Tidy emotions

Tonight I would like to talk to you about tidy emotions. 

Tidy emotions are those that make people -mostly others, but could be you too because you've internalized others' and societal expectations- and society comfortable.

They're the "it's for the best" when someone dies. The "it was meant to be" when something crappy happens -a break-up, for example- and you're desperately and painfully trying to make sense of things. The "calm down and relax" when your heart is upset and, oh, maybe your country seems to be dying. The looks of "hmm" and the cacophonous silence when some bravely stand up in the face of injustice juxtaposed with the loud applause for bathing puppies and perfectly wrapped gifts that pepper our landscape with perky regularity.

For so many years, I was admonished for wearing my heart on my sleeve. I was chastised for my emotions. I was made to feel I was an awful burden because I felt things deeply. I was called "too much," and "too intense," and, yes, "a burden" because I worried about so many relationships and issues and because my confidence couldn't find a stud in which to brace itself against the many winds whirling about. I care about the fate of the polar bears. So sue me. I was told that I "seemed to be awfully stressed" when I had a newborn and a just-three-year-old and didn't have a night nurse and nanny like the person who was telling me I was stressed.

I am quite sure that there were times I was too much, that I was too emotional. I did learn to modulate and moderate, to assess context and situation, to respond versus react, and for that I am infinitely grateful. My porous self has certainly made life hard many times over. I have often wished for a sturdier core.

But I have also unlearned some of that muzzling. I've left behind that inner voice that commanded I be of a certain weight and size. I have worked hard to loose the reins on MY voice, and to accept, to HONOR, that it is sensitive and attuned. That although it is sometimes intense or thorny, it is, more often, generous and kind and feeling. And I will tell you that I would choose being all of that any day over privileged and aloof and tidy and small.

Tidy is women a long time ago but also too many of us today. Tidy is something you could once only afford to be. Tidy is something still afforded by class and privilege.

Tidy makes me tired, as my Aunt Da used to say. Tidy is dull and inaccessible and frequently lacks authenticity. 

The opposite of tidy isn't fake or false or vapid. It isn't singular or snotty. No, those things are as improper, in my opinion, as is superficial polish. They are, often, worse, for they are entitled and ugly and out of touch.

The opposite of tidy is real. REAL. Authentic, candid, Self translated. The opposite of tidy is not going gently. The opposite of tidy is, usually, being courageously on the right side of history. 

In today's New York Times, Charles Blow wrote

"I fully understand that elevated outrage is hard to maintain. It’s exhausting. But the alternative is surrender to national nihilism and the welcoming of woe. The next four years could be epochal years in the history of this country. They could test the limits of presidential power and the public’s passivity.
I happen to believe that history will judge kindly those who continued to shout, from the rooftops, through their own weariness and against the corrosive drift of conformity: This is not normal!"

Whether you want to see it or not, America is falling apart. As is our news, our common belief in fact, the binding threads of our communal quilt. Judgment and bigotry and exclusion and restriction are racing back into our public spheres in terrifying ways. We were better than this. I am ashamed that we've decided to put that exceptional goodness on hiatus. We should ALL be ashamed of that.

For those who are, stay loud. Stay strong. Resist. Anger is OK if you don't let it overtake you.

If someone tells you to get over it, or quiet down, or just move on, tell them to shove it. For those of you who only share lightness and animals and happy family pictures, consider why. Usually, the outtake prior to the "perfect" shot was the more real one. If you see someone suffering or struggling or simply in need of a hug, give. 

Be honest. Be real. Do not surrender. 

Injera and lentil wat (and a tiny Shel update)

Quick Shel update: 1) Jack's teacher was as amused by the whole situation as I was which is comforting, to say the least. 2) I have learned more about Shel than I ever expected to know. 3) When in 5th grade, Oliver will not be doing his poetry research project on Shel.
~~

Ok, so as y'all might know, I like to talk to people- friends, strangers, neighbors, whoever. Generally speaking, I'm a social gal. 

Also, I am the mother of sons and have a husband. Because of this, I am an almost-daily regular at the market nearest me. Because, constant, high-quantity eating. 

In any case, I have gotten to know a number of the store's employees and truly enjoy seeing them when I'm there. Last time I got one of my horrid sinus rages, Hiwot reminded me that drinking my body weight in hot water with lemon, ginger, and honey was wise. I ran and got a huge knob of ginger and later that afternoon was grateful for her advice.

The next time I saw her, I thanked her profusely, and we talked some more and then were pals. One week ago yesterday, I was at the store purchasing, among other items, some red lentils because I have been helping a friend test recipes for the cookbook she's writing. Hiwot said, "Are you making lentil soup?"

"Yes!"

"I make lentil wat and always put berbere in it."

"Is that like pili-pili from Kenya?"

"Not the same but it is a red pepper. I bring mine back from Ethiopia. Do you have any?"

"No, sadly. It sounds great."

"I'll bring you some. And my recipe."

"OMG, I will bring you some preserves."

So, we set a date, met in the check-out line at the appointed time, and exchanged goods. I made her a pear, lemon, honey, and ginger preserve (because hello, she and I met because of ginger), and she brought me a generously-filled Ziploc of berbere and her hand-written notes on lentil wat.

Powdered gold.

"Do you like injera?"

"I love it. Do you make yours with teff only or a teff-wheat blend?"

"Only teff, of course. Both black and white. Well, ivory. Have you had both injeras?"

"No, I've only had ivory. This is so cool. I had no idea there was black injera."

"I will make you some. Let's meet back here next week, same time."

People, I was overwhelmed by her generosity.

We met yesterday, and she had the most amazing, yeasty, spongy, full-of-moon-craters injera for me. THAT SHE HAD MADE JUST HOURS BEFORE! You have to have a starter and let it ferment and everything. Truly, I was and remain so deeply touched. And my inner foodie was just off her rocker.

Today for lunch, I made myself Hiwot's red lentil wat. I stood over the stove as oil and onion and berbere melded, as ginger and garlic made everything fragrant, as the lentils went in and I added water by the cupful as if I were making an African risotto. 

While it cooked I called the White House comment line and waited on hold for ten minutes. Democracy in action, y'all. And then I spoke to a lovely woman and told her how desperately worried I felt about our country. I asked her to please tell President Obama that I felt it'd be grand if he would declassify everything pertaining to Russia's hacking of the DNC, DNCC, Hillary, Bernie, everything BEFORE the electors place their final votes on December 19. It won't change the outcome but we all deserve to be as fully informed as possible. 

And she thanked me for calling, and I thanked her for answering, and we hung up and I burst into tears because this country and Trump's buffet of unqualified Cabinet choices and Aleppo. But then the wat was done and Hiwot's injera was waiting, and I had the most magnificent, beautiful lunch I've had in a while.

I sat in silence and gratitude, thinking of all the beautiful difference in this world. Of cuisines and people and names and places of birth, and how so often when we come together in compassionate, generous, curious, lovely ways, we are all strengthened and made better. 

Miscellany, mostly of the Christmas and feline persuasion

It is very cold suddenly. Winter! Things appear to be hardening all around. The ground, for one. Drivers are more aggressive. Fewer are smiling. Coats are zipped high and tight.

But I patently refuse because Christmas is nigh, and I am nothing if not a jolly g-damn Christmas reveler.

My entire dining room table is covered in holiday card- and gift-making supplies. Even Oliver, a serious crafting guy, is impressed. "Mama, you have a LOT of craft stuff." Tom, too, feels my Martha-parts are really living big these days. I think my use of his heat gun took him aback just a tad. But y'all, embossing powder is fun! Teachers, grandparents, friends, neighbors, "strangers" (those online friends you've not yet met in real life but intend to and so in the meantime, snail mail during the holidays!)...there is much love and gratitude to be shared. 

Lest you think my inner activist is quieting, she is not. There is much work to be done, and I have tried to do at least one action-item per day since the election. The orange yam continues to disgrace the office of the Presidency. It is shameful. I am ashamed of him. Stand strong everyone.

"When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for." -Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Indeed!

The Nut and I spent a great deal of quality time together today. He is so delightful! Also, Big Boggle. Fun game for the whole family. I was competitive but only quietly. ;) Oliver repeatedly found "Ol" and "SOS." I'm not sure what to make of that- hidden message?

He lives a charmed life.

I finished Hillbilly Elegy, quite good not amazing; more on it later, yesterday and am continuing now with H Is for Hawk, masterful. Does anyone else feel totally overwhelmed by content lately? God, it's like a world-sized snowball.

Do: cook your salmon with lemon, olives, grilled artichoke hearts, salt, and a pat of butter in a foil pack. Serve with asparagus, quickly roasted until just crisp-tender, generously dashed with olive oil, lemon juice, and salt. A healthy, easy, winner of a meal.