumbo, I am here to tell you that it really does work. Literally slowing down my movements and my words, setting aside that never ending list, focusing on what is in front of me: a boy experiencing his first snow fall, a girl who needs help getting to sleep. Even when I can't slow down any of the outside commitments, physically moving more slowly and tangibly committing to do less each day still helps. My heart and mind stop racing, my breath gets deeper, and things seem manageable. This certainly isn't an "efficiency tip"--how to do more in less time--but I wouldn't be surprised if the final productivity tally was similar to moving through life hurried and rushed. I'm not counting, though.

And I'm not, it goes without saying, going to actually take a wheel off our car ... or our bike or stroller, for that matter. But I am going to move slowly. Be still and know that I am God. And even if that means that all we have for advent is our little wreath and a calendar, that's ok. (and a banner! We're still watching for light.) We don't need an elaborate devotional plan or a Jesse tree or even a Christmas tree just yet. We are keeping company with Mary, who waited and wondered 9 long months, and with all those who are waiting and longing for God to break into this world.

In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.
May it be so for all of us.

a confession

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:59:00 +0000

At the beginning of fall, my sweet son and I were looking to order some rain pants for this wet wet climate we seem to have moved to. I asked him what color he wanted, reading off the colors on the screen: yellow, red, blue or black. He, however, was actually looking at the screen and saw the one color I had neglected to mention: pink. "Pink!" he said. "I want pink!"
So I did what any well-meaning, modern, liberal mama would do, and gently steered him away.
"Pink, huh?" (keeping my voice very neutral) "Hmmm. You know, if you got yellow, it would match your raincoat."
"Ok, yellow. Let's get yellow!"
Phew. "Yellow, yellow is great!"
We got yellow.

The yellow is bright and cheerful, and it does match his raincoat, but I have felt a little guilty ever since that I steered him away from his first choice. Why not pink? Of course we know why not, we know the risk he runs in getting teased, we can imagine the raised eyebrows from even other adults. There's a group of kids who wait for the bus on our street, and though they aren't particularly mean, they loudly comment on anything Finn is doing/wearing/riding as we pass on our way to preschool. I know they would have plenty to say about pink rain pants.

Not too long after this little exchange, I read an article in an old Mothering magazine about another little boy who loved pink. His parents let him love it, his dad even dressed in pink in support, and he eventually grew to love other colors, though the fondness for pink remained. This article even claimed that once upon a time, pink was the color for boys (a gentle form of red, considered very manly) and blue was for girls (in honor of the Virgin Mary.) In any case, it's clear that the whole pink/blue thing is quite arbitrary, and I was inspired by these parents' willingness to just let their boy be himself.

So I was a little more prepared when he decided he wanted a tutu. A green tutu. He has some long john-style pajamas, complete with feet, that make him feel like a dancer. The very first moment he put them on, he danced around the room, then asked for "one of those things that dancers wear. That stick out?" "A tutu?" "Yes. A tutu. A green tutu!"

I didn't steer him away this time, though I admit I did procrastinate a bit, hoping it would simply fade away. Matt and I talked a lot in the meantime, about what were our fears, why the hesitation. Could we protect him from getting made fun of? Should we, even if we could? If he had one, could he wear it outside? Wear it to the dining hall? To school? Matt discussed it with his students, and it was one of them, finally, who got our attention. She was a dancer herself, and was so adamant about the importance of supporting kids' interests that we knew she was right. After all, we wouldn't in a million years tell Willa she couldn't do something or couldn't pretend to do something or couldn't, for gosh sakes, wear something just because she was a girl ... so how could we do that to Finn? Sometimes you just have to let the boy be the boy.

And the desire didn't fade away, so lo and behold, one Sunday night found me googling "handmade tutus" (these are the instructions we followed--so easy!) and then Monday morning found us at JoAnn's buying green tulle, (did you know it's headquartered here in Hudson?) and the next morning when Finn woke up, there was a tutu by his bed. Alas, he wasn't wearing his dancing pajamas, so he immediately changed into them, and then put on the tutu, and danced all morning. It was great fun to watch him ... so much fun, in fact, that I only paused momentarily when he asked to wear it to town, riding his bike to the library (and pulling the wagon behind.)

And now? He still has the tutu, still puts it on occasionally (mostly when he's wearing the pajamas) and I still love to see his eyes light up when he dances. I also still fear his getting hurt, fear his getting made fun of. He comes home from preschool talking about girl toys and boy toys--an idea he had never encountered before. And I'm sad about this, sad to see him entering, somewhat reluctantly and confusedly, a boy world that involves bad men and batman, hitting and competition, all things I wish we could just hold off a little longer (or a lot longer.)

But today? Today he admired--for the zillionth time--Willa's tights. "Pants with feet" he calls them. And so when we went to the thrift store this afternoon, I picked up some brown tights, size 3. They'll be perfect for wearing under his pants this winter, or for playing Robin Hood, or even for wearing under that tutu.

minnesota morning mitts

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 19:02:00 +0000

I have long wanted to try and make (and wear!) these fingerless Maine mittens, and even though they truly would have been perfect for the chilly days in Hong Kong when just a bit of warmth was needed, I didn't get around to it until now. And this pair wasn't even for me, but for my mother-in-law, who doesn't live in Maine but in another northern state, Minnesota.

She gets cold easily, just like I do, and even though my father-in-law doesn't understand the point of these mittens, I think she will. It's not to replace full-size fingered mitts, you see, it's to extend the mitten-wearing season. It's for before you really need full-on mittens or gloves (and after ... I think these will be great in early spring too.) Which means it's almost too late for them now, but now is when they're done.
A few years ago, on my first mother's day, my mother-in-law wrote me a note in which she expressed her gratitude that I was the mother of her grandchild, and her confidence in my mothering ability. It was a note that meant the world to me, especially because she and I have had our differences over the years. But she raised two fine men, one of whom is my husband and the other is my friend. For that, I will always thank her. And I hope she knows that when I do things like cook a meal when they visit, or knit some fingerless mittens, it's one way of showing my love. Thanks, Dottie, and happy belated birthday!

ps--I promise to stop wearing the mittens and get them in the mail!

All Souls' Day

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 00:36:00 +0000

The day dawned bright and clear, the sunshine welcome after many days of rain, though I know it is hardly bright or clear for so very many. Today is All Souls' Day, a day traditionally set apart to commemorate the "faithful departed," the dead. A day to remember and grieve, a day to place them, again, safely into the hands of God.

All day today, I watched my two children, both ill but still vital, still alive, and thought about our faithful departed, the people, now gone, who have shaped our lives. It's a strange thing, and not entirely comfortable, to think about death while watching young children play. The contrasts are stark--and yet it is a contrast that is entirely within the realm of life.

I wanted somehow to observe the day, to mark its passing, as I've wanted to on other feast days. The liturgies and rituals of the church for me hold within them the mystery and otherness of God, and while many people see them as dead and irrelevant, they open me up to awe and wonder and love. Far from doing this out of any sense of obligation or duty, I feel a deep desire to suffuse our home with that same awe and wonder and love, and I'm searching for simple ways to do that.

This year, we took a walk in the next door graveyard. We looked at graves, talked a little about the day and the people we know who have died. I told Finn about his great-grandmother, who died just 6 weeks before his birth, but with whom he shares a birthday, and whose presence was felt at his birth. I told him also about Ruth Ives, from whom Willa got her middle name, a woman who taught us so much about hospitality and great love.

This day also I thought of our friends, observing their first All Souls' Day since their baby boy's death last December. I thought of the pain, still so raw, and I wonder if a day like this offers any comfort. The tragedy for them is that so many of their memories are terrible, filled with pain. There wasn't time to make the joyful memories they wanted, though of course they savor each moment they had.

And it seems to me that if the church and her traditions and rituals can offer anything, what's needed here is to remember forward, a phrase often used by author and radio host Krista Tippet, in reference to Lewis Carroll's white queen: "It's a poor sort of memory," she says, "that only works backwards."

To remember forward, is, I suppose, a kind of faith, an imaginative and creative faith that trusts that God is bigger than and outside of our linear notions of time. A faith that trusts that "in Christ all things hold together."

Liturgically and seasonally, this makes sense. When all around us is brown and dying, we remember forward to spring. In a few weeks' time we will celebrate "Christ the King Sunday," (also called Eternity Sunday), a day that helps us remember, both forward and backward, the eternity of God's kingdom. And then after that will come Advent, when we prepare for the incarnation: "eternity shut in a span." Liturgically, it works, and it satisfies me. But practically?

There is no neat and tidy solution here, and I'm tempted to not even post this, as unfinished as it is. But for as long as life endures, grief will be unfinished, with nothing tidy about it. I worship a God who holds past, present and future all together, in a way I can't understand but nevertheless take comfort in.

How small our span of life, O God, our years from birth till death:
a single beat within the heart, the catching of a breath,
a drop within the ocean's deep, a grain upon the shore,
a flash of light before we sleep to see the sun no more.
And yet our speck of light is spanned by your infinity;
our tick of time on earth is caught in your eternity.
While suns and stars spin endlessly through depths of cosmic space,
while aeons roll and ages pass, you hold us in your grace.
O Christ you left eternity to plunge in time's swift stream,
to share the shortness of our span, our mortal lives redeem.
You filled the cross-closed years with love, you loved us to the end
and touch us with your risen life that ours may time transcend.
--Herman G. Stuempfle Jr.

apples!

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 01:36:00 +0000

There have been a lot of apples around here lately. Besides the 2 1/2 bushels we pressed into cider--such delicious cider!--we made yummy applesauce, froze two pies' worth, and froze some more for apple crisp. And we're still eating them just about everyday for lunch.

We were thrilled to find an orchard that has an "antique" section, filled with heirlooms, many of which we recognized from our dear Poverty Lane in New Hampshire. There is truly no better way to spend an afternoon than in an heirloom orchard, using a little map to figure out which trees are which, and tasting tasting tasting so many kinds of apples. We're happy that Finn now easily recognizes the shape of an apple tree (surely one of the most beautiful trees) and that he associates cider doughnuts with orchards. When offered apple juice, he will (politely) request cider, saying that that is his preference. We were, however, a little chagrined when his preschool teacher reported that when she served them apple cider last week, Finn asked if she had pressed it herself.

So in honor of all that, I decided we needed to do a little apple crafting. Something simple, since my last art activity idea was a bust (wet felting little acorns. Such a cute idea! But alas, felting required a little too much patience for Finn right now, and I had never done it before so I couldn't give enough guidance and be very patient myself. It was a good reminder, though, to keep things simple. There will be plenty of time for more involved crafts later.)

And what does a good apple craft need? That's right. Good apple cake. So we made this, an applesauce cake from The Fannie Farmer Baking Book. It's spicy and fruity, with dried cranberries and lots of nuts. Sort of fruitcake-like, and I mean that in a good way. Not nearly as dense, but flavorful and moist. I drizzled with a glaze, but it didn't really need anything.

Hot Applesauce Cake
adapted from The Fannie Farmer Baking Book, by Marion Cunningham
makes two 8 1/2" x 4 1/2" loaves

1 cup shortening (we used Spectrum brand, with no trans fats)
2 cups sugar (we used one cup brown, I cup white)
2 eggs
2 1/2 cup all-purpose flour (we used white whole wheat)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 teaspoons cloves (that's a lot of cloves! We just used one)
2 teaspoons ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
2 cups hot applesauce
2 cups raisins (we used dried cranberries)
2 cups chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350, and grease and flour your pans.
Cream the shortening, sugar, salt, baking soda, and spices. Add eggs and mix well. Add flour and mix just until combined, then add applesauce, raisins and nuts. Mix until combined. Spread evenly in pan, and bake until toothpick comes out clean, about 1 hour. Remove from oven and let cool about 10 minutes in the pan, then turn out onto a rack to cool completely. (We, of course, didn't wait that long. Do you? Really?)

one

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 01:41:00 +0000

Last week, we celebrated one year with our little Willa, one trip around the sun. She had several low-key--though hardly quiet--celebrations, filled with good seasonal fun. Autumn is a such a great season for parties, isn't it?

In one party, we pressed apples into cider, grilled our dinner, celebrated several birthdays and kept the kids from climbing into the campfire. On our family day, we hunted pumpkins, got lost in a corn maze and opened presents, with lots of brotherly help. Twice we enjoyed pumpkin cake, yummy despite its lack of dairy. There were some handmades, though I don't have pictures of them yet. I made her a sweet little gnome doll (following instructions here and here) which is beginning to get some loving (which, in her world, means chewing. Mouth time. Serious mouth time.) We all collaborated on some tree branch blocks, which are thus far played with more by Finn, until Willa becomes--as Finn calls her--the destroyer. It is at this point that we have to remind Finn that they are, in deed, her blocks.

She took it all in, eager and happy to be with people. And we were oh so happy to be with her, our miss girl.

Update: I decided that this would be as good a place as any to record the pumpkin cake recipe we used and all really enjoyed, so that I can find it again next year, or next time the pumpkin cake urge strikes. The one problem with so many cookbooks around here (so, so many. For years I justified it as part of my job, and then just as I was leaving King Arthur they were cleaning out their library, and how could I turn down free wonderful cookbooks?) As I was saying, the problem is that I don't always remember which pumpkin cake is the one I like. Not that I generally restrain myself to following just one recipe, anyway. You can see why I might need a system.

So this is what we did, an amalgamation of several recipes, made dairy free for Willa and nut free for Matt (no allergy, just a preference. I think some walnuts would be the perfect thing to break up all the sameness of the texture. Maybe if it was black walnuts from our yard he would let me do it, just in the interest of, you know, local food and all. I'll have to work on this.) It couldn't have been simpler, made "muffin-style": mix the wet, mix the dry, stir together, bake. Still plenty sweet, but less so than many cakes. Just right for all-day nibbling.

Willa's Birthday Pumpkin Cake

4 eggs

1 cup liquid coconut oil (ours stays solid at room temp these days, so I have to warm it slightly to get it liquid. I also make sure to use room temp eggs instead of ones straight from the fridge.)

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 1/2 cups sugar

2 cups (1 can) pumpkin puree

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup whole wheat flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ginger

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

Preheat oven to 350, and grease a bundt pan. Beat the eggs, oil, sugar and pumpkin until well combined. In a separate bowl, mix all the dry ingredients, then stir them together, just until mixed. Pour into the pan and bake for 50-60 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and let cool completely. Keeps very well, if you can keep your hands away from it!

then and now

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 00:31:00 +0000

Ok, I promised myself that I wasn't going to write any more of these sentimental posts about how achingly sad we are not to be in Hong Kong, while at the same time how achingly happy we are to be here, now. But it's just the truth of where we are right now, folks, so, it's what you get.

Sometimes, when we are helping students plant a peace garden at Matt's school, and Finn is gleefully finding worms and smushing grubs and loudly declaring his love for dirt, Matt and I catch each other's eyes and we both think--this is why we came back. And when we go to the garden and Finn decides to go on a "bean hunt" and I find some tomatoes to make yet more ketchup, again we think--this is why we came back. And when we think that my parents can come for just a weekend visit--no big deal-- and Matt's parents will come soon for a weekend visit--no big deal-- and we'll be spending both Thanksgiving and Christmas with family, again we think, this is why we came back.

But then ... I think about how mid-autumn festival just passed by here with nary a mention, not a lantern in sight, and I think about how fall break is coming up and we'd be deciding where to go this year. Maybe Guilin, or Hanoi, or Japan--all places we didn't get to. And I think about how delicious a bowl of steaming Japanese ramen would be on these chilly nights, or hear Finn ask when we're going to the beach again, or ride a bus again, or see the turtles in Hong Kong park again. Or I think about how much I loved riding the Star Ferry across the harbor at night, admiring all the lights, entering the craziness that is Tsim Sha Tsui and finding a most delicious Indian meal.
I think about how quickly one can make friends in Hong Kong, how quickly our mom's group became a lifeline for me, and how much we all loved having Uncle Tuan over for dinner and a guitar jam. Or I listen to Americans cheer executions in Texas, or boo a gay serviceman ... and I know that these people are not the norm, that they are the crazies and are not taking over our country ... but why oh why do they seem to get so much attention? Or someone asks us where in Japan is Hong Kong or did I feel safe having Willa there... oh, and then I just think what have we done? why did we come back?

The truth is that it's always going to be a mix, isn't it? The heart will never be held in one place only ... and that's what I want. That's how I want to live, that's why we went overseas in the first place, to broaden our hearts. So this all just deepens our resolve to live fully here, to dig in and enjoy all the good things, the gardens and the leaves and the backyard and the house. And yet even as we put down roots, ones we hope will last a long time, to never get complacent or stagnant. To keep stretching ourselves, keep opening ourselves up, and keep planning adventures, whether in our town or around the globe.

Or even just in the leaf pile.

We're all Ohioans now

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 01:43:00 +0000

I guess I don't know exactly what it is that makes one an Ohioan. We haven't lived here long enough to understand the quirks or peculiarities of this place, and there's nothing so obvious as an accent, like Minnesota or Boston, and no iconic food, like Maine's lobsters or Vermont's maple syrup.

But if there's anything one can do to become an Ohioan, surely the way my son spent his morning should count: collecting the spiny-husked buckeye, then using a hammer to loosen the shell and get to the seed. (The hammer, by the way, isn't really necessary. But if you're 3 and you have a shiny hammer of your own, then by golly, you use it.) There are plenty of them around, which explains why buckeyes are the state tree. (For those of you non-Americans, it may help you to know that Ohioans are nicknamed "Buckeyes" after the tree, and even the state university's mascot is a buckeye.) After admiring the shiny, rich grain on the brown seeds, (who knew they were so beautiful?) I went inside to celebrate our buckeye bounty by making another kind of buckeye.

And if eating these is what makes one an Ohioan, well, we're all Ohioans now.

Dairy-free Buckeyes

filling:
2 cups creamy peanut butter
1/4 cup coconut oil (soften as needed to make it mixable) (you can use butter if dairy's not an issue)
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 3/4-2 1/2 cups powdered sugar

chocolate coating:
9 ounces semi-sweet or dark chocolate, either chips or coarsely chopped. (If you really need it to be dairy free, check the ingredients on the chocolate. Many brands add milk, but some don't, especially if it's dark.)
2 Tablespoons coconut oil

Stir together filling ingredients. I used the lesser amount of sugar, which really lets the peanut flavor shine. It does make for a softer filling, though, which is trickier to work with and definitely has to stay refrigerated. You decide what you like. If When I make these again I'll try adding a little cornstarch in the filling to make up for the missing sugar.

If your filling seems scoopable, go ahead and scoop up 1-inch sized balls, placing them on a parchment lined baking sheet. If it's too soft, pop the filling in the fridge for awhile--it will firm up. Once the balls are all scooped, they need to go back into the fridge to get nice and firm, at least for an hour. Once you're dipping them, you'll want to just work with some of the balls, leaving the rest chilling, particularly if you're using less sugar. So go ahead and get another tray ready with parchment paper, and then you can rotate the baking sheets in and out of the fridge as you work.

Meanwhile, melt your chocolate in a bowl over hot water, and add the coconut oil (or shortening if that's what you have.)

Remove some of the balls from the fridge, then use a toothpick to dip them into the chocolate, leaving the top uncovered (this is what makes them look like buckeyes). Let some of the chocolate drip back into the bowl, then place back down on the baking sheet. They won't all stay perfectly round, but that's ok. In all that hunting and pounding we did with the real ones, we never found a perfectly round one. Just call it realistic. They'll need to go back into the fridge to set up, and depending on the weather where you are and how firm your filling is, it may need to stay there. We kept ours in the refrigerator, although Finn definitely preferred to let it warm up a bit before eating, even though it quickly became a mess. Oh wait, maybe that was the point.

weekending

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 19:36:00 +0000

It was here, as in many parts of the country, an absolutely perfect weekend, and we filled it with all sorts of autumnal activities. This is the season we most missed while in Hong Kong, and so we are determined to soak it all in. From flying kites (the frustrationless flyer) to picking heirloom apples (with plans for pressing some of them into cider), from discovering buckeyes and gathering inspiration at a barn sale to making tomato jam (yes!) and starting work on a little one's birthday presents, it was just lovely. There was even a bit of seasonal decorating thrown in as well, which is a little funny since we have nothing on our walls yet. But there are seasonal banners, oh yes there are! Hope you had a lovely one too.

bliss

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 02:24:00 +0000

The sun today, finally shining, inspired me to great acts of hubris (of the running variety) for which I am sure I will pay tomorrow. But oh, to pull on my shoes, tie those laces, and then set off alone .... bliss. Even if I couldn't get "the ants go marching" out of my head.

feeling thankful for ...

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 03:45:00 +0000

:: the resurrection of a long, rainy day provided by good rain pants and boots.
:: sunny days for hanging linens that ended their journey from Hong Kong smelling rather musty. Really, not pleasant. We need more sunny days, too ... I'm not done yet.
:: the wonder of homemade ketchup (yes!) with oven-roasted fries, made with tomatoes from the school's garden ... at last, a tomato product that Finn will eat.
:: the apple-sowing journeys of John Chapman (better known as Johnny Appleseed), to whom we owe a debt for starting many of Ohio's apple orchards. Did you know apples aren't native in the US? And that the first orchards started by the colonists failed because of the absence of honeybees, also not native? Many of these orchards today grow direct descendants of Johnny's apples, my favorite being "Rambo," a name that just makes me giggle.
:: a clogged milk duct. Yes, I know this is a little perverse, or maybe even tmi, but really it's just a good reason to put my feet up and relax and let Willa do her thing. Go Willa go!
:: Burton antiques festival ... a long morning of me-time that resulted in the discovery of several just right organizational pieces, already making our porch and bedroom work so much better.
:: the beginnings of color on the trees! This, my friends, I have missed so much the last three years, and I am thrilled to see it again. Fingers crossed that the rain doesn't just blow all those leaves down early ...
:: unpacking the final boxes. We are so ready to move on from this stage of "moving in." I think I can, I think I can ....

Even though ...

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 01:53:00 +0000

Even though we just got our shipment and are now back in "unpacking" mode,
Even though there is hardly space to walk through our dining room due to said boxes,
Even though there are multiple loads of laundry to be folded and put away,
Even though there are papers to be marked and grades to be entered,
Even though the fridge is full of produce waiting to be made into ratatouille and frozen for mid-winter meals,

Sometimes, when the sun is shining after days of rain,
when the kids are grumpy after all that time inside,
when the forecast calls for yet more rain,
when the baby's nose is running and she just wants to be held anyway,
when the neighbor kids are going for a hike,

Sometimes, the best thing to do is to just forget "the list" and join them. Especially when you live next door to an as yet unexplored national park. Yes. It was sabbath, indeed.

This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24

Simple Math

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 00:27:00 +0000

new clothesline + sunny day = satisfaction
(postscript: busy afternoon + sudden rainstorm = disappointment)

farmer's market + many errands = simple, Ohio-grown lunch

bucket of dirt + rain/ old pots + old spoons = busy boy

On the anniversary of 9-11

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 13:51:00 +0000

As I listen to the litany of names read aloud of those who lost their lives that day, my tears overflow. I can only listen, and breathe, and implore God's mercy on us.

Have mercy on these, your children, still grieving and missing loved ones.
Have mercy on those parents who lost children, a cruel reversal of the natural order of death.
Have mercy on those children who lost parents, forced to grow up too soon.
Have mercy on us who take for granted the loved ones in our lives, we who don't stop often enough in simple gratitude and love.
Have mercy on us who have caused the loss of innocent life in retaliation for this evil, we who have inflicted this same pain on others in far away lands.
Have mercy on us who refuse to see someone else's loss as equal to our own.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us all.

O God of the stars

and the night skies

May your light be coming through

thick clouds this day

On me and on everyone

coming through dark tears

On each one in need

and in suffering.

--Celtic Prayers from Iona, J. Philip Newell

The language of fish

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 13:24:00 +0000

There are different textures in our days here: Old wood and tree trunks. Wet sidewalks. Mud and sand, and lots of grass. Nights are quiet and cool, shadows are long, and the outdoors is spacious and welcoming.

Do we like it here? We are asked this question daily, by students or other faculty or townspeople, proud of their town and eager for our approval. The answer is yes, an unqualified yes.

They don't ask if we miss Hong Kong, the answer to which is also yes. We miss little things, like people taking off their shoes in spaces where babies will be crawling around, and those umbrella bags hanging at the entrance to every mall or building on rainy days. We think it's funny that just as once Matt had a hard time telling apart his Chinese students, now he has a hard time distinguishing among his white students. (The girls--especially the girls! They all look the same.)

We miss our little apartments. It used to be that no matter what Matt and I were doing with our evenings, we were in the same room, at least, sharing the time by means of sharing the space. But now we are cut off, folding clothes in the bedroom, grading papers at the table, knitting at the sofa or washing dishes in the kitchen. I'm tempted to bring the sofa into the dining room, consolidating our space once again.

People push huge strollers here, and I have yet to see another baby worn in a baby carrier. We have a hand-me-down jogging stroller that's been in storage all these years, and I feel strangely American and awkward using it—it's so big! and heavy! I have to physically lift up the front wheel in order to turn a corner.

I'm not at all thrilled to be living in a place where the local gun shops put 4-page, full color advertisement inserts in the daily newspaper, for much more than just hunting rifles. But we do love being just a short drive away from Amish country, where horses and buggies come clip-clopping down the road and even the thrift store has a hitching post. We love the frequent communal meals, the after-meal frolicking of the kids.

Yes, there is a different texture, curiously familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. And we're learning to speak a new language, a language of home and roots, a language of a school with long tradition and a town with a heritage. We're learning to avoid the creakiest floorboards in Willa's room, and how to navigate the stairs in the dark. And through it all, our kids keep asking us questions, and keep us asking questions, keeping the wonder alive.

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering.

St. Augustine

A conversation this morning:

Finn: Las tortugas. That means turtles.

Me: Yes, that's right, turtles in Spanish.

Finn: Yeah. (long pause) But how do we know the language of fish?

I don't know, my son. But keep asking. Keep asking.

There he goes

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 03:36:00 +0000

Way back last spring, Matt and Finn witnessed a traffic accident--a pedestrian hit by a car--coming home from the park across the street. It was fairly traumatic, as you might imagine. We tried to strike a balance between using it as a chance to remind him how important “street rules” are, on the one hand, and assuring him that the doctors would help the person get better, that there are always people who will help, on the other. It showed up in his play for quite a long time, enacting stories of a horse who got hit by a truck, or a lost sheep who got hit by a car and then the hero-ambulance-vet comes racing in to save the day. It also showed up in his prayers, frequently thanking God for the ambulance and for the doctors, and praying for the person who got hurt. Sometimes he didn't quite know what to say, and I would suggest some simple but earnest sentence that was almost always rejected. My favorite of his prayers was his tendency to sing, as in this little conversation I wrote down verbatim the night it took place:

Me: Well, we could say, 'God, please help the person who got hurt, that they will be safe and healthy.'

Finn: Or we could sing a song for that person.

Me: We could sing?

Finn: Yeah, a song could be a prayer. Like we sing before meals.

Me: You're right, bud. A song could be a prayer. Do you want to sing?

Finn: Yeah. (very confidently and definitively)

Me: What do you want to sing?

Finn: Jingle Bells.

(and then he began to sing, very quietly, very reverently) Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a (mumble mumble) sleigh-hey!

Amen.

Me: Amen.

Anyway, all this is on my mind because that accident was the first of several incidents that called upon new parenting skills—skills of helping Finn deal with the world beyond our home, a world we can't control. And now, since moving here, those skills are constantly in demand. He has, somewhere in recent months, become a full-fledged kid, and we are constantly negotiating the boundaries between freedom and oversight, between giving him space and keeping him close, between helping him interpret the social situations he encounters and letting him figure it out.

Now we have a yard—can he go out alone if I'm on the porch? What if I'm inside, or upstairs with Willa? How often do we check in? He's fast and confident on his bike, easily able to ride to town. But how far ahead of us do we let him get? We live on a campus where there are lots of faculty kids, who have lots of freedoms. Can he go outside with them after dinner? What if our neighbors are there, two older, responsible, kind girls? Or what if another faculty boy is there, also older, not-so-responsible and not-so-kind?

This was Finn's first week of preschool, a new social world he is entering without us. And although it is a very safe, nurturing environment, and I really have no fears for him, it is still bittersweet to let him go, knowing he'll experience things I might never know about. I'm thankful for his long periods of play at home, time that I can observe and listen in on, getting a sense of what's on his heart. And I'm thankful for our ritual of "thank yous" before bed. Tonight's list? "Thank you for my bike, thank you for xxxx (the not-so-responsible and not-so-kind boy), and thank you for sitting like a pretzel!" (collapsing in giggles) I think we're going to be just fine.

And the final tally is ...

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 13:47:00 +0000

Now that we finally, for the first time in our marriage, have everything we own in one place, we have made the startling discovery that some 80% of our possessions are either books or dishes. Which is not that surprising, really, given that reading and eating (and feeding people) are the things we most love and value, and are at the heart of our two professions. But still, unpacking the 29th Blue Willow dinner plate last night--even I started to feel like maybe it was too much (maybe? he says kindly, with a sidelong glance). 3 full sets of dishes (More than full. 29 plates counts as more than full, right?) here, with more coming in the shipment.

Which goes a long way towards explaining why we are not yet even close to settled, much less organized. When you have this many dishes, and lots of books and clothes besides (in short, lots of stuff) but not lots of places to put things, then you just have piles. Piles waiting for shelves and dressers to show up at garage sales, piles waiting for clothes hangers and baskets to arrive in the shipment. And little else makes me as crazy as piles.

Luckily I have these kiddos to keep me ~~sane~~ (who am I kidding?) smiling.

where we are right now

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 03:09:00 +0000

After a day spent playing "mover," carting empty boxes all around this house, piling them on the first on the futon, then on the floor, first driving a moving truck, then driving a ship, Finn and I had this poignant bedtime conversation:

Me: So what are you thankful for tonight, buddy?

Finn: I'm thankful for Ohio.

Me: Oh, me too. I'm thankful for Ohio too. Anything else?

Finn: I'm thankful for Hong Kong. Do you love Hong Kong, or not?

Me: Oh, I love Hong Kong.

Finn: But you love Ohio.

Me: You can love more than one place, Finn. You can love both Ohio and Hong Kong.

Finn: (pause) Ooooooooh, ok.

And that was that. He turned over and went to sleep. My heart aches a bit--and is proud at the same time--at how early he is learning that the heart can expand to love so many places, that the idea of home can be big and wide. And now, my dearest hope is for some stability to give him a deep rootedness as well. Deep and wide. Like that fountain of old, may the waters of our home be deep enough for love and joy to take a strong hold and wide enough for grace to pour through, welcoming others to come on in, and not afraid to look outward.

Summer wrap up

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 02:29:00 +0000

Clearly, summer, blogging and I don't mix. Somehow the travel, the change in schedule and the lack of routine just nix any desire to sit in front of a computer. Perhaps gorgeous summer weather plays a part as well?

It's certainly not due to a lack of beautiful images or simple pleasures. Our summer has been chock full of things like homemade fishing poles, one-man parades, playing in sprinklers, visiting farms, eating as much bbq and as many cherry limeades as possible, acclimating our girl to grass (not a Hong Kong baby anymore) and introducing her to all sorts of lip-smackingly good foods. And a wedding! Did I tell you there was a wedding? With a cake ... that I made. Nothing like getting back into the baking with a bang. Oh, and boxes. So many boxes. Boxes in Hong Kong (yet to arrive), boxes in both Minnesota and Kansas, all those boxes now in Ohio, more boxes coming.

It's not due to a lack of reflection, either. In fact, these summer visits home offer such contrast to our HK life that I am almost too full of thoughts, and at the same time, too full of gratitude for the simplicity of life here to want to dissect it very thoroughly. Add in the jetlag and the exhaustion from helping children sleep in unfamiliar beds and I guess I just don't have the energy to try to articulate it. So there you have it. A third straight summer of near blog silence.

But we're here now. Hudson, Ohio. We've arrived and unpacked (sort of). We have a car and OH licenses and we've even got a bit of a routine. Which means that my desire to share all these experiences is returning.

I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with this blog. I've got a few more HK Alphabet posts in the pipeline along with a few parenting things from the spring that I want to post, mainly for my own archival tendencies. But after that ... these clearly aren't "Notes from an escalator" any longer. Notes from a sidewalk, perhaps, given how much walking we can do in this little town of ours. Notes from a village? They refer to it as "the village." We'll see.

Leaving

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 03:21:00 +0000

It's official. It's happening. We're really leaving. As if all the farewells and parties and the constant lump in the back of my throat weren't enough to convince me, now I know it's true. They came yesterday to take away the boxes, others come today to pick up donations and freebies, and then on Friday morning they will take away our keys. And we will pay the taxi fare with our last bits of Hong Kong cash, we will pass through immigration with our Hong Kong identity cards for the last time, and we will board a plane.

All these "lasts" are killing me. Really now, to choke up over the last time I wash the mugs we've drunk tea out of for three years, the last time I fold Finn's bright red sheet? --(all of which are getting donated.) It's silly, I know, to get so attached to physical things, but attached I do. These items hold memories for me so profoundly that I have to remind myself over and over that letting go of the object doesn't mean letting go of the memory.

I have been a mess of mixed-up emotions for weeks now--sometimes (surprisingly) fighting panic as I think about leaving here and returning to the states. The panic stems in part, I'm sure, from all the newness, all the transitions facing our little family in the next few months. But in rereading early blog posts, I found something that explains it even more. You see, we talked a lot about this move (to Hong Kong) as a chance to step off the escalator (ironic, I know, given the blog's name.)

Despite the fast pace and direction of Hong Kong culture, it very much was a slow-down time for us. We took a sabbatical from any volunteer commitments, and simply tended to our child, ourselves, our discovery of a new city and culture, and our own thoughts. It was a chance to think and discern and figure out our life's direction, and it was wonderful. We have learned so very much about other people and other ways of doing things (parenting, teaching, living) and so very much about ourselves. And slowly, slowly, a dream has emerged for us. A sense of call--though it's scary to name it as such. A life vision.

And so going back to America? Yes, there is excitement about all the good things awaiting us--family, a yard, a new community, an oven. (An oven!) And yes, there is excitement about starting real work on our dream. But there's also that panicky anxiety about stepping back on the proverbial escalator. Will we just get so caught up in everyday life that we stop noticing the beauty around us? Will we still have the luxury of so much time together? Will we stop thinking and talking about our dream once we have to change the oil in the car and vacuum a whole house and mow the lawn?

Part of this has to do with the difference between living somewhere temporarily and living there on a long-term basis. When you are temporary, you notice more, you see all the strange and wonderful things, and when you get into a rut (as we all do)--there's always something to shake you out of it. Some new island to hike, a new restaurant to discover, a new street to explore. But while you may make friends quickly, you also don't engage on quite the same level. It was easy to not volunteer, to not seek out opportunities, knowing our time was short.

And though I feel a pull towards the depth of knowing a place (not just noticing it) and of involving myself with people and putting effort into issues that matter to me, I'm frightened, too. I'm frightened of the time it will take, frightened by the barrage of volunteer requests that come from joining an organization. A little frightened of boredom, knowing that we hope to stay in Ohio a good long time.

So all of that is very real, yes. But mostly right now we feel confident that we are making the right move, at peace with the transitions required, so very grateful for our time and lives here, and profound sadness at leaving. This is Willa's first home, after all. And where Finn has lived most of his life. My mama friends here have helped me grow into motherhood, have prayed with me when things were tough and celebrated the little victories with me too. So I expect that little lump will be with me for a few more days yet. And that's ok. As someone once told me, feeling sad about leaving just means you lived well there. And that we have.