My First Haiku - Thanks Operation Nice!

Melissa over at Operation Nice is having a contest - she's giving away a lovely teacup with a tea-inspired haiku inscribed on the side.

Inspired, I decided to write my first haiku. However, Baloo has other ideas. My (haiku) future's so bright, I have to wear shades!

I dream of haiku

but the dog stares, relentless

"take me outside, NOW"

Dancing Rabbit: Demonstrating Daily That Change is Possible

Currently appearing in the February issue of Prairie Fire: The Progressive Voice of the Great Plains is an article on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage. Read it by clicking here.

(Baloo remains unimpressed)

Today's Decision: Drive a Hummer or Surf Facebook (see #29)

Photo Credit: Huey2006 on Flickr

So today Sparky left for an extended trip west. Not only will we (me, Kurt, Baloo and Fionn) miss her, her comments and her insights, I will also miss her help. She is really the one who keeps this household running while Kurt builds the Mercantile and I run around like a, uh, crazy woman with no impulse control or a to-do list. By the time I had one brief meeting with Innkeeper Amy and washed the dishes, it was 3:00 p.m. So I gave up, and went surfing on Facebook.

I don't really like Facebook. It seems vaguely creepy, and voyeuristic, and kind of, well, icky. Why not just email your friends directly, or better yet, call them? Or if they are here at Dancing Rabbit, how about walking 20 yards for a face-to-face? I feel like I shouldn't be reading the comments to posts - shouldn't they be private? Facebook offends my delicate sensibilities.

But I'm hooked. I can't stay away. Like watching a train wreck or an interpersonal mediation gone horribly awry, I keep peeking between the fingers covering my eyes. And after reading several of the (very cleverly done) "25 Things" by friends, I decided to try it myself. Way back at the back of the curve (the New York Times did a story on 2/4) I am leaping in just as the wave is leaving the shore for parts unknown.

So, without further ado, 25 oh-so-fascinating Random Things about Moi.

1. My parents met at a club for tall people called Golden Gate Tip Toppers. Really. He was 7' tall, she was 6'.
2. During my childhood we had a standard poodle, and the kitchen counters were 3” higher than “normal.” That made everyone and everything in our house tall.
3. The first concert I attended was John Denver at the San Francisco Civic Auditorium in 1973. I was 16 and it was far-out, man.
4. I used to think I didn’t like cats much until one adopted me.
5. I am messy but love to be able to find things – a puzzling dichotomy. This leads us to…
6. My favorite quote is from A.A. Milne: “One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.” For example, when money falls out of my pockets, I just leave it there as a fun surprise for myself when I (eventually) vacuum.
7. I have my own special brand of interpretive dance. If it were ever taken seriously, I would be horrified.
8. When I turned 12 (in 1969) I asked for the Beatles White Album and “Hair.” As I had been thinking about the songs “Rocky Raccoon” and “Oh Bla Di Bla Da” I was rather surprised by John Lennon’s growling rendition of “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road.” Additionally, expecting the sunny, wholesome Cowsills, I received instead the Broadway Cast Recording of “Hair.” I was briefly stunned (and dictionary-bound) with songs like “Sodomy.” My adolescence had officially begun!
9. I have backpacked all over the Sierra Nevada mountains – some of my favorite places are in John Muir Wilderness and near Clair Tappan Lodge, where Kurt and I met.
10. I am from the San Francisco Bay Area. Don’t call it “Frisco.’
11. I grew up in a tract home built in the 50’s. There were 4 different models – if you’d been in one of each, you pretty much knew what everyone else’s house looked like inside. I always wanted a house with stairs and dormers.
12. I love to speak in microphones, whether or not I have anything to say.
13. I enjoy stupid jokes, especially knock-knock jokes and bad puns.
14. I love to read. LOVE. TO. READ. Since January 1, 2009 I have read 11 books (this is in my “spare” time). Best this year: the lyrical and lovely “The Solace of Leaving Early” by Haven Kimmel.
15. I often pretend to speak French. This only works if no one else in the vicinity can actually speak it.
16. Words like odious, anemone, bilious, discombobulate, ennui, futilitarian, jejune and lugubrious make me happy, although I seldom use them.
17. Indecisiveness makes me stark raving mad. Just do something already!
18. During the huge (1989) San Francisco Loma Prieta earthquake, I was in the bathroom at work and thought it was simply a plumbing problem. This may have been taking “blasé Native Californian” a bit too far.
19. I have never, ever, ever, been bored.
20. I am and ENFP (Meyers Briggs Personality Indicator), an Orange brain (Sheila Glaznov’s What Color is Your Briain), a Cancer/Gemini cusp, and a 7 in the Enneagram (“Sevens are playful, high-spirited, and practical, they can also misapply their many talents, becoming over-extended, scattered, and undisciplined. They constantly seek new and exciting experiences, but can become distracted and exhausted by staying on the go. They typically have problems with impatience and impulsiveness.”) Hmmmmm...
21. Men who I will happily watch read or sing the phone book: David Straithairn, Lyle Lovett, Ed Harris, Samuel L. Jackson, Tommy Lee Jones, Sean Connery, the late Richard Farnsworth , Don Cheadle, William H. Macy, Kurt Kessner and Hugh “love those abs” Jackman.
22. I am a terrible traveler (i.e.: cranky, whiny, twitchy and generally quite horrible) – Kurt has promised that we can go anywhere in the world, as long as he can just meet me there.
23. My (private) Life List is about ¾ complete.
24. I really enjoy being 51, in spite of the thighs, and am quite delighted with where my life has taken me.
25. I love Brussels sprouts, sour cream, gorgonzola cheese, pain au chocolat, tarte tatin and Dr. Pepper. But not together.

Bonus Facts:
26. I am a part of a Green Mom's Blog Carnival even though I am not really a "mom." However, I believe that "Mother Earth" counts. We just won a Shorty award for best green content on Twitter. Go us!
27. I am an orphan. I am simultaneously relieved, saddened, lonely and apathetic about this status.
28. I have three of the most fabulous nieces ever. Look out world, the Anderson girls are coming.
29. Sometimes I get really, really tired of launching an ethical green business. I have a secret desire to chuck it all, buy a Hummer, sell items made in China by slave children, and eat non-organic, trans-fat laden, plastic-wrapped junk food. But then I come to my senses.
30. In case you didn't know, I live in an all off-grid, strawbale house, where we collect rainwater for cooking and bathing. However, I hardly ever sing Kumbya.
31. Our house has phones; DSL; two laptops; a microwave, a convection and a conventional gas oven; running water, 2 sinks, a big luxurious bathtub and a shower, a studio for me and an office for Kurt, lots of compact florescent lightbulbs, one dog and a cat (who masquerade as a herd of elephants).

In Defense of Prozac

A few days ago someone whose blog I respect and read almost daily Twittered a question: “Does anyone know how long it takes for SSRI’s to kick in?” SSRI, an acronym for Selective Seratonin Reuptake Inhibitors is a group of anti-depressants that includes Prozac.

A few years ago I had an experience that affected me profoundly, and I swore that if I ever had the opportunity to speak up for anti-depressants, I would. In my second summer here at Dancing Rabbit (2000) we had a spectacular group of interns. Ranging in age from 19 to about 26, they were enthusiastic, intelligent, and an inspiration. One of the brightest stars was Minna – with a dazzling smile, a zest for life and an infectious laugh, she was an absolute delight. When the summer ended the group of interns went their various ways; Minna went back to Stanford to complete her degree.

In July of 2001 Kurt and I were leading a hiking trip at the Sierra Club’s Clare Tappan Lodge in northern California. One afternoon we walked into the great room and there on table was the latest edition of the San Francisco Chronicle, with headlines screaming about a search for a missing Stanford coed. The accompanying photo showed an effervescent blond with a gorgeous smile – it was Minna. She was found three weeks later, hanging from a tree in a secluded wooded area. Like many of those who knew her, I felt like I had failed her. If I been more candid and honest about my own struggle with depression would she have been able to hear it? Would she have gotten the help that might have saved her life? I will never know, and carry the guilt and shame of that with me always.

My experience: In 1990 I found myself desperately searching for reasons to live. This sounds incredibly melodramatic; it felt incredibly awful. This feeling was particularly strong when driving. On the freeway (I was living in Berkeley and commuting to San Francisco and Hayward – I spent half of my time on one freeway or another) I would have to concentrate in order to not drive into the concrete abutments holding up the over passes; when taking the exit for highway 24, which rose high above the massive interchange and had a tight left curve, it was all I could do to turn the wheel instead of allowing myself and my white bug convertible to go sailing off the side. I could not think of reasons to get up in the morning, I couldn’t think of anyone who liked me. None of it made sense logically – messages from friends were piling up on my answering machine, I had a full social schedule and a job I enjoyed. It was very frightening, as my nature is naturally sunny and optimistic.

Depression wasn’t talked about much then. It was still discussed in whispers, with a kind of knowing look accompanied by eye-rolling; “too bad about XX’ and “why don’t they just snap out of it.”

About the same time my therapist put me on Prozac I found the book Darkness Visible, A Memoir of Madness by William Styron. The two of them saved my life.

"A meditation on Styron's ( Sophie's Choice ) serious depression at the age of 60, this essay evokes with detachment and dignity the months-long turmoil whose symptoms included the novelist's "dank joylessness," insomnia…and his persistent "fantasies of self-destruction" leading to psychiatric treatment and hospitalization. The book's virtues--considerable--are twofold. First, it is a pitiless and chastened record of a nearly fatal human trial far commoner than assumed--and then a literary discourse on the ways and means of our cultural discontents, observed in the figures of poet Randall Jarrell, activist Abbie Hoffman, writer Albert Camus and others. Written by one whose book-learning proves a match for his misery, the memoir travels fastidiously over perilous ground, receiving intimations of mortality and reckoning delicately with them. Always clarifying his demons, never succumbing to them in his prose, Styron's neat, tight narrative carries the bemusement of the worldly wise suddenly set off-course--and the hard-won wisdom therein. In abridged form, the essay first appeared in Vanity Fair." ~ The Publisher’s Weekly review on Amazon

One of the worst parts of depression, at least for me, is the sheer incomprehensibility of it for others. When I wasn’t actively wanting to die, I simply wanted to go away, to not exist. It was all too much work, and far too painful. Styron’s book helped me feel a bit more normal and less psychotic (although I hated the subtitle, A Memoir of Madness). It gave me reference points, a reality check, and let me know that things really would get better.

Therapy, a lot of work, kindness from friends and loved ones all contributed to my recovery. I have come to understand that life is a series of ups and downs, and I no longer fear the downs – I know that I will come through them just fine. And I continue to take Prozac.

I do not consider Prozac a crutch, a moral weakness or a sign of a lack of character. If my brain needs more seratonin then I am going to take it, much like I would take insulin if I were diabetic, or iron if I were deficient. I do not take Prozac to be “happy.” I take it so that I can be alive and function and so that I can work on what is causing me distress.

Also recommended: Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression edited by Nell Casey. (Can you tell I'm a reader, and that I learn a lot about my world through the words of others?)

"A reader on melancholy," the editor calls this book: a collection of 22 modern essays about depression by writers (several well known) who know their subject intimately. Some face depression as a sudden interruption of a previously gratifying life; others have never known life without it. Their words wrestle to express their vision, their gloom, their attempts to cope, their interactions, their isolation, and, often, their reactions to medications. Some attempt to analyze their depression; others just want you to know what it's like. Besides the essays by writers who have experienced depression firsthand, editor Nell Casey (also a writer of one of the chapters) includes a few essays by their spouses and siblings about what it was like to live with a person suffering from depression. As a whole, the collection is a valuable contribution to the field of depression studies, and will lend some insight and cheer to those struggling with this little-understood condition." ~Review on Amazon

Friends, if you are depressed, go see a therapist, and inquire about anti-depressants. You are important, you matter, you have a whole life ahead of you in which to contribute, and we don’t want to do it without you. If I can help you in any way, please don’t hesitate to contact me.

I'll Have A Big Bowl of Sugar and Salt, Please!

NOTE: Great Granola recipe at the end of this post!

I subscribe to the Wall Street Journal (along with the weekly Memphis Democrat – what a contrast!). I get it mostly to keep up with the world; I will probably switch to the NY Times when this subscription runs out. Anyway, I usually skim the front section, skip over the investment section and read the “Personal Journal” front to back. Kind of my version of Wall Street Journal, Light. Which is just a long way of saying that while I read every single book review, author interview and play review, I miss a lot of other, more "serious" stuff.

On Sunday morning, taking a break from the nutritious, high-fiber oatmeal (organic thick rolled oats with apple chunks, sunflower seeds and raisins) I was frying up some bacon to go with our Sandhill eggs. I pulled a stack of newspaper from the recycling on which to drain the grease (no paper towels in this house) and had to find another page when, drippy bacon poised to land, I read the headline that I was about to obliterate: “Kids’ Cereals Saltier, Report Says.” I dumped the bacon on the Dow Jones report and read this:

“Cereal makers that reduce the amount of sugar in kids' cereals tend to ratchet up the salt content to improve flavor, says a report expected to be released Tuesday by Consumers International.

Cereal makers have been under pressure from consumer groups to reduce the sugar content of their kids' cereals, and Consumers International, in its report, "Cereal Offenses," says "manufacturers are likely to add salt to boost the flavor of the product, and may use salt to maintain customer appeal when sugar levels are reduced."

The London-based organization, an umbrella group representing 220 consumer groups globally, focused on products made by two of the world's largest makers of cereal for children, Nestlé SA of Vevey, Switzerland, and Kellogg Co., Battle Creek, Mich. The group defined children's cereals as those that feature cartoon characters on the packaging, are endorsed by celebrities popular with kids and are advertised on kids' television programming.

A sampling of 100 grams of Kellogg's Frosties Reduced Sugar cereal sold in various countries contains, on average, 25% sugar and 1.5% salt -- more salt than is normally found in potato chips.

Last year, after two advocacy groups -- the Center for Science in the Public Interest and the Campaign for Commercial-Free Childhood -- threatened to sue Kellogg for marketing sugary products to young children, Kellogg said it would reformulate certain products. For those products that it couldn't get to taste as good through reformulation, Kellogg said it would simply stop advertising to kids under the age of 12 as of 2009.

Kellogg so far has reformulated its Froot Loops, Corn Pops, Rice Krispies, Cocoa Krispies and Apple Jacks cereals. The new formulas began hitting store shelves in June.

The report also takes aim at the overall sugar content of cereals, saying that in many cases, children's cereals contain more than twice the amount considered high by the U.K.'s Food Standards Agency. Nesquik cereal, for example, is made up of 36% sugar, on average -- a higher level than what is found in an equivalent amount of ice cream, Consumers International claims.”

So let's review. When pressured to lessen the sugar content of cereal aimed at children, manufacturers (i.e. Kellogg's, who I just praised here the other day) simply added more salt, sometimes the equivelent to that in potato chips. Additionally, some cereals are as much as 36% sugar, the same amount that is found in ice cream. Who ARE these people? And why are we buying food from them?

Except for a general sense of horror, there is not much for me to add here. However, I am closing with my favorite recipe for home made granola. It is absolutely astounding. The original recipe called for brown sugar but I found that by substituting brown rice syrup I could lower the glycemic index. It might take awhile for kids to get used to the “less sweet” taste, but with dried fruit (raisins, cherries, pears) they might never miss it. Is it as sweet as Froot Loops? Nope. But it won’t make your teeth fall out either. Enjoy!

The BEST Granola EVER
Yield: about 8 cups

3 cups quick oats
2 cups oat flour (if you can't find oat flour you can easily make it yourself by grinding oats in a food processor)
3 cups coarsely chopped raw nuts and/or seeds (I usually use a mixture of almonds, sunflower seeds, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds and coconut, but use whatever tickles your fancy)
1 cup brown rice syrup or agave nectar (the original recipe called for packed brown sugar, which is delicious, but much higher on the glycemic index)
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter (for a vegan version, use Earth Balance Buttery Spread)
1/4 cup water
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

Preheat the oven to 300F.

• In a large bowl, combine the oats, oat flour, nuts and seeds.
• In a microwave-safe bowl (or in a saucepan over medium heat), combine the brown rice syrup (or brown sugar), butter and water and heat just until the butter has melted and the mixture is bubbly.
• Stir everything together until smooth, then stir in the salt, vanilla and spices.
• Pour this mixture over the oats and nuts, stirring everything well to coat.
• Let stand for about ten minutes.
• Spread the mixture out on a large baking sheet, separating it into irregular clumps with your fingers, and allowing space between the clumps for the hot air to circulate.
• Slide into the middle of the oven and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until the top is golden brown.
• Remove from the oven and stir, gently breaking up the mixture into small-to-medium sized clumps.
• Return to the oven and bake another 15 minutes or so before stirring again.
• Repeat the bake-and-stir until the mixture is a uniform golden brown and completely dry; this usually takes 1-1 1/2 hours.
• Cool completely, then stir in any dried dried fruit you want to use.
• Store in a covered container at room temperature.

A few notes on this recipe: This recipe is a version of The Lip Lady's Granola, published on Melissa Kronenthal's marvelous blog The Traveler's Lunchbox. She had this to say about the ingredients: "Okay, so what exactly makes this granola different? I'm no kitchen scientist, but I can point out the things that seem to have the biggest impact. One thing is the addition of oat flour, which helps the grains and nuts stick together into those much-coveted clusters. Another is the use of sugar; as much I like liquid sweeteners like honey and maple syrup, they seem to produce a tougher, chewier granola. Finally, the right kind of oats are essential. For years I only baked with regular rolled ('old fashioned') oats because that's what recipes called for, but as soon as I switched to the smaller, thinner 'quick oats', the changes were remarkable - clusters formed, everything baked faster, and the texture became exquisitely light and crunchy. If you can't find quick oats where you live - and I have lived in a few places where oats come in one variety only - here's what I would do: pulse rolled oats in a food processor a few times to break them down to about half their original size. It won't be exactly the same but it will come close."

Farm Fresh Eggs, or, What Eggs Should Look Like!

Sunny side up at the Milkweeds'

Hooeeeee! Lookeee here at these eggs!

Fresh from our friends at Sandhill Farm, the deep orange yolks practically stand up and shout "Good Morning!!!" We pick up two dozen each Tuesday when we have our weekly potluck dinner with Sandhill and Red Earth Farms. At $3 a dozen they're a bargain at twice the price.

Photo credit: ScrapPile on Flickr

Michael, who is the chicken man at Sandhill, is very dear about the whole thing. He explained that one can pretty much tell what the weather has been the previous week by the color of the yolks. If they're deep orange, then the chickens have been outside, pecking in the soil and eating all kinds of little bugs and worms. If the yolks are pale and pasty (as most grocery store eggs are) the birds have been inside, or at least while outside have not able to penetrate the snow or frozen ground, and have been eating mostly grain. Another interesting thing about farm eggs is that the shells are really HARD - one has to really whack 'em to crack 'em. And if you're craving hard-cooked eggs (ummmm, deviled eggs, or egg salad), try and find some that are at least two weeks out of the chicken. Fresh eggs, when hard cooked, are nearly impossible to peel - the white sticks determinedly to the shell.

Can't wait 'til we can have our own chickens - hopefully in 2010 - first, we have to finish the Milkweed Mercantile and get it open. We wouldn't want to count our chickens before they hatch or anything!

Ya Gotta See This...

I'm a transplant to the Midwest. The transplanting has taken, mostly. My roots are starting to suck up nourishment from here in the middle instead of over on the left coast, although I will always lean to the left, just a little bit.

All this to say that sometimes I really miss the Bay Area.

I read a blog called I'm Mad and I Eat. The author, who is based in Marin County and married to one of my favorite San Francisco columnists, haunts all of the same food places I did, and grows things in her backyard that do not grow here in Missouri (Meyer Lemons, anyone?). She writes in the most beautifully succinct, spare-yet-elegant style and often has me shouting "right on, sister!" here in my chair because she despises George W. Bush as much as I do, and is fabulously snarky in just the right way. I only read it when I'm feeling strong, however, because the waves of homesickness wash over me like a great tsunami. When I checked in today, I laughed out loud. (NOTE: I was unable to link to the exact post, so scroll down to Tuesday, November 21st)

Enjoy!