House Song

So yes it wouldn't quite be a voice of owns own post without a harry potter reference. My sister gave me this Ministry of Magic Album for Christmas and I've had most of the songs stuck in my head lately. We often feud about this best house. She is a Slytherin and I am a Hufflepuff, so yes, much debate goin on there. This song is about the massive argument going on everyone about the best house.

What house are you in?

"sit. feast on your life."

I have been struggling. I wanted so badly to write about nourishment because it has been the mantra of the last few months of my life: nourish yourself, nourish your spirit. I've been needing to remind myself to take care of myself not only in the way that I get enough sleep and enough food, but in the way that I am giving myself the space to grow more fully into myself. Complete and total nourishment.

So last week I sat down to write with a piece of notebook paper that said "Nourishment:" and I stared at it for a long time, but I had nothing so say, so I laid in my bed and sulked and then decided to do some yoga instead. I nourished myself physically, spiritually and mentally by doing so, but I had nothing to say about it. I am right in the midst of needing it and getting it and sorting out how to make it a part of my life without having to remind myself... how could I have anything useful to say about it?! I felt really silly and a little bit disappointed in myself.

Well, never fear, my friends, sitting on my flight back to Baltimore I opened the book that my parents had gotten me for Christmas, Saved by a Poem, and began to read. The first chapter ended with this poem that I so badly want to share:

Love after Love

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door,

in your own mirror,

and each will smile at the other's welcome

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread.

Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

--Derek Walcott

I touched the page in disbelief. This poem is hanging on my bathroom wall where I taped it after a wonderful friend sent it to me in an email, saying she read it in class and thought I would enjoy it. I more than enjoy it. I cannot read the line "You will love again the stranger who was your self" without crying in a hopeful, joyful, peaceful kind of way. I realized that poetry nourishes my spirit. Words, expression, art, human beings nourish my spirit. Lucky me, I am surrounded by these things! The question, I suppose, does not lie in the concept of nourishment but in making my nourishment a priority, in taking the time to create a space for my growth as a person with so many facets. Maybe my new mantra will be a reminder to "sit. feast on your life."

--mt

My Favorite Socks

My favorite pair of socks looks plain. They don’t have bells on them, or a faux fur trim like my Christmas socks. They aren’t of the fuzzy variety which keep my tootsies extra warm. They are just plain white socks. They rise above my ankle but don’t venture all the way up to my knee like the annoying uniform socks I was forced into wearing during grade school. They have been worn so many times that the heels and balls are see through—and also tinted black from the bottom of my shoes, but I try not to let my mom in on that secret because she will through them in the garbage. I love these socks because they let the world know that I love my dog.

My favorite pair of socks have a cartoon picture of a dog and above the image is the letter I followed by a heart. Think of any shirt that you have seen from NY. Replace NY with a dog. And you have my socks.

Every time I put on those socks I smile because I think of my dog. I always have him with me. The socks themselves don’t nourish me, but the memories of my dog sticking his head in the snow and popping back up with a pile of flakes on his nose do.

My dog died last week.

I miss him.

My house is too quite.

There is an empty space below me as I type this.

But I have the memories.

My dog was diagnosed with cancer at the beginning of September. He was given less than a week to live. Three and a half months later he passed away after fighting so hard. But I can’t be upset when I prayed to God, literally, that he keep my dog from suffering. This is the best thing.

It’s weird to see death as nourishment. But it’s the ultimate nourishment. His pain is over. Though my selfish desires would love to be petting him right now, I know that he is in the right place.

He is being nourished.

purdy, white precipitation

Its true, I'm a northern boy. I have lived many places but I've always felt the most connected to the north. There are countless reasons why but a major one (especially around the holiday season) is the wonderful snow. And none of that one or two inch business either, Its gotta be waist deep. Its so incredible to me how water can just hang out on top of land for awhile.

I don't even mind shoveling it. I find it calming, and even meditative. I used to walk barefoot in it to try and get the full "experience" of it. Many of my strongest memories are in the snow. I remember, years ago, having my first kiss with a soon to be girlfriend. It was night time we were under a street light, and the snow was whirling around us. There is some kind of magic in snow I cant articulate. I know it exists because I sense it every time i step out into the mystical frozen water crystals.


So when you're digging your car out of the snow, frustrated, and cursing under your breath, just remember the wonders of our planet, this one island in an ocean of stars.

Twelve Days of Cookies!

‘Tis the season to bake cookies. My Kitchen Aid (which my parents bought me while I was in high school, that is how much I heart baking) thoroughly enjoys working its Kitchen Aid magic—beating those yokes, fluffing that frosting. So I would like to run down my Christmas Cookie List with you.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Peanut Butter Blossom Cookies
Sugar Cookies
S’mores Cookies
Gingerbread Men Cookies
Chocolate Mint Wafer Cookies
Coconut Sandwich Cookies
Double Chocolate Cranberry Cookies
Hazelnut Meringues
Chocolate-Pistachio Cookies
Chocolate-Espresso Snowcaps

I know writing cookies after the majority of the cookies listed is a tad redundant since I told you it is my cookie list, but so is making twelve different types of cookies. Plus, I want to see how many times I can write cookies…we are at sixteen, seventeen if you include the use of the word cookie. So far Oatmeal and Chocolate are crossed of the list, which leaves me with ten different types of cookies to make before I have to leave out the milk and cookies on the big day. Yes, I still do the whole milk and cookies thing, I like to make my dad happy, and by dad I mean SANTA.

I know that after stuffing my face with the cookies I slave over a 375 degree oven to create, I will not be satisfied. There will always be one more cookie that I need to force feed myself with. There will always be one more recipe in my catalogue of Everyday Food magazines that is waiting for me to schmear dough all over it. If I felt nourished I would stop eating the heavenly treats that are produced by my nimble hands. But I can’t. My dad went on a liquid diet yesterday; apparently that is fun to him. Why not go on a liquid diet one day out of the month? Makes complete sense. When he told me what he was doing, I looked at him with a cookie hanging out of my crumb covered mouth, and informed him that I was doing the complete opposite.

My inability to show self restraint when it comes to cookies leads me to believe that I gain nourishment not from the cookies themselves, but from the process of sculpting a masterpiece. I become relaxed when I add my first stick of butter into Big Red. Rolling out sugar cookie dough fills me with glee—if you poked my tummy, I too would say “He He.” I find an immense amount of joy in watching my brothers scarf down a batch of Peanut Butter Blossom Cookies like it is their job. I don’t make cookies to nourish my physical body, though that’s probably obvious since only Santa can pull of the whole bowl full of jelly look. I make cookies to nourish my soul.

People get stressed out around the Holidays; you are probably biting your nails right now. Everyone has to find something that will fill their cookie jar. Try baking some S’mores cookies, I highly recommend them.

P.S. The total number of appearances made by the word cookies was twenty-eight, thirty-two if you include the word cookie. Sadly, that does not even come close to the amount of happiness I will be consuming by the end of this week. Dear Santa, please bring me a high metabolism.

Happy Solstice!

That's right folks, today is your lucky day, its a double dose of Three Feathers. Last week I was unable to write for you lovely people because I have been visiting family where there is little to no cellphone service and the only internet (thanks to an ice storm) is at this library! Have no fear I have no intention of leaving this day unnoticed. Today (well I think technically last night) was the winter solstice. Last night was especially significant because it was the darkest night in the norther hemisphere in the past 400 years. Pretty cool huh? The Winter Solstice has been marked and observed my most of the worlds civilizations and is celebrated by many of the worlds religions.

This holiday season is one of my favorites especially because there is just a feeling of goodwill from nearly everyone I meet. It's cold outside and it gets dark early but most folks have a smile and a kind word to share. This season I always listen to one of my favorite songs. Dar Williams has been a favorite of mine since late high school and this song in particular shares my happiness for the season.






Christians and The Pagans- music and lyrics by DAR WILLIAMS

Amber called her uncle, said "We're up here for the holiday,
Jane and I were having Solstice, now we need a place to stay."
And her Christ-loving uncle watched his wife hang Mary on a tree,
He watched his son hang candy canes all made with red dye number three.
He told his niece, "It's Christmas Eve, I know our life is not your style,"
She said, "Christmas is like Solstice, and we miss you and its been awhile,"

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said,
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses.

The food was great, the tree plugged in, the meal had gone without a hitch,
Till Timmy turned to Amber and said, "Is it true that you're a witch?"
His mom jumped up and said, "The pies are burning," and she hit the kitchen,
And it was Jane who spoke, she said, "It's true, your cousin's not a Christian,"
"But we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere."

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And where does magic come from? I think magic's in the learning,
'Cause now when Christians sit with Pagans only pumpkin pies are burning.

When Amber tried to do the dishes, her aunt said, "Really, no, don't bother."
Amber's uncle saw how Amber looked like Tim and like her father.
He thought about his brother, how they hadn't spoken in a year,
He thought he'd call him up and say, "It's Christmas and your daughter's here."
He thought of fathers, sons and brothers, saw his own son tug his sleeve, saying,
"Can I be a Pagan?" Dad said, "We'll discuss it when they leave."

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old, and
Making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold.

Trying to be Real

Most of us have gone through what I have. I mean when we were in middle school all you want to do is fit in somehow. No matter when middle school was for you if it was a hundred years ago or last week chances were it sucked. It's when we started to be interested in people romantically but were cursed with acne and voice cracks (for the boys anyway). High school was still to come and the social groups started to form. Impressing your group of friends seemed the most important thing in the world.

I had been a somewhat geeky kid going into seventh grade. I was labeled as "smart" only because I liked reading and history. I certainly didn't get the best grades in my class. I enjoyed doing theater, not only because it was fulfilling, which it was don't get me wrong, but it was one of the few co-ed activities. I went to an all boys school with a girls school just down the hill so we shared some classes and the arts center. So my friends and I got to hang out with the girls who did theater, and our circle of friends expanded.

Now it's annoyingly cliche but yes we got beat up by the lacrosse jocks for being "theater fags". The irony wasn't lost on us, while we were in theater rehearsal with girls, we would hear stories of the jocks locking each other naked into gym lockers... I know we didn't get it either. Anyway we didn't like this deal we were getting. So, being the rational and forward thinking preteens we were we decided to beat these guys up. Unfortunately we won. I say unfortunate because of the change it spurred on.

We had recently got into oldschool punk rock music like the sex pistols and the Ramones, I had found this sweet leather jacket similar to what they wore in a thrift store and putting it on made me feel powerful. Again being really cool we would start to drink heavily when we would hang out. Disgusting, cheap alcohol we got from our older siblings. This too would make us feel invincible and dangerous. I got my ears, lip, and eyebrow pierced much to my parents dismay. I began pushing the schools dress code (yes I was that cool). I started smoking cigarettes just to complete the cliche I was. We continually got into fights for no real reason. It wasn't until years later I saw my own irony. My response to people looking down on me was to write them off and assume I was better than them. Well I guess all this was part of growing up. Thank goodness the only constant is change.

I know you're doin' you.

To be authentic for me isn’t just about “doing me.” I mean obviously I do me. It’s me we are talking about. The jump around line dance sleep on the quad wild guy who loves his life and where he is. But for me to be authentic and feel like I’m really living my life I like people to know that it’s me. To trust in what I say and how I act and what I feel is really me, the truth, nothing less. Because to feel trust from my friends is to feel that compassion I talked about before. And when that compassion manifests itself in my relationships, I can truly be authentic. No funny business, no nothing, just me.

And so I feel good when my friends realize I’m not wearing a mask and not being a flake or anything like that. They know that I’m real and that I will tell them how I feel, what I mean, because it’s who I am. And so that trust I love so much I love to give to others. To trust that people are their own genuine light. To say I believe in you. And sometimes I see that they may not be themselves 100% of the time, but they are there waiting to burst out and shine. People are good people I believe and so I spread that love, that trust in humanity that we are all wonderful authentic people.

Yes, I have gotten hurt. But the amazing opportunities I get to have when I sit down with people and discuss their lives outweighs the times when I get accused of being gullible or too open or too trusting. It’s a mutual respect I feel with human’s that they are beautiful people and good people.

I just recently had a conversation regarding a girl who told me she had been beaten by her father and had fake teeth and developed anger and eating issues because of all the awful things that happened to her. I immediately opened my ears and my heart to this girl, gave her my love and my trust, and thanked her for sharing that story with me, for sharing with me that side that many do not see. Now I know it’s not her whole being, but it’s an important part of it that shaped her life. My friend told me one day that she didn’t know if she believed her. My friend thought the girl just wanted attention. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’m not saying she is wrong or right in thinking that. And I’m not saying my way of thinking is wrong or right either. But if in fact she was telling the truth and I would have brushed it off as her being fake, I may never have made the friendship with that girl I now have. We will be forever bonded because I stayed vulnerable to her words and she was just as vulnerable to my thoughts. They were both true, authentic, and beautiful.