The Thankful Game

There are days in which this little view of the outside world is where I focus my gaze in order to quiet my mind.  Days when there are just too many topics in my head vying for attention, when the world (of homeschooling these hooligans) seems too noisy for my taste, and my to-do list is filled with the monotony of the unimportant.

I have been reading snippets from Voluntary Simplicity here and there lately, and last night, having finished On Writing, but not wanting to start anything new since I had a hold to retrieve from the library, I picked it back up and started reading from where I left off a week or so ago.

Do you read two or three books at a time?  In my younger days, I would never have dreamed of doing such a thing, but these days I often find myself in the middle of a tiny stack of books.  It comes from my dependency on the library, I believe, because if a hold comes in from another library in the system, I must stop whatever else I am reading in order to return the non-renewable book in time.  I kind of like it, actually, but since I am happiest when surrounded by ample reading material, this extra little quirk won't come as much of a surprise to anyone who knows me.

It was in last night's reading of Voluntary Simplicity that I found a succinct description of what I so often find frustrating in myself: "The crucial importance of penetrating behind our continuous stream of thought is stressed by every major consciousness tradition in the world: Buddhist, Taoist, Hindu, Sufi, Zen, and so on.  Western cultures, however, have fostered the understanding that a state of continual mental distraction is in the natural order of things."


In a world where we are thought to be more successful or more productive if we have fifteen balls in the air at the same time, and where advertising and popular media surround us with impossible-to-ignore loud noises and flashing lights and bright colors, there seems to be little or no reward for learning to quiet our minds and focus our thoughts to a place of singular thought, a state of perfect calm.

In living such a fast-paced lifestyle, driven by the unconscious urge to consume, acquire, and accumulate, we fail to notice our children's need for attentive conversation, our own mental and emotional need for silence and communion with God, and our physical need to breathe more slowly.

Oh, of course there is a lot to do.  There are dishes in the sink, and clothes in the dryer, lessons to plan, and piles of work on my desk.  There are educational goals to strive towards with the children, different creative endeavors that each of us want to pursue, and always, always, a to-do list to attend to.

And I have no plans to take only what I can carry and move into a hermit cabin in the woods.  I like the society I belong to.  I am grateful for modern conveniences, for smartphones, for access to newspapers and radio stations from all around the world.

But that does not mean there are not ample moments during the day to put a stop to all of the competing interests ping-ponging in our own minds, to slow down the breathing, the rushing, and the disjointed thoughts competing for a corner of our awareness.

Tonight, when The Carnivore worked way past late, and I was terribly frustrated over not being able to get quickly to my desk, and the irritation I felt towards the children for being so emotionally whacked out today was threatening to make my brain explode, I gazed out my kitchen window for a few breaths, and then I carefully, and deliberately, set the table for three.

Princess Hazelnut said the blessing, "Dear God, thank you for the food, and our friends, and our family. In Jesus name, Amen."

Then both kids asked for a little bit of the red wine vinegar that I was sprinkling over my lentils, and a lively conversation was sparked about the nutritional aspects of vinegar, and about protein and high-fructose corn syrup and pumpkin seeds and packaged cereals and how vinegar could possibly be different from wine if they both came from grapes, and suddenly the work on my desk seemed less important.

The only thing that mattered was this time spent talking about food and nutrition with my curious children.  For the first time all day, I was not in a hurry, The Boy Wonder was not on the verge of a temper tantrum, and Princess Hazelnut was not clamoring for attention.

Suddenly, the princess shouted, "Y'all!  We forgot to do our thankfuls!"  And so we went around the table, doing one of the only things we do correctly as a family, stating what we were thankful for that day.

The Boy Wonder, so innocent and still so present in each moment, said the most profound thing I had heard all day, "I am thankful for this talk we are having."

And me?  I am thankful for a son who takes such great joy in dinner conversation, and for the reminder that what I was doing right at that moment, eating dinner with my children, was the only thing that mattered right then.  Everything else could wait.

Steel Cut Oatmeal

My cookbook collection, I am finally willing to admit, is here to inspire me on techniques rather than recipes.  As much as I love flipping through the pages and admiring the pure fabulousness of the complicated recipes and the beauty of the photographs, I inevitably find that I take one tiny idea from each book and use it to tweak my own recipes.

It was not always this way.  Six or seven years ago, when I was beginning to grasp the awesomeness of creating meals at home (meals that went beyond the ubiquitous black bean and brown rice burrito), I would follow recipes to the letter, schlepping myself to multiple stores in order to source every last ingredient, and then measuring carefully to ensure that I stayed within the lines.

But that gets a bit monotonous after a bit, wouldn't you say?  And expensive.  Too often, I would find myself purchasing herbs or spices that would lose their potency long before I ever used more than a teaspoon-full (Chinese Five Spice Powder, anyone?). It's just silly really.  But the more I cooked, the more I learned to substitute and to re-interpret, to trust my own instincts for tweaking recipes to suit our family's tastes.

There are some general Beam Family rules of thumb that I have learned to keep in the forefront at all times: add an extra 1/4 tsp of salt to almost everything, use dark chocolate anytime the recipe calls for milk chocolate, add a few shakes of Crushed Red Pepper to any recipe with 'spicy' in the title.  Most recipes involving flour (with the exception of cakes) can be altered to use 1/2 all purpose flour and 1/2 whole wheat pastry flour.  Brown rice will win out over white rice every time (as long as you allow for the extra cooking time).  If the recipe looks like it uses too much sugar, it probably does.  Reduce it by 1/4 (unless it's a cake).  One clove of garlic is never enough.

But I will never have enough technique in my arsenal, and I'm always a little bit shocked by the magnitude of difference the tiniest adaptation to execution can make in the finished dish.  Sometimes, the difference cannot even be tasted - it may simply be a matter of time savings or even a reminder to freeze the leftover portion of an ingredient in which only a tiny portion is used.

Clearly, I still have a lot to learn.  I hope to never stop learning, actually.  Isn't that at the point in which you die, after all?  Learn, woman, learn.


In the winter, namely December and January, or at least until fresh cranberries stop showing up at the stores, I eat oatmeal for breakfast.  Oatmeal with walnuts, cranberries, and cinnamon, to be precise.  It's almost a knee-jerk response to the change in the weather.  Without even noticing, I will cease using steamed or baked apples in my oatmeal, and switch to cranberries until that season ends, then I (again without thinking about it much) will begin buying frozen pomegranate seeds until, all of a sudden, the weather warms up, and I start making granola again instead of oatmeal.

Most of the time, it doesn't even bother me that I'm such a creature of habit about breakfast.  Whole wheat pancakes with blueberries & pecans on Saturdays, fried egg sandwiches when I feel like I'm running low on protein (and when I have local eggs in my fridge), oatmeal in the fall and winter, homemade granola in the spring and summer.

Recently though, I picked up some steel-cut oats instead of my usual rolled oats, and I wasn't totally thrilled when I followed the recipe on the box.  The flavor seemed too one-note, it needed a little salt, a small kick of flavor.  I tried adding a little salt on my own (I added way too much) and then I used the tiniest amount of vanilla extract (also not right).  Honey made it too sweet.  Even with the cranberries and walnuts, it seemed like gruel.  Did it need a small amount of fat?  A more elaborate array of spices?

My cookbook collection is relatively diverse, and I can often figure out rather quickly which book(s) to reach for when I need help.  When the CSA gave me too much kale, I went to Moosewood and Mollie Katzen.  When I needed a red velvet cake recipe for Princess Hazelnut's birthday, I had no doubt Southern Living would treat us right.  And when someone gifted me a beautiful bag of rye flour, and when I ran into difficulty with a box of steel-cut oats, I went straight to Good to the Grain, a veritable treasure trove of whole-grain perfection.

And I wasn't disappointed.  The index took me to a recipe for Steel-Cut Oatmeal, and right there, in the head notes at the top of the page was the instruction to toast the oats before cooking them.  Well, of course {slaps forehead}.  As Kim Boyce, the goddess of all things whole grain, states in the recipe, "...these oats are much more flavorful if you give them a quick toast in the pan before longer cooking.  This brings out their natural sweet nuttiness and gives bite to the oats."

Good grief.  What a revelation.  The difference was profound, and now I'm hooked on steel-cut oats.  The texture is so much more interesting than that of rolled oats, and the flavor is richer, nuttier, rounder.

I would be lost as a goose without these cookbooks.

*****

STEEL-CUT OATMEAL (serves 5)

In my house, I'm the only one who eats oatmeal.  I make the full recipe on Monday morning each week, and refrigerate the leftovers, warming up a small bowl full each morning in the microwave (adding a little bit of water to keep it the right consistency), and then topping with the nuts.  This would be terrific to make on the weekend so that you can warm it up in a hurry on rushed weekday mornings.

• 1 Tbs unsalted butter
• 1 cup steel-cut oats
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp kosher salt
• 4 cups water
• 1 cup whole, fresh cranberries
• chopped walnuts
• honey, to taste

1. In a 2 quart pot, melt the butter over medium heat.  
2. Add the oats, the cinnamon and the salt, and cook for about 5 minutes, stirring very often.
3. Add the water and the cranberries, and adjust the heat to low.  Simmer, uncovered, for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
4. Top with chopped walnuts, and a drizzle of honey.  Serve hot.

Homemade Vanilla Extract

Random Acts of Consumer Anarchy continue to occur around here, and they show no signs of abating (there are still so many more things I want to learn how to make myself - castile soap, I'm looking at you).  In light of recent events though, maybe I should call this The Occupy Your Shopping List Project.  The point is, after all, to whittle down the shopping list, to participate just a little less in the consumerist machine, to spend less money; to consume less, and to create more.  

To date, the items we have removed from our shopping list include shampoo, baking powder, dishwasher detergent, laundry detergent, facial cleanser, body lotion, hot pepper sauce (recipe one and recipe two), play dough, glass cleaner, and now vanilla extract.

The vanilla extract is a biggie.  Have you looked carefully at the cost of a good-quality organic pure vanilla extract?  Pricey, I say.  The less expensive brands of vanilla extract, even the ones that claim to be pure vanilla extract, often contain dubious ingredients, and even then, the cost per ounce is relatively high.

And I use A LOT of vanilla extract.  Those tiny little bottles never lasted long around here, so I started looking into ordering an 8-oz bottle online.  {Enter sticker shock}.  Then I looked into making my own, and, well, eureka.

Making your own vanilla extract is really quite simple - just a matter of stuffing some split vanilla beans into a bottle of vodka and then letting it steep for two months.  So, sure, the first batch takes a wee bit of patience, but you can make giant containers worth at a time, or you can make smaller batches, and always keep another batch going in a dark cupboard.

The price savings are intense, and the quality is excellent.  So far, I have used vodka for my extract, since that was what I saw recommended most often in the recipe sites that I consulted for my initial batch, but I am curious about the difference when using bourbon.  Next time, for sure...

*****

HOMEMADE VANILLA EXTRACT

When purchased in bulk, you can find organic vanilla beans for around $1/each right now.  A year ago, when I made my first batch, I found organic vanilla beans in bulk for about half that price.  My first batch came in at about $0.50/ounce, and my most recent batch was more expensive, at about $1.00/ounce (still a bargain compared to $2.00/ounce for the commercial organic vanilla extract).

• 750 ml bottle of vodka
• 12 vanilla beans

1. Remove about 1/2 cup of vodka from the bottle.  What you do with it is totally up to you.  I don't want to know.  Unless you make a vodka sauce for pasta, and then I want your recipe.  
2. Using a sharp knife, split the beans lengthwise along one entire side of the bean (this is to expose the pulp inside).
3. Stuff the vanilla beans into the bottle of vodka.  Close tightly and shake.
4. Store the bottle in a dark pantry or cupboard for two months, shaking it weekly.  
5. After two months, when the liquor has been fully infused, pour some of the extract into a smaller bottle (for ease of use), and stuff one or two of the beans into the smaller bottle as well.  Use as you would commercial extract.  

*****

This post was also featured on Frugally Sustainable and Natural Mothers Network.

Abhyanga and the Normal Girl

In September, everything got a little unbalanced around here.  We had just returned to our homeschooling lessons after a solid two months off for summer break, and at the same time, I picked up two big new clients.  We went from the hot, slow-moving days of summer into the busiest time for our household in years.

I was off-kilter, which quite frankly, meant all of us ended up off-balance.  Dinners became rushed affairs, the most oft-heard phrase from my lips became "Mama needs to work now, sweetheart," my yoga practice fell by the wayside, and I began to feel uncomfortable in my own skin.  I woke up tired every morning, my muscles felt tense and rigid, and meals left me bloated.

It was ridiculous.  I know better than to let stress get such a leg up on me.  And the pressure of my workload, while not quite avoidable, was something that I knew would pass.  The extra work would smooth out once I became accustomed to each of the new clients, and the learning curve wouldn't last forever.  There was, to be sure, no need to panic.

But panic, I did, at least at first.  Too much had been added to the schedule at once, and I wasn't slowing down enough to see that I needed to pull back at least a little bit in order to practice some much-needed self-care.

Self-care is such a loaded term, isn't it?  The modern lifestyle just isn't conducive to taking the time out of our busy schedules in order to tend to our own needs, and so many women feel guilty about even thinking of putting their personal needs on the list of Things That Are Important.  It seems self-indulgent, self-centered.

To that, I say Hogwash.  It is none of those things.  You know how being kind to someone with whom you have a testy relationship ends up improving the situation?  And you find that extending a little grace to a difficult person results in you liking them more?

Try extending a little of that same grace to yourself.  Show yourself a little kindness.  It just might improve that antagonistic relationship you have with your own body, your skin, your hair, your emotions, your health.

Late in September, just as I was on the verge of contacting a naturopath for help with the insomnia and the bloating and the general feeling of discomfort in my body, I happened upon an article in Yoga Journal about their 7-day Fall Detox, and, after breathing a sigh of relief, I decided to postpone my impending breakdown and see if participating in the cleanse would help.

Oh, my stars, how it did help.  It was a gentle detox, nothing dangerous or even all that difficult.  I ate kitchari at every meal, drank spiced teas, followed the prescribed yoga practices, eschewed caffeine and sugar, and got just a little bit more sleep than I had been getting.  Very little else changed.  My schedule, with it's homeschooling and work commitments, was not altered.  But I felt better almost immediately.  The bloating I had been experiencing after meals disappeared, as did three pounds of apparently unnecessary weight.  The quality of my sleep improved.  I remembered to breathe deeply.

Part of the benefit of the detox was simply the end-product of having paid more careful attention to myself for seven days, because while I still needed to cook other meals for the rest of my family, there was a ritualistic quality in eating the kitchari for 21 straight meals, in simmering the spiced teas, in reading the daily email that came during the detox, in consciously paying attention to my cravings and what I was putting into my body.

Interestingly though, the most long-lasting impact of the detox was that I learned about the benefits of abhyanga, the practice of massaging the entire body with warmed oil before bathing.  For quite some time now, I have used jojoba oil to massage my face and scalp, but adding the ritual of whole-body self-massage with warm sesame oil was a revelation indeed.  The Banyan Botanicals website has a much more comprehensive article about the practice, some of which may seem like so much hooey to you skeptical types, but it would be hard to deny that taking five minutes out of one's day to rub warm oil into our tired muscles and dry skin before bathing is going to be in our best interests.  Even if it doesn't actually turn us into Wonder Woman.

The idea is relatively simple.  You take organic sesame oil, and warm it up (in the microwave, in a pan on the stove, immersed in a sinkful of hot water, however you like).  Then you pour a little bit into your hands, and you massage it into your skin, using circular strokes on the joints, and firm, long strokes on your limbs.  Rub your ears, your scalp, your temples, your jaw.  Press a little more deeply in the areas you carry tension, the back of your neck, the tops of your shoulders, the top of your spine, the backs of your calves.

You will not need to wash the oil off of your skin with soap in the shower.  The water will take away the greasiness, and sesame oil has cleansing properties on it's own.  It would be a shame to wash off the lovely moisturizing qualities of the oil with soap, wouldn't it?  And I have found that by gently patting myself dry after the shower, enough of the oil remains that I no longer need to use commercial body lotions to lock in the moisture.  This small gesture of kindness to myself has become as integral to my physical well-being as my yoga practice and the attention I pay to my meals.

It only takes a few minutes, but that precious tiny amount of time spent paying attention to yourself and how you feel will stay with you all through whatever the day may bring.

Such a Full Week

Many years ago, I lived on the street parallel to this one.  I have walked every inch of it, many times over, always marveling at the way the trees seem to meet each other overhead. Even in the winter, when there is only the architectural element of the bare branches, it is still beautiful to me.  But, oh, you should see it in the summertime when the world is so green.  The temperature is always five degrees cooler in the shade of those lovely trees.

When I am in town, you can bet I have arranged my route so that I still get to meander down the boulevard, driving just a little bit slower so that I can smile at the houses I still have a crush on.  I drove down it yesterday.  And back up it again today.

This week was a challenging one.  There were moments when I remembered to stay myself, to focus for as long as I could on the feelings of now, to just breathe.  But I also knew that there was a door closing with one of my beloved clients, and the uncertainty kept making me want to rush ahead, to get more quickly to the end of the week when there would be more answers, a little more clarity on the situation as it progressed.

I am not terribly good at staying in the moment when parts of my work are consuming my thoughts.  But I am getting better.  It is easier to be present when my tiny ballerina is clad in her pink leotard, when I am on a date with my little boy, when I am slowly coasting down my favorite street.

It is perfectly sensible to me to have a road for a touchstone.  There is a window in my kitchen that plays the same role.  When I happen to glance out, and my eye lights upon that one tree that is a little left of center, my breathing slows down, and I stand and just look for a moment.

A quiet weekend at home is just what the doctor ordered, I believe.  For where one door has closed, two more are already beginning to open, and I have faith that things are going in just the direction they are meant to.

Another Day in Our Homeschool

The Boy Wonder is in second grade this year, and nearly every day, as we go about the silliness of our learning time, and while we feel our way forward in this homeschooling journey, I think back to my own memories of second grade.

I know, right?  What kind of freak remembers what they were doing in second grade?  It was thirty-one years ago for me (oh, how is that possible?), but I recall it with the fondest of memories.  Second grade was the final year of my childhood foray into alternative education, and it was all plain old public school for me after that amazing and ridiculous year in New Orleans.

If we could afford to send our children to a Waldorf school, or Montessori, or even a tiny private religious school, I doubt we would be going the homeschool route.  I thrived in the Montessori environment as a very young child, and had just as much fun, and felt just as much at home, in the Free School that I attended for the first part of second grade.  They were lovely places, full of music and art and adults (so many of them) who encouraged us to follow our interests and to be ourselves and to find ways to express our thoughts.

It was kind of exactly the opposite of what public, standardized schooling has become.  

Oh, I know many children do very well, even thrive, in the institutional setting of public schools.  I actually did just fine once I acclimated myself to The Way Things Were Done there.  My youngest child would probably also be perfectly happy in regular school, though I think it is too early to tell just yet.

The Boy Wonder would not do quite as well, of that I am sure.  He is a quirky, funny child, and he is rather intelligent, but his learning style is not conducive to a classroom in which he would be one of 25 or more children, and where he would need to sit still for many hours at a stretch.  He loves to read, logging a few hours a day with his nose in a book, and he enjoys delving deep into historical time periods (ask him questions about the Black Plague sometime, he'll talk your ear off).  Science experiments fascinate him, and math really clicks when the curriculum is heavy on manipulatives.  He prefers to stand up during much of his learning time, moving around naturally as he feels the need.  Busywork would frustrate him.  

Most days, he spends an hour or two outside after lunch, climbing trees, catching lizards, playing with leaves, drawing in the dirt with a stick, dreaming up complicated role-playing games for himself and his sister.  Seven hours cooped up in a school building, with the windows shut, sitting quietly just isn't in his wheelhouse.  

That time outside, and the time spent hiding behind a book are when he seems to process what he has learned that day.  Take away those two processing periods, and he is prone to irritability and emotional fits.  Kind of like most boys are, actually.  

Occasionally, he uses his afternoon free time to play chess with his pet lizard, Godzilla.  He is not short on imagination.

So our homeschool revolves around the individual needs of The Boy Wonder for now, though I am adding in little bits of Princess Hazelnut School now that she has begun to demand her own learning time.  

I do not think preschool is necessary, but I would never dream of staunching her desire to have her very own designated learning time.  Thus our school day now begins with about 30 minutes on the sofa, snuggling together and reading folk tales and nursery rhymes, learning the sounds of letters, and singing songs.  It is quite ridiculous really, this Princess Hazelnut Preschool, and completely hilarious, because The Boy Wonder takes it very seriously and tries to help his sister "do school right."  

She does not want his help, of course.  Not one little bit.

Worksheets are the bomb, she thinks, and so she gets to do a page or two of Developing The Early Learner.  The Boy Wonder loathed that sort of thing when he was her age.  They are such different children, these two.

We do our level best to get all of our lessons done before lunchtime, just as we did last year, leaving the afternoons free for pleasure reading, Lego building, and nature study.  Once a week, The Boy Wonder attends a homeschool academy, where he takes classes in history, art, music, and drama; and once a month, he and his sister take a science class at our local nature center.  On the days we have these outside lessons, we do not do any formal learning at home.

On the other four days of the week, we do morning school on our sofa and at the kitchen table.  Our focus this year is on strengthening his language arts skills and on building a solid foundation in math, so we start with those subjects, always beginning with math and then spending time daily on spelling, grammar, narration and dictation, and copywork.  Once these are done, we can spend as long as we want on history - this year, we are focusing on the Baroque Period - or on science, alternating days on these subjects for now.  

Literature waits until bedtime, when I snuggle under the covers with both of the kids, and we read a chapter or two from whatever classic we are working our way through.  I like to use this time for a book that is above The Boy Wonder's reading ability, and which has complex enough language to enrich his vocabulary and spark discussion of various concepts and ideas.  Right now, we are reading Black Beauty, a story that I worried would not hold his interest, but which has fascinated him from the start.  He is an odd duck, my little boy.

And we talk.  We talk, talk, talk all day long, which, if you know me at all, is a bit of a challenge for someone who would much rather spend long periods of time sitting very, very quietly.  But there are so many life skills to impart to these children, so many manners to nag them about, so many natural opportunities for learning to expose them to.  And so little time.  The Boy Wonder turns eight next month (or two, depending on how one chooses to treat the Leap Day birthday problem) and we are almost at the halfway point of our time together.

It goes so fast.  Yesterday, he was still a fat little baby who refused to sleep at night, and who didn't walk until he was 18 months old because he stubbornly refused to put his feet flat on the floor.

Slow down, time, sloooooow down.  I do not want these years to go too quickly.

The January Reading List

Oh, January, January, why are you in such a hurry to prove you are in charge?  The New Year began with such lovely, mild weather, but these past three days of waking up to temperatures in the twenties have been anything but a subtle introduction to winter.

Gently, my dear cozy month, gently.

It is hard to go anywhere when it is this cold, and it's just pointless to fight it.  And so I think we will begin our snuggly, cozy month right now.  Piles of afghans and soft throw blankets are scattered about the living room, and books are stacking up on every surface.  It is, after all, impractical to spend the afternoon climbing trees in this weather.

Cozy corners, for all of us, are in order during a month such as this, I think.

Even Princess Hazelnut has a reading area tucked away in the living room, filled to the brim with thrifted, perfectly sized furniture and secondhand well-loved children's books.  And while she can't actually read yet, she doesn't see why that silly fact should prevent her from snuggling up with a book the way the rest of the family does.

This will be a good month for it, I believe.  For lots of reading.  The Boy Wonder is waiting on the eighth book in the How to Train Your Dragon series to come in at the library, and has, in the meantime, dived headfirst into the first book of The Guardians of Ga'Hoole.

Princess Hazelnut has memorized Kitty's New Doll, so she opens it and reads it out loud two or fifteen times a day, doing her level best to emulate her big brother, asking for definitions of words she pretends not to know.

The Carnivore's end table is groaning under a tower of books on religion and politics  - currently there are bookmarks in Francis Chan's Erasing Hell and Mark Rutland's Launch Out Into the Deep.

I am in the middle of Voluntary Simplicity by Duane Elgin, though I seem to have set it briefly aside while I savor every single wickedly funny moment of Stephen King's On Writing.

Yes, indeed.  This is the cozy month.

Mugs of steaming hot coffee or tea, bouillon, or hot water with lemon.  Creamy oatmeal for breakfast.  Soups and casseroles for dinner.  And every reason to spend all the moments we can here, at home.

The Most Important Thing on My List

Sometimes, when the littlest, most attention-stealing Beam is busy at her ballet lesson, it is best to not use that time to get some quick errands done.

The groceries can wait, after all.

There are always things to accomplish.  Library books to return, emails to answer, clients' crises to tend to, lists to be made, lesson plans to map out.  Not a minute to waste, after all.  Life is short.

We are so busy.  

That 45-minute once-a-week ballet lesson is prime time, you know.  There have been weeks when I rush to take Princess Hazelnut to her lesson, help her with her ballet shoes, kiss her before she goes into the studio, and then run to the library to pick up a hold, dash into the grocery store to get a week's worth of food, and sail through the post office to pick up stamps, and still been able to get back in time to watch the last 10 minutes of the lesson through the one-way window.  She never even knows I left.

It makes me tired just to type that.

Most of the time, The Boy Wonder is at his Homeschool P.E. class during the same time the princess is at ballet, but he has one more week yet before the winter session begins.

Yes, the grocery shopping can wait.

Taking this oldest child of mine on a spur of the moment date to a local coffee shop is, in fact, the very best use of my time today.  Stealing a few brief minutes together, just the two of us, to share two ridiculous-yummy cupcakes, is the very last thing he would have expected me to do this afternoon.

Which is why it was the best thing I've done all week.

Getting Started with Yoga

I began practicing yoga about three (four?) years ago, and it has been a regular part of my life since that first encounter.  Simply put, it has changed everything about my life.  I am more flexible, more toned, more able to find a place of calm in my mind, and I breathe better when under stress.  I also have made peace with my body, with the cellulite that remains, with the effects of aging and pregnancy and childbirth.

I like myself better when I regularly practice yoga.

Maybe this post title should be changed to "How to get in shape, be happier, conquer stress and mild anxiety/depression, and learn to love yourself.  For real, right?  But the thing is, I'm not exaggerating when I say those things.

Oh, sure.  Yoga isn't for everyone.  My mother gave it the old college try after listening to me extol the virtues of yoga, and she loathed it.  I could nag her more, irritate her until she gives it another chance, but I have known her for a long time.  Yoga really isn't for her.  She doesn't want to move that slowly, and so she does heavy yard work instead, and takes long, fast walks to relieve stress and to get physical activity.

But I don't think it is out of the realm of possibility that a large percentage of the population would love yoga if they gave it a chance.  I took a series of yoga classes through our county recreation department this fall, and the wide variety of participants was jaw-droppingly fabulous.  There were grandmothers, women of all races, and even a man in his late forties.  And that was just at a tiny town, rural recreation department.

Oh, I know that the pictures you see in magazines make it look like yoga classes are filled with perfectly toned, incredibly gorgeous women in their twenties.  Don't be intimidated by the way magazines portray life.  They twist reality by photoshopping already lovely women.  They are out to sell advertising.  They don't care how they make you feel about yourself.

Yoga isn't like that.  Yoga teachers, at least the ones I have come into contact with (in person, in class, in print, and online), are loving in their approach, gentle in their instruction, and authentic in spirit.  Some of them have perfect bodies, most do not.  But they all have the most beautiful smiles you have ever seen.  The focus on breath, on flowing movement, on control over your body, on getting to know yourself and your physical limits, all conspire to develop a self-acceptance that we could all benefit from.

If you have the time and the money to attend yoga classes, I highly recommend it, if only for a short time.  The teacher will help you get into poses with the proper form, they will suggest variations where appropriate, and they will bring you into a state of ethereal relaxation at the end that will blow your mind.

But here, in the real world, it isn't always practical to attend classes.  You can practice yoga in the comfort of your own home, with little to no expense.  When I started my practice, I did so at home, using videos for beginners that I obtained from the library, online from Yoga Journal, and on cable from the fitness channel.  I already had yoga pants and tank tops, because those are my usual lounging clothes, and I had an old exercise mat that wasn't even the recommended sticky kind.

You do not have to spend any money.  Try it first, see if you like yoga (you will), and then decide if you want to sign up for classes, if you want to purchase videos, and if you need any props.

• I purchased all my videos from Goodwill and yard sales.  
• My sticky mat came from a yard sale, as did my favorite pair of yoga pants.  
• There are 13 episodes of Namaste Yoga saved on my DVR from when it used to air on FitTV.  Namaste Yoga, by the way, is excellent for beginniners.  It is very gentle, thoroughly non-intimidating, and the instruction is sound.

All told, I might have $14 invested in my yoga practice.  I spend about 30 minutes per day doing yoga, attempting to practice six times per week, not because I am militant about how often I think I should do it, but because I miss it so much on the days I slack off.  My kids often participate for a couple minutes, and this morning, even The Carnivore joined in.  Family yoga is hilarious.

There are a myriad of poses that I cannot get into, many that I am not even close to being ready to attempt.  This isn't the sort of thing I beat myself up about.  Yoga is referred to as a 'practice' for a reason.    But I get stronger, and more flexible, all the time.  There are poses that kicked my butt a few months ago, but that now I am able to ease into, and hold, for longer than I would have thought possible.  The key is not to push yourself too hard, to not do anything you feel uncomfortable with.

When I feel anxious or stressed out about virtually anything, I practice yoga.  When I feel sad, I practice yoga.  When I am irritable and I feel sure that the sky is falling, I practice yoga.  When I feel achy, or premenstrual, or just plain knotted up, I practice yoga.  When I find myself whining or complaining, I practice yoga.  

And in every single case, by the time I roll up my mat, I feel calmer, happier, and physically, mentally, and psychologically restored.  It's a beautiful thing.

Meatless Mondays

As a general rule, I do not give much credence to mainstream nutritional guidance.  The comical USDA Food Pyramid, and the ludicrous influence of corporate lobbyists on what makes it into the USDA recommendations are an absurd introduction to nutrition, yet when I was a child, it was precisely their misinformation that we were taught in school.

And that was essentially all we were taught about food.  Granted, I made the feminist mistake of avoiding home economics classes, and I suppose it is possible that something worthwhile is taught there in regards to sound nutritional practices, but somehow I doubt it.  Schools are government institutions, the USDA is a government entity, and politics are always at play in those arenas.  Have you read Marion Nestle's Food Politics?  Oh, it's just disheartening.  Why on earth do we listen to politicians about anything?  Most especially about matters related to our own health?

The tide does appear to be turning in that more information is readily available these days.  Besides Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser, who write some of the most thought-provoking and in-depth books and articles on food matters today, but who may never be able to reach the general processed food buying public, we now have Jamie Oliver hitting prime-time television with sensible advice and graphic reality checks about the typical American diet.  There does appear to be hope on the horizon, though it remains to be seen whether anyone is actually putting this advice into practice.  

Mark Bittman, from his platform at The New York Times, is widely respected and his gospel of eating less meat is, I'm sure, far more palatable to the average Joe than listening to vegetarians like myself spout on about permanently giving up red meat and chicken and pork.  And here's the thing, I'm not out to convert anyone.  Just as the vegan diet seems too strict to me (cheese and eggs are essential parts of my own diet), I am fully aware that many of my own choices strike others as equally austere.

All that is well and good, of course, because we are all different people and dogmatic nutritional advice shuts down the conversation before we can even all get a place at the table.  So I hang out in here, in my own tiny corner of these here interwebz, and I post recipes that exclude ham hocks and sausage and that sort of thing.  And you are free to add those ingredients back to my recipes as you see fit.

See, I feed a mixed-diet family.  The Carnivore eats meat, though not much of it, and not often.  He would probably eat more meat if I actually cooked it, but after eleven years of marriage, the whole omnivore-marries-vegetarian thing is mostly a non-issue for us.  He eats meat at lunchtime, and maybe once a week he will cook a little bit of meat to go with the dinner that I have prepared.  And because of this dynamic, our children just rarely eat meat at all.

The truth of the matter is that I don't really care if you eat meat or not.  I do think that the average American eats too much meat, and not enough fruits, vegetables and whole grains, and I would very much like to see that balance shift a little, which is why I think Mark Bittman's advice is so good: eat less meat.  There are so many ways to adapt that advice to take it in whatever direction suits you best.  Do like Bittman, and don't eat meat for breakfast and lunch.  Or make meat your side dish, and let the vegetables and grains take over the entree position on your plate.  Just make one small change.

Enter Meatless Monday, a non-profit movement that attempts to make the reduction of meat a community affair.  Sometimes it's just more fun to do things as part of a group, isn't it?  I have followed the Meatless Monday conversation on Twitter for the past year or so, and I kind of think it's great.  Recipes are shared, a sense of community is built, and, maybe best of all, you get the constant reminder of the pledge: to just go one day a week without meat, or even just one meal.  

For so many years, since I was a child actually, the most common question I have received about vegetarianism is "What on earth do you eat?"  From my perspective, it was an odd question, because really, I eat the same things as everyone else.  I just skip the meat.  I can go to a potluck dinner and have a plate bulging with wonderful foods, and I leave just as satisfied as everyone else.  I can even eat dinner at your house, and you can cook the same meal you would make any night of the week.  If you serve pot roast, corn on the cob, rice and a salad, I will fill my plate with corn, rice, and salad.  Same foods, just bigger helpings of vegetables on my plate than on yours.  And no pot roast for me, please.

But of course there is more to it than that.  I am careful about getting adequate protein, and when I know I will be in a situation where there will likely only be meat-based sources of protein, then you can bet I have a Tiger's Milk bar hidden in my purse, or a sandwich bag full of mixed nuts.  And since I am responsible for meals in a house where I am the lone vegetarian, I am conscious of crafting meals that will appeal to a more carnivorous type than myself, because where I would be perfectly content with a dinner of brown rice and roasted broccoli, The Carnivore would not consider that to be a complete meal. So I would serve a frittata as the entree, and put wild rice into the frittata, and serve the roasted broccoli as a side dish alongside.  

Ditto with lentils.  Instead of just making a lentil soup, which would be a full-on hearty meal for myself, I will serve it over rice, with cornbread as a go-with.  

It is that sort of thing, that sense of having a complete meal without meat, that initiatives like Meatless Monday can help with, especially for someone who is just beginning to open the door on the whole idea of reducing their meat consumption.  And I know you guys are out there, wanting to eat more of your meals without meat, but a little lost on how to do so.

Have you seen Eating Well's 28-day Vegetarian Meal Plan?  Genius.  Go through their menu ideas, and pick one that sounds like it's right up your family's alley.  The complete meal is already listed there, along with the accompanying recipes.

Give it a try, if it sounds interesting to you.  And ask questions, if you have them.  Everyone knows at least one vegetarian, right?  Or join the Meatless Monday conversation on Facebook, and get ideas and support from fellow members.  

Following are just a few of the more popular meals in my own repertoire for feeding carnivorous types.

• Baked Macaroni and Cheese, Crispy Roasted Broccoli, and a Salad
• Black Bean Chili, Cornbread, and Tortilla Chips
• Red Lentil Dal, Spicy Cornbread, Brown Rice
• Frittata, Addictive Crispy, Flattened Roasted Potatoes, and Green Beans with Onion Vinaigrette

I would love to hear if you are joining Meatless Monday.  Does your family even notice if there is one meal a week without meat?