Why  I hate being a woman. 

Most of the time, I love being a woman. 
I like wearing pretty dresses, having the option to wear makeup without sideways glances. I love being surrounded by a bevy of female friends and being part of the secret club. 
But really, sometimes I hate being a woman. Mostly this happens when my body decides to define the apex of its womanhood and predict a blood rites exorcism on my body. In the throes of it, my body seizing in waves of pain and nausea, my fingers raking my legs to send pain signals from any other part of my body, I feel feral. 
I feel one thousand generations of my own women screaming through me. Generations of pain and love and hormones. I understand then, how animal I am. How any belief otherwise is just our way of lying to ourselves. I remember my sister in the throes of labor pains rocking and moaning. More animal than any notion of dinner parties and fancy cars. We can’t gloss over this part of ourselves. It is the only way we come in to existence: sex, pain, blood. Yet under it all is this feeling of euphoria. Because there is power in it. No matter how many things man can design. No matter the number of bombs we make, lives we take. No matter the advances in science and technology for better or for worse they can’t design the most infinitely powerful force on the face of the eArth- the uterus. 
It is no wonder laws written by man seek to control this power and this most sacred right of women. It is no wonder many men would want us to feel dirty and freakish for this blood rite. “I don’t trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn’t die.” 
It took God supposedly seven days to build the universe. 
It took seven dwarves to save Snow White. 
There are seven colors in the rainbow
7 virtues and seven deadly sins.  

 

Why  I hate being a woman. 

Gertrude Loved Roses

Antique_Pink_Rose

“What would I do if…”

It’s a question I ask myself a lot while falling asleep late at night. A way for me to imagine stories, conversations, or situations.  I’ve done it since a small child and it is one of the fastest ways for me to fall asleep….or spend hours awake thinking.

Last night I thought to myself, “What would I do if I had a chance to talk to Oprah?”

I would have tea in a sun room with her, Holy Basil for me, Rooibos for her.  I would ask her what flowers she likes and tell her about how my grandmother, who rarely made a trip except to go to church and the library, kept antique roses that when in bloom smelled of love and liquid sensuality.  I always thought it was the one way she could make the oppressive smell of cow manure that clung to the old family dairy; clung on her like old dreams.  The roses caught her attention, the smell lifting her out of the vail of depression that plagued her life, and filling her, saying gently, “Drink of My Cup.” Continue reading “Gertrude Loved Roses”

Gertrude Loved Roses

The Tactful Tourist

This accurately sums up my feeling on tourists and living on Kauai….It is a challenging relationship, at best. And, at worst a fledgling disaster. I like the comment from one of the readers “Be a traveler, not a tourist”

The Road Less Graveled

I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

I’ve been working on writing about my favorite place in the world: Kaua’i. In a way, it is a simple essay to write; the scenery is gorgeous, adventures prolific and the cultural history is extremely interesting.

Words fail me.

This place means so much to me that I find it indescribable. The blend of beauty, power and the socio-economic struggles of this place make it more complex than describing the dysfunctionality of your own family lineage, with a touch of racism and politics on the side. There is so much more than meets the eye.

There’s no doubt about it; Kaua’i is beautiful. Over a million visitors pour into the airports of the Garden Isle each year, mostly congregating to areas such as Po’ipu and Princeville. They drive up to Koke’e to visit the Kalalau lookout, perhaps hike to Hanakapi’ai beach

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The Tactful Tourist

#ColdWeatherKauai Lime Chicken Coconut Soup

This is the only moment this winter that I’ll say that I’m cold.  Granted, i’ve had the chills all day and the temperature HAS lingered at 61 (which will make my Family and Alaska friends weep at the thought), but I’m still cold, and our house was designed to maximize keeping itself cool, not warm, so I’ve been layering all day and stewing on a delicious recipe to fill my gullet.  I’m not going to sugar coat it, this recipe got desperate at times, but we made it to the end.  I’ll say that my refrigerator, not me, gave birth to this Recipe I call:

 #ColdWeatherKauai Lime Chicken Coconut Soup Continue reading “#ColdWeatherKauai Lime Chicken Coconut Soup”

#ColdWeatherKauai Lime Chicken Coconut Soup

It’s Alive! How to Sprout Lentils.

How to Sprout LentilsI’ll admit it, I’ve been a skeptic about the whole sprouting movement (editor’s note: Michael Miller, my life partner and annoyingly incessant fact checker would like me to point out that this really isn’t a movement, but a long standing food tradition more recently brought back by the the Raw Food Movement).  All that changed since wintering in Kauai and needing to adjust to a more vegetarian lifestyle to make up for soaring meat prices and a tight food budget.  The result: lots and lots of beans.  I feel I’ve perfected the crock pot bean making from dried beans.  Getting down my soaking and cooking times for all of those dried beans that come in the thin plastic bags.  While my recipes for red beans and rice has been a crowd pleaser (for the crowd of one- Michael Miller), I’ve found that to many nights of intense bean eating can leave one feeling like a balloon in a  thunderstorm (i.e. out-gunned and out-matched…or needing a match, if you get my drift). Continue reading “It’s Alive! How to Sprout Lentils.”

It’s Alive! How to Sprout Lentils.

A relationship with Alaska. 

1653830_10101099039502845_4334828806959379949_nAt 19 I met her tantalizing views, traversed her trails eagerly like a first love, at first cautiously and then with fearless abandon. I ate from her rich belly: berries, salmon, moose, carrots. I smelled her sweet summer mornings, spruce mixed with cold earth. The gin and tonic for my soul.
But it was summertime and the remoteness of a ranger station in slana, young love and endless summer nights enchanted me and lulled me.

Continue reading “A relationship with Alaska. “

A relationship with Alaska.