Batten down the hatches everyone. Its time for the Celtic Cross.

I don't often read the celtic cross just because its so huge. But honestly, after pages of notes and even with Death in the future position (not as yikes as it seems) I think I may have had a change of heart. It was so beautiful to watch the cards interact, very humbling to be a part of it, and sometimes staggering with how "right on" this reading was.

This was my first attempt at "elevating the Ace". The Ace of Swords was initially in the past position; when I elevated it, the Ace of Wands took its place. So I elevated that! The Ace of Wands was replaced by the Hermit. The Ace of Cups was in the advice position, and was replaced by the 5 of Pentacles. I really enjoyed having all this powerful, positive Ace energy hovering over the reading, touching ever other card.

There is a lot of love, creative energy, renewing water, and calls to action and boldness in this spread. If you want to listen to me ramble on about what i see, keep reading.

To start off with, we have the Seven of Pentacles underneath that Fool; This card has been showing up a lot, so I'm not surprised to see it here. This is telling me that right now, there is energy of abundance all around me. Projects are ready to flower and fruit. But while this abundant energy may be readily available, it requires diligence, and "girls just want to have fun" right? Wrong. really this girl is just running from her responsibilities because they're big and scary and she's a little afraid of the rejection one risks when we try (looking at that King there.)

All my energy and hopes are being poured into my relationship, in spite of the fact that in my subconscious I'm alone. There are a lot of opposites between these two cards; The Lovers are naked, the woman is very clothed. The Lovers are together and even share their space with a deity, the woman is alone. The Lovers are in a wide open space, the woman is hedged in. This is a very good depiction of what I want vs what I have/what I'm manifesting. This 9 of Pentacles opposite The Lovers carries with it a warning against selfishness, an insistence to get out of my own head.

The Lovers + the Ace of Cups is a wonderful Omen. The Ace of Swords cautions to not let our communication waver, and the Ace of Wands has all the fire and passion we could ever need.

There is a lot of aloneness here; The Hermit, The Fool, The 9 of Pentacles. I've spent many years feeling alienated, perhaps to the point where its become my default setting. The Ace of Cups + Death says it is this, this loneliness, that is coming to a close. In fact, its important that this chapter of loneliness ends so the next one can begin. But changing patterns this ingrained is hard. Expect a culture shock.

The 5 if Pentacles is dismal looking. Here is startling image not just of financial struggle, but loss of faith as well. So what advice does this card have? It is a cautionary tale, warning against becoming so bogged down in your misery that you miss the help that is right under your nose. This card + The Full Moon in Taurus that is happening RIGHT NOW is about choices. Asking for help, admitting mistakes, these things make us vulnerable, and vulnerability hurts our pride. Ask anyway. Your alienation is unnecessary. Times are tough right now, but keep the faith. Help is at hand.

I want to talk about that King in the Hope/Fear spot for a minute. I drew the King of Wands last night as my "who am I" for the tarot challenge I'm doing over on instagram. I have a weird relationship to court cards, and an even weird relationship to cis-men, so this was... I'll just say it, unwelcome. But tarot is here to make us look deeper. And let me tell you what I found.

The King of Wands sit on his deserty throne, dressed in lizards and lions. He wand is bursting into life (ehyo) and his gaze is steady and focused. Notice the flames on his crown compared to the flames on the tree of life in The Lovers; they're the saaame. This King is fire. Led by intuition, he boldly does things his own way. I have written in my notes (forgive me, I don't know where I'm quoting this from) "he has harvested the core impulse of the dawn of creation".

So what is there to be afraid of? Getting exactly what I want? Yes.The higher one climbs the farther one has to fall. Can I be brave enough to take the risk?  Will I succumb not only to the sheer height, but the egomania that comes from that level of success? What if no one likes what I have to offer? What if no one wants me (there's that hermit, that fool, that lady with her bird.)

A few days ago I drew the Poison Oak card from the Bach flower essence deck, and this is the mantra

"Masculine fire burns bright within me.
Sheltered in my strength, I invite vulnerability.
I am secure, so I can risk.
Power and love are united in my soul."

With this mantra in mind, I understand why the King of Wands is showing up for me like this.

The 6 of Swords can be unnerving. Its undeniable somber. But lets look deeper. The family is together; in fact they've grown. The water is smooth, the sky is clear, their journey will be a safe one. The shore ahead has trees, they've made a good choice. Maybe it looks somber because we aren't used to the quiet. If there is a caution here, its to release emotional baggage. Only keep what is necessary. How many swords do you actually need? Don't carry old grudges with you into your new life.

I want to talk more about the Aces.

Lets start with the Ace of Cups and The Lovers, and Death. "Perfect love casts out fear." As a matter of course, when we truly love someone, fear looses its footing and fades. So we can, with peace, let this chapter close. Let the loneliness fade; now its time to partake. Reach for the Divine body and know that it is already in you. Go down to the river to pray. Wade into the waters and emerge new and fearless.

The Ace of Swords lets me know that wisdom I discovered during The Hermit will be incorporated into my new life, becoming deeply personal truths that will serve to bolster and protect me.

The Ace of Wands. What a welcome sight. The Source Fire that the King had captured and laced into his crown is epitomized here with the Ace. This is source. This is the core impulse of the dawn of creations, and it is within me, and it has been at every moment, but it's creative fire energy is especially available to me now. All I need to is grasp it. The time is now to start something new. Act. Be bold. Be creative.

The Ace of Wands lets me know a big shift is coming (see Death, 6 of Swords) and though it be huge and tricky, it will work out in my favorite. The Wand is in my hand; the shift will happen on my terms, if I keep my wits about me.

The Ace of Wands+Ace of Swords= Stop worrying. You will be well received (haaay laurel wreath)
Ace of Wands +Ace of Cups=a lover will be integral in your creative ventures. Which is true; we're together in every card (that isn't strictly to do with me) even in the difficult times, we hobble along together.

My favorite piece about the Ace of Wands from the website Keen.com and it says this

"The Ace of Wands is not about creativity that is taught or learned from books, or approached as a hobby. This is boldly finding your own voice and insisting that the universe make a place for the manifestations of your visions. A moment of bold expansion is marked."

This is a rallying cry. In conclusion? Its time to stop puttering around and putting things off because I'm afraid. Its time to stop hiding. Its time to make a bold leap. Its time to make things happen. The best way to make things happen is to take a risk. Its time to trust myself, trust the universe, trust my partner, and go forth.

If you're reading this, thank you. I hope you're well. I hope you do something that makes you feel brave.
-A.H.

The Mountain

My first exposure to the concept of walking meditation was reading Thich Nhat Hanh's book Being Peace. The idea is that you don't have to sit lotus and watch a flame (but you can) and you don't have to chant om's (but you can) and you don't have to have a bell or a special cushion or an extra room. Anything we do can be a meditation, even dishes (though I have yet to master this one). Walking meditation is probably the easiest way to work mindfulness into your daily life. Simply by being present, by knowing this moment of our foot on this spot of earth, by taking a step and knowing that we are taking a step, that is the key to mindfulness. Its ridiculously simple and actually pretty difficult sometimes, especially when we're running late and out of sorts. For me, the work is worth it. The mantra "I have arrived" is never far from me (i wrote it under the clock in my car, stitched it to my sneekers) and helps me to remember that this moment (now) is my home.

But as I said, some times are harder than others.

In life we have joy, and we suffer. Sometimes the suffering can feel like a slow degrading, or a gradual tightening.Sometimes we can point to the suffering as it approaches like a sand storm on the horizon, we can use its hue to guess its source, we can turn the cups and bowls upside down. But then sometimes the suffering comes all at once, like an avalanche. Its always from the mountain we weren't watching, leaving a familiar landscape altered. Trees groan under new and sudden weight.

What follows the furry is the white white sea of sudden silence, and in this silence is the unexpected gift. We are left with two choices; We can let our brokenness make us bitter, or we can let our brokenness make us soft. The sadness can drown or it can dig a well. Wells are useful. Wells give life.

Didn't Rumi say to train our eyes upon the broken place, as this is where the light enters? A broken heart will usher in a sudden and complete summer. Even after the first frost there are butterflies and singing birds. There's iced tea. I've become preoccupied with things that become better once their broken; the precious shells of seeds and eggs. I'm mending now with gold and bright thread. Green bursts through the cracks, moats of sparkling dust swirl in the empty space.

Choosing this lightness over bitterness is dynamic. And most of the time I am swimming somewhere between the two shores, seeking one, but being pulled by the tide to the other. Each emotion passes through my heart, like the night and the day. Like waves on the shore. Its okay, I tell myself. Let them come, and go. Take each moment one at a time, carefully lest I drown or become crystallized, like the salt birds in Lake Natron.

When we began our climb up Dog Mountain, I was still in a mostly grateful place of answered prayer, in awe of miracles witnessed. But after about half a mile, after two days without sleep or much food, my gratefulness faded into a kind of Super Anger, the kind that could tear a house down. Even as my heart pounded I could feel it harden. Crystalline corners took shape at the edge of my arteries. I counted their spires while the Avalanche traversed the mountain with a carefree ease. My Super Anger turned to a Rampant Envy, which is worse. Anger can be a driving force, a vital fuel, but Envy is just poison.

So what could I do? I sat down and gave in. I verbally acknowledged that there was nothing I could do. There is an undeniable freedom in knowing "its not you", but there is also a helplessness; when you can change nothing to make things better, you can do nothing to make things better. Suddenly everything is in the hands of the Avalanche. Trees groan, their limbs snap and echo across the mountain. Sudden silence under the weight (the wait).

So now get up. Train your eye upon the broken place. Watch the new light drift in and transform the patch of earth. It was barren and dark. Now rain drifts in and sun, now seeds sprout, bees and butterflies visit. Now life. This is why they say to count it all joy I guess.

Avalanches melt. They say nice things sometimes and you realize that maybe some avalanches didn't mean to be avalanches, they meant to be a pleasant drift of snow, and things just got away from them. They tell you to take your time and let you walk ahead. You will laugh and make jokes about an old tree stump that is a forest palace, and the Fallen Log Apartment Complex where the Forest Queen's subjects live.

The Dog Mountain trail is not a long hike. Its a little over six miles total, but it is a swift climb up to 2800 elevation, and that's what gets you. Its difficult, and its very beautiful. The trail begins with oaks and passes into predominantly conifer forest with a few stubborn maples waiting for their turn in the sun. In the early spring the mountain is lit ablaze with wildflowers; by now, late summer, there were only a few late bloomers left. It was so green and quiet. It doesn't take long for one to hike above the sound of traffic below, into the wind in the pines that sounds so much like the ocean. I took slow steps, even paces, maintaining the same speed whether I was on flat ground or uphill. With each step I said to myself "here." "now." I kept my eye on the crack. I let the ache in my lungs be the sorrow that would dig its well. And I climbed.

Traditionally humans go to certain places on this planet for certain reasons. We go to the river to pray. We go to the ocean to heal. We go to the desert to petition. And we climb tall mountains to receive.

I wasn't looking for anything in particular. I was simply cracked open. Listening to the ocean in my heart, like a cockle shell.

The wind was strong that day. It picked up every time I said I was hot. It was always at my back, like a gift of cool encouragement. High above my head the whole forest swayed together in a generous dance, maple leaves fanned and caught the light. While we rested I pressed my cheek against an old Doug Fir, so tired I didn't even wonder about spiders. I let my feet grow roots which made friends with Doug and the mycelium. Elijah was fed by the ravens, I by forest spores and sunlight.

It was here in this sun-lit land-ocean of the swaying forest that the word "Conspire" came to me, and kept coming to me. Like a song stuck in my head, almost audible.

Conspire comes from the Latin word "conspirare" meaning "to breathe together". Sunlight and wind. Ancient water in deep wells. Co-conspirators. Everything conspires together for my greatest good. Take a wild leap and trust that.

The summit was truly beautiful, burnt a white golden in the latent summer sun, now setting broadly over the Coastal ranges. The wind swept over us powerfully and we had to plant our feet to avoid being knocked over. The Avalanche and the Tree met in an embrace on the side of the mountain and let the warm sun wash over them. Melting, the avalanche learned he could feel, and the tree was watered. We ate a dinner of tamales and coconut water and felt the good ache of hard effort. Tiredness, earned.

The descent was a race against the setting sun, but a loosing one, and by the mid point of the mountain my knees had reduced me to a hobble and I settled on the realization that Oh wow I'm not getting younger and I should probably be taking care of my body in a way that means I can use it well for the rest of my life and lets start with these knees.

What would meet me at the base of the mountain? More swimming between shores, carrying dueling realities in my heart. A heart full of heavy questions. But a heart also full of the light, and the wind, and the melting, and the ability to trust my co-conspirators always at my side. This is how we go on, how we reach the top and go back down again, one moment at a time. Here. Now.

This was a more thank worth while hike, and one that I plan to do again and again. Should you endevour to go, and you should, assess your abilities and allow for time to take breaks. You probably want to start by 10 (we started at two, and hiking down in the dark wasn't the most awesome) and bring plenty of snacks and water. And make sure your camera batter is charged, or else the photo's you take at the summit will have to be with your cell phone.

Thank you, whoever you are, for reading.
-A.H.

Pause.

For some reason, we never do the tea ceremony.
I mean, there it is, casually on the menu, pretending its not mysterious and interesting sounding. But it is. And it knows that it is. And that's probably why we never get it. Intimidated by tea.

On the East Side you can find pockets of another world. The luxury of a hushed intersection, lacy shadows of old trees, song birds. This is where we come, afternoon vacationers in quiet, clean Neighborhoods. Neighborhoods full of pauses. Strolling, we pick out our house, color, trim, garden style, porch. We talk about turning the garage into a studio and building a tree house. We met stargazers growing right out of the ground, reaching their long necks over a wrought iron fence to the sun. The Mister bent in too near and came away with polka dots of yellow pollen across his face. I teased him about making out with flowers. The bright yellow color would stain his skin, evidencing joy for the rest of the day.

Then we got a cup of tea.

Frugally, most times we'll share a drink (then buy a bag of chips with those three dollars our frugality briefly won us).


Today, we splurged, ordering two drinks at The Tao of Tea, a dimly lit tea house deep in Portland's east side that still somehow manages to be brightly lit. Its shelves are covered in Pothos vines and items of interest - neat tea pots and Matcha whisks. I wanted to take our tea to go, to walk some more past old and big houses I might never be able to afford. But by the time The Mister made his way to the counter to ask, our server just cast her eyes slowly down to the carefully arranged tray with a hesitation and a sort of disappointment I couldn't bear. Backtracking quickly we waved her over and over compensated with our smiles. "Never mind! This is perfect!"

And it was. I ordered the White Peony, the young buds and one leaf plucked in the Fujian province nestled on China's southeastern coast. One of my favorites, White Peony is the only tea to regularly lure me away from the the Tea Forest Green; green tea harvested from an old growth tea forest who's trees are several hundred years old, towering at 50 feet. The Mister asked for a cup of the Monkey King, probably in no small part to the swaths of mist that shroud the mountains in the description box on the menu. Money King is a pan fired green tea from Anhui, China. It was good, but mine was better (winky face finger guns).

After a while the indoor chatter became a subtle background noise, ambient and pleasing. At the Tao of Tea you're given two cups, one Terracotta "gaiwan" in which you steep your tea and a palm sized tea cup from which you drink your tea. Its an efficient processes; while you enjoy one cup, another cup is steeping, on its way. Its also a slow process. It requires that you pause and just wait a minute.

Finishing off the last that the leaves had to offer, we traded cups and read each other's future. I have a up and coming bridge that I must cross, it wont be easy but goodness waits on the other side. Marcos has a stroke of luck at his feet, but he has to entice it with his wit and cunning. Strokes of Luck really respect wit and cunning, I said.

-A.H.

Staying on track.

I've been having Big Days, in which I do Things, that were previously daunting and scary and seemed like forever. But they weren't forever. Or at least they aren't when you have the energy to do them. I credit Norwegian Kelp and finally, for some reason I'm not sure what, getting some sleep.

Yesterday was a Big Day.

I found authors* on twitter, added their books to my goodreads list, and burned again with a passion for stories.
I took out the elastic on one of my favorite shirts so that I could finally wear it in comfort (and its even more favorite now).
I ate an amazing lunch while watching Captain Janeway save all the days.

That amazing beef soup is based off of this recipe for Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup by Dang That's Delicious and let me tell you, it was. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have half the ingredients (no bean past, no garlic chili paste, out of anise, womp womp) so I just made due with what I had and followed the recipe otherwise (basically it was just beef soup). Boiling the meet with the green onions, garlic, and ginger made the BEST broth I could ever have hoped for. I used mung bean noodles and sauteed a handful of mushrooms, with a pinch of cilantro to top it off. This soup lasted us three days and we're making it again real soon. After the soup I cooled off with cucumber salad, dressed with olive oil, cilantro, and a squeeze of lemon.

Straight from my cousins orchard, I look forward to these lemons every year. My mother sends them to me from Southern California and I make lemon jam out of them that takes me from one summer to the next. (this year I added rose hips to that jam. No scurvy here.)

When I sliced into this lemon to dress my salad I found, with a gasp, four sprouted seeds complete with developing cotyledons and roots. The root of one particularly determined seed had gone as far as to hit the rind and, finding it impassible, traveled back up towards the center to find another way out.

see those two green blobs? those are my lemon twins,
saying hello to their new lemon sibling. 

Carefully, and under sufficient lighting, I birthed this little one (a citrus c-section, if you will) fairly confident the root brain (err, I mean root cap) is still intact. The four seeds are planted and at the time of this writing two have already peeked their heads above the soil and a third is about to make its debut. Soon I'll have my own orchard. I'll call it Eight Stories Up.

Then I cleaned. In order to understand the mountainesque nature of this task I'd have to show you before pictures which I wont, because it will be softer on my pride to show them alongside the after photos, which aren't ready yet. Yesterday's job was the bedroom, which we don't use, which looks like Jumanji just happened. In one day, I got about half way done. All the clothes up off the ground, some sorted out to be given away, the carpets freshened and vacuumed. The contents of each box was handled, turned over in the light, to see if they should stay or go on.

I'll be honest, a lot of them stayed. I'm a creature of familiar things, steeped generously in nostalgia and remember whens. Things that were once precious to me often stay precious forever, even if the reasons have been lost to time. Like the brown bag full of ribbons and one two dollar bill, kept together in that same lunch bag for years, since back when I used to wear ribbons in my hair, tied in bows. I never wore these, but I loved them. And I always kept them with that dollar bill.

Like my Baboonya's clothes filling almost a whole drawer, some waiting to be altered, some waiting for a special occasion, some waiting for me, too, to turn 80. Three slips, two silk one cotton with the straps held on by safety pins, a paisley dress, a red cotton sweater, a pink sweater, a sweater full of flowers, a button up sweatshirt with the sleeves chopped off at the elbows. That was her Saturday Cleaning Sweater, my mom said as she handed it to me, tearful.

That was almost a year ago. I tried it on again, one humble button left at the collar. I thought about her, tapping the comet against the edge of the sink without money to buy more. I put my hands in the pockets and pulled out two wadded up pink tissues and burst into tears. Is this wrong? -I couldn't bare to throw them away. Instead I took a picture and put back in the pockets, thickly lined with lint from countless other tissues forgotten and thrown into the wash.

These are things that help me keep track. This is how I trace a line through history, connecting the dots of stories and memories, as deep as DNA, and just as impossible to deny.

If you're reading this, thank you.
-A.H.

*the authors I "found"
Kathleen Alcala @katkat_alcala
Sofia Samatar @SofiaSamatar
Andrea Hairston @AAhairsto
Karen Lord @Karen_Lord
Zen Cho @zenaldehyde
Naomi Jackson @thenaomijackson
seriously, check them out.

Happiness for the Here and Now.

We're busy people. You probably are, too.
Often and far too easily, life becomes a series of To Do Lists punctuated by appointments and piles of dirty dishes. Caught in a feedback loop of exhaustion and late nights, focused on keeping our heads down and our hands at the task, we rarely escape beyond the boundaries of asphalt and traffic. Respite is a TV screen and an easy meal.

That isn't true. My work actually often takes me out of the city and into the semi-wilds surrounding the Portland area. I often find myself tramping through fields and under trees, chatting up snails and writing poems about Vultures. It is Marcos, my Mister, who rarely breaks loose. He works endlessly and then comes home and works some more, all the while clinging to a big picture that promises us a happy Someday Soon. We do take regular trips to the river, but even these are covered in reminders of the city; freighter boats, other peoples trash, the downtown skyline looms on the rivers other side.

Add to this the fact that its been hot. 51% humidity. Record highs for Portland in June. Honking horns, sirens, steaming bodies melting and shriveling without air conditioner or wind from the right direction. Sweeping right past the windows, nary a breeze stops in to say hello. We needed some coolness. We needed some happiness for the Here and Now.

I was traveling to Silverton, a town about an hour south of Portland, to pick up a box from my mom sent from L.A. on the Cousin Express. I decided that I would bring the Mister along with me and budget and car troubles be damned! -we would follow those signs I always see for the Silver Falls Tour Route and we would find some water to swim in.

I like Silverton. It reminds me of Selma, CA, and makes me feel at home. The drive from Cousin Station in Silverton to Silver Falls National Park was a pleasant countryside route with cute houses and cows and a few surprising flower farms; A speckling of red, a blanket of purple, a foam of blue and pink

                                                                                                                                                                                           

It was a short walk from the parking lot to the Upper North Falls along walls of sword ferns and salmon berries, glowing in the sun. Wildflower's still bloomed in the relative coolness of the canyon. Camps of purple Foxgloves basked in the sun, while her white counter part kept to the shade. 

On our way to the Main Attraction we passed by a baby waterfall and lost our senses. You know you're from the San Joaquin Valley when you call a diminutive  trickling a "waterfall" and then proceed to run through it as happy as if it was what you came to see.

 

The damp coolness of the little alcove, the symphony of water and pebbles, enclosed by a wall of verdant green, made us delirious. Drunk were we on its simple beauty. We sat there for some time, passing the camera back and forth to snap pictures, whispering to maiden hair ferns, squealing over mosses. This may have been a silly spectacle; after all, there was a more majestic water fall, The Main Attraction of our trip, just a few minutes up the trail. Why did we linger in such a seemingly no-account place? It might take us longer to get somewhere, but I prefer to be this way, pouring out excitement over the little things. Because sometimes (all the time) the little things are actually not so little. The world is full of such sneaky wonders. Moss is really a tiny palace for the earliest members of the food chain. Water issuing forth from stone is a miracle.

It was under these Miracle Falls that I met Liverworts in the wild for the first time. They snuck up on me. The joy of this chance happening still has, at the time of this writing, not yet settled.

The area of Silver Falls was once a logging community founded in 1888. In the more remote corners of the park live black bears, black tailed deer, coyotes, and cougars. We didn't even see a squirrel. The only intimation of wildlife came from the song birds pontificating in the higher branches of the Western Hemlock and Doug fir.

The quiet rumble of a water fall, growing louder with each forward step, is something I'll never tire of. It is an other wordly sound that I didn't hear till I was an adult who moved to Oregon, so almost two years ago. Typically transfixed by the endlessness of them, I'll watch the water fall (verb) for ever, mystified that it never ends. How can it never end? I watch enrapt, waiting for them to trickle then settle into silence, but they never do.

However this time I wasn't taken with the verb of falling water, but rather with the result. The Upper North Falls cascade over basalt lava flows from the Oligocene period into a quiet, glacial cold pool. Glowing golden near the edges and gradually deepening from turquoise to a rich and royal blue at its core, the water swirls gentling in pockets, tumbling over low stones, till it becomes a creek and travels on. I was captivated.

 Somehow, by some stroke of luck or Grace, we were the only ones there.
Gradually, gingerly, we slipped in. Hooting and hollering at the shock of cold against our hot skin. The cold made us purely giddy, and we shouted and giggled with abandon. Marcos was, of course, the first one out and under, leaving me at the edge in a panic that he'd go into shock and drown. But he was totally fine. He's an all in kind of human, whereas I am I a layer by gradual layer person. It took awhile but I was finally in up to my shoulders, holding my glass on high above my head, shouting "OKAY. OKAY. I'M READY!" then asking "AM I READY??" and answering "I DON'T KNOW!" while Marcos shook in shivers and laughter

There is no graceful way to dunk your head under cold water. I sunk beneath the surface, completely panicked, and came up gasping with my hair slicked over my eyes. Marcos howled at the sight and sounds of it all. I went under one more time; same panic, same gasping, but this time with the presence of mine to rise to the surface so that my hair was slicked back and out of the way, sputtering as I went.

A baptism.
Immersed in the gold, the jewel tones, the ribbons of light weaving their length across our goose bumps, I experienced a presence of mind so complete I didn't even notice it happening. Only in reflection did I remark upon it. The cold and color banished any other thought and I was fully in the moment, in my body, in the light, under the trees, with my love, in a way I never truly have before.

We emerged alive. I said "I feel like a person." It felt so good to let go. When was the last time we laughed like that? When was the last time we felt joy that deep? High-fiving for our newly built neural pathways, this rush of adrenaline and dopamine was just what the doctor ordered.

Stretching out on fallen logs, we dried ourselves in the generous sun while munching on seaweed and sipping warm coconut water. By this time others had joined us with their folding chairs in tow, easing into the pool with hardly a reaction. A grandmother held a baby suspended above the shallows, swinging the little one low to dip precious toes in.

It was a wonderful place to visit. You should come here too sometime. Everyone should, at least once in their life, plunge into an unassuming pool of icy temperatures. When you rise, gasping, place your hand over your heart and be surprised at your body's persistent warmth, at the life coursing through you, glowing golden as it it tumbles and travels on.

[If you come, bring a snack, because fun requires fuel, and bring water shoes. They aren't necessary (I didn't have them) but they make walking across the rocks much easier (I wish I did have them). Also, if you bring your dog, pick up their poop and keep them on leash. Don't be that guy who ruins it for everyone else.]

Thank you for reading.
-A.H.

Knitting backwards.

Ernest Hemmingway said "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." He also said "All you have to do is write one sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." Margaret Atwood said "A word after a word is power." "I didn't come to write my heart out. I came to write it in" says Andrea Gibson.

I sat at the table, typing, and crying. Suddenly effort eased and the story flowed. Before I could realize what was happening, out from my fingertips came one giant aha. It loomed before me like a Genie fresh from the lamp. Amazed, suspended, I admired its obvious size and remarked that it could have hidden for so long. Tears stung my eyes. A moment of silence passed in grief and awe; mourning what I lost, honoring that I lived to loose it. And then I continued.

I was telling the story of my grandmother. I was talking about the granny square blanket. I've been trying to find the words for this story for years. And now, they were here.

And then the fire alarm, storming through the silence. Rude. Not great timing.

You say, "But its probably nothing..." while you pull on pants and try to find your bra. "Should I just wait it out?" as you pull one cat from under the couch, the other one collapsing in panic as you approach, and stuff them into their carrier. I picked up my money and thought "nah" I reached for my project bag, but said "This will be over in two minutes" I paused at the door and thought "Do I need my water bottle? I don't have enough hands anyway", and left.

The moral of the story? Always bring your water bottle and craft work! Always have two bucks on you!
We were locked out for three hours. A sprinkler in someones apartment burst. A random accident that probably isn't so random when you take a look at all the plumbing problems we have in this building. So in addition to your water bottle and two dollars, make sure you have renters insurance (although, probably, there go you're two dollars).

It wasn't so bad. In fact, it was a little like show and tell; neighbors showed off their babies and introduced their pets. Bebe the Lhasa Apso with one eye, the crate full of rats, a cat named Agnes wrapped in a towel.

I was hungry. I hadn't noticed how hungry I'd become. When finally home I decided I needed to make the easiest thing possible. I made a one pot wonder (with a side skillet of salmon). The only thing I did different was sugar snap peas sliced instead of regular peas, and no cream- instead olive oil + butter with just regular ol' white cheddar.

Wow. What a meal. It was so beautiful, so delicious, such honest comfort food. I was so satisfied.

In addition to writing my heart out (writing my heart in) I was blocking my completed granny squares, preparing them for their up coming photo shoot and internet debut. And here's how that went

Successive levels of dishevelment. I am proud of them for taking turns though.

Tomorrow I return to school. I wasn't sure I'd go back for the summer, because enrolling now meant paying out of pocket, which made me rave in bitterness. I frequently forget to be grateful; we have the money for me to do this, thanks to my nifty budgeting. Also, education is so precious, a privilege denied many. I should never be anything but grateful.

Learning the response of gratitude is not unlike undoing a yarn project. You make a mistake, you learn to knit backwards, and you try again.

Thank you for reading.
-A.H.

Emergency Scramble

I'll just jump right to it. I'm in a place where most food sounds just awful.
Or it will sound delicious till its in front of me, or till I'm three bites in, and then it sounds (smells, tastes) awful. This happens from time to time and its a major deal; either its the starting pistol for my eating disorder (ED), or its a red flag that lets me know ED is already up to some stuff. When its hard to get enough calories old muscle memories kick in; when my body and brain aren't being nourished my anxieties are impossible to reason with. This creates a neat little feed back loop that makes life tricky.

SO I'm an emergency scramble to find recipes that are pretty, fun, and easy. Deliciousness, of course, goes without saying, but like I mentioned above, my delicious radar is pretty fickle lately.

To be honest, in this Emergency Scramble to Head Off The Eating Disorder At The Pass, the operative word here is easy. Something that wont involve a lot of thought or effort. I'm basically tricking myself into eating. And that's okay. It isn't ideal, but its okay. We do what we have to do to start a positive spin on the snow ball.

Today I made tuna on toast and I'm going to tell you about that now.

My favorite brand is called Sustainable Seas; the 100% pole caught option is in a green can:-)
I fill my tuna with veggies, herbs, and olive oil. This makes it a much more robust mix; it will last you longer, and it really packs in the nourishment.

These are the ingredients I used.
2 whole green onions
1 celery stick
a freaking fist full of cilantro
a wedge of lime (could have used more but whatevs)
3 cloves of garlic (could have used more of this too.)
only a little bit of salt. That bowl is just for the picture.

Not pictured; chili powder and paprika. Feel free to add mayo, veganese, mustard, whatevs.

Those tomatoes will be place directly onto your toast. Once the toast has been achieved, drizzle some olive oil on it, then lay the tomato slices on. Now, while those three are getting acquainted, mix your veggies in with the two cans of tuna. Drizzle more olive oil; we're looking for good fats here to help our brain, our joints, our skin, everything basically.
Sprinkle on salt and seasonings AND BOOM

You have something amazing to eat at the window while you watch the cars.

There are endless variations on this old standby; my favorite involves the addition of black olives and pickles, swap out the paprika and chili powder of cayenne and dill. Slice up and avocado to smash in there and clutch your pearls, you've got a masterpiece.

Thank you, who ever you are, where ever you are, for reading.
-A.H.