notes from an escalator

finn the pirate

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Mon, 05 Nov 2012 19:56:00 +0000

Every night before bed, Finn gets a story, and he often picks the subject. Many times of late, the requested story has been something along the lines of "Finn, the bad pirate" or "Finn, the scary pirate." Those adjectives are needed, by the way, because of my tendency to "tame" the pirates or sharks or other scary characters into someone who actually helps people or is really nice underneath or whatever else I can come up with as I struggle to stay awake. (Really, have you ever tried telling a story while you are falling asleep? Some crazy stuff comes out, let me tell you ... )

Pirates as subject matter are, in a way, a compromise to begin with--sometime last year, after Finn started preschool and got introduced to superheroes and guns, he developed that very normal boy fascination with fighting. And while I respect his need to work out issues around power and helplessness and control and even just the thrill of making a loud noise, I'm certainly not comfortable with the way that much of commercial culture deals with these things. Pirates, though, feel a bit tamer to me--at least the swash-buckling, romanticized pirates of lore, with treasure maps and a parrot on the shoulder. I'm conveniently ignoring the all-too-real pirates of today with machine guns.

So Finn was determined to be a pirate this year for Halloween. When he also requested that Willa be his parrot, and started talking about making a treasure box to hold the candy, and maybe even turning the wagon into a boat, I couldn't resist. And once we had his costume all together (just pulled out of our closets and dress-up bin), I saw something that made me appreciate anew the benefits of Halloween, and even of dressing up as a "scary" character. He put on his fringed, torn up pants and shirt, his boots and a scarf for a belt, and brandished his homemade wooden sword, and a transformation took place. He walked with a bit of a swagger, he started talking tough, he grew muscles and inches and confidence.

The pirate stories I tell are still all about redemption. No matter how bad or scary they start out, I'm always going to find a way to turn things upside down, or at least introduce a little complexity. And here's the best part--this story-telling practice is changing me too, reminding me every night that no matter how bad or scary a situation or a person looks, God can always change things. My job is just to stay awake.

birthday fun

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 19:21:00 +0000

A little one has had a birthday around here, and we celebrated in fine, low-key style. Finn heard a story this fall (from Sparkle Stories, an audio story subscription we've fallen in love with) about a brother working on a gift for his sister, and ever since he's been excited about making something himself for Willa. He was full of big ideas (talking robots, for one) but we managed to guide those ideas into something doable--furniture for her new doll house--and with some helpful parental prep, he was able to do it.

Together, we made a pumpkin cake, opened a few presents, restrained an excited big brother from helping too too much, and made a fire for the eating of said cake.

Afterwards we went to the park for some exploration along the creek, until the little miss came within inches of being knocked out and we realized we were right in the path of the frisbee golf course--an all-too-appropriate situation for her birthday, seeing as her life has been a series of falls, accidents, and near-misses.
Along with her birthday has come an explosion of language--"self", "mine" and "no" are ~~daily~~ hourly heard, but so are "fun!" (generally after some daring and dangerous activity that send Matt or I running) and "chat" --what she likes to do when papa comes home. She keeps us all laughing, that girl, and we all live to hear her deep belly laugh. Sweet Willa, we love you so. Happy Birthday.

fall craftiness

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 17:48:00 +0000

Some kids love to color, some kids love paint. Our kid loves tape. Really, any kind of tape--masking, scotch, duct, electrical, painting. I have to ration him, if I'm to make sure that we have tape in the house when it's actually needed for something. And the truth is, he does pretty cool things with tape, and has actually gained some good taping skills, something I didn't even know existed until I watched one of his otherwise-coordinated friends really struggle to work with tape. Clearly she hasn't had the practice he has.
But lately a new material has taken over, and that's the hot glue gun. I know it sounds crazy to let a four-year-old use the hot glue gun, but he does it with supervision and he's really careful. It's a great material, really, because it's so easy and precise and it hardens quickly. But boy, can that kid go through the hot glue sticks!

Thus inspired by my son, I had myself a nice little date the other night with the hot glue gun and some of the outdoor treasures that have been filling up pockets and baskets of late. It was nice to put these items to use, and truly, they are so beautiful--all these ways that trees have to reproduce. I was happy to walk by these decorations every day, until we found out that half of the buckeye trees we collect from have really precious buckeyes that the campus arborist wants to collect and propagate into gifts for graduating seniors. But the other half are just rubbish. And here I have them all happily mixed together, hanging on my wall.

a child's view

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 19:17:00 +0000

Sorting through photos last weekend (our computer was running oh-so-slow and we needed to clear some thing out!) I came across photo after photo that Finn had clearly taken. We let him use the camera sometimes, with the hand strap tightened to it doesn't drop, but I typically don't pay too much attention to the outcome. Most of the pictures, to be sure, are quite blurry and sometimes unrecognizable, but the ones that aren't! Man, I tell you, I just love seeing how he sees the world--what interests him, what his view is like ... it's like a little step into his world, which I suppose all photography is. So here I present--the world according to Finn, age 4.

dancing into fall

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 02:33:00 +0000

Since having a second child, the hardest part of mothering has always been for me the stress of so many different needs to meet, and figuring out how to meet them all, or whose needs to meet first--from the baby (toddler!) whose sleep is still precious and protected, to the parent who works out of the house with lots of commitments and responsibilities, to the older sibling with activities and playdates and plans, to the stay-at-home mama who wants simply to accomplish something, anything. Each of us has had our turn in pole position at various points, and now we're trying, once again, to find our way into this season's dance. It is a dance, isn't it? Someone stepping forward, someone stepping back, everyone getting a turn to spin.

Finn has wanted, for quite some time now, to take a dance class, and this fall was the promised start date. But once he saw the Olympics this summer and discovered gymnastics, that was his only goal. And I have to admit that the dance has, thus far this season, felt more like gymnastics than a dance. Some leaping and flying to be sure, but some crashing too. Plenty of stretching, and learning to bend.

I have every hope that things will settle soon into something workable for us all. I'm considering radical changes--pulling Finn out of some things, having more time at home for us all, slowing things down, so that our life is a little less like a four-year-old gymnastics class. Maybe something more like floating, or climbing or swinging or exploring or the many other things our fall has also been.

Hope your feet are finding their steps in the dance...

Summer Rules #4--Gather and Be Gathered

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Thu, 13 Sep 2012 02:24:00 +0000

As a corollary to rule #3: eat outside as often as you can, we've been eating an awful lot of food that we picked, grew or otherwise harvested ourselves. For awhile cucumbers were the abundant crop, and we had sliced cucumbers at every meal, along with cucumber juice--so refreshing on those hot days!--and even cucumber sorbet. Then we moved on to green beans--and I tell you, there is nothing like hunting for green beans from inside the teepee to turn your children into green bean fiends (unless it's the honey mustard dip served alongside). And now--it's all tomatoes, all the time. We still haven't convinced either child to actually like eating them, even when spread with mayo, which we thought would surely do the job. But fortunately that doesn't hinder their love of picking them, which is good because I've got big canning plans.

And more than once this summer, while outside harvesting, or tending, or picking off Japanese beetles, or simply trying to understand this particular plot of land and its soil and its sunshine, we've experienced another great gift of living in this place, close to both I-80 and I-90--the gift of being on the way. You see, people drive through here. And when people are driving, they need food. And beds. It hasn't always been convenient, and we sometimes had to shuffle things a bit, but this is when we become so thankful for our daughter's (middle) namesake, Ruth, and what she taught us about hospitality and generosity and remembering what is important. It's a great gift, to be on the way, even when we're not the ones going anywhere. We don't always get it right, and sometimes I may grumble a bit that I had plans, plans to do something important. But lucky for us, the people come anyway, and there is food and laughter and stories and as we gather, we are gathered. We are gathered into the great heart of God, a heart that is ever-loving, ever-serving, ever-open. "He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." Colossians 1:17.

Summer Rules #3: Eat outside

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 01:18:00 +0000

We're still doing this, eating almost every meal on our porch and taking snack outdoors as often as possible. Our little bean tent is perfect for this, but so is the backstep, to be honest. Camping is good, but it takes some advance work, and there's just some something about an impromptu picnic. Putting together a little picnic kit with silverware, dishes, wipes, a knife, and a blanket made such meals easier, and therefore more likely. Here's to many more outdoor meals this season!

Summer Rules #2: Take a new route

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sat, 01 Sep 2012 12:10:00 +0000

We took a lot of new routes this summer, in some cases extending the drive quite a bit, but in all cases making it far more interesting. Doing so increased our state count from 8 to 10 (adding Kentucky and Michigan), but increased our fun as well. We learned that Cincinatti has a really pretty skyline, that northern Kentucky's hills make for much better driving than Indiana's interstate. We learned that northeastern Wisconsin is almost more lake than land, and that the Upper Peninsula is full of roadside picnic spots and lake access. We discovered a lavender farm, close to home, and a wonderful little lake town only an hour away. We've also established some new routines--one that allows both of us adults to get some much-needed exercise, and that involves finding all sorts of new early morning running routes. And more than a few times, taking a new route was a very necessary shaking-up-the-routine, combating grumpiness, whininess or just plain peevishness. (And I'm not saying on whose part.)

Summer Rules #1: Seek the Water

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sat, 25 Aug 2012 00:49:00 +0000

Well, once again, here's my annual end-of-summer "Gosh I didn't post much" and "I hope I remember my log in" blog post. (See here, here, and here). And it really does feel like the end of summer, though there are still eight days of August left, and ten days until Labor Day. Ten days--that's plenty of time to soak up a bit more summer goodness before turning our hearts towards all the glories of fall. So here's the deal. There are some principles we followed this summer that made our travels and adventures particularly good, and I'm hoping to keep those principles alive even while settling into normal routines here at home. I'll post them sporadically over the next few days, hopefully finishing before Labor Day. Deal? Deal.

Summer Rules #1--Seek the Water.
Water--in any and all forms possible: watering pitchers, hoses, sprinklers, swimming pools, and lakes. Our close-to-home, affectionately-named Mud Lake, the pounding and cold Lake Erie, the even more pounding and cold Lake Superior, the quiet, suburban Prior Lake and back-roads-Wisconsin Lake Prinel. In a summer where much of the country experienced drought, we felt lucky to have so much water in our lives, and lucky that our kids love it so much. It was wonderful to watch a non-swimmer become comfortable going under, jumping in, diving down, gliding and almost--almost!--floating. And it was scary to watch a much younger non-swimmer attempt to do everything her brother did, notwithstanding the size differences between them!
Water-life--such a natural part of summer--and as such, a daily reminder of our calling to live "wet": to live as one who is baptized, one who has been "plunged into the entire Biblical story" of God's gracious love and redemption (Daniel Erlander, Let the Children Come). Let us seek the water.

planting time!

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 30 May 2012 19:39:00 +0000

Actually, it's been planting time for about a month now ... and it's almost harvest time for some of the first things we planted! I've been mentally working on this post for several weeks, but as we know, plants don't stand still and so things are very different now than they were.

Last night, I was out enjoying the long twilight and weeding the basil bed when some walkers stopped to chat and admire the garden. It's been one of our favorite things about this adventure so far--being out there, working, makes us available and around and we've met far more neighbors the last few weeks than we had all year. Anyway, this particular man was admiring our bean teepee (truly, a work of art for which I can take no credit) and asking how one goes about building one. My totally serious response is that you just have to have the good fortune of great next door neighbors. Neighbors who, in this particular case, like to build, tinker, and grow things.

Which means that while we contributed a little of the financial resources, we simply watched out our window as raised beds were built, the school brought by compost to fill the beds, a bean teepee was constructed, and then slowly, plants were added. And even though we started our own seeds, some of which did well and are now in those beds, when half of them failed to thrive, we just piggybacked (again) off the abundance of seeds started next door. Need more soil for potted plants? Just look in the buckets outside their door. Need a hose? They've got an extra. Truly, I'm beginning to think of them as my own personal lawn and garden supply.

So yes, we owe a lot to others for the existence and beauty of our vegetable plots. But the labels? We're all over those. This was Finn's idea, after seeing something similar in a book. I wrote, he drew, we laminated, then we planted, along with the first seeds to go in--radish, spinach and carrot. And today, 4 weeks later, radishes are ready, spinach is coming along, and carrots have sprouted.

So far, it has been an absolute joy, although I am learning about new levels of dirty in my kids. We've also decided we need a little child's bed, where they can dig all they want. We know that there are plenty of predators out there, ready to get a taste of our yummies, and we know that we don't know anything, really, about preventing diseases or insects. So it's possible that the vegetable harvest might not be all we hope for. But that's ok--the harvest of memories and knowledge and relaxation and family fun has already begun.

Book Review: Matterhorn

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sat, 12 May 2012 14:44:00 +0000

So many people have written about Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War, by Karl Marlantes, in ways more knowledgeable (both about war and its literature) than I can that I am not sure what I can profitably add to the conversation. Vietnam, after all, is not my generation's war. And it wasn't easy, as a peace-lover, to read what is essentially a war story, an action-adventure novel. But as a particularly long novel, it was not only part of my evenings for more than a few weeks, but it has stayed with me in the way that good books do, which is enough of an excuse to write about it, or to read it, for that matter. And no one yet (that I've read, anyway) has discussed the spiritual themes in Matterhorn, of which there are plenty, considering that this is the story of a group of men both facing and causing death.

Matterhorn tells the story of the (fictional) Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marine Division, whose mission is to secure a hill (Matterhorn, also fictional) close to the DMZ and Laos, before abandoning it and then taking it again. It has the immediacy of good journalism, in that it frequently made me want to turn to my husband and say, "Did you hear about this?"--it felt like something we should be discussing today. Brutal battle scenes with no shortage of carnage aren't exactly easy or pleasant reading, but the book also has a literary quality that frequently made me pause, reread, think and savor. Like this, for example, describing the mindless work that filled many days out in the bush (and arguably describes many days back in the real world as well): "They dug and chopped, finding the meaning of their actions within the small prosaic tasks, casting from their minds the larger questions that would only lead them to despair."

It struck me throughout the book that many spiritual practices taken on by contemplatives or monastics are just part of daily existence for troops on duty: communal living, radical interdependence, submission to authority, fasting, extreme physical exertion, prolonged attention to a singular task, and all accompanied by the constant threat and reality of death. One result of such practices is the truth that tends to emerge, both about ourselves and our situation. It is no different for these Marines, who, of course, did not undertake this mission as a spiritual practice and who would not label it as such. But to know the truth about ourselves--our capacity for both good and evil--is the beginning of the gospel. As Frederich Buechner says in Telling the Truth: the Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale, “Before the gospel is good news, it is simply the news that that's the way it is, whatever day it is of whatever year.” Or to put it another way, "You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free" (John 8:32).

One truth these marines face is their satisfaction and even enjoyment in killing the enemy. Lieutenant Hawke says in response to another character's despair at admitting this, "It's the people who don't know it who are dangerous. There's at least two million of them back in the world. Boot camp doesn't make us killers. It's just a f-kin' finishing school. … None of them have ever met the mad monkey inside us. But we have." Such admissions are not comfortable to read, and though I honestly can't imagine that I could enjoy killing, I've had enough glimpses of that mad monkey's chattering, self-serving ways that I can't deny its existence.

And in the midst of all this ugly truth about ourselves, the one explicitly Christian character, Cortell, gives the best description of what it means to have faith that I've read in a long time:

“Ever'one here think it easy for me. I be this good little church boy from Mississippi with my good little church-goin' Mammy, and since I be this stupid country n-er with the big faith, I don't have no troubles. Well, it just don't work that way." He paused. Jermain said nothing. "I see my friend Williams get ate by a tiger," Cortell continued. "I see my friend Broyer get his face ripped off by a mine. What you think I do all night, sit around thankin' Sweet Jesus? Raise my palms to sweet heaven and cry hallelujah? You know what I do? You know what I do? I lose my heart." Cortell's throat suddenly tightened, strangling his words. "I lose my heart." He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He exhaled and went on quietly, back in control. "I sit there and I don't see any hope. Hope gone." Cortell was seeing his dead friends. "Then, the sky turn gray again in the east, and you know what I do? I choose all over to keep believin'. All along I know Jesus could maybe be just some fairy tale, and I could be just this one big fool. I choose anyway." He turned away from his inward images and returned to the blackness of the world around him. "It ain't no easy thing."

No, choosing to believe in the face of such darkness is never easy, as nothing about war--or life, for that matter--is. As a war, Vietnam stands in our nation's history as a symbol for all that can go wrong. As a book, Matterhorn stands as a testimony to that destructiveness, waste and senselessness, certainly, but also to the courage, selflessness and honor of many of its warriors. It's a compelling, absorbing read, and as long as you are willing to be disturbed, I heartily recommend it.

On my table

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Fri, 04 May 2012 02:52:00 +0000

There's something new on our table right now, something that makes me happy every time I see it. I started work on this little table runner in March, planning it to be for birthdays. I barely finished the quilting, and lacked the binding, in time for Finn's celebration (we used it anyway) and I just this week finished the binding.

Of course, I couldn't finish it and then promptly put it into storage, so it went on our table and cheered up some gray, cold days. So I'm now declaring it the birthday/rainy day/supposed-to-be-spring-but-feels-like-winter table runner. Everyone needs one of those, right? :)

I made it just like the seasons quilt hangings, with a method loosely based on one from Amanda Soule (who bases it on Patchwork Style). It's perfect quilting for me--quick, all about color design and not dependent on precision at all--and you might notice plenty of mistakes, especially with attaching the binding. (The puckering and pulling were terrible--any tips?)

But the good thing about this project is that it's intended to be used, more than just looked at. I figure that in time, the stains and spots from the birthday cakes and rainy-day-meals will outweigh the mistakes, but the memories from those cakes and meals will outweigh them all.

happiness is ... (take two)

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 21:53:00 +0000

an afternoon walk ...

to a place called Lilac lane ...

with a boy who brought his scissors (and a feather-collecting box)...

that led to lilacs on my mantel.

And I love the lilacs, I do. But even more, I love it that my kids eagerly go collecting feathers and lilacs. I love it that Finn wants to wear his own bouquet--that he fills his pockets with flowers, and then stuffs them in his sweater's buttonholes. I love it that Willa will sit for hours in the dirt, tasting, drawing, sifting, exploring. And I love it that this is normal for kids--this is just what kids do. I want my children--all children--to love this world, to experience it as grace, a gift from God. I want them to walk on sturdy feet, knowing that they belong here and won't just float away. Finn said the other night, in his nightly prayers, "God, I like this world. Can you make more of it?" Indeed, I want them to know themselves as co-creators with God, participating in on-going creation. One of Finn's favorite preschool prayers goes "God pushed up the mountains, and rolled out the sea. He painted the skies and then made me." But we do it in the present tense at home--God pushes up the mountains, God makes me.

Of course, classic Christianity asserts that this world isn't our home, that we are but passing through, and that we shouldn't let our affections get tied up here. This theology, taken wrongly, can lead to all sorts of problems with wasting our resources and not caring for creation, but holding too tightly to this world leads to problems too.

Last week, a dear college friend came through town last-minute, sharing lunch with us and bringing morels. I didn't take many, since Matt would be away and I assumed my mushroom-shunning children wouldn't have anything to do with them. Finn, however, was intrigued with the idea that Josh foraged for them in the woods, and couldn't wait to try them. The smell drew him right up to the stove, and then at the table, he couldn't stop eating them, exclaiming over and over how delicious they were. And they were--rich and earthy, scented with a little garlic and a little thyme and a little dirt. At one point he stopped and said, "Josh must really love us to give us something so delicious."

More than anything, this is what I want for them: to know deep inside that God really loves them, to give them something so delicious as this world, and at the same time, to trust God enough to be able to let it go when the time comes.

happiness is ...

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 18:26:00 +0000

...a boy newly confident on his scooter ...

...who will hop off said scooter at the sight of flowers...

...and then carefully pick and arrange those flowers into a bouquet...

...a bouquet not for his mama, but for his scooter.

crazy days

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 02:09:00 +0000

Last Wednesday at 10:09 am:

Last Wednesday at 5:56 pm:

I know this isn't really abnormal for spring in the midwest, or many parts of the US, for that matter. It was more fun than anything--waking up to snow, rushing through breakfast in order to get out before it melted, warning my son that there wasn't enough snow for a snowman, being proved wrong. And then, of course, coming out into the blessed sunshine after naps, taking a walk in the suddenly mild weather.
But the day still called to mind one of my favorite compline prayers, a prayer for those of us who live where not only the weather can turn in an instant, but our lives can too.

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

And that is my prayer this day, knowing that many of my friends (and us too) are facing changes both good and bad: new jobs, new homes, new babies, new classes--but also knowing that even good changes can be wearying. May we rest in God's changelessness, friends, knowing we are not alone. May it be so for us.

right now

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 14:21:00 +0000

Right now, I am :

:: remembering Easter a year ago, spent atop Doi Suthep, a magnificently gold temple outside of Chiang Mai, Thailand, and the fun and beauty we found in clanging the long row of prayer bells.

:: remembering also the Easters of our first married years, spent at a church in Pittsburgh, and particularly the tradition of bringing a bell to the service. These bells were muffled and quiet until after the Easter proclamation, and then were rung with abandon during the first hymn. Especially after the long vigil service, with its readings and darkness and quiet, the wild ringing was such a visceral way to experience Easter, exploding the sanctuary with joy.

:: refraining from stopping my boy from clanging the Easter cookie cutters I hung from the mantel, remembering that he, too, needs tangible ways to express joy and excitement.

:: hoping that our friends do indeed make it onto their flight from South Africa to visit us this week.

:: yearning occasionally for the lightness of our Hong Kong life, a lightness that didn't come from HK as much as from our transience, and a lightness that left more room and time in our lives for experiences, since there was so much less stuff.

:: thankful for the ways our life here is stabilizing and deepening: the little projects around the house, the growth of friendships, the occasional sighting of someone we know around town.

:: dreaming of, and planning for, a garden this summer! full of food to can and otherwise put away for next winter: tomatoes, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic. And a bean tent for fun. And chickens!

:: delighting in the sunshine of this Easter weekend, even if the temperatures didn't quite match the sunshine, and the colors surrounding me everywhere I look.

:: looking forward to leftover grilled lamb sandwiches for lunch.

:: listening to my boy sing sweet, made up lullabies to a new stuffed bunny.

:: wishing a happy Easter Monday to you all!

we could go for a hike

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 01:08:00 +0000

I was standing in the kitchen, furiously wiping the counter and listing off all the tasks I had yet to complete that day: bake a cake, take a shower, go to the store, clean the bathrooms, and about twenty more I can't even remember, that's how non-essential they were.
Matt listened, then calmly said, "Well, we could go for a hike."
And after I finished laughing and muttering something sarcastic about how helpful that was, I realized he was completely serious. And that he had already started packing a bag and putting together a picnic.

So with more than a few misgivings, I went. I went, knowing that philosophically speaking, this was a good thing. After all, I believe in going for hikes even when there's a lot to do. I believe in getting outside. And I definitely believe that we should look back at spring break remembering more than how many tasks got done. But I didn't really want to go until my feet actually hit the ground and fresh air hit my nose.

And it was great. Of course it was: scrambling over rocks, climbing on fallen logs, navigating new terrain. When Finn was a baby he didn't cry a lot. But when he did, if we had any trouble soothing him, we took him outside. Something about the fresh air just calmed him right down, and it still works today, for him, for all of us.

Here I am now, Sunday night, just a few precious hours of break left. I'm thankful for all we did over these last few weeks--visited grandparents, celebrated Finn's birthday with cousins, saw lots of old friends, hosted new friends in our home. And yes, lots of tasks got done too. But mostly, I'm thankful for the time outside: the hikes, playing in the sandbox, running around my parents' backyard, planting radish and spinach seeds. I'm thankful for the sun on our faces, for the dirt on our fingers, for the sand in the hair. I'm thankful for the treasures that come home with us, for Finn's newfound love of foraging edibles, and Willa's newfound love of pockets. I'm thankful for the way that physical space seems to give us emotional space too--breathing space--and how this can help tricky relationships be just a bit easier. Thanks be for this beautiful world, and all that it gives us. And thanks be for those people who help us remember to get out there and enjoy it.

when I fly a kite

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 20:16:00 +0000

"When I fly a kite, I feel like a kite." So said little Finn, when he was begging to go outside on a windy windy day and fly his kite. We've had many such windy windy days lately, and he's right about feeling like a kite. I got to hold his for a while when he wanted to slide, and holding this swooping, darting piece of paper, the line taut with all the power of the wind, I felt powerful and strong, as if I was the one dancing high above the ground. It made me think of Mary Oliver's line about floating a little above this difficult world (from The Ponds, and it's worth reading the whole thing) and I thought about how I want that for Finn, and for Willa. I want them mostly to not be afraid of the muck and mud, to get into the nitty gritty of reality and disappointment and hard things, but also to have ways to soar above it, dazzled by beauty and love and grace. How well this season of Lent embodies this, sliding, as we do, from mud season into spring, from desolation to resurrection.

We've learned that the only way to have any sort of an outdoors life here is to wholeheartedly embrace mud. So we've assembled wardrobes for it, bearing in mind that old saying "there's no bad weather, only bad clothing," and we get out in it as often as we can, stomping, playing, running, sliding, falling down, and occasionally, even soaring.

HK Alphabet :: V

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 20:27:00 +0000

V :: Victoria Park

(photo by mikeleeorg)

August 3, 2008: Matt and I, our five month old baby, and 5 large suitcases got off a 14-hr flight and rode a shuttle to L'Hotel (pronounced locally "el-hotel"), where the school put us up for a week while we found housing. Right in the heart of Tin Hau, a neighborhood we came to love and later live in, on the edge of Causeway Bay, a bustling shopping and nightlife district, and across the street from Victoria Park, a sprawling oasis, this hotel was perfectly situated to aquaint us with our new home. But we didn't know that then. It felt sort of dirty to us, and commercial--not at all residential or peaceful. (What, you might well ask, did we expect in Hong Kong? Good question.)
And the park. As much as we enjoyed watching people play basketball and tennis all day and night from 20 stories up, the park's strangeness struck us most forcibly. So much concrete! So much landscaping! So little grass! We walked across the park in search of dinner that first night, both of us quiet, neither one wanting to admit that we couldn't imagine what we had been thinking, how we had made this colossal mistake. Until we did admit it, and found relief and laughter in the common question.

And then, slowly, things began to change. The park became familiar, and eventually a refuge. The playgrounds there are where Finn learned to climb, to swing, to run and to ride his bike. We made friends there, became part of a crew of kids and helpers who came at the same time.

We discovered the lone patch of grass in Hong Kong and took Finn there for soccer and frisbee, and we found rogue bits of dirt for Finn to play in, notwithstanding the disapproving looks and even reprimands from the old Chinese ladies. I ran around the jogging track in the evenings, and I admired the old people doing their tai chi. We found the motor boat pool, we saw Venus Williams warming up before a tournament, we went to flower markets and moon festivals and June fourth celebrations there. And we learned to love Sunday afternoons.

Sundays, you see, are when domestic helpers get a day off. But without a place of their own to gather in, they descend in large numbers on Hong Kong's parks, gathering with friends, sharing meals, passing the time. Victoria Park was a destination primarily for the Indonesian helper community, and the grounds--concrete walking paths, playground, soccer courts, grassy field--were literally covered with plastic tarps and women. Women lounging, sleeping, playing cards, playing guitar, singing, chatting, fighting, sharing their food, reading. Groups of Muslim women would kneel and chant, Christian women would sing and preach. Rebel-types would practice hip hop dance moves (which Finn loved and tried to imitate, much to our embarrassment and their amusement.) Most of the women were physically affectionate with each other, as is normal in their culture, but there were some with stereotypically "butch" haricuts, masculine clothes and foul mouths that seemed to particularly luxuriate in Sunday's freedoms. Some young women carried around large, beautiful dolls, that they dressed and groomed much as I did as a child.

I'm writing this now from Ohio, and we have a few nice little parks we visit, all with playgrounds, and some with walking paths, lakes, or basketball hoops. None of them, however, come close to having the sort of life and vitality of Victoria Park, a vitality unique to urban parks, I suppose. It was a vitality that often saved me as a new mom in a new city, offering contact with people, no matter how anonymous, when that is what I most needed.

for the littles

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 20:18:00 +0000

I have to admit that one of the fun things about having a girl is dressing her. Is that sexist of me? It was pretty fun to dress Finn too, actually, though I didn't talk about it as much. But even better than the actual dressing is the making ... baby clothes are just so darn satisfying! Really now, if you have even an inkling of a desire to sew or knit but are intimidated by the whole thing, find yourself a baby who needs something. Simply by virtue of being small, baby clothes are quick and don't take too much material ... which is good, seeing as how they only fit such a short time.

Anyway, I always feel a little shy about showing the things I make here, mainly because it just feels like I'm showing off and who else really cares what over-the-top cuteness I'm sewing for my kids anyway? But since this is as much a record for me of our family's life as it is anything else, I will be shy no longer.
That dress up there, frivolous and unnecessary as it may be for a baby girl who has more clothes than I do (the virtue of having older girl cousins), feels particularly frugal to me since both fabrics came from the stash, as did the piping. The piping actually came from my mom's stash. How frugal is that? Of course, I conveniently ignore the fact that even though the fabrics came from the stash, they were still purchased initially ... although both were from Hong Kong, where fabric is cheap and the time to buy something you like is always now, whether you have a pattern or use in mind or not.

And can you believe the design on that label? What piping would have such design today? The dress pattern is just a copy from a dress she has, and it's a little big, but the idea is that she can wear it as a sundress this summer.

Of course, another reason why I don't post these things very often is that getting a good picture of clothing on children is nigh impossible. I don't feel like my kids are particularly active, but boy, they never do stop moving. Anyway, Finn, not having older boy cousins, isn't nearly as flush with clothing as his sister is, and actually needed some new pants. These were also a trace, made with some lovely bright green flannel that I bought to line his Christmas robe but ended up not using. And I made them extra-long, hoping they might even last until next year. Is that crazy?

And lastly, the handknits ... those striped legwarmers and pixie hat have been worn nearly every day this winter. It's cold down on that floor ... and though she's not crawling very much any more, those little legs still have needed some extra warmth. The pattern is here, and I knit them up in Knitpick's felici sport self-striping yarn. It was a rush, I remember, just barely making it into the stocking at Christmas. But as I said earlier, baby clothes are good like that. Though I have to admit I could very much go for a matching pair for myself, which would take quite a bit longer, I presume. And that adorable pixie hat is my new favorite--essentially just a rectangle, folded and sewn up the back, but oh-so-cute and functional, keeping those ears toasty warm (I used Cascade 128 chunky.)

Making something by hand always feels good, whether it's a halloween costume or a batch of cookies or even fresh orange juice, Finn's feel good accomplishment of the day: "It's my first time making orange juice. I've never done this before!" And while I, of course, have an inclination towards food as my way of loving this little family of mine, there is something about clothing that runs deep as well. Maybe it's all the clothes my mom made for me, all the Easter dresses and Christmas dresses and trips to the fabric store to pick out patterns. Or maybe it's just the dailiness of it, the utter practicality and need of warmth, of coverage. In that way, I suppose, feeding and dressing aren't so far apart--absolutely necessary, both of them. And easy to meet in the simplest of ways (pancakes for supper anyone? At least for Shrove Tuesday we could consider it traditional, not lazy!) but so, so satisfying to add just a little extra: to applique an "F" on a hand-me-down t-shirt, to make a surprise dessert, to add some piping to a simple dress, to put flowers on the table. It's not essential, but it gladdens hearts all the way around. And that, my friends, is worth it.

HK Alphabet :: U

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 21:20:00 +0000

Yes, I'm returning to this series to finish it up. Most of the remaining letters are already written, and inexplicably unfinished or even just unposted. So here we go, returning to June of 2011, when this was actually composed.

U :: Umbrella

Rainy days in Hong Kong can be really rainy. And crowded streets in Hong Kong are really crowded. Put it together, and you get scenes like this:

Though it can be a little dangerous in there--a little crazy--it's also cozy, and I love how people synchronize their movements, raising an umbrella here, holding it close there, all weaving together and avoiding accidents. Watching it--and staying dry!--from the second story of a bus is a great treat of rainy days, all the beautiful colors dancing in a moving canopy.

U :: Under bridge spicy crab

You can hardly tell what's under there, but it is crab. And what's hiding it is the most deliciously obscene amount of fried garlic and chilis (but mostly garlic) that I have ever seen, much less eaten. Needless to say, this is not for the faint of heart. Or maybe it is, because isn't garlic good for the heart? It's certainly not for the faint of nose, anyway. But it is delicious, and so is the crab, though it becomes almost an afterthought to all that perfectly fried garlic. There are a few restaurants that specialize in this dish, also known as "typhoon shelter crab", and they are all located--you guessed it--under a bridge.

We did our best, but couldn't even begin to finish off the garlic.

winter weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Monte) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 02:11:00 +0000

Digging in the snow, making ice wreaths, knitting in front of the fire, legos, popcorn ... what else should one winter weekend hold?

The weekend has been, and continues to be, lovely, it is true. And I am thankful for the very gifts these days have brought. But I'm leery of a "today is all there is/seize the day" attitude, because today is not all there is. We live in eternity, but rather than feel panicked by that idea or narrowly focused on some conception of "end times," I feel freed to enjoy this day for what it is; time is made spacious.

As Ann Voskamp says, "Maybe it isn't so much about carpe diem -- seize the day. Maybe it's about this: God uses the day to seize us. God carpe diems. God seizes the days: God seizes time and uses it as an instrument to transform. God seizes every moment to sculpt souls and shape lives and transform ashes into glory."

God uses every moment. Yes: the beautiful, ice and snow-filled ones, and the harder, headachy, teething, tearful ones. Because those moments were there too, this beautiful weekend. And so, in the variegated, silvery yarn I hold in my lap, in the tears of a child made beautiful in firelight, in the shining of the sun on snow crystals, I catch glimpses of poikilos, that many-colored grace of God, the grace that holds and redeems the gray and brown days as much as the brilliant, light-filled ones. May it be so for us.

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.