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October 8, 2010

They rolled in a big old white bus. The two of them, three dogs, and a woodburning stove.

They live in it? Like every day?

Yeah.

We were in Idaho. They were coming from Jackson Hole to visit and before that Taos. A true gypsy couple that sold french bread pizza out of that bus in Phish show parking lots. Old friends of a friend of mine.

You’re gonna love, Keri. She’s a rock star.

And although I didn’t know what Amy meant then, I do now. And she was right, I loved her. Immediately. She was a whimsical wisp of a young lady with a silent sass, a subtle flirtatiousness, and a whole bunch of rainbow. I wanted her to curl up in my lap and tell me what was going on inside her head, but she was the shy one and her man was the social one. I only really remember two things about their visit besides that kick ass bus. The both wore wool clogs and he told me that according to my blood type I should be eating bacon and lots of it.

Bacon? I work at a raw food bar, we aren’t allowed to eat bacon. The owner can tell if we eat flesh because he can see the aggression in our eyes.

Eat bacon. You’ll feel better.

I look up at her, to get her opinion. She was sitting quietly on the floor, her head in a notebook and her hand scribbling down words that I assume years and years later was a song. Don’t look at me, she says, I only eat candy.

Oh my god. Me too. Swedish Fish.

Circus Peanuts.

That’s disgusting.

We smile. Sisters.

That was about 11 years ago and never really saw her again. Maybe once years later, but she was a little piece of star that I kept in my heart.

Three years ago we decide to move here, to Bellingham. Amy our mutual friend reminds me, Keri and Aaron are there! There daughter is Sula’s age. Email her, tell her you’re coming!

Instantly we became friends. More than that. We became family. We weren’t friends only because we were mamas and held the same philosophy on raising our daughters. That was part of it, but there was something else. We fell in love because we shared the same spark that at the time, neither of us could really put a finger on. So we channeled it into holiday truffle making or pillow sewing or raw food tasting or wine drinking marathons. We just knew we were filling each other up with something more, something profoundly important. We both were about to give birth and we silently nodded yes to each other, giving each other permission to make some kind of leap. Our toes were just at the edge and our hearts said: JUMP.

She went to a music studio and brought her satchel full of songs and her guitar and got to work with a talented music producer while I sat in stolen moments of solitude in a corner, an inch away from chain smoking and whiskey guzzling in my bedroom, writing a story. And together we brought something forth, practically at the same moment. With her, I feel a deep alignment and connection. And I want to share with you what she created because it’s SO GOOD. Oh my god. Outstanding.

She is a songstress with the gift of old fashion heartache riffs and simple love ballads. She brings modern roots music to her soulfully sexy voice. She brings pure KERI and I know it’s hard to understand what that means but come out here and visit me and we’ll go hang out in her wooden home in the middle of the forest and she’ll pour you tea or wine and blare Cat Power on her stereo and you’ll see her eyes dance and her nose twitch up like a rabbit when she thinks something is funny. Or better yet. JUST LISTEN. And feel this woman’s heart and soul, a gift to us all because not everyone does that, not everyone is willing to share their secrets and their longings, reminding us we are not alone. That we are human. And sometimes in life we want to stay because it’s so good. And sometimes, well, we just want to run the fuck away.

And for that kind of bravery, the world should just be inspired. It takes surrender and focus to move past the oatmeal making and swim lessons and laundry and say: I’m making an album. And then go do it. And finish it. And it sound this divinely right.

This is the thing with us mothers, we stick together and we hold each other tight and we share each other’s goods. We know it’s close to impossible to get anything done but we still try. We find the littlest crack of time to create what we must and we learn to ooze it all out in a millisecond because if we don’t who knows when we will. Children are a blessing, for a lot of reasons but for one they force you to act fast upon inspiration. Spit it all out in double time. And I am so proud of Keri Jioras that she found that millisecond and let the spirit move through her. I’m so authentically impressed with the artist that she, that she is finally allowing the world to see and hear.

She’s an amazing mother and a kind friend and a HOT ASS ROCK STAR. And so.

Listen to her music. Feel it in your heart. Know where she comes from. We all come from there.

And if you want a free copy of her CD, leave me a comment and I will randomly pick and Keri (not me because i have a little issue with getting to the post) will send you her debut album, White Swan, right from her cozy little home surrounded by beaver ponds sealed with a kiss. FREE. Just leave me a love note (or a hate note) and maybe you’ll be the winner and your home will be filled with the drippy icicles of sweetness transmissions known as Keri Jioras.

http://www.myspace.com/kerijioras

Support your local Mama Rock Star.

Thanks!!! Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win……I’ll be drawing names next Thursday.

uninspired inspired

May 14, 2009

i have long loved this woman (www.starvingartistink.com) her sweetness is like sugar on a day full of kale salad. her photography is my favorite kind, loose and tight, bold and bright, dreamy and whimsy. sometimes even a little sad in a happy kind of way. her journey is nurishment. she reminds me to love the life i have, to hold those Three Sisters tight. she likes to inspire the uninspired. she wants us to share our dreams.

my dreams today:

to have community, like really, really have it.

to know what i mean by the above statement.

to curl up cozy with the girls tonight and watch a movie and eat chocolate chip cookies.

to heal.

to release the energy that is trapped in the top of my head.

to take some time for myself to buy some pants that fit.

to lock eyes with my lover for an hour.

to write with abandon.

to write with honesty.

to write without shame.

to write with spirit moving through me.

to sell the writing i just finished to the right people.

to fully tell my stories so that my girls can create their own stories.

to let go of my parents story to i can fully create my own.

to climb the mountains of life without carrying too much weight in the backpack.

to travel without the fear of flying.

to go to peru. alone.

then to go to peru with my girls.

to be part in creating ceremony for my sisters and brother.

to let go of our house [if this is the path] with ease and grace.

to find another place, affordable, easy, weightless.

to see my partner more and more with the light in his heart.

to go hear music next week and dance until my thighs throb.

to watch cloudy the horse go into labor and her baby be born.

to know in my bones that the shifts in the world can only bring us happiness and a fuller life [as L said to me today: the universe is conspiring to bless us]

to remember to keep dreaming.

ittikid.or.shameless sista promotions

November 15, 2008

I know. Poor Is The New Rich.

Right now more of us are bragging about how steep our credit debt is when last year we were basking in the equity that our homes gained. Over in these parts at least, we are stepping back, way back, (and let me tell you there wasn’t much more back to go) and cutting everything out of our lives that is not about cultivating whole food and creating comforting shelter. And I know I should be writing about Equal Rights and Justice. Visions for the New and Improved Future. Shamanic Sex. Fourth Corner Exchange. Paradigm Shifts. Food Storage. The Mayan Calender magic numbers of 2012. All that important stuff that sits on the tip of my mind. I certainly shouldn’t be writing about material consumption.*

But. I do love cute things. Bright colors. Gender Neutral clothing. Good lines. Modern Designs. And I love Melanie.

Melanie is a rocking mama of Ollie and Gus and I was lucky enough to own a business right next door to hers once upon ago when we were both growing our big first-born bellies. I’d help her with breathing techniques in frog pose and she’d help satisfy my obsession over Trumpette baby socks. Since those L.A. Days we both have found some solace in the country, more babies and businesses have been born. And she still has the sharpest eye for cutting edge design. Ittikid is her new virtual shop for the wee ones and beyond. Think modern Swedish meets Partridge family. With names like Velour Elf Pants and Clever Toad dress, you really can’t go wrong.

In support of a Mama-run business I have to give her a shout out. It’s better than buying your crap at the Gap. M-kay? website: www.ittikid.com. Coupon Code: OMAMA and you get 10% off your purchase Sweet!

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{cute apple dress}

[*but we are a capitalist system and our money speaks loudly. And now is the time to put your money where you mouth is. Support small homegrown business.]

raw.

August 25, 2008

not revealing the inner most fibers of my soul today (hallelujah! says the reader). raw as in Raw Food or Living Vegan Cuisine.

I think I mentioned Ani Phyo and her fabulous living food recipes, her SmartMonkey Bars and her beautiful philosophy about uncooking food and it truly being the most sensitive to our planet’s needs. She used to attend yoga here, the space where I trained to be a teacher long ago, and I was blessed to have placed my hand at the bottom of her spine in a foreward fold, or at the nap of her neck in a triangle pose, or the side of her body as she stretched. When I stumbled upon her cookbook recently, I was overjoyed to see she has been able create simple raw food recipes with an eco-soul successfully; her beautiful face on a book in my local market. Applause.

After being sort of nazi about raw food for about 1 month, I let go a a bit but continued eating mostly raw at breakfast and lunch and snacks; saving dinner time to cook with heat.

Eating living foods really helped in my post partum depression journey. I am the kind of person that needs to hyper-focus on diet in my shadow times to actually EAT period, and when I began experimenting in the kitchen and swallowing down the vibrancy of uncooked meals, my energy levels soared. My face glowed. My waist wittled. My spirit expanded. My core opened up. Even B was excited every morning and began preparing raw lunches or just eating leftovers from the day before. If you are interested in raw/living food I highly recommend her book, Ani’s Raw Food Kitchen. After a few weeks of experimenting, you’ll figure out how it works for you, how to encorporate it into your life as little or as much as you like. It really is satisfying having no garbage; no packages (i buy all nuts and any other ingredient she uses in bulk) practically no recycling either, which really feels nice not to waste energy in that direction, either. The only waste is compost for the most part and that I just threw out my kitchen window (I am way too lazy to walk across the property and dump it in the "proper" place) and my Girl Dog gobbled it up (she’s one of the rare vegan Husky, would rather have carrots that steak fat).

My standard raw smoothie that I make a huge batch of every morning and drink for the first few hours of the day is not from her book, but I was totally inspired by her to start making it.

I use whatever berry is growing in my ‘hood. Right now it’s blueberries and blackberries, but any berry works well.

1 cup berries

1 banana

3 tablespoons hemp seed

1 cup coconut water (not milk, not juice, but the water).

1 tablespoon either raw cacoa powder or spiralina or maca powder (depends on whether I am feeling ‘green’ or "chocolaty")

3 pitted dates

Blend. Throw in a big ball jar and take it on the road.

***

This is also a recipe that was inspired by Ani, I took her Mango Cobbler recipe and substitued mangos with wild berries:

Cobbler Crust:

2 cups pitted dated

2 cups raw pecans

3/4 cup sea salt

1 vanilla bean, scrapped, or just throw the whole thing in.

Process in a food processor, throwing the pecans in first, then adding the dates, then the rest.

Put in a bowl and set aside.

Filling:

1 cup cup pitted dates

1/2 vanilla bean scrapped

1/4-1/2 cup raw virgin coconut oil

maybe a tiny bit of raw agave.

water as needed

Berries, as many as you see fit, a few cups work. (i don’t measure anything really and also, i don’t have the recipe in front of me so take these measurements with a grain of salt; use your food intuition.)

Process (no need to clean out proccessor from the crust) the first 3 ingredients. Then slowly add water, start with 1/4 cup of water. It needs to be thicker than syrup but not thick like a paste. Mushy thick.

The toss the filling in a new bowl with your berries. Take 1/2 your crust and scatter on the bottom of a pie dish. spoon in your berries mix and then scatter the 1/2 of your crust on the top. Pop in the ‘fridge for like an hour. Oh. My. Goodness. Eat it for breakfast. Lunch. And dinner. Will keep for a few days in the fridge.

***

The next two favorite recipes comes directly from her book:

Chocolate Mylk (my hard to please eldest drinks this up, it’s nurishing, hydrating and yummy.)

1/2 cup almonds (soak the almonds for a few hours, pat them dry. You can always soak them the night before you are making a batch as well if you can plan ahead like that.)

1/2 cup pitted dates

3 tablespoons raw cocoa powder or cacoa nibs

pinch o sea salt

5 cups water.

Blend it all up. Yum.

***

Sun Dried Tomato Hummus (bean free)

2 cups zucchini, chopped

2 cloves garlic

Juice of 1 lemon

1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

1/2 cup tahini

1 tsp. sea salt

2 tablespoons fresh parsley leaves

1/3 cup sun-dried tomatoes, chopped

pinch of paprika.

Process first 6 ingredients together until smooth. Then add the parsley and sun dried tomatoes. Set aside and allow the sun dried tomatoes soak up the moisture for 10 minutes or so. Stir. Eat with everything under the sun, I like just a spoon. My kids love to dip all veggies in it. It will keep for 2 days in the fridge.

The next recipe, Crazy About Donut Holes…ohmydonutgods. I’ll just let her give you that recipe herself.

***

Anyway. If you are into raw cuisine, she has some really rad ideas. Plus she is totally adorable. Love her. Wanna be her. Will continue to post more recipes, but I do hope you check out her book. She deserves the support.

She has a recipe for All American Apple Pie and my SEVEN apple trees in my yard are almost ready. Will let you know how that goes.

Enjoy.

sex. (a rant i will regret posting no doubt)

May 4, 2008

When I was contacted by Current TV last month to be part of a project involving the dictation of sex diaries in a nifty little digital-cam I asked, why?

Why on earth would anyone be interested in the sex life of an 8 week post-partum mother of three? A post-partum depressed new mother of three? What sort of sick show is this?

Our viewers are just about on the cusp to commit, to marriage and perhaps parenthood. This can give them a taste of what it’s really like.
***
In glimpses here and there, for the last month, I’d share into a small digital camera. I’d go on walks through the woods when the big girls snoozed in the double stroller and the littlest one bound tightly around my front, drooling into my cleavage and I would talk into a camera while hiking up a hill. Sometimes in the car a thought would come to me and I’d pop open The Flip, knowing the hum of the road passing underneath would be heard on the recording making myself less than audible. At night I’d sneak into the bathroom and sit on the floor privately sharing my thoughts on sex. Regard less of where I was, the same thing usually came out of my mouth, before anything else: shit, I’m tired…And then I’d continue to talk but never really about my sex life because, I’ll be honest here, I don’t have one. Not really, not yet. Not in the typical penetration, body entwined with body, orgasmic kind of way. And that’s a taste of what it’s really like. I am exactly 3 months post-partum now and I can honestly say that sex isn’t the last thing on my mind, but it certainly isn’t the first, or the tenth, or the twentieth either. From 1 to 100, it’s got to be about 65 and perhaps that was obvious in my so-called Sex Diaries. At one point when communicating with the Creative Force in charge of this Current TV project, she mentioned that she was interested in quality over quantity.

For a moment there I wanted to scream: QUALITY? Like how utterly sexy it is to drink 1 cup of nasty tasting oils and a handful of pills and a million drops of tincture every morning, hoping and praying the despair and depression stay away for one more day? Sexy like having so many dirty dishes exploding out of the sink, nothing is left in the drawers and cupboards, leaving the only clean thing to cut apples is a newly sharpened filet knife? And how sexy it was to the get cut by a filet knife, blood dripping on apples, but being in such a hurry that I just licked the blood off and served it to them anyway? And the the sexy 5 small meals and 2 baths (none of which were for me), 3 loads of laundry, a trip to 2 different markets, one stop at a kids creative movement class, 24 ounces of milk production and feeding (in an array of on-the-go positions), exactly ½ hour to check emails, get a smidge of writing done, pay bills and meet with a mortgage broker (with all three kids) before finally getting to have some down time playing 2-4 year old style dress-up in play silks that smelled like someone had rubbed them with week old cottage cheese? How sexy is that? But for some real quality I better talk about the steamy hot sex I had in 17 different positions in 3 different rooms with 6 full orgasims and after we were done, we continued to have hours of afterplay that turned into foreplay and then we did it again and can you believe that none of the girls woke up to my high volume ecstatic moans or his primal grunts? Or did she want more of a realistic sense of quality; we fucked for 6.7 minutes and then passed out cold but hey, at least we fucked and maybe even a little milk squirted him in the eye…he likes that. Or even more along the lines of a full-time mother quality; I finally agreed to blow him after ½ hour of listening to his whining and begging for me to get him off and the whole time all i could think about was if my favorite pair of pants that fit where in the dryer or still in the wash.

And yet none of those sex scenes make up the quality meat in my life. Except the passed out cold part. And so that is what my month long of sex diaries was about: the truth. Personal truth is quality.

Recording almost every day for a month wasn’t easy, especially since most days I have to fight for time to take a piss in private. So what the camera will play back is the real me, my real life. And I just assume my realness has got to be quite disturbing for those who have a different vision of what living as a sexual being and a new mother is like; those who think sex lives won’t change and their libido won’t shift and their attraction to the person they used to throb for has turned into a distant pitter. I don’t know many mothers in my post partum position who are wearing garter belts to bed, holding a big old dildo in one hand and handcuffs in the other (If you are? Can I come over?) and having video quality sex let alone sex on a regular basis at all. And really, sex isn’t even close to what I want right now, it’s not what my body or soul or spirit asks for. And I am not suggesting that’s what anybody was dmeanding of me to diary about, but I highly doubt they ("the creatives" for the vlogging) got what they thought they wanted by inviting me to participate. My fantasies involve using big-people words again and sleeping eight hours straight and someone inventing a self-cleaning kiddy potty. The small bits of my life that I shared for this project were rooted in the moment, interrupted most of the time, sloppy all of the time, bags under the eyes and knotty hair, wearing the same clothes day after day, cervical cap untouched in original box: this is what my life is.

Now it wasn’t always like this, it’s not like I am some unkempt prude.

I won’t go into my sexual history, but for the first 27 months of my relationship with my man we just stayed in bed full-time, and it was the kind of love that was best-seller how-to-book hot. I had fallen into a pit of hot lava love. Something about his double Scorpio nature, his drummer and sculptor hands, his tattoos, his deep sea diving, his adoration for a girl with a bottom, his ability to flip a record over while inside me, and his obvious devotion to even the most manic parts of me; I. Could. Not. Get. Enough. And apparently neither could he. We did 3 times a night. We did it 2 more times in the morning. We’d call in sick to fuck during El Nino season. We’d tangle in passion on fallen trees and at the beach, in small resorts and under the stars in a yellow tent. We did it on friend’s floors and parent’s bathrooms. We used toys and foods and fabrics and wax. We did not have three small children. I don’t even think we had a dog yet.

And now that we do have kids? What could I possibly reveal on camera that could compare to the romping of our early twenties? Or the long tantric evenings just before the kids were conceived? The funniest thing is I never had to speak (on camera) of what life was like after kids. I’d start to talk about anything sex-in-theme on camera and would be interrupted within 1 minute by a crying baby, a screaming toddler standing in a puddle of pee, or a child frantically trying to pull too small tights over their too big jeans. The camera got turned on and off, cutting my streams of thought in half and then in half again, to attend to a child. Quality thoughts turned into many small and randomd snipets; it became quantity. The quality needs to be found inside the bits and pieces of my fragmented life.

But there has been an awakening that happened for me with motherhood. And it’s good and real, too and I would be doing a diservive to myself and all mothers who allowed themselves to ripen and ruby as they became initiated.

There is a strong and not so subtle sexuality that motherhood seems to harvest. Underneath the spit-up and yellow grainy poops, the elastic waistbands that now fill the wardrobe, and the collection of “comfy” shoes on the shelf, the glam-less eyelashes looking into the rearview mirror behind the seat of the minivan and in between making almond butter banana boats, there is a cord running from my head down through my root, pulsing with a new kind of Hot. It’s raw and different, not billboard model or lingerie catalogue or Betty Page pin-up or adult movie star. It’s more like the suppleness of velvet, the interior flesh of the womb has been molded and lived in and even though it’s empty now, it’s redness, it’ spiral, it’s secret has become me. I have had something, a taste of the apple, a chance at creation, a reason to moan life forth and the guts to stand there and do it; knowing well enough I am playing the game of Life and Death but caring so much that I decide to take my turn in the endless circle. My body pulses with a purpose as the home ground, the wet ground, the growing ground, the battleground stripped with wavy scars and cascading curves. It holds breasts heavy with milk and a yoni with a faint yet lingering scent of bloody and earthy birth. And while my body expanded with motherhood, slowly, at its own pace comes back to a version of me; my ribs reveal themselves under my thinning flesh, I have cheekbones again, I can sit on the floor and get back up on my own, I lean into a backbend and fold forward and grab onto my toes. I lie flat on my stomach. It may not be hot by today’s standards, but it’s primal and it’s intuitive and its a greatly provocative to allow it to be all that it has been; lover, shelter, warrior, mother. Its not Movie Star Mother On Tabloid Cover, but my type of motherhood turns me on. It’s dirty, exhausting and it’s real.

When I smear a bit of red gloss across my lips and thread metal earrings through my ears and drop thick amber oil on my wrists, and slide my lime green aviator sunglasses across my eyes, I feel it intensely. Sometimes when I sit down to nurse my baby and milk rushes down and relief comes over me I morph so powerfully wet and nourishing and attractive and needed I am almost over fulfilled. On good days when we walk through the store with my hair a little brushed and all three kids and myself are in such smooth flow and together we hold and examine fresh ripe produce and decide what to make for dinner and maybe even nibble on a bit of dark chocolate while in the check-out line, it lives in me and comes through me and the hormones are wildy tasty, roaringly loud. When I open up and enjoy parenting, even in the thick of screaming tantrums and unacceptable kicking, I become pure energy, vibration of mother-knowledge; I hold it as my own sensual prowess. When I collapse in bed at night, a few breaths away from a deep sleep and my cold feet are wrapped around his and my face is buried in his soft back, it’s there heating us both up through to the next day. When I think about how I pushed my third daughter out with screams and howls and my nails digging into the microfiber of my couch and my head thrown , my back arched, somewhere between Hell and Ecstasy, it’s there. This is my life; and it’s all really sexy to me. But it’s not SEX.

It was easy to judge myself: my life has become painfully boring and sexually dry, and it’s unhealthy. we used to make time for sex even for a super-quickie, here and there. 34 years old and in some sort of prime and I haven’t done it in a very, very (very) long time. Why don’t we create more time for sex? Is it just the exhaustion or does it go deeper and a place we’re too scared to explore? Why don’t we decide to retreat into the bedroom and get kinky? Instead we fall onto the couch with the laptop in front of us, excited to catch up on Lost episodes? When we do get a sitter, which is so rare, why don’t we go somewhere and have sex in the minivan on some lonely forest road instead of going to the brewery to have beers and talk about our future in our new house, new music we like, writing projects that are pending, the behavior of our four year old, politics, the weather? Oh. Yeah. We just had a baby.

The baby part makes it easy to release the judgments with a few stumbles and tries; we can’t beat ourselves up for having our arms full of life. I spent many years where sexual exploration was at the forefront of my relationships. Being someones partner now involves so many other passions besides how many times I cum. It involves raising children. It involves integrating into a new community. It involves just trying to stay good friends and harmonious roommates with each other. And it involves sexy moments; glances when one of us steps out of the shower, slick with water and slathered in oil, or butt smacks when he wears the silly hot pink American Apparel underwear Mia picked out for him on his birthday. It’s him looking at my cleavage while we sit at dinner and my new big milk boobs are spilling out my too tight shirt from all day nursing or watching him teach Mia and Sula the progression of ska to modern dancehall through record flipping and dancing and singing. It’s when we chop carrots together to make a soup . It involves loving my body for the work it’s done, the temple it has been for me and my children; the way it has opened up regardless of how scared I am to be truly seen. Sometimes it’s the too tight pants I wear and how the seam rubs into my clitoris, or maybe the silkiness of the shirt brushing up against my own nipples, or seeing a person whose energy makes me turn my head and suck in my breath. It’s finally buying a home on ½ acre; fertile land surrounded by rivers and mountains gives him a hard-on and certainly makes me dripping wet. Our climax is sitting late night on the couch with Z in our laps and cooing with her, nuzzling our noses in her double chin and smelling between her stinky toes. Feeling so in love with our children and landing such a lucky life, more charmed as it ages; not perfect by any means, but it is what it is and accepting that, with humor and tenderness, it’s what makes our crotches tingle. Our quality is being with our kids in each moment; experiencing the other and ourselves authentically in any way we can. It’s erotic and naked and revealing; no penetration required.

***

And I am not saying that soon I won’t be one of the many people who are considered sexually active by today’s standard. These times will pass quickly and the exhaustion will fade and our time will be freed and some hot sticky night, no doubt we will begin humping again. But for now we aren’t because we are doing other things, making other things, loving in other ways. That is how it really is. I’m sure Current TV isn’t super excited for paying me to say that kind of stuff every day for a month, but I gave them the truth.

100%…MIX

March 15, 2008

Rewind Selectah! Don’t stop till the very last drop!

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And yes, she is learning to scratch. Her father cringes every time she puts her finger down on a limited edition vinyl and takes it for a little push and pull.

One of the two turntables is missing a slipmat (the one she is placing a Dancehall compilations called Punany. Um, yeah, she says that’s her ‘very best’ record. Anyway, I told her she couldn’t use the turntable without the slipmat. She climbs down from her DJ booth after thinking for a moment. She heads over to the sacred paper towel cupboard, pulls and rips two towels off the roll. Climbs back to her booth and figures out how to get the papertowels on to the turntables in place of a slipmat. "is this good?" she asks. "yeah it’s good" i smile at her. "perfect". The dance party begins.

B and I debated whether or not to put his gear out in the open at this house. We had a designated studio space in AZ. My feeling has always been, a child learns by watching (which she has done since she was 2 weeks old). And then a child learns by doing. "easy for you to say" he says to me. "it’s all my gear not yours." "Many a time I have let her write love stories to Cody Maverick (Surf’s Up) on my laptop, " I remind him. "Yeah, and she’s busted two computers," he reminds me.

But in the end he decided put it all out, whether it be for Mia to learn the trade, or because his cold ass is sick of making music out in the garage, it seems to be working out.

Mia’s Old Skool Mixed Tapes available upon request.

reality sandwich.

January 24, 2008

Nope. No babe yet. But I’d like to take the time to welcome Talia Grace into the world. Her bas-ass beautiful mama birthed her into the world two days ago. C and I have have been pregnant together from close to day one. I take such joy in seeing a photo of her and her newborn girl, surrounded by bright blessings and all things magic. My turn soon, just not yet….

While waiting to birth some life into being, I thought I’d take the opportunity to link you to a website I’ve started writing for. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do, but keep forgetting to tell ya’ll about. While driving in the ghettomobile up the coast and sleeping by the sea, I read the book 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl by Daniel Pinchbeck. It’s the journey of a man seeking shamanism in all forms, from Rudolf Steiner to the sacred tea from the Auyausca leaf, from Mayan timekeepers to crop circles. While the book questions new age theory, it explores our shifting consciousness as a collective, weaving the individual and the universal consciousness into one story. I loved Pinchbeck’s mixture of voices, from questioning critical thinker to soul-driven, third-eye opened seeker. He never once tried to give answers, yet as he seeks shamanic guidance on his own exploratory journey, he became a bit of muse to me, while I conjured up a whole new level of my own personal questions. Not once did I feel l was being sold a dogma, I was just invited on one person’s wild ride. The core of the book is about opening up to the idea of a shifting consciousness on fast speed, leaving power-centered and material rooted world behind and melting into spiritual awareness and inevitable evolution. I read some more Pinchbeck (articles and such) and the more I read, the more I became intrigued. Then I found out he created an on-line magazine, Reality Sandwich. And then somehow I weaseled some words into his domain (stalked them). It’s truly filled with interesting contributors including DJ Spooky that Subliminal Kid (he’s one of my heroes, post-modern theorist, DJ and dub provider? If I wasn’t in love, I’d be in love.) Reality Sandwich’s theme is Evolving Consciousness, Bite by Bite.

I think my first and short news piece is up, but i’m not sure though. It’s called "Grow High" and it’s about the need for vertical sustainable farming in large urban centers (food farming. don’t let the title fool ya.)

Regardless, the site is good if you are into weaving stuff like consciousness shifting culture, shamanism, psyche and art. Check it out.

***

Now back to sitting on my cozy nest, keeping this little egg warm. Some cramping. Some serious spaced out moments where my husband may actually think I suffer from dementia. As my spiritual midwife would have observed if she walked into my living room: Your baby has landed. Oh, baby, I feel you. And you feel so good, I fly a bit high from moment to moment.

Yes, baby has landed. Now we just wait for sacred doorways to open, when baby says, Okay, enough of this super funky, juicy, internal plane of bliss and spirit, light matter and perfect flow, I now choose The Flesh. I’m supported and loved, and this world calls me to it’s other side. I’m coming home, Mama. Open up…and breath.

getting off.

January 5, 2008

This book arrived in the mail for me today.

My friend Jamye (Waxman) wrote it and it’s quite a read. I think she was the first person I honored in my Shameless Sistah Promotions over a year ago (where I may have even linked to her masturbation survey? Did any of you take it?) Jamye’s voice is born from empowerment and a desire to support, educate and stimulate through her work as a sexplorer. Her service is offered through literature, feminist porn, How-To DVD’s as well as workshops and classes (she can teach one mean blow-job workshop, I’m told). I feel a great connection with her; as she works to break the walls of control and judgment around sex, I hope to do the same in the birth industry. When we give women power and a voice in both areas, we bloom and grow; transform. We become validated and true to ourselves. We bring power and choice back to our bodies. Just as we want freedom to fuck who want and how we want (consensual, obviously) and find pleasure within and without our bodies, we should also desire a culture where birthing women have the power and freedom to feel and experience their own bodies while they bring their babies down; without a fear-dominated industry’s hand in our yoni. Like sex, in birth we want no laws, no protocol, and no needless intervention. We want choice. We want pleasure (hey, I’m aiming for an orgasmic birth this time around). And sometimes a little pain.

Back to her book. A Women’s Guide To Masturbation: Getting Off. Jamye is a wealth of information about orgasms, masturbation history, cultural taboos, good sex toys, and technique; she writes in a witty, down-to-earth fashion and she writes like she talks; easy and light, from the heart, meaning what she says. She knows her stuff. She’s endearing and articulate. Intelligent. And sexy. She uses the voices of an array of women, as well, which draws you into the stories. Not only is the book fun to read, it’s important. Nobody talks much about masturbation, especially female masturbation. Self-love is much nicer than self- loathing. We aren’t encouraged to enjoy or touch our bodies, to get to know ourselves, our sensual likes and dislikes, our pleasures and our fantasies. Instead we are conditioned to think our bodies are inadequate and ugly; they aren’t skinny enough, or smooth enough, or curvy…even that our vaginas aren’t tight enough… so we need enhancements and validation from outside ourselves. Or we are taught that loving ourselves is dirty and wrong. But our bodies are temples. Shouldn’t we worship them? Feel each dip and curve, each imperfection until it becomes perfection? (physically and emotionally speaking)? Maybe if we did, the world would follow suite.

So, even though sex is the last thing on my mind now, at 38 weeks pregnant I spend my nights more in a pass the chocolate, gimme the remote, and rub my back sort of scenario, there was a point where I spoke candidly with Jamye regarding research for her book. Somewhere in that little white book with the lotus shaped vibrator image on the front are extensive quotes by me about my fantasies as well as how I plan on communicating with my daughters about masturbation and self-love in general. I won’t say another word, except that if you get the book and read it, I bet you can figure out what words are mine. Although that’s not why you should get it. Get it and enjoy it for yourself, help spread the word. Touch yourself! It’s okay! Go to Amazon or wherever and buy it. It should be a fixture in our book shelves.

Diva of the Day

April 12, 2007

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Some heavy writings for the near future of this blog; I am so close to unraveling these heart stings and passing out a key to a peepshow of my emotions. I need to use these words as a vehicle to navigate through life’s richest and deepest experiences, the ones that ain’t too pretty; the ones that question my ability to love, guide and be a better parent.

But for now, let’s just have some fun and celebrate Rebecca.

Rebecca Love has been my friend since I was 19 years old. Both upstate New York Gals (you know what they say about upstate gals, and it’s true). We both share the same best friend, and as time rolled on our friendship status expanded and mutated from both being Leigh’s best friend, to owning this incredible bond in our own right that I utterly cherish. We both shared the same bootlicious desire to shake it all night long and have done so often together. We both are utter fire. We both have been blessed with extreme wanderlust and when we can’t go by foot we do so in our minds. We both of have impeccable taste in shoes, bags and jeans. We posses an uncanny resemblance to one another, (except her breasts are fabulous and full and her legs go on forever). People often assume we are sisters (the kind who share the same mama) when we link arms and take on the night together.

Rebecca can be considered Diva Of My Day for a basket full of reasons; her vitality, her zen-like strut as she maneuvers through life, her refined psychic and intuitive abilities, her knowledge of the planets and the stars, her soft, smushy, kind heart mixed with her fearless howl when she sees fit to vocalize herself. Her love for her friends is selfless. The way she mothers and loves my children is effortless and natural; even though she is not yet a mother, I am just in awe of how perfectly patient she is with my kids and how she communicates with them; with respect and love always allowing her wise innermama to emerge. I look forward to borrowing more from her when I get to watch her become a mother herself someday. She is also on her way to becoming heavily involved in philanthropy, so if you have money to give away, ask her where to give it away to.

But none of these reasons qualified her as my diva. All my friends are utterly fabulous. But not all of my friends keep a little pocket rocket in their glove box so that when the traffic on the 10 Freeway going across L.A. gets thick and pretty much stops, pleasure can be found.

"You what? You get-off with a vibrator when your stuck in traffic?"

"Hell yeah. I just realized one day that if I rolled up my tinted windows, stuck it down my pants, I could scream as LOUD as I wanted and nobody would give a damn. Beats sitting in traffic."

"Wow. You are my hero."

It’s that simple. My diva’s use their time very, very wisely.

Diva of the Day: Birth Contessa

December 16, 2006

I have been trying to write this for a week. This daily writing thing has it’s good and bad points. I am just not clever enough to attempt to entertain on a daily basis. Some days I want absolutely no outside communication. At all. So to come and un-peel myself in this format is a real challenge. And the time I would have liked to spend thinking about writing a great Diva of the Day, (a subsidiary of Shameless Sistah Promotions:-) I had to spend figuring out a way to burp something, anything out on paper. Anyway, I hope I can do justice when I speak of this marvelous, talented Diva.

Since my first Diva was a sex activist, my second obviously should be a birth activist.

Her name is Jeanette and she is amazing.

When I first moved to the Phoenix area, specifically Scottsdale, I knew only my much older brother and his wife and their kids. That’s it. I had no idea how as new mom whose birthing and parenting and lifestyle choices seemed practically illegal in this relatively conservative and uptight little community I had landed in would meet others I could vibe with. Where was I to start? Anytime I pulled my boob out to feed my year old in public it felt like I had a scarlet letter across my forehead. It all seemed overwhelming and being the kind of person who feels perfectly fine alone, figuring I only planned on being here a very short time, who really cared? I’d just consider it an experiment in hibernation and not worry about making friends. I had loads of good ones other places. No need to struggle looking here. How was I going to find anyone special?

One day, while doing research for a book I was writing on homebirth, I came across an announcement for a Birth Circle. It was opened to women all over the phoenix area and it offered support, community, advocacy and education for women and their birthing choices. It was put on by The Arizona Birth Network, a non-profit organization which was a fresh voice for mother-centered birth, i.e. safe birth. Being a happy homebirther, trying to write a book on the exact subject, and being disbelief that something like this could exist here, I ran to the Circle.

The first time I saw Jeanette LeBlanc at that birth circle, I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that a women that young was the resposible for this gathering. I immediately saw her wisdom twinkling in her eyes. She was beyond her years in knowledge and skill. Yet, when I saw her dipping a chocolate- chocolate chip cookie in a plateful of ambrosia salad (there was even food there for all of us) I knew she was a kid at heart and I knew I was meant to just adore her forever. I had little Mia in a sling and found a slew of other mamas slinging surrounding me, breastfeeding! Talking about their births! We shared joy and pain and healing experiences and the blood and guts. We told stories of homebirth heaven and hospital rapes. There was crying and laughing. People spoke of homebirth like it was normal and non-abusive! Wow! Everyone looked relaxed and at home. It was indeed a true Circle. A fellowship. A tribe of healers who were really just women-mothers but by joining together in such intimate ways, grand things were occurring. Mystical. Important. It was a sign to be that birth rites were about to change and that these women were going to have everything to do with it. And this young women, this brown haired, blue-eyes, long legged beauty who was excited and well spoken started it all. She was my hero.

Jeanette likes to un-deservingly criticize herself for not “having it together”, or not doing all she “needs to”. But how many women do you know who come here from another country, under the age of 30, with a husband and a child, living in somewhat secluded suburbia, start a city wide non-profit that educates through workshops, birth circles, and a free-exceptionally high quality newsletter (she even made me the features editor because she loves me so much and does not mind I don’t know how to spell)? Sounds so me like a bit of an achiever, right? Every bit of an activist, political and personal, because peace and justice starts for women when they can connect their yoni, their hearts and their minds and gather for others and just begin to change the way things are. She is a goddess. Not only is she type-A (in a good way, her work is perfect pretty much all the time) she she’s creative and can visualize change and she actually has the energy to do something about it. She doesn’t just talk about how awesome it would be to start and connect powerful systems of women who care about birthing and babies and families…SHE DID IT. She draws in world-renown birth professionals and best-selling authors to come to Birth Circles. She refers to the great Henci Goer and Sarah Buckley as her friends…and they are! One of the coolest things I was thinking about when pondering Jeanette and what she has done for my life and undoubtedly for so many others is that 90% of the women/mothers I am lucky to know now, I met because of Jeanette. And even cooler, 98% of those 90% either had a homebirth/planned one/are planning on birthed un-medicated and/or the way the wanted/are birth savvy all around. These facts apply to approx. 1.5% of the entire US population, and for me the stats falls in the 90th percentile. Where else on earth can you easily find so many people who believe power and healing in birth, whether you are looking for a friend or a care-provider? Jeanette has had a hand in creating this fact. She is a connector, like a magnetic orb she spins a silvery and strong web of people that are good to know.

I am in awe.

And not only is she a birth worker, a doula and a non-profit organization founder, she is also a child and birth photographer. And she is not just any photographer. She captures the inner light and love of the lucky people who get in the way of her shutter. I’ve seen her explode in less than a year from a really good picture-taker to someone who is a breathtakingly artistic and precise photographer, developing style and composition at the speed of light. Literally.

Jeanette can support you through your pregnancy, take photos of your blooming belly, be utterly with you at your birth; placing her hands of peace on that lower back spot where the baby’s skull is pressing and relieve with magical counter pressure, and all the while snapping photos capturing the essence of your deepest birthing warrior. And when she is done with all that she can take some heartwarming photos of your new life. Phew. I’m tired just writing about all her talents. Her lack of sleep has nothing to do with her 1 year old daughter. No, it has to do with the fact she is helping to heal the world.

So the last person in the world who should think they are not doing enough work or not getting to what’s ’suppose’ to be done, is Jeanette. She is a diva. And I bet she could do all that she does in smooth black stilettos holding a girly drink of her choice.

Jeanette is helping change the world for all women, babies and families. That is no small feat. I am honored to be her friend.

misplaced mama