You may have noticed that I like to be a bit prosaic in my storytelling. I greatly enjoy leaving a lot of space in my writing for interpretation. Space for connecting my story to yours. But there comes a time in a blog’s life where the facts need to come out just as they are. It’s the background. The where-I’m-coming-from. The who-are-you-anyway.

So, yeah. Let me tell you my story of our trip to Santorini, Greece.

I was working hard. I was a mid-level manager at a fast-paced high-tech company taking on every bit of responsibility I could get my little hands on, building new teams, taking care of my people. I love being a manager. It is something that I am cut out for and it uses every bit of who I am. I had just completed my MBA which I received from Boston University’s evening program. After spending every moment that I wasn’t working, sleeping, or eating (or buying a house, or getting married) either at school or doing schoolwork for 3.5 years, I had decided to wrap it up quickly by taking two classes during the shortened first summer session. That means I attended 3 hours of class 4 nights a week after work for 6.5 weeks, and met with classmates for team oriented work either before or after class or on Friday nights or weekends, and was on the board of the Women’s MBA Association, and in Network Impact, and did my homework anywhere I could squeeze it…lunch break, on the T (Boston’s subway), in the wee hours of the morning. I didn’t think this was odd. Maybe you don’t either. Sometimes in life, this is just what you do for what you love. Oh. But wait. Did I love it? Were these My passions?


I sure was happy to be finished, but what I didn’t realize was that I was heading over the top of the last hill on the roller coaster not to the grand finale of excitement and release and feeling of accomplishment that I was expecting, rather complete, total, and utter burnout. A nice cocktail when mixed with a lifelong battle with anxiety. Somebody shoulda stuck a fork in me, because I.was.done.

Of course I didn’t realize this right away. As celebration for all of my hard work, and just because we could, my husband and I took a flight to Greece for vacation almost immediately upon completion of my last final.

Let me pause the story to also let you know that at the time I was terrified of flying. I mean like, no sleep for days beforehand, knots in my stomach for weeks, break out in rashes, terr.i.fied. I held on to the armrest so hard for the 9 hour flight to Greece that I irritated the bursa sac in my elbow and it puffed up like a softball for the first 4 days of our trip. Because if you exert the right kind of upward force on the armrest you can actually keep an otherwise faltering airplane in the air (dontcha know).

Anyway, we get to Greece and have quite a lovely time traveling mostly around the Peloponnese with my Mother-in-law who lived there at the time. It was really an amazing trip. We rented a car, got off the beaten path, and (thanks to my MIL’s fluency in Greek) stayed in little villages in rented rooms over the local tavernas. Fantastic. At the end of the trip my husband and I had scheduled 3 days to ourselves on the incredibly beautiful island of Santorini.


If you aren’t familiar, Santorini is the place pictured on every tourist advertisement beckoning you to Greece. It is the one with all the white buildings with blue, domed roofs hanging off the cliff edges over the sea. Some people think it may have been the infamous “Atlantis“, in fact, before it blew up 3600 years ago. You see, the beautiful crescent-shaped island of Santorini is actually the caldera of an active volcano. Of course it is a perfectly safe and beautiful place to visit. Really there is very little chance that the volcano will erupt while you are visiting. But try telling my poor, exhausted, fully-tilted brain that. There was just no doing it. No matter how many glasses of rosé I drank while playing backgammon and watching some of the world’s most amazing sunsets, no matter how much horrible television I tried to distract myself with in the middle of the night when I could not get myself to sleep, no matter how many walks on the black sand beaches my husband I took, I could not think of anything but that island blowing up. I wanted so badly to enjoy it. It was our romantic getaway after so much work! How many people on this Earth get the opportunity to visit such a place? It was beautiful, sunny, once in a lifetime. And yet, the last night we were there I was up the entire night, curled up in the corner of the couch, shaking like a leaf and expecting any moment to be my last. Not really wanting to get on an airplane either, but just wanting the whole thing to be over. Yep, like I said. Done.

So. This is where I have been. There is more…oh, so much more. This wasn’t even the lowest of the low. But it is when I started to think maybe I should do something about how I was living my life. About how my story was unraveling. ')}

Sams and bergmann provide an excellent introduction to buy an essay online cheap what the flipped classroom is, why it works, and how they do it


What to do with tomatillos – Veggie Chili Verde


I really enjoy figuring out what to do with all of the veggies we get in our CSA every week. With the exception of a some wilted bok choy (I just can’t get myself to like it no matter how hard I try) I have used pretty much everything before it became over-ripe. We do have a smaller sized shared than average, but I am proud just the same. This recipe has become a family favorite and it can use up a lot of veggies when you have one of those weeks where cooking just doesn’t happen. It is adapted from Giada De Laurentiis’s Vegetarian Chili Verde recipe, which is amazing, but I made it a bit easier for myself and just use what I have on hand.

You Need:
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
One large potato, diced (about 1/3″ squares)
One large beet or sweet potato, diced (about 1/3″ squares)
4 large cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
4 large tomatillos husked, rinsed, chopped
2 large sweet peppers, chooped
2 tablespoons dried oregano
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons cumin seeds
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 14.5 ounce cans of Cannellini beans or hominy, with their juices
1 cup vegetable broth
1-2 hot peppers of your choosing, chopped

Garnishes. We like cilantro, low-fat greek yogurt, grated pepper-jack cheese, avacado. Sometimes I even find the energy to make cornbread.

Serves: 4-6

Veggies In Bowl

Wash, and chop all the veggies, except for the hot pepper. I like to chop them into one big bowl. As a rule I try to chop everything to about the same size. Don’t bother peeling the potatoes or the beets/sweet potato. If you do use beets just keep in mind that your chili will be pink when it is done. I think it is rather pretty actually.

Heat up the oil on medium heat. Add the chopped veggies and cover, stirring often. Let the vegetables sweat for about 8 minutes until the onions are translucent.


In the meantime, gather the dry ingredients. I generally only put a pinch of salt in at this point because I find it difficult to judge how salty the veggie broth will be. Salt can always be added near the end.


When the onions are translucent, add the flour, cumin, oregano, salt and pepper to the vegetables and stir.


Add the two cans of beans along with their juices. I like using Cannellini beans because I almost always have them on hand, but you could use any bean. I really liked the hominy in there, but hominy is sometimes hard to find in my area.

Add veggie broth. Stir.

hot pepper

Carefully chop the hot pepper(s) (use gloves or don’t touch your eyes for, like, the rest of the day). I use whatever I get from the farm. It really depends on your personal taste how much and what kind of pepper you put in there. If you wanted to be safe, one Jalepeno is fine.


Reduce the heat so that you have a good simmer. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally so that nothing sticks to the bottom.

Uncover and simmer for 20 more minutes, stirring frequently to prevent a gunky bottom.

Add more salt if that is to your taste. Serve immediately with garnishes.

I made a huge double batch of this once I realized how good it was and froze a bunch for later in the winter. I imagine it will be pretty tasty.


Today’s students are busy, and being able to consume learning content on demand is a navigate right here big help, especially when they miss class for extracurricular events


Let this happen, too.


Lift off.

I feel like I have been up in the air since the moment I left the folds of Matrilumina. Hubby, little monkey, and I vacationed for a week after the retreat, and I assumed that would make for a calm, slow, cushion-y re-entry back to regular life and it certainly has. Interestingly, we got home and though my mind and my body have returned back to earth, I find my heart is still floating around in the stratosphere. I resumed my duties, I plugged my new self back into the wall socket of my life, and it all feels a little wrong. It feels, honestly, like I am waiting. Not for my heart to come back down to the plane on which I am currently living, but for the rest of me to join my heart.

So, yes. I am letting this happen, too. I have been sitting with all of this really quietly. I thought maybe that hiding was a bad thing (my inner critic pressuring me to share, connect, vibrate!) until the amazing women I circled with there in Big Sur reminded me that sometimes we all need to hide. That sometimes it takes time for things to sink in fully. That little seeds need to be nurtured under the earth before they can begin to unfurl what they are made of and push, in their own time, through the tension of the surface.

I don’t know when my spring will be, but I can feel the formation happening. Molecules coming together in the way they are naturally inclined, beginning their journey toward the sky. And I can tell its gonna be good.


In the meantime, I would love to be able to summarize what happened for me at Matrilumina. The full story will take some time to emerge, and I will start here. The following is a paragraph I wrote while we were there, during a word-play exercise led by the Beam of Pure Star Light Christine Mason Miller. It is the briefest of summaries, and each word holds paragraphs. But that’s kinda how I like it.


Seeking love in the light and the shadow, I trust root and breath and sisterhood. I release what I do not own.
I birth magic and abundance for myself and I form my tribe.
Our wisdom, our connectedness…it is the creation of joy energy, openness to Earth, and sacred transformation. It is wild truth
within and for our ancestry.

Sunset ')}

Colleges are looking for those extracurricular activities, and it’s a shame if a student do my homework for me has to choose between missing lectures or participating in activities that they’ve committed to with the flip, they don’t have to


Let this happen.

In a few days I leave on a journey. I am packing 2 weeks worth of stuff, leaving my itty bitty, 15 month old little monkey and my amazing husband for 6 days to attend this gathering.

I am anxious and excited. I will be at my edge the entire time. But that is where we learn the most, isn’t it? At our edge. At the cliffside as we take our next leap.

Hubby and Monkey will be joining me on Friday in San Francisco. There we’ll have a visit with NanaLu and Papa (coming down from Washington). Then we’ll travel down by car to visit my best friend in San Diego. What adventures await?

I love to travel and these few days before it all begins are full of heightened emotions, anticipation. I am good at this mode. Pressure to do things right, quickly, every “t” crossed every “i” dotted. Oh but how it can ramp up my anxiety astronomically. In fact, on a few “vacations” by the time I got there I was so stressed out someone would have to peel me off the ceiling to go down to the pool. I could barely enjoy a moment. Remind me to tell you about our trip to Santorini sometime.

Me in Santorini - don't let the smile fool you

Today, I am taking each moment as it comes. When I am sad about leaving my baby boy, I cry. When I am nervous about flying (an old phobia of mine) I look around and remember where I am this second. When the logistics become overwhelming, I take a deep breath and think about how everything will be just fine. I will get there. I will have clean underwear.

A friend of mine reminded me recently that anxiety can come from dwelling in the future. Troubling over what is to come. It is my old way. This is my new mantra: Let This Happen.


Students can even check over there work ahead when they know they will be losing class time



“Creating community in this way, well, it’s what I love to do.”

I realized it, or remembered it, as I was typing it to the Farm Manager of Moraine Farm where we have our CSA. I am volunteering myself to help with the Autumn Open House and the annual gathering of shareholders. Actually, I am sitting here willing that these events happen. That they will exist and be such stunning gatherings that everyone will want to be a part of this community. I ache to be a part of creating it. I want to be part of the magic. I want to be responsible for it.

This was a flash of deep insight for me around what I want to “do” with my life. Is the answer loud and clear? Nope. This desire for community-holding is powerful and that is certainly telling me something, and actions are happening because of it. But things are still pretty fuzzy. If I really love creating community, in this case through gathering souls together and having them share a fabulous evening (preferably with really yummy food and some fabulous music), what does that mean? Should I be an event planner? Not exactly, that is gathering on someone else’s terms. Should I open a restaurant? That seems to be centered more around the good food part. I should do…something else. Something with a space. Right. That’s where I am at with Antipodes Arthouse. This is what it is going to be. That place you are drawn to because when you are there you feel…elevated.

It is so funny how I keep coming to the same answer and I am surprised every time. ')}

Many students are absolutely thrilled to be able to pause, rewind, and replay lecture videos and absorb new content at a pace that works for them


Purple is a transformative color.

I have a purple streak in my hair.

The first time I had it done I was inspired by my mother-in-love who had gotten a small bit of color in her hair at the beginning of the new year in 2010. When I saw it in person, fading into a little rainbow streak at the top of head, I knew I had to do this for myself. So I marched over to their local hair salon, with a crocus in my hand matching the exact color that I wanted, and had the stylist put a big, fat purple streak from the top of my head to my shoulder on my right side. I had never done anything so outwardly controversial in my life (seriously). And it was positively freeing. I remember walking back to my in-laws house in Tacoma with tears of joy in my eyes and I am just starting to understand why I was so overcome.

Just the other day I was at an event. The kind of solemn celebratory event where you are surrounded by the hosts’ family and elders and you are the couple of close friends feeling slightly guilty about having a beer or two in the shade (hm, maybe that guilt part is just me). One of these elders approached me toward the end of the day and said “I am sorry for staring, but I have to ask, why the purple?”

I am actually not asked “why?” all that often and so I stumbled for a bit and then said something along the lines of feeling like showing some color and being rebellious and that it was less permanent than a tattoo. The woman’s husband piped up then. He said “I was just on the shore and got a temporary tattoo.” and then he looked me in the eye and said “Ya know, purple is a transformative color.” I mean, this stranger, this gentleman, he just totally got it. I hadn’t even really gotten it myself.

When I got my first purple streak some part of me was aching, screaming, clawing to be seen. Really, actually seen. I had been doing some difficult work behind closed doors. I had been talking to a therapist and working through my anxiety issues, I had been uncovering my inner-artist, I had been picking apart those cracking walls brick by brick. It was time to wear my transformation on my sleeve, out loud.

Whereas I had gotten really good at fading into the background (a known skill of Fox, my animal totem) and camouflaging myself in my surroundings, people were now noticing me. And I was ready for it. Nowadays I very rarely feel like people are making judgements about me because of the color in my hair, and when I do most of the time it is kind of exciting. Am I edgy? Well, yeah I guess I am. I’m a wild, edgy, free, currently transforming mama. And I am cool with everyone knowing it.


Moreover, the time that is freed up in class can now be devoted more directly to each student as he or she needs it


Spicy Pickled Radishes


I got one bunch from our CSA and used a few in some salads over the week. Quite yummy for sure, but I still had 4 or so large radishes left a week later when I got another bunch, and they were getting a bit spongy at that. I trusted that The Internets would know what to do, and man did it deliver. Turns out it is not a secret that the best thing on earth to do with a radish is to pickle it (perhaps tied with eating it with butter and fleur de sel somewhere in the south of France, but I am not getting there anytime soon).

There is no shortage of recipes and tutorials out there for how to pickle your own radishes. However, I was making a big old batch for our annual fourth of July celebration and had made a few adjustments to the recipes I’d found and I figured I’d try my hand at writing a recipe post, complete with lovingly captured shots of the process (with deep gratitude to the amazing women who have inspired me to get reacquainted with my camera, Amy and Stacy). Furthermore, everyone who has eaten them is now addicted and wants the recipe, so this seems like a good way to share it.

Now is a good time to mention that you need not stop at radishes. If I ever had to eat a shoe I would pickle it because it would be at least marginally appetizing. In the case of my 4th of July batch I added a bunch of Salad Turnips (also from the CSA) and when I had one jar that wasn’t quite full I added a chopped up fennel bulb too.

The recipe below is for 1 “normal sized” bunch of radishes but it can be easily doubled, tripled, whatever.

Okay, first you should have on hand the following things:
1 bunch of radishes of any type
1 cup of white or cider vinegar (once I did half of each and it was good)
1 cup of water
2 teaspoons of sea salt (if using kosher or regular salt use a bit more)
2 teaspoons of coconut palm sugar (you can definitely use some other sweetener like white sugar or honey but I really love how this comes out)
1/2 teaspoon of peppercorns
2-3 cloves of garlic, peeled
1 Fresno pepper (Jalapeno works just fine too)

You’ll also need:
-A mason or canning jar. I actually used old spaghetti sauce jars washed out very well and sterilized in the dishwasher. They are a weird in-between size.
-A Canning funnel (or something to help you get boiling liquid into the jar safely)
-A bit of plastic wrap or parchment paper (or plastic jar lids)


1) Chop off the radish greens (use here if so inclined) and scrub the radishes. Chop the radishes into halves or quarters so they are of pleasing pickle size.
*note: this is a good time to gauge how many jars of veggies you actually have. Generally 1 bunch of radishes = 1 jar but could be more or less.

2) Slice your chili pepper in half. You can leave the seeds in or take them out if you want a little less heat.

3) Stuff your chili pepper, garlic, and radishes into the jar and add the peppercorns.

4) In a small pot add the vinegar, water, sea salt, and sugar and bring to a boil. Let bubble for a few minutes until the salt and sugar dissolve.

5) Using a canning funnel, pour the hot liquid over your future pickles, covering them completely, and filling the jar with about half an inch to spare.

6) Cover with a small bit of plastic wrap and then screw the lid on tight. The plastic wrap helps keep the vinegar from corroding the metal lid. You can also buy plastic lids for this purpose. I learned this from my dear friend, Latisha.
*note: before you put the ring on the lid you can add a label if you want to be a little fancy. I used a free downloadable .pdf from Jenny Lee Fowler that I learned about in my subscription to Taproot Magazine to create my labels. So pretty!

7) Set out to cool to room temperature, then move them to the fridge.

Let the pickles be for at least 24 hours, but then they are ready to eat! I have heard they will last a month in the refrigerator but I wouldn’t know. In this house they are gone within a couple of days.


The dynamics of the conversation with parents often changes in the flipped classroom as well


Cracking through.

Something shifted in me after that first Squam experience, yes. Something hard and cold and opaque fell away from my heart. That doesn’t mean that everything fell into place though. It still hasn’t a full two years later. All I could really see was that I wasn’t allowing myself to shine. I was hiding. And I was really, really good at it.

This part of me was trying to bust out for a while. It is what attracted me to Squam in the first place, and it got me to fill out the forms, and mail them. However, when the walls I had built up over so much time started cracking, a new me didn’t just bust right through it smiling and dancing and taking over the world. It has taken much work to unravel what I had buried so deeply. Most of the time I feel like I am still on the first step. It is the hardest. Honoring myself. Not a pretty picture of myself like I had been practicing. Not a new being perfectly aligned with my wants and needs. My self. As I stand here today. Get ready, world, to meet the real me.

Me Today


The conversation can move beyond issues like, is my child behaving in class to a more meaningful discussion about learning


Squam Summary – Spring 2012

First let it be said that summarizing a Squam Art Workshops experience is about as easy as capturing the grand canyon in a photograph. It has been done, for sure, but as much as I want to share the magic with friends, and family, and here, it is never going to be quite as good as the real thing. It is just so much bigger than I can represent within any kind of reasonable parameters.

That being said, it is worth it to share a glimpse. It was my third time, and it was as electrifying as the first.

I got a ride up with A and Z, two first-time Squammies, who graciously answered my plea for a ride on the Squam Message Board (now the Squam Community site). We met at a coffee shop near North Station in Boston. We had an instant connection and (of course!) were completely randomly assigned to the same cabin. After much hugging we were on our way.

It was a lovely drive up, filled with conversation and complete with a stop at, The Common Man for lunch, Pattern Works and the grocery store in Center Harbor, NH for supplies (knitting needles, yarn, wine, more wine). The weather flipped back and forth between sunny or raining, or sunny and raining (several rainbows spotted).

At registration there were more hugs, this time from the amazing women of Squam: Elizabeth, Jen, Michelle, Christine, and Lauren . Teacher Maya Donenfeld was there too (whose blog first introduced me to Squam), and the ever-dazzling official Squam musician Jonatha Brooke. I hope they know what it means that they are all there to greet us as we come in off the open road. They must all have one million and one things to do, and yet there they are, setting the tone, with open arms and hearts – you belong here too.

My cabin this Spring was named “Nirvana”. I mean, can you be more apt? The Rockywold-Deephaven Camps (RDC) are utterly gorgeous and being at Squam in that setting, well it is about as close to heaven on earth as I can imagine. I met our other cabin-mates, unpacked (I am an unpacker), and settled in before dinner and an evening welcome at the playhouse.

And Ohhh, the women I lived with for those five ethereal days. This may be the most difficult thing to explain about Squam. Most of us strangers upon arrival, we left as friends. I miss them still, two weeks later. Miss our morning fires, swimming in the freezing lake (it really was very cold), chatting at dinner, circling at the end of the day, sharing frustrations and joys, jokes, and tears of laughter. It is more than lingering, it can be everlasting.


My class on Thursday was with a wild woman who already had my heart long before we met face to face, Pixie Campbell. My experience with her offering, Soulodge, and this class will be a post (many posts) in itself so here I will be brief. Pixie led us through the day shamanic journeying, walking and taking in the forest and the lake, pulling cards and runes as we opened our hearts to the universe and listened to what it had to tell us. It even more heightened the spirit of self-discovery that Squam always represents for me. In that stillness, and in the listening, I made life-altering discoveries about myself and remembered dusty pieces of my heart. It was a gift to be in a circle with the other participants and watch and hear their experiences unfold. To be with Pixie was dreamlike.


Jonatha Brooke performed that evening at the playhouse (every evening after dinner there is something wonderful happening there). She performed a bit of her play My Mother Has Four Noses. Up on the stage she tells the beautiful and heart-wrenching story of caring for her mother as she lives and dies with Alzheimer’s disease. She intersperses her beautiful songs on guitar or piano and images of her mother on a projector. I brought some knitting with me (as most do at Spring Squam) and barely knit a stitch. By the end the tears were flowing. I left feeling so thankful that she shared that story with us. It is not often told and it is so often lived.

My class on Friday and Saturday was “Seeing the Everyday” with an amazing photographer and sparkling soul Amy Gretchen. Seriously, this woman’s smile lit up the whole room. And I left the class feeling so much more intimate with my camera. I had a Cannon AE-1 film camera that my folks got me in late High School and got to know it pretty well. My husband bought me a Nikon D5000 (Digital SLR) as a graduation gift when I received my MBA a few years ago and I never really took it off the auto settings…not even through the thousands and thousands of photos we took of my son during this past year. Since taking Amy G.’s class, I am walking around with my camera in one hand (trying to make it feel like an extension of my arm rather than a clunky distraction) shooting in manual, from different angles, and trying to capture those simple moments. I see a significant difference in the pictures I took pre- and post- Amy G. I feel pretty lucky to have been a part of her class.


This gets me doubly excited for the e-course I am signed up for later this month Getting Naked with the Now with soul sister Stacy de la Rosa.

Oh, and did I mention that in between these two life-altering classes I got to indulge in yoga with Michelle? I emerge from her classes feeling so centered, and so ready to take on the world. And we heard Maya Donenfeld and Alena Hennessy speak about writing their respective books.

Learning at Squam is like a tidal wave. I think that is another reason so many of us have so much trouble describing it. It takes days, weeks, until the next year’s Squam for all of it to sink in. The experiences I shared with my classmates, my cabin-mates, the stranger-now-friend sitting next to me at Jonatha’s performance, the chance encounters on the “commute” to and from class, this is where the real magic takes place. Each encounter is almost like a little miracle to me. Knowing that we really saw each other in those moments, and imprinted, and left a little spark behind. It is changing the world.

I could write another thousand words. Don’t worry, I will.


Teachers are able to explain how a student is succeeding, and what they struggle with


What is this I’ve landed in?

Goodness. And I mean that in every sense of the word.

I spent Wednesday through Sunday in the woods, by the lake, at Squam Art Workshops and I have so much to tell you. It will happen in due time. First I’ve got to get the pictures off of my camera. I took about a thousand of them in the joyful goddess Amy Gretchen’s class alone. On top of that, I need to let some things settle before my mind can find the words to put to it.


Right now I am focused on giving myself a gentle landing back into everyday life. In the past I haven’t been very good at it. I have put a lot of pressure on myself to keep up with everything I learned, establish those new relationships, read and absorb every attendee’s blog post/facebook update/flickr feed so I can relive the experience again and again, explain every revelation to my family and friends, all that and unpack, do the laundry, care for the little and my partner and the house, return to my desk job…last Fall in particular, I don’t mind admitting, I completely crashed and burned in re-entry. Skipping off the atmosphere between two very different lives. Way to undo all the good of a retreat, hotpants.


This year I am handling it much better. My life at Squam and my life at home are becoming less different, for one. But also, instead of feeling like I have an outstanding balance due to my daily life and the people in it, I am considering that my budget is balanced. I am taking it easy and squeezing every last bit of good out of it. Sure, my desk-job is super busy, in a way that could be overwhelming if I let it, but I’m taking each minute as I can (and probably not surprisingly it is all getting done). I am enjoying the quiet company of my family. The laundry will be cleaned. The stories and the pictures will be there when I am ready.

There are many reasons why a student may be struggling, and focusing on these areas in a dialogue with the parent can be far more productive than a discussion of why their child won’t do their homework or why they won’t sit still in class