lady cordelia

my mama said one day

Have I ever told you that when I met The Brad I had very little furniture in my house or food in my fridge?  I just was vacant in a bunch of ways.  Even though I had a good family and friends, I was lost. Real lost.  I cooked up a mean meal of toast and beer and dated stinky men.  (I mean "stinky" in a figurative sense.  But, maybe also literal.) Ya.  It happens.  I had no sense of style back then.  

Check out my style now.  Ya.  That's right.   Two daughters on a Craigslist couch under vintage wool blankets.  

That.  Freaking. Rocks. Hard. 

Hey, did I ever tell you I didn't know how to cook?  I didn't even know how an oven worked.  I had lost too much weight.  I didn't think I'd meet a nice man.  I thought I'd never have an opportunity to have my own children.  All alone and lonely. I listened to sad songs.  I dreamed.  My mama promised me: One day.  

Right now my house is a mess, my kids are screaming.   My desk looks like a bomb went off and organizing it will take several hours.  I think there may be a cat poo in the litter box.   I forgot to run the dishwasher. The chicken coop needs deep cleaning.  What? Is that a pair of kids undies in the toilet?  And you know laundry is my weak point, so please... oh please...let's not even go there.   Let's go here instead:

readers: enjoy all you have today.  and prolly just skip the laundry.

living (he)art.

As you may or may not know: The Brad and I are self-employed.  We swing from limb to limb doing what we love.  When we met, The Brad was starting his Landscape Photography business from the ground up.  He needed a woman who would deal with the years ahead...all the struggles and learning curves.  And there were many.   (Learning Curves that is, not women. Luckily for me.)   He also, in the midst of becoming a professional photographer, established himself as a web designer.

As for me, I wanted to do what I wanted as well.  Bringing in income from my songwriting catalog has been an up and down mainstay for many years.  (Also in the last few years I created a small editing business that I run from home.)

Anyway- we all live here in this household that is big on artistic freedom & expressing ones self as well as a  commitment to those things.  Our 5-year-old is taking piano.  Everyone told me that she was too young but she was up for it (and she is doing just wonderfully.)  This morning she broke down in tears as a new lesson surfaced and a steep learning curve presented itself.  "I can't do it."  she said.  But I wouldn't let her off with that thought in her head. I suppose I was strict with her- though lovingly so.  After just a few more minutes of focusing, she could make it through the piece.

It takes inspiration and work.  The "artistic freedom" part is easy when the inspiration is there or the piano lesson for the day is easy.  But...following your heart and sticking with it.  That's not as easy.  You know what I mean?  Even when the notes are hard to figure out or you spill water all over the masterpiece painting you just finished.  It's all part of it.

Gosh, I know.  Because I still get frustrated.  Irritated. Let down.  And sometimes I have to shut Brad's studio door because something, somewhere went wrong with his workday and the wave of yelling is so tidal that it feels we will all get swept away.  But at the end of the day, The Brad and I can look at eachother square in the eye and know we are both fulfilled with what we've chosen to do.  And that means a whole lot.

Daughters: It's work to follow the heart.  Work hard.  Follow more.  Work harder.  Then reap the bounty of all the work.  And you will, a million times over.  Truly! A painter, a teacher, a piano player, a doctor, a plumber, a landscaper, a mathematician, a whatever.  It doesn't matter. Wherever your heart leads you.  Whatever it is that speaks to you.  That is what you should follow.   It will be wonderful. I promise.

the doggie.

Oh gosh guys.  I'm going to try and keep these real brief cause I could go on and on.
I went to the animal shelter.  Saw a dog.  Or she saw me.  We locked hearts.  And that was that.  She was found on the roadside with her sister, still puppies. She had never had a home and her sister had been adopted.

I bought The Brad to meet her and he fell in love with her.  I brought the kids to meet her and they fell in love with her.  Then I brought our dogs to meet her.  And they thought she was tolerable.  She got along with everyone.  She loved everyone.  We loved her.  The shelter staff came to check my yard.  They saw the cat, saw the chickens and ducks in my yard.   Said it was a perfect place for such a sweet dog. We brought her home. Cute as all get out.  Smart as a whip.  Sharp as a tack.  Sweet as Cherry Pie with extra Whipped Cream. 

Then. She saw the cat. Her energy totally changed and she took off after the cat like a bat out of hell. 

Our older Lab dogs never minded the cat at all when we brought her home from the shelter last Summer.  They might give her a slurpy kiss her now and then, but that's it.  Everyone, including the shelter staff, thought this new dog would act the same way.  So, for the next few days, I  worked with the dog (on a leash) and the cat to see if maybe something could be worked out between them.  Even to just get a tail wag out of the dog when she looked at the cat would have been a sign of hope.   But when I finally got the cat out from under the bed, the dog charged her again as if she was lunch.  A few hours later my new pup charged the chicken coop.   The chickens screamed and squaked and ran all over the place like a bomb had dropped.  I searched on the internet for tips, The Dog Whisperer, all the rest of it.  It wasn't looking promising.

Then, The Brad said: Gosh Darnit. She has terrier in her.  I don't care what the shelter said her mix is. (The shelter had said she was a shepard mix.) We studied dog breed photos online for an hour at least. And The Brad said: This dog has Jack Russel Terrier in her!  And I'm sorry honey but you can't train a prey-drive instinct out of a dog.

Of course we'll really never know for sure about her mix of breeds, that's how it is with a mutt.  But the fact was, our peaceful little farm was out of balance. Nevertheless, I tried to work with the dog and cat a little more. That is, until the cat couldn't be found at all.

The chickens and ducks wanted to come out of the coop, but we knew that wasn't a safe idea.
Our house became separated and stressful.
In the end, we had to take the new dog back to the shelter.
I cried a lot. I cried until I got a headcold. The cat came out of hiding and ate for the first time in several days.

I wasn't crying because I was afraid for the dog to go back to the shelter. I know someone will scoop her up in a heartbeat.  She had lots of people interested.  I cried because I fell in love with the dog. I smiled at her and she smiled at me.

Sometimes you do the very best thing you think is possible.  And it doesn't turn out how you thought it should.  You give the very best part of yourself, your heart, and it doesn't go the way you hope it will.  Still, that's how I live.  From the heart.  With the best of intentions.  I may get let down more than I would if I didn't reach out- but I also get to experience a lot of love this way.  I simply don't know any other way to live. For better or worse. 

And I'll never forget her.

XO

I will save you.

 

I like to save things from an otherwise shabby life.  An abandoned kitten- the runt of the litter, or an old ugly dresser with "good bones." 
Over the weekend I bought this low 2-drawer  chest for $4 at a seemingly weak garage sale down the street.  White and dirty and piled with junk, I could imagine it looking real pretty in a corner of my bedroom in a very certain blue. I bought it, brought it home and found the color I wanted on the Benjamin Moore website (Picture Perfect.).  Ordered it from the paint store.  Voila.  Bada bing, bada boom.  There you have it.  $4, folks.  Plus the paint of course.  But that gets used on other things too.  Until The Brad says..."more blue, huh?" when he sees me in the garage painting the frame of a mirror, some old file cabinets.  Eh Beey, he says.  (That's how we say "Oh Boy."  We say it a little different around here.   Because...we are a little different.)

So.  Wait.  I'm not finished.  Then I was a little, shall we say, hormonal.  But.  Let me preface what comes next with this statement: "hormonal" doesn't make me all that different.   I don't DO certain things I wouldn't normally do because I'm a little hormonal.  I just cry about those things when I would usually have the wherewithal to hold it together. That is the difference. Tears.

So, what I'm telling you is this: Either way, I would have gone to the humane society yesterday.  No, mom, I didn't come home with an animal. But I did walk through the isles and touch most of the dogs through the gates.  Several were in the play yard so I played with a few.  Some were nervous and wondering who I was.  Just another seemingly nice woman making deep eye contact and then walking out of view.

People I know, pretty much everyone, would find me crazy for visiting the humane society in my current "full-house" situation.  A friend I ran into later that day borderline berated me for doing it.  Well, I don't expect everyone to understand.   She may not pick a $4 dresser up either.   Not many people would be so into saving dressers or animals that have been neglected. It's just how I am. For better or worse.

The Brad understands.  Perhaps more about the animals and less about the dresser. You want to save them very badly, he said.  And someday- we will save more.  Someday we will have more land.  More space.  I want to save the animals, too. he said. 

I told him what a friend told me yesterday on my blog: Saving one animal won't save the world, but it will save the world for that animal. Oh.  How that blew me away. I hate bumper stickers, but I would wear that one proudly. (Thanks Amanda.)

When I walk around my house, I pass two funny labs who want to be taken to the park.  So I take them.  I may momentarily feel irritated at the prospect, but then we are in the park, in the fresh air.  Always good. When we get home I go to my chicken and duck coop- and sure they're a little noisy.  They're excited to see me.  They know I will be bearing treats and talking to them about this and that as I gather the eggs.  As I come back in the house I almost trip over the cat.  I pick her up and squeeze her, make sure she has fresh water.  I love all of them.  It's not for everyone, but it's for me.  My house is clean, my family and animals are happy and well-fed.  There's a lot of us and plenty of love to go around. Plenty of Love. And that's how I like it.  That's the ship I run.

Brad understands the depths of what it feels like to want to make a difference in the world in this way, saving lives. He may have to hold me back a little here and there (or try to at least), he may be more logical about the reality of constraints, but he understands my feelings- the depths of the feelings.  The endless depths I row along in...an old dresser, an abandoned kitten, a forgotten dog... I see the potential for love.  And so I turn my sails towards love.  And I always will.

XO

 

heart reunion

Wow.  I thought I was just going to blog on as usual today.  About a great thrift find.  Cookies.  And things of that nature.  But then my friend Tracey from Clover sent me a link she thought I might like. 

Tracey knows I love elephants.   She knows I love them very much.  It is virtually painful to love something so unconditionally, so infinitely.  And that is how I love elephants.   Humans have misunderstood them and mistreated them so deeply, so very deeply. And my heart breaks open when I think of that.  It breaks into a million pieces.   But within each broken piece is my connection to the elephants, my love, my hope and my gratefulness to those who have and are making a difference for them.

Every single month I donate to an organization called The Elephant Sanctuary.   Every. Single. Month.
I only hope that someday I can give them a lot of money every month instead of just a little.  What they have done and are doing is so wonderful.

These videos are about a 55-year-old elephant named Shirley and what happened to her when she finally made it to the Elephant Sanctuary.   Watching both videos combined will take about 15 minutes.   If you have older children, grab them and bring them to the computer to watch.  Go get your spouse, your friends and your neighbors too.  You must watch both videos or you will rob yourself of the full impact.

Simply, we are to blame for the state of our world and the sweet creatures who inhabit it.  But we can make a difference too ...for the rest of the "Shirley's" out there.   Where there is a will, there is a way.

Elephant Reunion Video 1

Elephant Reunion Video 2

 

Source: rosencrown.blogspot.com via Lani on Pinterest

hello buttermilk cake, good bye paper towels.

Buttermilk Cake (with Pears.)  

Quick.  Easy.  So yummy. Light.  Not too sweet. Good with a little cup of coffee.  Or, how the girls had it last night with fresh whipped cream on top.  (My three-year-old begged for whipped cream, I made it, and the whole way through eating her cake she said.."I love whipped cream!  Then, after her plate was licked clean she looked at me and  said: "I hate whipped cream.")

Anyhoo: I used the recipe from Swanson's book but found a very similar one online at her site. Almost the same recipe I used but it features a different fruit than the book version, which was plums.  I used pears.  So see, you can use almost any fruit.  The online recipe also calls for salt (instead of sugar) to sprinkle on the top.  (Really?  Salt? I would use sugar.  But, then again, that's just me.)

So.  There is that.  

And.  That is that.

Here's my big news: Ready?  K.  Hold on to your seat cause this is heavy: We've decided to stop using paper towels.  Ya. Ya.  [nodding].  Maybe all of you are already fully grooving non-paper-towel users and I am late on the bandwagon.  Or.  Maybe you are like I used to be (up to last week that is ): you use plenty of paper towels but have a bit of a mental eco-block about it.  

Sure, sure, I hear you: one uses more water washing the cloth towels that replace the paper towels. Ya, Ya.  I hear you, I get it.  But, life is not perfect.  One must choose the lesser of two evils.   If I  just throw a few dish towels in the laundry with each load is it really wasting water?  No.  So: NO paper towels in the house.  

None.  Not even one roll. Because if I had even a little "emergency" roll  in the house, it would be dangerous.  Know what I mean?  I'd be all: "Oh, jeez, one paper towel won't hurt.  I just need to clean this spilled yogurt off the table."  But then, you know...before I know it, I'd be totally out of control again and, once again, a full-on paper towel junkie.  That is what I was.  A junkie.  Well, a moderate junkie.  But a junkie none-the-less. Yes me!   I come off so eco-consious but know this: it's really a work in progress for me.  

I am deconstructing myself and reconstructing myself one day at a time.  There are pieces of my consciousness that are still rock hard.  The paper towel piece was so...you know, so formed and almost unchippable it seemed.   But then, I take away the paper towels and I find I'm living closer to the source of my joy.  Closer to the real me.  And I love that. Ya.  I solidly love that.   I love it so much.  When I see a dishtowel lying around now I just kind of say to it "Hey, you."    And I kind of just take a deep breath and shake my head a tiny bit in a thoughtful way.  You know.  I just do that.  So.  Yeah.  I feel good about it.   Really great.  I could just go on and on. 

 

This Is Life

It's easy to write about baking and thrifting.   My little tiny farm.   Even my children, or various shades of my personal history.  But it is far harder to write about the deeper layers of things.  The personal questions that are tied into the realm of existence.  The same existence I would never claim to understand exactly, at all.

I'm a songwriter.  You know that.  I talk about it here and there.  It's one of those things I could go on about, but I hardly do.  I don't like to talk about myself in that way.  I'd rather talk about my adventures in baking.  Places that I can be messy, nonchalant and it doesn't matter.   

I contacted an old music business friend several months ago because I have some songs I'd like to sell.  I've taken years of time off from the music industry at large and at this particular moment know few "heavyweights" in the biz.  But he is one I know, knew from my past, back then, he was my attorney.  We emailed back and forth.  I said I would be in touch with the songs.

Yesterday I emailed him again and found out from his office that 6 weeks previous he had been in a severe accident.  Sudden.  He had barely made it.  Was in a long-term induced coma and just coming out of it now.  He has begun  tracking people with his eyes, moving his fingers.  This is his progress.  And all I know.

It was such a shock to hear.  
I couldn't imagine him anywhere but behind his big desk.  Smart. Strong. Healthy.  Very busy.
But that is life.
And that is that.

I thought so much about him yesterday.  His new wife, who I've never met.  I thought about them all day in fact.  Until I felt I knew them intimately.  Like the back of my hand.  Loved them like family. Was in the hospital room.  Right there.  I knew all details of the accident and his to-the-moment prognosis. It felt like that. 

But I was not there.  I was at a field.  With my kids and dogs.  I was not running around, like I often do.  I was quiet.  Watching them run.  Watching the clouds move in and the sunlight pierce through.

And that is life.
And that is that.

 

Following my heart into the New Year

In 2010 and 2011 I learned to knit, cook, bake, raise my own chickens and ducks.  I bought a used sewing machine.  I started to thrift shop more and retail shop a whole lot less.  I fell in love with vintage. I planted more food grown in my own little garden, I became more clearly committed to helping the environment by simple, conscious everyday choices with food and general consumption. I began to truly enjoy the movement of the seasons, AND I found a "style" for my home that I liked after almost 40 years of not having any heart-directed sense of home style.  (The style of my home?  A little to the tune of bohemian flea market, of course.)  All this, of course, in root was inspired by my kids and the desire to be a "rad homemaker."

Because I'm an songwriter by career, I have always been open to the creative.  I always made things, quilts, gardens... But....it was almost as if I needed an affirmation saying TO me: you CAN do more.  You can go deeper.  If you want to, just dive in and DO IT.  Amanda Soule's blog certianly helped.  And many other bloggers out there.  Also: inspiring books, rad local thrift stores, supportive parents, appreciative kids, a patient husband.

And so...  I am slowly getting better at all of it.  When I started my blog about 400 posts ago, I was crying over knitting and throwing my needles.  Burning food.  Making bread that looked and tasted like bricks.  Bringing home a lot of things from the thrift store to The Brad's disapproving look, then a few months later taking them right back to the thrift store (I've found having an eye for interior home design isn't a natural born quality, but getting in tune with the heart is.)  

I've made progress.  I've continued to follow my heart.  And into 2012 I go, following it all the more.  Going deeper.   What lies waiting?

::::::

We have a chicken who was very sick for a long time.  She never was a good layer, her pretty blue eggs broke inside her.  We tried everything to no avail and figured her sickly.   As you may or may not know, in late Fall and Winter, when daylight is more scarce, chickens don't lay much if at all (they need a certain amount of light to lay an egg!).  This is exactly the time, when all our other chickens stopped laying and our gal, named Lily, began laying perfect pale blue eggs almost everyday.  

This is why I have chosen this path.  The path of a little more hard work and a lot more gratification.   Because one day when you least expect it, on the exact day you never should, you start getting beautiful perfect blue eggs.  

Yes.  A little more work, and a lot more gratifcation.  I'm glad I made it past the starting gates, because learning new things is never easy.  But the thing is, you get better at it.  And there is always further to go.

I have other visions too for the New Year- ones that are career based.  But somehow they seem secondary to what I do in my home and with family.  Perhaps these career dreams are not secondary, and the misconception that they are  prevents them from fruition. Rather, I choose to now think: all if it is part of it.   (Hint: I would love for 2012 to prove that to me.)

Much Love to you and I will be seeing you in the New Year.

(By the way- I just found out several of my albums are available on Spotify.  I can't figure out how to send you the direct link to my music..but if you go to Spotify and search "Cory Sipper" you should get access.)

turning forty

I don't know exactly why, but I've always held onto a very playful part of myself.   During the worst times of my life, when that playful part of me was buried, I was not right at all. In fact, when I met The Brad, soon after turning 30, I was the oldest I've ever been.  I had just come through years of painful, personal challenge and I was raw as a badly skinned knee. 

I will never forget sitting at my kitchen table with The Brad right after we very first met, the both of us laughing so hard about one silly thing after another.  It felt like years since I had been my naturally goofy self and it was instantly apparent that he shared my sense of humor.  He sat across the table from me, somehow seeing my true essence beneath the layers of confusion and pain, and I began to grow younger.  A few days later, Brad walked to my book case, pulled all the self-help books off the shelves and told me: you don't need these anymore. 

I don't know if there is such a thing, but I'm not going to be a "normal" 40-year-old.  I just somehow doubt there are many 40-year-old wives who chant things such as: "Na na na na na you are poo- poo head." to their husband on a somewhat regular basis.  Sometimes when The Brad comes downstairs from his office for a second cup of coffee and a cookie, if I'm even just slightly irritated with him for anything at all, I'll wait for him to put the cookie down on a plate and then hide it when his back is turned.  If he doesn't have a cookie, I'll hide the cup of coffee, the iPhone, etc...Then I'll leave the room.  Soon enough I can hear him laughing while swearing and saying with slight disbelief: I married a 4-year-old. 

Yep.  It's what keeps me young.  The antics.  I was like this before I had children and I'll hopefully be like this when my children have children.  Anyone who knows me well can tell you that this is true about me and that I'm also serious and introspective.  I'm a four-year-old with a big happy heart, a slightly tough edge here and there, and the occasional mild existential crisis. 

If you want a visual, think small.  The Brad often looks at me, shakes his head and says, "I married a legal midget!"  (I don't know what he means by legal.  I wasn't aware that extremely short people were otherwise against the law.)   Anyway, it's true that I barely pass the 5 ' mark.  (I'm more than 1 ft. shorter and about half the weight of my husband.) 

So.  The legal midget is hitting 40 this week.  And I don't get what the big deal is.  If we're lucky, it happens to all of us.  I'm just a babe, as far as I'm concerned.  Toddling along in an amazingly beautiful and, yes, often mysterious world.

I look out the window and see the trees and birds hanging out in the gentle end of last nights windstorm.   Nature simply does not look confused or let down at all. So why should I ever be ? 

Last night, after a long day, after a long week, in the middle of a busy month, Brad and I watched our  funny little three year old rock out to Christmas Carols as if she were listening to Def Leppard.  Brad was still working and just paused in the kitchen for a quick dinner.  As he got up to leave, he looked at me, the 5-year-old on my lap, the Christmas tree and the rocking three-year-old and said: This is sure worth all the work. Exactly. 

This is awesome and I am so blessed.  Thank you universe for giving me this wonderful life.  I'd promise to get younger every year, but since I'm only 4, I think I'd better stop here. 

*****

If you would like to help me celebrate my birthday, I am asking that readers donate to this wonderful cause: The Elephants Umbrella Fund, a non-profit created and run by a passionate woman in her 90's (who still goes to visit the elephants in Asia she has saved).   In brief,  this org. buys ill-treated Asian elephants one at a time from their abusive owners (who use the elephants for logging or tourism).  The elephants that are saved are always in need of great care and often on the brink of death.  They are brought to a sanctuary where they can get medical care and peacefully live out the rest of their lives. As you know, in situations like these, any dollar amount helps.  And as you know, I'm a big time elephant lover.   This is how I feel about elephants:

As for me, I will be taking the rest of the week off to enjoy my family and the holidays (and finish those darn knitted gifts!) I send you so much love and joy this Holiday Season!  Thanks for reading.  See you sometime next week.

xoxoxo

C.

Source: reliquarysf.tumblr.com via Belinda on Pinterest

 

 

making a world through dreams

Here were my weekend thoughts:

When I wake up in the middle of the night I get worried sometimes about my visions.  They are too grand, too scary, too risky.  When I wake up in the morning I say: Lemme at 'em.  And that is the difference between night and morning for me.  Suffice to say, I am a morning person.

A few weeks ago I started to get a little tired of cleaning out the chicken/duck coop.  Just a little.  I wasn't loving it.  I was just doing it.  And that was in itself fine.  There was no way I was "over" it.  Oh no no.  Don't go that far.  But then, you know, last week happened, and it shifted my mental vortex back to where is was before about 6 months ago, only about 100 times stronger.  You know, the "sustainable living" place I have in my mind.  The one that sees the bigger picture and asks: what I can I do to better the planet?  The one that sees more farm-to-table.  More work.  More gratitude.

I was very happy this morning.  My dad came into town for a few hours without my mom (who is away for the week.)  We went to the local farmers market and I bought meat there for the first time.  Remember how I told you I will never ever buy commercial meat again even if it is organic?  You betcha gurrrrl (or boooeeey.)  I'm living it baby!  I got a whole chicken and some ground beef.  Local small farm raised, truly free-range, and harvested on the same local small farm (i.e. not shipped out to some disgusting ol' slaughterhouse.) Our plan is to eat this high quality of meat just a few times a week, smaller portions, one night of fish and 4 nights of vegetarian.  I may eat vegetarian more than that. The Brad may eat meat more than that.  But we are starting here.

We also ordered a turkey from the same small local farm as well because we have Thanksgiving with our extended family and at that table, turkey is a must-have.  I mentioned to a few people that I thought it might be nice to take the girls to the farm to meet the turkeys before one ends up on their dinner plate.  I think they- the folks I mentioned this thought to- found me clinically insane.  But, this is how I roll now.  Breaking it down so that it's real.  Being part of the process and not, as I was, blindly consuming in a way that I felt for me was very disconnected to my heart values.

I ask myself: How can you eat an animal that you have no connection to?  I think to myself, if it is farmed locally, I may not have come into contact with the live animal, but I have come into direct contact with the farmer.  And that means so very much.  I asked the chicken farmer this morning about her turkeys and she said, oh yes, I saw them this morning, cruising around and gobbling away. (Heritage turkeys are so so beautiful by the way, truly magnificent.)  Why not take the girls on a trip to the farm.   Let them see how beautiful the turkeys are and take a moment to truly give thanks.

The Brad and I speak of rasing our own meat chickens someday (and turkeys?).  Have to be honest, I don't think I could do the harvesting, but maybe we could find a local farm to harvest for us. 

I am asking myself if I can't take it that far, the raising of my own meat, should I be eating it at all?

It's not a consideration for everyone.  But, it's where I find myself.  Connecting deeper into the process of food to table.  What do I believe in? What can I learn from it?  What am I afraid of?  I stop and sit with the fear and I look at it from all sides. I hold it up like a ball and spin it in my hands.  (It is not holding me if I am holding it.)

What I am most afraid of, I decide, is walking blindly through the world.

So.  I grab a paper and pencil and begin to design what I think a perfect 1 acre farm would look like.

 

(pic found here.)