Feeding Jah

Not sure why I haven't been writing. It hasn't been calling and I have been occupied enough I suppose with work and family. Today I fed Jah an egg for breakfast. I cracked the third egg and dropped it into the sizzling pan while the boys ate theirs. Then, I dropped it into Jah's dish and waited for it to cool before leading him by voice command and tapping on the bowl to his food. Every guidance has to be done now with the knowledge that he can't see. I bump into him constantly when he is in the house and the boys will stop in front of him while we are on a walk and he will just run them over. Ahhh! They cry. Remember that he can't see you you I scold. I am thinking about starting my own blog to combat the ramblings of a nuclear developer that has now aimed squarely at me, my work and my integrity. It is strange to find oneself described publicly in such an unflattering way. Despite the comforting of friends and colleagues that these attacks indicate I am doing my job it is difficult for me to accept that instead of the possibility that I really am as they describe. I know I am not though. Even while I worry about how my core ways of doing my work are perceived in ways that I did not expect nor desire to propagate. He is sleeping under the table now. I know he wants to go on a walk but the ordeal of leading him on a walk, up the curbs, across the street, away from edges is too much in this blustery weather.

Jah Love

We got Jah the summer that Japhy died. Somehow, it made sense-lose a friend get a dog...find yourself responsible for a life in order to substantiate that you still have one. We named him Jah, since Japhy liked reggae and, well, for me anyways, it was cool that Jah means "God" in rastafarian and "Dog" backwards is "God." Jah was such a sweet spirited bundle when we got him. He made college more rounded, adding an element of responsibility and fun that somehow enhanced the experience. He would ride with us as we pedaled bikes, running fast, leading the way to campus, tied loosely to a bench while we were in class. He became a campus wide name, everyone loved Jah. He was our fist baby, the glue that held us together, the representation of our connection, the committing factor. Sometimes it would occur to me that he was a metaphor for our love, he was the symbolic embodiment of our connect. When I went to Jersey to find a place I was devastated to find that no one would rent for a dog. I wanted him with me so badly, even though I knew he would be happier in Idaho. Then, he came to Jersey, in a place chosen for a baby and a dog and 2 cats. The night I went into labor with River was Jah's last night as my baby. I held onto him through contractions and when River was born, and Jah heard me scream and smelled the birth blood, he knew he became a dog. He is blind now. Totally blind. Almost a year ago, he wandered out of the yard and was hit in the behind, and then the cataracts overcame him, the trauma shocked his system. He bumps into things now. He searches for us and his food with his nose. Sometimes I think he is truly a metaphor for us. Sometimes I think we died when Japhy did and then Jah lived.

Making Almond Milk

Take 2 cups of raw, organic almonds (organic are recommended, but not required). Soak in a bowl of room temp water for 8 hours. The water should cover the almonds completely (the soaking removes protease inhibitors--which inhibit digestion-- and begin the sprouting process of the nut which makes the almonds more enzymatically "alive"). Rinse the almonds using a strainer or colander (notice the amount of excess "gunk" that is in the water--now you don't have to consume that stuff). Place almonds in blender using as much as 5 cups water and as little as 3 cups depending on how thick you want your final milk to be. A Vitamix or Champ blender is preferable as I blew out 5 regular blenders from making almond milk daily over a 3 month period. Blend until the almonds are completely pulverized--I usually count to 27. Place nutmilk bag over an adequately sized pan or bowl. Allow all contents to fill the bag. Carefully remove the bag from the bowl's rim, being sure to not let any of the insides come out. Cinch the bag at the top. Holding the top closed with your non-dominant hand "milk" the bag like you would a goat, or a cow, or a...well whatever it is is you have milked. Once all liquid is squeezed from the bag, squeeze more to get that extra rich almond yummy still left in the bag. Place bag of almond pulp in soaking bowl. Rinse blender of all first round remnants. Place clean almond milk liquid in the blender. Open section of real vanilla bean using a sharp blade to splice the bean in half. Scrape deeply at the beans inside shell to remove the precious, delicious brown vanilla seed. Carefully balance the knives edge on your way to the blender and place seeds in the liquid. Go back and scrape the bean more--its o.k. if some of the outer bean shell is used in the mixture (Sometimes vanilla bean seeds get under your fingernails--get them out and eat them). Add a generous amount of sweetner of your choice (soaked and pitted dates, raw honey, agave, maple syrup). Blend again until lovely white foam is prevalent at the top of the liquid. Pour, enjoy, refrigerate. (Raw cacao can be added for chocolate lovers at the vanilla sweetner stage). And what to do with the almond pulp? Make bread. That recipe is forthcoming.

Carefull

I'm srue it is perfectly normal. I emean, it is like movin from the infant stage right? Except at super rapid speed. Weeks are onths, and months are years and years are a lifetime. If I felt reborn then u=of course this is what would happen next. That process of differentiation. HTe freudian moment when one realizes that they actully are an autonomous unit. Not attached to the breast. not sucking a the the mother. So I caome here to write. And if anyone reads this, which i do not know, but if they do--be warned this is the post that comes from the place where nothing else is safe enough to be a mode of expression. Even the waterclor seems to small--my strokes want to be braod and beyons the tine card canvas I have chosen. I could roll out the Statesman endrolls but that would take too much energy and know this my body still feels week. Maybe that is the otehr explanation, I am just nerve frazzled. I mean I worked 5 hours today. i cleaned the ouse three times, I wnet to R's wninter performance--we had dinner out afterwards. Ihaven't done that much in the 3 weeks since my emergency entry into the hospital. I had this dream the other night. I know ishouldn't talk about my dreams at night, but maybe i can write about them and it will be o.k. one of the nurses took me out to dinner and gbasically tried to suck my soul out. enough with the dreams. if i go there i havae to go there. the scary dark cold buildigns and the hot deep pools. the hurt kittens. enough. so this ins one of those posts where i will refuse to fix the typos refuse. so allso it makes sesne. i am autonomous. and the hollow feeling it is mine and it is real. i am not sure about the sense of isolation thae sesne theat i havve sold out--myself. the sense that somehow the morphine toxified my brain into a state of dumb acceptance. dammit. so i have this alter. i have 4 alters. make that fivecause one is to Obama. what a totla wste of surface space really--but they are all beautiful and if you count the fire mantel taht is six. why son't i just stop this and pray? i thinkk i will. ithink i will sit and contemplate. tirshgave me a book in the hosipaital called the red scarf it is about stalinist russia and the labor campes oand love and starvation and love and death and love and toruture and love and it iwas hell to read in pain, but it was my friend by the tie=ime i left the hospital and it was so long and it draggdthrough snow covered russia and itit made me woander if marx wwas in on it. if he made his own opium on purpose. and that scares me. but it eneded. and now i don't have i itanymore and i have to say goodbyw to sophia and i am sad. i think i will pray now.