Reflections on the new year

We made it through Dec. 21, 2012, and the new year is dawning.

Rumors of a Mayan-predicted collapse were not all bad: they prompted many of us to reflect on where we are headed as human beings on a changing planet. Storms, weather catastrophes, unusually warm temperatures, all point to possibilities we may not entirely understand. A corporate culture stained by the domination of profit over product, or service, or morals for that matter, and the related corruption and greed that can breed, suggest a devolution of who we are as a community and a country.

And so: Are we going to burn up natural resources and continue to clog our collective arteries with excess, bury ourselves in acquisition and materialistic “success,” blinded by the unquenchable desire for more?  Or are we going to open up our consciousness and slow down, recognize that success can be many things, reach out to neighbors literal and figurative, and begin to make the world a better place?

I like to think that the end of the Mayan calendar marks not an abrupt end to the world as we know it, but a slow shift. That “world as we know it,” the one that prompts us to tell our question-authority-and-the-status-quo children, “well, that’s just the way the world is, you have to learn to play the game,” well,  maybe it is time to end that world, and replace it with something that speaks to our better selves.

Hope moves me to believe that is possible.

What if Dec. 21 was about the tide shifting imperceptibly, a sort of tipping point so that yes, we have enough momentum to pull ourselves out of the destructive continuum that has propelled us in recent years, and begin to live our lives with more awareness of the big picture: the universe around us. What if it was about leaving behind the old world, and beginning a new one?

It’s hard for me to name the global signs that this may be beginning: perhaps if I did some research, I would discover them. But I do see them in my little bubble, here in Takoma Park and by extension, parts of the Washington, D.C. area. There is a strong interfaith community here, for example, to counter the devastating wars prompted by religious fervor. There is an embrace of all people, of all ethnicities and sexualities and abilities or lack thereof. There is strong community built around people who care for one another and know their neighbors. There is an ethic around growing (and purchasing) locally grown food, and promoting sustainable ways to grow it. Some of the things we take for granted are, actually, miracles: 20 years ago I would never have believed that the local grocery store chain would offer free range eggs, or that every piece of plastic I use could be recycled at my curb, or that my Community Center would be powered by solar panels and wind energy. It is progress.

It is true: these small steps do not begin to address the heartbreak around the world – the wars, and poverty, violence and disaster. But they may address our lives right here and now, on a scale we can begin to understand. And if we can live good lives at home, perhaps that will impact the rest of the world in some subterranean way. We can be the subconscious of the world. And, if we are strong at home, we can begin to reach out and help others become their best selves as well.

 And so, here’s to hope. It may start small. But I pray that it grows, this year and moving forward.

 Happy New Year.

Second Thanksgiving

This time two weeks ago I was elbow deep in pie dough, experimenting with gluten-free flour and getting ready for I didn’t know how many kids for our annual Second Thanksgiving celebration. After the traditional (and typically more formal) Turkey Day, Second Thanksgiving gives me an opportunity to celebrate my children and their friends with a low-key potluck: I roast a bird and bake a few pies, and our extended family of young friends fills in the blanks. Some bring freshly prepared harvest veggies or a new recipe’s worth of dressing; others bring leftovers, or chips and dip. It’s all good. 

In our kitchen, we baked three pies. The dough, though it tasted gritty before it was baked, miraculously turned out just right – flaky without falling apart. The chocolate pecan pie, my new favorite, looked burned but tasted like an exceptionally gooey, rich, warm candy bar in a pie crust. There’s a lesson in there about expectations and surprises and being open to success in the face of apparent failure, but I’m not sure what it is. Charge ahead?

Well, yes. The best part was how the chaos of preparation all came together: Momma and two kids in the kitchen, one turkey sizzling in the oven, three different pie fillings, two different crusts (one dairy AND gluten-free, one just gluten-free), and countless reasons to be grateful. Our little kitchen is so familiar to us we are able to slide past one another with bowls, knives, hot tea kettles, swinging cabinet doors and drawers, a choreographed dance worthy of all tight but functional spaces. Tyler was on apple pie filling, Clara did pumpkin and pecan, and I rolled out crusts.

By the end, we had a beautifully roasted turkey on the table (not overdone, as I’d feared), plus three gorgeous pies and assorted potluck dishes. Someone played a drum out by the firepit, someone else picked up the guitar in the living room, there was a dart game in the upstairs bedroom and, at one point, freestyle rap beside the table – featuring the word, “pies.”

The taste AND the sound of Thanksgiving. I am grateful.

A walk in the woods

Walking alone in the western Virginia woods recently, I had several things on my mind. As usual, life is full. You know how it is: Family. Work. Personal goals.  

But the best part about this walk in the woods was that I left most of those thoughts behind for a while. My thought process went something like this:

Aren’t you great, for getting outdoors?!? This is so good for your mental health. And, the aerobic exercise is important. (Here I begin counting the number of times I’ve exercised this week, virtually patting myself on the back as I tromp over dried leaves and through branches and brambles).

It’s good to have time alone.

It’s so refreshing to have no music, no computer, no technology at all. We need space like this in our lives to allow feelings to occur, ideas, connections, just to take it all in.

Remember to breathe in this great country air.

Where is the dog?

How close are those deer hunters I hear shooting?

Wow, look at how blue the sky is! Always remember to look up.

These leaves smell so good.

I love the crunch and shuffle of fall.

Shhhhhhh

In short, all those more Serious Thoughts fell away and I was left with silence and joy. And a resolve to walk in the woods more often.