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Svadharma

Instead of making intentions that quite possibly are influenced by the capitalist patriarchy, I invite you to ask yourself what is your purpose, who you are, what strengths you have to serve the collective, what is your svadharma and what might nourish your living it to the fullest?

My house is clean and I made a delicious meal and I will be in bed long before midnight.

Homemade spinach fettuccine with lentil-mushroom ragu and truffled pecorino

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    Excellent Blog on Community Gardening in DC

    I was just led to this blog entry on community gardening in DC  from the DC Urban Gardeners‘ list serve’s daily digest.  The blog entry was originally posted last spring, but still has helpful information, and the service provided by the blogger looks interesting too.

    If you have been thinking about getting into a garden, now may be a better time to get on a waiting list than the start of the growing season.  Now is the time that novices have realized that they don’t take care of their plots, and they are better off supporting the local farmers’ markets.  If you cannot get into a garden, why not be the fantastic neighbor that starts a new garden?

    In the interest of full disclosure, after a few years at the garden nearest to my house, I decided to restructure my tiny backyard to add three 3’X3′ beds.  This gave me as much space as I had in the community garden.  I would love to have both spaces or more, but since there was a long waiting list at the garden, I ceded my space.  Currently most productive in my garden:  cucumbers, hot peppers, and all sorts of herbs.  Tomatoes aren’t doing too well, but I’ve gotten a few eggplants and my first big butternut squash.  Yum!

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    Eat With Your Hands

    This article about manners and eating with ones hands gave me a big smile.  One of my friends who went on the second India pilgrimage wrote on Facebook right after she returned home that she missed wearing a sari and eating thali meals already.  How wonderful the variety of experience on these journeys.  Personally, I found the sari cumbersome and binding and not worth the prettiness of the fabric and the compliments (more thoughts on sari-wearing perhaps to come).  I was thrilled to get back into my regular clothes (though I was happy enough in salwar kameez).  Dal , kitcheree (spiced lentils and rice porridge), and vegetarian/vegan curries have long been a staple part of my diet, so I am already getting the rice and lentils, and the south Indian thali meal is almost completely devoid of vegetables. I was happy enough to get back to my own diet, including Indian-style food of my own preparation.

    I am missing, though, being able to be in company and eat with my hands (or hand singular would be more accurate as it is horribly rude in India to eat with your left hand) and getting the chance to walk barefoot outside every day.  Though you might not be able to do it everywhere, I highly recommend eating some of your food with your hands and walking without your shoes for some time every day to enhance your sense of touch and your motility.

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    “Bob Dylan is a strange one,”

    says the man next to me with a slightly interrogative inflection, while we are both looking at a photo of Dylan taken by Alan Ginsberg at the show of Ginsberg’s photos at the Nat’l Gallery. He is a beefy guy with a crew cut, wearing chinos and a polo shirt. He looks like he’s maybe one of the thousands of police officers from around the country who are here for “Police Week.” Lots of police wives are taking a break from the demos and competitions to look at the impressionist and modern paintings from the Chester Dale Collection. Maybe he just got a little farther west than he had intended.

    I smile at him in a way that I hope seems welcoming and open, yet does not actually convey agreement with his statement. I wonder how he felt about the photos ofd the Orlovsky brothers. I am at the exhibit on my lunch hour for the first of what will likely be a number of visits.

    The Beats are an important part of my identity. My parents met in Greenwich Village in the late fifties — my mother dabbling as an artist, my father involved in peace activism, the places they frequented also frequented by the beats. My great Aunt H’s favorit book in those days allegedly was “On the Road.

    As a teenager, I relished and romanticized this part of my history. In so doing I read widely not only the writings of the Beats, but also what they were reading, which included the great Hindu and Buddhist texts. To want to discover the illumination of the Beats was to explore Eastern philosophy and mysticism and to meditate and practice yoga.

    “No,” I thought to myself, “I’ve never connected the word ‘strange’ to Bob Dylan. Maybe when I get home I”ll play me some before I sit to meditate.”

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    Food, family, friends, life (and leftovers)

    Yesterday I celebrated the bounty of Thanksgiving with my friend Pat and her children, which was just delightful.  The food was bounteous and delicious, but not to the point of groaning excess.  While I was at the yoga fundraiser in Takoma Park, Pat and the children were cooking.

    Jonathan, who is eight, made the cranberry sauce.  Being the superb cook that she is, Pat said it’s just the recipe on the back of the bag (one bag cranberries, one cup sugar, one cup water, cook until the cranberries are split and liquid starts to gel), except that she replaced the water with apple juice, replaced the sugar with brown sugar and halved the amount, added currents (nice touch), and then put in orange rind, cinnamon, all spice, cloves, and powdered ginger.  Only a true cook would think that is just the recipe on the back of the bag, but I know what she means.  As long as the proportions are right you can vary anything to taste.  The addition of the dried fruits and spices were just right for the latin-influenced cooking of the rest of the meal.

    Rebecca made the mashed potatoes, which we had because she wanted them.  They are amazing, they are miraculous, she claimed, mashed potatoes.  All you do is mash them and then they are amazing.  Ordinary potatoes completely transformed, just by mashing them.  Rebecca also offered grace, giving thanks for “food, family, friends, and just for being alive.”  Simply said from the heart; no more needed to be said.

    I was sent home with the leftover vegetarian rice and peas, which Pat had specially prepared for me to honor my preference to eat vegetarian.  As is traditional in her family, I brought home the leftovers with the understanding that when I returned the container, it would have within it a food offering in return.

    Pat did cook a turkey as part of the meal.  When we were cleaning up (I was carving the rest of the turkey to store for future meals), I asked Pat whether she would be making stock with the turkey bones, so I would know the best way of carving.  She said she did not have time, so though I am mostly vegetarian, I took the bones to make stock.  I had, then, the leftovers one would never have if you’ve long since stopped roasting birds, and Pat felt more content knowing that we would be using all of the bird that fed us.

    Today, when I am home cleaning and cooking and enjoying a precious vacation day, I will make turkey stock.  With the blessing of these particular leftovers, I can make what would be traditional to a Thanksgiving meal that I would have cooked:  roast winter squash and stuffing (using the turkey stock, the remains of a loaf of bread I baked last week, dried mushroom, and celery).  My delicious meal of stuffed roasted squash, will be enhanced by the lingering (not leftover) energy of the friends with whom I shared a delightful meal and the knowledge (that by minimizing what goes uneaten) that we are eating in a more sustainable manner) [yes, it’s all about balance; my vegan friends would no doubt be compelled to remind me that eating vegan would have been more sustainable].

    Many thanks to Pat and her family for welcoming me and for sharing.

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