After.
'Nough said.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
a study in contradiction
this eager, shy heart.
so ready to jump
off into the land of make-believe,
to fly with the imagination,
get caught up in any sort
of fantasy—but so slow to
react in the real world, slow
to connect, to open, to learn.
so wild and free and
tame and imprisoned,
so big and so small, so
loud and so quiet.
so ready to jump
off into the land of make-believe,
to fly with the imagination,
get caught up in any sort
of fantasy—but so slow to
react in the real world, slow
to connect, to open, to learn.
so wild and free and
tame and imprisoned,
so big and so small, so
loud and so quiet.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
simple deliciousness
It's time to quit ruminating and throw out a new favorite recipe of mine: Pork and Apple Bake. There's nothing else to say but YUM!
4 pork chops (I used 3). Mine were nice and thick, and so tender they practically fell off the bone. Tasty!
¾ cup hot water, apple cider, or apple juice
¼ cup brown sugar
½ tsp cinnamon (I also tossed in a little cardamom—it was a good call!)
2 apples, peeled, cored, and sliced. You could easily do 3 apples.
1. sear pork in frying pan in a little hot oil. A little! Maybe a tsp.
2. preheat oven to 375
3. place browned chops in a 9 by 13 pan, as spread out as possible.
4. sprinkle with salt and pepper
5. layer on apple slices
6. combine remaining 3 ingredients and pour over apples and chops
7. cover with foil and bake for 35-45 minutes, until pork is cooked through
8. if you want, pull the chops out of the pan, thoroughly stir a little cornstarch/water slurry into the juicy apple “gravy” and put back in the oven for a few minutes. It will thicken up. Yes, I know. This is usually done on the stovetop, but hey—why dirty another pot? After it's thickened, pour over chops.
9. Eat. Eat it all. It’s good for you. Or at least low fat.
Tastes great with couscous! I might try it with noodles next time—but honestly, the whole wheat couscous I used totally rocked.
4 pork chops (I used 3). Mine were nice and thick, and so tender they practically fell off the bone. Tasty!
¾ cup hot water, apple cider, or apple juice
¼ cup brown sugar
½ tsp cinnamon (I also tossed in a little cardamom—it was a good call!)
2 apples, peeled, cored, and sliced. You could easily do 3 apples.
1. sear pork in frying pan in a little hot oil. A little! Maybe a tsp.
2. preheat oven to 375
3. place browned chops in a 9 by 13 pan, as spread out as possible.
4. sprinkle with salt and pepper
5. layer on apple slices
6. combine remaining 3 ingredients and pour over apples and chops
7. cover with foil and bake for 35-45 minutes, until pork is cooked through
8. if you want, pull the chops out of the pan, thoroughly stir a little cornstarch/water slurry into the juicy apple “gravy” and put back in the oven for a few minutes. It will thicken up. Yes, I know. This is usually done on the stovetop, but hey—why dirty another pot? After it's thickened, pour over chops.
9. Eat. Eat it all. It’s good for you. Or at least low fat.
Tastes great with couscous! I might try it with noodles next time—but honestly, the whole wheat couscous I used totally rocked.
Monday, December 21, 2009
as dumb as sheep
I don't know about anyone else, but I know I can go from hip and intelligent to decidedly dumb in less than one point two seconds. It's like a switch that I can't control, a button that gets bumped into--and bam! Stupidity.
Fortunately, for the most part I contain the toxic spill within my own brain, and offer minimal evidence to the world in general.
Unless you happen to be the person I'm speaking to when the idiot light goes on. Sometimes I clam up, and make eight-year-old level comments. No sentences over five words long. (Yes, that was yesterday.)
Or worse--I babble. Things just drop from my mouth. Silly things. Or worse--mean things. Wit and sarcasm gone horribly awry.
I almost always notice when the light goes on, and try to act normal, casual--but the button has been pushed, and the system needs a reset. It may take three minutes, it may take an hour. There's no telling how dumb I'll be or for how long.
And somehow, I don't think I'm the only one who has this problem. We all have...ahem..."issues." Some have more obvious and/or violent ones than others, but we all have them. We're all royally screwed up. It's a switch we can't control. It doesn't matter how self-aware we are, or how good our intentions are. That idiot light will always pop up.
So how can anyone live in this world and not think they need a savior? Surely it's not too hard to see that we all need to be rescued from our own junk. Especially this time of year, when the regretable, illogical paradox of what we have turned Christmas into stares us right in the eye. It's the season of loving, caring, sharing...stuffing our faces, and trampling people as we rush to seize the deal. Doesn't that just make your skin crawl?
Mine does. Because I know it wouldn't take much for me to be just as stupid and selfish, much as my pride would like to argue otherwise.
We focus on the cheap, temporary gifts, and miss out on the greatest and best and most wondrous gift ever. The eternal Gift.
Freedom from my own stupidity. Forever. Someone to set me on my feet whenever I tip over. Forever.
Happy birthday, Jesus.
Fortunately, for the most part I contain the toxic spill within my own brain, and offer minimal evidence to the world in general.
Unless you happen to be the person I'm speaking to when the idiot light goes on. Sometimes I clam up, and make eight-year-old level comments. No sentences over five words long. (Yes, that was yesterday.)
Or worse--I babble. Things just drop from my mouth. Silly things. Or worse--mean things. Wit and sarcasm gone horribly awry.
I almost always notice when the light goes on, and try to act normal, casual--but the button has been pushed, and the system needs a reset. It may take three minutes, it may take an hour. There's no telling how dumb I'll be or for how long.
And somehow, I don't think I'm the only one who has this problem. We all have...ahem..."issues." Some have more obvious and/or violent ones than others, but we all have them. We're all royally screwed up. It's a switch we can't control. It doesn't matter how self-aware we are, or how good our intentions are. That idiot light will always pop up.
So how can anyone live in this world and not think they need a savior? Surely it's not too hard to see that we all need to be rescued from our own junk. Especially this time of year, when the regretable, illogical paradox of what we have turned Christmas into stares us right in the eye. It's the season of loving, caring, sharing...stuffing our faces, and trampling people as we rush to seize the deal. Doesn't that just make your skin crawl?
Mine does. Because I know it wouldn't take much for me to be just as stupid and selfish, much as my pride would like to argue otherwise.
We focus on the cheap, temporary gifts, and miss out on the greatest and best and most wondrous gift ever. The eternal Gift.
Freedom from my own stupidity. Forever. Someone to set me on my feet whenever I tip over. Forever.
Happy birthday, Jesus.
Friday, December 4, 2009
control versus apathy
You know what the world tells me? We’re supposed to live believing that you can control your life, that bad things eventually happen to bad people, and good things eventually happen to good people—and that if you work hard, if you smile at the right people, if you invest wisely, then things will go pretty much your way. You’ll persevere and climb the mountain. You’ll find that soul mate. You’ll land in that wonderfully fulfilling job. You are so entitled. You're worth it.
But life has a nasty way of knocking those houses of cards over. Bad things happen to good people. Senseless acts of violence occur every day. Kids kill kids. People abuse spouses, children, coworkers, the elderly…you name it, someone’s hurting someone. Including themselves. Every ninety minutes, someone commits suicide in America. Natural disasters and accidents and diseases are everywhere. Why?
There is no why, not the way we understand it. Life is out of control. People cannot control one single thing. Not even the words out of our mouths. Even our breathing occurs without our volition. Thinking you can really control your life makes about as much sense as trying to sail the ocean in a paper boat.
Well, since we can’t control anything, what’s the point? Why should we do anything? Why should we care? Why should we act? Things will never change. Just sit this one out. No matter how hard you fight, or prepare, or save, it can all be knocked away in a moment. No matter how many people you try to help, there will always be a million more suffering. No, thank you. Opt out. Choose not to choose. Step away from the cruel coldness of life. And cover your insecurity and fear with snarky criticism. Get sarcastic.
If not control, choose apathy. One or the other. Those are your only two options. That’s what I hear in both ears, every day.
Bull.
That is a false dichotomy, a sinful lie that has been spread so thick we can barely breathe without inhaling it. And so many of use relax into its embrace. Brilliant young adults coast through life, making selfish choices.
And let me say, that makes me want to kick and scream and swear, and wish that it were possible to beat people into right thinking. But you know what—there’s a better answer than my stick of justice.
When we ask why, when we seek either control or its inverse, apathy, we miss the point. We’re asking the wrong questions. Complete understanding and control are not ours. They are God’s.
In the book of John, chapter 1, it speaks of the light (Jesus) shining in the darkness. And the darkness, depending on your translation “could not understand it,” or “could not overcome it.” When we want to fully understand God, when we want to absolutely know how and why—that is when God would no longer be God. A god that can fit so neatly into my pocket is no kind of Creator or Savior. A god that I can comprehend and therefore conquer is not God.
Book of Job. Love it. Because when God shows up, he doesn’t answer Job’s “why” questions. He doesn’t justify the tragedies that occurred. He doesn’t give a reason. He just says, “You’re asking the wrong questions, Job. You’re focusing on the wrong stuff. I am God. ME. Consider my majesty and redirect your thinking.” And Job says, “I see now—I’m so wrong. You’re so right.” And he praises, through the pain.
Job grieves. Job suffers. Job has crappy friends. Job gets shafted. Job endures with no foreseeable benefits. God does not dismiss that, nor does he provide a pat answer.
“Redirect your thinking, Job. Focus on me. Don't miss the point. Grieve, but grieve in my embrace. Struggle, but know that there is a reality so far beyond your struggles that expecting me to swoop down like a fairy godmother is ridiculous.” (Ok, so that's not really a direct quote from the Bible. Picky, picky.)
Bad things don’t diminish God’s transforming power. He is sovereign. Whatever this crazy world throws at you, he can and will use it for good. Sometimes a good so great you cannot even recognize it from your limited perspective. An ant standing in front of a mature oak tree doesn’t see a tree—he sees a limitless wall. And so it is with us, and life, and all the crap we’re stepping in.
You know what—crap is crap—and it is also fertilizer, over time. It stinks, but let nature work it, and it will help you grow.
Does a plant know it’s growing? Maybe. Maybe not, until it bears fruit.
I am out of control. I will grieve and I will hurt and I will wonder why. And I repudiate apathy and it’s cause—fear. I repudiate helplessness. Sitting still is for sissies. God built me for purpose, for action.
And yet—my life is not a sum of what I do. What I do is the effect, not the cause. My life is who I am while I’m doing it. What is true, what is real, is my relationship with God, wherever I am, whatever happens to me.
God does not call us to sit on our keisters and let life go by. Opposite! God calls us to strive, to work—to run the race, as Paul puts it. There’s no arriving. And that thought should bring not fear, but joy. I cannot control the path. I don’t have to control the path. I am released from that burden. My path will be smooth, rocky, hilly, muddy…
And always an adventure.
Run. Breathe. Don’t quit. Turn a deaf ear to the world’s crappy logic. And please, please, for the love of God, look beyond the why.
But life has a nasty way of knocking those houses of cards over. Bad things happen to good people. Senseless acts of violence occur every day. Kids kill kids. People abuse spouses, children, coworkers, the elderly…you name it, someone’s hurting someone. Including themselves. Every ninety minutes, someone commits suicide in America. Natural disasters and accidents and diseases are everywhere. Why?
There is no why, not the way we understand it. Life is out of control. People cannot control one single thing. Not even the words out of our mouths. Even our breathing occurs without our volition. Thinking you can really control your life makes about as much sense as trying to sail the ocean in a paper boat.
Well, since we can’t control anything, what’s the point? Why should we do anything? Why should we care? Why should we act? Things will never change. Just sit this one out. No matter how hard you fight, or prepare, or save, it can all be knocked away in a moment. No matter how many people you try to help, there will always be a million more suffering. No, thank you. Opt out. Choose not to choose. Step away from the cruel coldness of life. And cover your insecurity and fear with snarky criticism. Get sarcastic.
If not control, choose apathy. One or the other. Those are your only two options. That’s what I hear in both ears, every day.
Bull.
That is a false dichotomy, a sinful lie that has been spread so thick we can barely breathe without inhaling it. And so many of use relax into its embrace. Brilliant young adults coast through life, making selfish choices.
And let me say, that makes me want to kick and scream and swear, and wish that it were possible to beat people into right thinking. But you know what—there’s a better answer than my stick of justice.
When we ask why, when we seek either control or its inverse, apathy, we miss the point. We’re asking the wrong questions. Complete understanding and control are not ours. They are God’s.
In the book of John, chapter 1, it speaks of the light (Jesus) shining in the darkness. And the darkness, depending on your translation “could not understand it,” or “could not overcome it.” When we want to fully understand God, when we want to absolutely know how and why—that is when God would no longer be God. A god that can fit so neatly into my pocket is no kind of Creator or Savior. A god that I can comprehend and therefore conquer is not God.
Book of Job. Love it. Because when God shows up, he doesn’t answer Job’s “why” questions. He doesn’t justify the tragedies that occurred. He doesn’t give a reason. He just says, “You’re asking the wrong questions, Job. You’re focusing on the wrong stuff. I am God. ME. Consider my majesty and redirect your thinking.” And Job says, “I see now—I’m so wrong. You’re so right.” And he praises, through the pain.
Job grieves. Job suffers. Job has crappy friends. Job gets shafted. Job endures with no foreseeable benefits. God does not dismiss that, nor does he provide a pat answer.
“Redirect your thinking, Job. Focus on me. Don't miss the point. Grieve, but grieve in my embrace. Struggle, but know that there is a reality so far beyond your struggles that expecting me to swoop down like a fairy godmother is ridiculous.” (Ok, so that's not really a direct quote from the Bible. Picky, picky.)
Bad things don’t diminish God’s transforming power. He is sovereign. Whatever this crazy world throws at you, he can and will use it for good. Sometimes a good so great you cannot even recognize it from your limited perspective. An ant standing in front of a mature oak tree doesn’t see a tree—he sees a limitless wall. And so it is with us, and life, and all the crap we’re stepping in.
You know what—crap is crap—and it is also fertilizer, over time. It stinks, but let nature work it, and it will help you grow.
Does a plant know it’s growing? Maybe. Maybe not, until it bears fruit.
I am out of control. I will grieve and I will hurt and I will wonder why. And I repudiate apathy and it’s cause—fear. I repudiate helplessness. Sitting still is for sissies. God built me for purpose, for action.
And yet—my life is not a sum of what I do. What I do is the effect, not the cause. My life is who I am while I’m doing it. What is true, what is real, is my relationship with God, wherever I am, whatever happens to me.
God does not call us to sit on our keisters and let life go by. Opposite! God calls us to strive, to work—to run the race, as Paul puts it. There’s no arriving. And that thought should bring not fear, but joy. I cannot control the path. I don’t have to control the path. I am released from that burden. My path will be smooth, rocky, hilly, muddy…
And always an adventure.
Run. Breathe. Don’t quit. Turn a deaf ear to the world’s crappy logic. And please, please, for the love of God, look beyond the why.
Monday, November 30, 2009
deep thots...and Charlie Brown
Ever wondered just who, exactly, is living in your skin? God knows I do.
Seriously.
I ask him. A lot. The same question in a hundred different ways.
And he answers me. Not in one giant chunk of perfect self-awareness (which would undoubtedly be absolutely unbearable and would turn my brain to Spam), but with little flashes. And generally when I'm not all wrapped up in myself.
Funny how that works.
Sometimes, I am certain that God brings people into our lives to show us who we are--and just as often, who we're NOT.
Take yesterday, for example. Children's Sunday school. I serve as the coordinator for one of the services, meaning that I organize materials for teachers, collate offering and attendance records, and generally prowl the halls as an enforcer. (dun dun duh...) I also keep a finger on the opening-session worship band schedule and--my alltime favorite--arrange for subs when someone is out of town. (Ick.) It's pretty fun overall, until something gets discombobulated. I like the kids, and the teachers are great. I'm a good organizer, even if I don't get all uptight about exactly what the teachers are doing every minute of every class.
Breathe a sigh of relief.
But, due to the holiday, we were indubitably discombobulated this Sunday. I knew we would be, so I had plans....
Quake with fear, disorder, for I bringeth...Charlie Brown Christmas! Let's do the Snoopy dance!
Still have some extra time? No problem. I'll ad lib a ten minute talk about goats. Really. (It's a missionary project thing, I promise.) Then we can ship all the kids back to their rooms with their teachers for the last few minutes. They can talk about turkey, or Jesus...whatever. If I don't have enough teachers? No sweat. I have a Koosh ball in my purse. I can pinch hit as a sub.
So, I arrive a few minutes before the service starts, ready to get rolling.
And run smack into the director from the previous service. Who has a bit of a tendency to be a high-energy, high-stress micromanagement speciality item. I very nearly recoiled, but controlled myself before I could physically dive-roll and run for the door, and greeted her cheerfully.
"Are you doing a video? We did a video. Don't do the same one, some of the kids go to both services."
I nod, and smile. I knew that already.
"Here's the worship DVD since there's no band. There's no band!"
I knew there'd be no band.
She said a long stream of something else, but honestly, I tuned out. She had redirected her attention to one of the other teachers anyway, a sweet lady who often sings with the kids' worship band. Then I realized she was dumping the responsibility of worship time on my teacher. For my service.
Geez, lady! Hands off. I'm standing right here, perfectly capable of running my own service.
But I didn't say anything. And she soon left. And then I told my teacher she didn't have to sing. She could just relax, take a week off if she wanted.
And then I talked about goats.
The other director? A great person. Passionate, dedicated--loves Jesus, loves kids.
And so NOT like me. I get high energy. I get passionate. I like to serve. But, thank God, I'm generally organized and chill. Simultaneously. It was sweet of him to show me that.
Seriously.
I ask him. A lot. The same question in a hundred different ways.
And he answers me. Not in one giant chunk of perfect self-awareness (which would undoubtedly be absolutely unbearable and would turn my brain to Spam), but with little flashes. And generally when I'm not all wrapped up in myself.
Funny how that works.
Sometimes, I am certain that God brings people into our lives to show us who we are--and just as often, who we're NOT.
Take yesterday, for example. Children's Sunday school. I serve as the coordinator for one of the services, meaning that I organize materials for teachers, collate offering and attendance records, and generally prowl the halls as an enforcer. (dun dun duh...) I also keep a finger on the opening-session worship band schedule and--my alltime favorite--arrange for subs when someone is out of town. (Ick.) It's pretty fun overall, until something gets discombobulated. I like the kids, and the teachers are great. I'm a good organizer, even if I don't get all uptight about exactly what the teachers are doing every minute of every class.
Breathe a sigh of relief.
But, due to the holiday, we were indubitably discombobulated this Sunday. I knew we would be, so I had plans....
Quake with fear, disorder, for I bringeth...Charlie Brown Christmas! Let's do the Snoopy dance!
Still have some extra time? No problem. I'll ad lib a ten minute talk about goats. Really. (It's a missionary project thing, I promise.) Then we can ship all the kids back to their rooms with their teachers for the last few minutes. They can talk about turkey, or Jesus...whatever. If I don't have enough teachers? No sweat. I have a Koosh ball in my purse. I can pinch hit as a sub.
So, I arrive a few minutes before the service starts, ready to get rolling.
And run smack into the director from the previous service. Who has a bit of a tendency to be a high-energy, high-stress micromanagement speciality item. I very nearly recoiled, but controlled myself before I could physically dive-roll and run for the door, and greeted her cheerfully.
"Are you doing a video? We did a video. Don't do the same one, some of the kids go to both services."
I nod, and smile. I knew that already.
"Here's the worship DVD since there's no band. There's no band!"
I knew there'd be no band.
She said a long stream of something else, but honestly, I tuned out. She had redirected her attention to one of the other teachers anyway, a sweet lady who often sings with the kids' worship band. Then I realized she was dumping the responsibility of worship time on my teacher. For my service.
Geez, lady! Hands off. I'm standing right here, perfectly capable of running my own service.
But I didn't say anything. And she soon left. And then I told my teacher she didn't have to sing. She could just relax, take a week off if she wanted.
And then I talked about goats.
The other director? A great person. Passionate, dedicated--loves Jesus, loves kids.
And so NOT like me. I get high energy. I get passionate. I like to serve. But, thank God, I'm generally organized and chill. Simultaneously. It was sweet of him to show me that.
Monday, November 16, 2009
going for broke
So, I'm gasping for air, sweat making my shirt cling to my body and running down the sides of my face. It's chilly, so my nose is running. I've taken a couple hard falls; I know I'll be sore tomorrow. I wish I had cleats on; I've lost my footing several times today, once falling flat on my face, almost hard enough to knock the wind out of me. One of my hands stings; I've definitely bruised the meaty part of my palm this week; last week I broke a blood vessel on one of my fingers. Three weeks ago I earned a hand-sized bruise on my shin.
What on earth am I doing? I'm playing. Playing hard. Really hard. I've never been particulary nimble or quick, but by pushing hard I can keep up with just about anyone in this group.
Why? Why punish my body like this? Why try so hard when it doesn't really mean anything?
Because it's not punishment. It's love.
Love of life, and love for my body--for the fact that I can run and jump and hurl myself through the air and catch and throw and fall and laugh. It makes me feel alive. Truly, truly alive. Something in me loosens, for better or worse, making me just a tad wild and loud and flamboyant and perhaps, depending on your persepective, totally nuts. Those who know me are nodding their heads. Perhaps laughing. They've seen me like this.
So, even though I'll need a hot pad for my back after the game, I'll do it again. And again. Because life should be more than just sort of trying. Sometimes, you gotta push it. I'll never be an all-star, and I'll certainly never look attractive while doing it--but I do it, gladly.
I fall again, as three of us collide. I roll over my shoulder onto the cold turf, and laugh. I'm not the only one laughing. I bet God is laughing to, delighting in the fact that I delight in this body he's made me. And laughing because I look so silly.
What on earth am I doing? I'm playing. Playing hard. Really hard. I've never been particulary nimble or quick, but by pushing hard I can keep up with just about anyone in this group.
Why? Why punish my body like this? Why try so hard when it doesn't really mean anything?
Because it's not punishment. It's love.
Love of life, and love for my body--for the fact that I can run and jump and hurl myself through the air and catch and throw and fall and laugh. It makes me feel alive. Truly, truly alive. Something in me loosens, for better or worse, making me just a tad wild and loud and flamboyant and perhaps, depending on your persepective, totally nuts. Those who know me are nodding their heads. Perhaps laughing. They've seen me like this.
So, even though I'll need a hot pad for my back after the game, I'll do it again. And again. Because life should be more than just sort of trying. Sometimes, you gotta push it. I'll never be an all-star, and I'll certainly never look attractive while doing it--but I do it, gladly.
I fall again, as three of us collide. I roll over my shoulder onto the cold turf, and laugh. I'm not the only one laughing. I bet God is laughing to, delighting in the fact that I delight in this body he's made me. And laughing because I look so silly.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
fragility
And still and still and still
there is this restless seeker within me
and I had hoped she’d be dead by now,
dead and buried and at peace,
not writhing on this bed of apathy, not half-sedated by dreaming.
No, she must die.
Die—or be brought fully to life, to her feet, to dance, to sing, to make love
to chance to explore to leap so high into the air that
so high into the air that
so high into the air that
so high into the air that
And still and still and still
there is this restless seeker within me.
there is this restless seeker within me
and I had hoped she’d be dead by now,
dead and buried and at peace,
not writhing on this bed of apathy, not half-sedated by dreaming.
No, she must die.
Die—or be brought fully to life, to her feet, to dance, to sing, to make love
to chance to explore to leap so high into the air that
so high into the air that
so high into the air that
so high into the air that
And still and still and still
there is this restless seeker within me.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
a moment with e. e. cummings
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
e. e. cummings
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
e. e. cummings
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
wallpaper!
Monday, October 19, 2009
hairspray attack!
Sure, I had better things to do with my time. But Halloween is coming...I had to practice potentials 'dos! It was the responsible thing to do.
And to be honest, I've always wanted to have hair that could do this...and, well, now that I can...
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
home decor delights
And here's the spectacle that was repainting my kitchen cabinet doors. I don't recommend jury-rigging a spray booth in your garage the way we did, but hey--we got 'er done! And the kitchen looks fabulous. Doors and handles, now--as of this weekend. The squarish ones, for those of you who came to my open house and "voted" for different handles. Monday, September 21, 2009
the last jar
Today I'm eating applesauce straight from the jar with a long-handled spoon. Mmm. So tasty. It's my last jar--it's a good thing we're going apple picking soon. Life without homemade applesauce is just not quite right.
Why do they call it canning when everything is put into jars? Perhaps because jarring was already taken.
Another bite. Mmm. I knew adding a few dashes of nutmeg was a good idea.
Why do they call it canning when everything is put into jars? Perhaps because jarring was already taken.
Another bite. Mmm. I knew adding a few dashes of nutmeg was a good idea.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
the day of birth...once again
Well, it's my birthday. That requires a post, right? I must say, I don't have anything super interesting to writeat the moment. But looking back, I noticed the massive "I'm getting older" post I did last year.
Well, I don't feel like doing that again. Partially because I haven't had any coffee yet today and I'm also fighting a cold, so I'm not very lively this morning.
But also because I just don't feel that way. At least not especially today. Some days I feel old and set in my ways and world-weary. Some days I feel ridiculously young and immature. Some days I feel like I could do anything. Some days seem an exercise in futility. Some days I'm traveling a million miles an hour, and some days I'm spinning my wheels.
In other words, it's just life. 27 or 28, doesn't matter. So, today I look forward to a little special treatment--some goodies, a song, perhaps a present or two. But I no longer expect birthdays to be days of magic--the way they used to seem when I was a kid. Like you'd wake up on your birthday and things would have changed. Somehow, someway, the page of the book would have turned--all because of the date on the calendar.
I kind of miss that feeling.
But this morning, as I was driving in to work, the sunrise was absolutely beautiful. Logically, I know it wasn't because it's the date of my birth. It was an awesome sunrise on Monday, too, I think. But the little whimsical part of my brain couldn't help but broadcast that God had just wished me a happy birthday, too. Like some kind of magic.
Well, I don't feel like doing that again. Partially because I haven't had any coffee yet today and I'm also fighting a cold, so I'm not very lively this morning.
But also because I just don't feel that way. At least not especially today. Some days I feel old and set in my ways and world-weary. Some days I feel ridiculously young and immature. Some days I feel like I could do anything. Some days seem an exercise in futility. Some days I'm traveling a million miles an hour, and some days I'm spinning my wheels.
In other words, it's just life. 27 or 28, doesn't matter. So, today I look forward to a little special treatment--some goodies, a song, perhaps a present or two. But I no longer expect birthdays to be days of magic--the way they used to seem when I was a kid. Like you'd wake up on your birthday and things would have changed. Somehow, someway, the page of the book would have turned--all because of the date on the calendar.
I kind of miss that feeling.
But this morning, as I was driving in to work, the sunrise was absolutely beautiful. Logically, I know it wasn't because it's the date of my birth. It was an awesome sunrise on Monday, too, I think. But the little whimsical part of my brain couldn't help but broadcast that God had just wished me a happy birthday, too. Like some kind of magic.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
dots! and a not-so-orange kitchen
Well, no one's perfect, right? Not even me. Ha ha. The orange color I chose for the kitchen wasn't quite...right. Solution? Tone it down by painting the one large wall the same color as the adjoining hallway. It works--without me needing to donate even more cash to the paint store. Add some fantastic curtains (hopefully soon) and I think we'll be in business. Oh...and cupboard doors. My dad has a little spraying booth set up in my garage, so hopefully I'll get them back up soon.
In other, more exciting news, check out this awesome fabric I picked up to slipcover my boring cream-colored chair. It's so purdy!
Well, I just realized I didn't take any pics of my freshly-painted sewing room. Pity. It's downright delicious--my best room yet! Instead, here's my favorite closet...
Don't know if I'll be able to keep it this way, but right now...shoe heaven.
Monday, August 17, 2009
surprise!
What we found in my bedroom when we removed the outlets covers and prepped for painting. Zow! I think that's the best wallpaper yet.
And here's a quick shot of the room after painting...
It doesn't quite look like much yet, but we're getting there. (Don't worry, the too long curtains are only temporary, until I get my sewing room running again.)
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
finally
Well. I'm on Facebook.
And the peasants rejoice.
It's funny, because I resisted it for so long. At first I didn't join because it sounded silly. And then I didn't join because lots of people kept bugging me about it. I don't respond well to peer pressure. And then I didn't join because I knew it would be one more thing that would tempt me to waste time.
And then today, for some reason, I popped online and joined. Bing. No big deal, no internal argument. I just said "Hey, facebook! Sure, why not?" And the deed was, as they say, done.
So come, and be friends with me. But not real friends. Just facebook friends.
I think I might be a crappy facebook friend. Just to warn you. You're still much better off actually calling, emailing, or--gasp!--actually seeing me. If your digitally social self can handle it. If not...well, you can wait hopefully for me to write on your wall. Who knows? It could happen.
And the peasants rejoice.
It's funny, because I resisted it for so long. At first I didn't join because it sounded silly. And then I didn't join because lots of people kept bugging me about it. I don't respond well to peer pressure. And then I didn't join because I knew it would be one more thing that would tempt me to waste time.
And then today, for some reason, I popped online and joined. Bing. No big deal, no internal argument. I just said "Hey, facebook! Sure, why not?" And the deed was, as they say, done.
So come, and be friends with me. But not real friends. Just facebook friends.
I think I might be a crappy facebook friend. Just to warn you. You're still much better off actually calling, emailing, or--gasp!--actually seeing me. If your digitally social self can handle it. If not...well, you can wait hopefully for me to write on your wall. Who knows? It could happen.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
cobwebs and other things in my brain
So, I'm working today. Really. Pages are turning, emails are flying snappily about, manuscripts and ads and cover copy are all marching their way across my desk...
But that's not what I'm really doing.
What I'm really about is good old-fashioned daydreaming. I'm super good at it. It's a natural talent I've possessed since infancy. Just ask my mother. The difference is that the adult me can multitask. Hence the working and the dreaming. The child me just stared off into space and answered parental requests with "yeah" and "ok, I will" without remembering she had done so.
So what am I thinking about? Lots of things, really. Snippets of stories, song lyrics, things to do in my new house...
And what my ideal life would look like. Lifes, perhaps--since I always seem to come up with more than one potential scenario. Scary how often these comes to mind, since they generally bear little resemblance to my current, actual life. Granted, this has to be taken with a HUGE grain of salt. Dreams have a lovely way of scooting around anything messy, complicated, or potentially disastrous.
Start a home textiles business and B&B on Mackinac Island? Sure! You'll love dealing with customers--and you'll turn a healthy profit, naturally. It'll be nothing but super fun. Write novels in the slow winter season? Go for it! They'll sell great, and you'll always be inspired and content...living with your eight cats...not talking to real people more than once or twice a week...
Maybe I'm a little jaded. Perhaps sardonic, even. (no kidding, you say) I prefer to think that I temper my dreams with logic. Realism. Not pessimism. I don't think I've ever been accused of being negative. Nope. I hate whining. I hate hearing people (including me) sabotage themselves through excuses and doubts. And I see too many possibilities for pessimism to ever take root. Too many dreams, too many might-bes...
Crap. I've stopped working. I have to go.
But that's not what I'm really doing.
What I'm really about is good old-fashioned daydreaming. I'm super good at it. It's a natural talent I've possessed since infancy. Just ask my mother. The difference is that the adult me can multitask. Hence the working and the dreaming. The child me just stared off into space and answered parental requests with "yeah" and "ok, I will" without remembering she had done so.
So what am I thinking about? Lots of things, really. Snippets of stories, song lyrics, things to do in my new house...
And what my ideal life would look like. Lifes, perhaps--since I always seem to come up with more than one potential scenario. Scary how often these comes to mind, since they generally bear little resemblance to my current, actual life. Granted, this has to be taken with a HUGE grain of salt. Dreams have a lovely way of scooting around anything messy, complicated, or potentially disastrous.
Start a home textiles business and B&B on Mackinac Island? Sure! You'll love dealing with customers--and you'll turn a healthy profit, naturally. It'll be nothing but super fun. Write novels in the slow winter season? Go for it! They'll sell great, and you'll always be inspired and content...living with your eight cats...not talking to real people more than once or twice a week...
Maybe I'm a little jaded. Perhaps sardonic, even. (no kidding, you say) I prefer to think that I temper my dreams with logic. Realism. Not pessimism. I don't think I've ever been accused of being negative. Nope. I hate whining. I hate hearing people (including me) sabotage themselves through excuses and doubts. And I see too many possibilities for pessimism to ever take root. Too many dreams, too many might-bes...
Crap. I've stopped working. I have to go.
Monday, August 3, 2009
ham on buns
I've moved!
Saturday was terrific--thanks again to all my friends, family, a coworkers who lent a hand. We set a new record--three hours start to finish! And we only made one trip. Well done everyone!
And when we were finished, when the last box was brought inside my new home...we had the most fabulous lunch, provided by my mother. Good old fashioned Dutch ham-on-buns. She even got us the old-school raisin buns, which are somewhat hard to find. I was so happy. And that's a good thing--I believe I ate five or six on Saturday, over the course of lunch-supper, and a couple more yesterday...and one for lunch right now, in fact. Mmm. SO good. Almost a balanced meal all by itself: fruit, grain, meat, dairy. And I'm glad to not have to cook just yet. I did find most of my kitchen yesterday, but I'm not quite there yet. Soon, though...
As soon as I run out of ham.
Saturday was terrific--thanks again to all my friends, family, a coworkers who lent a hand. We set a new record--three hours start to finish! And we only made one trip. Well done everyone!
And when we were finished, when the last box was brought inside my new home...we had the most fabulous lunch, provided by my mother. Good old fashioned Dutch ham-on-buns. She even got us the old-school raisin buns, which are somewhat hard to find. I was so happy. And that's a good thing--I believe I ate five or six on Saturday, over the course of lunch-supper, and a couple more yesterday...and one for lunch right now, in fact. Mmm. SO good. Almost a balanced meal all by itself: fruit, grain, meat, dairy. And I'm glad to not have to cook just yet. I did find most of my kitchen yesterday, but I'm not quite there yet. Soon, though...
As soon as I run out of ham.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
a little update
I hope to get pics of the house-in-progress soon, but to hold you over until then, here are the paint names that have gone up in the last four days:
autumn orange
pot of cream
wilmington tan
celery sprig
I hope to do one more room on Thursday before calling a brief break and moving in. For that room, I currently have it narrowed down to three choices:
swan sea
harmonious
opal silk
So much fun! I love paint names.
autumn orange
pot of cream
wilmington tan
celery sprig
I hope to do one more room on Thursday before calling a brief break and moving in. For that room, I currently have it narrowed down to three choices:
swan sea
harmonious
opal silk
So much fun! I love paint names.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
and we're off...
I'm fully prepared for my life to be swept up in a furious whirlwind of chaotic activity. Ha. Is anyone ever truly prepared?
I've tried to prepare. I've seen this day coming for the last few weeks, and have cleared some cobwebs and moved some mental furniture in an effort to be ready. Well, ready or not, the day has come--tomorrow I close on my new house.
Gulp.
I get possession at close, so the work will begin instantly! I have two weeks to get as much done as possible before moving at the end of the month. Exciting! Scary! Crazy!
I am very grateful to my family, especially my parents, who have really jumped in to support me and help me do this.
Here are a few pics of the house as it currently looks...stay tuned for pics of work in progress and be ready to witness the transformation! (Note: the hideous linoleum in the kitchen is staying. I love it.)
I've tried to prepare. I've seen this day coming for the last few weeks, and have cleared some cobwebs and moved some mental furniture in an effort to be ready. Well, ready or not, the day has come--tomorrow I close on my new house.
Gulp.
I get possession at close, so the work will begin instantly! I have two weeks to get as much done as possible before moving at the end of the month. Exciting! Scary! Crazy!
I am very grateful to my family, especially my parents, who have really jumped in to support me and help me do this.
Here are a few pics of the house as it currently looks...stay tuned for pics of work in progress and be ready to witness the transformation! (Note: the hideous linoleum in the kitchen is staying. I love it.)
Monday, July 6, 2009
Love Triangle
I want to hold you in my arms
all day.
And all night, beloved one.
Beloved, two.
My wide-eyed little girl,
my canny old woman;
my oil-and-water mix of naïveté and skepticism.
You are.
Demonstrative and demure, somber and sprightly, tough and tender,
grouchy and gracious, adept and awkward.
You are.
Show me the corners of your mind,
the maze in which I can lose my way
happily.
I will embrace it all—
the simple complexity of you.
all day.
And all night, beloved one.
Beloved, two.
My wide-eyed little girl,
my canny old woman;
my oil-and-water mix of naïveté and skepticism.
You are.
Demonstrative and demure, somber and sprightly, tough and tender,
grouchy and gracious, adept and awkward.
You are.
Show me the corners of your mind,
the maze in which I can lose my way
happily.
I will embrace it all—
the simple complexity of you.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
the wherefore and why of poetry
Funny thing--I'm super busy today, scrambling to get work done...and I run across this quote by Jung (see right sidebar). So perfect.
I need to work quickly and well, but without hurrying. Without giving in to that frantic mindset.
And so I read this little tree poem to myself, the one posted below. Slowly, and out loud.
Ahhh.
Back to work, but not back to the mental hamster wheel. It's been torn apart by the image of sun-dappled branches and cool, dim, green spaces.
I need to work quickly and well, but without hurrying. Without giving in to that frantic mindset.
And so I read this little tree poem to myself, the one posted below. Slowly, and out loud.
Ahhh.
Back to work, but not back to the mental hamster wheel. It's been torn apart by the image of sun-dappled branches and cool, dim, green spaces.
Monday, June 15, 2009
make like a tree and...
Black cherry, blue spruce
Chestnut.
Sycamore, sumac, and sassafras
Dogwood.
Cedar and cottonwood, poplar and pine, hornbeam and hickory
Beech, birch, box-elder, basswood
Elm.
Apple and aspen and ash
Walnut and willow
Maple and mulberry
Osage-orange and oak
Fir.
Chestnut.
Sycamore, sumac, and sassafras
Dogwood.
Cedar and cottonwood, poplar and pine, hornbeam and hickory
Beech, birch, box-elder, basswood
Elm.
Apple and aspen and ash
Walnut and willow
Maple and mulberry
Osage-orange and oak
Fir.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
still waiting for house news...
...and waiting...and waiting...
Fortunately, I've got lots of other things going on to keep me from dwelling too hard on my wait.
The coolest and scariest thing is that this summer I'm coaching our church's brand-new junior high girls basketball team. We'll be playing in a summer league starting in July.
Please pray that we don't get slaughtered. I know what you're thinking: "Gee, Spools, you're so optimistic!" But truly--we have a lot of work to do and a short time to do it, especially considering our practice this week (yes, we only get one per week) was canceled due to a severe weather warning. And I'm worried that my inexperience as a coach will also hurt the girls.
But I am also excited and look forward to our next practice. I have a brimming bucketful of ideas. I had nearly forgotten how much I love basketball, and can't believe I let almost a decade pass without playing hardly at all. It's a crazy cool game that rewards hard work and passion. And you get to run into people. How can you top that?
Fortunately, I've got lots of other things going on to keep me from dwelling too hard on my wait.
The coolest and scariest thing is that this summer I'm coaching our church's brand-new junior high girls basketball team. We'll be playing in a summer league starting in July.
Please pray that we don't get slaughtered. I know what you're thinking: "Gee, Spools, you're so optimistic!" But truly--we have a lot of work to do and a short time to do it, especially considering our practice this week (yes, we only get one per week) was canceled due to a severe weather warning. And I'm worried that my inexperience as a coach will also hurt the girls.
But I am also excited and look forward to our next practice. I have a brimming bucketful of ideas. I had nearly forgotten how much I love basketball, and can't believe I let almost a decade pass without playing hardly at all. It's a crazy cool game that rewards hard work and passion. And you get to run into people. How can you top that?
Friday, May 29, 2009
how I feel today
My offer on house number two was accepted yesterday. The "official" acceptance will be next week, and then it's off into the inspections and all the crap-tastic paperwork. :) But at the end of it I just might own a cute little house. And that's pretty exciting.
Friday, May 22, 2009
holiday treat
I was running through some old material this week, and I ran across one of my favorite poems, by Heather McHugh. Too good not to share!
Language Lesson, 1976
When Americans say a man
takes liberties, they mean
he's gone too far. In Philadelphia
today a kid on a leash ordered
bicentennial burger,
hold the relish. Hold
is forget, in American.
On the courts of Philadelphia
the rich prepare
to serve, to fault.
The language is a game in which
love means nothing, doubletalk
means lie. I'm saying
doubletalk with me. I'm saying go
so far the customs are untold,
making nothing without words
and let me be
the one you never hold.
Language Lesson, 1976
When Americans say a man
takes liberties, they mean
he's gone too far. In Philadelphia
today a kid on a leash ordered
bicentennial burger,
hold the relish. Hold
is forget, in American.
On the courts of Philadelphia
the rich prepare
to serve, to fault.
The language is a game in which
love means nothing, doubletalk
means lie. I'm saying
doubletalk with me. I'm saying go
so far the customs are untold,
making nothing without words
and let me be
the one you never hold.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
the ten-year
1999. Party like it’s. Yeah. Uh. Uh.
It’s probably no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I’ve never been cool. I don’t have “it,” whatever “it” is. The ability to be hip and outta sight is somehow not part of my DNA. I’m not, thank God, quite as socially awkward as I was when I was seventeen, but I’ll never be quite on. Perhaps because 80 percent the time I don’t care if I am or not. There is the occasional stab of longing to fit in better, but in general I’d much rather relax into simply being me and not get my knickers in a twist about meeting other people’s expectations or fitting neatly into a category. I don’t know how, for one thing—and I think the energy it would require to learn was lost down that same drain as that elusive period in junior high when every girl is supposed to learn how to put on makeup and do their hair. I’ll never get that back, either. Drat.
But life goes on. And I still believe that I would have missed out on a significant number of good things if I spent the time worrying about what my hair looked like. For example—every time I drive with the windows down. Glorious. But I digress.
As the years began to trickle by, I always said I had no massive expectations for my ten-year reunion. But deep down, I did. I still do. It’s tiny, but it’s there—that ridiculous but hard-to-kill hope that somehow, magically, I will enter that room filled with people who knew me when my cheeks were round with baby fat and I will be transformed into coolness.
This is not Truth, and I know it. But the thought persists. Fortunately, I have other thoughts, too, and I use them to do battle with the expectations of this culture and Hollywood. I do not always win outright, but I will never surrender. I am magnificent. I am lovely. I am cherished. I have been carefully crafted by a loving hand. I am not screwed up. Repeat. I am not screwed up.
And my value is not dependent upon the works of my own hands, but upon the price Jesus was willing to pay to set me free from sin. All the prom queens and clique princesses in the world can’t put a dent in that.
The truth is, we grow neither better or worse as we age, but simply more ourselves. I wish I could remember where I read that, because it’s groovy. And I think it’s right on the money. When I stand in front of my classmates, I won’t be better, or more interesting, or more worthy of attention and popularity and hoopla—I’ll just be more me. That’s it. Plain and simple. Take it or leave it. There’s only one opinion that ultimately matters to me—and it surely doesn’t come from the BCHS class of 99.
Now all I need to do is remember that. And smile.
It’s probably no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I’ve never been cool. I don’t have “it,” whatever “it” is. The ability to be hip and outta sight is somehow not part of my DNA. I’m not, thank God, quite as socially awkward as I was when I was seventeen, but I’ll never be quite on. Perhaps because 80 percent the time I don’t care if I am or not. There is the occasional stab of longing to fit in better, but in general I’d much rather relax into simply being me and not get my knickers in a twist about meeting other people’s expectations or fitting neatly into a category. I don’t know how, for one thing—and I think the energy it would require to learn was lost down that same drain as that elusive period in junior high when every girl is supposed to learn how to put on makeup and do their hair. I’ll never get that back, either. Drat.
But life goes on. And I still believe that I would have missed out on a significant number of good things if I spent the time worrying about what my hair looked like. For example—every time I drive with the windows down. Glorious. But I digress.
As the years began to trickle by, I always said I had no massive expectations for my ten-year reunion. But deep down, I did. I still do. It’s tiny, but it’s there—that ridiculous but hard-to-kill hope that somehow, magically, I will enter that room filled with people who knew me when my cheeks were round with baby fat and I will be transformed into coolness.
This is not Truth, and I know it. But the thought persists. Fortunately, I have other thoughts, too, and I use them to do battle with the expectations of this culture and Hollywood. I do not always win outright, but I will never surrender. I am magnificent. I am lovely. I am cherished. I have been carefully crafted by a loving hand. I am not screwed up. Repeat. I am not screwed up.
And my value is not dependent upon the works of my own hands, but upon the price Jesus was willing to pay to set me free from sin. All the prom queens and clique princesses in the world can’t put a dent in that.
The truth is, we grow neither better or worse as we age, but simply more ourselves. I wish I could remember where I read that, because it’s groovy. And I think it’s right on the money. When I stand in front of my classmates, I won’t be better, or more interesting, or more worthy of attention and popularity and hoopla—I’ll just be more me. That’s it. Plain and simple. Take it or leave it. There’s only one opinion that ultimately matters to me—and it surely doesn’t come from the BCHS class of 99.
Now all I need to do is remember that. And smile.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
merry-go-round
Yes, the last few weeks have been a whole lot of up-and-down and round-and-round as I have begun to seriously shop for a house.
Two weeks ago I viewed a great house, put in an offer, went through the whole business of counter offer and counter-counter offer and mortgage pre-approval and at last reached an agreement on price. Hypothetically, I had just bought a house.
One week ago, this great house failed the hard core Spoolstra family inspection. I had to walk away from the deal, and I was back to square one.
Today I have three or four promising listings in hand and hope to get inside them soon. And the carousel ride continues.
Excuse me, it's time I got back to reading Home Buying and Selling for Dummies.
Two weeks ago I viewed a great house, put in an offer, went through the whole business of counter offer and counter-counter offer and mortgage pre-approval and at last reached an agreement on price. Hypothetically, I had just bought a house.
One week ago, this great house failed the hard core Spoolstra family inspection. I had to walk away from the deal, and I was back to square one.
Today I have three or four promising listings in hand and hope to get inside them soon. And the carousel ride continues.
Excuse me, it's time I got back to reading Home Buying and Selling for Dummies.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
love song
It’s about time you started loving me.
I want to share your breath,
feel your eyes on me as I cross the room;
laugh without restraint, knowing you won’t think me too boisterous
and keep silent as I choose, knowing you won’t think me cold;
not worry about showing my disparate sides, not worry about seeming too competent, too small, too strong, too weak, too intelligent, too ignorant, too…
I want to fall, knowing your arms are there to catch me. I am weary of catching myself, weary of holding strong and dreaming on empty.
Yes, it’s about time you started loving me
Whoever you are.
I don’t know what’s taken you so long.
I don’t know how such a powerful desire can exist with no object.
I don’t know why I feel this way.
I just know I do.
I want to share your breath,
feel your eyes on me as I cross the room;
laugh without restraint, knowing you won’t think me too boisterous
and keep silent as I choose, knowing you won’t think me cold;
not worry about showing my disparate sides, not worry about seeming too competent, too small, too strong, too weak, too intelligent, too ignorant, too…
I want to fall, knowing your arms are there to catch me. I am weary of catching myself, weary of holding strong and dreaming on empty.
Yes, it’s about time you started loving me
Whoever you are.
I don’t know what’s taken you so long.
I don’t know how such a powerful desire can exist with no object.
I don’t know why I feel this way.
I just know I do.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
the dress
Ok, so I'm no scaredy-cat. Bugs--no problem. Small animals--no problem. Freakish weather--no problem. Walking alone up a dark country road--not a big deal. Power tools--bring 'em on. Contact sports--no blood, no foul. Public speaking--doesn't throw me.
But this dress...
This dress is a little scary. I know, it may seem strange. I have no problem with pulling off slightly odd, funky clothing--especially things I've made myself. And this is just a simple black dress. Ha. It's stretch satin. It's quite snug. There's no hiding my curves in this thing. And I don't do sexy. I do fun--maybe even cute. But not sexy. It's a bridesmaid's dress, so I'll be standing up at the front of a church...with dozens and dozens of people looking at my keister. Gulp. I'm going to need to summon all my courage for this one.
But this dress...
This dress is a little scary. I know, it may seem strange. I have no problem with pulling off slightly odd, funky clothing--especially things I've made myself. And this is just a simple black dress. Ha. It's stretch satin. It's quite snug. There's no hiding my curves in this thing. And I don't do sexy. I do fun--maybe even cute. But not sexy. It's a bridesmaid's dress, so I'll be standing up at the front of a church...with dozens and dozens of people looking at my keister. Gulp. I'm going to need to summon all my courage for this one.
Monday, April 20, 2009
We Are Many
Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.
When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.
On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.
When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?
All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.
But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.
While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
~ Pablo Neruda
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.
When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.
On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.
When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?
All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.
But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.
While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
~ Pablo Neruda
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
new blog!
Hey, everyone! Check out my new blog:
http://spools-sewing.blogspot.com/
Dont' worry--The Amazing Adventures of Wonderspools isn't going anywhere. I've decided it's time to throw a little more of my skillz (yes, with a 'z') out there for y'all to see.
There's not much there yet, but I hope to include pics of all of my recent and favorite projects soon...so stay tuned!
http://spools-sewing.blogspot.com/
Dont' worry--The Amazing Adventures of Wonderspools isn't going anywhere. I've decided it's time to throw a little more of my skillz (yes, with a 'z') out there for y'all to see.
There's not much there yet, but I hope to include pics of all of my recent and favorite projects soon...so stay tuned!
Monday, April 6, 2009
breaking news
No grad school for me next year. Thanks, everyone, for your prayers and words of encouragement.
Guess I'm going to have to find something else that's a bit challenging and scary to fill the void.
Perhaps base jumping? Either that or I'm going to chuck it all and take off on a 'round-the-world adventure with nothing but a baseball cap, a pocket knife, and a pack of chewing gum.
Guess I'm going to have to find something else that's a bit challenging and scary to fill the void.
Perhaps base jumping? Either that or I'm going to chuck it all and take off on a 'round-the-world adventure with nothing but a baseball cap, a pocket knife, and a pack of chewing gum.
applesauce
I'm eating applesauce out of the jar with a long-handled spoon. It's delicious--part of the batch I canned last September. I've pretty much decided I make the best applesauce ever. Mmm. Yes, please shield your eyes while I glow with inappropriate pride.
Would I think it was so good if I hadn't made it myself? I don't know. There's just something so wonderful about making applesauce. It is ridiculously simple, with a great lack of required precision. You peel and core and slice a giant pot full of apples (I prefer Empire), then toss it on the stove with a little water, sugar, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg (if you're me) and let 'er cook over low heat until the apples are easily mushed. And then, my favorite part: the smashing. No blender or strainer here, folks. Just me and the potato masher. So good.
Then pint jars are filled, lidded, and processed in a hot water canner. Also super simple: giant pot of boiling water? Check. Thirty minutes? Check. Pull the jars out, and let them sit on the counter to cool, listening for the delightfully satisfying "pop" sounds as the lids seal. One doesn't seal? That's ok. Just throw it in the fridge and eat it sometime within the next week.
The jars that do seal? Leave them on the counter so you can bask in their loveliness for a day or so, then put them in the cupboard to be enjoyed when apple season is far, far away. Like today.
Would I think it was so good if I hadn't made it myself? I don't know. There's just something so wonderful about making applesauce. It is ridiculously simple, with a great lack of required precision. You peel and core and slice a giant pot full of apples (I prefer Empire), then toss it on the stove with a little water, sugar, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg (if you're me) and let 'er cook over low heat until the apples are easily mushed. And then, my favorite part: the smashing. No blender or strainer here, folks. Just me and the potato masher. So good.
Then pint jars are filled, lidded, and processed in a hot water canner. Also super simple: giant pot of boiling water? Check. Thirty minutes? Check. Pull the jars out, and let them sit on the counter to cool, listening for the delightfully satisfying "pop" sounds as the lids seal. One doesn't seal? That's ok. Just throw it in the fridge and eat it sometime within the next week.
The jars that do seal? Leave them on the counter so you can bask in their loveliness for a day or so, then put them in the cupboard to be enjoyed when apple season is far, far away. Like today.
Monday, March 30, 2009
the jet set
Well, I'm back from my venture to the far-off land of Tacoma, Washington. Here I am with my parents, who were also visiting my sister--and little Kellen, the newest edition to our clan. I know you can't see his face, but he's smiling, too. Trust me.
Either that or he was asleep. That, in my opinion, is one of the best things about newborn babies--they sleep a lot. Sleep, eat, sleep, poop, sleep, sleep, eat...And oh so cute the whole time. Much cuter than I would be if I engaged in similar behavior. But I'm not jealous--I can hold up my own head, and sit up--and even walk. Yeah. Take that, cute little baby.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
comparison study
Well, there's been some speculation in the family that Kellen looks just exactly like his big sister did when she was born. Let's check...
Kellen Douglas
Avery Mae
Hmm. I'm not sure. Babies all kind of have that same squishy little face. I'll have to compare again in a few weeks or months, maybe. What do you guys think?
Kellen Douglas
Avery Mae
Hmm. I'm not sure. Babies all kind of have that same squishy little face. I'll have to compare again in a few weeks or months, maybe. What do you guys think?
Monday, March 9, 2009
it's raining babies!
...and also congratulations to my sister Andrea and her husband Doug on the birth of their son Kellen. Kellen was born last Tuesday afternoon, but I've only just received pics today. Yep, it's a baby, all right. And a drastically cute one, too. Here he is with his big sister Avery.
Only two more weeks--no, less than that--and I'll be out there in Tacoma to meet him personally. I can't wait. No one else have a baby while I'm gone! My schedule will get all backed up. It's already chock full.
Friday, February 27, 2009
congratulations!
Congratulations to John and Shelly Becker, now the proud parents of a delightful little girl, Marney Faye Becker, born February 26, 2009! No pictures yet, but I'll do my best.
She's going to be on my future softball team. It's already been decided. My fierce and gigantic niece Avery is my first team member--probably at pitcher, though she might have a center fielder's arm on her. We'll give little Marney Faye a few sprint tests before we place her, but I have a feeling she'd be a good third baseman. Maybe second base. We'll check her reflex time, and how steady her judgment is under pressure.
Now...here's the true question: Shelly's mom and my mom are first cousins. So what relation are Shelly and I--and what relation am I to Marney? Hmm. Second-thirds divided by six cousins with a double twist of lime? Not a clue.
Throw the party confetti!
She's going to be on my future softball team. It's already been decided. My fierce and gigantic niece Avery is my first team member--probably at pitcher, though she might have a center fielder's arm on her. We'll give little Marney Faye a few sprint tests before we place her, but I have a feeling she'd be a good third baseman. Maybe second base. We'll check her reflex time, and how steady her judgment is under pressure.
Now...here's the true question: Shelly's mom and my mom are first cousins. So what relation are Shelly and I--and what relation am I to Marney? Hmm. Second-thirds divided by six cousins with a double twist of lime? Not a clue.
Throw the party confetti!
Friday, February 20, 2009
proof!
Hey! I really did go to Florida...see? Check out those two cool chicks! It already seems like a long time ago...
Friday, February 13, 2009
a pair of ragged claws
Well, it's nearly time for the big V-day. Not that I really mind. It's such a silly holiday--there's no way it could have any lasting affect on my sensibilities. I just enjoy making fun of it. It presents such a large target.
But still, I cannot allow the holiday--coinciding so closely with my return from sunny Florida--to pass without a poetic moment. Without further ado, one of my favorite passages from Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
But still, I cannot allow the holiday--coinciding so closely with my return from sunny Florida--to pass without a poetic moment. Without further ado, one of my favorite passages from Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
the whirlwind
Suddenly, and without warning, I find myself caught up in a whirlwind again. I suppose I was due--after all, I'd just had a few post-holiday weeks of sedate living with lots of time spent at the gym and with my temporary housemates.
I'm going to Florida on Saturday. This was decided...on Sunday. Crazy! I'll be back on the 12th, and will head back to work on the 13th and straight into a full weekend, then on into another busy work-week and then...
But I'm so far from complaining that complaining isn't even on the mile marker sign. I am excited, and all nice n' loose, ready for some spontaneity and a bit of the old bob-weave.
And, I must admit, as much as I love Michigan year 'round, I'm ready for a few days of sunshine and warm air.
I'm going to Florida on Saturday. This was decided...on Sunday. Crazy! I'll be back on the 12th, and will head back to work on the 13th and straight into a full weekend, then on into another busy work-week and then...
But I'm so far from complaining that complaining isn't even on the mile marker sign. I am excited, and all nice n' loose, ready for some spontaneity and a bit of the old bob-weave.
And, I must admit, as much as I love Michigan year 'round, I'm ready for a few days of sunshine and warm air.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Anti-Valentines Day
Well, as some of you know, I have a special, heartfelt, and very tasty Valentines' Day tradition.
I make hate cookies.
I am always in need of more suggestions, so feel free to chime in! I'll give you a couple weeks to think about it and give me some really good zingers.
I've got a list posted just outside my office, much to the delight of the editorial wing. Here are some of the ideas my colleagues have given me this week:
fragile
thanks for nothing
wimp
can't spell
fantastically dull
UR dumb
when pigs fly
One of our editors thought that all of the phrases had been written by bitter women. Oh, no! Not at all. As I was quick to remind him, this is an equal-opportunity hate fest. Please, join us.
I make hate cookies.
I am always in need of more suggestions, so feel free to chime in! I'll give you a couple weeks to think about it and give me some really good zingers.
I've got a list posted just outside my office, much to the delight of the editorial wing. Here are some of the ideas my colleagues have given me this week:
fragile
thanks for nothing
wimp
can't spell
fantastically dull
UR dumb
when pigs fly
One of our editors thought that all of the phrases had been written by bitter women. Oh, no! Not at all. As I was quick to remind him, this is an equal-opportunity hate fest. Please, join us.
Friday, January 16, 2009
things I've decided
1. I'm going to go gray naturally.
2. I'm addicted to chocolate, coffee, and doing things my way.
3. It's worth it to invest in good underwear and good jeans.
4. If I'm going to shed 10 pounds of fat, it's going to take more than just eating mostly healthy and exercising a bit.
5. I'm going to need new running shoes soon.
6. I do not regret my decision to avoid the bar scene, or to never get drunk.
7. I'm happiest when I'm being productive AND getting enough sleep.
8. I should ride my bike more. As soon as the snow melts.
9. I like fire.
10. Guys are scared of me.
2. I'm addicted to chocolate, coffee, and doing things my way.
3. It's worth it to invest in good underwear and good jeans.
4. If I'm going to shed 10 pounds of fat, it's going to take more than just eating mostly healthy and exercising a bit.
5. I'm going to need new running shoes soon.
6. I do not regret my decision to avoid the bar scene, or to never get drunk.
7. I'm happiest when I'm being productive AND getting enough sleep.
8. I should ride my bike more. As soon as the snow melts.
9. I like fire.
10. Guys are scared of me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
running down
I have a gourmet chocolate-covered caramel on my desk. Right now. It's from another editor, who received the box as a thank-you from an author. We like authors that do that.
My goal is to sit and smell the caramel for at least ten minutes before I eat it.
Mmmm....ahhh.
This is hard for me. The more I like something the faster I want to eat it. Chocolate and caramel...yeah, I like. I LIKE. Mmmm....ahhh.
This is a bad habit, and one I want to break. Along with needing three heaping spoons of brown sugar in my oatmeal and not being willing to say no to free doughnuts of good quality.
I know, I know. This sounds like just another New Years' pipe dream. All the health and diet commercials have been getting to me, right? I hope not.
The truth is, I've been meeting my exercise goals for nearly three months now, and have yet to feel my pants loosen at all. I can lift more and run farther that I could last fall, so my time has not been spent in vain, but all the treats and parties of the holiday season have worked their usual black magic and held me captive to sugar.
Mmmm...Ahhh. Smells so good.
Will I be different this year? I don't care about being thin, but I do care about feeling healthy and fit. Can I be different this year? Cue my theme song.
...Running down a dream / That never would come to me...
Who knew Tom Petty could be inspirational? Mmm...aaahhh. Good, it's been ten minutes. Now, let's start with a nibble...
My goal is to sit and smell the caramel for at least ten minutes before I eat it.
Mmmm....ahhh.
This is hard for me. The more I like something the faster I want to eat it. Chocolate and caramel...yeah, I like. I LIKE. Mmmm....ahhh.
This is a bad habit, and one I want to break. Along with needing three heaping spoons of brown sugar in my oatmeal and not being willing to say no to free doughnuts of good quality.
I know, I know. This sounds like just another New Years' pipe dream. All the health and diet commercials have been getting to me, right? I hope not.
The truth is, I've been meeting my exercise goals for nearly three months now, and have yet to feel my pants loosen at all. I can lift more and run farther that I could last fall, so my time has not been spent in vain, but all the treats and parties of the holiday season have worked their usual black magic and held me captive to sugar.
Mmmm...Ahhh. Smells so good.
Will I be different this year? I don't care about being thin, but I do care about feeling healthy and fit. Can I be different this year? Cue my theme song.
...Running down a dream / That never would come to me...
Who knew Tom Petty could be inspirational? Mmm...aaahhh. Good, it's been ten minutes. Now, let's start with a nibble...
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
negligent...
Yes, Yes I am. Tough luck, Charlie. But why would I waste my time blogging when I could be spending my time with family--including one very awesome little niece? 
I mean, I love you guys--but she's just so darn cute. Here we are on the day after Thanksgiving, getting our Christmas trees. Yes, we are rocking crooked hats. I think it's going to be the new style. Forget tilting the baseball cap--that's all been done before. We're going after the winter-hat tilt! And thumbless mittens. I wasn't quite cool enough for that one, so I left it to Avery to carry the trend.
I mean, I love you guys--but she's just so darn cute. Here we are on the day after Thanksgiving, getting our Christmas trees. Yes, we are rocking crooked hats. I think it's going to be the new style. Forget tilting the baseball cap--that's all been done before. We're going after the winter-hat tilt! And thumbless mittens. I wasn't quite cool enough for that one, so I left it to Avery to carry the trend.
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