A Love Letter to the Best Dad I Never Had
Shout out to all the dads, stepdads, uncles, special friends, and men who choose to love and support a young child, whether they be his bloodline or not.
Author: slickiris
Bread is Life
Today is Lughnasadh, the ancient Celtic celebration honoring the first harvest. One of the 8 holy days in the Wheel of the Year. Today my loaves and bagels came out beautiful, despite my worries about my dough yesterday. For this harvest and the “dough” it will bring me, I give thanks. I’ve been participating in the process of wheat harvest and bread making my entire existence. Picking the rocks from the fields, watching the soil being tilled, tasting the gritty dust between my teeth, witnessing the wheat quietly grow under its blanket of snow on my winding path to the school bus on frosty winter mornings. Sensing the energy of earthly excitement as the stalks shot up when the earth sprang forth from the deep sleep of winter and spring brought the warmth of the hot Okanogan Valley sun. The wind rustling through the golden shafts and the smell of desert rain as it fell in the dusty August days. Visions of my dad, kerchief tied around his face, while driving the combine harvester. Diving …
Offering bread and bagels to local friends
Hi friends! Thanks so much for reading this. I’m writing to announce that, after many requests from friends, neighbors and colleagues I have decided to start selling my bread locally to friends. In truth, I love to bake this bread, it brings me great joy! However, I have not wanted to sell it in the past because it feels so good to gift it to people. I have baked countless loaves and delighted so much in delivering freshly baked bread to friends and neighbors, as birthday gifts, and indeed to people experiencing homelessness. People tell me they love eating my bread and that love is what I make the bread with, it’s a collective effort that makes it so delicious! At this time, I am facing financial insecurity as all of my clients have been forced to close (hopefully temporarily) and several have had to postpone our work together. As a self-employed person, it’s challenging to not know what my financial future might look like, as we continue to shelter in place. To make ends …
My heart is aching for these trees and for all of us.
I have lived next to this grove of redwoods for the past 7.5 years. It’s one of those parts of the neighborhood that is in the background, always there and sometimes enters the conversation. “I live in Seabright, near the NHS headquarters. On so-and-so street.” “Oh, do you live on that street with the redwood grove?” “Yes! Isn’t that a lovely spot? A fairy ring right in Santa Cruz.” I have no idea how long these trees have been here, but they have the potential of living longer than this city, indeed, longer than this nation. They are sentient beings who feel and communicate in ways we can’t even understand. They are remarkable in their robustness, able to withstand both heat and fog and in their majestic thrust to the sky, they house many other beings that I encounter daily in my life in this neighborhood. These great trees also bring us oxygen while recycling our CO2, they are an integral part of the health of this city. I woke this morning with a broken …
Finding Joy in the Small Moments
Joy is in the rose gold glow of the clouds at sunrise. They whisper at first, then break into crescendos of colorful song as the sun’s rays playfully tickle their particles. Joy is in the sea lapping at the shore. The ever-changing line where the waves meet Earth, joy flowing back and forth in the dance between the two. Joy is in the bird, soaring on the wind. Feeling their body buoyant and coursing through the air. Joy is in the sweet, tart burst of a sunny apricot as I bite into its flesh, my mouth watering with desire and reveling in the fulfillment. Joy is in the pup as they run through the meadow. The wind against their face, the scents tantalizing their nose. They stop, tongue lolling, huge grin on their snout and then on again they go, playful and free. Joy is in the leaves trembling in the sunlight. Soaking in the life-giving rays of the star, feeding the trunk which supports them. Joy is in the taste of nectar as the …
The Power of Grit and Grace: What I’ve Learned From the Women in My Life
It’s impossible to accurately count the impact of women on my life. Yet I can look around me every moment of the day and see the influences of great women who have stood for big things, little things and so often made my world better through a small gesture such as an encouraging word, a knowing smile or a warm and welcoming hug. I turn to women at every fork in my path, for guidance, companionship and for the reminder that I am not alone in my continued quest to be a good mother, friend, business owner, citizen, daughter, sister, volunteer, earth dweller, spiritual being and human. I am reminded of how to navigate the twists and turns, the moments of pure joy and the moments of panic, by watching the women in my life. One woman emulates the kind of entrepreneur I strive to be, another shows me what it means to be truly kind towards all. Women show me, by example, how to lead and how to follow their lead. They guide me …
Rethinking Suicide
Today is my dad’s birthday. He would be 73 years old, except that he took his own life in 1982 after a lifelong struggle with depression and loneliness. Suicide is a complex and painful issue confronting our society in higher and higher numbers. The World Health Organization estimates that almost 800,000 people die by suicide globally each year. While suicide is often seen as a mental health issue, it is, in fact, a very complex problem with multiple variants and causes, including genetics, mental health, socio-economic status, physical health, and cultural identity. I want to take a moment to talk about suicide from the perspective of a survivor of someone who has lived through the loss of a suicide and as a person who has lived with the demons of depression and self-harm since adolescence. My own story. I’m committed to ending the stigma around suicide, mental illness and to raising awareness about the loneliness epidemic and the need for true human connection. So, in the spirit of transparency, I’m gonna spill the beans here. …
I’m voting for her.
As I sat on Election night of 2016, with my mom and sister on the phone, looking at a bleak future, all I could think of was the 40 years of Work that Mom and the rest of the environmental community had done, all of the sacrifices the families of those doing The Work had made and the gains we had received as a society, were in jeopardy. My Mom’s legacy was in jeopardy.
Stone by Stone: Burying an activist, community builder, wife and mother.
We buried mom on Thursday Thor’s Day, God of Thunder Ruled by Jupiter and Sagittarius Fitting for the Warrior she was Dragon Lady Defender of Earth Her body, dressed in the splendid purple silk Autumn bought her years ago and Unpolluted by fluids meant to preserve her flesh Laid to rest in a simple pine casket Handcrafted by a Colville man Lined with a Pendleton blanket A cedar filled pillow for her beautiful brain to rest on Tucked into her time capsule were special stones Her feather and staff and The dragon box she cherished, filled with farewell notes of love and gratitude Her community gathered Friends, allies and Hearts filled with gratitude for her tireless optimism in the fight for Justice They spoke of her journalism Her quest for Truth Her penchant for framing conversations in a way that can be heard by those in power Her commitment to Community, also Barter Fair committees, the Tonasket Co-op, the Tonasket Community Cultural Center, Annual International Mother’s Day March for Peace The list goes on: …
Me too
Ok [deep breath], the first time I was 5. My parents had family friends over, their 12-year-old boy managed to get me away from everyone else. I haven’t been able to think about that family without hot shame flushing my face or disgust making me shake, ever since. The second time I was 11, I was swimming when an adult family friend signaled me out of the water, I ran up to him all smiles before he grabbed me, right where our president likes to grab. It took years before I could look at that side of Osoyoos lake again. The third time I was 13 and sleeping over at a friend’s house. She shared a room with her older brother. In the middle of the night, I felt his hand creeping into my sleeping bag. I never went back for another sleepover at that house. The 4th time I was 12, in my orthodontist chair, he liked to cop a feel as he adjusted train tracks. I later learned he was banned, or whatever …
Community by Design 
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