Instagram has me pegged as a privileged person who can sometimes be convinced to buy away my guilt over my carbon footprint and that of my family. A swarm of ads for compostable toothbrushes, reusable silicone ziplock baggies, and earth-friendly dish detergent regularly pop up on my feed to remind me that I could be doing better.
Egged on by this, when I ran out of face wash over the summer, I stood in Target feeling paralyzed by the options and annoyed that every one of them came in a plastic container that fell in the grey area of recyclability.
I reluctantly asked an employee if there were any face wash options that didn’t come in a plastic container. She shrugged. I left without buying anything.
For Evangelicals in the late 80’s and early 90’s, Halloween was a holiday of the Devil. After a few Halloweens when I was really small, we didn’t celebrate it in my family growing up.
Over time, we developed a tradition of getting together at the home of family friends out in the country where people didn’t bother to trick or treat. We watched old musicals while stuffing our faces with candy. We watched Fiddler on the Roof, and The Music Man. I can still sing many of the songs. (“There’s troublllleee! Trouble! Right here in River City!”)
It took a long time to out grow that idea, that Halloween wasn’t for Christians. And in the meantime, I lost many opportunities to dress up.
This past spring, I learned there would be a Mindful Making Retreat about an hour away from me, co-taught by Katrina Rodabaugh and Meg McElwee. I’ve made a number of Meg’s patterns this spring and summer and have been gradually embracing the idea of slowing my sewing down and making it more of a practice than a drive.
That has been a process. My typical M.O. is to bring all my other responsibilities to a halt, let my children run feral, and whip up a top or a pair of shorts as quickly as possible.
As part of my goal to feature a title each month by a person of color, I just wrapped up Woman of Color, by LaTonya Yvette.
Part of me is embarrassed to feature this book – not because it wasn’t beautiful and well written. Instead, it’s because, even though Yvette doesn’t say so, I don’t completely feel like this book was for me, because while I’m a sister in womanhood, but I’m not a Sister.
It’s a theme, not feeling like I belong. It has everything to do with me and my own insecurities.
In that regard, this was the perfect book to read.
It was late in the day and I had just given myself permission not to do an evening meditation when Three knocked at my door.
She asked if we could do a meditation together.
