I have a super great old friend from college, Jen. She’s a writer (here’s her book) and a journalist. And a mom.

She lives in Des Moines and recently she acquired chickens.

She and her husband and her kids have chickens in their backyard. 

Do you ever look at your friends, when they do something cool/amazing/odd/wonderful/outrageous and think:

“Uh oh.”

Here it comes. The Existential Chicken Crisis.

The other day, my friend Deb was over and she mentioned chili or something and then she said:

“Ah I saw that article you posted on Facebook, what was it? The 10 Foods You Should  Never Eat? And I thought OH NO!! Here I thought I was doing something great, making homemade chili! But I use CANNED TOMATOES! Ah shit. They were on that list.”

See?

Uh oh. Existential Tomato Crisis.

There are times — many times — when I have wished I were a moron. Existential Chicken Crises are definitely one of them.

Oh don’t worry. It’s not a permanent feeling. It’s just passing moment when I think:

“OH wouldn’t it be so much easier if I were an idiot and didn’t notice ANYTHING at all and could just work as a waiter forever, and then come home and roll around mindlessly on my Made in China sectional, right after I put ALL of the wrappers from my fast food — include the recyclable and compostable ones — in the trash can?

Then I have  to say no to myself. My days of waiting tables and eating quesadillas at midnight — for the most part– are over. That’s fine with me.

It’s just then I have to DEAL with the new information. I have to DECIDE: am I going to be a person who hosts chickens in MY backyard, or am I going to keep buying them from the chicken factory?

Or something in between.

Once new information seeps in, it makes just living a decent life a tussle.

I don’t think it’s keeping up with the Joneses so much. It’s keeping up following our own ideology: what our family wants to be.

Existential Chicken Crisis commence.

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I set the table with
Clean, cut glasses, Christmas crackers
Flatware. Before breakfast
All the flat edges glimmer
In anticipation.

Do you ever wonder: What the hell is the point of Elizabeth’s blog?

It’s this: details.

It’s a place to read In The Details, as a way to understand ourselves, each other, the world.

“Letters from a Small State” is about “the little stuff.” It’s a place to be with and notice the little things that shape who we are. All those million details. 

So this blog could be about toast racks or or pink drinking straws or a small car accident. And it is. But it is also about how we make meaning from all the stuff we pack around ourselves everyday. Or choose not to.

But why?

I guess I started to really winnow down my blog topics to focus on the IDEA of details when I realized I needed practice writing about the details. I wasn’t too good at it. I’d often spend too much time pontificating, rather than noticing.

For example, maybe I might notice a man’s shoe, and then write an entire blog post about how that shoe affected how I thought about that man, and who I thought he was. Not only that, but what that meant to our culture.

Except that I did it all upside-down.

I’d preach my proclamations — about the man, about myself, about the world — but I’d forget to really think about THE SHOE.

The shoe, after all, is where the thought began. It was a kind of microcosm of IDEA. The shoe took me into “small state” — a series of linked theoretical and cultural conclusions and ideas that change, forever, my idea of “shoe.” But the shoe was NOT the idea. It was the place it began.

A detail is sometimes a thoughtless beginning.

What’s Coming up….

In January, I start a new series, on The River of Stones, 2012. I’m calling it “What Details Know.”

It will be a series of “small stones” published here, and also shared on ny blog at The Stratford Patch.

I hope you enjoyed the December series on the dream of Holidays… If you have any feedback, feel free to contact me anytime.

—

You can be a detail masher yourself. Anytime, here on my blog. I always warmly accept submissions.

In January, join me and lots of other beautiful people, on The River of Stones.

To join Fiona Robyn and Kaspalita’s River of Stones, all one does is:

1. Notice something properly every day during January.
2. Write it down.

Small stones (like the one written above), according to Fiona Robyn:

“Small stones are everywhere, all of the time.  All you have to do is pause and let them appear.”

Take the pause in January to read or write a small stone.  Be a detail picker.

And be in a Small State.

–

You can read more about How to Write a small stone, here. And follow the completely wonderful Fiona and Kaspa on Twitter.

–

This is the second to last post in my December Series: “If Only in My Dreams.” See you back here on Dec. 31 for a recap.

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In which I tried to explain to the kids that our little “artificial” tree is actually “real.”

Existentialism 101

Me: We are putting up our tree this afternoon.
Kid 1: Is it a real tree?
Me: Well, yes, it is a real tree. A real tree in that it isn’t imaginary.
Kid 1: No, I mean, does it–
Kid 2: She means is it the kind with the needles, no.. wait, I mean
Kid 3: The kind that grows out of the ground! That we CHOP DOWN!
Me: Like the one we got when we went to Jones Farm.
Kid 1: I didn’t like that. It was too cold.
Me: The tree we are putting up today is a real tree. A real fake tree.
Kid 2: NO!! I mean, a tree, that like has smell!
Me: I am sure the tree we are putting up today smells. Perhaps like chemicals or petroleum byproduct.
Kid 4: Wha?
Me: Let’s put it this way: The tree is really, real. It will really be in our house.
(Silence)
Kid 3: When can I open presents?
–
Another lovely post in my December “If Only in My Dreams” series. Read more!

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Guest Post by Writer-Runner-Teacher Tricia Dowcett

Whenever my mother asks me what we would like for Christmas, I always reply that I would prefer to do rather than to have.  A show, a day in Boston, a trip to a museum.  She will usually frown and insist that at Christmas, the kids should be able to “open something.”  “They’re not going to get excited when they open Lion King tickets,” she worries.

Admittedly, a gift that is essentially a promise of a gift is a difficult concept for a young kid to wrap his tiny, Target-warped brain around.  But, should that stop us from trying to shift expectations?  Sure, the look of joyous satisfaction on a kid’s face when he gets that Razor scooter or battery-powered Jeep is a pretty rich reward, but who is really more satisfied—the kid, or the parent?  The battery will die and the Jeep will collect mud and spider eggs, and the kid will count the days until the next big holiday so he can get more stuff.

A Walk in the Dark

Tonight, Lexi and I took a walk after dinner, and she asked me if I might point out Orion.  We found the brightest star on his belt, but the clouds prevented us from seeing the rest of his “body.”

“I’ve never seen Orion,” she said, and that surprised me, because I look for him just about every night.

But it’s true: we don’t really go out into the dark and look at the stars.  When we walk in the evening, I’m usually trying to stop the dog from pulling, or the kids from running (we have no sidewalks, so nighttime strolls with the kids can be a little unnerving), so my attention is forward rather than upward.

I told Lexi that on our next camping trip, we’d lie down and look at the stars.  “We can even camp in the backyard again,” she said.

“Yep.  … Hey!” I said, an idea taking shape, “maybe we can go camping on Christmas!”

She laughed.  “Mom!  You don’t go camping on Christmas.”

Too Small for Presents

One of my favorite Christmas Eves, I told her, was spent under the stars, in a natural hot spring in Colorado.  The pool was full of snow-drunk revelers— families, older folks, young couples —all joyously creating an alternative Christmas.  I slept in a cabin about the size of Thoreau’s hut, too small for presents, but large enough to fit a little wood stove, our wet hiking boots, and a bottle of champagne.

I’ve celebrated 39 Christmases, and this is the one I still hold close to me, in a little sachet under my sweater.

Why not, Lexi?  Why not go camping on Christmas?

–

This post is part of the December Series “If Only in My Dreams.” Click here to read more.

Feel free to tweet (#BigQDreams), comment, or if you have more to say, click here to submit.

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I want things handmade. I want a life devoid of BPA-worries.
I want the holidays decorated in popcorn strings and toes of knee-high socks filled with sticky penny candy and tiny oranges.
I want to have the hot cocoa, but not the packaging the dried chocolate-flavored granules come in.
I want to make the gift bags, without needing the troll Jo-Ann in deathly fear of whatever other impulses may come.
I want the craft, but not the storage.
I want handmade — the originality, the texture and depth. The artist’s signature. But not the price.
I want beauty.
I want art.
I want tomorrow, but I am unclear about today.
–
I will to unwrap the porcelain cow again this year.
I will place him in his manger scene.
Arrange the kings and the baby Jesus.
Avert my eyes from box and its $9.98 Walmart tag.
–
I am not sure what I want.

–
This post is part of the BIG QUESTION Series in December, “If Only in My Dreams”. Click and read more.

No related posts.

What is the rush, Rima asks?

What is the
haste to make waste of
Autumn?

–
Part of “If Only in My Dreams,” the December Series of The Big Question.

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December is the month of dreams, of nostalgia, of memories, expectations, hopes and disappointments.
We were all little children once… dreaming our dreams of light and mystery, wide awake under our covers. It doesn’t matter whether those covers were cotton or silk.

We are still those children. Some of us still imagine the twinkling light dreams – and decorate our lives that way. Some of us can only remember them. We cast those sepia shadows onto our grown-up holidays.

This month, my family and I are far away from our own families.

Colin and I are spending the holiday the way we did last year: here in Connecticut.

We are working to create our own traditions. We are working inside boundaries, like many people are: tight budgets and the even tighter bonds of our ideas of what this time of year should mean.

What does it mean to be home for the holidays?

How do we – intentionally or inadvertently — reshape the imaginations of our own children and our community?

Can we do it, without succumbing to the naiveté of nostalgia? Should we?

My December series is: “If Only In My Dreams” – featuring images, poetry, and thoughts that prod at the Big Question: What is our dream of holiday all about?

***

Feel free to participate; however you like.

You can:

Comment

Submit photos

Write a small stone or poem

Think about it

Talk about it.

Tweet it, hash tag #BigQDreams

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I need a vacation.
Let’s all insert here for a minute the list of blessings I have.

• Nice house
• Good family
• Everything I need and want (food, clothing, shelter)
• Friends
• Education
• Human Rights
• Time to meditate and do yoga
• Lots of good books, and a library card too.
• Many more

OK, even in the face of all these blessings, I know there comes a time when the mind and body need to get away.

Out of the normal, out of the routine, outside of life-par-normale. For longer than a couple of hours or a day.

For a VACATION.

Colin and I love to travel. We both agree we are most happy with he in the driver’s seat, me in the passenger’s seat, the iPod filled with music lists and podcasts, the van filled to the brim with chattering — or snoozy — ones, and the destination programed in the GPS. It’s the kind of time that lets us simulatneously switch off and tune in.

I can feel the physical changes in my body and my mind when we set off for “vacation.” Even if there’s traffic, arguments, or bad diners, the entire experience feels different.

I mean, not to sound idiotically obvious, but it feels, well, separate. Switched off, and tuned in.

But, we can’t take vacations right now.

Airfares disagree with our budget and our schedules seem to continually argue with any meaningful drive time.

So how do we teleport ourselves to Vacationland — to that place where we can all just chill for awhile — without leaving home? It seems to be a mystery I cannot solve.

I’m open to suggestions.

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Today’s post is part of the BIG QUESTION series for September. 

–

I’ve been writing this blog for a long time. And I am not ready to admit what I am doing is not working. I want something from this relationship and it is just not working.

We all want to hang on to things that just don’t work for us. But as I’m been realizing slowly over the last year, especially while reading a lot of Tara Gentile:

I can’t see what I’m doing.

If my hypothesis is formulated, then my product doesn’t match it.

I am impatient. I see the end of the tunnel and think “I’ve arrived! AHHHHH! Now I can relax” and so let go of the steering wheel. While the winding road goes on and on.

My language is harsh, and I am too critical. Of others, which reflects on myself.

In this dark bag, how could I possibly see what all the non-subscribers and non-readers see:

What I offer here isn’t working for them. And I can’t afford to just be personal anymore.

I am not sure I have the answer to this. But I am sure I am tired of treading water.

My hypothesis, however, has not changed: Readers desire beautiful writing.

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The following podcast is a guest contribution, part of the September “BIG QUESTION” series, asking “What does America Want?”

Americans are also human. Theoretically.

So expanding the question “What does America want?” today are writers and Pureland Buddhists Fiona Robyn and Kaspalita, who were kind enough to dedicate their weekly Tuesday podcast to the question: “What does humanity want?”

Please enjoy the podcast, here or at their lovely blog, which is simulcasting today. And comment on.

For those writers in the world, you might also enjoy their wonderful writing community, “Writing our Way Home.” I know I do.

Thanks Fiona and Kaspa!
–

Fiona Robyn has always been passionate about words. She has published three novels, and other books including A Year of Questions: How to slow down and fall in love with life. She will be getting back to her work-in-progress very soon! She feels privileged to be working as a creativity coach and a therapist in private practice, and loves running the e-courses. Follow her on Twitter:@fiona_robyn.

Kaspalita is a Buddhist Priest in the Pureland Tradition. His undergraduate degree is in Drama, and he is currently studying Buddhist Psychotherapy with the Amida Trust. He blogs at Malvern Sangha site and runs the e-course Eastern Therapeutic Writing and The Art of Paying Attention, and co-edited the book pay attention: a river of stones. Follow him on Twitter: @kaspalita.

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