International Day of the Midwife

International Day of the Midwife

Women everywhere around the world: remember how amazing you are. Labor is a woman's work.
xxoo

P.S. to make a long story short, this is how I have been getting out of the house and out of my head. Photographing births and working as a doula. It has been a long time coming.
 Love how life works and invites things in.
xxoo

finding things

as november came and went, i found that while the boys were at school i was spending too much time in bed. missing my mother. wondering what to do. ignoring laundry. watching dust bunnies come to life in the corners of the room. counting the minutes until i went to pick them up.

as much as i was blue, i knew i wasn't deeply depressed as i craved life too much. but i found myself lonely.  and that this loneliness was interfering with my ebb and flow of life; the how of what i wrote, and how i perceived things;  i found that my desire for a colorful life was slowly fading into forgotten and flimsy cardboard boxes. and i could see it all unfolding:

i was alice through the looking glass -an aging alice, and my wrinkles were the dancing lines of the jabberwocky; and it was there i saw that no matter what i did, one day my bones would be dust and the imprints i made on this earth would blow away with the wind.

so i knew that i needed more human interaction. the face to face kind, the laugh until your belly hurt kind, the talk too much and then sit next to each other in silence kind. but los angeles, with all of its millions of people, can be just as lonely as an empty desert plain, so it became clear to me, i would have to go out, push myself up off the couch, ease myself up out of bed and go find humanity.

(to be continued on monday, i have boys to wake up and get out of the house for school)

xxoo

write now | a fall giveaway

 I am thrilled to bits in announcing my very first giveaway. Ever!!

As many of you know, a while back I took the course Write Now with Amanda, author of the blog the Habit of Being and creative director of the literary magazine Kindred.  Amanda is not only a gifted writer, but a talented editor and teacher as well. Under her tutelage, I feel that I learned so much about my own writing, creative and otherwise, and I wish for others to have the opportunity to work with her as well. This is why I am giving a way one spot for her upcoming course of Write Now which begins October 21st. This is the last one that will be offered until after the New Year.

I want reiterate, that I took the course out of a longing, not to become a "Writer," but to deepen my practice of writing/journaling/blogging in hopes of finding avenues to creatively stretch myself; that wish was oh-so fulfilled! However, what I find ever so wonderful about having taken the Write Now course, is that amidst all the hustle of three boys and their busy fall scheduling, I am still finding time to write; time to scrape out words across paper, journal a bit of my feelings, and work out matters of the heart and longings of the soul.

Don't be intimidated. Don't think this is a course where the teacher will pull you up in front of class to mock your essay or jest at your words.  Instead, think of it as a place where you can safely try putting some of your thoughts into words A place where you can safely begin a daily practice that is just for you -a space apart from your day to day.  I think of it as a place for us Creatives, us folk who are learning to tell their own story; who are trying make the intangible, tangible; who want to record the memorable, in all its glory and defeats.

To enter, is simple. Please leave a comment below stating why you would like to take this course.

If you would like to be entered a second, or a third time, (or a fourth, etc...), you have the following options: like my Facebook page, the Habit of Being's Facebook page or Anchor&Plume's FB page; you can follow Amanda on twitter @writealm; or share the giveaway on Google+, twitter, Facebook, or Instagram. Please tag one of us (or just Amanda if you are on twitter) so we can count your entry.  If you are worried we won't see your entry, please leave another comment below letting me know who/where/when/what.

If social media isn't your thing, please send me an email at pomegranateandseeds(at)gmail(dot)com and let me know you would like to be entered a second time.

update!!
++++++++change in time and date of giveaway: Entries will close at noon on October 18th, 2013, PDT(pacific daylight time), United States. The winner will be announced on October 19th. The course begins October 21st.


xxoo

Thank you to all who entered! The winner is Kim Corrigan-Oliver! xxoo

thursday wanting

in thursday wanting. in desiring of. 

of deep breaths and of weary mornings. of steep cliffs and lungs tight pulling. 

the call of the canyon below me. of divided seconds. 

of diving under ruckus waves, under the tow. 

when I want to live way out there. on the edge of the quiet. 

on the edge between the mountains and the sea. 

on the edge of wanting. of all things civilized. 

taking my cardboard house pasted with all my imagined belongings,

 folded into my pack. then treading out there ever so hushed, 

as not to disturb the chatter of rooks, the foraging deer. 

these wantings wake me up, crushed coffee bean dreams. 

a hot mug of them as i watch the harvest moon say g'night, 

passing by the hurried dawn that peeks over trees. 

hope you have some thursday wanting too. xxoo

to thine own self. be true

Of objects left behind.
Remnants of the aged;
abandoned under blackened bridges,
lone encampments lost under the soot of covered archways.
Fleeing from the dying gasps of dreams.

Forgotten by children,
Cast aside by lovers.

We gather them up,
tripping through the junkyard of base plans.

We take apart, with hammer,
             with nail, with pen,
                                  and brush,
 the dilapidated, the makeshift, the weak,
the worm-worn wood, gray-eyed with age.

We gather them then,
sliding them back
into our frayed jackets,
our threadbare pockets,
the holes knotted closed,

and hearts shut tight.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I suspect that no-one finds this assembled army of animals as beautiful as I do. It is silly really, but I stepped outside the other day, and I found my heart tugged upon by their stillness. So I grabbed my camera and took photos of them. To me, I saw something there in their forgotten-ness, in their loneliness. They seemed to be of some sort of forgotten plan. So I took the photos for me, my own stillness, for those moments when I see something that strikes my heart.

I was also so moved to take a course recently, called Write Now.

I have to say I loved it.

Perhaps because I took it indulgently (just for me) or perhaps because I have some unrequited deep desire to write more, I found it incredibly helpful and engaging.  It also gave me something more important: the affirmation of the soul's longing to tell one's own story, to sing one's own song. The beauty of the Write Now course is/was that I didn't ever have to ever aspire to be more than just who I am; never more than who any of us are called to be.

So I am thinking of these things this Tuesday. Of things I do, that are just for me, that end up being fruitful, engaging and soul-filled..such as linking up with bedsidesign for foliophoto.  xxoo

(Here is the link if you are interested in finding out more about Write Now.  The next course starts September 30th.)  xxoo

guest post today. The Growing on Rose Runs Wild

Some of you may know that I love to write. I love to write. And I love to take photos, loads of photos. SO when Nicole asked me to guest post on her blog, RoseRunsWild, I was over the moon! Yet another chance to write, and play with photographs!

My post is one in a series on growing up, growing older, and growing on. It is called the Growing, and I have found that all the wonderful woman who have contributed thus far to the series have unique and beautiful voices. I would of course LOVE it if you clicked through to my post here, but especially encourage you to check out the other voices there as well. (including Nicole's very awesome posts !)

As always, let me know what you think. xxoo

midweek messiness :: paths and flowers strewn

Before you can blink your eye, midweek will leave us and the sweet slide to the weekend begins. This weekend is a long holiday weekend here, and an unofficial start of sorts to the joys of summer. There are grills to be turned on, campfires to be made and tents to be set up. Most of this, for us, will be done in our yard.

midweek messy :: finding flowers & reclaiming one's self

In finding these flowers, laying them out on the table, cutting off their ends and finding the perfect glass jar to put them in, I began to reflect on things I do that are for me, and things I do that are for others. I love gathering flowers on a weekly basis. I feel like it is a small gift Lou at LittleGreenShed has given me. (this week's theme pink). But somedays I need a bit more, something that feeds my soul daily. Somedays I just do. So in these cast out hours, small snippets of time, I think we often are trying to figure out who we are and what we are doing on this small earth. Is there something out there that you have found that nourishes who you are? Is it breathing deeply in bed before sleep? Walking, running in a neighborhood before dawn? Is it pruning your garden, pulling out weeds all by your self in the hot pouring sun? 

eating well, living well, sustaining

I have a bit of a crush on preserving and canning now. This past weekend I fell in love with all those fresh vegetables and fruit, CSA harvested, brought in by caring hands and artfully made into something we can have with us, in our cupboards, throughout the year. There was something very soothing in using these foods, bringing out their flavors, knowing that will not be thrown out. I felt as if we were making little treasures for ourselves, little presents to look forward to in the {near} future. 

the Wanting and the Desire (of Good Food)

There are moments when I am hungry. There are moments when I am not. But when I am Hungry... I really EaT & eat.
It started this morning. A low grumble in my stomach that stretched up to my throat and then back down to my toes. It made me tired. It made me thirsty. I became restless, unable to get rid of the scratchy feeing on my skin. I needed to fill myself up. I needed to eat. And not just eat the quick leftovers from the boys plates and the last sips from their cereal bowls. I needed something hearty. So I made myself breakfast, which for me is a feat that is usually unheard of.  Normally I am too busy, and not that all hungry, I am over-fueled by busy boys and pressed coffee to eat in the morning, so it surprised me when I fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal and added blueberries and brown sugar. Maybe I am fighting a cold, maybe I needed the fuel, maybe I needed some sort of blue, blue berry anti-oxident mix fighting power.

However, several hours later I sat down to lunch. Which, I didn't really think about the fact that I was eating breakfast AND lunch within such a short time frame, UNTIL I fixed myself a bowl of yoghurt and cereal shortly there after.  I try to always be gentle with myself when I am in one of these unnoticeable feedings. When I do stop to notice that I am over grazing I try not to beat myself up for overconsumption, instead I try to understand the reason behind it.  Today, perhaps my hunger is triggered by the gray clouds and cool winds visiting the sky. Perhaps it is because I really don't want to fold the laundry. Or clean the kitchen. Perhaps I would rather add to the collection of dishes in the sink. It could even be that I am just hungrier than normal. 

When I think of my relationship to food, I believe that for the most part is a healthy one. When I was younger, it was not so healthy. I didn't understand that food could be a joyful explosion of flavors and heart-stopping delight. I was trapped into a mind state that not only was food strictly for nourishment, but that it was a demon to be wrestled with. The old adage that our grandmothers' used to say, "a moment on the lips, forever on the hips" haunted me. It haunted my mother, it haunted my mother's friends. When I was a young girl that seemed that the only thing that some of my mother's friends would talk about was their weight. My mother engaged in this warfare with food as well. She did not love her body. Aware of this at a young age,  I took upon my mantle this same demon of self-deprication and insecurities when it came to food and my body.  From the time I was a teenager I held the flavor of food at arms length and became obsessed with calories and fat intake rather than the quality of food. I hunted for the perfect solution for what I saw as my imperfect & unloveable body: would it be low-fat/high carb? Or fruit only? no calories? too many calories? How much exercise could justify one extra slice of pizza? I was trapped in swirling negative thoughts about my self and the core of my being so that I truly put off living, waiting for that day when I was more beautiful, thinner, attractive, then and only then I could be happier, have a boyfriend, wear a swimsuit, live life the way I wanted to live it.

But now, so many years later, and many many therapists' bills later, I am more at peace with my body than I ever have before. Maybe it is not a peace, perhaps it is a reconciliation of who I am and who I know I am not.
There are many pieces to the puzzle that have healed my loathing and fear of food. Traveling to France; understanding the stigma of beauty; reading, reading, reading tomes of literature on food, desire, eating, and love; birthing babies; breastfeeding. Perhaps one above all others is a deep understanding that my body is happier when I eat when I am hungry and stop when I am full. 
This mantra has led me to become a pickier eater. I don't just want food, I desire GOOD food. Acknowledging the huger in my body for quality, delicious food, allowed me to acknowledge my own hunger: not just my physical hunger, but my spiritual hunger as well.

I stopped eating when I wasn't hungry, because I allowed myself to eat when I WAS hungry.  I slowly stopped beating myself up when I gained weight...so much so that I lost weight.  I fell head over heals in love...with Food. And as time went by, I fell in love, head over heals, with N. And as time went on, there were 3 boys to fall head over heals in love with as well.
From time to time, I still struggle with my self image. Especially in times of vulnerability...but I know that my want and desire for good food is not something to be feared, it is not a demon to be wrestled with. Instead it is a very human, very real emotion. And sometimes in moments of unnoticeable feedings, I am able to set the fork down and emotionally walk away from food and all its glory, because I know it will still be there when I come back.

 I am so lucky to be as much at peace with my body as I am. And if you, out there somewhere, struggle with the fear of food, and the weight of unmanageable self hatred, I hope that I can share some of my own peace, even only if it is a spec of a grain of self worth and contentment. Because if you hold onto it and carry it in your pocket, carry it in your soul, I know that someday it will grow into a mountain of self confidence and self worth.

          XXOO

Love Notes & Such (and other sweet things)

love notes and such.


Valentine's Day was yesterday. And I was so lucky to have little men in my life who adore the holiday. They love the candy, the cards from friends, cooking up messes and sweet notes hidden under pillows. The Youngest and I made cake, then we helped everyone eat it. I also was in my Youngest's classroom and I could see, first hand all the giggling and excitement as they rolled around, giddy with the chance to celebrate sugar (and love).  As I was working with a few children on the floor, several of the girls flopped down next to me. Oblivious to my presence they were in a heated debate about who, in the classroom, they would draw a picture of and who, among these, they would draw as Fat. I was surprised, yet not. Rather than be upset about the messages they must have already heard as 6 year olds, I wrote a letter instead.

So here is a little note of love to all the daughters in this world. To all of them as they inherit this world along side my boys.

Dear Sweet Daughter,

I want you to know, first off, how much you are loved and how important you are in this world. As you walk out our front door onto the streets and in and out of school and on into your life, you will love a thousand times over. You will feel happiness and love and sorrow and anger. Over the years of your life you will watch the world change in ways I could not even imagine. You will weep when children lose their lives and you will dance when you see absolute moments of pure joy and dauntless acts of love. You will hold dreams so dear to your heart that it will feel that all the world will shatter into a million bits if they don't come to fruition. And perhaps, someday, you will hold your own child in your arms and know that there is nothing as sweet and lovely as the breathe of a newborn baby sleeping soundly in your arms. There are so many paths you will walk that I cannot imagine all of them for you. But I want you to have this one gift. This one gift to place under your pillow at night and to keep on the shelf of your heart as you walk through your day. The one gift is the knowledge of just how perfect you are.

I want you to know this. I want you to know that who you are and how this Earth formed you, and then placed you to walk upon this world, is absolutely perfect. You are perfect. Your body is perfect. Your heart is perfect and the way you love is perfect.

I am not saying don't ever change and grow. I am not saying don't ever listen to the counsel of wise and generous friends when they know you are not being true to yourself, or that you are being unkind. But I want you to know that this Earth formed you to BE just as a young girl is, which is to BE. And, when you are older, you will be a woman, and even then, after all the way your body has changed and grown, you will still BE just as perfect as you are now. I want you to know this because as you make your way in the world, when you walk out the front door, there are many people in world who are going to tell you that you aren't. That you aren't perfect because your Body is not perfect. That your Body is not perfect and that you can't do all things you imagined wanting to be and hoping to do in this world, because your body doesn't look the way others want it to look. It is so very easy for your own inner voice, that was once dauntless and loving to so many others, to begin dissecting your own physical beauty, and lay worthless your own value and the intrinsic part you have in this world.

So please, don't waste needless energy and hours tearing apart the body you have. Love it and appreciate it for what it is. And march forward in your day, in your life with the knowledge, that the Earth formed you to inherit this world, and that is already enough weight on your shoulders.

XXOO

january is february is blahuary...

January is February is Blahuary
or Embracing Crappyness With Intention

Blahuary: A yucky time of the year accentuated by the absence of the twinkling of holiday lights and general holiday cheer. It's when things are cold, people brood, children are moody and tempers are dour. Blahuary.

Bl-ahhhh-uuuu-ary.
I often get lost in the Blahuary of January. I want to do a million and one projects, yet I feel like I have no energy and follow through. I snip and snap and pick more at the boys. They respond by acting even more rambunctious and defiant. Then I find myself whirling deep into a hole of self pity and regret.

During these times I find the pull inside my body to be filled up with something even stronger. A desire to create. To be created. I long to give birth to something, to a project, to a child. I want to give birth to something beautiful, something remolded and formed, pulled up out of the ashes of my grumpiness and woe, given new breath and light then set it to dance across the sky. Then I turn around and I find that I AM filled up! But not with the ideas and projects I want to complete nor with sweet loving clinging children. But with with sugar, and candy and wine and too many cups of tea. My body feels creaky and my jeans feel ever tighter. I feel like I want to collapse and start over but instead its another scone or cookie or crumble.

 Oh Blahuary!  I could forever more write an ode to the woes you can bring!

Yet, this year I want a different Blah in my Blahuary.

I want a different path.

I want to embrace this Blah.

I want to hold it and remember the Blah.

I want to nurture it and love it for what it is.

I want to enjoy every single morsel of sugar laden coco puffs I shove franticly into my mouth and every little slurp of the high fructose candy canes left over from the boys' stockings.
I want to remember every single moment of crusty dishes in the sink, itchy undies on my behind and the smell of unwashed socks on my boys feet.
I want to embrace the pile of laundry that looms over my head as the Mountains of Mordor had lain at the feet of Frodo.

In all of this, I must confess that I am so blessed to belong to a small group of women who periodically muster up their strength to find lovely odds and ends that they can safely and triumphantly share within our small safe "group world." It is like an email book group, that doesn't necessarily talk about books.  It is lovely, and though I have not met every single woman within our group, I care for them all deeply.

At the same time I have been working on this post, one of the women in the group, the ever beautiful and lovely genius R, shared this with all of us, "I have been feeling shitty for the better part of a month. Emotionally, physically, spiritually shitty. One of my intentions for this year has been to actually feel my feelings as they come up, so I am declaring it to you all here! I'm in the dumps! I have been not washing my hair and being generally crabby. And I've been doing an awesome job at it. This is a brag because I've been really present for my minute-to-minute shittiness lately. Yar!"  It was so so so great to read. Not just because I was working on my own Blahs, but because what she is actually doing (embracing the shit) is at the heart of what I am trying (TRYING!) to learn to do.

To Be present with all the crap. To be present with all the crap, even when it is bad and scary. To be present with it. To nurture it. & hopefully, ever hopefully, to let it go.


So here it is; the worst part of Blahuary. My belly bump. My belly bump brought on by the Blahs of Blahuary. Brought on by the lack of excersise and overindulgence in sweets and treats and things.

Looking at this bump in the mirror, I see that it sticks out, more than just a smidgen over the edge  of my jeans. A soft mushy cliff reminding me that I have not been at my best lately.
When I see it, mushing all over the place, what I want to do is this: I want to wear big baggy clothes to hide my belly bump so people won't know that I have the Blahs and a bit of extra weight around my middle. Or even worse...think or ask if I am, you know, on the "nest" so to speak. Preggers. pregnant. 

But I am not! (see indignant exclamation point) I am not pregnant! But you can't really walk around with a shirt on that says "No I am not on the Nest; Blahuary got me at my best!"(well maybe you can...but that is another project).

I have decided something. What I have decided is this: that I am not going to to hide behind my blahs and my belly. Nor am I going to hide my blahs and body and all it's baby belly blahhhh-ness.

Instead I am going to try and nurture it. And take care of it. And remember that all things come to pass and the Blahs are not forever.

                   *   *   *   *   *

Sometimes these things inevitably come back to my mother. And the grief I feel. What is so hard to do sometimes is feel the grief I feel while still being wife, mother, lover, chef, volunteer and all around general handyman. (and handle the blahs of Blahuary).

I know that the intense grief I feel for my mom's passing will not last forever.  Perhaps...perhaps maybe these Blahs and this Grief go hand in hand. I SO want my heart to stop constricting in a tight little bunch every time I think of my mom. I so really want that tightening around my heart to stop when I think of her and all the things she was in her lifetime, that I forget. I forget that what I need to do is let go of what I want and instead hold the WHAT IS more openly and lovingly. That I need to carry "what is" with pride and care, and not with shame. Carry it, cradle it. Nurture it and not deny it.


Because this is what is. Not what I necessarily want it to be, but here is what it is and I need to love it, this life, take care of it with what I got.


xxoo

our hunger, my hunger

We don't think, as women, we should ever be hungry. It makes us vulnerable. Weak. Disempowered. Fat. Un-thin. De-beautiful. 

                        But we are hungry.

                        Very hungry.

Sometimes more than others. Sometimes we wake up in the morning with such a rumbling discontent in our belly, that it is all that we can do to not eat a four course meal before our first cup of coffee.
 I think about this fact a lot.
& I think about this.
 & I keep thinking a lot about this.
I keep thinking a lot about the physical hunger we have as women.
 I keep thinking about the spiritual hunger we have as well.
 To be loved, and accepted, to be nourished, to care for someone and have that someone care for you back. I have that need, you have that need. All humans have felt it, one time or another; but I believe women carry these two things in their heart heavier than men: this physical hunger and this spiritual hunger.

I don't mean to be a sexist, but I have just observed, since I was quite young, that when things go wrong for us as women, as young girls, as young ladies, we tend to blame our outside physical selves than really trying to understand what someone might be saying or doing. I keep thinking about this blame and shame we place on our bodies and how it keeps us, keeps our daughters and our sisters, from learning to hunger for more than just crumbs. I keep thinking that the shame we place on our own bodies keeps our young girls from wanting more than just being thin. Our daughters want what we want: to be loved and affirmed, to feel pretty and and to be thin. It is only after this first desire that other desires become known or even feel possible. The dream to be one's self becomes secondary, "skinny" trumps all.  It is like a dance, first thin, then smart;  first thin, then President; first thin and then a novelist, or a scientist, or a dancer, or a lover, or a mother. However, our daughters are our reflecting pools & I keep thinking that they want "to be thin" because we want it for Us AND for Them. As a collective body of women, we place this expectation on them from our own systems of belief: that to be someone in this world, to be loved, to have dreams, to "have it all", we believe that first we have to be thin. And this "must be thin" keeps us from knowing our hunger. Keeps us from knowing our hunger and accepting our hunger and loving the craving deep inside for more. The belief that "we have to be thin" keeps us from our own true hunger.

 I keep thinking that for some in this world to be hungry is famine & death; and for others, to be hungry is to be out of control, not wanted, rejected. I keep thinking about this.

I keep thinking about a young girl I recently encountered in one of my sons' classes. I was in his classroom before Winter Break started and the children were having a pizza party to celebrate. I was setting up a holiday craft to do after lunch. All the children were wild and happy and sweaty with the thought of two weeks of freedom.  This young lady in G's class, lets call her Z, she seems to be quite sweet and smart. I see Z clearly gets along well other children, even with my G, who can be surly and obstinate with members of the opposite sex. Z seems well adjusted.  She seems happy. Then I asked some of the children how the pizza was and everyone at my son's table had something to say. Some of them shouted out that they had eaten 3 or 4 slices or that it was soooo good, or how they love pizza.  Yet this girl said to me, "I didn't eat breakfast so I am having a second slice." I keep thinking about her. I keep thinking about what she said. I keep thinking, wondering, why she felt she had to justify her eating to me? To me? A random mom at a random time in her life. And at that moment it didn't matter if she was smart, or pretty or fat or round or even if she was thin, at that moment, however brief or strong it was inside of her, she felt shame about her hunger. I keep thinking about her, that it didn't really matter whether or not she had actually eaten breakfast. Because it didn't really matter.  Her stigma of herself kept her from enjoying her second slice of pizza. I keep thinking about her shame, how it must carry in her heart. She feels that she is different, because Z, somewhere in her heart, sweet young Z sets herself apart from the other children. She sets herself apart, whether it comes from home, or comes from school, or the doctor, she says to herself: "They can enjoy the pizza, I cannot."

I keep thinking about her. And all the ways I wished I could have made it right. I keep thinking about how, in all those tiny moments and all those tiny ways we, we as women, put ourselves down. How we set ourselves apart from the crowd.  Say to ourselves: You are not worthy of that piece of cake, or that second slice of pizza, or that french toast. Your hunger is shameful and doesn't count. I keep thinking about this because I keep thinking about Z.  I keep wondering how, in the small fraction of a moment caught in time, I could have shown her that she should love herself and not be afraid to Hunger, not to be afraid to be hungry. That she, sweet smart Z, was worth more than the crumbs she felt she had to justify. 

I believe that feeling hungry is a part of what it means to be human; and to deny that we have "hunger"  is to deny part of our humanity and to deny our rightful place in this world.

I keep thinking about it.