Author: janet

make friends with chocolate sauce

we’ve got answers

  There was a moment last week when Justice Roberts reminded us that marriage is at the core of our solidarity with the bush people of the Kalahari.  Now, way back a long time ago I was an anthropology student. Did you know that the fat surrounding the heart of an antelope (specifically the eland, a close cousin of the oryx) is a traditional bush-groom gift to the parents of the bush-bride?  I think that’s fascinating.  So fascinating, in fact, so utterly absorbing that I confess I lose my way through what was no doubt a very nuanced legal and moral argument.  Simpleton that I am, I can’t really feature why my sense of solidarity is being called upon to persuade me to exclude some people from this and other joys of a recognized union. Mountaintops, bees, oceans, good sense…so many things are losing out in our generation.  It is deeply calming to be able to say to our children–well, there was this one time when people thought clearly, engaging their hearts and minds together, and …

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nettle commando

weedsnacker

It’s been over a month since I posted, so here is a month’s worth of posts all at once, in a breezy kind of Reader’s Digest format. Whee! Always something new over here. Many, many years ago, when dinosaurs still roamed the earth and I did not have any children, I fell under the tutelage of an herb wizard who boosted my lifelong fascination with natural remedies up to a whole new level.  I watched her move with ease in her gorgeous garden and through the weeds outside it, responding confidently to the various health complaints of her family, setting beautiful meals on a gracious table, and I was totally inspired. Among her many gifts to me was a book by Lalitha Thomas called 10 Essential Herbs, which I devoured.  It’s a fantastic primer. Thomas’ sensible voice, and the distinctive one of my other book-teacher, Susun Weed (her French-y characterization of the dandelion, putting one in permanent mind of this, is one that you can never un-hear) are always echoing through my head along with …

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not your mother's haroset, on a raisin & a porpoise

how i look

I am on my way to my high school reunion. I am hedging around saying which one it is, and it occurs to me suddenly how silly that is. It occurs to me how silly a lot of things are, when tectonic plates (real ones) and juggled plates (figurative ones) and other grand-scale matters are uppermost in my mind. I mean, lots of crazy bad crap is happening, at home and abroad. So the fact that I get to be 47 years old, and have three decades since high school to gaze back on—that suddenly seems like a silly thing to get squirrelly about. When I was plotting my course towards this occasion, I had to factor in that I’d be traveling quite a while before I got to set my bag down, and a lot of that on foot. Carrying several outfit possibilities around was kind of out of the question.  My default “feel more devil-may-care about how I look” setting is at the point on the dial marked “badass boots.” But I knew …

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