Gratitude - a never ending list, or, further reasons that life at Dancing Rabbit does not suck

The other day I was feeling a bit discouraged. I knew my problem wasn't "real" but was instead a reflection of what I was thinking. Quite frankly, I was having a case of Bad Attitude, so I went online and did a search for "living abundantly." What I found was a blog post suggesting that I go onto my Facebook page and post the following:

Hi friends - I’m in the mood for gratitude. You tell me something that you’re grateful for today and I’ll match it with one of mine.

What happened was astounding. (You can read what my marvelous friends wrote at the bottom of this post). It inspired me out of my slump and got me thinking about my never-ending list of gratitude. Here is just the start!

The beginning of a long list of that for which I am grateful (in no particular order):

1. Being raised as a reader. I had my own library card by the time I was 7, and we went to the library regularly. By the time I got to high school and my dad had meetings every Wednesday evening we’d have “bring a book to dinner” night. Reading remains my  entertainment, my escape, my university, my solace. More about my book obsession here.

2. Glasses. Sometimes, usually when watching a period movie, I try to imagine what it would be like to not be able to see well. As much as I hate the smudges and general annoyance, I’m grateful.

3. Being comfortable outdoors. I had the opportunity to go to “sleep over” camp beginning when I was a Brownie. I loved it. The campfire songs, the clean air, the sheer fun. But the best of all was comfort gained sleeping outside instead of hiding in a tent. Oh, the stars!

4. Seasons. In the winter, when it snows and the flakes landing land on my sleeves look just like the ones I'd cut out of carefully folded paper as a child in snow-less San Francisco, I realize that I love winter. Just when I am quite certain that I can’t stand another moment of the freezing cold, spring appears – the robins arrive, and green is everywhere. The last few years I’ve been making jelly from violets. Before I know it, the tomatoes are starting to ripen and we spend our days sweating. When summer seems like it has been going on forever, and even the pond is no longer cool and refreshing (it is more like old bathwater) the air crisps up, the leaves change color, and the milkweeds explode into fluffliness.

5. BLTs. With excellent bacon, Hellman’s mayo, crispy iceberg lettuce, and dark-purple acidic tomatoes. Heaven on earth.

6. Dogs. Big. Small. Young. Old.

7. Kurt. A kinder, more easy-going, generous, most-excellent companion would be impossible to find. Here’s just one example: one day, when I was whining about cramps and not wanting to do anything he said “Hey. Sit down and read a magazine. Menstruation is a full-time job.”

8. Therapy. I’d be dead, or at least more of a mess, without it. Thank you Judy for all of your help and insights!

9. Harmony. I love songs with harmony, the way the music intertwines…

10. The base part in Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way.

11. Growing up in the SF Bay Area in the 70’s. The concerts we got to see were amazing. The politics were inspiring. The schools were brand new and had great teachers. It felt like the center of the universe.

12.  Great movies and the lines that come from them. “Fasten your seat belt; it’s going to be a bumpy night” from All About Eve tops the list.

13. Fabulous names. Monu Tuiasosopo. Atticus, Jem and Scout Finch. Chili Davis. Neda Ulaby. Soraya Sarhaddi Nelson. Huckleberry Finn.
14. Memorable words. Flurry, pickle relish, salubrious, archipelago, brouhaha, reconnoiter, discombobulate, plethora...
15. Dave Brubek's Take Five
16. Peter Gabriel. Jackson Browne. Bonnie Raitt. Graham Nash. Joni Mitchell. They stole my heart in the 70's. I've never wanted it back.
17. My nieces. Three of the most amazing young women on the planet. And no, I am not biased!
18.  Modern Pharma. Say what you will; when I have a migraine headache and can be rid of it in one hour instead of three torturous, nausea- and agony-filled days because of a little pill...well, that's something that goes on my gratitude list.
19.  Nick and Nora Charles, the characters in the Thin Man movies.

20. The Sierra Nevada Mountains. They will always be home, where I feel the most comfortable, and where I know the names of all the trees, birds and flowers.
21. Being born where, when and who I was/am. I am only beginning to understand the enormous privilege that I was born with. I am healthy, white, a native Californian born to parents who owned a house, had good jobs and health insurance, who sent me to college and supported most of what I wanted to do. It is humbling when looking at the rest of the world.

22. Learning to play basketball, and playing on my junior college team. I was never very good, and certainly not aggressive enough. But I loved learning to push my body to its limits, sweating like a dog, learning skills like using peripheral vision, and getting a glimpse into hoops strategy.

23.  The books of Beverly Cleary illustrated by Louis Darling. I suspect that this is where I first fell in love with dogs.
24. People who walk their talk, live what they believe, and make the world a better place.
25. Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage and everyone who has ever visited or lived here. It is sometimes difficult to see the forest for the trees, but it is very clear to me that this is an amazing place. Everyone who comes through makes a ripple, which touches each and every one of us. And those who live here have made such an impression on me and how I live...can't imagine my life without my time at DR!


Below is the list posted by friends when I asked them what they were grateful for:

• You.
• Grateful is good
  So I am really grateful right now that the ground isn't a seeping mud pit. While I am not overly fond of cold weather, I don't like mud much either.
  
• Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage!!!
• I am more than grateful for our friends at the Milkweed Mercantile who let my sister and I come down and spend an entire evening eating, visiting, and catching up like we cannot do ANYWHERE else. Truly last thurs night was one of our best yet!! Thank you!!
• Baby tomatoes!
• laughter
• Asbestos Gelos (NOTE from Alline: I didn't know what this was, and so looked it up. SO COOL. Check it out here with Laugh Lady.)
• The support you gave me when I was so sick at DR. I still hear your words sometimes. Thank you, Alline. I am also grateful to have felt well for over 13 years!
• People who push the boundry of what's acceptable and inspire us to challenge our own beliefs and opinions.
• The Sun, which has been hiding for a few days, is out warming the world & my heart! I AM super happy & grateful!!!!
• Greatful I was able to register my kinder and get my books and audiobooks to successfully download.
• Melting snow banks and tiny patches of grass still alive and almost green underneath.
• Grateful for happy healthy grandchildren.
• I'm grateful for beautiful weather today.
• Today i am grateful for sudafed and benydral lol. I give them full credit for my ability to breathe today.
• Swimming in the sunshine
• getting the tires fixed
• Fuck yeah I want another mango! Also, thanks fruit for being fruit (let us note that this author is spending the winter months not in freezing Missouri but instead in tropical Ecuador and Costa Rica. Hence his giddy ode to tropical fruit.)
• my amazing brother
• Grateful for the growing circle of friends I have discovered since moving to this little rural community I call home!
• My kids and wife!
• Friendship
• Taking the time to finish She Got Up off the Couch today. Loved it, Alline.
• Working with my sister and my husband. Could not ask for two people I could trust and be happy to see everyday.
•  my new job!
• A new compost bin that Alexander and Grant built! (Also, all the boards they planed to finish our ceiling!!)
• great friends, great adventures, exciting future!
• my bikram yoga practice, family, friends, blue mountains, pink sunsets, my new chiro office, and a really cool dog
• My health! and my friends, both 2 and 4 legged.
• The Milkweed Mercantile and reading Alline's 48 grateful responses!!!
• I'm grateful when both feet hit the ground and I stay upright. So many of my patients tell me how they didn't know they had a stroke until they stood up, and actually only one half stood, and they fell.
• Grateful you are part of my family. love, Aunt Melba
• i am grateful for that place that offers so many the space to create, in you - that would be the way you phrase things. it's right on ...
• Cold but blue, sunny skies in Chicago.
• I am so grateful for friends who appreciate gratefulness, really! Bringing this quality out in the forefront, exercising this practice is special. You're doing it! I'm grateful!

How is your day going? And what are you grateful for?

love,
Alline

A Poem for New Year's Eve

 

A Poem for New Year's Eve

 

The two of us are older now

(ahem, much older).

Wrinkles soften the formerly taut plains of our faces

and we no longer need to be the center of attention.

We have nothing left to prove.

Our inner party animals slumber,

safe and secure in the comfort of the lumpy bodies of former wild children.

No drunken New Year’s Eve bacchanalia,

no stay-up-to-prove-you’re-having-fun for us.

Tonight, we’ll ring in the New Year together,

on the couch.

The cat,

weighing in at more than a bowling ball but (thankfully) still less than a refrigerator,

will manage to nestle between and on each of us, 

the way he likes it best.

We’ll all watch a movie;

it doesn’t matter which one.

And when 9:30 p.m. rolls around we’ll wish each other a Happy New Year,

because, in Newfoundland, it is.

Then we’ll turn off the TV, stoke the fire, and head upstairs

to sleep, and to dream

of the year ahead and of us,

and of our lives,

together. 

The "big-boned" Fionn MacCool (all delicious 13 pounds of him)

LIsten to it LOUD - This IS the day! Thanks, Vienna Teng!

Inspiration comes from all over. Sometimes it hits me over the head, sometimes it's on Facebook. Often the two are one and the same.

Here is my new favorite song. My favorite lyrics are excepted below. How can one NOT have a great day when starting off like this?

Happy listening!

Love,
Alline




...if you are afraid, give more.
if you are alive, give more now.
everybody here has seams and scars.
so what. level up.

let your faith die.
bring your wonder.
yes, you are only one.
no, it is not enough
but if you lift your eyes, I am your brother.
and this is all we need.
and this is where we start.
this is the day we greet.
this is the day, no other.

Sometimes Pecan Pie Needs a Little Kick in the, um, a Little Kick

 When our friends Bob and Angie invited us for Thanksgiving dinner, Angie said she was making a pumpkin pie but that she'd leave the pecan pie to me. Yehaw! Time for my new favorite pie!

Unfortunately, we ate half of the pie before I had time to take a photo. The other half was whisked away for the Feast of Gloria Tubman (Harriet's under-achieving younger sister), traditionally held the day after Thanksgiving and featuring all the leftovers.

Anyway, Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie comes from my new favorite cookbook, The Back in the Day Bakery Cookbook (below). How could you NOT love this book? Look at those two - they clearly love their jobs!

And with good reason. I've not yet had the opportunity to visit their bakery in Savannah, but I have tried about 1/4 of the recipes in the book, and every single one totally kicks some bakery butt.

Here's the best part - this pie is SO easy. You don't even have to roll out pie crust - you just press it into the pie plate. 

Below is the recipe. I've made a few small changes.

Bourbon Pecan Pie
Inspired by The Back in the Day Bakery Cookbook by Cheryl Day and Griffith Day.

½ cup granulated sugar
¼ cup packed light brown sugar
1 ½ cups dark corn syrup
½ tsp fine sea salt
1 ½ tsp all-purpose flour
3 large eggs
1 ½ tsp pure vanilla extract
2 Tb bourbon
1 ½ tsp butter, melted
1 ¾ cups pecan halves
½ cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 recipe Shortcut Piecrust, made with brown sugar, unbaked

1. Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. In a medium bowl, stir together both sugars, the corn syrup, salt, flour and eggs, mixing until completely combined, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in the vanilla, bourbon, and butter until well combined. Fold in the pecans and chocolate chips.
3. Pour the filling into the unbaked pie shell.. Bake for 1 hour or until the pie is firm around the edges and just a bit loose in the center.
4. Remove the pie from the oven and cool for at least 1 hour on a wire rack before slicing. It’s best served the same day, but it can be covered with plastic wrap and refrigerated for up to 3 days.

Shortcut Piecrust
Makes one 9” piecrust.
Cheryl and Griffith say “This pie crust is revolutionary. It’s a press-in crust, with no rolling or chilling required. Plus, it’s buttery and flaky and so easy to prepare.” Alline says "they're not just whistling Dixie!"

1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
¼ cup packed light brown sugar or granulated sugar
½ tsp fine sea salt
11 Tb unsalted butter, melted (1 ¾ sticks)

Mix all ingredients in a medium bowl. Press into a pie plan, trying to keep the dough as evenly thick as you can. Press it up the sides of the pie pan and make it pretty! You can't go wrong - it's kind of like play-dough that actually tastes good.

In Which My Heart Cracks Open, Just a Little Bit More...

This last year has been rough.

Lots and lots of work. Not enough sleep. More money going out than coming in. Some dependable help, some not so. Some amazingly abundant loving experiences, some depressing low points. The stuff of which life is made.

I've also been struggling about a lot of what is going on here at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage. Growing pains, wanting to support folks in whom I believe but having a hard time with some of the decisions that have been made. Feeling like a poor communitarian, wondering if we should just pack up and move on, wanting to contribute but unable to with a happy heart.

Knowing that it is all in my attitude, that I make my own reality, that I have little control over what happens but TOTAL control about how I choose to spin it in my head.

But I just couldn't get over that bump. You know, the bump that is placed in front of abundance, kindness, happiness and satisfaction. The bump that I always trip over. I kept getting stuck in the "I hate everything I see" gutter that is right in front of the bump. 

Fortunately, FINALLY, a series of events - too long and convoluted to relay here - coincided with a visit from Kurt's niece Danae, who is pretty much sunshine incarnate, to lift my spirits and help me truly SEE what is around me.

And then this video was posted on Facebook.



I can't stop watching it. I can't stop singing it as I wander around through my life. I love the girls with bouquets of kale at 1:07, the kids at 4:33, the boy in the blue shirt at 4:47 singing so earnestly. I want to invite the man who is singing at 4:35 to dinner.

And keep moving forward and start looking towards your heart

It'll open all the doors and only then you'll start

To hear the world sing in chorus with your mind and heart

Aligned in purpose everything will feel gorgeous

Thank you Nimo Patel and Daniel Nahmod. I am grateful for this song, and the music and heart that you bring into the world.


Grateful: A Love Song to the World

by Nimo Patel and Daniel Nahmod
(emphasis on the parts that I find especially moving today ~Alline)

Written and produced by Nimo Patel and Daniel Nahmod - See more at: http://www.karmatube.org/videos.php?id=4460#sthash.404QwDFA.TxZl8JV3.dpuf

You're my life, you're my breath You're a smile, you're my guest

You're the earth, you're the sun You're the grass, you are love

You're my hands, you're a bug You're my eyes, you're a hug

You're the light in the dark You're the spark, you are fun

You're my mom, you are water You're the stars, you're my daughter

You're my friend till the end You're my dreams, you're my father

You're the ants on the ground The miracles that surround

I'm feelin' it all around the hemisphere and the clouds

You're my pain, you're my sorrow You're my hope for tomorrow

You're the strength when I'm hollow You're the path that I follow

You're the blessings that exist The small things that are bliss

The gift to realize that everything is a gift

All that I am All that I see

All that I've been

And all that I'll ever be

Is a blessing

It's so amazing

And I'm grateful for it all

For it all

Grateful for it all

You're the blessings every time I try to count

You're the lessons that l learn every time I turn around

You're the water when I'm burned every time I think I've found

Everything I'm looking for and the sign sayin' stop to take a bow

And keep moving forward and start looking towards your heart

It'll open all the doors and only then you'll start

To hear the world sing in chorus with your mind and heart

Aligned in purpose everything will feel gorgeous

All that I am All that I see

All that I've been

And all that I'll ever be

Is a blessing

It's so amazing

And I'm grateful for it all

For it all

Every day I sit and pray 'cause what I have is

More than I deserve or could ever imagine

How do I give back to all of this magic

And spread the love so everybody can have it

Doesn't matter if I'm rich or poor If I got a family or if I'm all alone

Bad things happen I can just complain and moan

But there's a million things that I can be grateful for

So I lift up

My hands now

And I open my heart

And my gratitude

Goes out

To everything

Near and far 

All that I am

Everything I am - All that I see

All that I've been

And all that I'll ever be

Is a blessing

It's so amazing

And I'm grateful

For it all

All that I am

All that I see

All that I've been

And all that I'll ever be

Is a blessing

It's so amazing

And I'm grateful

For it all For it all

For it all

For it all

Grateful for it all

For it all

For it all

You're the blessings that exist

The small things that are bliss

The gift to realize that everything is a gift

Thanks for reading. Sending love and gratitude to you this Thanksgiving weekend, and always.

Alline

Just Say "No" to Black Friday and "Yes" to Relaxing!

I spent my formative years working in retail. From the age of 16 - 28 I worked in several different department stores, and then spent another 12 working in retail headquarters in one capacity or another (advertising and Visual Merchandising).

By the age of 21 I pretty much hated Christmas. I even despised holiday music, which used to be my favorite part of the season - something about having it thrumming in the background for two months was more than I could bear. And that was back in the days when "Christmas" didn't start until the middle of November.

 

"Oooooooohhhh! Let's get up early so that we can push and shove for cheap crap made in China!" she says, just a bit sarcastically...

The day we all hated the most was the day after Thanksgiving, that hallowed day that retailers lust and drool after. Even when I no longer worked in a store but worked at corporate headquarters I was still required to spend the morning of Black Friday in whichever store was closest. Ugh. I'd get up at 6:00 a.m., put on respectable business attire (instead of the elastic-waist sweatpants that were infinitely more appealing!) and haul my bad-attitude self off to the mall to sling junk at sales prices.


No more.

Now that I have my own store, I get to do things my way. The Milkweed Mercantile is closed on "Black Friday" (ewww - I abhor that name!), and I refuse to send out emails and newsletters promoting sales before Thanksgiving. While it may not be the most prudent way to make zillions of dollars, it feels better. I don't go shopping, either.

I encourage you to do the same! Or at least relax on Friday. The Center for a New American Dream has lots of ways to help. Their Simplify the Holidays program is a great place to start!

Some of the things I might be doing on Friday (instead of buying or selling stuff):

• Staying home.
• Relaxing.
• Putting my feet up and reading a good book, or even a bad book. Heck, maybe even a naughty book!
• Challenge Kurt to a game of cards, pente, or parcheesi. Or invite a group of friends over to do join us.
• Put together that list for my mp3 that I've been composing in my head.And learn how to load the music onto that thing (note to self: find a 12-year old to help me).
• Go for a walk. Perhaps I'll take a cute dog for company.

Miss Moneypenny Carleton, who is always available for adventuring!

• Bake some cookies, and bring a few to a neighbor.
• Practice singing the harmony part to "Close Your Eyes" (James Taylor/Carly Simon version)
• Begin to crochet a scarf and pretend that I'll finish it in time to give as a Christmas gift.
• Make a sandwich using every single part of Thursdays meal in between two pieces of bread and Hellman's mayo - including the stuffing and the cranberry sauce. Perhaps I'll get fancy and run them through  with little plastic swords.

Thanks to Will Cook For Smiles for the use of the photo.

• Watch Season 1 of Nurse Jackie that just arrived in the mail while I sit on the couch in front of a blazing fire with the cat.
• Check out what the local kids are up to. The last couple of days it's been looking at all of the cool ice formations everywhere, and checking out the cool things frozen into the pond ice.
• Call my 84-year old Aunt Melba and tell her that I'm thankful for her.
• Think up new ideas for Kurt's annual Gift Certificates (see below).

And lets talk about gifts for just a minute. It's really easy to get sucked into the scarcity brainwashing that permeates advertising at this time of year. It's also tremendously easy to get guilted into spending money you don't have on things that people don't really need. Don't buy into it, literally or figuratively.

Some of my favorite Christmas gifts arrived in a big fat tube the year that my three nieces and I exchanged art. I made them quilted pillows in their choice of colors, and they sent me art that they had made. Those pictures make me smile, big time, every time I walk by them.

I also really enjoy giving (and receiving!) gift certificates for service and food. They don't even have to be fancy. I tried to take a photo of some of the ones that I gave to Kurt last Christmas (see below) but the cat decided that the middle of the stack was the perfect place to lounge. Sigh. Anyway, as you can see, they're just scrap paper and scribbling, but were made (and received) with love. Things like "one favorite dinner whenever you want (24 hours notice appreciated)," "one foot rub (15 minutes on each foot)" and "I'll do your firewood chores for one day" come in handy when Kurt feels like pampering himself.

Fionn MacCool - destroyer of all things orderly.

That's it for now. I wish you a happy, calm holiday. Eat good stuff, but not too much. Be kind to yourself. 

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Alline

Poetry Monday, The Wind Map and an assortment of Pre-Rafaelites

Hi friends,

It is a gray, cloudy, blustery day - it is fantastic! I am sitting in our snug and cozy strawbale house, looking out through the glass doors that lead onto our small balcony. The walls are 18" thick, so I can't feel the wind, but the trees outside are lashing about, the wind is howling (or maybe that's the wind turbine howling), and acorns are dropping onto the roof and pop-pop-popping down the slope.

I easily found a poem. But how to illustrate the wind? 

And then I remembered - The Wind Map (click on those words). It is truly the COOLEST thing EVER. 
 

The map is live, so depending upon when you look at it you may or may not see the windy day we're having (we're right in the middle between Denver and Chicago), but you can see what's happening where you live. Check it out!

 

Wind Map by artists Fernanda Viégas and Martin Wattenberg.

Here is today's poem, by Christina Rosetti, who was vaguely associated with the Pre-Rafaelite Brotherhood.**  

Who Has Seen the Wind

by Christina Rosetti

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

** Christina Rosetti posed for some of her brother's (Dante Gabriel Rosetti) paintings but as they're not my favorite PRB paintings they're not going here. I much prefer John Everett Millais and John William Waterhouse. We were able to see (i.e. drool over) a whole slew of PRB paintings at the Tate when we were in London a few years ago. Kurt developed a huge crush on Jane Morris, who posed for Rosetti...I fell in love with William Morris. 

 Ophelia by Millais

Lady of Shalott by Waterhouse

OK. I really just meant to spend a few moments here waxing rhapsodic about the wind. Ha! Have a great day!

love,
Alline

Livin' the Good Life at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage - Food Coops

Oh, dear. Everyday I start a blog post and yet never actually post it. Day after week. I feel a tremendous weight to get it all right, to speak the definitive truth, to not lead anyone astray.

I'm probably quite clearly taking on more responsiblility than anyone expects me to take on. So today I'm just going to write about what's been going on (and those other posts on food dogma, trying to make the right decisions, living true to oneself, more favorite books, and an ecovillage update will just have to wait...)

When Kurt and I first came to Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage in 1999 we participated in a food cooperative. What's that, you ask? Well, it is a very, very cool concept. $5/per person per day and the willingness to cook a few meals were enough to gain membership. The funds went to purchase the ingredients, propane and cooking supplies. By the time we arrived there were enough folks so that each of us only had to cook one day a week. A cook shift consisted of dinner and then lunch the next day - you were responsible for making sure that there was enough for both meals. When it wasn't your cook day, you simply showed up and Voila! a fabulous meal awaited!

NOTE: in the early years Dancing Rabbit had only one food cooperative;. Now, including the Mercantile co-op, there are at least six:

• Bobolink, which eats in Skyhouse and is vegan and locally-food-focused; 
• Ironweed, which has it's own kitchen complete with chickens and a fabulous peach tree right outside the front door and a huge garden supporting their eating habits; 
• The Magic School Bus, primarily for the crew helping build Dennis and Sharon's house; 
• the Critter Collective which cooks it's meals in the newly constructed strawbale building and which is currently raising goats for milk and meat, chickens and muscovies for eggs, meat and profit, and has a miniature donkey to guard the herd; 
• and Thistledown, the co-op "with all the kids," which also has a huge garden, both surrounding the house and down in the Osage Community Garden. 

The kitchen in the Community Building is not currently being used, but I imagine it will host another food co-op again soon. Not everyone eats in a co-op - some families and individuals choose to eat on their own.

Here at Dancing Rabbit we primarily used (and continue to use) whole foods, the cook would begin around 2:00 p.m.; more importantly, the cook always got the choose the music. At 6:30, everyone would show up and eat a (usually) delicious meal together, comparing notes of their days, brainstorming solutions to problems, consoling those who needed it, and generally just enjoying each others' company.

For me, the cooking part was absolutely terrifying. We arrived at the end of June, which meant that the intern/work exchanger season was in full swing. Between interns and members there were about 35 people here. We all ate together in the Outdoor Kitchen, at a table constructed of sawhorses and 20' long boards. Rachel's (or Tony's?) parents had given us a huge tablecloth so it at least looked fairly civilized.

 Our stove looked something like this, only not as clean or shiny. Imagine a black sooty front and a little more grime all around and you've got a more realistic picture. Oh. And no white tile. I can't even imagine white tile out in the OK...

The kicker, though, was that we cooked on an old-fashioned wood cook-stove. It was like being a character in Little House on the Prairie or Green Acres. The flat stove top had four plates (in place of "burners") which could be removed to increase the heat under a pan. It also had a small oven next to the firebox, and a stainless steel tank that held about 5 gallons of water, which heated up the washing up water while one cooked the meal. Ingenious! We learned where the hotspots were, where to place pans we just wanted to keep warm, and how to bake bread without completely incinerating it. Oh, did I mention that all meals were vegan, and were made with whole foods? Beans that had to be soaked before cooking, wheat that had to be ground into flour, veggies chopped, etc... Before I arrived I could cook for about four people, and had a vague idea of what vegan was. But vegan, for 35, on a wood stove using whole foods? Ack!

Fortunately, new folks got to help a more experienced cook the first few times around. Not only was this educational and fun, it also helped ensure that the meals cooked by newbies were edible. I still remember Jenn Corbin teaching me the words to "Tis a Gift to Be Simple" as we cooked out in the OK. I will always be grateful for her patience in helping me learn the systems.

We ate with the co-op for 1 1/2 years, until our house was finished enough to move in. We dropped out of the co-op and went back to cooking on our own. We loved the independence but found that we were a bit lonely, plus were missing out on all of the "dirt." Fortunately every Tuesday there was (and still is) a potluck with the neighboring communities (first just Sandhill Farm, now Red Earth Farms, too) and a Friday night bring-your-own-plate-but-eat-together Community Dinner.

Fast forward nine years. When we first opened the Mercantile Kurt and I continued to use the kitchen in our house. But as time went on, it seemed that whatever tool or ingredient we needed was always in the other place - I'd be making cupcakes in the Mercantile and the pans were in the house, or I'd be making an angel food cake at home and the pan was in the Mercantile (gee, Alline, do much baking?). So when the fridge in our house "shot craps" (as Kurt says) we decided to decommission the home kitchen and do all of our cooking in the Mercantile.

 Althea and Ben discuss the finer points of pizza, while Kurt waits for a drink order (photo taken from the dining room looking into the open Mercantile kitchen. Katherine's behind Ben's hat crafting dreamy pizza pies)

The Mercantile kitchen is a a home cook's dream come true. The commercial range is a Ferrari compared to the little teeny stove in our house. The Hobart mixer could mix cement and not bat an eye. And of course, there is every little ingredient I could dream of, just waiting to be put to use. Plus, since the kitchen is open to the dining room, it feels very social, and is fun to cook and talk. (The only downside - people can see when you drop stuff on the floor, which means that the 10-second rule no longer flies...)

When we opened the Mercantile we had work exchangers join us for meals during the summer months, but it was just me and Kurt in the winter. It seemed impossible to separate cafe food from food coop food, and I couldn't figure out what to charge (DR food coops charge anywhere from $5 - $8 a day, per person, which pays for the kitchen space, food, cookware, propane if it is used, etc.). To be honest, I was also a little territorial about my kitchen.

 A little salad Jayson whipped up

But now it's winter again - the crowds are gone, as are most of the Work Exchangers, and long story short; we've returned to the world of food co-ops. The guys who are renting rooms this winter are not only great cooks but made us an offer we could not refuse, and so here we are. It is divine. We gather at lunch and dinner, and it feels like a community. Because others are sharing the responsibility, cooking now seems less like a chore. Since it's me and four men, testosterone often runs high; I do sometimes have to bring the conversation back to civilization, but all in all they're pretty well behaved. I'm thinking of renaming the co-op  "The Barbarian Gourmands."

I'll keep you updated on how things are going. Thanks for reading!

love,
Alline

 The Barbarians on their way to lunch at Zimmerman's. They may lock the door when they see us coming next time...

How I Feel About Yoga - Book Excerpt Monday

NOTE: This is NOT a photo of me.

Everyone knows about the benefits of yoga. And I will continue to go, to stretch, to get my namaste on. But I haven't yet learned to love it. Today's excerpt comes from The Middle of Nowhere by Bob Sloan. "Bliss" is the protagonist, Lenny Bliss.

Bliss sat on the wooden floor of the yoga studio, his legs splayed indecorously in front of him while the rest of the class sublimely assumed Lotus position. Bliss was not in Lotus position. He was not anywhere near lotus position, or half-Lotus, or an infinitesimal speck of Lotus. He couldn’t imagine anyone being any more un-Lotus. He’d taken a wrong turn, missed his exit, and was miles away from Lotus, standing in a phone booth in the rain at a gas station reeking of beer and piss, holding a receiver without a dial tone. That’s how far from Lotus he was.

The Middle of Nowhere
A Lenny Bliss mystery
By Bob Sloan

Why I Love Alice Walker, and Changing the World, One Stone at a Time

In some ways living here at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage is ideal. Kurt and I have built a home, and built a life. We are surrounded by nature, have crafted ways of earning money that suit our natures, and no longer commute to a "job." We have time to pursue our passions, our creativity, our intellectual cravings.

But sometimes life here is simply difficult. I don't always agree with the direction the group seems to be taking, or am not enamored of decisions that are made. I feel adrift, disconnected, alone, frustrated.

And so I turn to writers I love, and inevitably find what I need. Today's excerpt is from Alice Walker, in Anything We Love Can Be Saved. She helps me to remember that everyone is doing his/her best, that activism is hard, and that I need to be kind not only to others but to myself. Have a good week. Love, Alline

 

It has become a common feeling, I believe, as we have watched our heroes falling over the years, that our own small stone of activism, which might not seem to measure up to the rugged boulders of heroism we have so admired, is a paltry offering toward the building of an edifice of hope. Many who believe this choose to withhold their offerings out of shame.

This is the tragedy of our world.

For we can do nothing substantial toward changing our course on the planet, a destructive one, without rousing ourselves, individual by individual, and bringing our small, imperfect stones to the pile...

Stones from Glass Beach in Fort Bragg, California, where there used to be a dump. Hundreds of thousands of pieces of ceramics and bottles have been pounded by the waves for decades, resulting in smooth, gleaming gemstones.

...I have learned other things: One is the futility of expecting anyone, including oneself, to be perfect. People who go about seeking to change the world, to diminish suffering, to demonstrate any kind of enlightenment, are often as flawed as anybody else. Sometimes more so. But it is the awareness of having faults, I think, and the knowledge that this links us to everyone on earth, that opens us to courage and compassion. It occurs to me often that many of those I deeply love are flawed. They might actually have said or done some of the mean things I’ve felt, heard, read about or feared. But it is their struggle with the flaw, surprisingly endearing, and the going on anyhow, that is part of what I cherish in them.

Sometimes our stones are, to us, misshapen, odd. Their color seems off. Presenting them, we perceive our own imperfect nakedness. But also, paradoxically, the wholeness, the rightness, of it. In the collective vulnerability of presence, we learn not to be afraid.

In this book I am writing about the bright moments one can experience at the pile. Of how even the smallest stone glistens with tears, yes, but also from the light of being seen, and loved for simply being there.

~Alice Walker

Anything We Love Can Be Saved

Poetry Monday: Black Dogs and Snow

Abby in the snow from Dances with Fabric Blog (thanks, Sharon!)**

Snow, Aldo 

by Kate DiCamillo

Once, I was in New York,
in Central Park, and I saw
an old man in a black overcoat walking
a black dog. This was springtime
and the trees were still
bare and the sky was
gray and low and it began, suddenly,
to snow:
big fat flakes
that twirled and landed on the
black of the man's overcoat and
the black dog's fur. The dog
lifted his face and stared
up at the sky. The man looked
up, too. "Snow, Aldo," he said to the dog,
"snow." And he laughed.
The dog looked
at him and wagged his tail.

If I was in charge of making
snow globes, this is what I would put inside:
the old man in the black overcoat,
the black dog,
two friends with their faces turned up to the sky
as if they were receiving a blessing,
as if they were being blessed together
by something
as simple as snow
in March.

**When it's time for you to adopt your next dog, please consider an adult dog, and while you're at it, a big black dog. They really, really need you. For more on why black dogs are often never adopted, regardless of how beautiful, well-mannered and friendly they are, read about Black Dog Syndrome.

A Week in Provence, or, Franco-American Relations Remain Friendly

NOTE: Kurt and I arrived in France a couple of weeks ago. I seem to be working backward, blog-wise. Meaning that the most recently written post is ready before the one I started three weeks ago. Sigh. I'm sure real writers - oh, like Jackie Collins and Danielle Steel - never have this problem, but such are the challenges of life as I know it...)

We're currently sitting on chaise lounges the front lawn of our vacation rental. With an ocher plaster and stone wall separating us from the road, along with cypress and other trees pruned within an inch of their lives, the air redolent with pine trees, jasmine and honeysuckle, songbirds are singing their little lungs out (Kurt swears that the doves have a French accent) and the air the exact temperature as our skin; it feels absolutely perfect. Also in the garden are olive trees, numerous shrubs, irises (not yet in bloom) and a swimming pool in the back. 

Don't get too jealous - the pool doesn't open until June 1^st, the day before we leave. It currently has pond scum in it, so we won't be swimming. If we wanted to swim in pond scum, we could do it happily at DR. Anyway, Kurt, who is sitting beside me with a glass of local Cabernet practicing the Ancient Art of Doing Nothing, is cracking himself up with punchlines of jokes. “Spit it out” he just said, and laughed out loud. If you really want I'll tell you the joke later.**

 OK. I know I look totally stoned in this picture. I am not. I am merely relaxed, after finally reaching my destination and having a Kir (my new favorite drink), my mini computer perched happily on a pillow on my lap. The real point of this photo is the red (ocher) hillside about a mile in the background. Enough already!

We took the train from Paris to Avignon, rented a car (which wasn't there*) and drove about 45 minutes to the village of Roussillon. It is, as the sign reads when one drives into the town, “one of the most beautiful villages in France.” Can't argue with that. The soil around here is bright orange and has been mined for ocher pigment. All the buildings here are as you would expect – old, gorgeous, ocher-colored, slightly ramshackle. The town has the air of somewhere like Tahoe or Reno – vaguely vacation-oriented, lots of tourists in vacation homes, no parking in the tiny downtown. I'm a little disappointed, but I really don't think I could have picked a better spot to completely unwind (“veg” says Kurt from the next seat) before heading home to the Mercantile to save Mandy from a total nervous breakdown.

We're in the foothills of an area called the Luberon. It is where Peter Mayle wrote “A Year in Provence.” The drive here was, of course, very southern France. I've never been here before, but it feels as if I have. I've been hearing countless stories about France, and seeing pictures of the food, the people, and every geographical area each and every school year since 7^th grade. One would, of course, assume that I would speak fluent French after all those years of intensive study. One would be wrong, of course. While I was voted “Mardi Gras Queen” by my French class in my senior year, it was not because of my scholarship. Much to the chagrin of my various French teachers I could mimic what they said fairly well, without much of it actually sinking in... but I digress...Soon after leaving Paris we began to see red poppies in the fields. So very gorgeous. By the time we got here there were fields full of them. The lavender isn't out yet, but the poppies are!

The one thing that continues to astound us is just how friendly and helpful everyone is. People stop and help us when they see that we are confused (which is, unsurprisingly, often). These are FRENCH people we're talking about! Even if they don't speak English they try. I can't believe that I spent so many years being afraid of Paris. And maybe this is all new. When my college roommates and I were in France (Marsielles and Paris) on our grand European backpacking spectacular in 1981 I remember practicing over and over again “Je voudrais trois tranches du jambon sil vous plait” before taking a deep breath and going into the charcuterie where the lady was MEAN to me and made me cry. The only people who were nice to us then in Paris were the cute young guards at the national monuments. But then, we were cute and young too, and there was beaucoup de flirting going on. ANYWAY! Now I'm old and not so very cute except to those who love me and everyone is NICE. In PARIS! And in train stations all over the country. I am just gob-smacked. And very, very grateful.

Kurt says “we create our own world” and I'm starting to believe him. By this he means that because we try to speak French, and we smile, and make eye contact and try to learn the various customs and rules (like not demanding coffee with our dessert and instead enjoying it AFTER dessert when it doesn't really make any sense but that's what the French do so we smile and have an espresso after our mousse au chocolat or creme brulee) our trip has largely gone smoothly and without life-threatening disaster or stress-induced apoplexy (on either side), or an international incident. Life is tres bon (Frenchy-talk for swell).

That's it for now. I'll backtrack in the next couple of days and fill in some of the blanks. Thanks for reading!

Love,

Alline

* After arriving on the train from Paris and realizing that our rental car was at the other Avignon train station (ah, the perils of planning a vacation from a desk in Rutledge, Missouri), and taking a bus (after doing our best to understand the walking directions which included "behind the ramparts" in French as given by the really nice girl at the wrong car rental booth) to the right train station, and filling out the voluminous forms, signing our names in dozens of places and agreeing to give the nation of France our first-born grandchild should we dent or otherwise maim the car, we were finally given the keys and directed to spot #127. We walked and walked and walked, and finally came to spot # 127, and it was empty. No car. There were cars in 126 and 128, and in every other spot imaginable, but not 127. I wish we would have taken a picture - it really was like a Fellini film. Kurt went back to the rental desk and the very cute rental agent came back with him, fully expecting (I think) to find that those goofy Americans can't tell one number from another. But she, too, had to concede that spot 127 was indeed empty, sans voiture. After ten minutes of looking for the correct license plate number she finally found it, in #117. C'est la vie!

** Kurt's politically insensitive joke: An Englishman, a Frenchman and an Irishman are sitting around having drinks. Each notices that there is a fly in his drink. The Englishman flicks the fly out of his pint and continues drinking. The Frenchman says “Sacre bleu! Bring me another glass of wine!”  The Irishman grabs the fly and yells “spit it out!”.