Adoption Freaky Scale, Ras Ma-kor-kor, and French New Wave

First, The Adoption Freaky Scale. I'm just going to spare those casual readers from the unsavory details about adoption. Those are selfish details and those are details tied directly into the broader scope of global adoption. It ain't easy stuff, folks. That said, imagine that right after that red dot on the very right hand side of The Adoption Freaky Scale the yellow line just continues...it goes on and on and then circles back around again. That's where we are. That's where our hearts are. It's like a gigantic loop-t-loop. Some days it's fine but most days it's not.

Ras Makorkor (spelled phonetically in case you're wondering). Ras means head in Amharic. Makorkor means tickle in Amharic. Tickle head= Ras Makorkor and that's what we're all calling ourselves in our family now- It's our joke that always brings laughs . Dew Drop and I had our first (and hopefully not our last) Amharic lesson last weekend. I asked Dew Drop before we went what her first five words in Amharic to learn were:

-Banana (pronounced in English by Dew Drop as 'bamana'): mooz

-Sky: semay

-Tree: zaf

-Tickle: ma-kor-kor

-Water: ooh-ha

But seriously? My girl needs to know Amharic. At least a little. She's got a family in Ethiopia she needs to be able to talk to. She's recognized all of the time as being Habesha by other people out in public- they want to know if she speaks Amharic or not. I can't stand the thought of her not knowing at least how to be polite. It tears me apart inside. We're going to Ethiopia in 2012, and I'm serious about learning. No pressure on Dew Drop, but I would love to hear her speaking very, very basic Amharic before we go. And I wouldn't mind her being polite either. But polite or not polite, this runs to the very root of being internationally adopted in America. To deprive her of her language, of her basic right to speak, is another loss that she doesn't deserve. She's Ethiopian and I really hope that one day she will claim that identity as part of her own. I am committed to do my part of that work.

Now for French New Wave cinema. Have I mentioned on this blog how much I love it? Watched

" À Bout de Souffle " (that translates as "Breathless" in English) last night via Netflix. If I could pick a time period to live in I think I would choose that- not the real life time period but the life that's portrayed through film. It's early 60's, it's black and white, I love the style, I love the weirdo plots and I love the dialogue. I know that I really love this genre of film because I can't describe my love for it. That's a good indicator. Good grief, how many times can a girl use the word "love" in one paragraph without disgusting herself? That remains to be seen. But it gives me happiness, and it inspires me to take pictures and films. And it makes me love artists and art, and it makes me want to wear dramatic eye makeup and smoke cigarettes that cast a fog all around the room. And it makes me want to be obscure and existential. Not that I needed more encouragement.

Hanging Out With "If It Takes A Whole Life"

There's a certain delight in finally meeting a long time blog friend in real life. It makes you want to party and dance.

Dew Drop and Clementine had just one day together, yet they managed to cram in as much best friend type stuff as they could- which included spontaneously deciding to take a bath together...

Supposedly taking a nap together (though there were giggles the whole time)...

and burying themselves in a leaf pile.

I sometimes feel sorry for husbands (and sons) of bloggers. It must seem so crazy and so pointless. I don't think guys have the need to communicate with each other the way most women do. I didn't feel sorry for these guys, though- it was too much fun and I sort of think they knew it.



Can we just pretend for one moment that my eyes are open? I'm posting this as proof of this epic meeting in real life. It needs to be documented.

Seriously, these girls have a strong friendship already. It was unbelievable to see. I kept asking myself why we hadn't gotten together sooner?

I'll congratulate myself for only now, this far into this post, finally uttering the only word that can describe these girls: *cuteness*

Chillin' in the pyramid.

I'd read Rachel's blog, "If It Takes A Whole Life, " since, well, forever basically. There's something so unbelievable about meeting a blog friend in real life. I can't really describe it. I think it's my favorite thing. I love it because it eliminates so much of the background talk that you have to do in order to make a new friend. We don't have to waste our time with all of that- I already know they were in Greece for 3 months (I was there too via their blog!), so we can jump directly from there into conversations all over the place that are meaningful and deep.
And with meeting a blog friend in real life, you already know that you are going to dig this person. And then your families dig each other and it starts feeling like you're going to know these wonderful
people
for a long time.

The morning after our epic day, I awoke with such a huge amount of gratitude to the universe for having new friends. Then, as I'm prone to do, I began to lament. I worried about how much time we've already missed. Why didn't we meet sooner? How could we have let this time lapse?
Think of all of the fun things our families could do together!
I'm just so thankful that we met when we did.
And I'm thankful that it didn't take a whole life.

Santa and the Dominant Culture

An Open Letter for People Who Stop My Daughter In The Grocery Store and Ask Her If She's Excited For Santa:

First of all, nice to meet you. Up until five seconds ago we were complete strangers. I'm sure if it were any other season other than Christmas you'd avoid my friendly glance and most likely would not return my greeting. But now that you're here, in our faces, spreading your good cheer, asking Dew Drop repeatedly, "Are you ready for Santa?" I guess there's no way to avoid you and all of your holiday weirdness.

When Dew Drop looks at you like you are crazy she is right. We don't celebrate Christmas the way you do. She has no idea who you're talking about when you talk about Santa. Sure, she's seen the image of the fat man wearing a red suit, but she calls him The Christmas Boy. It's no accident that she doesn't know about Santa- we're protecting her from mass consumer culture with all of our might. She doesn't see any advertising, and that's no easy task. We work hard at it.

Has it ever, in a million years, occurred to you that not everyone is just like you? That people have their own belief systems- and that those belief systems are just as important to them as yours are to you? That those belief systems were chosen with thought and care, and that they're sacred? And that by ignoring those belief systems you are fundamentally disrespecting that person and everything that's important to them?

When I try to step in to the conversation you're having with my daughter about Santa, to try to give you a grownup wink that we're not celebrating the holiday the way you do (wink wink nod nod), you ignore me. I try to change the subject or to politely dodge your Santa questions on Dew Drop's behalf, then you pull out of your hat what you think is the one thing that every child will respond to:

"Are you being good for Santa?"

So you've resorted to scare tactics? That's why you shove Santa down our throats? To hope that with the thought of some weird old fat man watching over our every deed we'll follow directions and do what we're told? And what if we don't? Then no plastic toys? That's just sick. Ho ho ho.

I'm protecting my daughter from the idea that gigantic blow up Santas in your yard are something to value. Those inflatable Santas were all most likely made in China by people who probably have no idea who Santa is let alone revere him, and who work long hours in sub-human working conditions to make this Very Important Idol even if in the early part of the morning the Santas are sad piles of plastic on your frozen lawn because they were unplugged from their extension cords that connect them like umbilical chords to coal burning power plants.

Imagine, if you will, a world where we all embraced loving our earth with the same gusto as we celebrate Black Friday? If rather than people getting tazered or trampled to death to enter a Wal-Mart they were waiting in long lines at their chance to dismantle a hydro-electric dam so that a river may run free? Or what if the day after Thanksgiving was the day we woke up at midnight to sort out the recyclables at our local landfill- work that can only reliably be done by hand? What if we were all chomping at the bit to take down barbed wire fencing to create greenways for wildlife? What if?

One more thing? Spare me the grinch shit. What a tool to enforce your view of reality and your dominant culture! It reminds me of "If you're not with us then you're against us." It's just completely wrong and I resent being forced into some kind of Grinch role. I'm no Grinch. I bet I've given more to charity in the last year than you have- and donated my time volunteering in my community while you were out shopping buying a bunch of shit destined for the landfill. So who's the Grinch now, baby?

Sincerely,

Mother of Dew Drop,
creek walker
cloud admirer
soil builder
defender of what I hold dear.

The Lost Planet Cinema Presents: Wise Why's

This is our version of a kids' educational cartoon.
Imagine this video as a cartoon segment on Sesame Street
or
Yo Gabba Gabba.
That was the inspiration
anyway.
(Ironic
since Dew Drop has refused any
cartoons
for
months
now.)

4 Haiku About Waiting

Sixteen months waiting-
Firewood shed overflows.
Get me out of here.






Four hands now to count

Clouds take form then float away-

Winter not yet here.






I suck at waiting
vitamin D seems to help
though sun is best







Winter coming on
it could happen anytime now
snow or referral

A Family Who Rocks Together Stacks Rocks Together

Portrait of the Artist as a rock stacker.

Even when you think the rock stack is finished, you can always fit another rock. There's always more balance to be found.

Walking from one stack to another. There are many stacks now, but not nearly enough.

The artist says the biggest rock stack has at least a ton of rocks in it if we were to weigh it. The biggest cairn was built by Babba and his friend, Matt Dowdy, when Mama and Dew Drop were away on their October girls' weekend. It's the way male bonding happens when both builders are artists with a lot of brute strength and some beer.

Lest you think there is no color in this winter world of sticks that look like bones. Behold the vibrancy!

It's always a good idea to stop and shake it while you're working.

The artist's apprentice.

This is a good time to mention that I cried laughing while taking these pictures. Here is my daughter standing in the creek working so diligently on collecting rocks for the sculptures while wearing zebra boots. And here is my husband, randomly digging with a shovel in the winter sun to route the creek so that the water swirls around the rock stacks just so. My husband is dressed in what I call His French Cheesemaker's Outfit- it looks like he lives in the French countryside and is the farmer of some special breed of cattle I've never heard of that is known for it's role in making the most delectable, earthy cheese that I can't pronounce.
Is this my life or am I dreaming?

The creek wiggles and winds down through the holler with the rock stacks. I'm a sucker for the harsh shadows and reflections this time of year and the sound the water makes as it trickles
on down to where it meets the big river. This is one big collaboration with nature- these rock stacks and water continue on
even when we're not present
and
when we're not looking.

Stop and pet the hound dog.


Stop and kiss the apprentice.




A kiss for Babba, Rock Stacking Extraordinaire.

Happiness rules. So does making art in nature-together, as a family.

S is for.....

R is for?