I just ordered a ham, what are you doing?

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting
for our senses to grow sharper.” ― W.B. Yeats
 

Yep. I just ordered a ham. Never have I done this before. My body may be confusing its needs today but I went with it. I pick it up on the 19th and then I guess will figure it out from there! I also placed an order for a pasture raised turkey from my favorite farm.

I guess the energy is get things prepped today.

The other thing I'm doing, and the reason for taking up space in your sacred inbox today is to share my walking prayer. I'm saying it over and over and it feels like the way I can bless and receive today.

Holding my hands open, then placing on my heart in a gentle rhythm.

Open hands, open hearts.

And to make more personal when I need it, open hands, open heart.

I also made a little video on Instagram telling the story of how I used to take my kids on moon walks. They were little and we lived in the city and I would ask them to take off their shoes and we would walk around the block singing, "I feel the earth move, under my feet..."

I wanted them to have the experience of feeling the earth under their feet, to receive her energy. These little city kids had such smooth untouched feet and I worried they were missing something.

They loved it despite their rolling of eyes today when I tell them the things we used to do.

If you need some grounding today, take off your shoes, place those tender feet on the earth and let the energy move up inside of you. And maybe while there, send some love back to her. She needs us.

The nervous energy of today may make us do some odd things, like ordering a ham (even though my kids will be beyond thrilled), but it can also lead us to some powerful healing and rooting.

I want to meet you there. In that space where our roots are remembered and our love deep. Take care of you today.

I see you.

xo H

Remembrance of what we never knew.

However you celebrate: celebrate.

Ancient faith was not found in a book, it was in alignment with the natural world.

The earth spoke and the Goddesses were woven into the stories as people listened. There was a trust, a bond. We were natural scavengers, foragers, children of wonder.

Within us there is a remembrance from our ancestors in our bones of what we have never known in this body but our souls carry the wisdom of.

Connect to that wisdom. Be open to learning and receiving. Go back...back...back, then feel into a new beginning when winter wraps herself around you. Go back to a time before our ceremonies and celebrations were absorbed and undone by institutions afraid of our magic.

Liminal space cannot be stolen or abandoned. It is the trust in transition, in not knowing but wanting.

Our metaphorical harvest, our time of doing and moving and creating now allows us time for rest and retreat into the 'dying' period or the 'bleeding' phase of our cycles. The fertile void. The pause of the year when the discomfort of retreat can set in.

Let's make a prayer for the darkness.

My prayer is to be here. My wish is to not get lost in the cold and long for the spring. My prayer is for rest to feel like home. My prayer is for the pause in the dark.

Bless the Earth with birdseed or bread. Sit with your hot cider at your garden’s edge then offer her your last drop. Light a fire. Dance as your coffee brews. Be curious about what rest you need. Change your rhythms to be in harmony with the cold and dark.

And feast on simple beautiful foods straight from the harvest. Visit a local farm’s market, create from what you find. Carve a squash and devour its creamy flesh. Let honey sweeten your cakes and brew your herbs strong.

Remember. It is inside of you. The magic of alignment. The truth in the dirt. Your roots, your roots, your roots.

xo H

How are you?

“I dwell in possibility…” 
― Emily Dickinson
 

The snow is dancing outside the windows and I am snuggled under puffy blankets scattered on the couch. We've added more because the puppies seem to get to them before we do. My fingers are cold while I type and I search for warmth in a cup of coffee gone cold. We wait as long as we can before turning on the heater, a game I've played for decades to save money.

Each time I turn my head the flakes transform, are new. This time larger and heavier, last time light and swirling, wanting to perform before hitting the ground.

I feel vulnerable, as I always do when I've sent something new into the world and as something ends. Each day I've sent a short email to my circle, Scavenge. It is the quietest group I've ever circled and there is something so delicious in the stillness. There are only a few days left.

There are reasons we talk and others we pull inside; stories are read in silence and out loud.

I was thinking of a conversation my friend Melissa and I had the other day through text. It had been a while and I quickly type, "How are you???"

She responded, "That is such a huge question isn't it?"

Then I remembered that is one place we are so different. She said we were like twins with that question. To me it opens me up and makes me feel instantly loved and I will recite details and tell you the stirrings of my soul.

For Melissa, "I get very Emily Dickinson on that question. I’m always like “I’m processing” but inside I’m thinking “Well I suppose I have been dying from the moment I was born, aren’t we all?”

In other words, the question takes her into herself and becomes very quiet to the outside. For me, the question pulls me out of myself where I tend to dwell and reminds me that I am loved.

In my early days of coaching I would ask, "How are you, really?" Adding that one word seemed to remind the person that I truly wanted to know, to listen.

And sometimes it is just asking the right question. I prefer not to talk much about my work, it is a very internal process and I struggle to feel smart enough to discuss politics but I'll talk about kids and relationship and food with delight. I will talk about how I am longer than you'll want to listen!

I was sitting with how I could use the simple question of how are you for a prompt in Magic Making Circle. The possibilities started swirling like the snow that I had forgotten to check in on as I've lost myself in words.

Everything that goes into the circles comes from the act of living an ordinary life filled with extraordinary noticing and appreciation. The details, noticed and not rushed through, are presence.

I broke up with my phone months ago so that I could feel myself in my life, not be manipulated by algorithms and the next shiny person to come along. I touch in a few times a day but mostly I am in my life. I am looking for magic in snowflakes and sentences and warm pie.

My mission is to convince my kids to hang out with us longer after we've eaten and to not reach for their phones but instead be bored from time to time. The trick I am thinking is not to give them demands but to be present first. To be the example of living in a life of presence, not a performative playground of social media posts. To engage them differently than they are becoming used to with flashes of sound bites and reels about nothing.

I ask my kids how they are about fifteen times a day. It is my check in and they all are different in how they respond. Eli is like me and it all comes pouring out while Lucas just smiles and says, "Good," and snuggles or hugs me and eventually he'll have stories to tell.

How are you? Yes, there is a lot I can do with that one. With my partner I follow it up with, "Do you need anything?" Acts of service is not my primary love language but his and I will happily provide. If I vacuum a room or put away my clothes he feels loved.

The snow flakes are now tinier filling the air with white and the trees are holding them like powdered sugar dusted on a cake. The first snowfall quiets the sounds outside and I have convinced myself to make hot tea to warm my fingers.

Hot tea and cold pumpkin pie (the only way I like it) and the stillness of snow.

How are you? I have space to catch your words if you wish to send them.

xo H

Remembering our roots || An invitation

"To be rooted is perhaps the most important 
  and least recognized need of the human soul." 

― Simone Weil

I am currently obsessed with historical fiction. The time of Merlin, King Arthur legends, Celtic mysticism and any books that focus on telling these stories from a female perspective. Right now I'm reading The Lost Queen by Signe Pike and I use it in the space between when I'm working on my computer to take me out of my head and into a fantasy world.

These stories tell of a kind of magic that fills the gaps of my mind and offer me a place to go other than social media scrolling or overworking or Netflix binges. I take pictures of the clothes in my studio for (re)spiriting style as I listen. I chop onions as I listen.

Magic in any form is welcomed in my home and heart. In my current book they talk of the Wisdom Keepers, so this morning I decided to research a bit and then stumbled on this...

“Wisdom Keepers are the guardians of the ancient knowledge of the roots of the Planet, those who maintain the balance of the energy of Mother Earth by making offerings and keeping contact and communication going with the sacred elements for the continuation of life on this planet. They are like heroes for humanity, and are helping us all remember where we come from.” Oscar Raiz de la Tierra

That feels like a prayer and synchronicity and magic and everything we need.

I worried about going backwards, into work that had felt complete to me, but when I went back and read through the old Magic Making words I realized that I was only in the beginning of making sense of it. I had deep trust then to be guided inside of magic but I didn't have the wisdom that comes from the deepest prayers of surrender.

Now, I consider myself a wisdom seeker, no more. I long to learn and to study and to make offerings and immerse in ritual and continue to find ways to be rooted and remember my roots.

Magic Making Circle defined me in the years I was learning who I was and where I wanted to go and who I wanted to be with. There was an incredible amount of loss in that time. I look back with an extreme tenderness for she who was and what she traveled through.

I've exchanged a shot glass of tequila for a rolling pin and nights out in cities for bare feet in the earth and dirty fingernails. Bottles of wine are now jars soaking flower petals in oils. Wild chaotic drama is unearthed and unmasked and I look for adventure in the woods and in the sound of coyotes at night.

This morning as this email sends I will be roasting squash in the oven and sipping decaf staring out the window into the cold dark trees behind my house. I'll listen to the stories of Languoreth, a forgotten queen of sixth-century Scotland.

I will take a shower and untangle the knots in my hair that have woven over the last few days. Then I'll find the outfit that makes me feel the most like me now.Launch dayof something new gives me jitters of joy and faith.

I'll have five kids popping in and out of my studio filling me in on what break they are on and what has been happening in school and asking for the wifi password for the thousand-millionth time. (Why can't they write it down and why do their chrome books kick them off the wifi every single day?)

I will root with my squash and my coffee and my book and my shower and my kids and my puppies and the cold earth and the prayer I will be sending out with this invitation to circle once again.

The prayer for wisdom. The prayer for the sacred. The prayer for our healing. The prayer for our thirst. The prayer to trust the path and the choice. The prayer for connection. The prayer for our roots.

And with that, I will lay this invitation down, and continue to seek, to open, to heal.

Sending love,

xo H

Magic Making Circle 2020 has closed.

Big Bowls of Pasta to Make Magic

“There are some things, after all, that Sally Owens knows for certain: Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.” 

― Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

I remember sitting in a huge theatre with thousands of other students thinking,there has to be a better way. The way we were being told to sell, to market, to brand and to quite honestly harass and shame people made my stomach turn.

I'm grateful to have become a Health Coach because it changed my life. I'm also grateful to be an enneagram four who refuses to blend into the crowd. My entire being centers around being unique, surrounding myself with beauty, and details. All the details.

When I came up with the idea for the Magic Making Circle it felt special. Bits and pieces of an idea, centered around a circle of women who would gather at the end of the time together to be in person. After a few iterations of the circle, I felt blessed to be part of it, to have allowed it to somehow download into me so we could all become and learn together.

One day it didn't feel special anymore. There were a lot of courses out there. I saw my own 'formula' mimicked by others which feels like my cue to ditch and run and what had felt like a beautiful dream come to life now felt somewhat bland and blah. (This is the rough edge of the enneagram four.)

I let it go. Released it. Moved on. I started my shop. Did lots of other things.

And in that time I have gathered evidence of myself. Evidence that had me looking at shame and loss and codependency and anxiety and healing inside of my past and my now. I couldn't imagine dreaming again because I was exhausted.

I got sober. I got therapy. I got real. I cleaned my corners and stopped hiding my shit in drawers. (Well, almost, I have some drawers left.)

The only dream I could find was to get comfortable with being safe. To stop blowing up my life and just let it be safe.

So. I have.

When I have taught business I've asked people to define success for themselves, not use another person's version because if it doesn't resonate with you it won't work.

Initially success for me was getting free. Then it became safety. Now it is changing again and it is a humble earthly thing; like food growing in the dirt and giggling kids and deep connection and honestly,less.If it were a smell it would be the forest floor after a light rain in the moment the sun just first peeks out.

Magic is like success, it can't be someone else's. Trying to fit our dreams and iterations into a box designed by someone with lovely semantics won't bring us joy. Magic is served up from our own deep knowing and trust.

As my definition of success has changed, magic is changing for me too. Being on the other side of 45 is wild and I can say this; I have no desire to hustle for success.

Like the earthly things I crave to ground me and how I desire less, I also want to bring my work to you in a gentler way. And I am giving myself permission to return to something that brought me to my freedom, that led me to every dream I now stand inside of.

I'm spending this next week immersed in untangling the old Magic Making Circle so that I can rearrange the pieces and make things fit for who we are now. I am sure I'll have some battles over wanting it to become somethingso unique and special (play dramatic music here).

I'll make big bowls of pasta and calm myself down a few times.

Then at some point, as usually happens, when I release my expectations, I open to hearing what comes from a source outside of myself. There is a greater knowing that can be heard when we get still. And quiet. And unattach.

I long for that.

Then. I'll offer it to all of you, sort of like a freshly baked pie with creamy vanilla ice cream served outside as the leaves fall around us.

Between now and then if you could sit with the idea of magic, just be with it in wonder and curiosity as I will be too. In those thoughts, mine and yours, dreams will be born and feathers will fall and synchronicities will appear.

That is where we begin...

Once upon a time as dreams are born and feathers fall where there never were birds, magic rooted in and the earth smelled of possibility and desire.

Let's be gentle, sink our bare feet into the earth and know ourselves just a tiny bit more.

Sending love,

xo H

When the stars have turned.

“When you learn something new, you just feel good. You feel that the stars have turned,” she says. “And then if you live with people, they’ll just love you for it. It’s a win win.”

- Odette Williams

The summer was spent learning how to put up food. We only grew a few things but they were generous and the local farms helped with the rest. This house sits on old Farmland and it has been my dream to turn it back into as much producing land as I am able.

As I learned to can various foods the kids got excited. Some of them didn't care about the food but they seemed to be happy that I was happy. The kitchen would overheat and tomato guts would be covering the island and I felt a presence that I've decided only comes when I can foods (you have to be so careful and accurate).

I read that quote above and that is surely what happened. I felt the stars had turned and the people I live with loved me for it.

A few weeks ago I had the call to go back and read some old emails and watch the videos I had made from Magic Making Circle, the program I ran for 5 years, the program that was who I was.

I had a curiosity to see who I was then, how the years had changed me.

As I was reading and watching myself grow younger and younger as I slipped through time I could feel the years that I was grounded and the years that I was barely holding on. You can see it my eyes. I could feel it like a time machine ride.

I thought, maybe I should go back into this and relearn from my past self AND teach my past self. As I started to work through the material that whisper or nudge came on; do you know the one?

The one that tells you the thing you don't want to know yet. That one.

Then in the morning I crawled down to a chilly house in my slippers and there was a large white feather.

And feathers were how all of it began, so many years ago.

All of the magic and the circling and the iterating and I felt the stars had turned.

"Damnit," I jokingly said to no one. Here we go.

And you?

Have you felt the stars turn? Have you been adventuring and learning? Have you had the perfect cup of coffee or baked the most delicious pie crust?

It is all connected, this beautiful adventure we are on, learning, a little something new every chance we can.

Pooh speaks.

“What day is it?” asked Pooh. 
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.” 

- A.A. Milne

So much has changed for me in the last two years. The other day I thought...maybe I used to be braver, maybe I used to be driven by a need for validation, maybe I used to be loved by more, maybe I used to value what I made rather than who I am?

For sure sobriety slowed me down and pulled me into myself but when I turned 46 this month I couldn't find the place inside of me that used to be able to celebrate. I tend to feel quite off during even year birthdays, but it was something more than that.

All the questions began flowing. 

The last few days I've had debilitating vertigo. I can't walk down stairs without assistance because the stairs look like they are moving and I can only sit up for about an hour before I have to rest for two.

I can manage the symptoms, I've been here before and know what to do, how to lay my head on a stack of pillows, how to breathe through the nausea, but the FEAR was that I would be locked here, locked inside this world of dizziness.

A timeless sentence inside my head.

Inability to connect to anything around me.

If I put my head in one certain position I could scroll Instagram mindlessly and I felt all the old feelings of less than come flooding back. I saw other people who have birthdays around mine being celebrated and adored. It was so overwhelming.

Just a few weeks ago I would have told you that I was the happiest, calmest and most settled in my body that I can ever remember feeling. How am I here in the land of dizzy melancholy?

Then I remembered Pooh's words (Pooh is helping me write the Scavenge course).

“What day is it?” asked Pooh. 
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.” 

My favorite day. It is today.

When I got dizzy all I could think about was another day, tomorrow or the next or the next. When my birthday came around I got lost remembering years past of gatherings with friends, staying up late into the night, surprises and giggles.

The reason I was so gently happy a few weeks ago and all through the summer was because I was right there. In that day. In that hour. In that minute.

I would stand in the kitchen sweating as I boiled down apples for applesauce or turned fresh zucchini from the garden into fritters for the freezer.

I was in my life. Fully.

Simple, ordinary tasks. Today.

What I found is this: when you are fully embodied in today, tomorrow and yesterday fade away allowing you the gift of timelessness.

Scavenge came to me from these hot summer days filled with inspiration and the good kind of longings. The days when the sun would soak into my skin and ideas would flow in like I was a portal for something outside of myself.

I captured sun beams, grew tomatoes, ate fresh herbs in all my food and was dirty every day.

It was my favorite day every single day.

I was a scavenger foraging for the gifts all around me.

Life was one part metaphor and one part literal (just as this program is) and the mundane of sweeping a floor after four dozen ears of corn had been carefully cut from the cobs was the sweetest reward and a tethering to my 'harvest.'

Scavenge is making a pie crust from scratch and turning it into something incredible and it is the story inside of the pie crust; the time, the patience, the risk, the surprise, the wonder. Then of course, that first warm bite when the sugared fruit spills from inside the crust onto your fork.

Scavenge is presence and wonder. From an outfit that feels like the most you possible to turning a cereal box into a postcard for someone who might need a little bit of love.

Pooh will speak and I will surely listen. 

Today my friends is my favorite day because it is the eve, and the eve is longing mixed with being here, right here. Before the adventure begins. The tingles of anticipation for the day that will become today. And it too, will be my favorite.

On this eve, I invite you to grab an invisible net and catch any thoughts that try to take you out of the wonder of today.

When I feel stuck and worry that I'll be dizzy forever that gets scooped up into the net making space for me to notice the sweetness of my kid who comes to lay his head on my shoulder while my head is stacked up on the pillows.

I get to be in life with this amazing kid who has the most tender of hearts. Today. Right in this very moment of time. 

There will be pie and dressing up and foraging outside and drives to nowhere. Let's go on an adventure of the simplest, most ordinary kind.

The work at hand.

“Every bit of life comes with instructions, when we are attentive enough to notice.” 

- Karen Maezen Miller

My rhythm is not that of a mama with young kids anymore. While I do struggle with some grief over that stage of my life falling away what has grown from the composting of time is a rhythm of my own.

Rising early, now before the sun, with only myself to greet sleepy puppies who assure me that it is much to early to begin.

They patiently wait while I get the coffee grounds and water in the pot and then they fall back to sleep in new places as I do a tiny bit of computer work.

Then my wooden spoon, cutting board and enameled soup pot. I cook in the mornings. Sometimes for supper, occasionally a big breakfast, mostly from foraging what I have. Like an anxious anticipation to put together little bits that have been waiting.

Ever since my sweet friend Persephone had me and my kids in her own kitchen and without any fuss at all whipped up a gluten free chicken biscuit bake for our lunch, I have been foraging to create it as often as I have a couple potatoes laying around and chicken stock just boiled.

Today I will feed it to us for lunch and this will become a prompt for Scavenge and hopefully I will pass on the joy of how easy it can be to create such delight in the kitchen.

As I start my second cup of coffee the sun is up, Dave is out with the dogs, I am washing dishes and hurrying to wake up the kiddo who prefers me over his alarm clock. 6:45am and I am sitting on his bed listening to his morning story of how a huge beetle fell on him last night and then he lost it.

There is green tomato chutney to simmer on the stove and five kids will sit at desks scattered through out the house and I station myself in the center of it all. I don't intrude on them, I let them flow in to me, when they need to update me on what just happened. When they need snacks. When the one that likes me to wake him up also likes for me to put in a hot lunch for him to have on his short break.

I talk with Eli on the full moon about how he used to always know when it was a full moon even when he had no way of truly knowing. His body would fill with a certain energy and while he was an amazing sleeper, it was the one night he couldn't fall asleep with ease. He would need to run around and let off energy and I loved those nights with him.

And. He doesn't remember. Barely six years ago. He doesn't remember and part of me is still tethered to that boy so tuned into the moon. I want him to run up the stairs and tell me he can't sleep. But he doesn't think about the moon now. Thoughts clouded with the things boys of fifteen think.

Still, I gather them all up and we eat pizza under the harvest moon. We talk with Chloe into the night about college and gap years and our dream of having a real homestead once the boys graduate. 

I'm just noticing. In all of this time together, it would be so easy to stop noticing and try to control anything we could get our minds mixed up into.

The work at hand isn't complicated. Just be there with them. Anchor into the center and let them create a rhythm of their own.

Sending love and the smell of roasted vegetables clinging to a rich sauce and the gift of noticing.

Frozen

Sometimes we have a way of doing things and that way is our guide post. I’ve been writing for my courses for over a decade now and at some point that writing and my newsletter writing took the place of this space, this blog. I started blogging right before my third baby was born, Lucas turns 12 today.

I love the practice of writing daily for my teaching, I get to tell stories. The stories I might not tell in such full detail publicly, the warmth of the circles and the knowledge of who is inside of them, allows a greater freedom and intimacy.

The last year I’ve been pulled back to this space. To just add a few words and record some details I might want to look back on. Every so often I batch some of my newsletters because they are much like blog posts already written.

I think Instagram rather swept us all into its clutches and with such ease we can share a snippet of a photo and story, similar to the way blogging allowed us to so many years ago. It pulled many of us away from a regular blogging practice.

Guide posts shifted. And. The feeling of blogging versus the feeling of Instagram; beyond different.

Rather than become frustrated that I’m not doing something I want to do, frozen is more like it, I’d like to just offer myself the kindness I am able to provide around other parts of my life. Kindness and little pockets of time.

I have to clean off my gardening and writing desk to make space for the kid’s learning at home this year. We need 5 spaces and I have a studio and this other nook so I need to share! It offers me the perfect chance to reimagine my studio. It is not the coziest room in the house so I find myself not being in there other then when I need to snap photos of clothes or do my packaging.

Time to give it a bit of a make-over and create some spaces I’ll want to use because I do think it will be a refuge for me when school begins.

I didn’t take to school once I began 7th grade. I have a lot of bad feelings and memories and I didn’t know I had ADD or inattentive ADD as I believe it is now called. For girls it often presents in 7th grade. So having the kids all here, doing school around me is incredibly triggering.

I’d like for it to become healing, I want them to have a nice experience in all this chaos that is the return to kind of school, but not really, but hopefully.

And this is how I am unfreezing. Again. Not what I planned to write about but there is an order to my excavating. I can’t skip ahead and write about canning salsa and applesauce if I don’t first sink into this very true moment.

Gratefully, here. Rooting and sober and happy.

xo

My failed trip to the RMV

I just want to think about beautiful things. Like the way cabbage slices into ribbons or how dill lights up a room when you tear it.

I want to have my hands in the earth, my feet dirty and dream about colors.

But sometimes real life sneaks in and tells me I need to adult and go to the DMV. So, the first trip there was fine. I have my license. The second trip was today Friday morning... some time.

The last time I got an email with the confirmation number in case I had to cancel and the time and address. So a couple days ago I want to plan my day for Friday because it is going to be jam packed.

No email.

No. Email.

OK. It's fine, I will call them, I've called before. Before Corona. The phone numbers have been removed from all the DMV sites and there is only one main number with a recording only.

Email, contact button, chat????

Nothing. I search my profile. Nothing.

I can witness the feeling creeping in. I messed up. And that feeling is not spacious. It is yucky and intense and I start to go into a loop.

Why didn't I write it down?

So I make a plan to drive there when it opens and talk to the guy who stands outside with the clipboard and ask him if he can look at when my appointment is. This clipboard is filled with appointments for about 10 people every 20 minutes of the day or so as I could guess from last time.

The thought of asking that, let alone having him be angry at me (he wasn't happy last time I was there) is filling me with dread.

My head space is now filled with this problem that perhaps would not be a problem to someone else.

Finally I decide to not go (this is a big deal for me) and just make a new appointment for next week.

On day two in Making Space we are going to make a big long list. Of all the things we are avoiding, from clutter to appointments to phone calls to conversations to cleaning to organizing to donating. All of it.

Instead of it being all floaty in the Universe it is all going to go in one place. (Then we will work with it of course.) This step on its own without doing anything else is transformational. You'll see. You will be amazed at how this list grows and grows and as it does you will start to make space.

Deciding not to spend 40 minutes driving to the DMV not knowing my appointment time felt yucky. Instead it is going on my list. Back on my list!!!! DMV appointment.

Maybe this time I'll write it down.

I gained so much time in a day that was feeling tight and stressful. Space. For beauty. I can adult next week!!

This weekend my partner turns 50 and we'll be in NH with no internet, eating homemade zucchini bread, coleslaw, egg salad, tuna and peach preserves over ice cream. (So many recipes will be included in Making Space, my favorites, so simple, fresh and beautiful.)

I offer you this idea of a simple list. This is not a to-do list. Just an avoidance list. The things that are taking up so much space in the avoidance. If you do it, let me know how it goes.

OK, I'm off to deal with almost 9 pounds of cucumbers and make coleslaw and my special tuna.

Sending love!!!!!!

Salves, Corn and Space

Recently I foraged some of this goldenrod, not enough to tell any was gone because I love my bees, but enough to do a little project with.

I thought I would try my own hand at making salve. It is on the list of things I've wanted to do but haven't for the list of reasons that pile up.

I don't know enough, I don't have the ingredients, it will cost too much, it might not work, I might mess it up.

Since living in the time of Corona I've decided that every single thing I want to do but avoid is going to happen. Salve seems like an easy one to start with, there are also books on raising chicken, homesteading, canning, preserving, herbs and more. I'm obsessed really.

I'm committing to trying things. Once I try the fear is gone, I start to get it. I begin to understand it. 

But before I can dive into anything new (and this is a lot of new) I always make space first.

Space in the kitchen, in my closet, in my heart, in my mind.

I make sure nothing is hanging over me, like getting my van registered and inspected (the appointment is Friday).

I begin to create new systems.

I deep clean. I get rid of. I source beauty.

If rhythm has fallen away, I return.

I make my bed, I get dressed, I linger in a gorgeous morning routine.

Space. 

OK, I'm off to cut kernels off of 48 ears of corn for the freezer and make peach preserves. Things I've never done but have been on the list. (It doesn't have to be big things, see? Little tiny things that add up.)

Split pea soup and hair up

I have avoided putting my hair up for pretty much always. I have, no had, this thing with my neck. I've written about it. When I was 39 it culminated in a pure obsession and depression.

I am happy to report I am over it.

The other day I put on a dress that I love. Comfy and cute and makes great outfits. But from the side view, I didn't like how it looked. I don't like how most parts of me look from the side. Remembering the best advise for this 'problem' I just stopped turning to the side in the mirror. I'm only looking at myself, for now, at the angles that feel good.

Applying this same principle to my neck, putting my hair up became freedom. Off of my neck. Cooler, lighter. I can make big messy buns that I've dreamed of having.

The bonus of finally doing this thing is that I'm not obsessing anymore. I kind of don't care. I'm not calling it 'the flab' anymore. I'm loving on my neck. I had a massage from this amazing young father who just had his first baby. Dave and I both see him. He massages my neck. It is glorious.

Maybe my neck is glorious.

Even putting make-up on now, which I did most days, feels funny. I've gotten so used to seeing my face like this. As is.

Many people are talking about gaining Corona weight. I absolutely have. Zero fucks. I love myself more. Hair up. Tight dress. No make-up. Curvy and soft. To find your own self sexy is kind of joyful isn't it? I don't get there every day, but now most days I strive for that ease of self adoration.

My days have been spent preparing food for 3 months of living after the garden and farmer's markets are no longer providing. It feels sensual to be in the garden. Dirty. Sweating. Touching prickly textures and soft juicy things.

I'm turned on by the whole thing. Obsessed really. I spend every spare moment learning about one thing at a time, like how to put up a certain vegetable and then I go backwards to the harvest, the care, the planting.

Much rather be obsessed with this than my neck.

Much rather be obsessed with joy than finding something wrong with myself.

I have a pot of split pea soup on the stove. My secret is lemon. Juice from a whole lemon. I cook down some onion, carrot and celery in a big pot. Add sweet potato (or not), rosemary, thyme, pepper. Throw in some split peas and chicken stock and cook slowly for a very, very long time. When it is done, squeeze in that lemon and season to taste.

The soup brings me joy. The hair up brings joy.

Creating space for me to be me, holding my boundaries of joy, feels like a great step in the right direction.

Things have been funky. Shit is scary.

Stop looking at the side view if you like the front. And make some soup. Freeze it for later, share it with a friend.

Harvesting joy is a worthwhile obsession.

Much love, H

Not until I can.

I went to the DMV. I finally got a coveted appointment that I've been waiting forever for. I go back again in two weeks but now I know the system. It felt like a military operation done poorly, growing up in a military community, I know how well it can be done.

It was chaotic and people were pissed and impatient and when you have to leave the line to fill out a form you have to leave the building, stand outside, then come back in. Even in the rain which I promise is not helpful for filling out forms.

And. I did it.

I am one of those people who likes to have only 1 thing to do a day that feels major. Like this. Or making a phone call. Then I need 3 days off to recover.

My partner is opposite. He does multiple multiple things in a day, seemingly having 10 more hours than the rest of us. He doesn't appear to need recovery time, the 'things' he does feeds his energy.

I was actually nauseous driving to go get my license. I had never been there. I wasn't sure I would have all the right papers even though I was over prepared. I had no idea what the Corona policies were. And just the mere fact that it was adulting. $115 later, I have an in state MA license. (I never thought I would live in MA - another letter for another time.)

Recently we dug out a 37' by 27' area of our yard next to our garden box in suburbia (which used to be farmland) and we have been prepping it for a Fall garden. There is a space next to it for our someday chicken coop and we are talking about where we could put potatoes and an asparagus bed.

I love it. This is who I am. I've been dreaming of having a little farm for as long as I can remember. The kids all had mandatory help the family farm times, they pulled out roots and grass and helped turn over the soil and then they each planted one row of vegetables so they can feel connected to that crop.

It is hard work and this isn't even a full operation. My body is sore, my hands have blisters, my feet are aching from standing up for two days straight canning and freezing food.

The idea of canning has been one that fear took over. I was sure I would screw it up. But every time I saw a photo of someone putting up food my insides ached. This is me, I thought.

So. I went out to get everything I would need and let me tell you, not a jar lifter or canning rack to be found. Amazon is like mid August deliveries. 

Now, I am afraid of this thing I don't even have the tools for.

I did it anyway. I learned some hacks and I bought jars and I asked people for recipes and tips and it feels like a community of canning is all around me. Dearest Amelia wrote out her mother's method of canning for me. Someone sent their grandmother's recipes. I am collecting beautiful recipes and ordering a couple books.

I made dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, strawberry jam (too sweet but gorgeous), more dill pickles, mixed berry jam (OMG so good, I messed up the recipe the fruit is measured mashed not cut up).

It seems like a lot of pickles, because this is only the start, but they honestly taste like flavored cucumbers when you are using your own or farm stand cucumbers. We will eat them on our sandwiches all year long!

Today I am making chutney with nectarines and cherries and raisins sprinkled with cinnamon. Arugula pesto is frozen into three jars. The fourth didn't make it as I stuck my spatula into the blender before the blades calmed down. Now we have a little piece of plastic floating around in a not so blended batch. I told my family it would be like the little plastic baby in those cakes for New Year's. 

I am dreaming about the tools so I won't feel like I am holding the operation together with a bandaid. It does please me that the world is canning pickles now.

I made a deal with myself that I wouldn't write my newsletter until I canned. Check. And check.

Here I will be falling down rabbit holes of youtube videos including hand pollinating squash, why tomato leaves are curling, no till gardening, what to plant in August, building chicken coops, faking a root cellar, zucchini tips you wished you had known and the only method for tying up tomato plants you'll ever need!!!!

My plan is to start food preparations with 3 months of food in late Fall and then learn to increase that to 6 months. We are a big family so I need to get really specific on meals and what we need.


My other rabbit hole is creating a new circle for some time this August. (We will be making space, hint.)

Today I'll begin posting again to (re)spiriting style, now including simple homegoods like mugs, bottles, baskets and pretty little things. My goal is to post something each day, keeping a flow of treasures running through the feed. I want it to feel like a cute little shop you just wandered into off the street.

OK, onward to pickle land. Love to you all.

xo H

P.S. Keep sending me your recipes, I plan to try them all.

I am overwhelm.

I am overwhelm I thought. Feels like a fork in the road with more paths than make sense and you feel like you have to be on all of them, yesterday.

Let me back up.

I am possibility. Feels like an invitation into what could be, what I could accomplish, what I could learn, what I could create.

Yuck. One more time.

I am open.

Better. And breathe.

There is so much I want to do (or believe I should do) that I slink into myself filled with overwhelm and exhaustion. A summer circus.

I am safe.

Back to the root chakra need to remember my safety.

A few things have shaken me up recently and I'm needing a return to a schedule and I don't want it and I crave space.

I am space.

In that space I may contract. In that space I may cry. In that space I may need five naps. In that space I may feel pressed. In that space my boundaries are mine.

In that space I go out of the way to the store that sells my non-dairy creamer, the one that I ran out of for the last two days. Things like that feel like the cherry on top of the chaotic overwhelm that I've weaved.

I don't want this. I don't want that to happen. I don't want that to be true.

Echoes in my head. Fighting against things that aren't mine.

More than anything I am so tired for no reason at all and learning to be OK with that. Because of course there are reasons and they don't matter and they matter.

You cannot find white vinegar anywhere around here, everyone is making pickles. I need it to kill poison ivy. I use apple cider vinegar for my pickles. Delicious.

There are so many cucumbers. Bowls and bowls of cucumbers.

I know this place. Where I have to figure things out and I run out of cream for my coffee and I've spent double on groceries and the kids still seem to need more.

This place where I allow what is happening for others to effect my experience, to direct it. This place where I start to think dark things about myself. This place where what needs to get done, doesn't.

I am walking overwhelm I thought.

I remember, this is a pattern. This is a place I know. I visit here. I create this place I visit.

Today I will look for the space. I will enjoy the sips of coffee with the cream I almost forgot at the store when I only went in for that and rice and during checkout my cart was filled and the cream was forgotten.

I'll eat some rice with the veggies from the garden. I'll make more pickles. I'll state what I need rather than doing for someone else. I'll wash my hair, maybe.

Probably not.

Better.

And breathe.

xo

Two sides doesn't make a whole.

When I used to hear people announce they were taking an extended social media break I wondered why the announcement was necessary. It felt to me like a trap, a hold social media had over people that they couldn't just be there when and if they wanted.

During my personal unplanned social media break I received a lot of messages (I was truly touched) asking how I was, checking in with me, telling me I was missed. This surprised me. I didn't expect anyone would even notice inside of all the noise.

And the reason I took a break was the noise. When Corona hit I couldn't hear my own thoughts. Opinions and Zooms and newsletter after newsletter giving away free everythings and as much I was wanted to be supportive and talk about our experience it didn't feel helpful to add to the noise. I led my Rooting In group, which the women made an incredible place and space (thank you) and that was how I decided to walk the beginning of this unknown time.

I honestly never thought I would need a break from social media. I've had a pretty solid relationship with my spaces and I am not one to over-scroll to numb and I mostly can just stop following someone if I feel triggered or less than.

It seemed once I entered into the social media break space that there was an all or nothing road that would somehow lead to balance.

Two sides of the coin, on or off.

Take breaks when it becomes too much.  

What has surprised me most is that after being away I have little desire to return. And the two sides surely don't make a whole.

I have zero desire for likes and attention via that platform and this is new. Whether I want to admit it or not, I was feeling a bit left behind when it came to a social media following. Many of the people who started businesses around the same time have podcasts, they have huge followings, they work really hard to promote and gain exposure.

I don't.

I used to think social media was such a gift. I could connect and learn and grow a business and record pieces of my life and offer what I had to offer.

Then I realized I would think in Instagram posts. What picture? What words? I would tell a story on social media before I told it to friends or my partner. 

I've lost myself in other's lives on Instagram as well. The Glennon/Abby story and videos are intoxicatingly fun to view and we use their first names like they are friends in our circle. Women who are sober. Women who teach business. Women who write. Women who do it all with kids on their hip. Women who farm. Women who raise chicken and kids and change the world.

I've always said that I share so little but it has added up to a story of my life with most of the details that matter missing.

These letters fill in some gaps. My work/teaching courses are a more complete story.

The thing is, I never cared about the missing pieces because they are mine.

But what I noticed I was doing was thinking about other people as though they were a whole, knowing full well they had missing pieces too.

It is like this.

A friend writes something on social media. You see it. You think one thing about it, the thing it is leading you to think. You text that friend and get the missing pieces. All of a sudden you aren't thinking about it the same way. You have the context and their truth in a way that social media can't ever convey. 

We aren't on or off, we are so rich and deep and what we choose to not say on Instagram is who we are too, the gaps are filled in, the beauty is obvious without a perfect square photo.

I'm not leaving social media, I am rethinking how it holds my thoughts. When I want to share I'm going first to a letter or to my blog or to the ideas for programs. I'm sure I'll find a new flow and feel better there at some point (or not).

Just like I've been rewiring my brain to know that I am OK without alcohol I need to rewire it to know that I am OK without social media, mine and others'.

It used to feel fun but the psychology behind it, the ego behind it, the needs behind it aren't adding up to a whole life.

I watch the kids exist in an environment of Tik Tocs and Snaps and things I don't even understand. They think they are getting real news. They think they are informed. They think they are connected. They think in short sound bites and abbreviations and videos. I don't judge them (that's a hopeful statement) and I am trying to understand it all.

On the weekends we often 'force' them to go to the woods with us, where there is no wifi or service. They are crabby and awful for the first few hours. Then something happens. They become lovely. They play games. They go outside and use a bow and arrow and swim or read or talk.

At some point they let it go and I can feel their change. When we return to wifi land they act as though they just got reunited with a missing body part. 

They also say, "That was fun," and "I'm glad you forced me to go."

I'm learning to write again. Not in short little Insta posts but as long as I want (are you still reading ;)).

Blogging feels like a lost art that I want to capture again. I remember starting my day reading these few sweet blogs with a cup of coffee and screaming kids and the feeling was different than the Insta scrolls, the social media check ins.

Less noise. More space. A deliberateness to sharing words.

Stories not curated for the scrolling eyes and 2 second attention span of social media. Something more.

Just a little something more.

Thank you for being here, I'd love to hear from you, xo

Unmasked

Two years without a drink feels like an unmasking. Nothing to hide behind or from. Just raw and vulnerable. Feeling the feels. Unpacking the shame. Learning who the hell I am without alcohol.

I have all the stories, the ones that would make you say, "Oh, wow, she really did drink too much." The stories that will allow yourself to feel better that you don't drink too much because you don't drink like I did. Or maybe you do. I have the stories and someday maybe I'll even write them. Maybe.

But the thing is, when someone stops drinking it doesn't matter what their stories are. It doesn't matter how much shame is hiding behind the mask of the drink. It doesn't matter why they stopped. It doesn't matter if they stopped for a year or a month. It doesn't matter how many black out nights they encountered or words they said that they wish they could take back.

What matters is that space is held for their decision and it is never questioned whether they were a 'problem' drinker or not. Those metrics are simply for the people still drinking to justify their own decisions. If someone stops drinking, love them and support them in it. Don't ignore it, address it.

Ask them if it is OK to drink around them. Ask them if you can support them. Plan events and outings that don't involve alcohol. The last thing they need to think about is alcohol.

I have mostly removed myself from social situations these last two years. Everyone takes their own time in the process. I didn't want to be around alcohol. I don't.

I never saw the mask when I was drinking. Now when I see someone drink I notice the voice change, the glossy eyes, the way their personality shifts a tiny bit after just one drink and then a lot. I'm unmasked now and I don't judge anyone for drinking (remember I LOVE drinking). I just don't want to be around the masks. It feels uncomfortable.

My partner Dave is over 400 days without a drink. He says he has no desire to drink. I do. All the time. I imagine if I went on Zoloft I could take the edge off. For now, I'm choosing to try this with huge amounts of CBD oil and meditation. We'll see. 

My way through from the beginning has been to promise myself I can drink tomorrow. Then tomorrow becomes today and for two years I've made the continuing promise to myself.

I know I am not writing this letter to a bunch of sober people following me because I am sober. I know I am writing this to people who drink.

If any defensiveness comes up for you, I ask that you remember, I'm sharing my experience, my needs, my choices and they are NOT a reflection of you. You do you. I'm getting really good at doing me.

Sobriety is not a one size fits all. 

After I stopped alcohol I had to face love addiction. 
My finances. 
My body. 
My relationship with food. 

I am not sure anyone can just pick one thing. Dave eats an incredible amount of sugar now that he doesn't drink. Many people find they do the same. I preferred salty things and am dealing with high blood pressure now as a result. I've gained weight because I actually eat now and I'm no longer afraid of living in a body that is bigger than what I decided it should be.

For some of us, motivation is lost in sobriety. Alcohol was this buoy of go go go. Keep going. You are tired, drink. You are stuck, drink. You have to get up early, drink. You have a deadline, drink.

It took two years for my kids to stop referencing wine or vodka or tequila. It was such a part of their world because it was all around them all the time. How many times did I say to a kid, "I just need to get a glass of wine first." How many times did a kid suggest I just go get a glass of wine.

I miss the warmth of that first sip of alcohol, the one that tingles as it touches your tongue and then fills your belly. I loved that feeling. I loved feeling my voice change, my eyes get glossy and becoming whoever I became when the alcohol would create my mask. I was fun. Until I wasn't. I was brave. Until I made bad decisions. I was alive. Until I was sick.

I lost the ability to navigate life sober because the time between hangovers and the next drink start to become less and less. I'm still learning how to navigate it.

And. I hold a huge amount of love and forgiveness for she who was, but I don't want to be her anymore. I can't be her anymore. Not if I'm to live this beautiful life. If Dave was still drinking I don't know if our relationship would have made it. 

When I stopped drinking I declared to myself that I wouldn't talk about it to anyone, certainly not publicly. Not because of shame, because I didn't want anyone else to feel bad.

It may be part of my accountability, it may be that I can't leave this part out of my story, it may be that connecting with other sober people is everything.

Whatever the reason, I sit here sipping my decaf coffee writing these words (a little bit sick to my stomach talking about it still). But I'm not throwing up from having drank too much. And I'm not hungover. And I'm not hiding behind an invisible mask. 

I am however, wearing a mask whenever I go out in public (but that is whole other letter)!

Sending love, H

When to be afraid of messing up.

Last year I decided to learn how to grow my own food. I'm pretty good at houseplants and I've grown tomatoes and other things here and there. But what stopped me from truly learning was my fear of messing up. Wasting money. Doing it wrong. And being overwhelmed with learning everything right away.

I put peas in too late. My zucchini didn't fruit. I didn't know garlic needed to be planted in fall. I was too late ordering asparagus. My beets never made a beet. The feeling of not knowing what everyone else seemed to know was brutal.

The other day Dave wanted to go put our little fishing boat in the water. My whole body seized up. I was afraid of doing it wrong, I'm the one that tells him what direction to go and the hill is on someone's property and I was so nervous the guy would come out and yell at me.

The guy did come out. I sweat through my shirt. It was fine. This big bear of a guy who has ferrets for pets that my dogs almost ate one day. It was fine.

And. I was afraid.

I was afraid of having a conversation with my 15 year old about Trump and being anti-racist because I believe I don't know enough, am not articulate enough and get way too emotional. I did, of course, get way emotional. I did it anyway.

I want to grow carrots but I've heard it is hard. I want to grow beets but last year they failed. I want to learn how to preserve food but I'm terrified of canning something wrong and making someone sick.

I ordered the seeds.

Last week I sent an email out to all of you, asking you to reply. My hosting inbox was full and I was away without a computer or internet for days. I didn't know. I felt sad that no one answered. Then I got messages telling me that people couldn't get an email through to me.

I messed up. I am OK.

I didn't get your emails (please if you could, resend them xo) and I had to be in a moment of feeling very irrelevant and the old story of messing up and being a loser wanted to crawl back in.

I was fine.

I ordered the seeds. I got the boat in the water. I had the conversation, first of many. I screwed up the email.

I'm afraid of messing up. All the time.

I must have thrown out my economic stimulus payment because it comes as a debit card from a place called Money Network Services. Pretty sure I would not have opened that and quickly stuck it in the trash. (My sister saved me and you can call this number to replace them 1.800.240.8100, you are welcome.)

Sometimes messing up means I work a whole lot harder. Sometimes messing up means I feel brave. Sometimes messing up gives me a panic attack. Sometimes messing up is disappointment. Sometimes messing up is freedom.

I am afraid of messing up. And I keep going, I keep feeling it and doing shit anyway. Maybe I'll end up with carrots some day and even learn how to store food. Maybe my kids will have more empathy. Maybe Dave and I won't fight putting the boat into the water or other task that I really don't want to do. Maybe I'll learn to clear my inbox in time and open my mail and maybe I'll even mess up less one day.

Maybe. We need to keep going. Wear masks to say, I care about you. Amplify black and marginalized voices. Do the work of anti-racism. Make every day a celebration of Pride. 

We will mess up. Some of us more than others (hi). Keep going.

I see you. I appreciate you. I adore you. And if you feel like sending another email my way, I promise I'll get it this time.

Love ya, H

Living Room/Entry Way

This is a place holder post as I need to get more pictures. Full story and photos soon!

The Dining Room

This little spot would technically be the dining room of the original house. We’ve used it for all sorts of things, a book nook, lots of baskets of toys and just an open rug when the kids were young. This table came with the house and it opens to about 12 feet, the perfect Holiday table! I don’t love the look of the table but the bones are so good so I just used some fabrics I collected from retreats and a rug I’ve had forever.

I have a colorful (for me) color palette against the Cotton Blossom white walls. Turkish inspired with the rug and pillows, Kantha blankets and patterns, mud cloth and of course, my beloved sheepskin.

I am not overdecorating because the idea is to stage the house to sell even if we end up using it for a bit before making that decision. But I’m going to have to put more art on the walls, I love white walls but not to be left bare.

The only thing we bought for this room was the Turkish rug that I’ve hung on the wall and the chandelier that is my favorite choice for the entire house. The Midcentury Mod-boho collaboration. Here is the before and after.

I adore this room now, when you walk into the house it feels like a home and you quickly catch site of this space and just want to go cook a big stew and make some coffee and sit and just be. This room took forever to paint because of all the fake wood panels and the trim that needed sanding, priming and painting. So worth the effort. Dave keeps saying the house feels so clean.

I know a lot of people would not have chosen to paint the trim and we could certainly tried to freshen it up but the house has incredibly low ceilings and to create the look of more space and height your eye needs to not be stopped by anything, such as trim. So the white walls blend right into the white trim which goes right up to the ceiling creating the illusion of a much larger space.

Next up the entry way living room which we are calling the fire place living room as our main living room has a wood stove.

My Happy Place

Current state of the renovation process is a huge mess. This is the part that is hard for me, every single thing out of place. I remind myself, it has to be worse before it all comes together.

I wish I had taken more before pictures. I’m sure I have some from years ago. I was so excited every time we started to make a change I forgot to snap a photo!

Here is a photo of the room before. I had light baby blue walls to work with and I think it was quite lovely. As much as I wanted to paint it for years, it was in the best shape out of all the rooms. When we started painting we found two hardwires for sconces.

I was thrilled. This would be my first time choosing sconces that were wired and I spent days searching for something Midcentury Modern Boho. I found these $1200 sconces for $40. Shop around. The internet makes it so easy to price compare.

One more before…

This room may be the most dramatic. We took out the dresser and took off the mirror and everything on the walls. Painted Cotton Blossom on the walls and then went with a simple, dramatic feel to the space. I love it so much.

This fan was my splurge. I found it on sale but it makes the room. It is sleek, quiet and works beautifully for NH humidity. The dark wood of the blades I tied into the curtain rods and of course our thrifted nightstands.

Bunny Blueberry loves the make over, she sneaks in whenever she can. I made a little video to show the room in more detail.