I wish you could meet her. She is one seriously passionate woman. Her blog's tagline is "seeing and celebrating the sacred in daily life," and boy, does she inspire me with exactly how artfully she does this. She is a writer, an artist, an organizer, a pleasure revolutionary -- oh yes, and she is a mother and wife, which provide the unique lens through which she organizes much of her work.

And as you would imagine with all of this inner glow, she is wildly beautiful on the outside, too.

Here she is in September at the restaurant Home.

This woman is one of my nearest and dearest. For almost four years, we have talked on the phone every week to spring clean (one of Mama Gena's tools -- I'll explain in another post). We have shared our hearts with each other through joy, birth, death, and everything in between, and she has been gently patient with me this past year as I adjusted to being a new mom and my time went haywire. I treasure her friendship and am over the moon with pride about her new project.

Suzi is in the midst of launching a reading series called "Out of the Mouths of Babes: An Evening of Mothers Reading to Others." The first event is on March 2nd at 7:00 p.m. and is part of the Berkshire Festival of Women Writers. Be there early so you don't miss the lullaby that opens the evening.

“No mother is lacking in creativity,” says Banks Baum. “Whether she stays at home with her children, or works outside of the home while someone else looks after her kids, she is using major creative muscles to make it all work. My desire is to provide women with a vehicle to discuss the importance of creativity in their daily lives; to witness the beauty of words written by other mothers; and to emerge from this event inspired to celebrate and engage with their own creativity.”

If you are anywhere in the northeast, I urge you to get yourself to her neck of the woods for this event. There will be bedtime snacks served; pajamas are optional.

This post is being written tonight because I was in the middle of savoring a Mary Oliver poem that she posted when I realized that I have never linked our two online worlds. So here we go, for all 3 of my readers. Please go spend some time in her backyard. Hang a garment or two on her line. You will feel better because of it.

Here is the first stanza of the poem she posted. You'll have to go to her site to read the rest.

To Begin with, the Sweet Grass

1.

Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat
of the sweet grass?
Will the owl bite off its own wings?
Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or
forget to sing?
Will the rivers run upstream?

Behold, I say – behold
the reliability and the finery and the teachings
of this gritty earth gift.

....

Ingredients:

5 cubes of honeydew melon

About 2 inches of cucumber, peeled

1 orange, peeled and halved

1 apple, seeds removed and quartered  sliced

Handful of spinach

4 slices of frozen peaches

1 cup almond milk

One Jennifer, mostly awake

One Chris

One 11-month-old baby

One nosy, bull-headed, large dog (preferably doberman/pit/rottweiler mix)

One G-shock watch

Prep time: 45 minutes.

Directions:

1. Holding the baby, pull the ingredients out of the fridge. Be sure to squat instead of bend over to keep baby from falling out of your arms and to get a little boost in your core.

2. Stepping around the sniffing dog, set all food ingredients on counter for Chris to make smoothie.

3. Pull paring knife from drawer with mostly-awake hands.

4. Drop knife onto wood floor. Important: react quickly and jump out of the way as it clatters to the floor, hitting nothing but the wood. Thank your lucky stars that the baby is in your arms and the dog was out of the way.

5. Squat again to pick up the knife. Put knife on cutting block and walk away.

6. Chris should now start to make the smoothie. Cut into the cucumber and notice that there is the tiny metal point of the knife is missing.

7. Check the bottom of all feet (except the baby's).

8. Run super-strong magnet over the floor, including the crunchy under-counter corners. Come up with only food crumbs. Chris and baby should now retreat to the baby-proofed part of the house.

10. Put dog in his crate. Ignore his whining and yelping while you sweep carefully the entire kitchen and eating area. Once swept, use wet mop over the same floor area. Notice that the wet mop's scent is called "Open Window Scent" in English, and "Parfum GRAND Air" in French.

11. Finish cleaning the floor. Chris should set baby down in living room to do another sweep.

12. Jennifer should put ingredients into blender in the order listed above.

13. Baby should find dog's water bowl, tip it over, and splash happily in the water. Baby should not finish until his lower half is entirely soaked and he is grinning and clapping his hands.

14. Chris should clean up the water, undress and re-clothe the baby, who should screech in protest.

15. Jennifer should finish putting ingredients into blender, but wait to start blender until baby is reclothed and in arms, because the sound scares him.

16. In the meantime, Jennifer should wash the rice maker bowl soaking in the sink from last night and put away dishes in the drying rack.

17. Dog should settle and accept his crated state.

18. Once baby is in arms, run blender. Notice that, despite it being a fancy super-blender, the apple quarters are sticking in the blade and not blending.

19. Use blender wand to push apple chunks into the blades. Keep using the wand. Turn off blender, remove from base, shake to loosen. Add more almond milk. Blend again.

20. Notice that smoothie is getting warm and frothy because of blade action. Add more frozen peach slices.

21. Apple chunks should now loosen and blend.

22. Once mostly smooth, pour into two glasses.

23. Hear plop in the bathroom. Parents, wonder if you engaged the childproof lock on the toilet the last time you used it. Realize that you probably didn't. Rush in and find Chris's G-shock watch (waterproof!) in the toilet. Thank your lucky stars that you did not let it mellow last time the toilet was used.

24. Take picture of first item dropped in toilet.

25. Remove and clean watch with hot water and soap. Wash baby's hands. Wash your hands.

26. At last, put baby in highchair, feed rice crackers and salmon. Parents, drink now-lukewarm smoothies.

Serves 4.

I had the privilege of interviewing her in 2005 and was inspired by her kindness, enthusiasm, and confidence. I'm so sad to hear this news, and am sending prayers and good thoughts to her, her family, and the doctors who are caring for her. May her healing be quick, simple, and complete.

Update 1/20/12: I have been away from the news for a few days and just heard the news that Arfa passed away on the 14th at the age of 16. The world lost a great light when it lost Arfa. My deepest condolences to her family and friends.

The conversation threads begin by decrying conspicuous consumption, but most of them dissolve into sexist name calling, which is also telling. Is it that people are upset at unequal distribution of wealth? Or are they pissed off that a powerful black woman has so much of it?

My take is certainly influenced by a recent woman in labor myself. I imagine that their decision has less to do with flaunting wealth than it does with safety and the dangers that come with celebrity and fame. If I were Beyoncé, I wouldn't have felt safe laboring as if I were a non-celebrity in a regular hospital ward. People do crazy shit around laboring women and famous people, so being both at the same time would just invite all kinds of madness.

Another telling thing - and this is speculation, because I know nothing about their medical needs - is that they didn't just do a home birth to begin with. Hospital birth is so normalized in this country that even wealthy celebrities with access to most any birthing choice in the world STILL chose a hospital birth, likely because they believed that it was the safest option.

To the dance away from and toward the sun!

To the richness of the longest night, and all that keeps us warm within it!

I've had this verse in my head all day. Here it is, with our first solstice spiral. (Thanks, SG Suzi, for the inspiration.)

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.

Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.

In the years since, this poem has lain gently over several not simple, not long experiences, like a silk cloth over tables of lacquered wood, cold steel, fingerprinted glass.

In the ninth month of my first year of being a mother, I reach into a drawer and touch the rich words of this poem again. I close my eyes with gratitude for their familiar comfort.

These words apply to anything worth doing fully. Directing, writing, loving, mothering. All of it.

Final Notations

Adrienne Rich

it will not be simple, it will not be long
it will take little time, it will take all your thought
it will take all your heart, it will take all your breath
it will be short, it will not be simple

it will touch through your ribs, it will take all your heart
it will not be long, it will occupy your thought
as a city is occupied, as a bed is occupied
it will take all your flesh, it will not be simple

You are coming into us who cannot withstand you
you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you
you are taking parts of us into places never planned
you are going far away with pieces of our lives

it will be short, it will take all your breath
it will not be simple, it will become your will

Last month, he expanded on his thesis in a TEDx talk titled "How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Discussing Race." It's 11 minutes of funny and smart ideas about how to talk about race in ways that enrich rather than polarize.

My favorite parts:

The first thing is that anytime we’re dealing with race issues, we are dealing with a social construct that was not born out of any science or reason or logic, we are grappling with a social construct that was not designed to make sense. And to the extent that it is the product of design, the race constructs that we live in in America were shaped specifically by a desire to avoid making sense. They were shaped for centuries by a need to rationalize and justify indefensible acts.

So when we grapple with race issues, we’re grappling with something that was designed for centuries to make us circumvent our best instincts. It’s a dance partner that’s designed to trip us up. So just based on that alone we should be able to keep in mind that you will never bat a thousand when it comes to dealing with race issues.

and

And in general I think we need to move away from the premise that being a good person is a fixed, immutable characteristic, and shift towards seeing being good as a practice, and it is a practice that we carry out by engaging with our imperfections. We need to shift from, we need to shift toward thinking of being a good person the same way we think of being a clean person. Being a clean person is something that you maintain and work on every day. We don’t assume that I’m a clean person therefore I don’t need to brush my teeth. And when someone suggests to us that we’ve got something stuck in our teeth, we don’t say “Wh-what do you mean? I have something stuck in my teeth? I’m a clean person! Why would you--” [Audience laughter]

So I know that this is no small task, but if we could shift a little bit closer, toward viewing these race conversations the same way we view a conversation about something stuck in our teeth, it would go a long way toward making our conversations a bit smoother and allow us to work together on bigger issues around race.

My favorite parts:

When I picked him up that afternoon a little boy asked me if Moon Boy is a girl or a boy.
          “A boy,” I said. “Are you asking because he's wearing pink sandals?”
          “Yes,” said the child. “Why is he wearing pink sandals?”
          “Because I want to,” Moon Boy said, with the same happiness.
          “Oh,” said the boy. “I like to play with my sister's wand.”
          And that’s when I realized why my son wears pink shoes.  He doesn’t wear pink shoes because he’s gay.  He wears pink shoes because your son might be gay.  My son is making room for yours.  Right?  I mean, my son has two moms whether he wants to or not.  (And he’s black, and Jewish, and adopted.)  He cannot disguise these things.  Room or not.  But your son, your son can blend.  If there’s no room, then fine.  He can wear his hunter green, his navy blue, his burgundy.  He can slide under the radar for a while, but then sooner or later he’s going to need the room.  Because he’s going to stick out.  And it’s my son who will be there, making that room.

and

...I hear it in on the playground, around the neighborhood, in the hallway at school.  “I’ve got boxes of clothes waiting for you,” one mom says to another.  “I hope your baby’s a girl ‘cause I’ve got so many sweet things I could never put on my son.”   And it’s hard to imagine how we can hold these things in our brains at the same time. How we can be sticking like crazy to these arbitrary gender rules, even for infants, and then saying we’re committed to ending anti-gay-bullying in schools. Because that’s what anti-gay bullying is: picking on kids who cross the lines. And who are the first people to draw those lines? Who are the first to tell our sons they can’t wear pink? To insinuate that no boy should wear pink? We are. Even before they are born. Listen carefully while I say that again: we start training our kids to bully their gay peers even before they are born.

It matters. Yes, something as simple as boys wearing pink.

Did you know that the World Health Organization recommends exclusive breastfeeding through six months, and continued breastfeeding through at least two years (and beyond)? Globally, less than 40% of infants younger than 6 months are exclusively breastfed.

When I was pregnant, I was 99% focused on giving birth. I knew I'd breastfeed my baby but hadn't given much thought to the mechanics of it. I suppose there's something to be said about overthinking things, because birth went exactly the opposite of how I thought it would, and breastfeeding, which I hadn't thought twice about, has run brilliantly from the moment I met my little one.

I'm astonished by how satisfying I find this nursing relationship. I love cuddling while he nurses to sleep, his legs curled up warm against my belly and his palm flat against my heart. I love that my humble body provides so much comfort and nutrition to this little human being. I am totally in love with this process.

~ ~ ~

Now. Yesterday, I read this post from The Crunk Feminist Collective (and its insightful commenters). I found it challenging and fascinating. One of the basic questions that evolves in the comments is: Is breastfeeding a personal choice? And what factors go into that choice, if so? (My favorite comments are from bfp and Meredith.) I offer that link as a counterpoint to my love affair with nursing, and the various levels of privilege that allow me to breastfeed my baby on demand and take advantage of the many resources that support breastfeeding.

So do it.