Year Ends Goals

Every year, we set goals on Solstice evening—and then evaluate what we learned and accomplished this year.  Some years are more impressive than others. This was a good year; I had achievable, practical goals, and I wrote them in the front of my notebook so that I remembered what they were through the year.  What a concept!

Goal One: Common Good Knitting. AKA working my way through the backlog of yarn in the closet. I figured that if I knit twelve projects from the big green bag, it would shrink significantly. It did. I made two sweater vests, which took up the bulk of the yarn, as well as hats, mittens, socks, and several potholders.  I also sorted out about ten skeins that I was never going to use and sent them onto other homes. The bag is not empty, but it is much smaller.

Goal Two: Track the solar panels and the garden weekly. I also accomplished this one. Mark created a little spreadsheet to track production and usage every week and we posted it as well. I had no idea, really, what an impact a cloudy day can have on your year’s production! However, we should just break even in March, when the solar cycle begins again. We are now neutral in electrical use.  The garden records are a little more spotty because I lost track of the week of the year several times.  It was still better than last year.

Goal Three:  No big projects.  We were very successful here. No projects beyond rebuilding three garden beds in March happened this year. This means we still do not have solid benches for the picnic table.

Goal Four: Greens this winter. I am getting there. There’s a pizza’s worth of arugula and a few kale leaves out there right now, along with some solid old collards which we will eat with Black Eyed Peas on New Year’s Day. There are also a couple of small cabbages which show some serious frost damage.  There’s still a lot of work to do on this goal, like getting the January King cabbages planted earlier so that they have some heft going into the fall. Next year.

Next year’s goals?

1.       Work life balance—I’ve got a busy year ahead.

2.       Cabbage at Candlemas, 2018.

3.       Deal with: couch, woodstove, benches, windows, and greenhouse.

4.       Continue working with the season extenders, like my beautiful hoops.

And, yes, they are written in the front of my notebook.

Yule preperations

                The world called a snow day for us today, although, really, in the Willamette Valley it’s more like an ice and sleet day. Not much accumulation, but really bad roads. Not what you want a bunch of sixteen year olds driving on at seven thirty in the morning. When school is cancelled, Mark stays home, too. He was not raised in the lands of ice and snow and cannot drive in it.  We are taking the day to prepare for Yule, that pause in our lives that happens between the beginning of Winter Break and Twelfth Night.

                First, we cleaned the house and washed mountains of laundry, some of which went through the driers down the road at the Laundromat. Clean sheets. We even got the blankets aired before the sleet started.  I vacuumed dust bunnies from the cozy room while Mark purged the fridge. We set up the platform for the tree, brought down the boxes, and arranged the mantelpiece. I fixed the outdoor lights.  Mark chopped up some wood. We even bought the tree in full daylight, carried it home, and put it in the basement to melt and dry. Mark packed and shipped the presents to have to travel to Tennessee. Cards are in the mail. We need to make a cake, some cookies, and some stolen, but those are later, more pleasing, projects. The work is done.

                Tomorrow, when school is done, Yule begins. We will take long walks in the woods every day. Being outside, even in our dim northern light, makes a huge difference in our health and mood. We will have fires at night, English muffins for tea, and hearty soups for dinner. We will sleep until the sun comes up around eight, buried in piles of blankets, with Lucy stretched out beside me, head on my pillow. We will read, write, stare into space. Mark will work probability problems, his latest obsession. The world will pause. Nothing is growing—there is no light. Deep down in the dark, though, roots dig deep. In space, the planet shifts and turns towards the sun. When Yule is over, the light will be coming back.

Pumpkin Scones

2c of flour

1 c oats

1 T of sugar

1 T BP

1 t cinnamon

1 t nutmeg

1 t ginger

6 T butter

3/4 c mashed pumpkin

2  T milk

1 egg

Mix dry. Crumble butter in. Add wet. Knead lightly. Roll into a circle and cut into wedges. Bake in 400 degree oven until done. 

Winter Days

Cold rain falls, almost sleet, almost snow. Bare branches trace the sky.  The clouds have settled over the hills; the valley is enclosed in winter.  Across the street, in early morning, one house glows from one string of Christmas bulbs along the roofline. A bicyclist hunches against the damp and pedals quickly down the street.  Inside, beans reach for the light against the glass panes, spider plants tumble off of the light shelf, strings of white fairy lights brighten the seats near the chilly windows.  The Christmas cactus blooms. Art covers the walls. Students make tea, clutch the warm mugs in their hands.  We gather together to read, to write, to think, to share ideas.

It’s been a busy week. I’ve been to three meetings related to the coming council season, done some CEA work, sent a few emails about the political scene. At the same time, every time I fall behind on sleep, the cold that settled in my sinuses a month ago sends my head spinning;  I spent half of the freezing rain day on the couch, knitting my final stash- reducing project for the year, trying to steady my inner ears.  This time of year is all about looking both ways, trying to embrace the change of season, the moving into the dark times, while not just hiding out for two months.

On Saturday, the sun came out for the morning. I rose at six thirty to roll out the Lucia Day buns while Mark made quarts of cocoa. We gathered oranges, a sheet of still warm rolls, and our heavy sweater to head out to Bald Hill. Light sparkled on the twigs and the grass as we walked towards the open framed barn. For once, the candle remained lit, a tiny light against the dawn. We hug mugs of cocoa, munch Lucia Day buns, watch the dog chase a stick, talk quietly. After an hour, we wander towards the woods, climb the hills, bask in the sun at the top. We can see the entire valley below. So lovely. A few people peel oranges, bright in the morning sun. The sun will come back again.

Twenty One Days of Action

                On Halloween, I pulled a Tarot card to see what the next six weeks would bring: The World, reversed. It is usually a joyous card and, even reversed, the worst translation of it is “stagnation.”  A few days later, the election hit, Mark’s cold lodged in my sinuses, and I stagnated.  The weather did not help; it has been a remarkably dark and wet autumn. All I wanted to do was go to work (it is easier, as a teacher, to power through work rather than dealing with the repercussions), come home, nap, and sit by a fire with a cat. Stagnate.

                About a week ago, I woke up and looked around. It was still raining, but I went for a walk. I can’t stagnate forever, I told myself. I have council trainings to attend, people to talk with, cookies to bake, backyards to clean up….and an election to react to. The next day, Jill Stein announced a recount effort.  I know it will not change the outcome, but action makes us all feel better. To paraphrase T.H. White in The Once and Future King the best thing to do when you are feeling sad is to learn something—or do something. There are about 21 days to the Solstice, when the world tips towards the light once more, I thought. I will take some small political action every day for 21 days.

                What counts? Clearly, any day I have council training or meeting I have met the requirement. Small donations count. Thank you letters count (we love our national Representative, Peter Defazio), emails of concern about political appointments count. Even a serious conversation with someone I do not usually talk politics with could count. What does not count? Signing an on-line petition. Ranting on social media. Talking with Mark.  Anything I would do any day.

                Action so far:

·         Donated to the recount

·         Emailed the president about Standing Rock—and the governor of North Dakota

·         Council training on legal issues

·         Thank you note to Defazio

·         CEA work at school

·         Pre- council meeting

·         Email Oregon senators about the proposed Secretary of Education

I will say, it is still rainy and cold outside. The fire and a cat still look tempting. I am still massaging my forehead to move the stagnated fluids along. But I am moving. Taking small actions every day has made me feel better about the future. And then, there is Corvallis—where women will be the majority on city council for the first time.