Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Post Epiphany

    A bunny hopped down the drive today. A bunny! We don't have bunnies, and this wasn't a farm bunny on the loose. He had huge floppy feet. A bona fide hare, he skittered, all lean body and wary wild eyes. Where was he going? He didn't say. He didn't stay. He seemed hungry and a bit hunted. I like to think he settled into the unused dog house for a snooze, that round the corner he found rest.

   Tonight, we dim the interior lights, but not as dark as I wish, for math is still moving minds. And I realize, I'm not ready to move on. Not ready for a new year, new season, or new efforts, am I. I'm still trying to recover from the past year, and here we are in a new one.

   I must admit, I'm very glad to be finished with the Twelve Days of Christmas series. By day twelve, I really disliked, even detested, the Shutterstock images I'd chosen to use. The ending just was. It lacked sparkle, but that's okay. The Word always eclipses words. Epiphany worked its way to the end without fireworks, but dance we did. The ceili called us and we answered. We ended Epiphany learning new dances, laughing, and holding hands with strangers, all jigs and smiles.

   Tomorrow is write night. I've nothing prepared to share with the women whose opinions and expertise I esteem. We are missing one. She passed away on Christmas Eve and will be sorely missed. I'm not ready to present words or miss her presence. But go, I shall.

   We'll gather. A band of writers and illustrators who write and draw because the pen is part of us. With brush, stylus, or pencil stroke, we find a voice, share and receive wisdom, and laugh. In spite of sorrows and joys, we show up. We work something fierce, or at least give it all we got. 

   One moment at a time, that is my epiphany. I'm showing up this year. I'm present. I'm praying! I'm writing. One promise each day.

  "They will come trembling to the Lord and to His blessings in the last days."

  She dims the lights, as he yells, “Hurry, hurry, it's 7:58.” He asks if he can take the candle. “I have one minute, one minute to get in bed.” They are racing towards the dark, holding the light.

Papa must have promised them a story.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Epiphany, Magi, and King's Cake

The Three Kings by Paul Hey
epiphany:  a Christian festival held on January 6th in honor of the coming of the three kings (magi) to the infant Jesus Christ; a moment in which you suddenly see or understand something in a new or very clear way. (Merriam Webster)
The Three Kings by Richard Hook
There are two kinds of King's Cake. We opted for the French Galette des Rois as it's heavy to almond flour. Vive la France! 
 I'm really struggling with the pink plastic baby in the cake.  It's not working for me. I'm going to have to put in a little bean next year. It tastes great, but we ran out of eggs for the beautiful  crackle crust. Sis even checked the coop this morning, but the chickens are on holiday!
The Three Wise Men by James Edwin McConnell
Recommending Bethlehem Star
Let us gaze and ponder.
May you have a happy and holy Epiphany.

~Kim

Monday, January 5, 2015

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Eleven Pipers Piping

There is a Place Beyond Ambition by Mary Oliver

When the flute players
couldn’t think of what to say next

they laid down their pipes,
then they lay down themselves
beside the river

and just listened.
Some of them, after a while,
jumped up
and disappeared back inside the busy town.
But the rest–
so quiet, not even thoughtful–
are still there,

still listening.
 It's winter.

Winter tempts,
the soul.
Discontent seeps,
in cracks,
on pockets of cold.

Give into darkness.

New birth stirs,
on dark night.
In the world's heaving soul,
 the womb leaps.

Darkness encasing the Light.
Light encasing the darkness.
   The questions are ever present, they circle around, and come back again. How to create solitude and rest in a world that is always on? We seek stillness. How to get there? The path leads to powering down after the dinner hour and dishes are away. Lit flames glow, imparting rest and stillness. We play games, pray, read, and prepare the mind. Renew.
    In turning off the lights, we see the Light, and each other, enveloped by darkness. The curve to the end of the day, tender, as the sun rounds the horizon.
 Soul,
 the day draws nigh. 
Epiphany! 

Stir, oh soul.
Mesmerized by the Star.

The Angel,
points to Light,
in the dark.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Ten Lords-a-Leaping


On the tenth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
Ten Lords a Leaping
Nine Ladies Dancing
Eight Maids a Milking
Seven Swans a Swimming
Six Geese a Laying
Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds
Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
   I'm continuing my series on The Twelve Days of Christmas. As I shared previously, Brian McLaren pushed me to ponder how I might put the Twelve Days of Christmas into action. On this tenth day of Christmas, I'm pondering the "lord" of our little hilltop manor and his love. I expect some will struggle with my usage of "lord of the manor" for my mate, but our marriage is not a patriarchy. I can jokingly and seriously call him "lord of the manor" because we both bow to the Lord. He leads with a heart of love.
  
   Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—  just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” ~ Mathew 20:25-28
   Shakespeare said, "It is a wise father who knows his own child." How true. There's a season for helping a child, and a season for getting out of the way, and teaching the child to do the work himself. Brother's been busy typing six pages of code into his computer this past week, so he can play Hunt the Wumpus. The day has arrived: one plays with what one has programmed.
   He doesn't leap over piles, but he does light fires within. Whether on the hill, or in our hearts, minds, souls, and yes, imaginations.
From his own father, he said, he first learned that 
Fatherhood must be at the core of the universe.
~ C.S. Lewis
 He knows when to hold your hand,
and when to get out of the way and let you skate free.
There are three stages of a man’s life: 
He believes in Santa Claus, 
he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, 
he is Santa Claus. 
~  Author Unknown
His Books
(They'd make great Valentines or Father's Day gifts.)
The Boys in the Boat I scooped it up from him, finishing it first. We enjoyed it tremendously. 
The Council of Dads shares Feiler's journey with cancer. A powerful book about community, family, and sickness.
The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind created something out of nothing, in the very best way.
A Long Walk to Water holds onto life in the midst of death. A story of overcoming in order to give life, hope, and water to others. 
Why does expanding our capacities matter so much?  Perhaps we are rowing toward something other than the horizon, an unknown shoreline.  Each stroke pulls us farther along an inner journey.  The real voyage, whatever the boat, is into the soul. 
~ Craig Lambert, Mind Over Water

Saturday, January 3, 2015

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Nine Ladies Dancing


   On the ninth day of Christmas, let's dance.  
L'Etoile ou Danseuse sur Scene by Degas
She dances on feather light feet.
There is a lightness to her spirit, that belies the depth of her soul.
She dances to please herself; The praise of men is fleeting.
   Four Ballerinas by Degas
   I am a dancer. I believe that we learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living.... In each it is the performance of a dedicated precise set of acts, physical or intellectual, from which comes shape of achievement, a sense of one's being, a satisfaction of spirit. One becomes in some area an athlete of God.  ~ Martha Graham
 Dancer with Tambourine by Degas
Find your rhythm. Take the time. Work it out. Work it.
Do not dance another's dance – dance your own dance.
Ballet Studio by Peter Miller
Dance till the stars come down from the rafters.
Dance, Dance, Dance till you drop.
~ W.H. Auden 

Text and art from Beautiful to Me, Redefining Beauty
by Kimberly Conolly

* Art through Art Resource and Bridgeman Images

Friday, January 2, 2015

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Eight Maids a Milking

On the eighth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
Eight Maids a Milking
Seven Swans a Swimming
Six Geese a Laying
Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds
Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
I'm continuing my series on The Twelve Days of Christmas. As I shared previously, Brian McLaren pushed me to ponder how I might put the Twelve Days of Christmas into action. On the eighth day after Christmas, I'm not milking a cow, but we'll explore some moo.

I do have to share, that as J and I talk budgets, I work at my writing, and we talk and work towards Safe Families and new year priorities, we've been asking each other, "how much skin do you have in the game?" This is not a normal phrase at our house, but we keep circling back to it, sometimes testily. As I pondered this post last night, I couldn't help but laugh and ask him whether the eighth day ought to be all about breast feeding. Hey, it fits with all things milk, and well lots of skin is in that game! Alright, just teasing. Let's moooooove on.  

Heidi of the Swiss Alps also comes to mind, and she makes me think of Swiss and Belgian chocolate (Fyi, Belgian is the better of the two. Sorry Heidi). So let's talk chocolate, because eight maids a milking in the French speaking Swiss Alps are certainly making chocolat au laitWhat else would they do?
Lausanne, Switzerland
Many years ago, when I was here, we took a windy mountain road trip here.
Photo from Maison Cailler
We ate a lot of chocolate, and you should know, Swiss Nestle is very different from American Nestle. They are a world apart in taste, because I dare to venture, the Swiss have more discriminating palates than the Americans. Tis' true.
Watching the video, I was shocked to see the tasting room has completely changed. It's a boring white and brown, not milk brown, but not a deep dark brown either. I think that boring room keeps chocolate consumption down. Wanna bet some chocolate on it? 

When I visited Callier 20+ years ago, the tasting room was filled with golden chandeliers and tiered white laced tables covered with golden platters of glorious chocolate. In those golden days, you were given 1 minute to consume chocolate. Yes, 60 seconds to eat as much chocolate bliss as you wished. But! When your 60 seconds was up, the very strict Swiss ladies standing guard over the tables bid you adieu. Their very stern statures spoke, "Don't even think about one more bite. Back away from the chocolate." I don't think anyone challenged them, and our group was comprised of 30 perpetually hungry and broke college students. We ate a lot of chocolate in 60 seconds! Ah, for those long ago days, when chocolate was not drawn from lip to hip. While, we didn't gain weight and there was no admission fee to Cailler, we paid in other ways.

The ride home was as miserly as the strict Swiss ladies. Yours truly, hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. I was planning ahead. No breakfast meant more room for chocolate. I don't think I ate a pound of chocolate, but I might have come close. A few of the guys ate well over a pound of the deep dark stuff. It seems to me, I got down 12-15 pieces, but who counted? I'll never forget the ride back to Lausanne filled to the brim with chocolate on a previously empty stomach. To this day, I have no problem enjoying a tiny bit of chocolate at a time. 

So as you can see, the eighth day of Christmas really is about giving the gift of chocolate to someone you love. We're getting a jump on Valetine's, and I'm quite sure Jesus would be supportive, and if He's in, I'm sure Heidi and the Swiss ladies would endorse giving au chocolat. In Switzerland, you'd of course be required to give Swiss Milk Chocolate, but I wish for you to receive the gift of whatever kind of chocolate you find delish, and to give in kind. Do remember, some of us are deep dark chocolate purists, but we can all get along in 2015. Chocolate and world peace sounds perfect.
For those with milk allergies, dark chocolate and marzipan is a great gift. Marzipan often saves the day at our house. Especially with sister, whose sweet tooth must avoid milk. Now, back to our maidens. I'm sure they'd encourage you to give the gift of chocolate, but they'd also encourage you to think about other moo oriented gifts.

Give a goat or water buffalo through Heifer International this year. Heifer is the gift that keeps on giving because cows keep on having cows, and goats keep on having goats. A family receiving the gift of an animal through Heifer, pledges to share the offspring with others in their community. This maiden and her farm hands love Heifer. Our kids help raise money to give an animal and in exchange, they receive a very small stuffed plush to represent the animal they gave.
I get their little plush animals at a small independent toy shop. The independents do a good job of stocking Gund plush animals. I've tried to encourage the small toy stores to set out Heifer catalogs beside their plush animals. Can you help me in this? Give the gift of Heifer animals in 2015 and then give a small plush animal to your loved one as a reminder of the gift.  It will bring a world of joy, and sustenance.
www.heifer.org
Ivory Coast farmers taste chocolate for the first time.
During my time with YWAM Lausanne, we went to Budapest and another large city on the African continent. We stayed on the grounds of a monastary/orphanage and we took chocolate for the boys in the orphanage. We threw birthday parties for them and played games. We practiced the gift of hospitality, and yes, we learned that a gift as small as chocolate can be powerful. 

A bit closer to home, the moo in our fridge is a menagerie these days. When the kids were young, we bought organic, but then we moved back to Oregon and all milk was mandated rBST free. We felt more comfortable switching to Alpenrose Dairy and other local brands. But this year, we once again went Oregon organic. We buy a 1/2 gallon of whole milk each week and make SCD lactose free high probiotic yogurt for sister. The boys and I, drink organic skim by the gallon. I buy organic lactose free for C. Have you ever looked at the label of lactose free milk that is not organic? Yikes.

On this 2nd day of January 2015, pull up a chair and share a glass of milk with someone you love. Add a little Ovaltine and a homemade chocolate chip cookie and you've a feast of comfort and joy on the eighth day of Christmas. But, look at that! We wound our way around to milk and chocolate again.
Below is my basic chocolate chip cookie recipe. I eat them for breakfast when no one is looking. These days, we are eating more Paleo/SCD cookies. In fact, I made my first batch of homemade "Lara Bars" last night. 

Kim's Healthy Chocolate Chip Cookies

I dump, blend, and add a little lactose free milk to make the batter soft. The flax meal is an oil, but it takes baking, to get it to respond like an oil, hence the use of milk to get the batter scoopable. You can also use coconut, rice, or almond milk. A super simple recipe, it takes me about 8 minutes to make this batter, if that.

1/2 cup of soft butter (or coconut oil)
aprox. 1 cup of brown sugar, a bit more is fine if you like.
3/4 cup of flax meal (not seeds!)
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. sea salt
2 farm eggs
2 tsp. vanilla
aprox. 1 cup of quick oats
2 cups of gluten free flour. I use Bob's Red Mill 1-to-1 GF Flour*
2 Tablespoons to 1/4 cup lactose free milk to make a soft cookie batter
1 bag of  dark chocolate chips that are milk free. 

Oven to 350 degrees. Mix the butter and sugar first, then add the eggs. Dump in the rest of the stuff. Mix and add milk to make the batter like consistency you want. Bake about 8 minutes.

*If you live in Oregon, stop at the Bob's Red Mill Outlet Bakery/Rest./Store in Oregon City and buy this flour in a 25lb bag for serious savings.

Here's to strong bones and strong spirits in 2015! Take your Vitamin D and drink your milk! Bake cookies, pray, eat and give chocolate, and Bon Appetit!

Thursday, January 1, 2015

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Seven Swans a Swimming

 
On the seventh day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
Seven Swans a Swimming
Six Geese a Laying
Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds
Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

I'm continuing my series on The Twelve Days of Christmas. As I shared previously, Brian McLaren pushed me to ponder how I might put the Twelve Days of Christmas into action. On the seventh day after Christmas, I'm finding my voice like Louis, in The Trumpet of the Swan.
A classic, The Trumpet of the Swan, by E.B. White, follows Louis (Loo-ee), a Trumpeter Swan, as he seeks his voice. Louis must find the courage to overcome his disability: he was born without a voice. He does overcome, and along the way, he learns perseverance, finds friendship, works hard, lives courageously, and gains true love.

A compelling story, we also must find our unique voices and overcome challenging circumstances. With Louis, we ponder love in a complex world, and we ask, "Who are my friends and whom might I help?"

We all deserve a voice, but some of us like Louis, are born without one. We greet the world in our own way, and yet must learn how to acquire our voice. We don't, as Louis did, pull on a shoe lace in order to say hello, but we do, by sheer grace and determination, pull up our bootstraps and make our way into the world. We get out of the nest, toddling as best we can.
Photo by Nicholas Lisi
Seven Swans a Swimming was difficult to write because finding my voice is an ever present journey. Writing, day in and day out, carves out space for craftsmanship, and while it requires discipline, it is gratifying, and mentally and emotionally freeing. But writing is not necessarily living. Like Louis, I must find my wings and fly in order to find my voice. We all must.
Further, in an extroverted world, so many pipe up loudly and often. Like Father Cob, they are loud and insistent with their words. We all know them. They take the world by force. For better or worse, they leave their mark on the world and us. To often, these people shape me. Their insistence is met by my resistance. Yet that resistance, that pulling back, is costly. Certainly for a writer, raw emotion often equals excellence, but so often I'd rather be in control of my words, rather than let streams of them run where they may. All the while, I resent those who do let their words run all over. While, it's tempting to believe the world's extroverts control the world's introverts, the many words vs. the few words, I've no excuse for not crafting my own life. My soul needs me to find my voice. Robert Lewis Stevenson said, "To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive." Yes. I must find and craft my own voice. I must craft my own life. 

And Sam Beaver asks what we all want to know, “How does a bird know how to get from where he is to where he wants to be? This too, is our question.

In spite of the many voices, whispering in our ears, we must seek our own voices and craft our creative selves. In this, the proper thing to do is to sit still, and birth what's growing under the current of our lives. 

Swans must be cheerful not sad, graceful not awkward, and brave not cowardly.

And Louis shows us the way. Louis lives his life, and he learns to sacrifice for himself and others. Ever observant, Louis saves Applegate Skinner from drowning. Even when misunderstood, Louis makes the lives of others richer and better for his presence. He keeps Serena, whom he loves and is far away, close to his heart. But in all that he does for love, with time, Louis acquires more and more around his neck. While good, these things weigh him down. Still, he presses towards his goal: Serena's love. And for the sake of his voice and music, Louis has Sam Beaver cut one of his webbed feet, elevating his trumpeting skills, even as it costs him some of his swimming abilities. Such is life, to gain in one area, we relinquish in another.

I will leave you to read the remainder of The Trumpet of the Swan on your own, but let us live with Louis' story and ask, "Who are the children around us who struggle to find their voice?" How can we help them? What about older adults, so often marginalized in our culture? How can we encourage them to use their voices? Where do we need to listen and with whom?
We also, like Father Cob, must come to grips with having people in our lives who do not live up to our first hopes or expectations. Can we adjust? We must. The loudest must adjust to the quietest, and the gregarious adjust to the still.

And like Louis towards his father, we must adjust to the actions of others and their effects upon our lives. Father Cob's poor choice of robbing the music store, burdened Louis with a huge debt, but in the end it was also what gave Louis both adventure and his voice. As Louis embraces the challenges his relationships create, he overcomes them and uses the disabilities to his advantage. Disabilities and difficult circumstances make some of us stronger, better, and more courageous. I want like Louis, to live with courage, and to rise, finding my way into the high stormy winds of life with strength in my wings.

We also remember that while some are not so awesome at observation, they make up for it in their own way with the skill of action. Father Cob's advice is timeless:

The takeoff must be into the wind. Don't look down. Look straight ahead, and don't lose your nerve.

The Trumpet of the Swan is my favorite E.B. White book. We read it a few years ago, discussing autism. It was a gift then, just as listening again is a gift. It reminds me that the journey to find my voice is worthy, and that in doing so, I can also help others find their voice.

This seventh day of Christmas may you be graced with both ideas and activity. Give the gift of voice to a child through the gift of story. Teach a child to read. Share an important story with someone you love. Listen to someone's story. Teach someone how to tell their story, by living your own. Nurture a soul.
Photo source unknown.
The world is full of talkers, but it is rare to find anyone who listens. 

*P.S. Listen to this on audio to enjoy Louis on his trumpet.