TBR - Part 2

7. The Daily Message: Thru the Bible in One Year by Eugene H. Peterson

The perfect one-year reading Bible that allows for both flexibility and time to let God's Word soak into your heart and mind. (from Amazon.com)

8. Dreams from my Father by Barack Obama

Obama argues with himself on almost every page of this lively autobiographical conversation. He gets you to agree with him, and then he brings in a counternarrative that seems just as convincing. Son of a white American mother and of a black Kenyan father whom he never knew, Obama grew up mainly in Hawaii. After college, he worked for three years as a community organizer on Chicago's South Side. Then, finally, he went to Kenya, to find the world of his dead father, his "authentic" self. Will the truth set you free, Obama asks? Or will it disappoint? Both, it seems. His search for himself as a black American is rooted in the particulars of his daily life; it also reads like a wry commentary about all of us. He dismisses stereotypes of the "tragic mulatto" and then shows how much we are all caught between messy contradictions and disparate communities. He discovers that Kenya has 400 different tribes, each of them with stereotypes of the others. Obama is candid about racism and poverty and corruption, in Chicago and in Kenya. Yet he does find community and authenticity, not in any romantic cliche but with "honest, decent men and women who have attainable ambitions and the determination to see them through. (from Booklist)

9. The Monsters of Templeton by Lauren Groff

At the start of Groff's lyrical debut, 28-year-old Wilhelmina Willie Upton returns to her picturesque hometown of Templeton, N.Y., after a disastrous affair with her graduate school professor during an archeological dig in Alaska. In Templeton, Willie's shocked to find that her once-bohemian mother, Vi, has found religion. Vi also reveals to Willie that her father wasn't a nameless hippie from Vi's commune days, but a man living in Templeton. With only the scantiest of clues from Vi, Willie is determined to untangle the roots of the town's greatest families and discover her father's identity. Brilliantly incorporating accounts from generations of Templetonians—as well as characters borrowed from the works of James Fenimore Cooper, who named an upstate New York town Templeton in The Pioneers—Groff paints a rich picture of Willie's current predicaments and those of her ancestors. Readers will delight in Willie's sharp wit and Groff's creation of an entire world, complete with a lake monster and illegitimate children. (from Booklist)

10. The Good, Good Pig: The Extraordinary Life of Christopher Hogwood by Sy Montgomery

For writer and world traveler Montgomery, the grounding force of her New Hampshire home was a 750-pound pig. This book is not merely a chronicle of her love for and life with Christopher Hogwood, but also a testament to the lessons learned through her 14-year relationship with him. Usually preferring the company of animals to most people, Montgomery developed an extensive network of friends who were willing to cache and freeze their food scraps for the always grateful, bottomless pig. In turn, these friends witnessed an enjoyment of life's bounty as only a pig can experience–with utter abandon. Montgomery's delightful anecdotes about Christopher's personality, neighborhood wanderings, and haute skin care à la Pig Spa are entwined with biographical details about her family life and fascinating animal-research projects. Christopher was undoubtedly Montgomery's muse for this introspective account of personal growth and her underlying mantra of caring for all the Earth's creatures. He also helped her weather the pain of intractable parents who would not accept their Jewish son-in-law. (from School Library Journal)

11. Schultz and Peanuts: A Biography by David Michealis

For all the joy Charlie Brown and the gang gave readers over half a century, their creator, Charles Schulz, was a profoundly unhappy man. It's widely known that he hated the name Peanuts, which was foisted on the strip by his syndicate. But Michaelis, given access to family, friends and personal papers, reveals the full extent of Schulz's depression, tracing its origins in his Minnesota childhood, with parents reluctant to encourage his artistic dreams and yearbook editors who scrapped his illustrations without explanation. Nearly 250 Peanuts strips are woven into the biography, demonstrating just how much of his life story Schulz poured into the cartoon. In one sequence, Snoopy's crush on a girl dog is revealed as a barely disguised retelling of the artist's extramarital affair. Michaelis is especially strong in recounting Schulz's artistic development, teasing out the influences on his unique characterization of children. And Michaelis makes plain the full impact of Peanuts' first decades and how much it puzzled and unnerved other cartoonists. This is a fascinating account of an artist who devoted his life to his work in the painful belief that it was all he had. (from Publishers Weekly)

12. Jesus Creed: Loving God, Loving Others by Scot McKnight

Amid a sea of books on Christian spiritual formation, McKnight, professor of religious studies at North Park University in Chicago, brings us a simple, highly readable one focused on the weightiest teaching of Jesus: love God and love others as yourself. The "Jesus Creed" of the title is a trimmed down version of the Shema of Judaism (Deut. 6:4–9), which declares we are to love God with all our being, amended to include caring for one's neighbor as oneself (Lev. 19:18). Packed with vivid and touching stories—from the Bible, history and the author's life—this book covers important aspects of what it means to love God and others. McKnight shows great respect for the Jewish heritage of Jesus and offers readers scholarly, yet highly accessible, illustrations of the sociocultural landscape of first-century Palestine. The book is slim on doctrine, making no comment on the thorny theological squabbles that divide many Christians. That's refreshing for the reader tired of the squabbling, but may leave others wondering what love does require in certain difficult situations. Still, this book is an excellent introduction to Christian spirituality. Its pages glow with compassion, generosity and the invitation to understand what was important to Jesus and what is crucial for Christianity. (from Publishers Weekly)

TBR: A Year In Reading What I Already Own - Part 1

To Be Read in 2009 – This is a list that I've made for myself of books that I already own that I need to read before buying any more! I've made a list of 12 titles with 6 alternates - just in case I can't make myself finish something. The idea came from here.

Here are the first six on my list of 12.

1. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Death himself narrates the World War II-era story of Liesel Meminger from the time she is taken, at age nine, to live in Molching, Germany, with a foster family in a working-class neighborhood of tough kids, acid-tongued mothers, and loving fathers who earn their living by the work of their hands. The child arrives having just stolen her first book–although she has not yet learned how to read–and her foster father uses it, The Gravediggers Handbook, to lull her to sleep when shes roused by regular nightmares about her younger brothers death. Across the ensuing years of the late 1930s and into the 1940s, Liesel collects more stolen books as well as a peculiar set of friends: the boy Rudy, the Jewish refugee Max, the mayors reclusive wife (who has a whole library from which she allows Liesel to steal), and especially her foster parents. (From School Library Journal)

2. The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon

They are the "frozen Chosen," two million people living, dying and kvetching in Sitka, Alaska, the temporary homeland established for displaced World War II Jews in Chabon's ambitious and entertaining new novel. It is—deep breath now—a murder-mystery speculative-history Jewish-identity noir chess thriller, so perhaps it's no surprise that, in the back half of the book, the moving parts become unwieldy; Chabon is juggling narrative chainsaws here.The novel begins—the same way that Philip Roth launched The Plot Against America—with a fascinating historical footnote: what if, as Franklin Roosevelt proposed on the eve of World War II, a temporary Jewish settlement had been established on the Alaska panhandle? Roosevelt's plan went nowhere, but Chabon runs the idea into the present, back-loading his tale with a haunting history. Israel failed to get a foothold in the Middle East, and since the Sitka solution was only temporary, Alaskan Jews are about to lose their cold homeland. The book's timeless refrain: "It's a strange time to be a Jew."Into this world arrives Chabon's Chandler-ready hero, Meyer Landsman, a drunken rogue cop who wakes in a flophouse to find that one of his neighbors has been murdered. With his half-Tlingit, half-Jewish partner and his sexy-tough boss, who happens also to be his ex-wife, Landsman investigates a fascinating underworld of Orthodox black-hat gangs and crime-lord rabbis. Chabon's "Alyeska" is an act of fearless imagination, more evidence of the soaring talent of his previous genre-blender, the Pulitzer Prize–winning The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. (from Publisher's Review)

3. Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew and the Women Who Created Her by Melanie Rehak

The intrepid Nancy Drew has given girls a sense of their own power since she was born from the mind of Edward Stratemeyer in 1929 and raised after his death in 1930 by his daughter Harriet Stratemeyer Adams and Mildred Wirt Benson, a journalist who was the first to write the novels under the pen name Carolyn Keene. Poet and critic Rehak invigorates all the players in the Drew story, and it's truly fun to see behind the scenes of the girl sleuth's creation, her transformation as different writers took on the series, and the publishing phenomenon—the highly productive Stratemeyer Syndicate machine—that made her possible. Rehak's most ambitious choice is to reflect on how Nancy Drew mirrors girls' lives and the ups and downs of the women's movement. This approach is compelling, but not particularly well executed. Rehak's breathless prose doesn't do justice to the complexity of the large social trends she describes, and tangents into Feminism 101 derail the story that really works—the life of a publishing juggernaut. All the same, Stratemeyer himself would undoubtedly say that the story is worth telling. Drew fans are likely to agree. (from Publishers Weekly)

4. Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen by Julie Powell

Julie & Julia is the story of Julie Powell's attempt to revitalize her marriage, restore her ambition, and save her soul by cooking all 524 recipes in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume I, in a period of 365 days. The result is a masterful medley of Bridget Jones' Diary meets Like Water for Chocolate, mixed with a healthy dose of original wit, warmth, and inspiration that sets this memoir apart from most tales of personal redemption.

When we first meet Julie, she's a frustrated temp-to-perm secretary who slaves away at a thankless job, only to return to an equally demoralizing apartment in the outer boroughs of Manhattan each evening. At the urging of Eric, her devoted and slightly geeky husband, she decides to start a blog that will chronicle what she dubs the "Julie/Julia Project." What follows is a year of butter-drenched meals that will both necessitate the wearing of an unbearably uncomfortable girdle on the hottest night of the year, as well as the realization that life is what you make of it and joy is not as impossible a quest as it may seem, even when it's -10 degrees out and your pipes are frozen. (from Amazon.com)

5. Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex by Mary Roach

Roach is not like other science writers. She doesn't write about genes or black holes or Schrödinger's cat. Instead, she ventures out to the fringes of science, where the oddballs ponder how cadavers decay (in her debut, Stiff) and whether you can weigh a person's soul (in Spook). Now she explores the sexiest subject of all: sex. Roach's ever-present eye and ear for the absurd and her loopy sense of humor make her a delectable guide through this unesteemed scientific outback. The payoff comes with subjects like female orgasm (yes, it's complicated), and characters like Ahmed Shafik, who defies Cairo's religious repressiveness to conduct his sex research. Roach's forays offer fascinating evidence of the full range of human weirdness, the nonsense that has often passed for medical science and, more poignantly, the extreme lengths to which people will go to find sexual satisfaction. (from Publishers Weekly)

6. Mary Jane's Ideabook, Cookbook, Lifebook: For the Farm Girl in all of Us by Maryjane Butters

Carpenter, waitress, janitor, upholsterer, secretary, milkmaid, wilderness ranger, environmental activist, entrepreneur–the founder of MaryJanesFarm has worn many hats in her day, but none more proudly than that of modern-day farmgirl. Speaking to the farmgirl in all of us, MaryJane Butters offers a captivating introduction to the organic lifestyle, resurrects forgotten domestic arts, and shares lessons gleaned from her diverse background and two decades of life as an Idaho farmer.

Whether you simply need encouragement to embrace a more authentic, wholesome lifestyle or you’re looking for guidance on building a greenhouse, chopping firewood, hosting a town event, caring for a flock of chickens, making your own butter, growing a winter salad, or choosing a water filter, MaryJane’s Ideabook, Cookbook, Lifebook is both an inspiration and a practical road map for farmgirls of all stripes. (from the book dustcover description)

I Ask You. . .

I ask you. . . what kind of Christmas present is this???


The morning after Christmas I was cleaning things up in the kitchen and Ali was on the couch playing a computer game she had gotten for Christmas. We were both eating breakfast from the box of Christmas cookies that someone (who shall remain nameless) had given us as a gift. All of the sudden I heard a scream come from the living room. I went rushing in.

"What's the matter honey?!"

By then she was laughing, choking on a cookie and pointing at the box. I looked carefully, expecting to find a bug or something worse.

It was something worse.

Again I ask you. . .what kind of Christmas present is this???

Litzenberg Overlook Series

December 28, 2008

November 27, 2008

October 12, 2008

The shot from yesterday looks amazingly the same as the one from November. I say that because we have had two large ice storms and as we walked towards the overlook yesterday we were amazed at the number of trees and limbs that had come crashing down in the prior month.

It Started With A Bang & A Kleenex

This morning started with a bang. And a Kleenex – or five. . .

I'm still sick and all I want to do is sleep in a little bit. Sammy has different ideas. He started howling this morning at 6. That prompted Oliver to join in. They weren't going to shut up and I knew I was up for the day. 

I came downstairs and let them out. The house is a mess from Christmas with stuff everywhere and I started feeling a little overwhelmed. There are clean clothes in a HUGE (unfolded) pile on the kitchen table, piles of Christmas presents all over the counter, wrapping paper and ribbons in a heap in the office and dog hair everywhere. This kind of stuff bothers me. I try to relax about it, but it still stresses me out. I took a deep breath and decided to tackle the one thing that's been an annoyance for the last few days.

We have a leather overstuffed couch. The back cushions are attached to the frame and can't be removed. Each of the three back cushions has a zipper at the bottom. The dogs, digging at the couch, sprung the zipper in the middle cushion and pulled a bunch of stuffing out. Of course it pissed me off but hey, they're dogs and that's what they do. Right?

I try really hard to be a "people are more important than things" kind of person. . .and pets are like people to me. . .most of the time. . .

I sat down this morning, while they were outside and I had a little peace and quiet, to try and fix the zipper. I pulled out about half the stuffing to give me some working room. I tried to work the zipper backwards slowly so I could line it up again and start over. While I was working at it, it kind of occurred to me that I hadn't heard any scratching at the back door. It was unusual but I thought I would count my blessings and keep working at the zipper.

It wasn't going well. I pulled too hard, too quickly and the one side of the zipper came off the upper "track." I said some ugly things under my breath and consulted Google to see how to fix this newest development. Again, it entered the edge of my consciousness that I hadn't heard anything from the back yard. I ignored it. To my peril.

Turns out, according to my preliminary internet search, that there's no easy fix for my zipper problem. I realized I needed to do some deeper research and decided to take a pillow off the guest bed and put it in the cushion as a short term fix. At least the dogs wouldn't be able to pull it out by the mouthful like they had been doing with the stuffing.

I made a pot of coffee and decided to check on the dogs. They still weren't at the back door so I went out into the garage. No dogs there either. I heard their tags jingling and stepped out on the patio in my socks.

What I saw in the darkness made me gasp.

Besides two dogs, wagging their asses off with pride and joy at their latest accomplishment, I saw at least a dozen or so skeins of my best and most expensive yarns strung all over the back yard. They were knotted and spread across more than half the yard. They were wet with spit and matted with leaves and twigs.

And the dogs just stood there, looking at me like they were so damn proud.

They had gotten into a tote in the garage full of yarn (which, I must confess, I had left the lid off of yesterday while hunting for a small project to take with me to Ali's family's Christmas celebration).

But this was my limit. Besides being sick, tired and overwhelmed by the mess in the house, they did this while I was doing my best to fix the couch which they had torn up in the first place!

What ensued wasn't pretty. And I'm not proud of it. I went upstairs, where Ali was still sleeping, and threw myself on the bed, crying. Between the sobs I told her what had happened. I said very ugly things about dogs, potential sources of food in China and the Pound. She got dressed and cleaned up the back yard. I cried some more and said some more ugly things. She, to her credit, was very patient with me and with them. She gave them the standard monologue about what bad dogs they were and she gave me time and space to calm down and rethink my position on dog ownership.

For the moment, we still have two dogs. But I think we need a new box of Kleenex.

Merry Christmas

Advent is finally over. The waiting, preparing, watching and hoping are done. Christmas has finally arrived.

                             

I wasn't quite ready though.           

I was prepared for perfect love and the promise of new life. I was ready for a fresh start and for hope to be born again inside of all who choose to believe. I was ready for excitement and laughter and the exchange of gifts.

But, I wasn't quite ready for all the details. There are a few gifts I didn't get finished in time. There were things I had to buy and not make because I just ran out of time and energy. When I face these "failures" sometimes I'm kind of hard on myself. But, as I read on one of my favorite blogs this week, maybe it's just time to throw The List (and all the expectations) into the fire. And just let the celebration be what it will be.

The Christmas police have not called. I have not been issued a Christmas warning to pick up my game.

There has been no town crier in the streets calling "Hear ye! Hear ye! Tanya has dropped the ball. She hereby and henceforth fails Christmas!"
                
Let it be what it will be.

Thank you for reading this blog. For commenting. And for being my friends. It's been a tough year. But hope comes in the form of a new life in all who believe. Merry Christmas to you.

May your Christmas, no matter what shape or size, be just right for you.

My Voice

This icky sickness rages on and Christmas just keeps on coming. I've been sick for almost two weeks and every time I think I'm starting to get just a little bit better it knocks me back down.

It seems like I get sick at this time every year. When I used to celebrate Christmas with my immediate biological family I got laryngitis every year. 

Looking back, I think that was a way that my body was compensating for my spirit. Not speaking truth to my family left me without any kind of authentic voice. The last year that I was with them on Christmas morning I remember feeling very, very sad. And very isolated. 

This year I'm not 100% physically. But I'm strong and resilient. I'm also at a place of deep joy and contentment in my life.

And, this year I still have my voice.

More Ice

We went out this morning and took more shots from the ice storm. Since it's not even remotely warm in Ohio, the ice is sticking around for a while. It's a terrible ghostly moaning sound when the wind moves through the tree tops. Thankfully, we still have power.



One of the things I appreciate most about photography is that it forces you to slow down and really look at things. Noticing is important. I might have missed the puppy toes.


Different perspectives help too.


This one is our next door neighbor's yard. We titled this one "Summer Memories!"

Keep warm this weekend, and take some time to slow down and notice the little bits of beauty around you today.

What Do These Have In Common?

What do the United States, Islam, Russia and China and the Catholic Church all have in common?

This.

Feeling proud?

Slip Slidin' Away

Mr. Oliver

Meet Oliver – the whirling dervish of a Pointer mix that we added to the family yesterday. 


These photos in no way convey the utter joy and abandon with which he joined the clan. More descriptive words of our evening could be chosen at random from the following:  bedlam, clutter, disarray, discord, disorder, disorganization, holy mess, pandemonium, rat’s nest, snarl, topsy-turviness, tumult, turmoil, unruliness.

But he sure is cute. And sweet. His entire ass-end wags with complete abandon every time you even talk to him. He and Sammy really got along well - all things considered. There was a little bit of growling over the food bowl but that was it. They just never slowed down.



We took them upstairs, thinking that corralling everyone on the bed might slow them down a bit and let us bond. They went from fifth to third gear. It was a slight improvement!


For now, the best part of being a two-dog house  is that we can send them out into the backyard and they will play without supervision! Sammy used to stay out for about 32 seconds before howling at the backdoor to be let in. Now, we can hardly get them to come back to the garage!

The only difficulty we've had is the battle over who's going to be the dominate dog. Oliver was just neutered on Tuesday so he still has a lot of testosterone in his system. Sammy. . .not so much. There's a lot of posturing, staring and other not-so-polite behavior going on. Ali and I are trying to let them figure it out for themselves but it's tough.

Just before 9 last night they were out running around in the backyard. They were boxing at each other. Sammy is a couple of inches taller and outweighs Oliver by about 6 pounds. There was a lot of humping and dominate staring going on as Ali and I watched out the window of the utility room. Suddenly Ali started to laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"We need to get them inside," she giggled. "We don't want to be known all over the neighborhood as the people who allow doggy porno in the backyard!"

Welcome home, Oliver.

I had to include one more shot of Mr. Jealous!

Beware. . .Whining Ahead

There are lots of things that I would like to write about today. I just don't have it in me. On Saturday I felt it coming. It's now Wednesday and I'm dragging my sorry ass around like it's the end of the world – hacking and coughing and drowning in my own snot. I don't get sick days at work so I'm just trying to survive.

Yeah. . .I'm whiney. . . this too shall pass. Or I will. Either way is fine with me today.

We are adding a new member to our little family tonight. Oliver. He's a pointer mix that we fell in love with when we went to the Humane Society on Saturday. He liked Sammy. And Sammy liked him. Pictures tomorrow. Assuming I'm still alive.

All isn't lost however. We've been crafting! Ali has gotten into working with polymer clay. It's pretty cool stuff. You sculpt and then bake it. This is what she made last night. I think they are awesome! One of the pendants is for me. The other is a gift for someone who doesn't read this blog.

Here's my latest effort. Soon my red button stash is going to be depleted. I didn't know how much fun these little guys were going to be! Perhaps a reindeer is next!

Stay tuned for Oliver and Samson pictures tomorrow! 

Now. . .where did I put that Vicks???

Ancient Prayer

I have a deep love for ancient prayers, particularly ones written by monastics. I love prayers that have been prayed for centuries, joining a chorus of other voices floating to God. This one isn't particularly old – Thomas Merton was a 20th century Trappist monk of the Abbey of Gethsemani just outside Lousiville, Kentucky.

This one really spoke to me today. I used it for my personal prayer time this morning.

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me. 

I cannot know for certain where it will end. 

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. 

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. 

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. 

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. 

Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. 

I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.  

––Thomas Merton

Christmas Letter Outtakes

One of my least favorite parts of working in a print shop is typing Christmas letters for customers. It feels like an invasion of privacy. Even worse is going through the mental gymnastics that it takes not to edit or re-write them. Here are a few snippets from this year's crop.

Some are pompous and too wordy.

In June, Harold and I went to Illinois to a tool convention. Harold sells a lot of his pamphlets on many historical subjections.

What the hell is a historical subjection??? And who pays for one???

************************************

Some are funny and you want a bit more info.

We returned home from the Wayne County Fair with 1/2 bushels of plums, pears and tomatoes to can. That was too much for Mom. She had to see the doctor.

What was the diagnosis?

************************************

This is another one that's pompous. And frankly, it's TMI.

Once again I had a surgical procedure. About a year earlier I had injured my left elbow in some way which caused the bursa to become inflamed which, in turn, generated excess joint fluid to compensate for the damage. Much of this joint fluid was diverted to a rather large pouch of skin attached to the exterior of the elbow. Although the pouch was not too painful, it was a nuisance and an aesthetic disaster. 

An aesthetic disaster. . . that, in my humble opinion, you ought to keep to yourself!

************************************

Occasionally, one is well written and thoughtful.

The first snowfall says "it's winter" even though the calendar isn't quite there yet. Icicles, frost on the branches, and sunshine plus cardinals at the bird feeder make for a perfect winter display. Who needs to decorate! Tradition seems to demand it and we succumb. Christmas music is everywhere you want to be. Children are exuberant, and the elderly (that's us) look and listen carefully. We've been granted another year to enjoy and be grateful.

Although these well-written letters are few and far between, laughing at the rest keeps me going!

Happy/Merry Thanks-Christmas!

Happy/Merry Thanks-Christmas everyone! Perhaps this is a new holiday for you? It's only my second year to celebrate this two holiday mashup.

Celebrating the holidays with Ali is taking some getting used to. And, frankly, it requires some kind of map and notepad. Her parents divorced when she was eleven. Her mom married a friend of the family a few years later. That meant that people that had been friends for her whole life were now family members. I know there are lots of people for whom this is normal. It's just hard to keep track of who will be where and how they are all related from a newbie's perspective!

Anyhow, today is the holiday gathering for her stepdad's family. There will be 23 people at the party. And I'm making the turkey, dressing and sweet potato casserole. Thank God it's not at our house. . .

I know you're not supposed to try a new recipe on a day that you're feeding people who don't know that you're an acceptably good cook. But, I'm feeling adventurous – or maybe just suicidal! I'm not sure how it came about that I'm making this food anyway. I think Ali volunteered me. She's eaten turkey and sweet potato casserole that I've made and she liked it. But, the only stuffing she's ever eaten from a pan on my stove came out of a box. . .

These people are picky eaters. All of them. They like plain, unadorned (and from my perspective – boring) food. I'm a daughter of good old Southern cooks and the only dressing I know how to make from scratch is Cornbread Dressing. I'm fairly certain this would be unacceptable. Perhaps even ridiculed.

So here I sit, behind my computer screen on Thanks-Christmas morning, trolling the internet for recipes that don't resemble slimy, wet bread. And aren't out of a box. And don't make me look like an idiot to people who've only met me once. . .at last year's Thanks-Christmas.

I think this is what I'm going with.

Ingredients
2 packets onion soup mix
2 cup water
1 teaspoon poultry seasoning
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup celery, diced
1/2 cup onion, diced
8 cups bread, cubes

Saute celery and onion in butter. Bring soup mix and water to a boil. Simmer 5 minutes. Stir in poultry seasoning, butter, celery and onion. Add this mixture to the bread cubes; toss together. Grease crockpot; add stuffing; set on low for 3-4 hours.

Since I have to transport all this food across town the crock-pot makes sense. Although, I think my cooking fore-mothers would roll over in their graves if they could see me making stuffing in a crock pot. . .they would be even more distressed that there was no cornbread to be found! Anywhere!

Wish me luck!

Night Sky

There was a full moon last night.

This suited my mood. Melancholy. (Such a self descriptive sounding word, isn't it?)

Funny thing though – it wasn't until this morning that I saw the blue peeking through the black and grey.

Full Circle

I don't usually post this kind of stuff, but a friend sent it to me yesterday and it made me think. 

A woman was out Christmas shopping with her two children. After many hours of looking at row after row of toys and everything else imaginable; and after hours of hearing both her children asking for everything they saw on those many shelves, she finally made it to the elevator.

She was feeling what so many of us feel during the holiday season time of the year - overwhelming pressure to go to every party, every housewarming, taste all the holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for every single person on our shopping list, making sure we don't forget anyone on our card list, and the pressure of making sure we respond to everyone who sent us a card.

Finally the elevator doors opened, and there was already a crowd in the car. She pushed her way into the car and dragged her two kids in with her and all the bags of stuff. When the doors closed, she couldn't take it anymore and she stated, "Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be found, strung up and shot."

From the back of the car, everyone heard a quiet, calm voice respond, "Don't worry, we already crucified him."

This made me think about my favorite Christmas ornament. It hangs where no one can see it, unless you know to look. We hang it there as a reminder.

It all starts – and ends – with a tree.

Nostalgia

I must be middle aged. I know this is true because something as simple as a Polaroid picture makes me nostalgic.

Did you know that Kodak announced earlier this year that it was no longer going to manufacture film for the Polaroid camera? That news item alone was nearly enough to send me thrifting for an old Polaroid camera and film. I'm a sucker.

There's a movement afoot to save it. Come on. . .who doesn't remember waving that squishy plastic picture around trying to make it develop faster? I remember that we used to blow on it, thinking that somehow drying it out might help.

Polaroids were almost instant gratification. They were kid magical.

Just in time to save this aging Gen-X'er, Poladroid saves the day!

When you  download this free piece of software it mimics a Polaroid camera in every way! Just drop your photo into the desktop camera icon it makes the same noise that the old camera made (think ker-zjeerrrrr-chikk) and then spits out a photo that has to "dry" as the chemical wash fades from brown to yellow. Finally, it leaves the finished image behind. The camera spits out images all over your desktop, as if you have dropped them there. You can even wave them around if you want.

What I love the most about this program is that, just like the old film Polaroid, your photographic results aren't perfect. Or even predictable. Here is one photo of my Christmas tree, "Poladroid-ed" three different times. With three very different results.

The program automatically downloads a fairly hi-res photo to your hard drive that you can print or upload to whatever program you use to organize and share your photos.

Nostalgic. Free. Fun. What more could you ask for?

Advent and the Apocalypse

I used to be terrified of the rapture.

It’s a big deal in the Baptist church. There’s a lot of pulpit time devoted to descriptions of dead bodies popping out of caskets and cars who’s drivers are suddenly taken away to heaven leaving chaos and fiery wreckage on the highways. There are stories of children who are suddenly left without parents because they weren’t among those who had gotten saved.

My biggest fear was this passage from Matthew –

“But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only. Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and one left. Two women will be grinding at the mill; one will be taken and one left. Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But know this, that if the master of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.”
—Matthew 24:36;40-44

As a preteen, before getting out of bed in the morning I took a very literal approach to the day by praying the following prayer, “Dear God. I’m really do believe and expect that TODAY is the day for the rapture. In Jesus Name I Pray, Amen.” I thought that should cover me. After all, I was pretty sure the verse meant that if I expected it, it wouldn’t happen!

Fast forward to adulthood – I came to understand that I don’t really believe in the rapture anymore. I began to see it as an invention of self-righteous Christianity to terrify people into submission. Those who are born-again will be taken up into the sky out of harm’s way as the world ends, while all the rest will suffer horribly.

All I can think of is, “Nanny, nanny, foo-foo!”

So, what can all this possibly have to do with Christmas?

Every morning during Advent I’ve been meditating. I light a candle that’s in a jar and kneel in my little meditation corner, facing a window that looks out into our street. It’s dark at that hour. When I sit and hold the candle I see several reflections of the flame dancing in the windowpane. I practice centering prayer and work at emptying my heart and mind of all the junk that they collect.

I want to create space for the holy.

I stay that way, thinking, praying and breathing for about 20 minutes each morning. The very first day of Advent, as I came to the close of my time, the following verse drifted into my head. I prayed it out loud that day. And every day since.

“Even so, come Lord Jesus.” – Revelation 22:20

It’s from the heart of Biblical apocalyptical literature. Maybe this is the only way I can make sense of Jesus coming again into the world. At Christmas.

When I most need a sense of wholeness and peace – even so, come Lord Jesus.

When I get overwhelmed, overcommitted and overwrought – even so, come Lord Jesus.

When selfishness wins the day – even so. . .

See that candle dancing over there in that darkened window? Come, Lord Jesus.

You are welcome here.

Sunday Scribblings - Tradition

Black or brown – my grandfather's dress socks
Tacked to a white wooden mantle
Sagging with oranges, chocolates and apples

Litzenberg Overlook Series - Months 1 & 2

I had an idea in October while we were out walking in Litzenberg Woods. I thought it might be fun to document one view, the Scenic Overlook, once a month for a whole year.

Part of my morning meditation practice is focusing on living only in the present moment and learning to slow down and really notice things.

October 12, 2008

November 27, 2008

Water flows from high in the mountains. 

Water runs deep in the Earth. 

Miraculously, water comes to us, and sustains all life. 

Water and sun green these plants. 

When the rain of compassion falls, 

even a desert becomes an immense, green ocean. 

- Thich Nhat Hanh

Bird Crazy

Yesterday, while I was browsing the tables at the local thrift shop, I came upon a ziplock baggie full of someone's hand-pieced quilt blocks. They are the pattern called Dresden Plate. They were all hand pieced and then hand appliqued onto natural muslin. The dozen or so finished blocks represent probably more than 100 hours of someone's hand work. All for sale for $3.50.

They came home with me.


There is no way I'm going to finish this quilt. I don't have matching fabrics. . .or that kind of patience. But I have always loved birds and thought this might be a fun way to make some.

The pattern just barely fit.



With a little handsewing (so not my forte) and some stuffing, I had myself a sweet little bird!


Then, I had two!


I'm thinking of displaying them like this.


Or maybe this.


That ought to help keep the winter blues at bay, don't you think?

Maybe Less Is More

This is still bothering me. Five days later. I'm sure you've heard it on the news by now. I heard it and was aghast. I keep thinking about it.

Last Friday morning, a 34-year-old Wal-Mart employee was trampled to death as a mob of shoppers broke down the door in order to save some money. Hundreds of people stepped on another human being's body in order to buy things. Turns out, it was death by suffocation.

What does it mean?

I don't want to be all negative. It's the season to buy things. Give things. I'm not opposed to people trying to save a little money when everything is so tight. But what does this story teach us about joy and generosity? Even more, what does it teach us about economy or humanity? What does it mean when people buy anything and everything just because it's "on sale"?

And, maybe the most difficult question of all – What kind of human being can step on another human being and not even notice? Or worse, notice but not care?

It's all so complicated. The point of this post is that I've been wondering what I can do to make any kind of difference at all in this madness.

I made a list.

• I will buy less.
  
• I will simplify at least one aspect of my own Christmas tradition.
  
• I will make more handmade gifts.
  
• I will pause before I buy anything and ask myself, "Will the recipient really want/use/enjoy this thing or am I buying it because I don't know what else to get?"

All this thinking really came together when I was working on my little button wreaths. Ali was sitting next to me on the couch, doing some work she brought home from the office. I was sorting and stringing buttons and thinking about the story that each little button could tell. Who wore these clothes? Were they happy or sad? Were some of these buttons from special occasion clothes? Or regular old work clothes? Why did someone cut them off and save them?

I thought about all the summer Saturdays she and I had spent at flea markets and junk stores, hunting for "treasures." We had such fun finding the unexpected – buttons, thimbles, books and furniture.

It was then that I realized that it was going to be a sacrifice for me to give away my little button wreaths. I told Ali that I really loved making the wreaths, but I wasn't quite as excited about giving them away. She said, "Honey, next summer I'll buy you some more."

A little handmade button wreath may not seem like much. Especially compared to some new toy or electronic must-have of the month. But it comes from a place of generosity and simplicity. I really do believe that simple can be magical and wonderful and that a few carefully chosen gifts can be much better than a huge stack of packages to open just for the sake of more.

10 Things That Are Making Me Smile

1. On Thanksgiving Day we took Sammy out to Litzenberg Woods and went for a nice long walk. We were the only ones in the park. This photo of some colorful weeds makes me smile.


2. We stopped at Indian Green Cemetery. It was Ali's idea to say thank you to the Native Americans on Thanksgiving.


3. Our Christmas tree is up!


4. We went to the Underground Railroad Museum in Cincinnati last Saturday. It was amazing. We learned. And thought. And talked. This is a close up of a huge textile mural. I love that tuition to the "Holy Ghost School" is 10 cents. If you would like to see more photos from the museum go to my flickr set here.

5. Our Christmas cards are ready to mail. And they are all homemade!

6. A text message conversation with a friend on Sunday about old life. And new life.

7. These little wreaths that I made out of buttons from my stash.


8. Ali, talking to the birds. They were actually talking back!


9. Candles, burning during Advent.

10. That yesterday, there was a surprise of custom roasted coffee on our front porch. It was from our neighbor. I smile because he doesn't mind welcoming the lesbians to the neighborhood. Maybe the world is changing!