summer revels

It’s been a little crazy round here. My presentation for the California Society of Oriental Medicine is on Sunday in San Francisco, and I’m going to be away from the family for a few nights while I attend the conference, catch up with my colleagues, and introduce my work on healing disordered eating patterns while healing extended food systems in a 3-and-a-half hour class So, I’m jamming, surrounded by books, clinic notes, and texts while I organize my work into a cohesive whole. (And in spare moments I clean out the garage in preparation for our move.)

But this weekend we managed to sneak away for an entire Sunday to play at the sweet and lovely Southern Humboldt Summer Arts and Music Festival. And it was really summer there, a nice break for the coastal fog. You couldn’t really wish for a nicer festival…great food, great kid zone and stage, excellent music (including our friends the Jujubes doing rocking versions of toddler faves), walking across the Eel River, and even finally getting a wedding present for some friends who got married 2 (3?) years ago.

So I’ll just share these pictures for now, keep my nose to the grindstone, and tell you that we are soaking up every breath of this California air, trying to fathom our near future and to trust in our gypsy lives.

Utah caught the westbound train

If you knew Utah Phillips, you probably know he died in his sleep at the age of 73 last Friday.

If you didn’t know Utah, I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to see him, but it’s not too late to check out his stuff.

I got to see him twice…once years back in Berkeley on Cara’s birthday and more recently at the Arena Theater in Point Arena. He was a national treasure of stories and real history.

An inspiration for truthtelling and truthliving.

kinetic weekend

Even though we face the impending chaos of moving, we are comfortably ensconced in a bit of denial and finding much to celebrate around here. Especially the beginning of berry season, our first stone fruit of the year, and the wild and wacky kinetic sculpture race, a 42-mile all-terrain race with the tag line: Adults having fun so children desire to grow older.

Yesterday we watched the kick off of the race at the Plaza and rushed to the dunes to see these amphibious art vehicles clabber over up sandy hills. Today, we started game day with broiled apriums (as good as my formerly favorite pluots; it’s all ratios, I guess) topped with strawberries and toasted coconut.

Then it’s off to the races…the beginning of the water crossing, that is. We huddled up on the rocks and looked for our favorites launching into the water. Isaiah knew exactly which ones he was looking for and didn’t much mind waiting long periods between launches. Here are a few of our favorites.

Dear Mother Earth–One Sick Mama is the name of the sculpture. Stitches, bandages, but she can still make it up those dunes and across the bay. A survivor.

The fans loved it…

stop me please

“It works double-duty, to protect your furniture from the hose, and also protects the hose from sharp edges of wood and metal furniture.“

If I ever get good enough with a sewing machine to do this, I’d be really happy about it.

If I ever actually make this, please take me out for a drink, a camping trip, an adventure, a movie about refuges from a war-torn nation who need my help…just return me to myself.

Life Is Beautiful

Dinner got cold tonight as we loved an impromptu dance party, full of twirls, somersaults, and some rad moves. Gotta love pandora radio at times like this. I type in Michael Franti and we end up with Keb Mo’s “Life Is Beautiful”, Jack Johnson, Brett Dennen, Ben Harper, skipping over whatever isn’t getting our groove.

No matter what the agenda, the anxieties, the stress, the dinner on the table, there is always time to dance. I’ll try to remember that often this weekend, while family and friends are boogieying down at Strawberry Music Festival and I’m having just a slight bit of FOMO, mitigated by anticipation of the always fun Kinetic Sculpture Race here.

peace

love bug

Nature boy, full of love. Loving us up, all the time.

This morning, crawling into my bed, hands in my shirt, head bonking into mine.

“Isaiah, can you please just give me some space?” I mutter.

“I can’t, Mama.”

“Why not?”

Because why I love you too much.”

Okay then…I know the feeling.

more rosewater

Well, those roses were calling to me again today while I had a yard full of children and wanted to something productive while hanging out with them. What fun! It’s lovely that Steve pruning all the blooming roses off the alley fence could have gotten me so annoyed, but instead it has been an inspiration for this discovery. The unexpected beauties of love!

Since it’s been so fun, I wanted to share the process with you.

First, with our without helpers, pull the petals off the roses, run your fingers through the silky petals, and stick your nose into the fragrance,

Then place a large pot on the stove, place a brick (or what I did for lack of a brick–an inverted enamalware mini tart dish) on the bottom, arrange roses around it and add water to cover roses. The place a glass bowl right side up. Cover it an inverted pot lid that has some space in the dome. Place ice on top of the dome.

Bring the water to a boil, then keep it on a simmer. The cold lid will cause the steam to condense  on the underside, then cause fragrant water to drip into the pan. When the ice melts, scoop off the water from the lid, open the lid and spoon any collected rosewater into a jar, then add more ice and continue until the fragrance starts to diminish. I got about a pint of rosewater each time, using several handfuls (30?) of Cecil Brunner roses.

Enjoy!

bloom where planted, harvest when ripe

It’s 10 o’clock, the moon is full and bright, and I have impending editorial deadlines, a huge presentation coming up in 2 weeks, and a yard sale in the morning for which I’ve prepared nothing. So what am I doing here? What any reasonable witch would do when her husband has pruned the gloriously flowering Cecil Brunner roses that scamper over the back fence…find out the answer to the question, How do you make rose water anyway? Well it turns out that it’s a fun and fascinating process that’s going on on my stove right now. And I’m so glad it’s the renowned and accessible herbalist Rosemary Gladstar who provided the recipe. If you have roses galore, check it out! It’s an ingenious recipe that creates a home still. I’ve got a pint of clear, fragrant rosewater…amazing!

Ummm…our house smells so good. Added to the incredible rose aroma is a batch of granola I just had to make before we jet off on a quick overnight camping trip after our yard sale tomorrow. A nap time to nap time trip, with Monday morning off work. Yay! For our family, this is a big vacation…all 4 of us not working for 24 hours. Yes, we need it desperately. And if we truly are leaving California in 6 weeks, I’d like to sneak in a few of these trips.

And…if bikini season’s got you down, check out candace for her, as always, hilarious yet serious take on issues we all face.

heat wave!

We slept lightly clad last night, sheets pushed off us. Walking into the night air tonight was a slightly cool relief, with a spectacular moon overhead in the dark sky and a the setting sun still lighting up the western sky at 9:22 pm.

Two smoking hot beach days…granny dog under the beach umbrella, gingerly picking up her paws in the hot sand; wilting children revived by splashing in the water; even a touch of sunburn.

I feel like spring has just sprung and now we’re careening toward the solstice, everything speeding up in these speeding up times.

That’s why we’re inspired by this article It’s scary to move to the slow lane, but is it really worth keeping up with the fast one?