The Crawlspace, and Pumpkin Black Bean Soup

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about what we do with the remnants of our past lives, and about some things my mother had saved from my childhood and deposited at my house just recently, which are now living on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.  It was interesting timing, because just a few weeks later, I found myself faced with the same question, this time from a much different perspective.

Generally, I'm pretty good at purging.  I hate all kinds of clutter.  (Originally I saved clothes from our son to prepare for another child, and more than once, teetering on the edge of madness during those years of pregnancy loss, I almost threw them all in the clothing donation bin, thinking that all hope was lost, that we'd never be able to use them after all.)  Now that I know we're done having children, for the most part, I give away the kids' clothes to other families who have younger children.  I've held on to one or two hand-made sweaters, for nostalgia, but the rest are gone.  The same thing with the baby gear.  Boppies, pillows, baby monitors, store-bought blankets (I can't bring myself to give away the ones that were handmade), even the crib: all of those things have been Freecycled or given to friends.

As N. has gotten older, the toys have started to go away, too ... some of them to other children, some of them to garage sales, some of them in the trash. 

We have a few toys from my husband's childhood: a plastic phone (the kind with the red handle and the dial ... you know, the kind that children will never recognize these days anyway as a phone), and a small music box radio that plays "My Name Is Michael" when you turn the knob.  When I asked him about these things, since N. no longer really wants to play with them, he mentioned that he wanted to save them.  I was surprised, since he's not a hoarder, either, but I figured I'd find storage for them.  And suddenly there were some things I wanted to save, too.  Because I love well-made wooden toys.  And besides, durable toys that won't rot in the basement are good to have around if someone with a smaller child comes to visit.

But that's not why I was saving them, really.  I think I was saving them for my grandchildren.

Of course, it's not that simple, is it.

When I found myself in the basement crawlspace the other day, putting toys in big Rubbermaid tub -- for the future, of course -- it seemed, on the one hand, like the most natural thing to do.  But on the other hand, it was completely awkward and unnerving.  I was pretending not to know that I could not take that future for granted.  I was pretending that my daughter and son would have children of their own, that they would grow up, get married, start families.  My heart knew differently.  My heart knew that it is entirely possible that my daughter, or my son, might have to go through what we went through, or worse.  My heart knew that lives take unpredictable paths.  That terrible things happen, and that, at the other extreme, people also make not-at-all-terrible-but-entirely-sensible decisions.

As I closed the lid on the tub, knowing I would reopen it again to squirrel more things away for this fairy tale future, I decided that it was OK to live "as if."  Because even despite what Buddhists teach about not being attached in this world, I think that it's only human to project ourselves into the future.  It's like the crawlspace of our minds.  We squirrel things away there, just in case.  As long as that projection doesn't consume us or hinder our ability to live mindfully in the present; as long as we have the stability of spirit to adapt when things don't turn out as we had imagined they might, knowing that ultimately nothing belongs to us; as long as cultivating compassion is our most important work -- imagining the future isn't inherently a bad thing.  In fact, it gives us hope.  Which I think is probably one of the best things the human race has going for it.

In the meantime, my daughter continues to consume great quantities of black beans.  Which, if you believe in practitioners of Chinese medicine, is probably as good an omen as any.

Pumpkin Black Bean Soup
adapted from Sunday Morning Banana Pancakes

Practitioners of Eastern medicine, among others, have long associated black beans with fertility.  Pumpkin seeds are also supposed to increase fertility.  And even if you're not trying to have children, they're still just plain good for you.
1 T. olive oil
2 medium red bell peppers, seeded and roughly chopped

1 small onion, diced

3 garlic cloves, minced

2 t. cumin
1 t. salt 

15 oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed

1 1/4 c. pumpkin (not pumpkin pie filling)
olive oil

5 c. water

2 T. tomato paste

1 t. garam masala

2 T. raw honey or agave

pepitas for serving

In a medium pot, heat olive oil over medium heat.  Add peppers and onions, and saute until the onions are just beginning to become translucent, about 5 minutes.  Add garlic and saute for an additional 8 minutes or until the onions are beginning to caramelize.

Add cumin and salt, and stir for one minute.  Add black beans, pumpkin, tomato paste and water; bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes.

Stir in garam masala and honey, remove from heat.  Blend in batches until smooth (or use your fabulous immersion blender).  Garnish with pepitas for an added crunch.