Author: sundaydutro

Burgeoning author.
Lemonade

Lemonade

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A friend recently posted that she’s becoming exhausted making lemonade out of lemons every day. I think we are all feeling that way. It is exhausting. It’s exhausting if you’re single, it’s exhausting if you’re married. It’s exhausting if you have kids, it’s exhausting if you have pets. It’s exhausting if it’s you, and only you, and no one else. But the thing is, it’s never just us, alone. There is no such thing as just us alone, unless of course you happen to live alone off-grid somewhere and you don’t even realize there’s a pandemic going on like that family in Russia (link here, it’s a fascinating read from 1978).

The thing is, we put so much pressure on ourselves to be everything to everyone and to do everything for everyone and all that time we aren’t caring for ourselves. And no, this won’t be another self-care blog, because you can find plenty of that everywhere, I probably did one, too. By now you know you need to make yourself a priority and if you’re not there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind.

Here we are in the middle of chaos and we still have expectations for ourselves that are ridiculous. Whether anyone else is saying anything or not, we have this belief that we need to be better, do better, do more.

Stop. Just. Stop.

If you get out of bed in the morning, that’s awesome. If you get out of pajamas and into clothes each day, good for you! If you set your kids in front of the television and let them watch whatever they want for eight hours straight, give yourself a pat on the back. If you make yourself a cup of coffee, drink it, and go back to bed, way to go! If the “only” thing you’ve accomplished all day is to breathe and make it to tomorrow, you’re winning!

Yes, there are TONS of things you could be doing because so much is free right now. There are courses and operas and movies and games and and and…. It’s all so very overwhelming.

There are also people dying, every day, and if you’ve lost someone my deepest sympathies to you.

It is okay to grieve.

There is nothing wrong with simply existing until this over. Because nothing about this is simple.

You do not need to have earned a doctorate when this over.

Give yourself the sort of love and kindness and empathy you would give a friend or a loved one. Give yourself the gift of acceptance. Accept where you are and how you’re feeling and that you want to spend the day (or the next three weeks) in pj’s in bed with Netflix.

Save that lemonade for a day when you can drink it with friends.

Today, tomorrow, just be.

Start

Start

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She woke early, before the sun had risen, but she could tell it was going to. The kind of mostly dark that comes just before the world begins to brighten. She could hear her husband’s deep breathing beside her and gently extricated herself from the blankets, the bed creaking a bit as she rose up. She paused, hoping the creak hadn’t woke him, gratified to find it hadn’t. It wasn’t often she had a morning all to herself.

She walked out of the room, gently tapping her thigh so the dog would follow, and closing the door behind them. She went to the back door and opened it so the dog could go out and relieve himself. She shivered a bit in the chill that morning air, considered wrapping her robe tighter around herself, but opening it instead, enjoying the chill, appreciating the warmth of the house even more.

The dog came back in and she closed the door. The kids must still be asleep, too, and probably would be for another couple of hours. They’d taken to staying up late and talking, laughing for hours rather than go to bed at their appointed bed time. It was fine with her as long as they stayed in their room and got up in time to help with morning chores, which they always managed to do.

Their kitchen wasn’t large or fancy, and she was glad, it was functional. It was perfect. They’d taken out the cutting board that nested above the silverware drawer, the cutting board was too large to be useful and too cheap to be attractive. The whole above the drawer wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes but it made the silverware drawer easily and quietly accessible which she loved. She reached in and grabbed a spoon then opened the cupboard with the coffee grinds and the French press. She measured her coffee in no particular way, a heap was a heap after all, and two heaps were all that was needed for the perfect cup of joy.

Five minutes later, a warm cup between her hands, she walked out to the sun room. It would be planting weather soon and she checked on her starts. She’d had much better success this year, whether because she changed seed companies or because they’d finally had enough years working their compost that it now did the trick. Either way the starts were popping at a record 98% and she was excited at the prospect of being able to sell some in addition to planting their entire crop.

It was still too chilly to water everything, so she sat in her chair, the one her husband had wanted to throw out because it didn’t match anything, but that she quietly secreted to the sun room, confident he’d never miss it and that she’d have the chance to use it at some point. It had become the highlight of her occasional quiet mornings, this lone ugly chair. She never worried about ruining it or sitting in it properly. She’d sometimes sit sideways, legs dangling over the armrest, sometimes legs crossed beneath her as though in meditation. The chair never complained.

She watched as the sky lightened, only a few colors from this perspective, not the full range of a stunning mountain morning. Still she appreciated it, savored the quiet. The chill in the air was almost gone and she suspected today might actually be the best day for planting. She looked over the starts again, smiling, then went back into the house to start breakfast.

They’d had pancakes yesterday, a once a week tradition that they’d started when their first was born and which they’d continued to this day, despite the fact that she and her husband were only mildly pancake people. The boys, on the other hand, loved pancake day and always wanted to pick the fruit each week leading to a mild altercation about who had picked the week before, cries of “nuh uh,” and “but I don’t even like blueberries,” abounded meant to prove their case.

Today she thought she’d make eggs, poached. Some bacon, no, they’d had that with pancakes, her secret indulgence the smearing of the bacon in the leftover syrup, heaven. Sausage then. And hashbrowns, they had some potatoes she needed to use before they started to get soft. She checked the fridge to be sure they had spinach and ketchup, too, which they did. Good. She’d have spinach with her breakfast instead of sausage and the boys wouldn’t touch hashbrowns without ketchup, so the plan was a go.

She began scrubbing the potatoes. She considered peeling them but since these were organic and from their own garden she left them on, a few extra vitamins and minerals would be good for the boys and smothered under ketchup they’d never notice anyway. She got out the grater and went to work, humming low some nameless thing that came to her sometimes when cooking. The potatoes ready for the pan, she got out the egg carton and noticed it was a bit light. Looking inside she saw not the dozen she knew she should have but one. Someone hadn’t done chores yesterday.

She sighed and went to the mudroom, stepping into her muck boots and grabbing the egg basket from the hook. She walked out toward the coop, still humming, her robe now loose and billowing about her. She looked in the chicken run on her way towards the nesting boxes and saw all as it should be. The hens clucked at her, hoping she’d brought some kitchen treats and the amiable rooster, Emmett, whom she’d fallen in love with, the only rooster she’d never had to take a stick to, puffed up his chest and fluffed his wings at her. She was convinced he was in love with her, too.

Walking to the nesting boxes she lifted the lid only to find several pairs of eyes pop open and stare accusingly at her. All four boxes were full of hens and one box even had two girls in it. “Oh come now,” she said, exasperated. Her least favorite hen, the old biddy who went broody every time an egg was laid was sitting to the far right. She reached over, scooped her up and off the nest, and placed her on the ground. The raucous she put up would make someone think she’d been beaten within an inch of her life rather than picked up and set down. “Really?” she said aloud, before grabbing at the pile of eggs and dropping them two at a time into her basket.

She emptied the nest, fourteen eggs, closed the lid, and walked back to the house.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Teeth

Teeth

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When the waves began she didn’t notice. The waves had come before, in a different manner, true, and a different place, but still. She knew the waves were nothing to concern herself with and so she didn’t. Until they began coming closer together. Coming more often. Coming stronger. The waves began coming in a pattern, she could guess when the current one would end, the next one begin, she began to notice a feeling she could call pain but was more like discomfort, not pain. Not yet.

It would be time soon, she’d need the midwife, she’d need hot water. She’d need towels. She finished the row and stopped seeding the field. She marked with a stick where she left off; she’d need to finish the seeding quickly or it would be a difficult winter. She went to the barn, ensuring the animals had enough feed and water, a habit she’d gotten into every evening for the past month. A caution. A responsibility.

Closing up the barn she stopped to breath. The discomfort was coming closer to pain with every passing wave. She closed up the barn and went for the house. She’d need to phone the midwife before doing anything more, give her time to collect her things and get to the farm. Give her time to put her own animals away. For the first time she considered that perhaps she had already waited too long to make the call.

Shaking her head to clear the thought she entered her home, stripping off her mucky boots at the entrance, her hat, the small pistol she always kept when working outside alone. She sat on the bench for a moment longer letting another wave peak and begin it’s slow recession. She reached up to brush a stray hair from her head and noticed she was sweating. Already.

She made the call, the midwife easy to hand and quick to reassure her she was on the way. The waves were coming much faster now and though she’d always been a quiet woman, stoic even, she realized she was beginning to get quite loud. She was surprised by the sound, and listened to herself for a moment. Was she speaking? No. These were just sounds, not animal, she’d seen and heard her own animals give birth. The sounds she was making were not animal.

Her vocalizations were primal, loud, and sounded like a dull roar. Perhaps animal after all. Not a farm animal though. Or at least not one she’d ever encountered. Still, it was familiar. A sort of chuffing, like a cougar. Yes. That was it. She smiled a bit as she chuffed, smiled and grimaced, and opened her mouth wide to roar.

She realized she was pacing, hadn’t remembered getting up or walking, but she was. Big round circles around the room with an occasional short streak from one side to the other and many stops to squat a bit and roar. And then the roaring stopped. The waves were different now. They were no longer fast, no longer peaking.

The new waves were longer with no clear middle. She rode the waves no longer roaring. She smiled, grabbing the counter in the kitchen, the perfect height. When had the midwife arrived? She hadn’t noticed. Still, there she was. Knitting in a corner. She looked up from her project, must have felt the eyes upon her or the change in the room from effort to surprise.

They smiled at one another. The midwife went back to her knitting. She went back to her laboring.

The baby was born shortly after, the sound of first crying the sweetest sounds to a mother’s ears. The baby was put immediately to the breast, and suckled with gusto.

“Mind the teeth,” the midwife warned.

“Teeth? Ouch!”

Releasing her nipple from the babe’s mouth the new mother looked with awe into the gaping, crying mouth and saw teeth. Not a complete set mind you, but teeth. She’d never seen such a thing, never heard of it. She must have made a face because the midwife felt the need to intervene.

“First I’ve ever seen,” she said, “though I’ve heard of it. Doesn’t happen often, see? From what I know, they are sometimes loose enough to pull right out, and other times stay in just fine. Did you want me to try and pull them out then?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“The babe will work around them to feed, won’t be a problem for long. We can leave em in and see,” the midwife suggested.

“Yes. No. I…let’s see if they’re loose.”

The midwife left the infant in his mothers arms and reached over with one hand to open his mouth, using the forefinger of her other hand to reach in and test the teeth.

“Nope, not loose,” she stated, “they won’t interfere, I’m sure of it. Just make you more nervous than anything. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

With that she packed up her bag of things, double checked that she’d set out a bowl of soup and some water for the mother, and eager to let the mom get some sleep and bond with the baby, she took her leave.

The babe had quieted and fallen asleep after the indignity of a finger in his mouth. The mother looked upon him in wonder. So perfect. So big. He was a huge baby, the largest she’d ever seen. She felt sure she could put him down and he’d begin crawling he was just so large. Her arms ached not only from the strain of holding his weight but from the sheer exhaustion of the birth.

Laying him down gently in her bed she went to the bowl of soup, famished. Rather than scoop the contents into her mouth she simply picked up the bowl and drank, pausing occasionally as a large morsel fell from the bowl into her mouth and required chewing. She sucked down the remains of the soup, using a finger to slide the last little bits into her mouth. She drank down the glass of water and poured another, drinking it too, this time slower.

She went to the bathroom, her body unsure exactly how to perform this act under the new conditions but eventually catching on to what was being asked of it and complying. She let out a sharp but brief cry before relaxing and cleaning up. Realizing just how bone deep her fatigue was she limped back to the bed, sliding in between the sheets, her quilt tucked up over her chest, the enormous new body instinctively wiggling closer to her. Her scent? Her heat? Something drew the new creature closer and she draped an arm around him.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Turmeric Ginger Honey

Turmeric Ginger Honey

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My hubby has an autoimmune issue and is always on the lookout for things that will boost his immune system that don’t taste like ass and that actually help. Awhile ago he came across this idea that if you mix turmeric root, ginger root, and honey and drink it in tea that it’s super good for you. If you make the mix properly, it tastes good too. So we started making it at home.

If you are able to find fresh, organic roots, it’s much easier as you don’t need to peel them, just wash/scrub them like you would a potato or mushroom.

We have found the tastiest ratio to be 3/4 turmeric root and 1/4 ginger root.

In other words, you can use any amounts you want to get the desired final quantity, but the best ratio for taste it to always have 3:1.

I wash and scrub the roots, cut them into relatively large chunks of about half an inch or so, and throw them in a food processor. I suspect a Vitamix would work even better and will likely attempt that the next time I make this.

Let them get chopped up until they are just little itty bitty pieces, but not liquified.

Get jelly jars or any smaller glass containers you have with lids. Fill the containers almost to the top with the root mixture, but don’t tamp it down tight, leave it loose. You want to leave about a 1/4 to a 1/2 an inch of space at the top. Then pour in some honey and let it start to steep down into the root mix. You can help it along with a spoon. Add more honey and keep moving it around so the honey can get down in there, filling all the air pockets.

When you’re done you should have a jar that is easy to stir but not soupy. It’s definitely going to be thick. When ours has sat in the fridge for a few hours and the honey separates to the bottom you can see that there really isn’t much honey in there. Maybe like a 3:1 on root mix to honey.

Which means 3:1 is the handy thing to remember in all this.

At any rate, once you’ve filled your jars and stirred them all up, throw the lids on and put them in the fridge. They will keep for about a month, possibly more, we don’t know cause we always use it.

To use, take a spoonful and add it to your tea as often as you like. We only drink tea once a day in the evening before bed, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to do it more often, you just have to remember that honey is a sugar and should be taken in moderation.

There are a whole host of things this stuff is supposed to help with from immune boosting to allergy relieving. I don’t know how much I believe all the hype, but it tastes good, it doesn’t hurt, and it’s easy to do.

I hope you enjoy.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Fresh Food

Fresh Food

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Tomorrow is shopping day. It’s been over two weeks and we are down to nothing. We could probably scrape by for another day or two if we had to, but pickings are slim. I never used to worry about shopping day, or even think about it really. If I forgot something on the list, no big deal, just grab it the next time I’m out or the following week when I go shopping again. Now it’s different. Trying to only go shopping every two weeks or less makes things tough.

There’s this added stress of being sure not to forget anything. There’s the added stress of getting to the store and realizing half the stuff you need isn’t available anyway. There’s the stress of going to multiple stores just to get enough food to feed your family of four for two weeks, especially with the limitations many stores are putting in place.

We run out of the fresh stuff right away, of course. And that’s fine. We can limp along on frozen veggies and fruit. Not as delicious and probably not as nutritious, but totally doable. Still, for someone like me who lives a nearly vegan lifestyle for most of the day, not having that fresh stuff starts to really wear on me. Like right now, even though I just had a bite of Lily’s Dark Chocolate, oh my god so good, I’m still craving raspberries.

Why raspberries?

I have no idea. They aren’t my favorite. I rarely buy them because they tend to go bad immediately whereas the other berries seem to last at least a week. But the lack of fresh stuff has me getting these crazy cravings.

The other day we had zucchini that was about a day from needing to be chicken feed instead of people feed, so I made these “brownies” with them…epic. So freaking good. It got my kids and husband eating veggies and it was amazing. So definitely making those again. But the thing that’s weird is that no one else craves the veggies and fruit like I do.

In the mornings I have a breakfast of veggies fried up in avocado oil with some garlic, salt, and pepper. Then I put kimchi or salsa on top. So delicious. But I’ve been told it’s not breakfast. Why not? Because it doesn’t have eggs. Pfft. It’s totally a scramble or a skillet or whatever you want to call it, sans eggs. And it’s delicious. And I crave it.

Luckily even without fresh stuff I can usually get away with canned beans and artichokes, frozen spinach and broccoli, and then I throw in either frozen corn or peas or whatever. It’s a super easy thing to cook, I can eat a ton of it, and it has been keeping me full through to early afternoon when I can usually get away with a snack of nuts or something to tide me over til dinner.

Because in addition to only going grocery shopping every two weeks or less I’m also trying to only eat two meals a day. If I get a late start on breakfast or a huge breakfast, it usually works. It lets our food go a bit further and if I do the late breakfast thing then it’s good for my body as a kind of mini-fast.

What changes have you had to make to your eating with this whole pandemic?

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Meditation

Meditation

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She’d never been one for meditation. She wanted to, of course, so many benefits, she just couldn’t get herself to sit still for so long. Nor to let her thoughts “go,” whatever that meant. Go where? They were her thoughts, oughtn’t they to stay with her? At any rate, meditation, a solid no.

Weeks spent indoors with no foreseeable end in sight changed all that.

She went out to the little patch of concrete that was her “yard,” put her earbuds in, clicked the meditation app on her phone and twenty minutes later…

Yeah, no, still can’t meditate. Valiant effort though.

The next day she tried again.

Huh uh.

Again.

And again.

And yet again.

After a week of spending twenty minutes a day on her little patch of concrete, ear buds causing her ears to thrum slightly with the odd stretch they inflicted, she realized she was actually enjoying herself. She may not be a Buddhist monk or even a man with a sexy British accent who was once a monk, but she was meditating, even if for only a few of those twenty minutes.

And she loved it.

She found herself throughout her otherwise unremarkable day thinking to the twenty minutes spent outside on her patch of concrete. She found herself flicking through her binge watching options on the television and then realizing she’d just drifted off in her mind to quiet, to silence, to peace.

It wasn’t like sleeping, although the first time it happened she thought she’d fallen asleep. It wasn’t like reading a book or listening to music or any of the other things she’d done in the past to wind down, or let her subconscious cruise. It was both more relaxing and more gratifying. She found herself returning throughout the day to that feeling of ease.

She expanded her meditation session to thirty minutes.

After another week she expanded again to two sessions of thirty minutes, one in the morning and one in the evening.

It was really lovely, waking up in the morning, boiling water for her coffee, pouring the water into the French Press, and then meditating while it steeped.

It was really lovely, last thing in the evening, brushing teeth and getting fully prepared for bed, then meditating before turning off the lights.

She found herself less anxious with each passing day. Less unclear of what she wanted from her life. Less troubled.

She was slowly gaining insight into herself and she found those moments of anger she used to have, the ones that would flare up disproportionately to the situation and constantly, disappearing. She’d still feel a twinge every now and then, but always with that twinge came the realization that she was choosing her emotions, her reactions. Nothing was outside of her control when it came to herself.

The freedom of all this control was electrifying. She reveled in the power of her own self.

She also noticed how much more empathy she had for others. No longer clucking or tapping her foot with impatience in the grocery store line when someone wrote a check they very well could have been writing the entire time they were being rung up. No longer rolling her eyes and sighing when someone couldn’t find their wallet at the ATM even though they’d been waiting in line behind someone else and could have been getting their wallet ready then.

She realized everyone was on their own path. That everyone was doing the absolute best they could, and maybe their best didn’t look like her best, and so she didn’t immediately recognize it as such. She became more forgiving, more accepting, more loving.

It was the closest she’d ever been to acceptance. Not just of others, but of herself. She felt connected to others and to herself in a way she’d never felt before. Amazed at what an hour a day of silence, relaxation, lack of judgement could do for her entire life, and wondering why she hadn’t ever been able to get herself to meditate before. Wishing she’d started earlier, and also recognizing that she simply may not have been ready before.

She was grateful she was ready now.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

The Move

The Move

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She’d always been a planner. Never could do anything without spending hours upon hours researching first. So the decision to up and move without seeing where she was moving to (except in pictures online) was a bit extreme. There was something equal parts thrilling and anxiety inducing about it. Would she like the house? Would it be big enough? Too big? Would it feel like everything had a place that fit it perfectly? Would she fit perfectly?

The idea was to create something self-sustaining. A farm, but not exactly a farm. How much farming can one person do? No, this would be a not-a-farm, a hobby farm, a way to prove to herself that she could survive the zombie apocalypse she felt sure would never come but that it was interesting to imagine.

She already knew some basic gardening and how to care for chickens. She’d read extensively on how to care for goats but had yet to care for one. She’d also read up on pigs and while she was anxious to try her hand the idea of pigs also scared her a bit…a holdover from watching Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels perhaps?

At any rate, she had packed up her belongings, selling a few things she couldn’t bear to pack and unpack for the hundredth time and that were much more a part of her old life than the new life she was heading to. Everything fit perfectly in her little hardbody pickup truck. It was a bit of a Tetris game to get it all in there in such a way that it would travel without moving, but she’d done it, and she’d done it on her own.

She’d debated about the best time to leave more as a reflection of the best time to arrive than anything else and had decided that if she left after lunch on Saturday she’d arrive by lunch on Sunday with a short rest stop break Saturday night for a nap. With all that in mind she headed out Saturday after a lunch of tuna salad that she barely tasted, her stomach all aflutter with the adventure before her. She took one last pee break, locked the door on her old life, dropped the key in the mailbox, and made her way toward the future.

The drive was less than idyllic. Mostly cities and the craziness of the Interstate for hours on end. In fact it wasn’t until her first stop for fuel that she realized she’d left the cities behind and was now in desolate country. Nothing but dirt in every direction with the occasional off-ramp offering fast food and fueling stations. When she realized the cities were all behind her she began to relax. And sometime into the eighth hour of her drive she heard a loud pop and the tension between her shoulders disappeared.

She alternately filled the time with music and silence. The silences just as loud in her head as the music had been in the cab. Her head was awash with possibilities, questions, ideas, and the things she tried to ignore: her fears. She told herself she wasn’t scared, that there was nothing to fear, failure would simply mean another change of direction. But she was scared. She was afraid of something she couldn’t name.

She drove as long as she could and finally near eleven that night she was too tired to continue. She pulled into the next rest stop she found, checking for other vehicles as she drove in and parked. The stop seemed empty with the exception of one big rig, lights off, the driver likely sleeping just as she hoped to now. She jumped out and used the restroom, brushing her teeth quickly in the cold, and rushing back to the warm cab of her truck.

She considered leaving the truck running to keep the cab warm, but decided against it. She pulled her Carhartt jacket off and draped it over herself. It would be good to sleep as long as possible, the cold would wake her up in a few hours and she could continue her journey. A perfect little ninja nap.

She slept hard at first, then fitfully, the sounds of the highway and the occasional semi truck pulling in and out of the rest stop keeping her from any sort of restorative sleep. When the cold finally became too much to ignore she opened her eyes and checked the time. 4am. She’d slept less than she thought. But she felt good enough to continue.

Once again she checked her surroundings before jumping out and using the restroom to pee and brush her teeth. She also splashed some cold water on her face. Before rushing back to the truck she checked the vending machines hoping for one that offered coffee. Sadly the only options were soda and candy. She decided to look for coffee on her route and jumped back in the truck, ready to get where she was going.

She turned on some music and cracked her knuckles, a habit she hated and still couldn’t seem to break, and headed on her way. She sang along to the songs she knew, and hummed along to the ones she didn’t. She found a coffee place, drive thru no less, and was happily zipping along when she realized she was being pulled over, and that she had to pee.

“Shit.”

She considered pulling off at the next off ramp instead of pulling over on the highway, but couldn’t see an off ramp up ahead and didn’t want to risk angering the cop. She pulled over as far as she could, rolled down her window, and turned off the engine. She sighed and watched in the side mirror as the cop rummaged around in the cop car before exiting.

She put on a tentative smile and answered the cops question with, “I didn’t notice. Was I over the speed limit?”

Twenty minutes later she was not only so desperate to pee that she considered jumping out and peeing right there in front of the cop, but she also had a hefty little ticket in her hands. She decided not to risk further ire and started up the truck, continuing on her way and hoping the cop would pass her so she could pull back over and relieve herself or that she’d see a restroom in less than two minutes.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Quarantine Garage Sale

Quarantine Garage Sale

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For the last four years we’ve been downsizing. We pay attention to the things we use and don’t use and once a week or so we pull things out we haven’t used in forever, double check that we really don’t think we’re ever going to use it, and then set in the pile of stuff to take to the thrift store each week (our thrift store has a drive thru donation line and it’s epic!).

With the ‘rona in force our thrift store is closed. We no longer have access to a place that will take all the stuff we don’t use and don’t want. But we’ve continued to downsize. If anything, we’ve been downsizing even more because what else are we going to do safe at home with two kids and a dog?

So now with nowhere to take it, we have this ever amassing pile o stuff and it’s getting a bit unwieldy. So I had the idea of a Quarantine Garage Sale. I’m posting the things online and whoever wants them can come to my driveway on an appointed date/time and back their car up, pop the trunk/hatch/whatever and I’ll load up their goods, pick up the cash, and they can be on their way.

It’s a great way to practice social distancing while still getting stuff done and giving people something to do. I actually had one person comment that they thought it was kind of sad that the online garage sale was the highlight of their day. Ha! I actually find that fabulous; it brings me joy that someone is smiling cause of something so simple.

What are you doing to keep yourself entertained and moving forward with your goals?

Forage

Forage

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The stay home orders were loosely defined. Technically one shouldn’t leave one’s home except for emergencies and necessities. She considered her sanity a necessity. And she figured she’d kill her kids if they didn’t get out and burn some energy. That made the leaving a necessity and an emergency.

She packed a lunch, mostly snacks because no one had the kind of food required to make entire meals anymore. She remembered growing up with actual meals, meals prepared mostly by restaurants and occasionally by her mother, there’d be salad and a plate with three kinds of foods and a dessert. There was nothing like that now, ever.

Now her kids ate what she grew up calling “plate of small things,” which is basically a little bit of lots of different things until your plate has enough on it to call it a meal. Foraged fruit here, foraged mushrooms there (and these were extremely rare because she was so afraid of picking something poisonous accidentally), bits from a found can here…tragic meals really.

At any rate, she packed a lunch of snacks, grabbed canteens, and told the kids to get moving: it was time for an adventure. They all piled into the car and she triple checked the fuel levels. Three quarters of a tank. It would be enough to get them there and back but it would be there last trip anywhere; she’d try to make it count.

The kids sat up front with her, there was no backseat, and she buckled them in. She made sure she had some tools, just in case, and that all the dials on the car were turned off before starting the motor. The old car started up like it had been driven daily when in actuality it had been sitting for at least three months, maybe longer. She tried to remember her last trip to town and couldn’t be sure.

They cruised down through the empty streets, and finally onto the highway. They headed east towards the mountains. This time of year would be good for picking the last of the berries, finding the first falling acorns, and hopefully finding a few mushrooms. If they were extremely lucky they’d find some apples, even if they were still small and sour.

The kids were quiet as she drove. A blessing, and one of the reasons she would miss being able to drive with them. As the road steepened and curved their little heads began bobbing and soon they were asleep. She let out a sigh of relief. She loved them desperately and also needed a few minutes to herself to think.

She would have to come up with a better plan. They couldn’t keep hiding out in that house. No one around was both a blessing and a curse. Just the other day she’d had to tell the kids they were playing a silent game of hide-and-seek when really it was a potentially fatal one with a group of men who sounded like the guys she went to boot camp with. She didn’t want to run into guys like that without a Sergeant around.

Maybe the mountains? She knew them pretty well. There were lots of places where she and the kids could live. She’d be able to find food and water and the only real predators would be mountain lions and other people. With winter on the way that didn’t sound like such a great idea. There’s no way they’d be able to keep warm with clothes and quilts. They’d have to have fire. Too risky.

She gripped the steering wheel too tightly and felt the ache in her fingers and wrists. She relaxed her grip and stroked the wheel up and down for a moment. Think. Think, think, think, think, think. Right on the other side of the mountains was a desert. The desert would be perfect for the winter. In fact, it would be a little hot now still, but not too terribly bad. Better than where they were now, assuming she could find water.

There was lots of water in the desert. You just had to know what to look for. And she knew. Boy did she ever know. The danger would be in all the obvious places. The oases were out. Anyone could look across a desert see a mountain of green and know there was water. No. She’d have to go to the places that were less obvious.

A hot springs.

Hot springs would be perfect. Not usually a lot of greenery but definitely water. And while the water wouldn’t taste good, it would be full of all kinds of calcium and bicarbonate and would be really good for their mineral deprived bodies. She thought about the desert they were heading towards. There was a huge hot springs on the south side, but everyone would know about that. She needed something subtle. Something difficult to get to maybe.

And then she remembered the story her great grandma used to tell her. The story she’d always insisted was true but sounded so far fetched no one ever believed her. The story of their great great grandfather who had lived out in the desert for twenty years. She tried to remember the whole story, but could only get pieces, fragments more ephemeral than the oasis they bespoke.

“What was the rhyme?” she asked herself, humming a little trying to find the tempo.

“More east than south,
You’ll find the mouth,
Beware the bite…”

“Damn.” She couldn’t remember. Wasn’t even sure about the “beware the bite” part, that sounded right but out of place.

“‘More east than south,’ at any rate,” she mumbled as she continued up through the mountains.

Fall was beautiful in the mountains, even this early in the season. She drove higher before finding berry bushes that appeared to have been untouched. She pulled over carefully, looking all around and leaving the engine running for moment after putting the car in park.

Continuing to look around but seeing no one, she decided to turn the engine off and wake the kids. With the engine off there was no need to wake anyone, the kids woke themselves and began clambering to get their belts off and their buckets out of the back. Berry picking was a special treat and they were eager. Before she could issue any warnings or rules they’d shot out the passenger door and headed to the bushes.

Giving one last look around she left the keys in the ignition, grabbed her bucket from the back, and headed towards the bushes, too. The easy berries were all picked clean. There were no shoe or footprints around, so it was all wildlife that had gotten to the berries. Still, there were quite a few in the highest spots and the deepest spots of the bushes.

Amid cries of “ouch” and “ack” the three filled their buckets as best they could.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

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I debated not writing today. There are many reasons including: I’d like to journal tonight, I’m near the end of The Science of Well-Being course and I’m loving it and I know it will be down tomorrow for maintenance, my littlest is going to be crying for boob any minute now, and my oldest is roaming the house like a tiger because it’s past his bed time but he thinks we don’t see him if he stalks about…I blame his new favorite book A Tiger Like Me by Michael Engler.

At any rate, there’s a lot going on here tonight and it makes me restless. Plus, too, all this home-bound stuff with kids gets a little out of control. Plus, I desperately want to continue with our downsizing which I can’t do because the thrift stores aren’t open so I can’t take a load of stuff down each week after cleaning out a section of the house. For some reason being thwarted in my efforts to clear clutter is especially exasperating right now, and I suspect it’s because I’m being forced to live in said clutter, see it every day, and do nothing about it.

Lastly, I didn’t much want to write tonight because it is April Fools Day and I figure no one is out reading blogs tonight. Everyone is out trying to find out what kind of heartless person is out there pulling pranks when we’re all in the midst of the worst April Fools Joke ever.

So there you go. The story of my life in a nutshell. And now, since this wasn’t an hour and I was doing it more for posterity than anything else, I shall bid you adieu and go write in my journal.

Oh, and as always, I am not paid by Powells nor do I receive any kickbacks if you visit their site and/or buy the book mentioned above. I am not an affiliate and I get nothing. If you do buy the book though, and it’s amazing, please let me know how your littles like it.