Skip to content

these are the good old days

2018 May 3
by Rachel Turiel

Sorry – couldn’t help myself on this one.

We are coming into the seasonal festival that is blooming fruit trees. I am mesmerized from our upstairs windows, mesmerized from on the ground in the garden, mesmerized on the hiking trails above town looking down at the canopies of blossomy fireworks. Also, I’m just a little challenged by the part where two seconds after the whole town has gone up in a blaze of pink, spring is over. It’s like the paradox of life expressed in a peach tree, or a season. Already, after a recent rain storm, the gutters are filled with the pink confetti of downed blossoms.

Francis Weller says “Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close.”

I mean, I’m not sure he was referring to fruit trees, but still, this is helpful.

Because even the kids growing and changing contains loss. Remember when the kids were little and they lived in our world of gardening and butchering animals and traipsing off to the forest? I think now we’re living in their world of school events and weekend soccer games and opinions about shoe styles.

My new favorite bumper sticker is: “These are the good old days.” These days. How could this not be true? I can get all drunk on nostalgia, on the memories of fat toddler Rosie who couldn’t sustain ill will towards anyone for more than 30 seconds. But, there is a ten year old girl who’s here right now, who wants me to check out her turquoise toenails, her ukulele song, her merengue dance skills. Who wants to know that she matters and is seen and appreciated. Every night we say our thankfuls before eating and  Dan often mentions being thankful just to all be here at the table together, which about covers it (even as it includes someone’s onion phobia and someone else so eager to communicate while eating it presents a small choking hazard).

This ten year old in these good old days.

Also, Col shot an invasive dove with his BB gun, skinned and gutted it, and ate that baby for breakfast, juice dripping down his chin like a goddamed boy-king.

The elderberry trees, grape vine and hops are all slithering out of the soil, turning the world green like magic. I like to walk around the garden, not doing any actual work, just taking in all the emergence. The kids no longer follow me around the garden wanting to plant ten pea seeds in one square inch or water a plant to its death. The other day, I was driving Col to a friends house and like a detached, friendly uncle he asked, “So, what’ve you got going in the garden this year?”

I was planning to announce my upcoming nonviolent communication classes here but apparently it takes about a month to write a new post and they all filled. I do have one spot open in my Tuesday evening June/July class. Details here. I’m also doing private NVC consults and enjoying them so much. If this appeals to you, contact me.

I found this book serendipitously in our Free Little Library and loved the descriptions of tidal life, adolescent boyhood, the strange and dulling mask of adulthood. It actually put me in a bit of a panic that there are likely many more excellent books that I might just never meet up with. And the kids and I just finished the first book in this series, which was absolutely delightful.

Other signs of the coming of spring:


Me to Dan: How long will you be out here working on that elk hide?

Dan: Probably the rest of my life.

not pictured: a nascent adolescent boy getting ready to leave for a week at the Grand Canyon and Phoenix (for a study in contrasts?) under the guise of school. Will he eat any vegetables? Will he properly hydrate?

not pictured: Rose’s turquoise toenails poking out of brand new sandals her friend Iris gave her. You try telling Rose that true happiness doesn’t come from things.

I am continuing to get my Mediterranean tahini fix with this tahini sauce. We use it as salad dressing (add a splash of vinegar), as a dip, to ladle over steamed veggies. It’s perfectly creamy and nutty.

Just in case you needed a little more fat and protein with your fat and protein.

Tahini Sauce

Makes 2 cups. Blend the following:

1 cup water

1/2 cup tahini

1/2 cup lemon or juice of one medium sized lemon

1 minced garlic clove

tsp salt

sprinkle of paprika (optional)

Thank you for all your kindness and encouragement on my last post. I really enjoyed reading your comments.

Send news from your corner of the world. What are you reading? What are you eating? How do you use tahini?

Love,

Rachel



5 Responses leave one →
  1. Mollie permalink
    May 3, 2018

    Invasive dove tastes like…chicken?

  2. Ellie permalink
    May 4, 2018

    Col eating the dove–that’s one priceless image!
    I just finished reading Americanah and absolutely loved it. Now enjoying Asymmetry by Lisa Halliday.

  3. May 4, 2018

    Favorite paragraph:

    The elderberry trees, grape vine and hops are all slithering out of the soil, turning the world green like magic. I like to walk around the garden, not doing any actual work, just taking in all the emergence. The kids no longer follow me around the garden wanting to plant ten pea seeds in one square inch or water a plant to its death. The other day, I was driving Col to a friends house and like a detached, friendly uncle he asked, “So, what’ve you got going in the garden this year?”

    I like this space so much.

    • May 7, 2018

      Yes – me too! Favourite paragraph, favourite line ‘like a detached friendly uncle’ and one of my favourite spaces… thank you for writing.

    • M moon permalink
      May 18, 2018

      I too love this without reservation. I want to read your book.

      I also find myself just wandering the garden in wonder and nibbling.

      Reading the war of art by Steven pressfield.
      Eating well grain free strawberry shortcake.
      We eat tahini on most things. :) especially tomatoey things.

Leave a Reply

Note: You can use basic XHTML in your comments. Your email address will never be published.

Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS