The point at which I had just about lost my patience with the suburbs was about the same time I reached for “Last Child in the Woods” by Richard Louv.  Starting to read the book and listening to Richard Louv speak could not have happened at a better time.

When we moved from the mountains to the suburbs I thought it would be fine.  I figured we would continue our routine of outdoor adventures; they would just be a little farther from our home.  Well, by the time Seth goes for three days of Mountain school, and mobile time with dad he is fairly adventured out.  When he spends time here at the house with me all he wants to do is relax, play and stay out of the car!

In the mean time I am suffering from severe nature deficit disorder (I only get to go to Mountain school one day a week .  When we lived in the mountains all I had to do was walk out the door for a healing breath of fresh air.  The solace of  forest and field was was readily available all the time.  In Mountain View (there is no view of mountains from our house) I walk out the door and am instantly bombarded with the roar of three different highways.  Not to mention the distinct traffic noise from the busy street that borders our fence.  The sky is smoggy, and although this lot is almost an acre of space, and there are some amazing old oaks and other trees in the yard, there is little sense of wilderness.

Since I am unable to get out and adventure with Seth as much as I’d like, I’ve had to find a compromise.  I had to find an outdoor destination in the yard that could pinch hit as “wilderness”.  We have several outdoor destinations in our yard, the first and most obvious being the “kid ghetto”.  This is the area of the yard that houses the play structure, sand box, playhouse and dirt pile, all littered in plastic toys and vehicles, in various states of decay.  The kids love it, but it looks like Target meets the dump covered in sidewalk chalk.  The second destination is the vegetable garden.  This is a magical place, but it is also a working place, a place where Seth is a caretaker, and like it or not is surrounded by thinking and “structure”.  There are several tween places that we use but don’t necessarily inhabit, like the fairy garden or the tree forts (adults are not allowed in the overgrown shrubs that serve as “base”).  However, there is one wild place in the yard that fit the bill to a t, that place is the Fairy Kitchen.

The Fairy Kitchen was aptly named by Lily.  After our egg hunt last spring Lily spent at least an hour playing by herself on a patch of Bermuda grass, a little spit of quazi lawn wedged between some Lamb’s Tongue and an abandoned rock garden.  Lily plopped down in perhaps the most interesting spot in the yard and started playing house.  When Geoff asked her what she was doing she explained that she was in “the Fairy Kitchen”.

Since it’s naming, the Fairy Kitchen has been a place, but not a destination.  I realized I had to change this, so I took an active role in playing there myself.  I set out little metal “kitchen” objects and began to set up house.  Seth soon caught on, and now we have Fairy Kitchen fever!  We go out there at least once a day.  At first it was me suggesting we spend time there, but now Seth initiates visits himself.  He seems to sense when I get fussy or distracted in the house and marches us out to the Fairy Kitchen.  If we are there and I am preoccupied with something else, he makes me stay in the kitchen and work it out.  He obviously senses that the Fairy Kitchen is a meditative place for me and that he should see to it that I self medicate wither I like it or not.

The thing I like about the Fairy Kitchen is that it always leads to something exciting.  After we both putz around in the kitchen for a while we get good ideas.  99% of the time the ideas are outdoor related.  It is almost as if spending time in the Fairy Kitchen is a “practice” of sorts.  Something that we do to connect to nature, gather our wits and focus on one another.  Rearing a child seems to involve lots of daily practice that fosters patience and reveals joy.  I’m sure it’s the same for Seth, because growing up is not an easy job.  My memories of growing up were always difficult between 4 walls and blissful without.

Richard Louv says that nature is a gift that if given to a child may allow the child to do something profound for the world in return.  It occurred to me early on in our Fairy Kitchen explorations that a gift of nature was given to me.  I was often left with my Grandmother Marge who lived on the loveliest hillside on the Stanford Campus.  My memories of these visits are full of wonder and magic.  She let me play anywhere I wanted in the meandering gardens.  She taught me how to suck nectar from the Vinca blossoms,  pick geranium flowers, entice a sleeping cat into play and differentiate between jays.  Grandma Marge was even kind enough to let me play house in her amazing succulent garden that lined the borders of the stairs to her front door.  She taught me how to pick just one leaf at a time and replant it somewhere else to make a new plant – such a simple action, but such a profound gift.

I’m sure I have returned her gift to the world at large, and will continue to do so for my entire life.  However, my job right now is to give the gift of intimacy with nature to my son.  We are spending time in The Fairy Kitchen to center ourselves, “checking in” with the earth every day.  Stopping and taking the time to make sense of our intentions for the day, the week and the rest of our lives.

On Tuesday we hosted the ALS Association Bay Area Chapter fund raising luncheon.  This event sort of snuck up on our little household.  We only collectively realized this was actually happening a week before.  The fairy garden was awash in dry Bishop’s Lace and the “lawn” was a bit frayed around the edges.  The party was a good excuse for us to overhaul the untended spots.  Mattie forked up the dough, and we bedecked the fairy garden in brand new perennials; Chocolate Cosmos, Dianthus and Coreopsis,  to name a few.  Even the abandoned succulent garden got a face lift.

I thought before hand that I would be fine with this event.  Seth unearthed his hoard, and bedecked the garden in fairy stones.  He wore his shirt that I painted with Grandma Belle when I was six.  We both gave our little speech about how mom was an artist, and her legacy lives on in us.  However, when it was time to leave for the park I felt relieved.

I don’t seem to relate my mother’s ALS experience and death with her.  I remember and cherish all my memories of her, but when forced to confront ALS I skirt the issue.  I can’t even get my brain to concentrate on it.  When you tell people that you mother died of ALS, you might as well have turned a search light on a deer.  ALS is currently an incurable disease with only one outcome.  As humans we survive by not dwelling on the unpleasant and unfixable.  It is easy to be a cheerleader for cancer because lots of people survive it.  No one survives ALS.  That said, I really admire the staff of the ALS Association.  I think they have one of the hardest jobs/life experiences, yet they were all so confident and professional.

Although the event was filled with faces and people, I couldn’t help but notice the empty chairs.  Every time I noticed an empty chair I envisioned my mother sitting in it.  I saw her reading, cutting with scissors, dialing a telephone.  I saw her doing all the subtle quiet activities that make up most of our lives.  The nature of ALS is subtle.  Although each transitional stage of ALS has it’s drama, the disease forces subtlety on everyone.  Days become slow and quiet, and those giving care are forced to listen more closely for the slightest movement that signals a need of their loved one.

Our garden rejuvenation, although cheery reminded me nothing of ALS.  I left feeling that our efforts had no connection to the event.  I have no regrets, I’m sure that everyone thought it looked lovely.  However, next year I will have a much better idea of how to reconnect with my experience of ALS.

MANGO

Mango was the most popular dog ever.  We would walk down the street and everyone would bend down to pet her.  Rarely did people ask, “Is your dog friendly?”  They intuitively knew she was.  Mango’s pure and simple gift was transference.  If you had a care, a woe, tension, obsession, mania, all you had to do was pet Mango.  Whatever energy you did not need she would gladly take off your hands, and promptly forget.  Mango was the “pet and forget” dog.  The kind of dog who makes being human bearable.  I will always love her for that.  I did the petting/forgiving, she did the forgetting and together we moved toward bliss.

NAMES

Before I say more about Mango I must first list her names and their meanings.

Mango – Mango came to us as Margo.  This seemed a little too “human” and serious to me so I called her Mango.

Mangopie – Her full name was inspired by a pie baked by Leala and Tyler and their other friends on the Hali Mano Commune on Maui.  The primary ingredients of the pie were fresh mangos from the garden, and a coconut that they harvested and shredded right there in front of me.  I knew at the time I would probably never taste such a wonderful flavor again, and like Mango the dog it was the best food I have ever eaten.

Margo – Jim always called her Margo.  Out of respect I never asked him to call her Mango because they had their own relationship and she loved/responded to him regardless of which name he called her by.

Moo Cow – Mango made a funny noise somewhere between a whimper and a grunt that sounded like a cow mooing at a rather high pitch.

Mooi – Partly because she “mooed” but mostly because it means beautiful in Dutch.

COMPANIONSHIP

Mango went everywhere with me, in the car, on planes, on vacations to the office.  However, she was not really “my dog”, Mango was everybody’s dog.  She was a devoted companion to me, along with everyone else in our lives.  She relished days and weeks spent at Kim and Linda’s, nothing like a schedule of pampering and love.  Nights spent in Maggie and Jeff’s walk in closet, oh the soft carpet and girl cave of it all.  Days spent following the sun spot in Amit’s office, perhaps the only dog trusted to sit/sleep in on critical sales calls. And last but not least, her throne on the sofa at the center of Grandpa and Mattie’s life, always ready to receive visitors in her tummy scratching office.

Mango was so relaxed with other people that I sometimes wondered if she was indeed supposed to have been their dog.  One year on our way out of Mono at the end of a camping trip we had to return to the campsite because we forgot Mango.  Mango rarely missed an opportunity to hop in the truck and wait, especially when she saw us packing our camping gear.  We returned to the campsite to find her asleep in the sun at the camp next door.  She had simply taken up with the neighbors and missed our departure entirely.  On her final trip to Mono, Mango spent her free time idly sitting in the dustiest sunniest spot where the campsite road meets the trail to Doris Lake.  There she was perfectly positioned so as not to miss anyone coming or going.  She greeted them all with her tell tale, sitting dust wag and joyous smile – oh here let me bring you this ratty pine cone hull, it looks like you need a “pick me up”.

Kids loved Mango, and Mango loved kids.  There was something about Mango’s ear to body proportion and willingness to be insanely silly that attracted the little ones in droves.  From an early age Mango was trained to be a kid dog.  Martina spent many and hour dragging Mango around on a leash, bedecked in dress-ups and “jewels”.  Mango learned how not to snap when squeezed a little too tight, and how to endure 12 pairs of hands “petting” you at the same time.  Her early training was a small price to pay for the lifelong adoration that she received from almost every kid that passed her way.  They doted on her, and she doted on them – an ever giving cycle of the purest happy energy.

SLEEP

Mango was a hilarious burrower.  Many a morning I would roll out of bed, brush my teeth, dawn running attire and yell for Mango.  As I grabbed leashes I’d hear her “mooing”.  Inevitably she would be stuck at the bottom of a comforter cover, a gyrating lump of purple flannel trying to nudge free from a well sewn corner.

Mango was an excellent co sleeper.  All those years on the sleeping porch I stayed cozy with Mango snuggled next to my tummy and Blue at my feet.  Mango and Seth snuggled from his first moment, primarily due to the fact that he was in my tummy and, well that was where Mango slept.  Mango never relinquished her tummy spot, she served as a fabulous body pillow, snored incessantly and never complained a bit.   A few weeks after Seth was born I realized there was no point in trying to pry Mango from his side, because she felt compelled to guard him whenever I was or was not around.  Maybe if Seth had slept in a crib it would have been different, but we slept on mattresses on the floor.  The minute Seth was left alone to nap she would hop up and settle in next to him.  Guarding, or if all was well (which was usually the case) snoozing.  This went on at night too.  I would shoo Mango to the foot of the bed when I was awake, but every time I slept she would burrow back to Seth’s side.  When Seth hit the 20 lb mark Mango lost interest, I think she figured he could fend for himself seeing as he then weighed as much as she did.

The introduction of a small child changed Mango profoundly.  She abandoned the bed and made her own sleeping space.  When we moved into the white house she was thrilled.  Here she had her own room!  She loved it, the floor was carpeted, and the door could be locked such that Seth and his barrage of flying toys would not disturb her.  Mango had “arrived” and made no bones about flaunting her good fortune.  I missed her when we slept upstairs, but it was more important for her to be happy, so we let her be.

DUST

Mango’s official breed was “Chidaquador” –  One half Chiwawa/Daschund, the other half Labrador surprise.

Being one quarter Chiwawa Mango loved dust.  She was content to sit all day in the hottest, dustiest spot panting, eyes barely open looking very zen and absorbing the world around her.  When we lived in the cabin she dust bathed on the path between the garden and the field.  At the white house she had several dust baths that she cycled through during the day, ambling from one to the other every few hours like clockwork.  At grandpa’s she had it all.  The dust bowl right outside the back porch served as command center of the dog universe.  Mango could lounge all day as people came and went, rousing only to bark at passing dogs or to drink the sweet nectar found in the shallow dishes under potted plants (yuck).  Her final resting place is in the hottest dustiest spot of all.  Seth unknowingly, but happily surrendered his “private digging area” to Mango.  After we returned from the vet I wrapped Mango in her beloved David Lee Roth bed and let her soak up the sun for a good while before we buried her.  It felt right to put her to rest with hot fur and dirt everywhere, just the way she liked it.  She is buried to the left of the stairs under the kitchen windows where she will have lots of company.  Her new job is to grow Seth’s “birth lemon tree” that we planted over her.  I look forward to many a beer with a slice of lemon, courtesy of Mango the party dog.

PARTY

Mango was the life of every party.  Upon arrival, she was always the first to hop out of the car, wagging her tail furiously and heading for the door.  She would enter and people would scream “MANGO”.  I loved this, because Mango simply made people happy.   She always had a reason to celebrate with a tail wag that approached levitation, a joyful grin and her ears parted, ready for a good scritch.  If you were not paying her the proper attention she would “moo” and paw your pants leg.  This never seemed to bother even the most stayed adult, and people were thrilled by the interruption, as if Mango were in the right and it was they who had neglected their duty.

Mango was famous – it’s true.  I swear everyone in a one mile radius of our office on Polk and Jackson knew Mango’s name.  One day we were walking down Polk Street.  I was talking on the phone and Mango was “checking her email”.  Someone behind us started making really impressive cartoon like dog noises to get Mango’s attention, and she replied vigorously.  I was engrossed in my call, and only stopped to look when the extend-a-leash halted me.  Sure enough Mango was having a conversation with Robin Williams.  He saw me, grinned and froze.  I said, “Look Mango, someone more famous than you.”  Robin laughed and squirmed into the passenger side of a waiting car.  I was never surprised that this happened; a testament to Mango’s true star quality.

Mango was a rock star.  I always thought of her as the Madonna of dogs, charismatic yet tough as nails, demure yet ruthless in the pursuit of pleasure.  Mango taught me to be bossy, that’s how things get done!  Demand that people let you love them, and let them love you in return. She taught me not to worry so much about what people think, but to go out and tell them what I think.  Mango went outside and barked because it felt good!  Mango lived a full life, even with a body and lungs packed with cancer.  It was not until she refused a jog last Friday that anyone really realized something was wrong.  How great that she only spent one week of her life dying and the rest of it living.  I like to think Mango has found her “La Isla Bonita”, but really I know she is somewhere on “La Isla Bonita” partying and wagging her tail to the tune of Mambo Number 5, by Lou Bega!

(Substitute your dog’s name anywhere in this chorus.  Please note that Blue, Farley, Alan, Jessie, Ruby and all of Mango’s other dog friends were simply left out because their names don’t rhyme quite as well, but we don’t love them any less)

Chorus:
A little bit of Millie in my life
A little bit of Amber by my side
A little bit of Seti’s all I need
A little bit of Kima’s what I see
A little bit of Brandy in the sun
A little bit of Zoya all night long
A little bit of Madison here I am
A little bit of you makes me your dog

I do all to
fall in love with a dog like Moo
You can’t run and you can’t hide
You and me gonna touch the sky

MANGO Number 5

Baby Boy Brown
10lbs 8oz
21 1/2in long

More pictures to come at Brownbuilt

ADDENDUM

Oscar Charles Brown

“Ozzy”

I am pretty much the last person to join the modern crafting world.  Steph took me to the fancy quilting store in Los Gatos and there is no turning back now!  This is one of the amy butler daisy chain prints.  It’s a perfect accent for my mint chair, and an easy place to rest my eyes and collect my thoughts mid tantrum.

Bertie was kind enough to let me use her amazing quilting studio to whip up my humble pillowcases.  Since I am a little rusty, she gave me some good pointers and introduced me to the miracles of modern sewing.  The whole exercise was incredibly relaxing.  I used to sew all the time, but I got out of practice with the advent of a career and motherhood.

I’m looking forward to a few more projects over the summer.  There is nothing more gratifying than making it yourself.

FAIRIES & PIXIES

THE HUNT

HAPPY SPRING!

PS Don’t forget to tie your shoe laces for the big ressurection party tomorrow!

This morning our patched together house hold got up early and took a field trip to Cliff’s horse stables.  I learned how to hitch the trailer which Mattie pointed out is a transfer of family information that far surpasses any other information that Charlie could possibly impart (such as genealogy).  We all piled in the one SUV shared by the entire extended family and headed to the last open space in the city of San Jose.  Cliff bless his heart loaded the trailer with his lovingly turned year old composted manure, and taught me how to back up a trailer.

At about the same time Chris was in the throws of labor.  Elyse was born at 11:35 am.  These broad leaves sort of say it all.  This is a common weed growing in the Queen Anne’s lace, but gosh I have never seen leaves to expansive.  There is nothing like another new cousin to welcome in the spring.  We are rich in newborns – a rough position to be in I know.   They are each a blessing, each and every one of them.  Another life that will unravel around us.  Another joy to buoy my heart.

The horses were fantastic.  There are about 50 horses stabled here.  Each one has so much character.  Cliff was showing CJ’s horse to someone.  We learned that if you skritch a horse in the lee of the neck the horse will calm down, because this is where mama horses nibble on their babies.  I’m sure horse people know this, but  we were blinded by first timer wonder.  Cliff is a real cowboy.  The family is getting rid of this horse, black beauty becasue he/she is not comfortable with “roping”.  Not an issue I will have with any of the animals I share my life with, but a pretty valid concern when you are raising cowboys (Cliff has 4 comming up the ranks).

Look at that soft fuzzy nose!

The entrance bridge to the ranch crosses a real creek (I think this is Coyote Creek).  After a good tour of the horses Seth was ready to see the ducks again.  He “operated” the water for a while, then played Pooh Sticks, and eventually settled on surfing his necklace on the rapids.  Nothing like a creek around which one can be a little boy.  Note to self, we must do more time by running water!

Receiving the gift of carefully tended compost focused us for the spring ahead.  There is noting like a load of compost to galvanize everyone in a household to get the garden in order and prepare for the growing season ahead.  Not only does it give us a project to work on together, it brings out the joy in our hearts.  Many thanks to Cliff and his horses!

We spent the afternoon with Violet.  Seth was sweet and curious.  He attended both feeding sessions, and conversed with Judy in a very natural fashion.  He was helpful, fetched things, and relayed messages to uncle Cary in the other room.  Before sleep, Seth usually makes an attempt at last minute conversation with me by asking me, “so mommy, how was your day?”  This time I asked him how his day was.  This was his reply:

“My first favorite thing was the fire escape, my second favorite thing was the basement and my third favorite thing was baby Violet nursing.”

I guess safety comes first, always good to know where your escape routes are.  Provisions come second, it’s manly to haul laundry up and down the stairs, and of course it takes manly strength to shove the quarter sleigh into the dryer.  Nurturing seems to come last, but I am thankful that with Seth it is even a consideration ~ snarf.

Violet was actually awake when we first arrived and looked at us.  I was riveted by her big eyes.  I knew for a long instant she was trying to engage.  She was trying to get acquainted with us.  We were thrilled.

This was my first chance to really get to know Violet.  I found myself reviewing and re reviewing each profile.  Newborns put me in a primal focus zone.  I can’t just hold a newborn, I sense their essence and record what I feel.  It’s fun to see personalities unravel, but profound to see that basic essence permeate a lifespan.  I guess that’s why they call it the soul.  I think a family has a soul too.  Something that happens when offspring arrive.  Cary was waxing scientific/philosophic about how we are interrelated as an organic family, but I see “the circle unbroken” in these three.  The human spirit content.

Welcome to the family Violet.  It strikes me as interesting that this is the card Seth made for Judy and Violet.  It’s such a powerful image with all the energy of birth and not so subtle purple overtones.  I wish I had photos of the onsies that Seth painted for Violet.  He went big on the purple and red.  He pounded the purple laden brush on the white cotton loudly announcing, “Celery will like this”!

My feelings towards her are equally visceral, but perhaps more complete.  This is a girl who will grow to be a woman that I will engage with for my entire life.  Here I am holding a child that I already adore and she has done nothing but be born.  Here I am holding Violet, my niece that I already dote on.  I am all set to watch her, to learn her ways, to experience her view of the world.  The love of kin is inexplicable.  The joy of holding the “new blood” of family is uparalleled.  Violet may be the only female child in this next generation.  Good thing she has a powerful spirit.

Blessings!

ADDENDUM