Seedling failure.

[3-19-21]

So.

I have officially learned what a leggy seedling means. Not enough sun, sweet little things stretching to find the light. I was prepared. This is my first attempt.

Etiolation? I'm studying on Youtube. I'm going to wait another couple of weeks for the south facing windows to really get fired up. I will get a fan going.

I read everything about starting seeds but I am such a learn by doing kind of human. I can hear something, see something, but until I'm actually in it, I can't quite connect. I'm going to try a few fixes to see if I can save the little babies, but if not, I will keep going.

I was remembering when I started writing a newsletter back in 2009. In school I had been taught a rather formulaic approach with cute columns and a logo on top. It felt much more like sales than a human exchange.

Blogging though, blogging was pure connection. It was ease of writing, such beautiful connections. Over time I blended the intimacy with blogging with the feeling of just writing a love note, a sweet little message that hopefully would find its way where it needed to be.

My newsletter has evolved over and over. I don't put any pressure on it but I love it up. I send it out with a little blessing each time, just as I'm now blessing these seeds.

I've learned through doing, trying, making mistakes, trying again. I remember first signing up for an email marketing service and it took me forever to figure it all out. I'm glad I did, I get to be here with you. I'm still figuring it all out, iterating and calling in joy in the spring light.

And maybe, just maybe I'll be planting my own seedlings in the soil at Sweet Fern Farm, the farmland Dave has lovingly unearthed for me. I'll tell that story another day.

Sending love far and wide.

Maybe I won't take my coat off.

[3-12-21]

I can feel the funk lifting, the February New England blues. As the expansion from deep winter starts and the ducks fly back into the wetlands behind the house, anxiety starts to wind through me.

I know, it 'should' feel light to step outside into the earth and smell growth and send prayers into little seedlings waiting by the window's light. It 'should' feel better, but transitions are tricky little things.

When Lucas was in preschool and kindergarten, I would have to tell the teachers that he would take longer than they expected to transition from seasons. In winter he would wear shorts when other kids were in snow pants and in summer he wouldn't want to let go of the coat he had finally put on.

We were fortunate to have really amazing teachers in his life who let him find his way. And, it was stressful, hard to watch his small body ache from the changes, his skin itch, his comfort taken.

He was a teacher for me. I learned so deeply about myself through him. Why I feel weepy in spring, filled with anxiety, unsure. The harsh transitions of life that often aren't keeping pace with who we are.

I wanted to write today, as my lentils are sprouting and the coat is quite unnecessary to remind myself, us, that we are where we are. I'm thrilled to feel the depressive mix of January and February fade and I'm uncomfortable with the anxiety bubble coming up in 'letting go of my coat.'

I'm more tired. I'm having some trouble sleeping. My mind is racing.

If my expectations of myself are to pop right out of my winter shell and into glorious spring, I'm going to suffer. Like a kid being forced to change his shorts for snow pants when his skin is screaming out.

I remind myself that I get to pace myself, I get to choose when to take my coat off, I get to carve out rest time to help with lack of sleep, I get to make an extra cup of decaf and sit outside without shoes while still bundled in my coat, I get to be where I am.

I also ask myself what feels good right now. Extra showers, making sure to get dressed every morning, those sprouted lentils tucked into sandwiches, cuddles, laughing with Dave, lunch time when all the kids scatter around making food and talking, getting to the other side of things that need to be sorted, those sweet seeds becoming food, beeswax candles, Mayan Copal incense, hot coffee, cozy sweaters, finishing a plan, taking a drive, organizing my spices, planning what is next, stillness, Bailey the chicken sitting on my lap while she eats her dried bugs!

There is a vulnerablity inside of spring's arrival. It feels like anticipation mixed with a bit of fantasy mixed with deep desire. It is the archetype of the Maiden, the energy of the days after a woman's/girl's bleed (follicular phase), the expansion of the first quarter moon.

I wanted to write today to remind myself, us, that vulnerability is quite lovely. Intense, but lovely. It takes practice. It requires some stillness and trust. The coat will come off, the snow boots will get tucked away, our skin will ache for the sun and our feet will thirst for the wet earth. The seeds will (hopefully) sprout and our transition will complete.

This transition is ours to make. I wanted to write to remind myself, us.

After 30 years I drink my coffee black.

[3-5-21]

Dave's parents are vaccinated for Covid. It felt like a deep breath after a long, long waiting game. There is talk that the elementary school will be fully back in person at the end of the month. Two of Lucas' friends have Covid. I am holding my breath again.

I send him out the door to one of two in person school days (his only social contact in life) reminding him to keep his mask on, don't touch his face, use the antibacterial stuff, be safe.

I feel like I don't fit my body and my mind struggles to remember simple things. Seeds for the garden are ready to find their beginnings in the house. I've learned to drink my coffee black. Chloe has been accepted to Mass Art (she was 6 when I began my business). My breasts hurt from ovulating and I am tender, everywhere.

I see the world trying to push back outside and February's depressive hold isn't gone just because a random page turned on a calendar. I choose my favorite mug, fill it with warmth and try to pick one place to begin the day.

Who am I now? Who am I now? Who am I now?

I've been behind walls, I've been safe but so much has taken place inside. I've discovered patience, space, slowing down. I don't push into things like a chaotic beast. I've learned how to let my partner make choices without taking them on or making them personal.

My aesthetic has simplified. My needs have simplified. My pantry is filled with pickles and jams my hands made and I just finished the last carrots from the local farm. My sweet chicken knock on the door with their beaks when they want a treat. I'm letting go of things that weigh me down.

We learned that dust mites were creating my allergies and vertigo. New pillows, bed frame removed, furniture taken down, rug treated (eventually will be removed), linens washed in hot water. Part of my sense of smell is coming back. I don't feel like my head is swimming in as much water.

I never thought I'd drink my coffee black, but I love it. I love the simplicity of it, the heat of it.

My partner Dave has been inside too, becoming new, I am in awe of his motivation to heal, to source compassion, to find new ways of being. Our kids are solid, we've been watching Umbrella Academy as a family, and I love having all 7 of us in a room together. It makes the dogs crazy, they pace and change seats over and over.

I renamed my shop, the name I had planned for when I could turn it into a space outside of my home. Instead of fighting a dream that needed to fly away, I gave it wings. I can create magic inside these walls.

The fear of getting sick is still living in me. Deepest breaths, hold, exhale. Deepest breaths, hold, exhale.

Who am I now? Who I am now? Who am I now?

I keep asking. We all can. Like my little seeds, the most vital growth can happen inside.

Who are you now?

Deepest breaths. Hold. Exhale...

Life as devotional.

[2-26-21]

It began in my mug cabinet. A call to find my sacred aesthetic, to unearth the next layer of how I wanted to do life in beauty and integrity, with my family and partner. A lot of pressure to put on a mug cabinet.

The mug cabinet was so full the mugs were being stacked on top of each other, falling over, stuffed in. I had some mugs in another cabinet for 'back up.' Because my cup of decaf in the morning and then subsequent cups of tea all day long are my most favorite thing, it made sense why the calling for sacred began there.

Once you begin seeking devotion, the momentum builds. What began in the mug cabinet then became a kitchen make-over with open shelving and (someday) new counters. I painted the bottom cabinets black and the walls white. The paint continued into the living room and my studio and the room off the kitchen.

I've spent weeks covered in white paint (Ben Moore cloud white and stoneware) while making choices about what I loved, what fit my sacred aesthetic and what felt like it was part of our home or just taking up space. I've been mildly obsessed, I love a good obsession. I live for details; planter pots from Lithuania, vintage rugs from Turkey, sheepskin collections beginning when the kids were young.

We have taken easily 10 trips to the donation center. Each time it gets easier.

Here is my formula: sacred aesthetic, place, energy.

Sacred aesthetic is who you are now, what you love and what you value. I value beauty, handmade, things with a story, vintage, detail, small business. I love wood, baskets, clay, stone, texture, white walls. Who I am now is someone who wants space over stuff while still LOVING my treasures and collections. Who I am now is someone that is done hiding her past in boxes in the attic and mugs stuffed in a cabinet.

Who I am now is someone who saves up for the one thing she truly wants rather than wasting money over and over trying to find it on sale, cheaper, and never getting it right.

Your sacred aesthetic is a devotional to how you want to live, who you want to be. It is like the Pinterest board meets your values.

Place is all about your things having a home. If I love something it must find a home. This means every plant, rug, plate, picture, mirror, lamp, piece of paper, book. All of it. This changed the game for me. I was the person who just stuffed things in a basement or attic for later. Later. You know, later.

Later doesn't come. If I want it, it must have a home. I've got a long way to go to move through my past holding of stuff, but slowly I'm getting there.

Does this fit my sacred aesthetic? Does it have a home?

The last one is energy. My friend Melissa was going through her clothes and she found a final layer to this practice which was around the energy of the item. She asked herself if it was new energy or old energy. She was able to let go of things that held old energy.

This one has been vital for me in releasing things that hold memory. Clothes hold memory, books hold memory, pictures and art hold memory. I ask myself if it is new energy or old energy.

Do I still want this feeling or I am looking for different feelings? Am I holding onto something in a box tucked away because I have some shadow work to do from that time of my life? I might still love something that isn't giving me freedom to be who I am now. This isn't about something being old or new, it is the energy it gives off to you.

Does this fit my sacred aesthetic? Does it have a home? Is this new or old energy?

Three steps to unearthing you inside of your home. I've always known that changing the energy of a space by moving things around changes us. But this practice goes deeper, it is not just about moving and shifting but choosing, claiming and honoring.

Chaos in our home speaks to chaos inside of us. As we clear away and make our homes a sacred space, we open up. We deserve to feel a devotional life. Where does that begin for you?

I see you. I appreciate you. I adore you.

She changed three times.

[2-5-21]

I was going through old vision books for the work we are doing in Magic Making Circle. One of them was called, "Waiting to tell you she Changed Three Times." This particular book was bursting at the seams with pages filled with my becoming, my dreams, my desires. It is worn and the glue is starting to release little bits of paper with time.

One of the dreams of my now that I am inside of is working on an inexpensive, re-use as much as we can, kitchen make-over. I could live my life making things over, it is in my blood, I can sit and stare at a space for hours visioning the possibilities and then slowly (well sometimes) working to make the changes happen.

I move furniture. The kids used to say they would go to bed in one house and then wake up in a different one. They never knew where something would be because I might have moved it while they slept. Mostly, they liked the changing. (They didn't like the silverware changing spots.)

Even now I like to make little changes when they are away and see if they notice.

Back to the kitchen. This is a dream come true experience. I've never picked out tile or knobs or counters. It feels perfectly grown up and being 46, seems time to feel a bit grown. Dave and I are doing the work and being in the process/the practice seems to suit our relationship. He loves supporting things I'm excited (obsessed) about and we tend to have fun even through the frustrating bits.

So here I am, in the dream. I picked four paint colors to try. We unanimously, all seven of us, agreed on which color. Little black dress. Implies it is black, right? It looks black. Then I buy a gallon of it and we begin to paint. It is not black, it is blue. Quite blue.

I find a million ways to talk myself into it, to pretend it is kinda black. I already bought the paint. It is fine. I can live with it.

Whooooosh. A million tiny little memories of all the ways that I have told myself I can live with it rush through me. I can feel tears, some of the memories are deep wounds. It's fine, I can live with it. I'll make it work. I'll stay. I can figure out how to be happy. I don't have to be happy. It's fine, I can live with it.

It is a can of paint. Just a can of paint. My step-daughter loves it and wants her room that color. It won't go to waste. Beyond, beyond, beyond that. I'm allowed to change my mind. I'm allowed to say, "I bought this paint and it isn't what I wanted. I won't live with this because it isn't the color I've been dreaming of."

I ran up to Dave's office (our bedroom) and explained to him my process and how it was about the paint but not about the paint at all. It was how easily I'll settle, I won't go that next bit deeper to make the dream mine.

His reaction was to tell me that was great, choose a different color, that I should love it. He wasn't upset or disappointed. And even if he was (he never would be, that is old stuff) I am still allowed to change my mind!!!!

Waiting to tell you she changed three times.

After my moment, moments, I changed my mind about the knobs I had chosen. I changed my mind about the tile too. I kept changing my mind. Over and over and over. I felt free and supported.

I circled back to what I knew I wanted, the original vision of the dream. Black lower cabinets, white paint, white weathered tile, open shelving, a wall filled with cutting boards, brass accents and marble countertops. I haven't sold Dave on the marble, I may not, but I'll find something I love. Love.

We are doing the renovation in phases. Saving up to get each part of it, doing the work ourselves. The kids are getting used to not having a table to sit at to eat because our projects take up all the space.

The make-over will be gorgeous, no doubt. While I wait for tile and countertop I'm attending to small details that create a strong sacred aesthetic, details like cutting boards and stone planters and more blank space than I've ever had before. This weekend I'll paint more walls white, joining the house together.

Each time I find myself overwhelmed I remember two things. There is no rush, just be in the process. And. And. And. I don't have to say, "It's fine. I can live with it," ever again, feeling the lump in my gut that makes my voice fade away.

I don't live there anymore. I live in a life of my choosing, deeply supported. I live in the knowing of just how blessed it can feel.

You get to change your mind. Three times or ten. It can be big, or tiny. It is about the paint, but it isn't about the paint.

Sending blessings and chantings of change....xo

Clouds on the living room floor.

[1-22-21]

I am sitting here staring at little white puff balls spread out over the rug. My puppy Bunny tears apart our throw pillows. She seems to target my favorites and attacks them creating a room that looks like clouds have descended down. Once it was feathers, that was an adventure in patience, trying to stuff the feathers into a bag while they flew all around me. She also tears apart sheepskin and hand towels, socks, hoodies, hats, gloves and shoes.

We try to remember to move them when we are going out but sometimes when I go out no one will be downstairs with the dogs and that is when her fun happens. I just replaced destroyed pillows with two new ones and in a couple weeks we are down to one.

I love throw pillows. I obsess over them and love rearranging them and how they can change the look of an entire room. But now getting new ones feels like throwing money away until I can figure out a solid plan to stop the destruction.

I found myself lost in thought about pillows. How can I creatively solve this problem so I can have nice pillows again? And Dave is trying to figure out how to get the kids to close doors and turn off lights. I have a kid who just can't seem to get his dishes in the dishwasher, ever, and there is the kid who leaves dishes all over her room, cups filled with old milk and food wrappers, even though she isn't supposed to bring anything but water upstairs. Then the issue of all the kids on their phones more than we are comfortable with. The list can just grow and grow.

It is simpler to get lost thinking about pillows. We used to be so busy. Running kids around to sports and friends' houses and after school hangouts. I used to drive my daughter to school everyday and I spent about 3ish hours in the car with the back and forth. Now there is so much time.

Time has opened up and we are living in a bubble, seven people doing school and work and life in one house together. So much time to think about pillows. So many opportunities to not put dishes away or turn off lights. So easy to obsess about all the things that are wrong. I spent yesterday cleaning up a hallway rug that had five dog accidents during the night from a dog we didn't know was sick. The running musical song in my head went something like...it sucks to be me, it sucks to be me...as I went from one pile to the next.

After a conversation with Dave this morning I know that my body can't hold all the things that are 'wrong.' It makes my heart start beating and I feel a rush of adrenaline. I don't choose to start mornings like that. I don't want lists of what everyone is doing wrong floating in my head. I don't want the kids to feel bad and I certainly don't want to be mad at a puppy who tears things up.

This isn't the part where I have some sort of wonderful life changing advise. All I have is the knowing that it is never about the pillows or the dishes or the lights. It is about how we choose to think, the words we pick to put out to others and the kindness we feel and give.

Yesterday I sat my kid down and said, "How can I help you figure out a way to get those dishes from the sink to the dishwasher?" Today I asked Dave to not raise his voice when he gets upset about the kids because I can't hold space for that energy. His body doesn't need that energy either. Baby steps to feeling how I want to feel in this bubble of time.

These are part of my sacred roots. Choosing kindness. Holding boundaries that make us all better. Learning to put a feeling before an action. Being tender when I want to be crabby. Being crabby and asking for help through it. Safety in home. Rooted in place, in love.

I'll get creative with the pillows because they are important to me. We can source the same creativity with the kids. It helps remembering how awesome they all are and how blessed we are that they actually like us and want to be around us.

A sacred home, a sacred life, begins with the roots. Kindness, choice, feeling, tending, listening, loving. Taking those few seconds to ground in to our hearts before using our voice. Creating rhythm and ritual to support who we want to be.

Today after I shower, I'm going to vacuum up the pillow clouds all over the floor and clear off the table and do my little Friday clean up of the house. I'll make some tea and brunch. I'll feel my sacred roots through all the simple, tiny things that add up to this life.

Saying goodbye to wooden spoons.

[1-15-21]

I used to have a huge wooden spoon colored with stews and sauces and the beginnings of my kids' lives. When I separated I left the spoon because it felt strange to remove it from the house. It felt strange to remove myself too.

Recently I decided to purchase a long large spoon. I am not sure anyone notices, the ceramic pot holding the spoons, but it is one of the touchstones of my sacred life. A day begins here with oatmeal and eggs scrambled slowly, slowly. Creamy eggs. It ends here after the dishes are washed following bowls of pasta and broths and mashed potatoes. The kids love mashed potatoes.

As time moves I keep stirring. No matter where I live there will be the spoons and the soup pots filled with magic and the vintage ceramic kettles making tea, over and over. The roots. The rhythm. The sacred.

Dave and I are bound to where we live as divorced parents often are, and I can get lost in fantasies of one day being able to have a farmhouse on acres and acres of land with animals running around and our kids coming and going as adult children not worried about which of their parent's houses they are at this week or that.

I am anchored by the spoons and the sponges and the cast iron pots into these moments here now. To not feel bound but blessed. My word of the year for the last two years has been DEVOTIONAL and I'm not done with it. I ask myself questions like, "How can washing the dishes be a devotional? How can food feel more devotional? How can I bring more devotion into my relationship? When I'm outside where do I feel devotion?"

Have you ever watched someone wash dishes in pure anger? Words of frustration pour out and you feel sorry for the pot that is in their hands? Angry cleaning. I am no stranger to angry cleaning.

And do you know the feeling when you are hand washing your most precious mug because you don't trust the dishwasher with it? The way you softly hold it under the hot water and admire it as you set it down to dry? Memories flow through you and you are held in beauty.

Devotional. Life isn't black and white, we live in the spaces between. We dip in and out. Sometimes we are angry. And sometimes we choose to let it go.

A sacred life is built around these tiny moments of devotion. A mug. A spoon. Honoring our anger. Blessing ordinary moments. Layering beauty. The sound of water boiling in a kettle. The feel of a wool sponge in your hands. Nachos on Friday nights. Listening to the sounds of this life. Sweeping the crumbs away. Lighting the candle after dishes are done. Beginning again in the morning with a wooden spoon and your favorite mug and the promise of mashed potatoes for supper.

The story of a beginning.

[1-8-21]

February offers us in the North a deep bone chilling cold. In the morning I go out to bring the chicken their ceramic blue bowl filled with chicken oatmeal and the dirt has frozen like little stalagmites all along the path. If I stop in presence and bend over I can see the tiny ice crystals shining like jewels for the earth.

January brings the beginning of this story. Characters dressed in wool sweaters with long boots topped with fur. Children waiting at bus stops in only sweatshirts because they have grown up in this kind of cold, and teenagers apparently don't wear coats anymore.

Some days the sun comes out and the temperature hits 50 degrees and the adults shed their coats and put on their fleece and give the dogs extra walks. Outside the windows things come to life until the water turns to ice again and the dogs sleep by feet and fires.

Mostly in my story, I've found myself achingly tired. Not in the fall asleep tired, but the heavy tiredness where you have to talk yourself into washing the next round of dishes or taking your clothes off to get in the shower. I wish I could drink caffeine without my heart beating out of my chest, just so I could feel that extra bit of energy.

I set my heart to learning to feel into winter in a new way. Rather than sit around wishing it were over while succumbing to the laziness of the cold, I wanted to figure out how to embrace this cycle of life death life and sink into the offerings it has for us. Crone visits us in winter and with each new moon or moon time bleed. I follow her along hungry to learn.

It is winter in winter as the moon goes dark. I feel myself letting go so that I can become. Crone sits by the fire with her knitting and says, keep going, another layer, another layer. Life, death, life. Keep going. Find the precious.

Then the moon begins to find her light and I realize there are things I need to do to care for my body and my home. I pick up the phone. I feel lighter because I have released the layers. I am clear on my movements. I make plans.

By the time the moon is full I have released and tended and I find myself in the kitchen, wooden spoons and heavy cast iron cauldrons are the way into the medicine. I chop and stir and experiment with new sauces and spices. I feed. I feed some more.

The light wanes and I am connected to something deeper than myself. There is a communication with spirit and mother earth. I want to listen. I want to feel the presence and follow what is being asked of me. I want to listen.

The next page, Crone is back, reminding me of the hope inside of winter, the stillness, the release, the layers. I feel her writing the story with slow black ink and perfect handwriting that my kids will one day no longer see.

Yes, it is a beginning. A beginning that becomes another beginning and then another. Inside of it, our lives, sacred moments that seem like nothing until they form a chapter then a book then the pages burned one at a time in the fire.

And the ashes say, begin again.

I'm not going to talk you out of your resolution.

[12-30-20]

When Chloe was ten years old she made a resolution on New Year's Eve to not eat gluten for a set amount of time because she suspected (through my suspecting) that she was celiac/intolerant. When she would eat gluten she would get violently ill. Our house was gluten free but she would joyfully eat all the offerings from others and then be so sick.

It has been eight years since her resolution and she is happily gluten free to this day. Chloe, and her dad, are what Gretchen Rubin in her Four Tendencies work calls Upholders. They are the kind of people who LOVE being drawn into the New Year's resolutions because they click inside the accountability of the declaration and the turning of the calendar. They are able to hold themselves accountable while also using things like a gym membership or telling people about it as a way to stick to it. They are the Gregorian calendar's dream. Give them a planner and a plan and shit gets done. I don't find them to be able to flow all that well, if there was a plan and a time, then it really needs to happen and they will show up early. Their resolution will happen.

Now Chloe's mama (me) is a rebel. And rebels don't play well with accountability, especially in trying to set resolutions. In fact, we (I) prefer using less main stream things like Sabbats and Astrology and definitely the Moon to make our more pronounced declarations of time and celebration. We like to try things on, play, refuse what we say we want and then find our way back again. We flow with the moon and that thing we said we were going to do for 30 days in a moment of rebel amnesia will last 5 days. Maybe. If you get us a planner make sure it has the moon phases in it but know that it will become the first draft for our book and we will put our plans on a sticky note, somewhere. We are incredibly good at iterating into our next becomings. We will probably change our hair, our clothes, our mind and our feelings a few times on New Year's Eve. One of my kids is a rebel and we get each other. The rest of the family can find us a bit complicated. 'No,' is usually our first answer before the actual answer.

I also live with three (goodness me, three) questioners. Questioners do just that, ask a lot of questions. My questioners are headstrong and filled with an energy I'll never know. They are the ones who wake up and ask you how you slept, how you are, what your plans are even if they aren't totally listening to the answer; because they are thinking of their next question. When New Year's Eve comes around they are filled with the curiosity of the resolution, they have some ideas, some choices. They want to know what is for dinner and what time dinner is and if we are doing anything special for New Year's Eve. If they get passed the endless possibilities for a resolution, and it holds deep meaning and makes all the sense in the world, they will do it. If they have rituals, they will do them. With my questioners, there tends to be a lot more words, long lists and also the crossing off once complete.

The final kiddo in this house is an obliger and she doesn't like it. She'd rather be known as a rebel while many of us rebels would love to be able to have the obliger's ability to respond to external expectations to help ground us. On New Year's Eve she loves the idea of the resolution but it will be gone tomorrow if there isn't someone doing it with her or holding her to it. She has learned to ask us to support anything she wants or needs to do with check ins and praise. Praise goes a long way in her getting it done. She likes cute calendars but they won't serve any purpose other than hanging on her wall and in March the page will still be on January. If her friends are making resolutions, she will too. If her friends aren't a part of her resolution, it likely will fade away quietly and she'll insist she never really wanted to anyway.

Over the years my inbox and Instagram feed have filled up with all the reasons we shouldn't make resolutions. Some talk about goals or intentions, picking a word of the year or how diets don't work (they don't) and how resolutions can leave us feeling bad about ourselves and put too much pressure where we just need some space.

The thing is, even as a rebel, there is an overwhelmingly nostalgic feeling about the turning of the calendar from one year to the next. It may be arbitrary, but there is some sort of magic in the air when people stay up till midnight just to kiss someone in that first second of a new beginning.

What I do now is I think about the person I want to be. I think about where I'm not showing up. I think about my dreams. I think about my North Star. I think about my place. I think about my heart. I think about what I'm envying in others or my current infatuations.

Then I decide who I want to be to guide my year. Last year I wanted to be someone who was much more conscious of the ways my money was being spent. I decided to only buy second hand or from artists, to buy my food from local grassfed meat farms and local vegetable farms. I knew it wouldn't be a 100% deal, I just wanted to be someone who...

From that decision I started growing my own food, found a huge freezer for free for preserving, learned to can, got chicken, joined a winter CSA, continued selling second hand in my shop, found amazing artists, donated a whole lot of things that were in my way of being who I wanted to be and got very clear on my sacred aesthetic.

There are no rules, I wouldn't follow them if there were. It isn't a resolution but it is wrapped up in the feeling of what a New Year's resolution is: change. And change, well, I love it. I cherish it. I live into it.

This year I want to be someone who tends to her body and lives into the deliciousness and wonder of beauty inside of space.

Something like that. I'm starting to honor my physical body in new ways and going to 12875 doctor appointments and dealing with things I don't want to think about, but need to. I am in peri-menopause. I'm open to movement finding me, inviting me in. I'm planning to get a haircut, first in two years. I'm making sure our home goes to the next level of less plastic and waste and invites in earth conscious products only.

As my sacred aesthetic gets more clear space continues to open. I love making space and imagine it will always be my thing.

I usually decide on a calendar by February so there won't be an actual page to turn but deciding on who I want to be happens now. It has been happening all along, through this past year of 2020. It is born of all years past. Tonight I can harness the sparkling cider anticipation of a beginning. The feeling of a beginning.

I will never refuse the energy and feeling of possibility and change. So, go ahead, make a resolution or don't. And, tell me, who do you want to be?

(I want to be someone who...)

A Kitchen Unfolding

For Christmas I asked Dave to paint the yellow walls of the kitchen white. He said since we were doing that why not just begin the changes I’ve been dreaming of making. This was incredibly exciting to me. I’ve wanted to do a kitchen make-over somewhere/anywhere forever. Like, dream.

Getting to make choices and pick out tiles and colors and patterns and obsess about every single detail is truly where my joy lives. We’ve been in this house for three years and here is what it has looked like. I always forget before photos, but Dave kept reminding me along the way.

First thing we did was make a plan. This wasn’t a renovation we were going to do all at once, this was a weekend projects together when we had time kind of thing. We planned out what we wanted to do and Dave called the planning our different phases.

• Remove molding from top of cabinets

• Remove microwave

• Take off top cabinet doors

• Take down corner cabinets

• Move large cabinet over to stove

• Put in a hood

• Add floating shelves

• New countertop and sink

• Butcher block island

• Tile backsplash

• Larger sink

• Paint bottom cabinets black

• New knobs/handles

This list seems exhausting and expensive and impossible for just Dave and I to do. But once he showed me how to break it down into tiny little projects that we could spend an entire season working on, I could wrap my brain around it.

Each month I save up for one element of the project. First the hood, then the floating shelves. Now I am working on the sink and tile. I spent an entire month looking at tile and getting samples. Finally I found something I think is going to create a unique and beautiful look.

Just some paint and the cabinets rearranged without doors on transformed the space. The bulky microwave which we didn’t want to use made us feel like we could breathe. We already had the paint, and so at this point the renovation was just hard work.

The cabinet on this wall was moved to the right of the stove, taking away that bulky corner cabinet. The kitchen became brighter just by doing this. We had to wait for over a month to get the floating shelves by the maker on Etsy, but so worth it. They are old barn wood pieces from the 1800’s made into floating shelves. No two look alike. I feel like we brought history into a very modern house.

I have spent days learning how to stage open shelving so it functions and looks beautiful. We gave away about 5 huge boxes of things we had crammed into our shelves and kept only things we love. I’ll be talking more about sacred aesthetic in Sacred Roots, but using my sacred aesthetic as a guide, made releasing things possible. I tend to attach feelings and memories to things or think I might need that for something later.

I had been collecting pottery from thrifting or re-salers for months in preparation for open shelving so many of these pieces were selected knowing this is where we were headed and many are just from years of collecting.

The best way I found was to take everything down and just keep trying different combinations. I am getting close. My favorite part is that there isn’t a cup cabinet or a bowl cabinet. Things are clustered together into sets and stories. Mugs are with plates and bowls. Pretty glass is sprinkled into pottery and wood.

The floating shelves are the winner so far. They came with the mounting hardware so all we (Dave) had to do was find studs and put in anchors to hold it. Adding some plants in helps to add dimension and interest. The top shelf now makes the ceiling seem so much higher. I needed to continue leading the eye up by placing big bowls and more plants on top of the cabinets all around the kitchen. Everything is something we use, wooden bowls and kettles.

Putting the hood up was a lesson in patience and not giving up. Dave had to move an outlet and then we chose to hang the hood really high which created a set of problems that took Dave hours and a million tries to figure out. Eventually he got it and it is so worth it. I clapped for him. I did a whole lot of sitting and watching and waiting, feeling incredibly unhelpful, but I can give praise!

The tile will eventually run up to the bottom of the cabinets and across the kitchen. The space in-between the tile and the hood is going to get a knife holder using wood from an old whiskey barrel from a maker on Etsy. We have begun collecting hand forged knives because Dave loves watching Forged in Fire, and it will be art as well as function.

Before and after. So much more space now.

So this was phase 1. Phase 2 will be the big stuff. A light colored quartz countertop, black and white aged ceramic tile in a funky geometric pattern and black cabinets with the most amazing knobs I can find. The sink will be a big granite under mount to give some industrial edge to the space. And the vintage hanging egg basket wins the day.

We are in no rush and I wanted to write this post, one to remember the process, but also to ground into the process. There is no time frame for a dream. You can take it slow. I love how things are right now, I am thrilled, so the thought of even more changes blows my mind.

We often don’t do things because it feels like so much. Money or time or we just don’t know enough. We forget that sometimes the learning and the pace are part of the joy to where we are headed.

I can see what I want but struggle to figure it all out in practical terms. I have an eye for design and space but no skills for the back end, the construction. Dave is able to understand what I want (eventually) and then he helps me move from the idea into the reality. Good team.

I’ll share the next steps as we get there and I’ll do a post on the design too: rugs, colors, tile, ceramics, etc.

And a reminder that Sacred Roots starts January 28th and is totally free.

Sacred Roots :: a moon cycle gathering

:: A one month gathering to deepen the way we live into a sacred life ::

There is a place beyond altars, candles, tarot, baths, oils, journals, vision boards and crystals when living into life as sacred. There are roots that support meditation and yoga and long walks. It is a place of integrity and truth, of space and reverence.

Sacred Roots is a 4 week gathering to go deeper into some ways we can begin to foundationally experience everyday sacred living. This is one month of doing the work and creating patterns and habits that allow us to flow from roots to flower.

For 4 weeks I’ll send an email on Thursday that will have one foundational practice/process that works with the energy of that week’s moon phase. These will include a task or project to work through with the support of the group or on your own. My hope is that in just 4 weeks you will feel more connected, free, lifted, reverent and have created devotional practices that allow you to nurture and tend to your home, yourself and our mother earth.

January 28th Full Moon (summer) supportive food tunnel

February 4th Last Quarter Moon (Autumn) natural home

February 11th New Moon (Winter) sacred aesthetic

February 18th First Quarter (Spring) loose ends

This month is not about sitting and thinking about all of it, it is about actively doing; a few hours each week dedicated to the movement that creates a sacred experience. At the end of the work anyone who wishes can join in on a Live Zoom Call Sunday February 21st at 2:00pm Eastern to share their experience. The call will be recorded and sent out.

Join Sacred Roots

How many days of misery can you endure?

“The most important thing is to hold on, hold out, for your creative life, for your solitude, for your time to be and do, for your very life.”

* Clarissa Pinkola Estés *

(Here is a recording of me reading the letter.)

Today was the end of ten days of liquid antibiotic (I can't swallow pills) to once again heal an infection in my intestines. Three weeks before the ten days began I knew it was there. I always know. I like to first pretend it away, then try eating beans, pretend it away again but better, then desperately try every natural remedy I can find.

By tuna melt night, as I watched everyone eat and I sipped chicken broth in pain, I decided to call the doctor. I have a misery calendar and I kept checking off the boxes. Three weeks with an infection in your intestines, is a long ass time.

I kept wondering why it was so hard for me to get anything done, to think even. I kept wondering why I wanted to just nap and cry. I kept wondering if something more was wrong with me because I had no energy.

Checked off the boxes. Day 18, Day 19, Day 20. I need a neon sign flashing-YOU HAVE AN INFECTION IN YOUR INTESTINES-to remind me that I'm somehow allowed to feel like crap.

Partly I don't want to deal with it or take antibiotics and partly I'm so annoyed that something seems to always be wrong with me. My constitution isn't one to get lots of colds or flues, I go big and get the really obscure weird stuff that people haven't heard of. If I can just endure the misery I won't have to be looked at as the one with all the issues. And yet...

And yet.

Ten days of antibiotics and I'm not healed and I will have to pick up the phone today and call the doctor again. Three weeks of enduring probably means I made it all worse.

So I've been thinking about all of this, and the understanding under the understanding. I know that I avoid antibiotics because they fix one thing (hopefully) to then cause chaos in the body; I end up with candida and upset belly and all the good stuff gets destroyed with the bad.

But under that? The misery calendar, just one more day, one more checked box. It seems a bit like suffering productivity doesn't it? Look at what I've endured (done, accomplished, produced) and love me for it. Look at the strength in my suffering as I silently fall apart, but look, look, look.

And under that, major Manipura (third) Chakra work happening behind the scenes. Learning to make boundaries around what are my feelings and needs and Dave's feelings and needs and not take on his stuff as mine or make things about me when he is working through his wounds. Feeling this pit in my gut around many aspects of social media and witnessing how this is the way people are(n't) seen and trying to find a way to reconcile my needs from it (which may end up being none) versus what it takes from me.

Trying to trust my intuition calling for even more simplicity and space to iterate even if (especially if) it isn't with the grain.

In healing the third chakra we must make space in order to fill up again. Digestion, fully, before we eat. Old patterns released before the new practices take their place. Everything needs space. Including my intestines. I've noticed that I am uncomfortable in feeling hungry, something I was quite practiced at when I used to drink.

In Magic Making Circle I've been writing about the connection of moon phases/our personal moon time cycle/female archetypes/seasonal energy and how we flow through these in each month (day and year also) and how that informs our energy, longings, creativity/productivity, sexuality and ultimately our magic. I've become archetype obsessed and the embodiment and guidance of the archetypes I'm working with is intense beautiful work.

When I ignore the pain in my gut I am thrown into the shadow work and reminded that my quiet misery heals nothing and no one. When I ignore making space for all the new thoughts and practices and becomings things get all clogged up.

I asked Dave to paint the kitchen in my favorite white color for Christmas. He decided that he would begin a renovation of how I've been wanting the kitchen: open shelving, butcher block island, no microwave, tile. This is phase one as he says: remove the cabinets, take off cabinet doors, take down the microwave.

I had to clear the cabinets out then pile all the things on the island and the tables. I went through and got rid of 4 boxes of things that weren't aligned to my sacred aesthetic (we are working on this in Magic Making too).

I kept getting so crabby that everything was out of place and I couldn't cook dinner for two nights. The kids loved take out night though! I had to keep reminding myself that what felt like chaos now was actually the process of making space for more simplicity, beauty and my kitchen magic. Making space for one of my dreams.

I moved all the donation boxes out of the way and began placing things on the shelves. Only things we love. Only things that are beautiful. Only things that offer ease and simplicity. Only things with a story to tell or a story still to write.

The best part of this gift from Dave is how much joy it brings him to help me get to my vision. I forget that. I don't make enough space for that truth because it means letting go of old old patterns. Kind of like suffering instead of calling the doctor for help.

Last night as Yule's darkness took hold I cleared all the surfaces of the kitchen and lit candles all over. We ate meatloaf, mashed potatoes and roasted squash by the candles and then decorated the tree Dave and the kids brought from the woods behind our house.

The Goddess has given birth to the sun and slowly we begin our journey back to light. We can make space for that light as we move through the shadows of our suffering, our old patterns and the stories that just don't fit us.

I can call the doctor and bring the boxes to the donation center and rest rest rest with mugs of chicken broth. You can do your things (you know the ones) and we can make some beautiful space.

We can burn the misery calendars in the sacred fire of winter and live into today as the magical, special day it has always been.

And so, it is.

xo

{Edited: This was written on Solstice and, I am feeling much better.}

{And an ask: I'll be putting out some small free offerings in 2021 and while I have a few ideas I'd love to know what would serve you? How can I offer and honor and support? Leave a comment and let me know.}

Dishes, chicken, magic

“We all begin the process before we are ready, before we are strong enough, before we know enough; we begin a dialogue with thoughts and feelings that both tickle and thunder within us. We respond before we know how to speak the language, before we know all the answers, and before we know exactly to whom we are speaking.” 

― Clarissa Pinkola Estés

There I was in a tiny isolation booth with one glass window, masked up, raising my hand when I heard a beep and wondering if I would be able to avoid the panic attack that had set my heart racing. The minute the door closed I felt an absence of sound which was frighteningly loud and the pressure from the little squishies in my ears was most likely phantom but real and the guy was so nice, but something in me wanted to run out of there.

Turns out my hearing is normal for a 46 year old but my listening, probably, isn't. The kids have been complaining that my hearing is getting worse and with chronic sinus infections and vertigo it seemed a visit to an ENT was warranted.

My testing guy told me that what the kids are experiencing is me experiencing auditory processing issues, which after reading about, I'm guessing I've had for quite some time. Along with memory processing (my biggest challenge). While I have worked for the last decade-ish since being diagnosed with ADD to learn behavioral modifications, this is a new layer to understand.

Peri-menopuase (which deserves an entire letter or book of its own) is compacting some of these processing issues along with being at a place where doing the dishes is finally just doing the dishes for the absolute pleasure of having clean dishes; while all five kids seem to have the most to say to me while the water is running and I'm immersed in the suds.

"I can't hear you," I repeat. They continue. I lather, rinse and just let them keep going.

I'm also incredibly exhausted by social media and watching people perform. I did that. Now I'm 46. And if you think for a second something doesn't happen to you after 45, just wait. Or you already know.

I'd rather wash dishes than scroll Instagram. I'd rather dream and be bored than see one more meme. I still like recording thoughts and photos, but the pressure for it to be something more is no longer in my wheelhouse. I love my shop because it is so purely what it is and nothing else. Every time I think it should be more, I go wash a dish or take a walk and remember myself.

Dave and I recently 'graduated' from our couples therapy. More like our therapist has moved on to new adventures and set us free with all her absolute love, and goodness do we love her back. We were perfect students and simulated one last fight so she could give us a final road map through our patterns.

She said that she has worked with many many couples and that not everyone has such an incredible love for each other. She loves our love and being witnessed like that is powerful.

I asked Dave for the kitchen to be painted for my Christmas gift (no one in this family has a big gift love language but we are packed with acts of service love).

He then told me that he would not just be painting it but removing some of the top cabinets just as I've dreamed about so we can hang floating shelves. I spent the next two days pouring over photos of kitchens and planning colors (Behr cracked pepper) and wanting to talk about design to anyone who would listen.

Turns out, Dave's joy for my joy is the actual gift. Forget the paint colors, watching another human feel genuine delight in your delight is magical. And then I feel pleasure in his ability to please. Also, the way he loves me (I'm learning to see it even when we are fighting) is intense and generous. He wants for me. He wants me. And vice versa.

We also...got two chicken, another dream of mine. We'll raise some more in the Spring but the whole set up was inherited and the birds came too. They are the sweetest things ever. It was a total surprise and I have been incredibly nervous to figure it all out. No matter how many books I read, the only thing that works for my brain is to do it. And poof, here they are.

The sixth Magic Making Circle has begun, we are almost a month in and it feels like home. I reworked the whole thing and it is gentle and as we all get to know one another I am beyond grateful to do the work of magic with other incredible humans. I have writing days, video days, recipe creation days, shop days and making home days. Gently I'm falling into the new rhythm and embracing Winter in a way I haven't accessed since I was a kid.

I have a nervous feeling in my belly, as I do every time I run the magic circle. Because it is powerful magic, and something brand new is always created. So while I get excited for the creation for others, I can't avoid the impending burning-down-to-rise-from-the-ashes feeling that comes. My whole life as it is now came from these circles, the work in them, and I read letter after letter from women who share their stories of the magic that was born for them, from them. (No pressure!!!)

So the nervousness? Kind of like the butterflies during a magical first kiss. My first kiss with Dave, came from little slips of paper made during magic making. All the evidence for his arrival was waiting.

My healing of love addiction is a direct result of the core wounding challenges that Dave brings to our relationship and we are healing together through the experience of these core wounds (from ourselves and our ancestors) talking to each other.

My therapist says you can do all the work on your own and feel healed and then your partner shows up.

Dave took the kids into the woods and cut down the tops of two trees, one for my mom and one for us. I was outside taking a walkabout with the chicken.

I thought about how little I ache for, how the aches were so real in the past. Now I wash dishes for the joy of them being clean and I've committed to collecting and using only things that feel like part of my sacred aesthetic and radiate beauty and story. I have the patience to not hear my kids as they talk to me. I trust that Dave loves me even when he is triggered. I won't perform but I will dream.

Sage, the smaller chicken started scratching at the leaves and Eli ran out of the woods with the sweetest tree. This is where I've been heading, I'm here. Sometimes we just need to look around, be quiet and notice who we have become.

And still, first kisses of magic await.

xoxo

The parts of me people are afraid to catch.

“When you make a choice, you change the future.”

~ Deepak Chopra

At 41 I was divorced and at 43 sober. These are the two parts of myself that I fear others are afraid to catch. These are two parts of myself that quietly push others away who secretly know a similar something inside of them isn't quite right. These are the parts of myself that I am incredibly proud of and talk the least of.

When I separated I lost a lot of people in my community and I also received more letters than ever from women who were in pain in their marriages and seeking my council or just telling me that I gave them the bravery to look at their next steps.

As I began the work of magic making I found the feeling inside of my dreams (work we will do together) and the feeling was freedom. It has taken me a decade of chaos and burning things down and walking through surrender to finally settle into the feeling that last presented itself, safety.

I didn't want to get divorced. I loved being married and I loved (still do) my husband. He is among my best friends. And, to be free, I had to go. For him to be better, for me to be better, for my kids to be better, I had to go.

At that time my friend and teacher Pixie was walking through divorce before me. I caught it from her. I caught her bravery, her boldness, her kindness, her guidance. I often wonder had she not walked the path first, where I would be.

I read one sobriety book, Nothing Good Can Come of This, Kristi Coulter. I think I bought it in an airport and read it while drinking on a plane. Something in me stirred, and I caught sobriety. I caught the truth of my story with alcohol from her story, I caught integrity, I caught alignment with Spirit. I caught my tears and I caught my prayers.

Since, many people in my community have caught sobriety in some form from me. Not because of me being sober, because of the truth that woke up inside of them, echoed in my experience.

Yes, we catch change from others. We catch it when something deep inside of us that we refuse to listen to comes awake.

When truth stirs our integrity into alignment, it is a beastly roar.

I am a mother, a wild woman, a wisdom seeker, a healer, a lover. I am divorced and I am sober. I am a cluster of archetypes that weave my spirit and tell my story.

I am endlessly curious. I am home in the kitchen and dirt.

I am a magic maker.

On this eve of magic making, I invite you to think on your parts. The ones others may be afraid of catching, the one you may have forgotten, the ones that bring you peace, the ones that invite you into the shadows, the ones that are no more but grew you here.

On this eve, charged by the New Moon, spirit of Crone, archetype of Sage, energy of Winter, remember. Remember who you are.

Then, we will choose and become. My prayer is that you will catch the magic and the cycle of change will begin again.

xo H

The woundings.

“It is worse to stay where one does not belong at all than to wander about lost for a while and looking for the psychic and soulful kinship one requires.” 
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés

The question that spreads out into my inbox and lingers in me in the earliest hours of the morning is one about friendship. An uncertainty of being able to bond with a circle of women, of not being able to show up for others or connect with others becomes a question that I used to answer differently than I do now.

I used to tell people that they could get what they wanted from the circles and it didn't matter how much they showed up for others as long as they showed up for themselves. But the problem with that is, well, a lot.

It overlooks the wounding.

The wounding that makes us hide and not risk the vulnerability of sharing our story and sharing our time. It gave permission to stay safe and not risk an edge of meeting someone else in their pain and sadness. Or to close our eyes to the triggers others words may hold in our own woundings.

This isn't to say you have to do the work of magic in a group, it is quite powerful work on your own. What I mean to say is, when you've chosen to be in a group what you seek is belonging. And we are powerful masters of making sure we don't belong.

My step daughter's identity lies deeply in 'not having friends' and being strikingly different. She has friends (we hear her on FaceTime with them), but she needs that story so that when she becomes part of a group (like volleyball or clubs) she doesn't have to belong (risk being rejected or left out because it is who she is).

Dave will ask me what he should say when she claims to not have friends after he picks her up from practice and I remind him that this is who she is choosing to be. Until she doesn't anymore.

Days after announcing she didn't have friends on her team she was asking if a friend could come over and practice at our house.

When people tell me that they won't be good at the connecting part I believe them. Because it is their truth and it is their story and I can promise you it is mine too.

This circle I decided to do things differently because it is so easy to stand on the edge of a circle rather than the middle, and the edge often leads out of the circle unless someone sees you and asks for your hand.

I will ask for your hand.

I am adding in different ways to connect.

The option to connect with me personally, because everything we need to explore does not always feel safe shared in a group. The option to be on a WhatsApp text thread and the entire first week of the circle spent on connection and story.

The text thread I am hoping will feel fun and light. The way you might text a friend when you are at the store with no idea what to make for dinner because you are so tired and you stand in the produce isle and text, "Help, what do I make for dinner?"

Then they tell you to grab frozen pizza and you do exactly that, with tears in your eyes because they know and somehow you had forgotten all about frozen pizza.

My story is that I suck at friendship. I have a boat load of proof. I run from expectation of others.

I can stay there or I can gently work in the shadows, in my woundings, and say also, that I belong.

The most powerful magic can be found in our words.

I belong.

This is also true.

Our woundings aren't the end, they are the opening for the most beautiful kind of transformation of self.

Vulnerable? You bet. Magic will do that to us. I'm asking for your hand, you will not be left outside the circle.

xo H

Wonderfully successful procrastination.

“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.” 
― Ann Landers

There is not more I can do to fully succeed at procrastination today. Dishes are done, clothes are folded, broth is cooking, my mug keeps filling up, hair is washed, bills paid and library books returned.

I had to run away from one of my kids who was very chatty today while he was cooking and I was looking through 68,000 handmade pottery pieces on Etsy. I didn't have the heart to tell him his words were interrupting my procrastination work of finding the perfect handmade bowl in the colors of autumn and earth.

I ended up hiding in my room listening to my book on audio and clipping my toe nails, which had become problematic. He followed me up there to ask a question. I do love that my teenagers still like hanging out with me. There are just those days when the work of doing all the things, except that one thing I actually need to do, pile up and space is needed.

My body is achingly tired which tends to happen a few days before I bleed. The 2:00am fire alarm didn't help either. Kids slept right through it, all 5 of them.

Dave jumped up and I saw him getting dressed and I think I asked him some incoherent questions before he went out. When he came back I asked him how he made it stop. He said, "I put my pants on."

I thought that was a truly reasonable response.

I'm making chili for dinner tonight, I'll add it to my procrastination success along with preparing some apples for apple crisp. Luckily there are some pears that need to turn into chutney, that will take some time for sure. And the broth will need to be cooled and put into jars for the freezer.

Outside it is rainy and grey and blue jays are all over the yard. Relationship with Great Mystery just outside the window. I'm hungry for the taste of the chicken broth in the air. My mug is empty. I realize how much more there is to do to fully avoid and continue my beautifully productive procrastination. I'll get to it.

Fill your mug. Smell the air. Look out the window. Make something yummy.

Maybe, just maybe, let that thing go and see all that is there instead. Today is a good day for that.

xo H

Tarot and Baked Beans

For the five years I ran Magic Making Circle I would send out a Sunday Blessing. This year I'm going to do 'Tarot and Cake.' It won't always be cake though, it might be cornbread or a green frittata or apple pie.

Or, baked beans. (Please enjoy the recipe below.)

Since magic for me begins each day in the kitchen each Sunday I'll share a recipe that is nourishing my family, or, if it has beets and turnips, nourishing just me!

I'll ask my deck to offer us our blessing and I'll share the medicine from the card and my understandings along with things to ponder or journal around. It will be a devotional practice, holding sacred space, grounding us into the week together.

If you aren't familiar with Tarot these words from Elise Entzenberge are beautiful:

"The Tarot can shine consciousness on our shadow parts, encourage us when we feel uncertain, anchor us when our experience is overwhelming, bolster us when we doubt our own strength, and remind us that we are forever a part of a larger wave of existence, ever-changing and unified, beyond our mind's understanding."

Apple cider and Molasses Baked Beans

8 cups cooked white or yellow eye beans, cooking liquid reserved
(I used 3 cups dried beans)
1 large red onion
1 cup cubed salt pork or bacon
1 1/2 cups ketchup (if you use homemade ketchup you can omit the 'ketchup spices')
1 cup molasses
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 Tb apple cider vinegar
2 tsp ground mustard
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp or more of ketchup spices - some combo of allspice, clove, cayenne, garlic powder, ginger
2 cups fresh apple cider
reserved bean liquid

This recipe makes extra to freeze, make once and enjoy it two or three times or share with a friend.

In a large dutch oven, oven proof pot with lid or a large cast iron pot gently heat the pork and onion for about 5 minutes. Add molasses, sugar, vinegar, mustard, pepper, spices and stir well until combined.

Add in beans and coat. Add apple cider. Add enough bean liquid to cover the beans completely or you can add more cider.

Cover and cook at 250 degrees for 4-6 hours. Make sure the beans do not dry out, add more liquid if necessary, stir occasionally. This a slow long cook. I used a cast iron pot without a lid so I covered it with a baking sheet. You could also use a deep baking dish and cover with foil.

Let sit for about 20 minutes to cool.

Serve with cornbread and slaw. In the morning have beans on toast for breakfast.

Freeze and label the remaining beans in tight containers. These are good for about 3 months.

The transparency of a launch.

“LISTEN TO THE TREES AS THEY SWAY IN THE WIND.

THEIR LEAVES ARE TELLING SECRETS. THEIR BARK SINGS SONGS OF OLDEN DAYS AS IT GROWS AROUND THE TRUNKS. AND THEIR ROOTS GIVE NAMES TO ALL THINGS.” 

~ Vera Nazarian

During a launch, when someone is selling a product or course, you hear from them more. I am writing more letters because it is part of my job to remind you that I have this thing to offer you.

Also during this time, you'll lose more people from your email list because those that really aren't who you create your offerings for will get annoyed by your increase in communication. This, I tell my business coaching students, is important.

People need to clear space. Those who are aligned with your energy and offerings will drink in what you offer, you aren't creating more noise for them, you are part of their chosen energetic allotment. Others will need to unfollow or unsubscribe to make space for what is important to them. We don't need to be important to everyone. It isn't possible or necessary. 

Usually what we are offering when in a launch are little tastes of what we have created/are creating for you. We might tell you stories to bridge a sales page to a deeper more personal understanding of the offering.

Some people will point out all the ways you NEED what they have, why your life isn't as good as it could be or pose many questions to help get you to push the buy now button.

I used to get incredible stressed out during my launches. I was worried about money, I had these visions of living in my van with my kids and I would feel a true fear from my root chakra. I put pressure on the offering, on the launch, to become my safety.

I would get moody and cry and question every part of who I was.

The circle/program would start, I would be able to eat and pay my bills and keep a roof over my head, but somewhere inside of me the fear would dance and my worth never became more based on how many people signed up or the amount of money I made.

This is part of the story of who I was. I can go back and tell so many stories and one thing they all lack is a sense of my roots. Rooting. First chakra safety. I could have blown away (and often did) from the smallest gust of wind.

Now. Here I am in this new offering.

I am not my past but I am rooted from it and I will grow taller and stretch out the words to the story of who I am now.

Each time I write to remind you of this circle's becoming I am held in such safety and love and I want to give that same sense to you. 

I don't want you to feel like you are missing a damn thing and my circle is where you will find it. I just want to offer layers, ideas, gifts for your own journey.

Magic isn't mine, but my magic making is entirely personal and unique. So is yours. We all have access. Just as we can all access trust. We cultivate and experience and pray into it.

In this circle we'll be together for twenty-three weeks, five full moons and six new moons. That is a huge honoring of time and a blessing of energy.

I will keep sending out little bites of what that time will feel like. Mostly, I'll keep it pretty cryptic and hold most of its mystery close.

I will keep sending the invitations. That is part of my job.

I will open sacred space for myself each day until I open it for the circle. As each person joins I add her name to a bowl that is part of my Magic Making Altar. I sit in the dark with coffee and read my cards and wait.

There is no fear. My worth is not connected to this circle or this email or the money in my bank or the followers on Instagram. 

I am mother, my most sacred spirit self, who touches crone with her fingers and continues to create and dream in her wild woman. I am a wisdom seeker gathering branches and herbs and I can go with you into your shadows, I can hold space there. I am rooted and when the wind blows I am held in safety and trust. I am a lover with a fierce devotion to my partner and our journey together. I am a healer as I stand in the kitchen grounding through the energy of my wooden spoon and deep cast iron pot. I am a gatherer opening space and holding it and allowing it to shape shift as each of us needs.

From fear to safety.

I remembered my roots when I went into the shadows that held me. It is the work of magic making. Available to us in every ordinary moment. There are no rules and expectation is washed away.

And this is an invitation to a circle of belonging, adoring and seeing.

xo H

I think I just like everything.

"If we are always arriving and departing, it is also true that we are eternally anchored. One's destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things."

~ Henry Miller

I see white walls and midcentury modern gold accents. That is so me, I think! I see a room painted peacock green with mustard wall hangings and patterns of ferns and flowers cover the bed. That is so me, I think!

I decide I will only wear neutral colors and white. I go thrifting and put together a beautiful capsule wardrobe. As soon as I do I want nothing to do with it and I end up in graphic tees tied at my waist and long pencil skirts, fedora and belt. A mash up. Me.

I'm only going to run my shop, take a break from circles. I'm going to run Magic Making Circle again three years after releasing it. I am in love with fake plants. I need more real plants. This couch should be in my studio. This couch should be in the living room. This couch should be in the sun room. This couch should be in my room. This couch should be in my studio. 

I need to get off social media. I should focus more of my attention to Instagram. I will bake a pie a week. I need cake. I'm not going to fall asleep on the couch at night anymore. I love falling asleep on your lap on the couch at night.

My eyebrows will grow in now. I need to wax my eyebrows. I only tattoo my arms. I should get a thigh tattoo next. I only like white sheets. Please put on the those soft yellow sheets when you change the bed. 

I'm sure there are people who are decisive. I think I just like everything. All the time.

Whoever you are, your brand of magic is your anchor and we'll find those anchors together in all our amazing parts and pieces. Magic Making Circle begins Monday. (edited : circle for 2020 has closed)

xo H

Our entire lives are just stories.

“Our entire lives are just stories.”

- Lagertha, Vikings 

One of her triggers, she admitted on social media, was other moms running businesses who had no kids. She started her business as a single mom. She spoke the truth that she struggled with judging them for what they could do without kids.

When I saw this I was shot in the gut with the truth of my trigger. Immediately I knew I held something similar. But it wasn't the no kid thing, it was the ONE kid thing.

When I was in school I met a lot of people, I was nursing my third born before class and after class, then running off to take the train to the city. The people I met and formed bonds with weren't mothers, I was older than many of them. I watched them jump onto shiny paths, launch big programs and travel the world. I knew they had a different freedom than I had and it would take me some time to fully identify my freedom.

But that one kid thing, I had that one in me. You only have ONE kid, of course you can _________ _______________ blah blah.

Ouch. Sometimes it hurts to feel our own judgements. Speaking them aloud is powerful medicine.

Dave calls it keeping score; when we get into it, and one of us goes into a speech about who does more or how it was in the past rather than being in the present. It makes me cringe. Both him saying it and the fact that there are times I do it.

The other day I took our youngest to his football game. I never know what the score is and I have no idea what they are doing on the field. I love watching them play. I love when I see the joy and the fear all mashed up.

I don't get sports. I don't have that part of my brain turned on to make any sense of it.

I asked him what the score was, and he said, "I don't know maybe it 12 to 24 or maybe it was 6 to 30..."

Maybe this isn't the popular opinion, but I love that this eleven year old didn't know the score. At least not yet. One day it will become about the score and then everything will change. And that will be the world he will be inside of. He'll get to choose like the rest of us how to manage judgements and the obvious society markers of winning and losing.

In these circles I've held for the last twelve years, you have a safe space to speak the truth of your fears, triggers, worries and judgements and something happens to them. It is like a magical melting of the ickiness when they are held in trust.

From the beginning I haven't held space for complaining. I like a good rant as much as anyone, believe me! In the circles there is nothing productive about complaining (in fact it is the opposite of the work we do) and it can start of wave of complaining and the magic can't take hold.

To name a fear is powerful medicine. We begin there.

Typing it out can be unnerving. You wonder if you'll be judged. You feel impending doom is about to fall over you.

And then. The magic swirls. The Universe disarms you. A deep breath from the collective circle wraps you up and people say, "I see you. I have that same fear. I judge that way too! What do you need? How can I support you? Is that true?"

If anything, this kind of holding space has changed me. Learning to hold sacred space for others to be seen has changed me. Witnessing their vulnerability and truth is a gift.

I tell a lot of truth when I write for my circles, I share my stories and in return I am blessed with the stories of those who come to circle.

This year I'm adding in some optional one on one time so we can go deeper. There are some questions we need to ask even more privately, and there is a magic in being held and seen as just you. I'll be pulling cards and doing readings and blessings and we will have a collective God box to place those fears and worries in.

This circle won't look like it has in the past. I am not her anymore. My teaching is tighter, the things I care about are more nuanced. I am sober. I am a wisdom seeker and no longer walk a path looking for validation, huge followings and applause.

There are foundational ideas like the space between, dancing in the gray, the flip and those jars we will make. Our stories have changed and we are brand new as we gather under dark moon magic.

We will vision and create books that are filled with our own brand of magic. We will dream and we will create. We will imagine and feel. We will get so clear. We will hold sacred space, create sacred space and learn how to make that about the ordinary moments rather than the exception.

I will create the container and I will pour myself into creating it, but all of you are who it becomes. It is your story and it will be written collectively.

People used to say the women of magic making spoke their own language. It is true. We talk about the magic we've grown from slips of paper and how a page in a book claimed a dream and we write walking prayers and we root down while lifting up.

It is a language of love and trust and faith. It is the language of magic. And we will make it together. I invite you to this circle that feels like a journey you remember deep in your bones.

I invite you into the magic. (edited: the circle for 2020 has closed)

xo H