susanstinson: (Default)
A big pot of black-eyed peas for New Year's, just now getting done, with hot peppers and sweet peppers from my love's garden, onion, copious black pepper, long grained Texas rice, and, not salt pork like my grandfather taught me this year, but italian sausage from my friend James (who made pasta for the first time last night!).

I was raised to eat black-eyed peas on New Year's Day to have enough money in the coming year. And, right now, the beans are tender and the broth is so savory and hot, and I have sweet winter kale to go with it.

May you all have enough in the year to come. Enough, and deep pleasure in it. And attentiveness and generosity, may I, may we all, have plenty of that.
susanstinson: (Default)
Excellent six pm fireworks in the stuttering, sleeting, snow with women I love. A chubby little boy backing off from the banging, overarching lights; and, his probable grandmother leaning toward them, calling out encouragement.

Homemade sourdough bread to sop up the juices from a Portuguese bean sausage stew, with a wilted spinach salad to start and, to finish, molten chocolate cake and cherry cordial from cherries picked from trees at the university. Half a horror movie, awkward sparklers at midnight, and a ride home.

Now, sweep snow from the steps, make black-eyed peas and greens, work.

Wishing you all passionate craft, work that takes you past boredom and frustration into stark winter gardens of heart, mind, conscience, dirt, root crops, weeds, kale staying green past all expectations, and cold, cold, cold snow. Good rest and good effort, both.

New Year

Jan. 1st, 2005 11:06 am
susanstinson: (Default)
Ah, you know, black-eyed peas and turnip greens on the stove, my grandmother's cornbread in the oven, a walk in the cemetery, and, last night, reading things that scared me a little, made me feel like crying, having dancers tell me I'm a dancer, watching a little girl and young women and middle-aged women do martial arts to poetry, still as tough as they want to be, hearing a few good poems, then fireworks !!!! off the parking garage at six pm, since it's dark as all get out anyway, and Indian food and forty-two and champagne with my love and someone else very dear, and someone else less known but kind. Plans to make, facts to face today, but first I better tend to those black-eyed peas.

The most delicious and varied passions to you this year, the most deep and fertile rest, plenty of sky, plenty of effort, and some unexpected or profoundly familiar connections with people who honor you.

And if you happen to get a chance to hear "Goodbye little rock-n-roller," by Marshall Chapman, don't be too cool to cry!
susanstinson: (Default)
I did that planning thing yesterday:

in the next week I will write with pleasure, play and risk three or four days a week
(etc -- I'm just listing one goal for every catagory -- there's a bunch)

in the next month I will revel in full, live mutual relationships

in the next six months I will get behind Venus of Chalk with energy, courage and grace

in the next year I will explore the holy, wicked and human in fiction -- incarnational art!

in the next five years I will keep a live spirit and a sweet, wild inner life

Helps me so much to calm down and do my work to have goals written down. And then I got to have black-eyed peas and spinach, twiced baked homegrown stuffed potatoes, truffles and wine with a game of 42 with people I love -- my idea of heaven on New Year's Day. 42 is a domino game played in Texas, and I grew up playing it with my family (Texans in Colorado) -- it makes me raucous and competitive and fiercely engaged with the people I'm playing it with, and gives me such a feeling of home. Plus, it's the only game I can count on being good at. Whee.


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May 2009



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