I love beans. All beans. Black beans, pintos, kidneys, garbanzos, black-eyed peas, navys, limas - you name it, I probably like it. When Richard and I first got together we tittered about how he introduced me to hot wings and I taught him about the wonder of beans. Today I am soaking and boiling beans to stock up and freeze in my new deep freeze! (A wonderful birthday gift from my parents! Thanks mom and dad!) All four burners of my stove top are firing away. I've got pintos, kidney beans and black-eyed peas swimming away, and the tea kettle is humming a little tune as to keep my green tea ever warm. Steaminess is everywhere. The windows of the kitchen are dripping with condensation, lending a mysterious quality to the task at hand. Each time I arise to stir and check I wonder if these pots of beans are somehow talking to one another - ruminating about this transfiguration of sorts that asks for yielding to a consuming hotness so that a plump softness may arise. I can learn a lot from a bean.
I also just pulled a loaf of Bob's Red Mill Homemade Wonderful GF Bread Mix bread out of my bread machine. I hope it tastes okay; it smells bad. Nothing against Bob; in general, I really like his food. Especially this breakfast cereal.
In case you're wondering how I have the time to do all this when it's not a Sammy school day, I'm home alone this weekend. Such gift it has been. Richard is away leading a worship and music conference and consultation at a church in Milwaukee. Sammy got to spend two days at the "farm" with Richard's parents. I have gotten to move about our home in solitude. A rarity, I tell you, that I am drinking in with everything in me.
I had hoped to spend a good deal of time working on a freelance writing project I was assigned a few days ago, the first looks of which are due tomorrow. But alas, I am procrastinating. In an effort of avoidance I'm clicking through my blog roll and hanging out with some of my favorite voices from literally across the planet. It's much more fun than work writing. Okay, I'm not just avoiding; I'm feeling a little dry and aimless with where to begin. Add to the procrastination bucket the fact that there are several topics/updates I want to blog about, and I feel even less interested in work writing. Perhaps blogging a bit will get the juices flowing.
First, look here. I visited this morning, and as the resistance to work-write strikes I'll visit again. Luscious, I say!
Second, I'm still rolling about in the time and prayers and words shared with my spiritual director last Thursday. In time, I will share more about that here. But not yet.
Third, look here and scroll to the October 16 entry. Kristin's tagged me in my first ever meme! I get to consider five things feminism has done for me. Let's go!
Not surprisingly, many of the gifts of feminism center around relationship: with myself, with my husband, with my son, with the world around me.
1. When I consider my relationship with myself, I immediately think of BODY. I think it's in part because of the feminist movement that I get to talk about my body out loud, in private and in public. Here on this blog, for instance, I can say out loud that I have orgasms. Fabulous orgasms. Rock-the-house and thunder-in-my-soul orgasms. And quiet, gentle, ever-so-compassionate orgasms. And move-me-to-healing-tears orgasms. And playful, romping orgasms. (Hmmm, turns out the steaminess in my house is not just on my windows, but arising in my belly, too. When WILL my beloved be home?!) Because my husband was also raised with the gifts of feminism, my body is important to him. We talk about sex. He cares about my pleasure. He is genuinely interested in my moon cycles. Interested, people! He LOVES the fact that I bleed in rhythm with the moon. This is obviously a gift of who Richard is as a person, I know; but I believe it is also because he was raised by gender-equality minded parents and we live in a time when even at his Christian liberal arts college he was required to read Our Bodies, Ourselves. Amazing, really. (In fact, it was Richard who gifted me with my first copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves.)
2. Another aspect of my relationship with my body is knowing that if I get pregnant and for whatever reason choose not to remain pregnant or am unable to carry the child to term, I may choose to terminate the pregnancy. While I have never had an abortion and do not foresee that I will need to, knowing this option is available to me is a great gift. Knowing that my husband is also on the same page is an even greater gift.
3. Writing. Women writing is a damn fine boon of feminism. I remember when as a teenager I first encountered the writings of Julian of Norwich and thought it insane that she was among the first women writers to be published. It was the 14th century, for goodness sake! Women long before and since Julian have had worthy, brilliant, life-altering words within them. I am so grateful to live in an era where I can explore my own inner world of words and share them at will.
4. As a mama who values feminism, I get to be conscious and intentional in my parenting. It is by intended choice that Sammy has a female doctor and a female dentist. He knows that women are pastors and firefighters and mamas and motorcycle drivers. He knows that men are nurses, stay-at-home daddies, teachers, and really great cheesecake makers. I hope someday he gets to see a woman as president of the United States. When it came time to consider how we would both work and care for our newborn Sammy, I knew that I could stay home with him because I wanted to - not because it was my society's inherent expectation of me by way of my vagina and breasts. Thankfully, this view is shared by my husband. Which leads me to...
5. My relationship with my husband. For more on this one visit number 1, 2, and 4 above.
And there you have it.
As for passing on the meme, I tag Christine, The Red Barn, Shannon, Bette, and LBP. (Maybe even LBP's divine daughters??! Do I sense a project coming on?)
Turns out while I loved the whole process of this writing it didn't offer me the creative kick in the pants I was hoping for; I'd rather go read in the bathtub than get to work on that writing project. And since I'm only home alone a few more hours, I will. I wish not to pass up another opportunity to make some steam.
Steamily yours,
SM