Life Is Different Now

Wow!  Nearly a month since I last blogged!  Phew…well, my excuse is that it is autumn.  Autumn is the last nice-weather season before the long, dark, wet days of winter set in here in the great Pacific Northwest.  Don’t get me wrong, I adore the tradition of winter around here.  We layer up.  Fleece replaces linen.  Flannel replaces cotton.  Gortex replaces canvas.  Pedicures become all about moisturizing and less about fun-colored toes. (What can I say?  I’m a femme kind of lesbian…) But autumn is the last great season to  be outside.  And on days like today when it’s cool with scattered showers, my attention…no my very core of being…feels the need to can, to preserve, to freeze, to prepare for the coming months. 

When I go to the farmer’s market in the fall, my eyes scan and search for the root vegetables and squashes that will feed me through the winter.  I stuff down the panic that tomotoes will only come from my frozen sauce or the jars I can.  It will be months before I hold the fresh ripe fruit in my hands again.  Lettuce will be replaced by kale.  This has been my way of life for more than ten years— locally grown food and eating seasonally.  It’s innate in  me - this seasonal clock ticking away.  In my world this time of year is a quarter to the witching hour of winter.

With this ticking growing louder like something out of Edgar Allen Poe, on my last visit to the farmer’s market I stuffed my bag full of winter squash — acorn, butternut and spaghetti, to be exact.  It took control not to take every kind.  They’re so beautiful and edibly alluring. 

This morning I awoke intent on roasting these lovely vessels of vitamins. It will take me the better part of the day to finish this project. You see, I no longer have a country kitchen with a 36-inch double oven, 20 linear feet of counter tops, an extra freezer and a pantry.  I now live in an urban studio apartment that is the size of the average hotel room.  I possess 40 inches of working space. Nevertheless,  I cut and cleaned my squash this morning.  I am taking turns roasting them off, having stuffed them into the smallest oven known to humankind.  What I don’t eat tonight will be pureed and frozen.  My freezer is the size of a small cooler so between the squash, frozen tomato sauce and blueberries, I’m asking myself how important are the “just in case of emergency” ice packs in the door.  I won’t need ice cubes until summer.

I live in a city that is better than most about locally-sourced and seasonal foods.  I have connected with several farmers and have identified sources so that I can sustain my values around eating food from places and people I know.  Later today, when I serve spaghetti squash and homemade tomato sauce for the first time to my girlfriend (who watches this domestic explosion with varying levels of humor), I will be coming to terms with the fact that my life is different now.  And that’s okay.

More than

One of my dearest friends is at the wedding of her God son today and it has me thinking a lot.  You see, we say God son because that’s what the world understands, but this relationship is more than that.  When I say I’m an aunt people know what that means.  There is a place in their brains for that relationship.  I’m not a mother, I’m an aunt.  My friend isn’t a “real” mother, she’s “just” the God mother.  This morning as I anxiously check my phone for pictures and excitedly text her, it is because she and I are part of another group.  One that is more private, less discussed and one that Hallmark doesn’t make a card for yet.  We are More Than.  We didn’t birth children and wouldn’t ever want to take away the role their mothers claim.  But we are more than our titles suggest to the children in our lives.  We are not just aunts or God mothers.  We are “other” mothers.  In both cases, mine and my friend’s, we walked the floor with sick children, tended to cuts and scrapes, cooked countless meals, did laundry and sat up late with homework assignments.  We have used up sick leave, financially and emotionally supported them and expect phone calls and texts from them regularily, all outside of a parental role.  These kids were raised by a village and we were second in command.  When my nephew married two years ago, my sister, brother in law and I stood together in the church.  When the church rose to watch the bride come in, his mother and I instictively turned to him and were so overcome my brother in law didn’t know which of us to give a tissue to first.  I know so many people think of us as “just” aunties or God mothers, but we are “more than” that.  So, I will be excitedly checking my phone all day because in the words of my friend, her  “baby is getting married today!”

Small Worlds

I’m lying in bed debating on whether to take over the counter pain relievers, my prescription pain relievers (always a last choice) or to ride out my rapidly elevating discomfort.  I have a congenital muscular condition that, on bad days like today, basically feels like every tendon and every muscle is being pulled as tightly as possible.  No amount of stretching, yoga or hot baths will help on days like today.  It’s just, well, a bad day.  Fortunately, since I’ve lost a significant amount of weight and I have committed to moving everyday these days are less prevalent.  But when they happen it’s hard to not feel as if I’ve taken a major step backwards.  It’s hard to not feel as if some behavior or action in the prior days has led up to this. 

What I really fight against is the overwhelming feeling that I am just crazy to think I can live the life that I do…that what my body is really saying is, “give up” “stop now” or “who do you think you are?”.  It’s only been a few years that I’ve been active and striving to be more so.  That I got up off the couch and moved again.  It’s only been a few years since I’ve done things like gone dancing or out for long walks or traveled again.  Some days I still do it but with a cane.  It’s been even less time that I have done all of these things without fear.  There was a time long ago, when I looked out my office window (I used to work from home) and saw women in my neighborhood out for their daily walk.  I remember thinking, “They make that look so easy.”  As my body grew weaker, my world grew smaller.  And while now I live differently, on days like today my mind returns to that small world.  It’s a struggle to keep my world bigger and to remember I am here now.  I am stronger now.  It’s a struggle to allow myself to be weak today, knowing it will allow to be strong again tomorrow.