Oil on Canvas

trifold

It’s a departure from the looser creative work I’ve done, and it’s definitely been a challenge.  I learned a lot while working on this project, and that’s always awesome.

My parents are moving back to Bangladesh this year, reversing their migration to the United States thirty-odd years ago.  A forty-foot container loaded with sofas, dishes, mattresses and knick-knacks is on its way around the world to help them adjust.  They are leaving because my mother wants to be there for my grandmother as she deals with my step-grandfather’s dementia.  I feel like I am being abandoned.  I want to shout, “Hey, what about me?  Toddlers are demented too!”

Read the whole article here.

The guides are currently being used by food banks in Los Angeles, Yolo County, San Benito County, Central New York and by the Capital Area Food Banks here in the Washington DC metro area.  

A special thanks to Los Angeles Regional Food Bank for translating the guides to Spanish!   

Here is our first “Whole Food Guide.”

Lately, my husband B and I have been fighting. We both have a lot to say, and neither of us particularly likes to listen, so everything spirals up and up until exchanges about taking the clothes out of the dryer become full blown three day long I-can’t-believe-I’m-with-you events. We don’t like the fighting and have tried to stop it. We tried “I” statements (“I feel angry because you are an idiot”). We tried never arguing in front of the kids, but we sure missed those little guys over weekends spent whisper fighting in the bathroom. As a longtime fan of daytime drama, I am at a distinct advantage in these battles. I channel Erica Kane: I toss my hair, narrow my eyes and go for the jugular. Trouble is, Erica is a size negative two millionaire who is always impeccably groomed. She’s on her eighth husband. I am a soft around the middle freelance writer who doesn’t always have time to shower. I can’t afford eight husbands.

After our latest event (which started about dishes, for the record), I was determined to fix this. Surprisingly, I couldn’t round up three friends with unique points of view free to drop everything and meet me to problem solve over martinis. Instead I decided to look for the right book (I am a nerd). I took a recommendation from mothering.com’s discussion board (I’m a nerd with hippie leanings). “How to Improve Your Marriage Without Talking About it” by Patricia Love and Steven Stosny had mostly good reviews from men and women alike, so I downloaded it on my e-book reader (okay, a geeky nerd with hippie leanings).

Stosny and Love argue that men and women are particularly vulnerable to two negative emotions: shame and fear, respectively. Men feel an intense dread of shame and failure—from being deemed inadequate as protectors, providers and romantic partners. Women are prone to anxiety over fear of isolation and deprivation—they fear being alone or in a materially unstable situation. Women tend to initiate conversation to deal with unhappiness. Their male partners, feeling affronted and responsible for the discontent of their wives and girlfriends, show their vulnerability as anger. This sounded plausible–so many of my eloquent speeches, designed to elicit tearful epiphany/apologies are met instead with a blank stare or worse, an itemization of my own faults.

The solution? Deemphasize communication of every perceived slight and wronging and focus instead on forging a greater connection through action (ahem) and shared activities and interests (hmmm). If you don’t talk it to death, it doesn’t matter if you never agree on the minutiae. This doesn’t mean silently storming around the house. It requires being aware of how much of your reaction (and your partner’s) is really motivated by your own primal differences and core vulnerabilities.

Stosny and Love also assert that the majority of men want to be in committed, nurturing romantic relationships. Culturally, we are told otherwise—we are taught that the man is a captive animal trying to escape monogamy. This fans the flames of feminine insecurities and fear of isolation. But data shows that men are healthier and more successful socially and professionally when they are in stable relationships. A statistic of my own supports this: fifty per cent of all individuals in long-term heterosexual relationships are male. So perhaps we should quit worrying that they’re planning to gnaw through the chains and break free.

I ran this all by my partner/frenemy B, reading him quotes and summarizing (he is geeky with hippie leanings, but he is no nerd) key points. He agreed with Stosny and Love’s assessments, particularly of the vulnerabilities of men. Though the material may oversimplify the dynamics of relationships a bit, it’s presented in an unbiased way that appeals to both men and women—and it’s an easy read. The examples drawn from real life patients are familiar and real, and the advice is simple. It may not solve all of our problems forever (in fact, I’m fairly certain it won’t) but I don’t think we’ll have a knock down drag out fight for a while. It’s a start. I’ll keep you posted.

During the course of my son Ali’s life, I’ve learned about trans fats and pesticides and things my mother did wrong. So I eat fresh organic berries and drink pomegranate juice and don’t buy sugary cereals. One afternoon, though, I picked Ali up from kindergarten, swung my station wagon into a spot at the mainstream grocery store, slid my pregnant body out from the tight space behind the wheel, and, as I opened his door, announced, “It’s Junky Tuesday.”

As we approached the store, the glass door swung open with reverence. We skirted the produce section and targeted the snack-food aisle. I chose spicy Cheetos. He chose Doritos. We agreed on Funyuns. Into the cart went a box of Swiss cake rolls, a tub of mini glazed donuts, and a six-pack of ginger beer.

At home, we turned on the Food Network (a compromise between General Hospital and The Magic School Bus) and spilled one of the ginger beers on the futon. When we were a third of the way through the Cheetos and Doritos and halfway through the Funyuns and had eaten a couple of donuts and split one package of the cake rolls, we couldn’t eat anymore. I heaved myself up and vomited a bit, and Ali retired to his bathroom with a long book. We’ll do it again sometime.

photo by Martine Burkel

The elementary school kids I teach made this awesome installation (with a little help, of course).  They cut the two parts of the bird out of scrap fabric, sewed them using the classroom sewing machine (how cool is it that their classroom has a sewing machine?) and then stuffed and closed them off.  We tried to make a mobile, as they were studying the work of Alexander Calder at the time, but the balancing was a nightmare so we dragged in a fallen branch and stuck it in a pot.  We’ll take it apart at the end of the school year so each child can take home his or her own bird.

P.S.  There’s another exit!

Mixed media on paper