freaking ugh.

when i lived in mexico there was a donkey carcass by the highway. it was at least 35 degrees* every day for months and months. the carcass stayed there and rotted for months and months. the flies swarmed. the air was unbreathable. we would walk miles out of our way to avoid that section of highway. there are no words i can use that would adequately describe the way that dead donkey smelled.

but my compost smells worse.

it's a healthy, living compost. writhing with bugs and worms and maggots. the bottom is beautiful black gunk, worth its weight in gold to my garden. and i believe in composting, it's one of the best free things a person can do for the planet. but it stinks. not particularly when you open the top to put stuff in. it doesn't smell at all from a few feet away. but if you open the bottom to scoop out the composted material, watch out.

food scraps, newspaper, rabbit shit and garden scraps, swamped with rabbit piss every few days and left in a black container in the sun to stew. sound tasty?

and i plunged my hands in, up to the wrist. crouched over it. spent half an hour breathing it in, filling small buckets and carrying it to my garden. i had to come in partway through, it was too much. i seriously contemplated running across the street to the fire station to ask if i could borrow a rebreather.

ok, done whining. i'm headed back outside now.

*that's 95 degrees in americanspeak

book review: in search of april raintree

in search of april raintree by beatrice mosionier is freaking intense. it's like the colour purple or i know why the caged bird sings in that it's the based-on-a-true-story account of a little girl becoming a woman through the most incredibly brutal circumstances. i actually prefer it, since it's more relevant to my culture. i've never experienced firsthand racism towards black people, but i have witnessed some of the scenes described in this book.

april raintree is the daughter of a couple of alcoholics and the older sister of cheryl raintree. they are a metis (part native) family living on the canadian prairies. the story is april's account of the girls' removal from their parents' home and placement in various foster homes. april fights valiantly to survive, rise above her miserable circumstances, and protect her sister. it's terrifyingly honest, showing the girls not as brave little survivors or victims, but as human beings who make bad choices and suffer the consequences, and are seriously messed up from all the evil that is done to them. the protagonists are complex and real. they aren't innocent by any means, and i, as a reader, didn't like them at certain points in their development, but it was a damned good book.

my culture is profoundly racist towards native and metis people, but after years of seeing it i had become desensitized to it. this book reopened my sense of outrage that people could treat other people so very badly. after crying my way through segments of the book i wanted to go kick the shit out of some white people.

as a white person i want to apologize with every fibre of my being for all the disgusting, horrific, insidious wrongs people of my skin tone have perpetrated upon pretty much every other people group on the planet. we suck. please forgive us.

book review: not buying it

every night this week after the babes have gone to sleep i've settled down on the couch with my knitting and not buying it: my year without shopping by judith levine.
i like it. it's honest, witty, cohesive, applicable - all the things i like in a book, and i tend to agree with her fairly constantly. judith and her partner, paul, go a year without shopping. they buy groceries, home repair stuff, etc, but the endeavour (with varying success) to not spend money as entertainment. they don't go to movies, don't eat out, and don't indulge in 'retail therapy'. judith is a politically active non-republican and the book is written about the year that bush was re-elected. she is passionate about ousting bush from his (usurped) role and deeply affected by his election. (not reelection)

she is excellent at articulating something that i have felt for a while about opting out of consumerism. it's green party fundraisers, vegan collective job applications (declined) and fitting in with the geez and adbusters crowd. (which i probably would, if i ever left the house) it's occasionally raising one's voice with rev. billy and the church of stop shopping on buy nothing day. (which she does) but 99% of the time it is boring and inconvenient and a real drag. it's walking in car-centric strip malls. it's arriving home starving and having to actually cook dinner, instead of pulling out a tv dinner or picking up some mcdonald's on the way home. it's scouring the earth for the least harmful way to clothe, feed, shelter and entertain oneself instead of turning on the tv and zoning out. it is tedious. but i'm not going to stop.

the nonconsumerism and politics combine to make it an informative, enjoyable read, one i can really relate to. i'm definitley borrowing her other books from the library.

but reading about not buying frivolities has had an unexplainable effect on me. each evening as i have enjoyed the book, the knitting, and the silence, i have had a nearly uncontrollable urge to order pizza. i can't get it out of my head. it's like that youtube video - clinging to my brain like a toddler with illicit candy - i can't pry it loose. i'm not hungry. i can't afford pizza. i don't even really like pizza that much. there is no good reason for this pizza fixation, but i desperately want a pizza guy to show up at my house with a fragrant box of grease. in an effort not to delve deeper into my psyche, i am going to just blame the book. all this talk of not buying has made me crave pointless consumerism. damn you, judith levine.

well, not really. actually, i think you kick ass. come for coffee sometime.

ethical clothing: a retrospective

about two years ago i was reading about the human rights and environmental issues presented by north american overconsumption. i was pissed off that something as basic as clothing myself caused people and the earth to suffer. my contribution to these wrongs seemed inevitable. but i got to thinking... is it? could i opt out of consumer culture?

i don't have much money, so i couldn't go spending hundreds of dollars on hemp clothes tenderly coddled into being by unionized former child prostitutes in the third world (although, if i had the money, i would definitley support such an endeavour) and the city i live in isn't known for its overabundance of counterculture, so i couldn't just go to a mall and have a variety of ethical clothing options handed to me.

in fact, when i started out, it was really hard. there was a fraction the number of online sources of ethical clothing that there are now. and everything cost more. niche markets are like that. but i searched (this was back when i used yahoo instead of google, so i can't say i googled) and checked the clearance sections of several sites weekly until i found the things i need with ethics i could live with at prices i could pay. i paid 11$ for my organic hemp, union-made hightops. i got underpants for 8$ a pop, organic cotton and union-made. i got socks, 2$ a pair, organic cotton, made in the states (hopefully not by undocumented workers). it's gradually become easier and easier to find these items. last month i spent 6$ on organic cotton, made in canada yoga pants at zellers. (that's the canadian equivalent of target)

ethical has become trendy, and that kicks ass. blogs have popped up all over the place with info on what not to buy, what's ok and what's fantabulous. it's become almost easy to skip the mall.

well, almost. i'm about to have a major issue, since my winter boots need replacing and i'm not aware of any affordable, ethical options. finding used sorels (or similar) is nearly impossible. also this past spring i ended up buying two perfectly unethical bras at 60$ a pop. it was insult to injury, paying so much for something that i was opposed to. but my boobs thank me. and i really don't know what i'll do about a winter coat in a year or two. i rushed out and bought a dressy shirt at old navy the night before my sister's wedding, since i was three weeks postpartum and didn't fit the dress i had originally intended to wear. so it's not perfect. but neither am i.

it's nice. i started out anxious about how i was going to make it work and looking enviously at all the cool things i couldn't have. i felt so sure that a new this or a pretty that would make my life sparklier and happier. but then i sort of just forgot that those things in the stores are available to me. now when i walk through the mall i see all sorts of things on racks, but they aren't for me. before i had kids i could walk past racks of kids clothes and register that they were there, but not give them a second glance. what would i need with kids clothes? now the whole clothing department is off limits to me, more or less.

so i'd like to welcome the rest of the world to the place i've been for the last couple of years. relax, stay a while! take in the incredible textures of organic cotton and the amazing prices of thrift store items! realize that what you already own is more than you will need for a long time.

blow me down, it be talk like a pirate day! me and the laddies be a-swaggerin'* and a-swearin** and a-drinkin grog***.
this be the holy day of pastafarians, and we be celebratin' in high style. hoist the mainsail and veer to starboard and eat spaghetti, it's september 19!


*the baby is still learning to walk, so his swagger is more like a stagger.
** none of us are swearing. but we would, if the boys were older.
*** the grog in question is coffee for me and other bevvies for the babes. then tonight, after they're in bed, my grog will be wine. at least that's booze, right?

a change of plans

last night was brutal. that baby just doesn't sleep. so i woke up in a fog and a funk and a slump, with a sore throat to boot. and i dragged my sorry ass to do my morning check of my fave blogs.

and it's christmas in the blogosphere!

usually i get two or three new posts to read, and of those maybe one will really make me laugh or move me or whatever.

this morning?

xkcd

journeymama

(related to journeymama) fly fishes fly!

dad gone mad (this one made my morning 800x better all at once)

the sneeze

soulemama

kimya dawson loves you (this one was up yesterday, but i had to go back and look at it again)

confessions of a pioneer woman

garden of eatin

joy nash

and, of course, skull-a-day

ridiculous bounty. i guess my mood will have to improve. actually, it already has.

and check this out - fun times.

a snapshot

setting: just now, in the living room, while the baby naps in the bedroom. the boy is wearing nothing but underwear, i'm in my pyjamas.

me: what do you want to do today?

the boy: make pickles.

me: what else?

the boy: go produce shopping.

this summer i've taken the kid to farmer's markets, farms, organic gardens, and our backyard garden. everywhere we've gone we've gotten delicious foods that he has 'helped' me process: pickling cucumbers, jamming fruit, blanching, cutting and freezing corn, turning veggies into soups, eating them raw... he's only two but he can do the urban homesteading thing like nobody's business. he has trouble pulling up his underwear on his own, but he understands canning.
what a kid.


(and no, i'm not taking him to ogle carrots and cabbages today. we're going to see the doctor. what could be more fun?!!?)

dear baby:

little puppy, you are more than a year old now. you have three words (four if we count woof, your word for dog) and you can sometimes sort of walk. you're the cutest, smiliest baby around. if someone is ignoring you, you tilt your head and peer into their face with the most beautiful puzzled expression around. if someone is being silly with you, you wrinkle up your tiny nose at them, then laugh uproariously at them. you have three top teeth and three bottom teeth, but not the same ones. top right eyetooth, top middle teeth. bottom middle teeth, bottom left eyetooth. it's like a diagonal stripe of teeth. they make me laugh every time you laugh. which is often.you adore me, your daddy, your brother, and the cat. not in that order. the cat, obviously, is first in your heart. but i make the list, at least. you give us all drooly open-mouth kisses, drape yourself across us dramatically, try to feed food from your slobbery mouth, pet us, wave goodbye whenever you leave a room... you have so much affection in your sturdy little body.but.
in your extreme old age you have decided that you don't need to sleep as much. puppy, it ain't true. staying up until one, getting up at seven, and only napping once - this is insanity. i can't keep up. and i have to stay awake when your brother is awake, too. this is too much. a year ago you slept almost 20 hours a day. that was really nice. you don't need to go to that extreme, but a few more hours a day would be splendid.also, quit waking up to nurse at night. you're old enough that you don't need to. and it doesn't help with my chronic exhaustion and subsequent crabbiness.and this climbing thing. you've proven that you can get anywhere your brother can. but he's almost three and can climb more safely than you, usually. you can't really even walk, but you're already halfway up the bookcase, on the back of the couch, and up on the table constantly. i'm getting a nervous twitch. please stay closer to the ground. pleasepleaseplease, my fearless dumpling.lastly, please quit getting older. you're already too big, too independent. you need to stay a baby so i can snuggle you and play with your rolls and raspberry your cheeks forever. because i don't think you'll let me do that when you're 30.
thankyou.

and the geek goes on

i'm taking part in a play food swap. i made knitted bacon and little dishcloths.please excuse the picture quality, my camera wasn't charged so i had to use the webcam.

my friends have teased me relentlessly since this whole 'knitting bacon' fiasco has begun. they don't see the crafting of pork products as a worthwhile endeavor. little do they know.

today i will mail these out. and i do not intend to knit any more bacon for a long, long time. well, except the bacon scarf and fried egg mittens my friend asked me to make for her...

everything grows

my baby has his first flu. he's burning hot to the touch and pouring puke, tears, snot, drool and shit from all the right orfices. the poor little man is miserable. he wants to be held at all times and only sleeps in my arms. by 'sleep' i mean he takes restless naps for no longer than ten minutes. i'm in a fog of exhaustion, unable to even fathom keeping up with the making of food or cleaning of the home. the boy has mostly been left to his own devices, and he's been really good. mostly.

my garden has been bursting at the seams. most of it remains unphotographed, (so far) but i have mountains of black beans, massive beets, a few cukes, a good showing of carrots, some peas, several sunflowers, ripening yellow peppers, a huge, brilliant hot pepper, and a flood of tomatoes. this is less than 1/3 of my tomato harvest so far. there are 5 varieties here. if it doesn't look like much,bear in mind that my garden would fit in most peoples' bathrooms. and tomato season is just begun. (it runs for another 3 weeks, until the first frost)


today i went with some friends to an amazing organic greenhouse. they had everything. herbs, trees, flowers, etc. almost everything was rare or unusual. apricot orange trees, patchouli plants... you name it, they had some obscure variation of it, organically grown, suited to these bitter canadian climes. i wandered around touching leaves and calling out my discoveries to my friends (also trying to keep the boy from destroying the place, it was his first time out of the house in days and he had some energy to burn)
in the end i limited myself to three plants. a banana stalk, a hot pepper, and a guava tree. (not pictured) all of them fruit. i'll be one of the few canadians eating local, organic bananas and guavas this winter. sweet!