I think somebody else made that slip too, so it’s not just me.

Of course, the problem is that we still haven’t had enough winter to really count. I think it’s rained maybe twice this winter? I really can’t remember but it’s been very dry. Last year, it rained very late but this year…not much.

Growing up somewhere that never hurt for water, I never thought I’d pay this much attention to the rain. But I’m worried that there will be more drought.

Even with a short, mild winter (which concerns me for the planet, even as I appreciate it) I am filled with longing for spring. Everything I can see, every sign or omen, every glimpse past the curtain to the future, says that 2012 is not going to be an easy year. Not for me, not for anyone.

It’s not going to be a bad year, necessarily, but it’s not going to be smooth sailing either. Maybe we’re all just ready to get through it?

My last year in my twenties.

I didn’t think this would hit me that hard, but it kind of is.

It means, among other things, that I’m in the thick of my Saturn return.Taking stock, looking at my life, where I am. Where I’m not.

There are things I’d thought I’d have by now, but don’t.

There are things I thought I’d want that change. Shift. Things I thought would make me happy but aren’t enough. Priorities shifting, moving. Leaving me wondering what I really want.

I have a tendency to look at where I’m lacking. Where I’ve failed.

But it’s also time to celebrate what’s good. The blessings in my life, most  especially those of wonderful friends and communities. Those I’ve known for a while and those that I’m still getting to know. The people who, whether I’ve known them for two decades or two months, never fail to bring a smile to my face when I see them.

All things considered, my 28th year was a whirlwind. It might not have gone quite how I wished, but I’m standing here on the leading edge of 29 with a far different landscape than I had 365 days ago.

So who knows what the future holds?

There are a lot of facets and lenses through which to view this, including feminism, race and class. By focusing on one specific aspect, I don’t mean to ignore or devalue the others, simply to give more focus.

What struck me about this is how much we have devalued the work that goes into caring for and nurturing our physical selves.

I look at the devaluation of traditional women’s work — of home cooking, caring for a home, making clothing — and I see this as somewhat the leading edge. Because it doesn’t stop there. We devalue work that traditionally falls into the purview of men too now — farming, construction. We have this disconnect with our physical selves.

I’m as guilty of this as anyone. I’m a typical Aquarian; I like to say that if I could wander around as a giant, disembodied brain, I would. But this isn’t just about the mind versus the physical self, because I think it goes deeper than that.

I keep using pictures of food here because to me food is basic — it’s nourishment and comfort and culture all tied together. But it’s like we want to stop seeing ourselves as those thing. We talk about branding ourselves, about marketing who we are.

But I am not a brand. I am not a product. I’m a person, with all the messy, inherent contradictions held in that.

So we start to see ourselves as brands and products. We have put our faith in the markets and value only what the system calls valuable. The work that sustains us is minimized, ignored or outsourced.

Our food is grown in factory farms, processed, reheated. Our furnishings are cheap and disposable and built on a system of abhorrent practices. We turn a blind eye to it, because we don’t want to see. I think, on some level, we want to see ourselves as free from the messy work that comes from sustaining a life and society.

But no matter how smart, how enlightened we are, we still need these things. We need food to eat, shelter from the elements, water to drink. As humans we also crave more than that — we seek out comfortable and aesthetically pleasing surroundings, food that nourishes our souls as well as our mind, the communal breaking of bread that ties us to our fellow humans.

Yet we are so willing to push all that aside for cost and convenience. I am as guilty of this as any young, urban professional. When I am busy (and I am always busy), it’s the cooking and cleaning that slide by the wayside first. It becomes quick, processed food, unbalanced meals, things left undone til later.

I can’t help think, though, that in this I am doing a huge disservice to myself. We all are, because when we as a society begin to view the things that make us human as drudgery, we begin to devalue our own humanity.

I don’t think changing the way we look at every day tasks will solve all the worlds problems. I’m not even sure we can change how we view them. But sometimes I can’t help but think it might make us all a lot more at ease.

Photo by Kretyen

Dragon years are viewed as lucky and powerful. Far from being the fearsome, fire-breathing beasts we think of in the West, China sees dragons as benevolent and gracious.

Photo by Toms Baugis

But the dragon is also unpredictable and changing. I’ve seen reference to a lot of volatility this year, and though I’m not an expert in any kind of astrology, I wouldn’t be surprised if we continue to see some of the upheaval we saw starting in 2011. Things are changing, and we can jump on and go for it or cling for dear life and try not to get swept away…but one way or another, change is coming. I can feel it.

Here’s hoping to auspicious change, to growth and embracing the new year with enthusiasm! Happy Year of the Dragon!

Winter here means rain, and rain means water. It’s easy to forget that I live somewhere so dry now. We aren’t connected to water, really. I know we have times of drought and times  of not, but when water means turning on the tap it doesn’t feel that real.

The perils of modern convenience, I suppose.

But we do need the rain, and this is the time of year. It seems late to me, but I haven’t really lived here long enough to know if that’s true. It’s tempting, of course, to see the rain as inconvenient. To see that I forgot my umbrella, still haven’t got around to buying rainboots. To be annoyed that instead of staying in my cozy apartment with my cats and a mug of tea, I have to slog through the damp and go to work.

But rain is water and water is life. So I give thanks for the rain that flows into the rivers and streams. To the snow falling in the high mountains that will, as it melts, provide us with water for the coming year. Give thanks for the drops falling on thirsty ground, the plants soaking it up.

Hail to the rain!

All of which meant I have barely been dancing.

I couldn’t figure out why I was cranky for no reason, and why I had been trouble sleeping. I finally put it together, and took myself out to Contra last night.

Even though I was still kind of tired from being sick. Even though I had things to do. Even though I was busy.

I’m really glad I did. I forget that physical activity can do so much. I was never an active kid, and I consider going to the gym  to be a form of cruel and unusual punishment, so until I really took up dancing it hasn’t been a part of my life.

Dancing gives me the best of all worlds. I get the benefits of physical activity, something other than sitting in front of a computer. I get to see friends. I get to have fun and be social. I especially love Contra dance; I started Contra in high school and  I like the energy. I love all the dancing I do, but there’s something about the rambunctious energy of Contra that really is fun.

Though out here, there are no men in skirts. Back home, there’d always be a bunch of men in skirts at the dances. Not kilts, skirts. I never did figure that one out.

Anyway.

Of course this morning my body reminds me that I am not in high school anymore, and that I shouldn’t take myself out dancing and stay out at afters until nearly 1 am when I have work in the morning. Oh well — that’s why they make tea, right?

Coming off of WWII, manufacturers had all of these products they’d developed for the war effort — things like processed and frozen food. Having invested all this money into it, they began to look for ways to market these foods to a civilian market. They had a tough time of it at first, because these (male) scientists and corporate decision-makers couldn’t really fathom the idea that women didn’t find cooking and feeding their families to be any sort of fulfilling exercises.

It’s funny, because looking back I think we have this idea that things like processed food came about because they were wanted. That women got sick of feeding their families, threw aside their aprons and demanded a better way.

But they didn’t.

Now there are a lot of discussions that can be had around this — about feminism, about choice, about the role of food in our culture — and all are valid, but they aren’t the part that is sticking with me right now.

What sticks out to me right now is that it was not the consumer that demanded these ‘time-saving’ convenience products. It was the corporations who slowly, carefully, deliberately convinced of us their need. We know we’re subject to the effects of marketing when it comes to luxury goods, but when it comes to things that we consider essential, I think it tends to be more subtle.

I find this particularly striking when it comes to food.Cooking and eating together is a communal activity, an important form of bonding among people. To break bread together is a meaningful thing, and yet to look at the culture today, that has been eroded into a world of fast food and convenient, individual consumption. We’ve taken one of the most ancient, enduring and basic of human activities, one that nourishes both our bodies and our souls, and we’ve handed it over.

More and more as I read the news now, I feel like I am less of a person and more of a product to be used and discarded. We even do it to ourselves, we call it personal branding, and we mold ourselves into  a palatable identity that we can sell to the world. We hand over our data and information to get free services, in turn becoming the product that is marketed to advertisers, and we call it transparency and declare that privacy is dead.

I don’t know how to start to undo these knots that bind us — I don’t even know if we can. But somehow, I think that food seems like a good place to begin.

On some level, it’s inevitable. Any person of faith will find the guiding principles of that faith will influence their choices and decisions. Those include political views and decisions.

But so often, it’s something that can also go very wrong. It becomes a rigid sort of litmus test, one that bears no reality on the actual tenants of faith. See: the Christian Right  and their support of numerous policies that have no bearing whatsoever to what Jesus actually taught.

Obviously, separation of church and state is an important thing. Religion has no role in our institutional politics in a plural society.

But on a personal level, faith can feed politics in a way that can be problematic. Or in a way that can be wonderful. Martin Luther King, Jr. is one we can hold up as an example of how this goes well.

MLK let his faith feed him — to fight for justice, to fight for a better world, to stand up and be strong in the face of overwhelming odds. As we celebrate MLK day tomorrow, many will be talking about his famous “I Have a Dream” speech. Which is moving and important, but I also think, in light of the times we find ourselves in, that a more appropriate thing to celebrate is Letter from a Birmingham Jail:

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom.

It’s funny; when I first moved here I bitched and whined about the lack of seasons. Okay, I still do sometimes, it’s easy to miss the sweeping changes that you get other places. The seasons here aren’t nearly so dramatic. No snow in winter to cloak the streets in a white blanket, no broiling hot summer days that hang heavy until you lose all motivation to do anything other than laze about in front of a fan with a glass of something iced.  But as I’ve lived here for coming up on five years now, I’ve found myself growing more attuned to the small changes that do mark the passing of the year.

The warm days were certainly part of what whispered to me that spring is coming, but it was more than that. There’s a freshness to the air, a quickening that stirs the senses and blows away the cobwebs of the winter mind. Even though I was sick, I was pleased to be able to spend part of the weekend outdoors enjoying it, and I really appreciated the chance to fling open my windows and let the air in.

Like I said, I know it’s only January and this is a temporary respite, mother nature’s little tease. Soon we’ll be back to the chill and the damp,. the urge to hunker down inside my cozy little cave going strong. But spring is coming. I can feel it.

Sometime in the morning, I was on my couch and I heard a crash from the kitchen. Since I live with two cats, one of whom is extremely large and neither of whom are the epitome of grace, I figured it was just feline shenanigans.

Then I realized both cats were sitting on the coffee table and nowhere near the kitchen.

I took a quick look around, saw nothing out of place. Checked the internet for evidence of earthquakes, came up empty, shrugged and figured it was outdoors.I live in a city. Things crash. It happens.

I went about my merry way and then in the evening I went to make a cup of tea with medicinal whisky and noticed this:

That’s one of my favorite serving bowls. (Side note: it’s milk glass, which I have a ridiculous love for and really need to collect more of. Love.)  It’s broken right in two, a perfectly clean break pretty much exactly in half.

I can’t figure out what happened. My sink is porcelain, so dishes break all the time, but usually when I drop them or they fall. This didn’t fall, nothing fell onto it, and I hadn’t used the sink for anything when it happened so I can’t imagine it would be thermal shock. Plus it had been soaking in the sink for…well, let’s just say a while.

There’s a part of me that looks at something like this and wonders about omens or signs. I don’t know what of, but something feels off about the whole bit…