Shall we talk about time? Hmm…it’s the same old story really. Girl with a big ideas and only small moments to grow them. I always get horrendous stage fright when I take a break from blogging. There’s a lot to compost and it’s mostly incoherent rambling. I have great stories to tell, I don’t want to waste em on compost. It keeps me from posting anything of real heart for some time. I start with a cute list and a few pictures, maybe even a recipe or two, but it takes so much to put the heartfelt out. Though once I do, I feel lighter and more rested ~~~~~~
My girls are exploding into life at lightening speed. Their moments passing by. Running out of time is an easily had feeling. This draws me into my little family so much these past weeks. Sort of ignoring the alternate reality that is online. Having some sort of bug with my FB account, not having time to start a new one (until now), definitely helped create the separation. Less connection means less that I feel I have to do. I am a collector of webpages and blogs and activities. And I’ve noticed a peace about not having so many options. But the loneliness some days… Less connection also means less village. So I’ve noticed, the occasional woohoo from a stranger keeps me going. The story of a mama working through the same stages of a child’s life gives me peace that I am not alone. The killer recipe from a fellow slow cook gets my creative juices flowing. My village is a digital data stream of electric love. Where popping over the fence has been replaced with a status update. The length of a good hug with the number of likes. And a basket of fresh berries shared with a little blue button~~~~~~
When I first started HM last May, I wanted it to be a happy journally place to record my newfound love. Then something happened. I won a contest for a recipe and all of a sudden I felt an obligation to be a source of information. And posting became less inspired and I wanted to come here less often. (I know blogging about blogging is silly, but eh). I was fascinated by my 2000 readers and instant 15 minutes and clung to it desperately. But I lost the love, it became antiseptic and bland, and eventually I didn’t write anymore. So I’m trying the writing part again. But there’s a lot of compost to work through, and it takes time to break down this many months of garbage. ~~~~~~
Time passes and I forget everything I didn’t do, all the things that I felt so not enough about not being able to do. (that was a mouth-full). But then, I remember a soup. The one the toddler actually ate. The way she squealed “yucky” with delight as she squeezed the soft carrots in her hands. The orange-stained fingers that reminded me of that moment all week. The way it danced in the handmade bowl that found me at the thrift store and was mine for $1.50. The way the light perfectly shone through the steam on that day. The way it tasted as leftovers poured over a golden cup of quinoa the next. And I remember it’s not time I’m in a fight with. It’s moments. The ones that are happening right now. And my need to posses them. Own and catalog, photograph and preserve.~~~~~~
It’s the perfection of these oddly scattered thoughts, written here unedited, without the time to hold and wonder with them. To ‘improve’ them and learn ‘from’ them. What if they just are. Perfect moments to behold, as they are happening.Carrot Thyme Soup Cook a bunch of carrots till soft (boil or bake) Puree in blender with juice of one orange, pinch of cloves, handful of thyme and some brown sugar. Add water or juice for desired consistency. **Pour into a fancy bowl. Breathe in. Watch steam rise. Enjoy.