A few weeks ago, the children's art teacher, Jennifer, sent me a link to a website called Story People. The site has sayings that are submitted by different people, and she said that the one that day reminded her of me.

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good.

I felt honored when Jennifer took the time to send that link. It isn't often that I feel that people really know and understand me, and for some reason, this made me feel that Jennifer does.

Conversations with Vincent...

A couple of days ago, while driving to the store with just Vincent, his voice pipes up from the back seat with a question.

"So, can I have a real chainsaw?"

I blame my sister for the fact that my five year old is asking about real chainsaws. He emailed her his wish list, which included a chainsaw after he saw them at Toys R Us (his expression in the toy tool aisle was priceless; it was like he had found the promised land). My sister emailed back asking if he wanted a real chainsaw or a pretend one. Sarcasm is lost on preschoolers. Apparently he had been mulling it over and was wondering if real was an option.

Later that same day, my brother asked Vincent for his wish list. Vincent casually replied "I email you." I think it is safe to say that he is comfortable with technology.

I stumbled across this today for the first time in a few years. The message is an important one. Even as a non-spanking parent, the urge to lash out sometimes bubbles up within me when the children get stuck in big emotions and are completely out of control. It is good to remember these words.

When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking--the first of his life. And she told him that he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, "Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock that you can throw at me."

All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. And the mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because violence begins in the nursery--one can raise children into violence.

~ Astrid Lindgren (author of Pippi Longstocking and other wonderful books)

I have been playing around with light while taking pictures again. The last set I took did not turn out as I had hoped, but this set was quite interesting. I especially like this one:



It fascinated me the way the sunlight streaked across his face, illuminating his eyelashes. I also like the grain in the wood floor. Please forgive the wonky spot on the door frame. I am in the process of removing the edge of the bedspread with photoshop, and I am not quite done yet.

I take photos in color, but frequently end up using photoshop to change them to black and white or sepia tones. Something about these color variations draw me in much more than full color photos do. Even as I set up the shots and take the photographs, I find myself thinking of how it will look with the color removed. I cannot put my finger on exactly what draws me to these color variations. There is something about the way it changes the focus of the photograph that I like. Perhaps it is the way that it seems to soften the background and make the people in the photograph more vibrant. I am not finding the words to describe the emotional difference tonight. Suffice it to say that they touch my artistic soul very differently.

How do I know that winter is on its way? I could go by the calendar date or temperature. Day length is a clue, as are the seasonal foods. But none of these truly tells me that winter is almost here.

Seeing Luis pull on his bright red Union suit for the first time since the weather started warming up last spring tells me definitively that winter is just around the corner. Yes, my husband is a goofball who actually owns and sleeps in a Union suit. It cracks me up watching him button it up or seeing him lounging around the house in it.

I spent the morning chopping, stirring, kneading and baking. The afternoon was spent dusting and straightening with a lot more stirring here and there. It was all in preparation for our first Soup Night of the winter.

Soup Night is a fun tradition in our house. I snagged the idea from a former acquaintance, and we have expanded it to create our own event. We try to do it once a month in the fall, winter and early spring months. I make a two or three large pots of soup and oodles of bread. We invite a variety of friends and acquaintances to join us anytime during the evening. It is like a resurrection of the old fashioned "at home" hours. We let people know that we are at home and our house is open to anyone for as long or as little as they want to stay. Most people bring a dish to share; there is always plenty to eat. It is an evening of companionship during the winter hibernation.

My house smelled of bread, pledge and soup. Conversation hummed, children shrieked, jazz played in the background and poker chips slid across the dining room table. In addition to a traditional beef stew, I experimented with two new soups (Roasted Potato Bisque with Leeks and Sage [to which I added sauteed fennel] and Roasted Tomato and Basil Cream Soup) which both so good that they will have a spot in my permanent recipe book.

I really enjoy entertaining. Opening my house up and helping others feel at comfortable and connected makes me feel good inside. I am already looking forward to the next Soup Night.

One of the things I enjoyed about owning a dog was walking him late at night when it was dark. I fully admit to being nosy, and I would glance into people's windows at night as we walked by. Who knew so many living rooms in my area were painted red? It is fun to glimpse vignettes of people's lives.

Last night, I had to take both girls down to the Square for evening activities (girl scouts and theater rehearsal). I had left both boys home with Luis. As I walked across the road and up our sidewalk, I was looking in our front windows. Vincent danced through the sitting room, arms out as he flew a little toy airplane. Luis chased behind, Simon snuggled in his arms. Seeing them framed by lace curtains in the lit windows felt like a movie scene, the kind where the protagonist is returning from a journey or life-altering experience and pauses, heart swelling with emotion, to watch her family before entering to join them.

Naturally, I had to pause for a minute to watch them before walking through the door.

Yeah the view I love the most
Is my front porch looking in

I see what beautiful is about
When I'm looking in
Not when I'm looking out
~ Lonestar "My Front Porch Looking In"

For a community of ten thousand people, my city sometimes is such a small town. This was reinforced the other day.

We have a real downtown square, filled with stores, restaurants and service businesses. Our real estate office sits on one corner of the Square. The other day, I was the only person in the office, so I was sitting up front by two walls of windows. I happened to be looking outside when I witnessed a traffic accident. Traffic only moves one way around the Square, and the speed limit is only fifteen miles per hour. Even with these precautions, accidents happen too often on the Square.

A blue truck was backing out of a parking spot when a sedan bounced off its tailgate. Given the fact that the accident happened at less than fifteen miles per hour, neither vehicle even appeared damaged.

About forty-five seconds after the accident happened, a police car pulled up. Personally, I think it was just coincidence; the police station is only three blocks away, and I suspect the officer was just heading back to the station when he happened by. After laughing about the idea that the city was so Mayberry-esque the the police respond to accidents within a minute of impact, I decided to call Luis to share the giggle with him.

At this point, less than three minutes had elapsed since the incredibly minor accident occurred. The police officer never turned on his lights or sirens. As I told Luis about the accident, his response was first to laugh and then tell me that this explained why people were standing on the corner by our house (we live two blocks from the office) talking and pointing at the Square.

Good gravy.

Andy, Aunt Bee is having problems with Opie snitching cookies again, and Barney is raising a ruckus over by the general store by ticketing people driving 18 in a 15 mph zone.

Welcome to Mayber...er...Monroe.

My sister is an occupational therapist. Last year, she decided to do the coursework and take the exam necessary to become a certified hand therapist. It is a difficult certification to earn. Therapists have to have a certain number of years experience and a minimum number of hours working with hands. The test is only given once a year. My sister has been studying for this exam for a year now. She takes the exam tomorrow.

Squirt, I want you to know that no matter how tomorrow goes, you are fabulous. Taking the steps required to even take the exam is a huge deal. After quizzing you, I believe that you are going to do great, but whatever the result tomorrow, you should be so proud of yourself. I am.

You must be the change you wish to see in the world. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

That statement is becoming commonplace, turning into a cliché, which is unfortunate because it is quite significant. It is bordering on becoming a platitude in alternative circles. I have heard it uttered many times, yet rarely focused on the deeper meaning.

A conversation I had with friends earlier this week has been simmering on the back burner of my mind and has forced me to take a closer look at Ghandi's words. Two friends of mine attended a seminar sponsored by the state extension office about encouraging people to buy local. I had wanted to attend it as well, but considering I was hosting a potluck and had a house full of people, I thought it might be bad form. When my friends got back (their children and husbands were at the potluck), we were discussing the forum.

The "buy local" movement falls into catch-22 situations all too often. The producers of local goods struggle to find the consumers who want to purchase these goods. The consumers who would like to purchase local goods do not know how to connect with the producers. Venues like farmers markets attempt to bring the two together. Fledgling markets fail too often. Why? In my opinion, it is because people fail to be the change they wish to see in the world. The producer waits sign up for the market until s/he can see how many others are participating. The result is a market with only a few pioneers brave enough to forge the way. Consumers look at the market and see only six or eight booths. They decide not to bother stopping because they assume they cannot obtain the goods they desire.

This movement can only succeed when both the producer of the local goods and the consumer of the local goods become the change they wish to see in the world. They must participate in the purchasing cycle during the infancy of local markets otherwise the local markets will not survive to become large, thriving venues.

This is why I make it a point to shop my local markets. I might go looking for beets and spinach, but walk home with leeks and peppers. It is okay. I talk with each vendor and request the beets and spinach. If they do not have any, perhaps they have some at home and will bring them next week or plant them next year because they know there is a demand. I buy the peppers and leeks because it is important to support the vendors today so that they will be back next week, next month, next year. I can put turn the leeks into soup and chop the peppers, putting both into the freezer for the dead of winter when I know they will taste so good. Others may see me shopping and decide to stop, thinking that perhaps shopping the small market is worth their while too. More money gets spent, the vendors bring more goods and encourage other producers to participate, the market grows and we miraculously have thriving "buy local" initiative.

I am not egotistical enough to think that I can singlehandedly create a successful local market, but I strongly believe that I must do my part. I must become the change I wish to see in the world. If I do not do my part, I lose the right to complain about the lack of local goods, the slim pickings at the local markets.

This is why I shop local. I might settle for something that was not what I intended to purchase, but while shopping I talk with the shopkeepers and producers of local goods, sowing seeds for the future.

Living locally is one of the changes I wish to see in the world. I will continue to do my part to make it possible. It matters.