A Way

The pain of loving a caterpillar
is the pleasure
of watching it
fly.

Inside Out

Sitting in a room of compassionate people discussing good deeds, I found myself getting very irritated as they discussed Appalachia. I'm not about to argue about the persistent poverty that plagues the area, but I found the prism through which they saw the people offensive. Growing up in Appalachia, I saw the strengths of the mountain ideals. I was enmeshed in my community and it's strong familial support.
Some of that familial feeling was due to the inter-relatedness of the community members. I can remember discovering that I was related by blood or marriage to everyone in my girl's Sunday school class. We had to go back a generation or five to find the connection, but that was OK we knew our family history well enough to do so. I grew up surrounded by mountains that felt like ancient friends holding up the sky, but the mountains weren't the only rings of support around me in my valley. There was my immediate, biological family of which several branches lived nearby. There was my church family that provided spiritual sustenance and shelter. Then there was the city as a whole. We all fought to keep and create jobs. We did so because we loved being together, and we loved the mountains. We knew that home was where you hung your heart, and that you don't hang your heart as easily as you hang your hat.
I wish my children were growing up with that same sense of community and support, even though it would probably mean growing up a good bit poorer. There are some kinds of wealth that can only be measured by the heart.

Weird Vegetable Night

I decided recently that our family has too small a vocabulary when it comes to vegetables. We needed to get out there and try something new, so I instituted "Weird Vegetable Night." I've been playing it safe so far, asparagus, brussel sprouts, zucchini, but this week it's Swiss Chard. My husband remembers it fondly from his childhood. I'd never encountered it before I joined the family, and even then, my encounters have been of the watch him eat it at his mother's house variety. Anything tastes good with garlic, right? I'll let you know how it goes.

Throwing It Out

I think it started with the Herb Window. I emptied it of all the mismatched pots and boxes and the carcases of dead plants they contained. I'd seen a display of classic terracotta pots at Meijer, so I bought ten of them and I've been filling them with herbs as I scrounge up the plants at this time of year. The uniformity of the pots and the freshness of the herbs lifted my spirits dramatically. It was the beginning of something big.
Ever since I've been going through cupboards and drawers and throwing out anything I don't need right now, or that simply doesn't do its job well. Bags and bags of trash and donations are making their way to the curb or the van. This house really rewards any effort to smarten it up. Ten little pots in the window renewed the entire kitchen.
This is a new thing for me. I generally try to recycle everything even if the result is inefficient and ugly. Recently though, I've had a new confidence that I know what I need and what I don't. Minimalism is my new watchword. The less I have, the less I have to dust.