8.6.06

The beach is crowded, although it is a little cold and very grey. It is the first time I have heard this west coast surf in several–four?–years. I remember the last time was in Santa Cruz, when Eden was small enough to wear her cherry pajamas. This week, we passed those pajama’s down to our neighbor Luna, who turned three on Wednesday. Eden is eight now. Five years then.

The waves roll in evenly, the seventh of each series breaking frothy and white – large enough to be seen over the sand’s soft rise. The family behind me is of Middle Eastern origin. They speak to each other in their own singsong tones. Only once do I hear an English … {read more…}

You know it’s a bad parenting day when your most luxerious thought is:

“Oh thank God! The babysitter is here and I can do the bookeeping in peace.”

Last night at Monkfish Abbey, Lindell discovered the Holy Grail.

What Eden has been doing this Summer….

A nice shot of the Wolfpup.

Don’t you think Lindell should give me this hat?

I am raising a child who is not my own. We saw each other one day on a common street corner, where the accidental-child lives and where my blood-children descend from the big yellow bus. That was more than a year ago, and now our familial lives are intertwined. Its co- parenting at it’s most experimental – the boy, his mother and the household at the Abbey. We are all guinea pigs.

Our Wolfpup is sixteen years old, intelligent, funny, and at ease with people of all ages. He loves history, German shock rock, and all things electronic He’s lived in three countries and visited a dozen more; is a sponge for anything involving historical war craft, … {read more…}

I’ve suddenly begun to dislike using my office/studio. I don’t know why. If any of you have been in there you know it’s a great space. The walls are painted a deep red – which Lindell says is a pre-requisite for anything postmodern, even a post modern Abbey. I have a couple of arm chairs for spiritual direction appointments; a desk to write on; and a long table top for art projects. There are beautiful collages made just for me and Emily’s stunning photographs. By all accounts it’s a well appointed place.

I just can’t seem to settle down in there lately.

Maybe it’s because it’s dark in my office – in spite of a whole wall of windows (they … {read more…}

Hello my blogginng lovlies!

The Urban Abbess has been sorry to be gone so long, long, long. But I’m afraid I’ve submitted to the call of the wild – which being the urbanite that I am, means I’ve been lured into the “great outdoors” of our front and back yard. Right now I’m writing to you from the porch swing, wearing my floor-length India-print wrap around skirt ($5 at Goodwill) and a tank top — and I am not even cold! It’s 80 degrees and breezy, last night we slept with the windows open, and people have been boldly venturing out in sleeveless things and flip flops without fear or trepidation. If you live in Phoenix, or maybe Alaska, you might … {read more…}

It’s Holy Week.

I have a love-hate relationship with Holy Week. One the one hand it’s the most Jesus-y of all Jesus-y seasons. In the words of Donald Miller, “I believe in Jesus, I believe he is the Son of God, I believe he died and rose again….but every time I sit down to explain this to someone I feel like a palm reader.” I know it’s not rational, and I readily admit I have no idea how or why the Cross works, but still, I love the guy. So Holy Week is a time I cherish — a retreat time with Jesus when we soak in his stories, his life, his handwork. During this … {read more…}

Okay, thought I’d shoot you a little something to let you know what’s been up.

Last Week at the Abbey
Norooz was a blast last week. Helene brings art wherever she goes, and usually creates a sing-a-long or dance-a-long as well. We had an amazing feast of Persian delights, learned the symbolism of the Haftsin table, and enjoyed an impromptu concert by Heather, who played a Persian flute and violin songs from the middle east. Heather also sang Iranian folks tunes, and Helene sang one from Bulgaria. There were also funny songs for the kids, lessons in being coquetteish (the lion and the lemon!) and even a waltz in the middle of the very crowded living room. A dreamy … {read more…}

Okay, false alarm. The Wolfpup was, in fact, doing his homework. Homework which (apparently) is not even due yet — he was trying to get a head start on it. Then his mom called him and told him to come home. So he did. Thus leaving the unfinished homework, which btw, he finished tonight. So I besmirched and worried for no reason. Guess my spidey senses need a tune up. Good job my young lord.

Last week, Catie, who is five, came running in from school saying: “Mommy! Do you know what? It was NOT Martin Luthe King Jr. who got the slaves free! It was a GIRL! It was Harriet Tubman!”

Ah….my little feminist.

I caught Catie up on the difference between the underground railroad in the late 1800’s and the civil rights movement of the mid 1900’s. She’s only in kindergarten — time is sort of relative. But I think she get’s it now.

The next day Eden came home and narrarated the life of Dr. King to me. She didn’t stop talking the whole time we walked from our house to the library (10 blocks) and back.

Apparently it’s time for MLK lessons … {read more…}