dear baby girls

mia and me, u.c.l.a. medical center neonatal intensive care unit, summer 1985

thank you for being my greatest teachers.

thank you for your continued love, despite the way i fumbled through this work of being a mom with equal measure of good intentions and immature nonchalance.

thank you for knowing in your souls what was not yet known to me on a physical level, those things i did not know how to produce via acts or words.  (in other words, thank you for still loving me when i had no fucking idea what to do or how to do it.)

thank you for showing me how to be vulnerable and courageous at the same time.

thank you for helping me learn that love is not a grand emotion, but the act of being present, whether broken or whole, in the most infinitesimal and inconvenient moments.

thank you for teaching me about trauma and trusting me with your own.

thank you for your graciousness when we cobbled together meals from a $1 package of tortillas, government cheese, zucchini and tomatoes gifted from candy's garden next door; when entertainment was day-upon-day of nature walks and sidewalk scavenger hunts and reading aloud from the stack of overdue library books as the evening sun streamed through the kitchen window at the little yellow house on kenny street.

thank you for huddling up close in bed on those nights the police helicopter lingered a bit too long over our block, the whack-whack-whack of the blades chopping through earned moments of peace, the searchlights over-illuminating the danger in our lives.  i had to practice bravery on those nights; the animal warmth of your body, the rhythm of your heart next to my skin, the awkward child length of your limbs simultaneously reaching for and pushing away my own gave me the impetus.

thank you for your patience and for letting me grow up with you.

thank you for the belief you hold in your heart that those who face and endure more challenges than the average bear arrive on the other side with a greater depth and capacity for joy, empathy, connection.

thank you for your forgiveness when i didn't always make the best decisions.

thank you for being exactly who you were at the time, who you are today.

sunday grace: a child full of wonder and love

one of the many gifts i received being mia's mom was the ability and permission to be openly and kindly curious.

as a child, mia would walk right up to a stranger and start asking them questions about random stuff that interested her.  sometimes this would be embarrassing, but one encounter changed this.  one day when she was five-ish, we got on the bus and i was chatting briefly with the driver as mia made her way to a seat.  when i caught up with her, she was deep in conversation with a sikh man about his bright orange "hat".  i sat mortified as he was kindly and patiently telling her why he wore a turban.  i apologized for her impoliteness.  he smiled warmly at me and said, "there is no reason to be sorry for a child full of wonder and love."

(then she asked him if she could try it on, but i'll leave that part of the story out.)

in that same spirit of wonder and love, a few friends and i visited our local mosque on friday to meet our muslim neighbors and learn about their faith.  my heart is broken at the increasing hate talk and very real threats pointed broadly at the faith and specifically toward muslim people.  but just expressing my solidarity felt a bit hollow because i really didn't know that much about the faith and culture.  i am always telling my students that being truly interested in people and staying open to hearing their experiences will build empathy and genuine relationships, so i really felt i needed to walk my talk.

we were welcomed to the small meeting place to observe noon prayers and service.  afterwards we had the opportunity to talk more casually with the members over pizza and then had a more formal orientation to the origins of the faith and its customs.  i was captivated at the manner in which they expressed their devotion in calm ritual.  there were beautiful moments i wished for my camera, like when a dad was showing his preschool-aged son the sequence of the prayer and the boy followed the movement in such a sweet and clumsy manner, checking in with tentative eye contact to make sure he was doing it right.

i learned so much in such a short period of time.  i do have more questions for future conversations, but here are some things i came away with:

• just like every other spiritual gathering i have ever attended, there were yawning distracted children, passionate elders with lots of stories they wanted to share, and someone who forgot to silence their cell.
• in other words, humans.
• it is a deep and focused faith (especially in contrast to the casual and inconsistent mishmash of religious and spiritual practices that i engage in).
• all moms (muslim, christian, buddhist, whatever) worry about their children, but some moms experience true fear on a regular basis for their children's safety.  i heard that fear.  i met those children.  this is not okay.
• there is a recognition and reverence for mary, the mother of jesus (jesus and moses and other biblical figures as well).
• we have a vast misunderstanding of jihad in the broader american culture.  my new friend defined it as a struggle, a challenge in life (very similar to buddhist samsara), adding, "sometimes broccoli is my jihad".  
• i have an affinity for the shapes and lines of the mosques and wearing a headscarf.
• i was warmly hugged by a woman and the energy of the connection spoke the words, "i am with you."  from both sides.  human connection, sister connection, friendship...amazing everyday magic.

i returned home with a sense of peace and a full heart.  

and remain committed, in these days when we are celebrating the birth of a child full of wonder and love, to more fully embody these gifts of baby jesus, of mia, of the sweet boys and girls at the mosque, of children everywhere.

have a beautiful season of wonder and love.

a week in color {№3}

i am celebrating the end of january over here.  because it was ridiculously cold.  luckily, it was sunny most days despite the cold.  this helped immensely.

it also helped that i spent a lot of time in the art studio playing with paint and stencils and drawing and such.  i am taking mati rose's daring adventures in paint and i am loving it.  i especially love the weekly assignments to seek out color.

even on a brutally cold day (you guys, it was no degrees out.  NO degrees!) these happy prayer flags down the street kept smiling and waving.

learning new art techniques means more trips to the art store.  hello happy place.

when the virginia winter gets to be too much for this california girl, i make myself a cup of super spicy mexican hot cocoa, languidly peruse frida kahlo's unbelievably beautiful diary and daydream of the sun and the color and the spirit of mexico.

i was doing a bit of organizing and ran across the little yellow cloth bag of mia's old winnie the pooh game pieces.  a kind woman gave them to her while we were at a yard sale when mia was four or five (which was a good thing because i had no money to buy them at the time).  there was never a board or instructions, mia just made up her own rules each time we played.  these pieces are so old, they are made of wood and paper, absolutely no plastic.  i love this happy colorful memory.

tiny memoir: my good soul

in my twenties, i was a single mom struggling to make a decent life in a little house in a not-so-great neighborhood bordered by the city of bakersfield, california to the north and acres of farmland to the south.  i didn't have a lot of money and had no car for several years. 

on sunday afternoons, i put mia in her stroller with the wonky wheel and we walked on a little stretch of highway 58 to a funky makeshift cafe in a converted liquor store next to a 7-11.  it was run by a beautiful woman from bangladesh who had moved to california and joined the pentecostal church.  during the week, she served typical american food.  but on sundays, she made the most amazing hot and spicy chicken soup for two dollars a bowl.  i can still remember her standing at the stove with her thick black hair in one solid braid that reached past her hips, dressed in a long flowery prairie dress, singing hymns in bengali. 

i can't remember the bengali name for the soup.  she translated it for me once, writing out "my good soul" on a napkin.  i think she was trying to write "my good soup" but her english was shaky.  she placed her hand on her heart when i spoke the name out loud. 

indeed, this is where the soup worked its magic.  after each delicious spoonful, the warmth would slowly bloom around our hearts.  i had no health insurance at the time and i swear this soup, with its garlic and ginger and spinach and chili peppers, saved us.  in those days, neither one of us ever experienced illness that required medical care.

the last time i went home to bakersfied (seven years ago now), i drove out highway 58 toward pumpkin center to find the cafe torn down; replaced by a car lot.   i couldn't remember the name of the cafe.  actually, i don't think it had a name. 

for years i've tried to recreate the soup.  it has taken much trial and error.  for the longest time, i thought the little black seeds in the soup were poppy seeds.  i recently discovered they are nigella sativa seeds.  i've come pretty close to matching the taste and the healing effect.  the soup is a lovely mix of south asian magic and american practicality.  just like its original creator. 

my good soul makes you feel instantly better when you are unwell or off kilter in your body or spirit.  i try and use only organic ingredients.  you can probably use mushrooms and vegetable broth in lieu of the chicken to make it vegan.  this makes a nice big pot.

my good soul
three chicken breasts, poached and shredded
olive oil
nigella sativa seeds, about one tbsp.
mustard seeds, one tsp.
one onion, chopped
two celery stalks, chopped
two carrots, chopped
one head garlic, chopped (about twelve cloves)
two tbsp. chili pepper paste in the tube
two tbsp. ginger paste in the tube
chicken broth
two cans great northern beans, rinsed
baby spinach leaves
pumpkin seeds

use bone-in chicken breast with skin for the best taste.  poach the chicken by simmering it in just enough water to cover, salt, pepper, chili flakes, rosemary and a bay leaf for about thirty minutes.  set aside to cool before shredding the meat.  reserve the cooking liquid; it's about three cups.

cover the bottom of a large pot with olive oil and heat until a seed dropped in pops.  add the seeds and cook for about thirty seconds.  reduce heat to medium high and add onion, celery and carrots.  cook for about five minutes, until tender.  add the garlic and cook a few minutes.  add the chili and ginger pastes and stir well. 

add about one-half cup of your poaching liquid and deglaze the pan.  add the beans and your shredded chicken.  add the rest of your poaching liquid and extra broth (or water) if you need it to fill the pot to two inches below the brim.  bring to a boil.  reduce to low, cover and simmer for twenty minutes.

add the spinach and stir in to wilt.

garnish with pumpkin seeds.

eat. 

feel better.

*

p.s.  it's difficult for me to get my recipes exact because i play when i cook.  i encourage you to do the same.  use all six of your senses when you make a meal.  i use a le creuset pot, which gets pretty hot, so you may need to leave some wiggle room for cooking times.   adjust the heat to your taste, this recipe is quite spicy.  the nigella sativa seeds are pretty important here.  if you live in a large city, you can probably find them at an indian food store or maybe whole foods.  i ordered mine online, so if you're local to me and want to make the soup, i've got close to a lifetime supply and i'm happy to share.

chinatown

a girl can get lost in your color and language and touristy crowds.  sometimes that's just what a girl needs to do:  get lost.  there is a frenetic sadness in your air that is oddly comforting.  i squeeze in to the standing-room-only muni.  in the midst of the clamor of a busload of chinese, i find a safe and lonely place to let go.  as we pull away from each stop, i am packed in tight and close with mothers and grandmothers and babies and old men.  the bodies, while individually small and foreign, collectively provide a cushion of security and familiarity.  each time our bus lurches forward from a stop, the recorded voice politely implores me in english, "please hold on."  and each time i do the opposite.  as we rush past the blur of your red lanterns, ancient neon signs, kitschy souvenir fronts and vegetable stands, my heart simultaneously breaks and inches toward wholeness.

five senses friday {san francisco edition}

see

• a thousand red silk lanterns blowing in the westerly wind
• california sunsets.  i miss them.
• the giant full moon over the city
• an entire city decorated with rainbows

hear

• the clank and bells of the trolleys
• barking sea lions at pier 39
• packed in tight on the 8x through chinatown
• the weird silence of a suddenly empty trolley

taste

• apricot and fig samples at the ferry building farmers market
• even with all the foodie options the city offers, i must have clam chowder in a boudin sourdough bowl and an anchor steam at least once per visit
• chrysamthemum and red rose tea
• the perfection of the carne asada taco with avocado at la taqueria in the mission
• the zuni burger.  sweet jesus on market st.  the zuni burger.

smell

• roasting duck and brewing tea
• salted air
• it may be my imagination, but i think coffee smells even better while sitting on a park bench at the edge of the city in the cold wind waiting for the sunset

touch

• the cold pacific rushing in to say hello, welcome back
• mia (all 104 lbs of her) instinctively putting a protective arm through mine and confidently navigating me through a dodgy section of sidewalk in the tenderloin.  it was total role reversal.  in a good way.

happy weekend friends.  more san francisco memories to come.  there are many.