Happy Holidays, everybody!

I'm outta here for a little while - spending Yule and Christmas with family and not likely to be online much.

For those of you travelling, travel safe and have a wonderful time!

For those staying at home, have a lovely cozy time, and think of us fools on the road as you sip your tea.

And happy holidays, everybody!

I'm back.

Caught up on my rest some after the grand train adventure. We wound up going sleeper car both ways, and it was lovely. While the "roomette" accomodations are indeed tiny (there was essentially no room for more than my husband's messenger bag, my small handwork bag, our coats and our two selves), they were plenty comfortable, with room to stretch out a little, a fold-out table, and a tiny closet. Meals were included, and while the selection was limited (it might be difficult to maintain a strict diet for more than a day on board), the service was prompt and the food reasonably tasty.

And they provided a space to go for quiet. While we enjoyed meeting many people over meals, it was also nice to be able to go to our own space and shut the door. In the dining car, we met train enthusiasts, a Katrina relief worker and his wife travelling to relatives, a professional dancer on vacation, a woman travelling to a school reunion and other interesting people.

I think if I were travelling with children, the train would have to be my first choice - on our way out, there were two infants on the same car with us, and a family with children. Unlike air travel, there were no major pressure adjustments, even as we travelled through the Appalachian mountains, since we mostly rode along the valleys. There was room to move about for the older children, and even my husband and I found ourselves practically glued to the windows, stopping only to sleep and eat.

The scenery was fabulous: from rolling hills and tumbling rivers to the vast open expanses of the Plains. At night, we found ourselves watching the Christmas decorations flow by. One house was plainly waiting for the train, because as we passed, they blinked the lights and waved to us. On the way back, we were able to tell when we passed the Eastern Great Divide, simply by watching the waters beside us - and watching the Potomac turn from a tiny mountain stream to the churning whitewater near Harper's Ferry was incredible.

Frequently, we found ourselves saying, "That town looks interesting. Can you tell where we are?" We were grateful for local businesses, because they often incorporate the name of the area, or prominant local features. Also, they were often nicer to look at.

As we left Chicago, we passed a large shipping yard and were simply blown away by the volume of freight containers - One part, we weren't sure - was that a warehouse made of freight containers, or simply a stack? We found ourselves thinking about the incredible wealth of a nation that produces those vast yards of food and goods. How can it be possible that we have created a system where so many lack basic heathcare? How could that happen?

Frequently, especially in some of those small towns, or along the rocky gorges of the Appalachians, we found ourselves wishing we could somehow both ride the train to see what comes next, and also that we could get out and explore the treasures that we passed...

I guess what I'm saying is... Wow, what a ride!

Renewal

As I approach the upcoming trip to see my parents, I find myself hoping in a couple weeks to take a different kind of trip. This one is filled with preparations and doing, going, moving. The time has come, once again, for a trip to "take the waters".

I want to head for one of the local warm springs and just spend an hour soaking there, with local veggies and spring water for dinner. I want to walk around and watch the local wildlife. I want to catch up on my sleep: no sewing, no work, no worries.

Peacemaking as liberation

After reflecting over yesterday's post and taking the advice of a good friend who commented, I checked out the Velveteen Rabbi's haggadah. While there are parts I would add, and parts that do not speak to me, this is a good one, one that tells the actual story we are supposed to be remembering, and gives context to the reminders that built up over the centuries, besides giving space for new ones and new ways of looking at the story.

The language is affirmative of the variety of human experience and the opportunities for sharing in the seder. It directly addresses the many ways we may feel ourselves to be in bondage and the ways we may be undertaking our own journeys of liberation. So I wrote a short note to the author to thank her.

In writing that note, I realized that one of the central things that spoke to me from her work was the idea of peacemaking as a journey of liberation. This year has been a year of taking those shaky, hopeful steps for me. And also a year of realizing that even small steps are indeed steps. As I recently wrote in a comment to a post over at Country Contemplative, I can't make the world a peaceful place, but I can make me a peaceful person.

And also, I've been facing down the shackles that kept me from really participating in music. Even if I don't produce beautiful music, singing makes me happy, so I'm singing if only to myself. And I'm learning to play the banjo, having won one in a radio contest. Each new accomplishment becomes a further platform for more to come. And again, whether or not anyone else particularly appreciates hearing me play, I'm happy knowing I can.

A lovely evening

Watching the sunset from our balcony and practicing the banjo. Well, my chords still don't sound right to me, but I've finally got the rhythm of strumming. Way cool.

And brie with dinner. Mmmm.

A day at home

Yesterday, the federal government's Office of Personnel Management (OPM) made a really bad decision - they kept the government offices open despite the fact that several bus routes were closed and some major arteries were still not clear. This took the cost of staying home and put it on those least able to afford it. My husband took the train to work and discovered that only perhaps a third of the staff were there at all. The roads that were cleared quickly clogged up, and the whole thing was apparantly a mess. And those train routes that were primarily above ground ended up being single-tracked. Just bad all around.

I called in to my office and said that if a major emergency happened, I'd take the train, but otherwise I'd be home, and set about making bean soup and homemade pies. Since it was Valentines day, I dug out the individual pans in the shape of hearts that I keep in my bread making bowl, and made steak and mushroom pies, to be served with green pea soup. (I got this idea from a Terry Pratchett novel - apparantly, it's a famous dish in Southern Australia.) It was really good. With sweet pie for dessert. Now, bean soup takes two days to make, so tonight will be bean soup (with potatoes, onions, carrots, and plenty of garlic.)

I didn't get much work done on the blanket, though I'd hoped to, because my shoulders and arms were aching from all the crocheting I've done recently, so I took a fallow day. Just read, made soup and pies, and visited with my husband when he got home. Got a couple squares added, but not much. Still, I'm down into the teens, waiting for my last package of squares to arrive, with 2 more. And that's it. 2 squares to edge, and about 14 to attach. And the extra squares I now have will either go to Afghans for Afghans or to a pillow to go with the blanket. (If it looks big enough for a baby blanket, it's going to Afghanistan. If not, I cover a pillow.)

And I thought about the pace of my day, and the really bad decision to send people out onto icy roads, making the job of deicing those roads harder. How much was accomplished that absolutely could not have waited until the snow cleared? Especially since several police departments were asking people not to go out unless they really had to. What was the hurry? Why did the government force those who take certain bus lines to take a day of leave since they could not come to work?

To me, this is a further sign of how far we have moved away from taking time out. Ice storms had knocked out electricity for many people, the roads were not cleared, and even the train lines were iced over, yet the government decided that people should come in to work. It was a natural day for drinking cocoa, having bean soup and bread, and waiting for the snow plows to do their work. Given the amount of productive work that I suspect happened yesterday (how many people stayed home? How much work gets done on such days?) couldn't we have saved all the fuel that went into turning roads from sheets of snow and sleet to sheets of ice, heating nearly empty office buildings, etc.?

And as an update, I did take some of my yarn stash and make a pretty bright pseudosphere at a 3 to 1 ratio - which is looking like the most cuddly brain coral ever thought of.

Fallow ground

Sometimes I get frustrated because I'm not moving at the speed of a jet, solving every problem I see in the world. I wish I had more energy to do more, learn more, move more, more, more...

As though I am a factory farm with a necessary yield to be measured only in terms of ever more from ever less. Yields not good? Dump in something new - whether it be coffee or a new activity to me or a new herbicide for the farm. And yet, sometimes the best thing you can do is to lie fallow, where anything that comes up is a gift. Last night, I found myself thinking about fallow ground. A friend of mine is running herself ragged as she and her husband attempt to work a particular project - a very worthy project, but not one that can be done by two people alone on a consistant basis. I would like to help them, but I just don't have the energy to be the consistant help they need, and am afraid of further miring up an already mired down situation.

And I wonder if perhaps the help I can be is to help her find some relief in the occasional *not* doing, *not* keeping up with everything, but learning to let go of those constant expectations of keeping every minute productive, and rediscovering fallow time - time to sit and let yourself percolate, time to rediscover yourself. As my husband pointed out to me, Darwin didn't write his Origin of Species until 8 years after his trip on the Beagle. He needed time to lie fallow, to think, to reflect.

Yeah, weeds come up in fallow fields, but let's look at those volunteers, shall we? Queen Anne's Lace is really wild carrot, and does wonders for loosening up soil. (It also makes this really neat kinda pink jelly.) That old pokeweed I mentioned earlier this year also has its uses: some folks eat the boiled leaves when the plant is still young and the toxins aren't as strong, and of course, there's that bright pink dye you can get from the berries, and that toxin doesn't bother birds, so if they're eating poke, they're not eating all the blackberries. Grasses fix the soil in place and prevent erosion. Dandelions make delicious salad greens when young, and are pure beauty when yellow, and pretty and fun when they go to seed. Sweet and sour is a treat just to chew on. Wild onions and garlic - well, enough said. And the best thing is that you don't know what's going to be there or not, so whatever you get is pure gift, something to be thankful for, an extra. Fallowness lies in recognizing that these are gifts to be treasured while they are here, but knowing that they are temporary gifts, not guarantees.

For me, it's like the little figures I get at the end of folding origami - they're totally an extra. The joy is in the folding, the feel of the paper, the crisp lines, the very complexity of the whole thing. And afterwards, I even get a little paper thing that other people enjoy getting. Bonus. In the same way, a day spent doing "nothing" is wonderful. At the end of it, I may have a few inches of knitting, a book read, some visiting, and a recipe done, but those are all incidental to the purpose of the day, which is to relax, to not expect anything out of myself. I didn't tell myself I'll get that book read, but it looked interesting and happened to be to hand when I felt like reading. There was no "need" to knit, except that my hands felt restless. Yeah, maybe I planned that recipe, but cooking and visiting are naturals for fallow days.

Maybe I'll invite my friend out with me this weekend to come be lazy with me this weekend.