We took the kids to a science/rock show in Baton Rouge a few weeks ago. It was a well planned weekend that fell apart when we got stuck in traffic on the New Orleans high rise for HOURS – HOURS people!!!
Anyway, we hit that show with a hard plan to make sure that we got all things taken care of so that we didn’t miss a thing. I was desperate to do the craft – not knowing what it was – but that was the last thing planned because we prioritized the kids. Then we found out that it was painting a rock and, unhappy with drying times and the available mediums, we decided just to take our rocks and paint them later.
Later was postponed and postponed until the perfect opportunity set itself in front of us. Happily, that was Easter Sunday. We sat together that evening and painted our little rocks. We loved it. We will be doing more, clear coating them, and setting them in our next garden when God moves us where He will.
In case you wanted more, here is the small video I made about the trip:
Well, we have been on this journey for some time now. We have looked all over and answered questions we did not know we had. We know now where we would like to be. We have found the home – more importantly – THE LAND of our future and we have laid it before God with a prayer that our home sell quickly and at a good price so that we may move on. Please pray that our home sell and that this new place remains available for us. Thank you.
Real quick, because lately if it ain’t quick it ain’t happening! lol Two fast, fun things to eat:
First up, Banana Cups – basically a banana ice cream made and then portioned out to be portable and quickly accessible!
All you need to make them my way is bananas (very, very ripe) and coconut oil. Of course, you can add chocolate chips, coconut bits or anything that you would like!
Next is a dish I make a lot and I think I shared here before. At least a variation probably! I love to cook for my wife. It makes me happy that even though she is out of town I can still be a big part of her daily life.
Darlings! My little blogging bunnies, you know how much I adore a good before and after don’t you? Of course you do! So, If I were to tell you that the entirety of 2016 thus far has been one big Pinterest-y makeover of my dwelling and yet I have NOT ONE set of before and after photos – If I told you that, would it help you understand how blown my mind is by everything going on??? Because, for sure, my mind is blown.
I sit here this morning with my coffee and my computer (not yet introduced to you) and the house is silent, and the world is calm and my brain is racing. I have been – thus far this year – always on edge. We have listed our home, our sweet abode, and have set out to find a new, sweeter abode. (Actually, just different. I love our home now. I love her grass and her spirit and everything. The time is here, however, that I have to realize this life isn’t life anymore. I am glad I came “home” after Katrina hit. I needed it, but now my whole family needs this and when I am honest with myself – I am glad to put this place behind me.)
We are looking in an area about an hour to an hour and a half away. I have my heart set on a place, but we have to sell ours first and I can only pray and trust God to deliver it for us. We will have land, space to grow and evolve and plant and raise. We will have chickens again – and at this point I think even complete strangers know how much I miss my chickens. Ducks, a cow, goats – an outdoor sanctuary and ART. So much art. It took a while to find myself, to make art from a happy place, to create a voice of worship with my art. Now, thankfully, I have that and I can’t wait to cover our little piece of heaven with art! (There WILL be before and after photos of that!)
We girls, we reserve the right to change our mind – and then change them back. lol That is not what this post is about. This post is about changing my mind’s reality – redefining things that were defined for me before myself or my mother or my great-great-great grandmother existed.
Yep. It’s me, returning to a blogging past of FOOD. I mean, I had a whole blog based on what I would/would not, did/did not eat. Food. Food is a cultural, religious, emotional, life staple and, for me, it is my drug. I am a food addict. I am very careful about saying that. I want to speak life over myself, speak freedom, and love and light – so, I will say I am a food addict on the road of recovery. I flipped back and forth between not want to say that I was an addict, but in the end – this is the right choice for me. Using my God to deny this in the form of not claiming it did not help me stay sober, in fact it allowed me to pretend I was not in need of sobriety anymore. Twisted, I know, but I am an addict. We twist.
On and off as I have struggled to reach and maintain sobriety I have visited the idea of abstaining from food. I visit this idea and then declare that it is impossible, because it is. I then look for ways to get as close as possible. Shakes? Juices?
Perhaps, though, reaching sobriety will be a blend of redefining both sobriety and food. So, I am going to be going on an ALL Soylent diet for seven days. I ordered the Soylent powder 1.5 yesterday and I think that as soon as it comes I will mix it and start the next day. As a disclaimer I do have a race scheduled for the 30th and I will be getting a medium Green Tea Tango with strawberries afterwards.
The plan right now is evolving BUT instead of making a little notebook I am going to live it out right here and one YouTube. I will tweak and change and thing and move in a transparent way that will hopefully help me and anyone who logs onto the interweb some day looking for help in an impossible feeling situation.
Last Christmas my mother asked me to make a family tree for her. I was totally into the idea (though it hasn’t happened yet – I don’t know where the year went but I know that both of my Christmas gift art projects are still undone!) because lately I have been really trying to understand what it means to be – white.
Look, I know what it means to be white skinned in the south – I know that it means I am safer, I am more employable, I am born with the privilege of living without many of the social and economic hardships that my fellow brothers and sisters of earth do not enjoy. I didn’t always know that – but I do now. What I didn’t understand what how my mother could look at pictures of her father – thick black hair, dark eyes, deep brown skin and say, “That’s the Indian in him.” If we were white, how was he Native American? I was raised in a white-washed white world with NO CONNECTION to any sense of history, family, culture other than the small family I knew and the culture of Southern Louisiana and New Orleans.
It honestly never occurred to me that I came from somewhere. That my family came from someplace beyond the land deep in the south of Mississippi where my grandmother’s grandmother still lived. I was SHOCKED when I was told that Native American’s weren’t allowed to go to school or have other rights and due to that our Native American ancestors registered their children as white. I knew that there were Irish-Native American marriages, but had no idea that many Native Americans married outside of the tribes to avoid persecution and to attempt to be accepted and afforded the chance to just live. Many of those we to the poor Irish, which my great grandparents were. Then the brain starts to question all sorts of things. I was angry that they would have to do that and that no one seemed angry – in fact they seems happy just to be white. “You just are.” I was told. How? How? Just because we passed? How was it okay to just walk away from who you were and become something else? Would everyone back then have done the same?
Finding out about that side of the family has been hard enough, but the other side is even worse. There was an adoption – though it is questionable if it was an adoption or an out of wedlock baby adopted by only the father. That happens to be the lead I am following due to the fact that that is the only story I was given with much conviction. There was a great grandmother who spoke German, though someone else remembers her speaking French – what?
Though the disappearance of any Native American blood is one thing, if it was better I can almost understand. Why, though, do we have NO connection to the Irish side? No celebrations or customs – what happened to their way of life? There had to be something. What happened to any of the things that made the people I came from who they were? Other than a long line of addiction I can’t see them. Maybe it was the fact that they were so poor that there wasn’t much to pass on, maybe it was the addiction that left nothing to look back on fondly… It’s not that I don’t want to be white, I am white. I am also confused and disconnected.
It all left me blank, an open canvas with no real loyalty to the white mass. I am filling my canvas with learning, with our own customs and culture. I am investigating where I come from for my daughters – it’s where they come from. I am learning where they came from, we talk about the history that they have as best as I have been able to discover it. I am embracing ALL of my history – because while I don’t know much about me the individual I know I am an American and that American history, LGBT history, Black history – the good and the bad – ALL of it is ours to share and know and learn from.
I really can’t tell if what I am trying to say is coming across. I hope so, but if not I will keep trying…