A Merry Din

I love Christmas. I'm not much of shopper and I'm wary of over consumption, but I love the day and the night before too. Hosting my family for the event for the first time was awesome. I love the ebb and flow of the day.

I love waking up to find cousins splattered throughout the house. Shani slept on the hard wooden floor in the living room, one hand resting on his open laptop and Kayla actually slept in the living room chair. Two sleeping mats leaned up against the wall. Five people slept in the addition alone, which is not a very big space, but everyone said they were comfortable. Manny got up at about 4:00am, snuck most of his presents from under the tree and opened them in his room. He tried to tell us that Santa had left these toys by or under his bed. But we know this is a lie. He spent much of the day in his room with his new legos.

Then there's rising morning excitement and consumption of many pots of coffee and egg treats. Last year someone (Henekis?) started calling everything a treat, so our breakfast strata is now "egg treats" and the spiced nuts my mom makes are "nut treats". Clam dip is "clam treats", etc.

One of my favorite parts of the day was the Gram Jam game. Grammie Robin makes the world's best jam and gives it to us all at Christmas (though she sneaks Neil some at other times throughout the year because he loves it so much). This year she made a game out of everyone choosing their jam. I think she just liked the opportunity to boss us all around. And I liked her bossing us. This video clip is a nice example of the chaos, silliness and fun of my family on Christmas Day:


Then there is the late afternoon. Presents have been opened, turkey dinner consumed and people start to spread out around the house. Jordyn's lying on the floor on her belly, texting and Joe and Terry are playing a guessing game with pictures. Kali is in the easy chair where Kay slept the night before reading Patrick's library book (Encyclopedia Horrifica) and Alan is studying 35 ways to play poker. In the other room, Neil does the dishes and shouts to someone "gum breath" while someone else is singing. Henekis is laughing and Dahe is heartily and happily cursing. The light is getting low and I am reveling in this din; the hum of love.

Later on there is more coffee and out comes the cake! I am very proud of this cake:

In the early evening we again gather round and Henekis reads to us from Jack Handy's Deep Thoughts. This one is our favorite and made Kali laugh so hard he cried:
I remember that one fateful day when Coach took me aside. I knew what was coming. 'You don't have to tell me,' I said. 'I'm off the team, aren't I?' 'Well,' said Coach 'you never were really ON the team. You made that uniform you're wearing out of rags and towels, and your helmet is a toy space helmet. You show up at practice and then either steal the ball and make us chase you to get it back, or you try to tackle people at inappropriate times.' It was all true what he was saying. And yet, I thought something is brewing inside the head of this Coach. He sees something in me, some kind of raw talent that he can mold. But that's when I felt the handcuffs go on.
Anyway, for me it was definitely one of the best Christmases ever. Kali was supposed to ruin it and I was a little disappointed that didn't happen. But my mom's cooking made my life pretty easy (it's so fun cooking in my kitchen with my mom!) and I think everyone had a wonderful time. Maybe they'll let me host again next year. I love you all so much!
Netdahe as Santa
Momma and me
Jen, Brook and Alan

Quelle Bonne Chance, N'est-ce Pas?

Thanks to Dad and the Fays for hosting the kids so we could have a weekend away to celebrate our 14th anniversary.  We left Montreal before 7:00AM (it was still dark as night!) to get home before this snow.  Good thing, too.  We made it just in time.

We stuffed ourselves with couscous, lamb, chicken and merquez at Au Tarot (and oh, the mint tea at the end is so perfect!) and rich, deeply flavored French at our very favorite bistro, Le P'tit Plateau.   We went to a special exhibit at the Contemporary Art Museum and shopped for cheese at La Vieille Europe, but because it was so cold out, we mostly just curled up by the fire.  And that was nicer than anything else I could imagine.  



P.S. While I was looking to see if P'tit Plateau had a website, I found this cool blog.  

Too Much is Always Enough, or; Food is Love

The Stoddards are really pretty over-the-top in a lot of ways. We're all just a little too loud and obnoxious and some of us can be awfully self-righteous. We're passionate about our politics, beliefs and ideals. We're verbose. And there is no doubt that we are all prone to excess, particularly when it comes to food. Food is love, right? And we love big. So we eat a lot.
Weeks prior to any major family gathering, we start communicating about food. Since the advent of e-mail, we do this with a million reply-alls and much tangential discussion, such as whether or not anyone ever /actually/ drove themselves crazy with excessive verb usage (or with extensive or excessive usage of verbs). And we often end up with way too much food. Except for that one old home weekend about 20 years ago when Wayne missed dinner and there was no food left. Remember that travesty? Wayne does.

This year, I am hosting Christmas at my house for the very first time. We generally alternate Christmas between Vermont (Auntie Sally's house) and Maine/New Hampshire (Auntie Rae's house). This year Sally didn't feel her house would be comfortable for everyone, what with all the fish tanks, so I jumped at the opportunity to officially become a grown-up and have Christmas at my house. This way I don't have to travel. We're really excited about moving furniture around to accommodate lots of people around the tree and I'm looking forward to a sleep-over with many of my cousins and aunties (Sally, you should sleep over, too, even if your own home is 5 miles away).

So back to the food. This holiday's food planning started like this (I started it):

Christmas Eve:

Lentil soup (my dad)

Corn Chowder--vegetarian (Henekis)

Galupshugas (Gram)

Homemade Bread (Zoe)

Green salad (Zoe)

Christmas Morning:

Strata (Cindy Mom and Zoe

Various fruits (Zoe)

Christmas Dinner:

20 lb organic turkey from Penny!!!(Zoe)

Ham or pork roast from the pig my dad bought(Zoe)

Stuffing and Gravy (Cindy Mom)

Potatoes (Zoe)

Squash (David Dad)

Brussel Sprouts (Zoe)

Amazing Party Cake (not from the auction) (Zoe)

Other hopes and dreams:

(Cindy Mom):Crabcakes, Chinese dumplings (I have loads of ground pork for these and will help make them ahead)

So my mom agreed to the crabcakes and dumplings and added her homemade danish. Then Henekis requested clam dip. Then Raetha offered roots veggie stew and more fruit and offered to plan a hike, which obviously we'll all be way too full to participate in. So when you consider the above list, we're probably all set for 24-hours and 15-20 people, right? But then yesterday Sally weighs in with the following:

I'm bringing Thai -- shrimp, cauliflower, lo mien noodles and carrots in a peanut sauce (Shani I'll leave out the shrimp in some). Also, I am bringing at least 4, but probably 6 quiche, all vegetarian. Jen, Kali and I are bringing 2 lime key pies that are pretty basic but we like them (Jen smiled when she ate some and I love her smile; they do have some Cool Whip I am a bit ashamed to write...). One chocolate éclair pie (these are all graham crust size not Zoë's and Rae's usual big pie shells). A crock pot of my Ntozake Shange rice/broccoli/cayenne peeper/nutmeg etc dish. I'll add some of the wedding type mandarins to the fruit. And, something else I don't know about yet. I have 6 cans of crabmeat and -- on my wish list, I am asking for Zoe to make me the ugliest possible cake. You can even make it poorly right now and freeze it, maybe that will make it a little soggy when thawed. Love, love, love etc.

I particularly love "And, something else I don't know about yet." Because clearly we will need something else. There might not be enough. She's too cute!

Lest you think I have had any direct influence on this crazy family food fetish (as opposed to just being a product of same) here's my dad at the end of Christmas Day in 1982 (I was only 11) reading a list of food and drink he (and others) had consumed that day. It's a pretty great, classic clip. And I particularly love the supportive cheering at the end.:

This year, I've had some moments of worry that there really will be too much food and that will mean waste; a deadly sin, especially for us frugal New Englanders. But since I have freezer space and anticipate about 15 house guests for New Year's Eve, I'm breathing through my panic that we will literally be overun by our amazing culinary creations and looking forward to embracing the joy that is feeding the people you love. Anyway, I could no more ask any of the cooks in my family to NOT bring food than I could ask them to stop loving each other, or me. I imagine stomping my foot and the ridiculous futility of either scenario: "Stop it! Just stop it! Stop it right now!" And why would I want to convince anyone of such silliness?

Love Song

Raetha made me a cd last weekend which included this song by Sonya K.  It's just a perfect love song from Harper to Patrick.  Or Henekis to Kali and Shani.  

Just Because

 Netdahe and me at Camp in the fall...probably around 1980.  I love us.

And Now They're 20 and Singing at Their College...

Jordan and Kayla are a couple of the youngest descendants of Champ in my generation. Our mothers are sisters. They are beautiful and sweet and creative and talented, each in their unique ways. I love them. Here they are as babies...

This is Jordan:

This is Kayla:
Or at least that's the family consensus on which twin is which. They looked a lot alike back then.

Kayla and Jordan have been singing this song and making us cry since they were 7 years old. Last night they sang it at the college talent show and won 2nd place! I think they should have won first place.

Achieving Perfection

On a sunny morning (or a cloudy, rainy or snowy morning) pop Astral Weeks into your car cd player (or ipod, or hifi stereo system or tape deck) on your way to work (or school, or a friend's house or on a walk or sitting in your living room).

Because it's so good.

Van Morrison achieved perfection with this album. With the poetry, the strings, the reminder that being a stranger in this world is pure and true and redemptive. The celebration of everything that can't be named or held on to and which is the essence and adventure of being alive. It's all there and it's as hot as it was 40 years ago.

Vieques

In front of a Peace Mural.

This is an abandoned bunker for ammunition storage. There are many of them on the western end of the island.

(Ignore the date stamps on my pictures--they are mistakes I don't know how to fix.)

I've just returned from 6 days on the island of Vieques with two dear friends. Vieques is a magical, incredibly beautiful place with a complicated history. Shamefully, the U.S. Navy occupied much of the island for more than 60 years, displacing thousands of people and exposing thousands more to a plethora of carcinogens. The Navy is now mostly gone and, ironically, much of the natural beauty of the place has therefore been preserved and protected from the mass developments that have wreaked havoc on many Carribean islands.

Thanks to a home exchange, we stayed in a great house just outside the major town of Isabel II. Feral chickens, horses and dogs wandered the narrow, steep streets and the coqui sung us to sleep at night. Our house sat atop a hill and we had views of the ocean and enjoyed constant breezes. The beaches we discovered were breathtaking. On our first day we just splashed around in the ocean giggling and whooping like maniacs because we were overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounded us.


As an indication of how relaxed I felt on this vacation, at one point while I was standing up from my beach chair, I actually drooled! And I'm not a drooler! Truly, I can not remember ever feeling so completely relaxed. It was quite a blessing.

We made some stupid videos of ourselves. In fact, much of the delight of this vacation was the complete, silly abandon in which we indulged. Really, I think there is nothing more fun than acting really stupid and laughing at your self. I particularly like this two part series where Carolyn and I are preparing to visit the bioluminscent bay.

Incedentally, I was stung by a jellyfish in the biobay. I had been in the water and was splashing around, digging the light my body created and the drips that turn into stars when I raised up my arm or leg, when I felt a stinging on one ankle and then the other. I quickly swam for my kayak as I just wanted to get out of the water; it was dark and there was something in there that wanted to get me! It hurt a bit, but I did not, as our guide suggested, pee on myself. It would have to hurt a lot more to suffer the humiliation of peeing on myself in front of 10 or so strangers. One other man in our group was stung and my friends said he freaked out way more than I did, so I'm proud that I maintained my composure. During our paddle back, Carolyn had a fish jump into her boat (a glowing fish--it's all a-glow in the bay) which made her yell, "fish in the boat, fish in the boat!" And we all got to see fish swimming and jumping and creating light and sparkles in the dark of night. It was mind blowing. The next day, and still now, I feel as though it were a dream, and this sensation is only enhanced by my jellyfish sting. I hope someday to bring the kids to the bio bay, though I may not encourage them to swim, at least without good, fair warning about the possibility of a sting.

Here CB, and I give a tour of our neighborhood.
On the ferry to Vieques.

Illegal Deer

I'm about to blog about my trip to Vieques, but first a short rant: As many of you probably know, it is rifle season here in Vermont. I am a supporter of deer hunting. Last year, Netdahe got a deer and we had a wonderful, family "thanksgiving" meal. Dahe hunted respectfully and talked about this experience in an honest and beautiful way. We cooked and ate that animal with respect and love. Many families around here stock their freezer with local, healthy meat for the year. I believe in this.

Today as I headed out for a run with Rosie she immediately spotted something in the woods directly across the road from our house. I called her off, but quickly realized that it was a deer and that it was struggling. I watched as it fell, got up and tried to run, fell again, repeat. I went back into the house and called our local constable (Paul, who is past 70 and the guy you call for anything if you live in Burke). I had to leave a message as he was likely enjoying a Thanksgiving meal somewhere. After our run, he returned my call and suggested I call the game warden, which I did, but the game warden was out responding to a complaint and ultimately arresting someone (ah, deer season!). So Paul came by and I indicated the area where I'd seen the deer and described her/his behavior). He went out after it and just came back a few minutes ago to tell me that he'd found it, it was still struggling, and that he'd taken care of it. He also said it was an illegal one. So obviously some careless hunter shot it, realized he couldn't legally take it, and abandoned it to die a long, suffering death. Now that pisses me off. That's what gives deer hunting a bad name. Thanks to Paul for taking time out of his holiday to end the creature's suffering. And fuck the bastard who didn't bother to check carefully before shooting and then cowardly abandoned his "kill".

Of Course I Can Dance, Of Course I Can Dance!

Update** The comments on this posting are much more interesting than the posting!

This is a great reminder that I am a child of the 70's. This song reminds me of a time when I was very young, maybe 2 or 3 years old. I have only a vague memory of riding in a volkswagen bus (or maybe it was just an Econoline van) through a field. I can see the tall grass whipping against the side of the van because we were riding with the side door open, which was exciting and lots of fun. I'm pretty sure Richard Schofield was driving. He was Auntie Sally's first husband, who could be very funny and charming and was always nice to me and was also an abusive asshole sometimes if you happened to be married to him; not so different from many an abusive asshole. I have no idea why we were driving through a field and not on a road. Maybe because we were outlaws! Yeah! Anyway, we ended up at some honky tonk in god-knows-what-state (was that when Sally and Richard were on the lam in Pennsylvania?) in I don't-remember-what-year. My parents and the other adults somehow convinced whoever was at the door of this honky tonk to let the little kid in (which reminds me that I think I was 3 because I remember someone saying, "she's 3. She's not going to drink.") and this Leo Sayer song was playing. I remember the way the dim lights made everything look, especially all that yellow pine; I think it was some kind of barn. I remember everyone was taller than me. I remember that I was happy because I liked this song, I knew this song and I recognized this song. I remember the grown ups were all happy and I was glad to be a part of the festivities. Times change and my mom might not like to hear that she brought her 3 year old to a honky tonk (but she would have only been 22!!! And Sally 20! Dad, on the other hand, might have been old enough to know better, but he was a late bloomer). But it was fun and I was safe, or at least protected by my grownups. And loved and included. And I f-ing LOVED dancing to this song!!!

Shea Shea, O Lait!...And Other Wacko Kids

We got to have an audience with Baby Shea this weekend.


Mini Dance Party

Pat reads to Nina.

Shea's momma is pretty cute, too.

Pump The Music Up Selecta!

My homies (aka superstars) return from a potty break on the way to Montreal.

Going to see Spearhead is always a wonderful, happy fun time. All that dancing and jumping, smiling faces and love filled music...it's inspiring and invigorating. And great to share it with beauties like Sandy, Sammi and Sam (and the security dudes).

Now What Do We Do?

Restless

Happy Birthday Dad!

Super cool.

Today is my dad's 66th birthday. I'm so happy he was born. He's a pretty wonderful guy, grandpa and father. I love you Pops!

I'm glad I spent the last 20 years with you.

Okay, it's really only a little more than 19 years, but 20 sounds more dramatic.

We were 2, now we're 4. Crazy. And wonderful.

The Remedy

Okay, we just need to dance to this for the next 5 days and I think everything will be okay. Really, Stevie's always got the cure. Thanks to Seth for reminding me.

(note: I do believe Stevie wrote this song for Richard Nixon...it's so apropos, I think)

Nausea

http://www.pollster.com/

I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of hope. I'm afraid of counting chickens before they hatch. I'm afraid to believe. I literally want to vomit whenever I think about next Tuesday. I feel nauseous and overwhelmed with fear and dreams and suppressed excitement and terrified optimism and hope for a president we can respect, believe in and admire as an icon. It's more than just the disappointment of the last two elections that has me on tenterhooks. It's the hype and hubris that terrifies me. It's the sliver of possibility, the risk and the bracing for disappointment that makes me worry like a kid who can't keep her birthday cake down.

Don't forget to vote, and tell all your friends and knock on some doors this weekend. And some wood. And pray.

What Love Looks Like

Mr. Nestel and Patrick chat before Luca's Naming Ceremony

My little nuclear family are so blessed to have such beautiful friends to share our lives with. This weekend we welcomed Baby Luca to our family of friends. What a delightful baby and his parents are clearly thrilled with him. It was such a joy to finally meet this little person who I've loved for more than 8 months. We spent some time gazing into each other's eyes, which brought tears to mine. And our family enjoyed a typical weekend at Jen and Benjie's; scenic morning walks with the dogs, amazing food, (most of it grown or raised by Jen), beautiful children and outrageous laughter. I love going to Putney and beeing my goofiest self with my oldest friends. All the love and goodness makes me think of the Van Morrison song (oh what a song!), Sweet Thing:

And I will stroll the merry way and jump the hedges first... And I will raise my hand up into the night time sky and count the stars that's shining in your eye Just to dig it all an' not to wonder why That's just fine...

Andi, Luca and Nicole

Luca and Harper

Calling all Cousins, Step-Sisters, etc.

Do any of you NOT recognize these people? And, more precisely, how they love us and our children so well, completely and without reservation? Their delight in life and their loved ones is what I believe in. How beautiful. Look at those faces! Aren't we lucky?
Cheryl, did you take this? You captured something I've always seen and is so familiar and wonderful and comforting...nice work. And thank you.

Betrayed by Rock and Roll

I feel betrayed by rock and roll. I know I'm not the first woman to have this complaint. I like to go to Spearhead shows, G. Love, Greg Brown and Ani DiFranco concerts where the fans are basically hippies and the artists make a point of singing at least some songs about social concerns. Rock n' roll fans, on the other hand, tend to be dirtbags. And I mean that lovingly; I wouldn't mind being a dirtbag. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks (albeit in a swanky suburb) and I can roll with dirtbags. I've even fantasized about wearing a tube top and drinking canned beer in a trailer. It's all good if you can refrain from gender analysis, also known as the feminist's curse. I also need to remind you that some rock 'n roll is overtly sexist and racist in content (see the Rolling Stones "brown sugar" or the Beatles "run for your life"--and I love the Stones and the Beatles, so I guess I was betrayed a long time ago, right from the outset). The rock 'n roll concert I went to last night was attended by an audience made up primarily of men. Truly, it was about 90 percent men. Maybe this is because women instinctually know that rock n' roll has betrayed us. I don't know for sure the explanation for this huge gender gap, but I would have hated to be a single woman in that crowd, or a lesbian. Not out of fear to my physical being, but because being with a man validated me and lent me credibility; let me in to the club by association. While I don't have male privilege, I have white, heterosexual privilege. When I started asking people around me why the only women on the stage were behind plexiglass, people looked at me like I was wacked, but when they saw the tall, good looking guy I was with, they went back to enjoying the show without challenging me and a sense that things were okay and I couldn't be totally out of line. One person suggested they were behind plexiglass for "artistic reasons". (Does this remind you of anything?) The only woman to whom I posed this question (there were not many of us around, remember) didn't care, just shrugged it off. Which made me cry (don't worry, nobody noticed; I didn't make a scene or anything). Okay, I was overreacting, I know and I think they were behind the plexiglass for reasons having to do with sound and volume, not art or overt sexism. When the last person I asked gave me this plausible explanation, I stopped asking and felt better. But why was I the only one asking?

I know, this all sounds outrageously sensitive. And it is. But let me put it in context: the night before the concert, I co-facilitated a weekly group for men who batter their partners. I've been doing this for about 2 months and I'm still getting my bearings with it. I've led an awfully sheltered existence and never run with men like this, who are overtly sexist, entitled, homophobic and refuse to take responsibility for their actions. And lately I've been reading some research that really questions the effectiveness of groups like this. Some suggest, with good reason, that batterer programs may actually do more harm than good, teaching the men to be better batterers or to use forms of coercive control that will keep them out of trouble but still entrap their partners. Also, since most of us in the battered women's movement agree that the problem of violence against women is cultural and not the problem of individual men, why do we think running psycho-educational groups with individual men is going to create change? So these were the thoughts going through my head after group the other night, which led me to a nocturnal reminder of how very dangerous these men may be to the women in their lives. And how utterly powerless I am to do anything about that fact. It was a terrifying and overwhelming nightmare, from which I awoke with my heart racing.

So, here I am, the next night, at a rock 'n roll concert. The band was great--I loved the music, don't get me wrong. But that's why I felt all the more betrayed. And there was an edge in this crowd of men, an undercurrent of violence that was contagious and made me want to punch the woman who was too much in my space. And the bartender (also a woman) who was rude to me. What was going on here? I missed the hippies. Maybe I really can't roll with dirtbags and that's just a pretty fantasy. But even more, I missed my comrades, my sisters-in-arms. The women who get it and don't think I'm being "too sensitive" when I wonder why the crowd is 90% men and why the only women on the stage are behind plexiglass. They worry about these things, too. My women friends who, like me, have listened to countless stories from our sisters who have been beaten, battered, isolated and terrorized. And who know that these things don't happen in some kind of isolated, individually pathologized way. And who understand the guilt I felt at falling back on my privilege as a married woman when I felt undermined by my lack of gender privilege.

Finally, there was at least one person at that rock 'n roll show who totally understood where I was coming from. Yeah, of course, Neil. He didn't for a second shame me for being too sensitive or emotional. He gave me a hug and made sure I knew I wasn't alone. He gets it and he gets me. He's incredibly cool and smart and thoughtful. And he's always got my back.

Here's a picture of me at the Bootyjuice show last weekend with some of my comrades, high-fiving Carolyn with Misty by my side. I'm very thankful for them. (Bootyjuice is funky, jazzy fusion type music. Lots of hippies in the audience).

I Missed You!

Lately I've been missing the people I don't get to see as much of as I'd like. So this weekend was a huge treat because the amazing, wonderful, funny, hard working, soul feeding Ms Misty came to visit. We climbed Haystack yesterday, just the two of us, which gave us an uninterrupted few hours to talk nonstop in a mad effort to catch up, then I got to make and eat dinner with her and a bunch more people I love and then we went out dancing and partying.

Neil and I came home around 1:00 to relieve Grandpa David, the babysitter, but the others stayed out later (much later. I was impressed) and when I woke up this morning, I really wasn't sure who would be here. It was fun to discover not just Misty on my couch, but Henekis and Alan on the futon and Netdahe and Brook downstairs in the guest bed. Then I got to make eggs and ham and toast and sit around giggling with them all morning. And the kids got to cuddle with Henekis and Misty, always a coveted treat. It was all really sweet and satisfying. I don't envy Misty the 3.5 hour drive home late this afternoon on so little sleep, but I really appreciate that she made the long trip so we could spend some much needed time together.

For some reason I really get a chuckle seeing Dahe in his big-boy-proper-guy sweater.