I am somehow both pan-religious and nonreligious, both Catholic and pagan. I don’t really know how all of that exists simultaneously in my heart and mind, but somehow it does. For a long time I thought that was an untenable state, and expected that sooner or later I would have to commit to being and believing one thing or another, and not all things and none all at once. But I’ve lived in this state for many years now, and truthfully it shows no sign of coming to some cataclysmic end. Somehow this all-encompassing, tolerant nonbelief system of mine works just fine.

Most of the time.

When terrible things happen, though, there’s no rulebook for me to turn to. All the various religious answers about death and dying, loss, and grief fall flat. The feel-better remarks and there-theres don’t work for me. All I know is that I have to feel my feelings all the way through them, for as long as I need to, until I release them (or until they release me—I’m not sure which it really is). I don’t know if that’s healthy or not healthy. It’s just how I am.

I found this poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I understand this.

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

—Edna St. Vincent Millay

We all have to navigate life’s injustices and sorrows in our own way. There is no script that fits all actors in this play. We have our rites and rituals, our traditions of marking difficult passages. They are useful and good for many. But they are not perfect. And no funeral or day of mourning or flag at half-mast brings an end to the grief. Grieving continues and passes through many stages. We are not resigned.

A long time ago I worked at a funeral home. I spent my workdays with grieving people and people whose job was to help grieving people. A co-worker, Barbara, who had lost her husband many years before, once said to me something I’ll never forget. “After the funeral, all the people go home. The funeral was closure for them. But the grieving goes on for the loved ones, the spouse, the parent. For them, the grief stays.”

Just as our happy moments, our loves, and our triumphs build together and become part of who we are, so do our sorrows knit themselves into our bones.

So how do we cope and what is normal? All of it. Normal is preparing for Christmas with tears falling down one’s cheeks. Normal is gathering with friends and loved ones, smiling and laughing even with a broken heart. Normal is putting one weary foot in front of the other, making breakfast, enforcing room-cleaning, and cuddling precious children to sleep even while you hear the imaginary wolves scratching at the door. All of this depth of feeling and contradiction can exist simultaneously, too. Life is mucky and confusing. It is never as neat as a greeting card.

We say our prayers—or not. We light our candles and weep and gather together. We look to our heroes, spiritual leaders, and poets. We make sandwiches and feed chickens and watch movies for relief. Our hearts break, and we gradually put them back together—with wise compassion and great waves of Love.

We are changed. And that is normal.

I am struggling to find words to express my horror at the tragic shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Yesterday was a wash; I mostly sat here and cried, or walked in circles in my home. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t work. I am too permeable.

Last night we went to our school’s Winter Concert, a celebration of light in the darkness. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to celebrate anything or anyone. I didn’t think I could handle watching all of our beautiful children performing their songs and dances—the menorah lighting by third grade, the lower school chorus, sixth grade sword dance, seventh and eight grade choir, high school orchestra, a h.s. percussion ensemble. There in the dark of the packed auditorium, listening to these amazing, shining, hopeful children, I let my tears flow.

Truly, normal is what we need. We must continue, yet continuing feels wrong.

We are not discussing this tragedy with our children, and I am grateful these events are far away. I fear Lucas and Asher will find out soon. If and when they do, we will do the best we can to explain the unexplainable. There are many resources online about how to talk with children about tragedy, but the truth is I don’t want to do it at all.

I am reading poetry and trying to take comfort in wise words—God or light or “look for the helpers.” It’s not working. And any words of comfort I can think of are sawdust in my mouth. It’s too soon for comfort.

Good morning! And happy Santa Lucia Day!

We ate a lovely breakfast of eggs and Lussekatter buns. Daddy told us about winter in Sweden and Santa Lucia Day—about how he used to walk to school in the dark and he wouldn’t see the sun until lunchtime, and then would have to walk home in the dark at 3 p.m.

The Lussekatter turned out beautifully this year. My recipe is on my post from last year. These simple celebrations are getting me ready for Solstice and Christmas, I think. There’s something exciting about baking at 10 p.m. And while I am in no way a “morning person,” I love early morning magic!

I made two star boy crowns yesterday afternoon for $2 each. They are … improvised. A wreath and a 6 foot length of very soft “florist wire,” both from the Dollar Store. I just bent the wire into three continuous stars and put a little wave in between them, then wrapped the ends around the back of the wreath and tucked them in. This design fit the small wreath perfectly.

I have everything I need to make pointy felt star boy hats like the ones Ian wore when he celebrated Santa Lucia Day at his university in Sweden in 1993, but I didn’t get the time to do it this year.

I think the crowns are cute, but my own stjärngossar (star boys) didn’t much want to wear them. Alas.

It rained last night, and there are shimmering jewels on the branches, sparkling in the weak winter sun.

Have a beautiful day!

We’ve had buckets of rain in the past week. Our jacuzzi has stopped working again, due to flooding. The chicken run is a soupy, smelly mess. The pretty leaves have largely fallen from the deciduous trees in the neighborhood, but my liquidambar is still full of golden stars.

The palette of my surroundings is fading. Bright oranges, golds, russets, and crimsons are vanishing, giving way to more muted tones. Browns and grays, straw, and dusty greens—punctuated by lurid, store-bought red and green for Christmas—are the colors of December in Northern California’s central valley. The transformation is gradual and a few flowers seem to have missed the memo. I’ve seen marguerites shouting “yellow!” at the top of their voices, and a few purple irises are confused enough to bloom even in the heavy rain.

A couple of weeks ago, we took the boys to a local amusement park called Funderland, which has been in operation in Land Park as long as I can remember. The day was perfectly glorious, the kind of day November hopes to achieve—with sparkling, flaming trees and crystalline skies.

The rides, horseback riding, and pretty slanting afternoon sunbeams inspired many shining smiles.

And plenty of autumn frolicking.

It was a wonderful day. Land Park had lots of finery to show off while we were there.

Thank you, November. Your brilliance is fortifying.

Yesterday was the feast of Saint Nicholas and we marked the holiday in our usual small ways. The boys polished their shoes and put them out near our door. We also left out some hay for the saint’s donkey to eat. (Lucas left a note for Nicholas, asking for oranges, a taser gun, and a katana; the kid can dream big!)

I updated our nature table a bit, with Saint Nicholas surrounded by some little children. Together we read Christine Natale’s Saint Nicholas stories. My favorites are the ones when Nicholas is a boy because he shows generosity in ways that children can—by sharing what he has, by cheering people and giving comfort to those who are sad, and by being kind and generous to those who are different, disadvantaged, or disabled.

In the morning, we all found some treats and treasures in our shoes. Nicholas must have come in the night! Lucas and Asher got oranges, fancy chocolates with honey caramel inside, a bag full of magnetic hematite stones (gold for Lucas and rainbow iridescent for Asher), and they each got a beautiful heart-shaped agate worry stone. (We parents also received worry stones, too, and I think we need them more than the boys do. They are delightful for hands to find in pockets.) Simple. Sweet. My kids think it’s out of this world to be allowed a chocolate first thing in the morning!

Saint Nicholas also visited all the children at school. He and Rupert brought oranges, cookies, and crystals to Asher’s Kindergarten class, and he brought chocolates and pretty stones to Lucas’s fifth-grade class. I wish I had a photo, but I wasn’t there.

My kids chose some toys they no longer want to keep and we are donating them to others. We have a pile of donations outside at our curb, just waiting for the United Cerebral Palsy donation van to come and pick them up. It always feels good to give away things that no longer serve us to those who need them more than we do.

I think Saint Nicholas must be pleased with us. I am.

This is a teaser photo mosaic that shows just a little of what my friend and I have been up to lately. For the last two months, Eileen Straiton (of Little Acorn Learning) and I have been diligently working on our latest e-book. We had so many fantastic ideas and so enjoyed inspiring each other that we kept crafting and writing right up until our self-imposed deadline. Furthermore, we created so much content that we decided to release it as TWO e-books instead of one.

One book is our Advent and Saint Nicholas Festival E-Book, which offers poems, stories, songs, crafts, and myriad special ways that families, schools, or childcare professionals can celebrate the whole month of December with children. The advantage to doing so is that you get a more thoughtful, heartfelt approach to the holidays, with less rushing commercialism and more time in each other’s company while making and giving of yourselves. A measured, calm approach to the winter holidays gives children time to dream, live into the stories of their faith and the season, and count the days of Advent. Children can savor the passing of time with peaceful, delicious anticipation and gentle, useful activity, rather than experience the holiday as a single, frenzied, blowout day that is over all too soon. A peaceful Advent full of simple pleasures and togetherness is what they’ll remember later, not the package-ripping and specific, expensive gifts.

The other e-book we created is the Winter Festivals E-Book, and it’s full of ways to celebrate the festivals of Santa Lucia, Hanukkah, Solstice, Yule, and Christmas. Maybe now it makes sense that we have two offerings instead of one? See, the season of winter festivals is packed with beautiful symbols; messages of peace, hope, rebirth, brotherhood, generosity, and love; and so many inspiring and edifying traditions that it was tough to contemplate leaving out anything. And cold and dark days give us the opportunity to dive into the rich and various traditions that inform the winter festivals. This e-book also offers songs, ancient poems and carols, recipies, rhymes for circle time, caregiver meditations, crafts and natural decorations you can make, and a whole bunch of ideas for enjoying the many festivals of light.

We would be honored and delighted if you’d check out these e-books and spread the word a little. We have poured our hearts and souls into them.

It is our aim to provide nourishing opportunities for families and groups of children at school/daycare environments. Our content is firmly based in Waldorf instructional methods and theories of child development. We value the whole person—head, heart, and hands—both the child and the adult alike. We strive to be original, to use natural, affordable materials, and to create beautiful artwork and handwork without it being so complex that readers are intimidated. We strive to inspire and encourage frequent artistic expression and to share the joy and satisfaction of creating handmade gifts. We are Waldorf moms (and Eileen is a professional childcare provider) and we offer this work with love.

Here are a few “making of” shots from the last two months. I’d like to say thank you to my little helpers and models, Lucas and Asher, for being willing to go along with Mommy’s visions, and to Ian who tolerated my clutter of tools and supplies, my having four different holidays’ décor spread throughout our home at once for photo shoots, and my “Just a minute, I’m writing” excuses. I’m grateful for the opportunity to do this work.

Do you ever wish you had a physical expression of all the many things your family is thankful for? Here is a simple project that can be just that. Hang this Thanksgiving Leaf Mobile over your dining room table or in your family room to decorate for the Thanksgiving holiday and remind your whole family of the bounty of blessings that you all share together.

Materials

• white circular paper coffee filters
• washable marker pens and spray bottle with water, or watercolor paints
• green floral wire
• two or three strands of raffia
• two sticks
• sewing machine or needle and thread
• scissors
• leaves to use as patterns (optional)
• pen (I used a silver pen, but any type will do)

Create Your Gratitude Leaves

Begin by coloring your paper coffee filters with washable markers. I suggest you use mostly autumn colors. You don’t have to color anything fancy and you don’t have to worry about white spaces in between the strokes of the marker pen.

Now lay your colored coffee filters on a clean dry surface and spray them gently with water from your spray bottle. Because you are using coffee filters, the water will wick throughout the paper, spreading out your ink. The colors of the marker pens will blend together, making a beautiful wash. (Alternatively paint your coffee filters with watercolors.)

Let the filters dry. Once dry, they won’t adhere to the work surface.

Now, fold each coffee filter circle in half and cut out a leaf shape, using real leaves as patterns, if you wish. You may want your leaves to be all the same type, varying only in size. Or, you might like to have many types of leaves. Cut out a bunch of paper leaves (I made 31).

With your family’s help, write what you all feel thankful for on the leaves. Write the name of each family member and pet on leaves. Write down the material things you enjoy, such as a house, a car, and food to eat. Also write abstract concepts such as safety, peace, harmony, education, freedom, friendship, and health. You may be surprised by what your children are grateful for, when they give you their ideas.

I bet that once you start counting your blessings, you’ll have no trouble creating many gratitude leaves.

Create Your Thanksgiving Leaf Mobile

Your leaves are ready now. It’s time to sew them into a long string or banner that will hang vertically from your mobile. The simplest and fastest way to do this is by using a sewing machine set on a long stitch or very wide zigzag stitch. (You don’t want a short stitch because many needle holes very close together may actually cut your leaf into halves as you sew it.)

You want a fairly long “tail” of thread on your first leaf, as this thread will tie the whole sewn string of leaves to your mobile. While you’re sewing, allow the machine to continue sewing even off of the leaf. This results in a string of interlocked thread that provides some spacing in between your gratitude leaves and allows for additional motion in your mobile. Consider feeding the leaves into the sewing machine in a variety of orientations. If you do this, you’ll create a windswept look instead of a static look that would result in leaves pointing all the same direction.

See how the leaves come off the back of the sewing machine, with some space in between them? Sew several strings of leaves. Four or five strands works very nicely. Remember not to trim your threads yet! (You can also create these leaf strands by doing a running stitch by hand with a narrow needle and thread.)

Next, construct your stick hanger. Cross your two sticks in the centers and use the floral wire to bind them together. Wrap the wire around both twigs in all directions until they feel securely bound together. This is also the time to make a wire loop that will serve as a hanger for your mobile.

You can get fancy here if you want by adding some real or artificial fall leaves and berries to the top by poking them into the wire. Just keep in mind that the most beautiful part of your mobile should be your gratitude leaves. Whether you choose to add decorative items or not, disguise the wire by wrapping some raffia strands around the joint.

Find a place to hang your crossed sticks at about shoulder level so you can work on the mobile with both hands, or get a helper to hold it for you. Now tie your leaf strands to the ends of each stick by their extra long top threads. If you have enough, also tie a strand to the center of the mobile. Last of all, clip any extra thread from the tops and bottoms of your leaf strands.

Hang your mobile somewhere prominent in your home, perhaps where some airflow may move it or where autumn sunshine might make it shine. When you look at it, you’ll see how very blessed and grateful you and your loved ones are. Blessed be!

This, my friends, is Flygon. Flygon is a Pokémon, a Ground and Dragon type, to be exact. Asher loves dragons, loves this chartreuse color, and loves coming up with challenging Halloween costumes. At first he was talking about being the Grim Reaper. I think he got it into his head that big kids go for scary costumes and wanted to do the same, but I drew the line. I think five-year-olds aren’t really ready for scary costumes. So when Asher picked Flygon out of an old Pokédex book, I said yes and kept my doubts private.

This costume is more involved than anything I’ve made to date. It started with some green fabric and some red duct tape. I had no pattern, but I did have the experience of making the rainbow dragon tail last year. Figuring out how to make the stipes on the tail concentric was a bit tricky for me. I consulted with my pro costumer friend Nicole to get her advice before I did any cutting. I bought a white cotton sweatsuit from Dharma Trading Company and some chartreuse dye. That was great because I’m not much of a seamstress. But just dyeing the outfit took half a day. I worked on this costume little by little over about a week. The wings were bumble bee wings until I pulled off the yellow fabric and bent them into diamond shapes. Ian helped me recover the wing wire with fabric and hot glue; we needed several hands. Then we added the red tape to the edges. The tail piece is made of cardboard, covered in the same wing fabric, and then outlined with red tape.

This is what we were going for. Super cute, right?

I think it turned out pretty well! I sewed the tail and stuffed it with a little wool and then some bubble wrap. There’s a coat hanger inside that made it stand up and wobble around nicely when he walked. It tied around his middle and was also supported by suspenders that he wore underneath his hoodie.

I had just enough dark green to make the head spikes. They are stuffed with wool and hand-sewn to the hood of the shirt. He liked when they flopped over his face.

The glasses we bought years ago for Burning Man. I think they made the costume. I really feel that I sneaked up on this costume. I pondered and plotted a lot before I did anything, and I took it on one bite at a time.

At the last minute, Asher decided he had to have green and red makeup too. No problem. I’ve got that!

I love the way he got into character!

I am kind of amazed he was able to keep up with all the big kids that night. He enjoyed trick-or-treating immensely.

And now it’s time to remove the head spikes so he can wear the hoodie.

I try not to get too sentimental about my children growing up. They grow. They are made to. They strive and learn and change and discover and grow every day, with or without my consent. And I approve. Most of the time I am too busy being astounded and amazed by their leaps of intelligence, judgement, compassion, and understanding, and feats of strength and skill to be the least bit sad about their not being babies anymore.

These are pants and shorts and pajamas that my mother and I have for Asher to wear. They were sewn for him and made with love (and in my case, with mistakes and a fair amount of learning frustration). They are all too small for Asher now, and I have sent them on their merry way to another sweet boy (and his baby sister) who may get some further use out of them. They are not the first set of handmades to be passed along, and they certainly won’t be the last. Growth and change are guaranteed.

Nevertheless, I was sentimental enough to take a photo before passing them on. These clothes are loved, soft and colorful, and unique in the world. They are special not only because they once covered my sweet son’s soft skin, but because they were created with loving hands and clever tools and eyes for detail. They are special because they were made first in our hearts before they came to be objects in the world.

May they be useful in the years to come, until they are once again outgrown.

Halloween was a big deal for us this year. Big projects, big fun. Today I’ve been so tired that I just felt like trying to put our home back together again, creating some order out of the costuming chaos, and getting back to normal (chaos). More about Halloween later, but …

I meant to make these groovy witch finger cookies on Halloween, but there wasn’t time to do it. I wondered if I could use a similar recipe to create something fun for Dia de los Muertos. Honestly I didn’t know if these would work.

1 cup butter softened (which to me means microwaved for 35–40 seconds after being in the fridge; is that what it really means?)
3/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon almond extract
2 cups whole wheat flour
flowery sprinkles or stars (optional)

Cream together butter and sugar, add vanilla and almond flavorings, and then add in flour, a half cup at a time. Roll about a tablespoon of dough into a ball. With the end of a big spoon, chopstick, or other poky object, poke two eye holes. With a knife, draw a mouth line. With the tines of a fork, make a quick stroke up from the mouth line to make upper teeth, and another stroke down to make lower teeth. With a narrow skewer or similar object, make a little triangle nose hole. Now with your thumb and forefinger pinch the jaw of your face a little to make it narrower than the cranium. Place the skull on a greased cookie sheet. The most important feature of your caldera is the eye holes, so if they’ve become too squished while making the other features, use the same eye-hole making object to poke the eye holes again to make them nice and round and dominate the skull shape. Do this a bunch of times till you use up all the dough. Asher (5 years old) enjoyed making skulls too, and his are pretty great.

Now, if you want your calderas skulls to be flowery, push some flower sprinkles or stars, or whatever into the skulls. Personally, I think a few flowers go a long way toward creating the Dia de los Muertos look. I didn’t put flowers on all of my cookies and the plain ones look pretty cool too.

Here they are baked—simultaneously cheerful and spooky—and ready to eat. They got a bit bigger in the baking, but kept their basic shape beautifully. By the way, I used whole wheat flour because that’s what I had. Because of the whole wheat flour, I upped the sugar to 3/4 cup. Your skulls will look whiter if you use all purpose flour, and you might not need as much sugar.

How’s that for a recipe post created late on the night of the holiday for which it is appropriate? OK, night-night. I hope you’ve had a lovely day and that you were were able to take a moment to remember those you love who have passed out of this world. Remember them fondly.