What We Need Is Here

School Prayer

I swear I will not dishonor
my soul with hatred,
but will offer myself humbly
as a guardian of nature,
as a healer of misery,
as a messenger of wonder,
as an architect of peace.

- Diane Ackerman, from School Prayer

Sewing Blue House Pants and other things

It was fun getting the sewing machines out this spring and using them. The Blue House Pants project went great production-wise, although our opportunity to sell them at a regional conference fell through. We're hoping to add a little to our "inventory" and try again in the fall.

Several of us were inspired to venture beyond pants to sew other things: customized pants for ourselves and as gifts for family (Kendera, our resident artist led the way here), cloth napkins and tablecloths, a "slouch bag" for shopping, new kitchen curtains. It was particularly rewarding when we used re-purposed fabric donated to us - old sheets and curtains and some old clothes. Sewing is such a handy skill to have - and to pass on.

My mom taught me to sew like her mom taught her and I constantly hear her voice in my head reminding me that cutting accurately is the most important part, that basting is worth the time, to use the lighter color thread when faced with a choice between two that don't quite match.  I am also enjoying watching others who sew with us who work with a totally different set of rules - or apparently none at all. We've made some interesting stuff, beautiful to look at and made with love - or hope or patience or spunk or a number of other aspirations and emotions indicated on the homemade tags.

I'm inspire by the time and care put into each item. I'm also inspired by other folks for whom tougher economic times has been a spark for their creative fire.  Using it up, making it do, and wearing it out has never looked better, or at least more interesting... 

Kids pants from shirt sleeves

Rugs from old clothes

A skirt from a pillowcase

Pants from a tee-shirt

Just about anything from an old sweater

South American Quinoa Stew

I know I'm going crazy with the recipes lately, but 'tis the season. Today we are serving "South American Quinoa Stew" at the cafe - South American because nearly all the ingredients originated there. We got ours from the generous farmers at the 441 market.

Instead of the beans and grain we often add to soup, today it was just a grain - but a mighty one: quinoa (pronounced keen'-wa). Next to the potato, quinoa was apparently the most important food to the Incas back in the day, surpassing even maize in popularity. It's unusually nutritious - one of the view vegetables that contain a balance of amino acids, forming complete protein. It's as protein-rich as meat is.  Even though it's not a local food for us, it's good to keep in mind and learn how to use densely nutritious food like this, especially when times are tough.

Here's the "recipe" (we use this term loosely) for today's soup. I've highlighted ingredients that were grown locally.

South American Quinoa Stew

Ingredients:
1 onion, chopped*
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup quinoa
1 potato, diced*
2 yellow squash or zucchini*
1 bell pepper, chopped*
2 carrots*
1 16-oz. can diced tomatoes
1 tsp. coriander
salt to taste
1 tablespoon cumin
1 tablespoon oregano
Optional: grated cheese and/or chopped chives*

Directions:
Saute onion in olive oil until transparent; add spices and stir. Rinse quinoa, then drain and add to pot along with vegetables. Cover with water by at least four inches. Bring to a boil, then turn down to simmer till carrots are tender.  Add canned tomatoes and salt to taste. Serve with cheese and/or chives.

Fun things to do with bread dough and a bunch o' veggies

We seem to be swimming in vegetables lately. Farmers at the market have been gifting us with wonderful stuff each week after the market and our own little garden is beginning to produce. We've been serving squash, beans, onions, peppers, tomatoes, okra daily, and each week's particular combination determines what our weekly cafe soup will be (something a la squash this week for sure!).  Within the last 24 hours we've also used them on pizza and in veggie pockets. The dough is the same for either one - and the veggies were the same too, although with very different results.

Last night's pizza consisted of different combinations of "veggie pizza:" Basil and Tomato, Squash and Pepper, Onion and Pepper, and All of the Above. Bella!

The veggie pockets were born out of desire to share lunch more often with hungry folks - without the environmental impact of dishes to wash or to dispose of. We've had quite a few different combos so far, including Greens and Beans (collards and kidneys seasoned with red pepper and vinegar), Cheesy Rice and Greens (Rice, colby-jack cheese, and swiss chards [the bright lights variety is so colorful and pretty] seasoned with salt and pepper), and today's Peppery Squash and Rice (yellow squash, zucchini, banana peppers, mozzarella, and onions seasoned with ground chipotle, oregano and basil).

One of the pleasures of both dishes is the art of combining ingredients for both taste and beauty. Most of our folks like spicy food, and the spicy saltiness combines well with a slightly sweeter bread dough (I double the sugar in the bread/pizza dough recipe). And the beauty of various colors together creates a healthier mix for the veggie pocket as well. I added peppers today just to get a little more green in there, and it tasted great. If I had had some red pepper flakes I would have added those instead of the ground pepper for the same reason. If you like to play with food, this is an ideal venue for having at it.

The other pleasure is that they lend themselves so well to group preparation. The recipes and technique are simple, so it's a nice mindless activity to include a child or friend in. Last night Riley assisted John with the bread kneading and cheese grating. This morning, several people stopped what they were doing to come roll out some rounds for the veggie pockets. The extra help hurried the process along at the end (I was running late), and it was fun. 

Here are the recipes:

Basic bread dough (two large pizzas or about 32 veggie pockets [you can freeze them])

4 cups whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons salt
2 tablespoons yeast
1/4 cup sugar
4 cups water
Enough white dough to make a stiff dough

Mix whole wheat flour, salt, yeast, and sugar together. Add water and stir together with a whisk. Add white flour until stiff dough forms. Knead for about 10 minutes.

Pizza

Roll dough out into two (or more if your pans are small) disks and place on oiled pans. Cover with marinara sauce, then grated mozzarella, then sliced veggies. Bake at 350 for 20-30 minutes (watch it carefully).

Veggie pockets

Double the sugar in the bread dough recipe. Divide dough into approximately 30 pieces (more or less), shape dough into disks 4-6 inches across. Place sauteed vegetable/grated cheese/bean mixture in center of disk leaving about 1/2 inch on the edges. Fold dough over and seal with fingers. Bake on oiled baking sheets in 350 degree oven for about 15 minutes.

Making Peace

Memorial Walk - 3400 block of NW 8th Avenue

A voice from the dark called out,
"The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war."

But peace, like a poem
is not there ahead of itself,
can't be imagined before it is made,
can't be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.

A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.

A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses...

A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light - facets
of the forming crystal.

- Denise Levertov

The American Climate and Energy Act of 2009 Justice and Survival

A bill described by some as "the most ambitious energy and global warming legislation ever debated in Congress" was passed by the House Energy and Commerce committee and has a real possibility of making it through the House. It was predictably bipartisan with only one Republican crossing over to vote for it. Four Democrats from coal-mining and manufacturing states didn't vote for it either. But in the end, a somewhat watered-down version passed 33-25.

It sounds sometimes like simple-minded ideology; Republican congressman Mike Rogers of Michigan called the bill "the "biggest energy tax in the history of the United States."  But I want to allow for the possibility that representatives of folks living in states where livelihoods depend on polluting industries are truly concerned about the well-being of their constituents (and not just their own pocketbooks and power). It's going to be a dilemma we're all going to face. We are eventually going to have to choose lower "standards of living" to avoid catastrophe. For those already living at the margins, there could be tremendous suffering unless those of us with more take their well-being into account.

This is true on a global scale as well. If this bill passes the Senate (there is strong possibility of a Republican filibuster), the U.S. - the largest user of energy - will be finally taking a leadership role in conserving it. This is absolutely necessary for getting other countries on board who otherwise have reason to doubt the difference their sacrifice will make. But some of the very poorest countries will struggle with energy standards they fear will plunge them back into the poverty they've been recently climbing out of. Enter the question of responsibility: should those primarily responsible for the mess we're in now be also primarily responsible for getting us out of it?

It's complicated and requires real debate by statesmen and women (not just politicians) who can see beyond their own party and their own political well-being. It's an issue of both survival and justice. The decisions we make today will determine what kind of world we leave for all of our grandchildren. It's got to be physically inhabitable - which becomes more in doubt the longer we debate the impact our current ways of living have on the planet. But we also need to be able to tell the story of how we all got to that place together - the story of what kind of people we were.

Big consumers (countries and individuals) are going to have to find the moral will to lower their own consumption rates while at the same time supporting the most vulnerable. There's no room for  bipartisanship in this.

Cold rain, warm soup

It has been raining for several days - and quite cool for this time of year. Inspired by the gloom and an abundance of potatoes, we made "Irish Cream of Potato Soup" today, served with fresh brown bread (a riff on an old Heidelberg Rye recipe but without the rye or the carraway). The meal turned out both hearty and cozy, and everyone says they like it.

They always say they like it. The kindest people come to the house for a free lunch on Wednesdays. They're tired and hungry and often in need of a dry or warm or cool place to be for a while - a place to be, period. We avoid the typical soup line and serve them at a table and hope that being allowed to sit and eat and relax for a bit will somehow help.

If you knew their stories... They're good people for the most part, in the grip of addiction or mental illness or a run of bad luck. Some have wound up with histories that could curl your hair. Each one has a story so singular that the words "homeless" or "hungry" can't come close to capturing it and begins to grate as just another label to be endured. Our guests today include an art teacher who's an alcoholic, a doctor who is an addict, a theology student with a debilitating mental illness, a former model, a street preacher, teachers, carpenters, musicians, and a host of others who have only shared a little of their past lives. Sometimes their stories keep me awake at night wondering what this life is all about anyway that so many struggle seemingly hopelessly to get by at all.

But at lunchtime we experience the happiness of friends who loves marmalade and declare the potato soup to be the best ever, and happily play with the dog under the table, and read magazines in the living room, and doze peacefully in the papasan. I hear the bits of conversation between the guests and the volunteers that sound like banter between good friends. There's a bit of guitar music, short bursts of laughter and teasing.  And this life seems a little wonderous - filled with people looking at it squarely, taking in the good and bad, and deciding to thank someone for the soup.

Southern Pepper Sauce

We were joking the other night about how quickly hot sauce disappears from our tables on café days. People don’t just sprinkle it on, they apparently pour it with wild abandon on the soup – regardless of how spicy the soup started out. One of our community members noted that the size and shape of the typical Tabasco-type bottle is perfect for keeping in one’s back pocket. This same friend spent some time in jail and said hot sauce, though contraband, was often smuggled in and shared among inmates. I think it’s a southern thing.

Growing up, my grandparents always, always had a mason jar of the homemade stuff on the shelf near the kitchen table. Apparently the combination of hot peppers and vinegar rendered it bacteria proof, but I keep mine in the fridge just in case. It doesn’t cool it down a bit, and it will knock your socks off when sprinkled on black-eyed peas, field peas, and collard greens. It tastes good when a little migrates over the sliced tomatoes (which will surely be on your plate in early summer if you are Southern) too. 

Directions: Rinse little hot peppers and put in a clean jar, cover with apple cider vinegar. Let sit for a few weeks.  Pour over everything.

Our part: Preparing the soil for grace

First zinnia of our vacant lot garden

"While today the word humility may connote a placid servility in the face of mistreatment, its Latin origins suggest strength and fertility. The word comes from hummus, as in "earth." A humble person is one who accepts the paradox of being both "great and small" and does not discount that hope which Kierkegaard terms "possibility."We may look to physicians or therapists when our lives go off track, or we may pray the psalms, or seek solace in a favorite novel. But in a sense we are all seeking the same thing. We want to prepare a good soil in which grace can grow; we want to regard the cracks and fissures in ourselves with fresh eyes, so that they might be revealed not merely as the cause or the symptom of our misery but also as places where the light of promise shines through."

- Kathleen Norris in Acedia and Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life

ELDERS: Shocking, yes, but you just may become one yourself someday

My dad with his great-grandson

If you are over 25, you’ve probably experienced a bout of the cognitive dissonance inherent to aging.  It comes with being able to remember decades – that you graduated from high school ten years ago, that it’s been twenty years since you were in elementary school. And it gets worse as you get older: “Wait, I’m fifty? But my mother is fifty!”  It’s hard to assimilate the fact of aging especially as you begin to approach the age of people you once thought of as “old” and, ummm . . . irrelevant.

Personally, I’ve always had an affinity for old folks.  In my early twenties, at home during the day with a new baby, I sometimes watched a public television show on aging called “Over Easy with Hugh Downs." It gave me some much needed perspective as I was in the process of being bumped up into the parenting phase of life.  Later I lived near my grandparents for a while and was amused when my maternal grandmother sometimes called me or one of my daughters by my mother’s name. She had had two little girls who had two little girls, and now one of them (me) had two little girls. It must have seemed to her at times as if life were recycling itself with slightly different faces – same make, different models. Being close to my grandparents helped soften me toward older people in general, even the slow-moving ones who would aggravate me when driving. I would imagine they were my grandparents experiencing their last years of independence and freedom before their license is taken away.  I have appreciated the older people in my life, and the grand arc of life in general, but I still have had plenty of youthful arrogance in my attitude toward their opinions and ways.

Now, true to form, in my “middle years” I am appreciating more the wisdom of elders - in part because I can actually imagine myself becoming one. But also because I have personally lost so many of them at this point in my own life. My grandparents’ generation of teenage flappers, depression parents and WWII workers and soldiers, watched their roaring 20s youth re-lived  in the free love of the sixties.  They’re almost all gone now.  With them goes their particular insight into youth and old age, patriotism and genocide, wealth, loss, family…  And now my own parents are going. My father was diagnosed last year with a terminal illness that affects his brain. One effect of his illness is a compulsion to tell stories, which flies in the face of his lifelong reserve.  It’s as if something in him knows his time is up and he wants us to remember him a certain way, to honor what he was and what made him who he is.

I ask myself what I have to tell, or will have to tell in my old age – and whether anyone will want to hear it.  Right now I feel particularly fortunate to have young adults in my day-to-day life.  They are dealing with so many of the same issues that I did when I was their age. I particularly appreciate the conversations with them about their parents and the struggle to separate from them, to grow up.  At my age now, it seems like yesterday that I was managing those same tensions -- discerning which of my parents' values would be useful to me, how to step out into my own life while still giving due respect to those who gave it to me, how to honor their values while tossing quite a few of them out.  But I also hear my younger friends’ struggles through the filter of being a parent myself – close in age to theirs.  I feel the loss and fear of having people you have loved since birth, and did your best for, begin to make their own decisions – some very contrary to your own.  There has got to be some value to this, some wisdom in holding both of those mindsets in one brain. I am reminded of something I heard once somewhere about our being not only the age we are, but all the ages we have been before. So I am 5, 10, 21, 30, 40, 50 . . .  What more will I be when I am 60 and 70 and beyond?  Like almost all adults of a certain age, I wish I had asked my grandparents a few more questions before they left.   “Remember” was the last word my grandmother said to me.  How much wisdom is out there in our own communities waiting to be heard, carefully sorted through, perhaps, but really listened to?

*****

Recently I came across a very sweet website about aging: Time Goes By: What It's Really Like to Get Older. It's smart and funny and honest (reminds me a little of good old "Over Easy") - a glimpse of the future that might someday become your present, if you work hard at it.

*****

And some more inspiration for you - from my young adult friend Kim: A little India Arie. Lovely.