Radical Retreat

When I go to bed, I mostly imagine that I am going to sleep in a loft of a log cabin in the middle of the woods. This log cabin does not exist in this world, which is good. If it existed in this world, my mind would be able to wander to other things of this world: worries, deadlines, schedules, inadequacies of kinds. It is a retreat of the mind.

In real life, I do take retreats. Some big and some small. I rent the art cottage at Herrbrook for the day. I go to my friend's cabin with her for hiking, reading, and playing cards. Sometimes we go with a larger group of women; sometimes we go with the kids. We take a family retreat each year when we go to Moondance Farms, another friend's magical hillside abode. She feeds us fabulous meals. We take naps, go for rides and walks through forest trails, and play outdoor games like Frisbee and capture the flag. Each year, I take some sort of philosophical or spiritual book along and dissect the text with more attention than I can muster on anything in my daily life. Last year was the the book Art Lessons by Deborah J. Haynes. (This year my spiritual text may very well be my new cheesemaking book!)

I have often wanted to go to Omega Institute or Kripalu for a more formal retreat. I can imagine taking classes offered by SARK, Sarah Ban Breathnach, Sabrina Ward Harrison, or Pema Chodron. Sarah Susanka is offering a workshop at Omega (July 4-6) on Not so Big Life: Making Room for What Really Matters that sounds wonderful--if only I didn't have a a competing commitment. I could imagine spending a summer at either of the two campuses; taking classes on intuition, drumming, yoga, journaling, painting, living intentionally, writing, cooking, meditating, gardening and herbs. And, too, I'd love to teach creative journaling at one of these places. I find that when I give workshops, I get so much out of the experience that it almost seems silly to charge other people for that which gives me so much insight and pleasure. I am sure that one day I will make room, both in my schedule and my checkbook for such important work.

But I have already typed out my summer schedule. It is awash with the full workings of a family--all good stuff, too. I am not here complaining about mispaced prioroties; we are doing the things that matter. My daughter is doing dance and dinner theater. My son has fencing and cross country and meetings with a friend to work on their sci-fi novel. I am teaching multiple workshops, going to a few book clubs. My son and I are trying to work a drumming class or two into our summer. My husband is doing some races and painting the house--not to mention that job thing he does. We are getting new flooring. We have multiple gardens for which each family member has responsibility. My son will probably learn to mow the lawn this summer. And with the gratitude for a daily reality which matters, I find that the need for retreat is diminished somewhat. The retreats will happen on a small scale, including a flight or several to my imaginary cabin, but they will happen.

Off my Rocker

I was reading Not So Big Life and it referenced a photo book Material World: A Global Family Portrait in which Peter Menzel and 16 other photographers traveled to 30 countries to photodocument the houses and belonging of statistically average families. I haven't see this book, but I can imagine what an American household's material wealth looks like spread for all to see over a cul-de-sac.

In light of this culture of materialism, one of the exercises of the book is to take a look at something that the reader (that would be me) has her heart set on acquiring. I guess it is supposed to make you think long and hard about your longings. Perhaps it is even designed to make you decide, "I really don't need that." But the exercise just fueled my desire for the latest object of my heart's desire--a rocking chair. Not just any rocking chair. A reproduction Eames molded rocking chair that my husband says is butt ugly and will not enter our home. (I'll give you one guess as to whether his abhorrence has cooled or increased my ardor for this rockin' piece of art on runners.)

So one question that NSBL asks is: What is it about this thing that seduces you so?

Last year we bought new living room furniture. We really needed two chairs to finish off the seating arrangement, making the room more conducive to socializing and conversation. I always liked this rocker, but didn't want two of them. (They are kitchy and two would be overkill.) Now with the way we rearranged the living room, it would only take one more chair to complete the look. I love the curves of the Eames Rocker. It was designed around the same time (late 1940's) and has the same feel as our Heywood Wakefield Dining room set and our Eva Zeisel serving pieces, all of which are visible from the living room. Plus I really like the fact that the Eames pieces were designed by a husband/wife team. I like the playfulness of the piece and the movement of the rocker. Rockers always remind me of motherhood, but this is an off-kitler kind of rocker, and my kids would agree that I am an off-kilter kind of mother.

This may be a moot point. We have other needs. The empty spot in our living room is a low priority. It is my extravagant wish of the moment. And I do believe that sometimes you acquire things in mysterious ways. So I will visualize owning my rocker. I just need to decide which color to visualize, the blue or the orange. Either would be smashing with the new pillows I am making for the couch. As far as Mark's declaration? I think that Ray and Charles Eames would agree that even great marriages require a little compromise. He lets me imagine a rocker, and I'll let him imagine I don't have issues against us owning an X-box 360.

Soup's on--Come on in.

It is 19 degrees outside. I just finished making a roasted cauliflower and poblano pepper soup for tonight. It's from my Mesa Grill Cookbook, and the prescribed serving suggestion is to float goat cheese taquitos on top. Who am I to deviate from such lusciousness? However, the soup is so smooth I may veer from the recipe and forgo the extra splash of cream at the end. Even with the small amount of cream, it is still perfect for January when one (in this case, ME) is trying to atone for holiday indulgences. Basically, it's just a vegetable and broth smoothie, but the roasting brings out some big flava in the veggies.
I love soups. I make them every Thursday afternoon. My daughter has a LONG dance lesson on Thursday night. I drop her off and have grown-up girl time with one of the moms over a glass of wine. After our meeting of the moms, I watch the remainder of Maren's lesson while I knit or read. Then we go home to soup--already made and warming in a crockpot. It almost feels like I didn't have to cook. And I never resent having to run the kids around. I've made it into a fun ritual for myself.
My friend Jodi and I are reading The Not So Big Life (Sarah Susanka) together and doing some of the exercises. It was a cosmic coincidence that she was listening to the book on tape over the holiday while I was snuggling up and reading Susanka's first book, The Not So Big House. (I am an armchair architect. Or a design enthusiast who has interests in sustainability.) Susanka's most recent book is more of a self-help book that came out of her work designing homes that are meaningful to the owners without giving in to the monstrous footprint of the of the starter castle. The consciousness that Susanka applies to the design process advocates smaller houses with more impact, intentionality, and functionality. (Think Frank Lloyd Wright's Usonian Houses.) Foremost in the design process is a blueprint that coincides with the owners' lifestyle. How will the space be used for hobbies? Will entertaining be a factor? Do they want to highlight a collection or a special piece of furniture? Are books and reading a way of life. What about music, art, and dance. Do they work from home some of the time? What is important?
The questions in Not So Big Life the question is not--does this space work for the life I want to live? Rather, it asks the question Does my life work for the way I want to live? It is an important questiont hat I revisit often. I feel I have done a really good job of living out some of my ideals and finding balance in lots of areas in my life. My Thursday night ritual is a perfect example of that. But I am always on the lookout for ways in which I can customize space and time and make them work for our family. I'll let you know what I discover in this process.