Happy Thanksgiving

A few people have asked if the post I wrote on gratitude/Thanksgiving last week was autobiographical. It was. I don't remember a lot of the details like exactly how old I was or that I ate oatmeal for breakfast that day. But the rest was true. And, in a weird way, I'm thankful for all of it.

When I was younger and still living with my parents my dad and I used to have a major disagreement with my mother. We used to say that "life is what you make it." She believed that "life is just what gets handed to you." Both sides of the argument were made with conviction and emotion but neither side was swayed.

I still believe that life is what you make it. I might get handed a load of crap – like no money for turkey dinner, a furnace that doesn't work, a cancer diagnosis or even something as silly as a dog that wakes me up at 5:04 on Thanksgiving morning. But how I deal with any of it is a choice. It's still crap but I get a say in how it's ultimately expressed.

Being handed a box of food on Thanksgiving morning could have ended with my humiliation and teenage angst. But what I really learned was empathy. I've seen both sides of that coin.

I've never been much of a holiday person. It goes against my nature to think that thankfulness is best expressed at the end of November, over a plate full of turkey. I hate that Christmas has become one long marathon of "he who spends the most therefore loves the most and is thereby declared the winner."

That same Christmas, the one that followed our meager Thanksgiving, was sparse. Where I had gotten clothes, toys and spending money in years past, that year there were two gifts that I vividly remember. I got a bottle of Rose Milk Body Lotion and a figurine of a bunny rabbit. Both gifts had come from the small town pharmacy. At the time, I was embarrassed that my father had shopped for me at the drug store and had spent less than $5. As I write this, some 30 years later, I remember their practicality and his sacrifice. It may be simplistic, but I still believe that life is what I choose to make of it.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Vandalism!

This is my artwork from yesterday! I've always wanted to press a leaf into fresh concrete and I finally got the chance – and the nerve! I think it's quite nice, don't you? At least it was more imaginative than just my initials. . .

Too Desperate?

On My Mind

Things that are on my mind today:

We still don't have consistent heat in our house. This problem has been ongoing for more than two weeks now. I don't want to go into all of it. Let's just say that the home warranty people have been less than cooperative and that it flat out drove me to tears on Saturday. Funny how they got so much nicer on the phone when I was crying and shivering uncontrollably. Keep your fingers crossed that we may have a solution on Wednesday.

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My butt hurts because I fell down the stairs on Saturday carrying two big boxes of Christmas decorations. That also flat out drove me to tears.

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Sunday has become soup day at our house. I make soup in the morning and then let it cook all day in the crock pot. There isn't much that soup won't fix – except furnaces. It might have even made my butt feel better. Here is yesterday's offering.

Brown 1 lb. hamburger with a chopped onion.

In crock pot, place:

1 box beef broth

1 can black beans, rinsed and drained

1 can kidney beans, rinsed and drained

1 can northern beans, rinsed and drained

1 can tomato sauce

1 can corn, drained

1 package Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix

1 package taco seasoning

Add drained hamburger to pot. Cook on low 5-6 hours. Season with salt and hot sauce to taste.

I was a little skeptical the first time I tried this recipe but it's really good. Especially when your house is 58 degrees. And your butt hurts.

Sunday Scribblings – Gratitude

Her stomach growled loudly. She pressed her arms closer to try and hide the sounds. Since her father had given up his steady job and paycheck to start a new church that had no members and no money, the family had cut back drastically. Her new winter coat had come from the Dollar General store.

She sat on the school bus with her feet pushed violently under the seat in front of her. Maybe if she couldn’t see the ugly tennis shoes that the popular kids had worn three years ago, no one else could either.

“Nice shoes, loser.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at the floor until she could taste metal.

“Didn’t you used to live in town? What happen? Your daddy die or somethin’?” She refused to look up.

“Just hold on,” she told herself. “One more day and we’ll be on Thanksgiving vacation. One more day. . .”

Thanksgiving morning dawned, cold and bright. The house was freezing. But at least she didn’t have to go to school.

Over a bowl of oatmeal her mother broke the news. “We don’t have money for a turkey dinner this year. I’m going to fix some of the vegetables that we put up from this summer’s garden and make some cornbread.”

The girl was silent. Just last year they had hosted so many family and friends for Thanksgiving dinner that table upon table had been placed end to end. Each had been covered with white tablecloths and shining crystal glasses. The feast had stretched through the dining room and out into the living room with the kids parked at smaller tables in the foyer. The tables had groaned under the burden of so much food and laughter.

Being able to remember just made it worse.

She remembered taking turkeys and bags of groceries to people who were “poor” while she was in church youth group. Showing up at someone’s house with Thanksgiving dinner made her feel confused. She knew she was supposed to feel sorry for them. However they had ended up needing food wasn’t supposed to be any of her business. But she always wondered. Even worse, taking around food baskets secretly made her feel superior. And that, in turn, made her feel guilty.

Their gratitude had made her embarrassed. So had their tears.

As she finished up her oatmeal she watched out the window, over the pond and across the long driveway. She saw a car creeping along, as though they were lost. It happened a lot out here in the country and she wondered who it might be.

As the girl rinsed her bowl in the sink she picked at the dried oats along the rim. There was laughter coming from the front door but she didn’t feel like going out to see.

Snippets of conversation floated her way – “God is so good!” “I knew that if I prayed hard enough that God would just have to provide!” “The Lord just laid it on my heart. . .”

Her stomach lurched. She didn't believe any of that stuff anymore. Talk like that made her angry and confused.

Her mother appeared around the corner – laughing and shouting – a turkey in one hand and a box of food in the other.

“Praise the Lord. . .God brought us Thanksgiving dinner!”

Quietly the girl slipped out. Her own feelings of gratitude made her embarrassed. So did her tears.

A Cloud of Words

I love words. As early as I can remember I was either being read to or stubbornly "reading" things myself. People thought I could read much earlier than I really could. My favorite book was "Me Too" and I had it memorized. I even knew when to turn the pages as I read to whoever would listen.

Growing up, I read all the time. I read cereal boxes and milk cartons at the breakfast table. One summer during elementary school I won the library's summer reading contest. I can't remember how many books I finished, but I think it was nearly 200. I still have the charm bracelet that I won as the prize.

I still read a lot but my fascination with words has broadened a bit. I'm growing to appreciate poetry in ways I never have before. I like puzzles and using words in different kinds of ways. I'm also learning the joys of writing that I never experienced in school.

Today I found something really, really cool.

Wordle is a site that takes your writing and generates a word cloud based on the frequency and prominence of the words you use most. I entered the words from the nine posts that are my favorites from this blog. Here is what it created. (click to make it bigger)



The more you use a certain word, the larger it appears. I was pleased and amused with what it came up with! I printed a large sheet that I would like to frame. It looks a bit like a piece of poetry of its own. My life, the people who have influenced me, my memories – all condensed and concrete, yet floating and alive.

It made me think of this verse, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." – Hebrews 12:1

101 In 10001: #17

17. Go to a musical once a year. (1/3)


Ali has a thing for music – and by default, musicals. We've been waiting for Oliver to come our way for about a year. She has the DVD. She has the soundtrack. She knows every line and every song. . .ask me how I know this. . .

It was a relaxing evening. We started with dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant in Toledo. With time to spare, we stopped for coffee at Starbucks before heading to the theater.

Once we got to the theater we were surprised to see that we had front row seats, on the far right of the stage. This turned out to be kind of a letdown. We could see into the wings on the left side of the stage and that was kind of distracting. We could also see how much make-up the actors wear and the ways that they are artificially aged to fit the parts. 

As I am thinking back about the evening, I wonder if the theater isn't a bit like aging – maybe the best view is from a little further back, with a bit more perspective. And some blurring around the edges.

Lips and Soups

It seems like I'm doing an awful lot of winter whining already. Maybe it's because winter has come so darn early this year. Or, maybe I'm just a whiner. Whatever. . .

My favorite thing to eat in winter is soup. To me, it's the ultimate comfort food.

As a kid, I never really liked Campbell's Tomato Soup very well. It was weirdly sweet. My mom used to feed my sister and I grilled cheese sandwiches and the kind of tomato soup that had chunks of tomatoes still in it. I always picked at it and tried to leave the tomato chunks in the bottom of the bowl.

Our job was to do the dishes after every meal. I always washed and my sister Cindy always dried. After washing out the soup bowls there would be pieces of uneaten tomato chunks floating in the dishwater. I would pick up the chunks and toss them at Cindy while screaming, "They look like LIPS!! Ewwwwwww! Lips!!!" She would scream and general chaos would ensue – until a parent intervened and we both got in trouble.

To this day, I don't like chunks of tomato in food. And, to this day, when I wash dishes I look for "lips."

All this came to mind this weekend when I wanted some tomato soup that didn't taste weird and was pureed super smooth. Here's what I did:

• sauteed one chopped onion with two cloves of minced garlic in some olive oil until the onions were nice and soft.

• added two cans of whole tomatoes with juice and two cans of fire roasted tomatoes with their juice. 

• simmered for 45 minutes

• pureed the soup in the blender

• added two cups of whole milk

• seasoned with salt and pepper

Super easy. Really, really good.

DISCLAIMER: If you have a weak stomach don't read any further!

Am I the only one who thinks that tomato soup smells like vomit?? How can something that tastes so good smell so bad?? Especially when you reheat it. . .

One Tree – Three Weeks

November 4, 2008

November 10, 2008

November 17, 2008

My Friend Lake

My friend Lake died on Friday. He was something else. Funny. Full of life. Smart. Determined. Stubborn as hell. Those were all qualities that served him well. Lake was born with cerebral palsy.

He spent life unable to talk, walk, feed himself or do most anything that you and I take for granted. If no one was available to help him get out of his wheelchair at the end of the day, he spent the night sitting up. If he got to bed and his aide didn't show up in the morning, he spent the day in bed – waiting.

But nothing got Lake down.

He and his wife Jane, who is also confined to an electric wheelchair, used to come to church when I was the pastor. They would roll down the center aisle, and because there wasn't a lot of space in the sanctuary, they would park in front of the front row. We sang a lot of upbeat music and I remember watching the joy on Lake's face as he danced to the music from his chair.

There was a computer attached to the front of his wheelchair and a small silver dot stuck to his forehead. Through the miracle of modern technology he could select items and words by aiming the dot at the screen and selecting the text. After assembling his sentences he could tell the computer to "read" what he wanted to "say."

With a little advanced planning, Lake would read Scripture for services. I would email him the passage and he would painstakingly add the text to his magic voice machine. When the time came in the service for Scripture I would sit in the front pew and hold the microphone to his machine while he read. To me, it was incredibly moving to have him participating each week. It was a computer generated voice, flat and emotionless but to many who where there, it was like music.

I can't imagine what it was like to spend his life trapped in such a broken body. Yet he did it with grace and humor. I already miss him. And whenever I hear the synthesized voice of the NOAA Weather Radio alerts I stop short and look around for my friend.

First Snow in Ohio

That noise you hear in the background is me quietly sobbing. . .

Sunday Scribblings - Stranger

alone in the rear pew –
watching as silent as breath
longing to be enfolded

Sunday Scribblings - Change

For awhile I've been following a writing challenge called Sunday Scribblings. It gives a writing prompt and a week to work on it. I've never posted anything there before. This week's theme was "change."

autumn rain --

one orange leaf dancing

a melancholy farewell

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1 - A Meme

I've seen this meme floating around some of the blogs I read for awhile now. Feel free to copy and use it yourself. I would like to read yours!

Ten Things I Wish I Could Say to Ten Different People Right Now
1. I forgive you.
2. I hope you'll forgive me.
3. I wish you happiness and wholeness. You deserve it.
4. You inspire me.
5. I care about you and am concerned about the choices you are making.
6. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
7. I’m sorry that we don’t talk. I miss you and wish you missed me.
8. You have been one of the most important and influential people in my life.
9. I adore the way you laugh.
10. Karma is a bitch and you two should should have thought about that.

Nine Things About Myself
1. For the most part, I really like myself. That’s hard to write, even now.
2. I've been through a lot in my life but only recently came to recognize and appreciate my strength.
3. I wish I could go back to school. I really like learning things.
4. I'm working hard at just letting all the little things go.
5. I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the beauty of human creativity.
6. I’m learning to speak less and listen more.
7. I wish that I missed my family less.
8. I’m bossy and opinionated.
9. I'm optimistic.

Eight Ways to Win My Heart
1. Make me laugh. . .really laugh.
2. Make me think. . .really think.
3. Enjoy the food I cook for you.
4. Hug me unexpectedly.
5. Know and have confidence in who you are.
6. Be positive.
7. Be able to sing along to the radio regardless of the station/genre.
8. Listen – not just with your ears.

Seven Things That Cross My Mind a Lot
1. What are we making for dinner?
2. I have five minutes. . .what can I get done?
3. What can I be thankful for right now?
4. Will the house in Toledo ever sell??
5. Why do people drive like idiots?
6. Why don’t I get more done?
7. What is that smell? Has Sammy pooped somewhere?

Six Things I Do Before I Fall Asleep
1. Snuggle with Sammy.
2. Turn on the light under the microwave.
3. Talk about the day that has passed and the day that is to come with A.
4. Kiss my girl.
5. Make sure the front door is locked.
6. Turn down the thermostat.

Five Ways I Like to Relax
1. With a good book and a cup of hot tea.
2. Taking a Sunday afternoon nap.
3. Knitting.
4. Watching TV.
5. Listening to the rain.

Four Things I'm Wearing Right Now
1. Corduroys
2. Really warm, squishy socks
3. Hair clip – yea! It’s finally long enough!
4. Thermal shirt

Three Songs I Listen to a Lot
1. Waiting on the World to Change – John Mayer
2. Where I Stood – Missy Higgins
3. Not As We – Alanis Morissette

Two Things I Want to Do Before I Die
1. Believe that I have made a difference.
2. Believe I have lived my life to its fullest.

One Confession
1. The first time I ever voted (1984), it was for Ronald Reagan. My parents told me to.

Wordless Wednesday

The bridge over the Maumee River in Waterville, Ohio.

A Rice Krispy "Treat"

I've always wondered why the Rice Krispy treats that come out of our kitchen are so squatty. Everyone else's are tall and full of crunchy, sticky goodness. Ours are always about half as thick and I could never figure out why. It all became clear last night.

I walked in the living room and witnessed this. . .

I never knew that they must taste better directly out of the pot! And the more you eat, the better they taste!


They must also taste better if you share! (Please don't be afraid to eat at our house. . .the dishwasher is set to sterilize!)

The evidence of half a recipe – down the hatch – all over Ali's face! Gotta love a good treat, especially if it's shared!

Contradiction

Nature is paring back. Simplifying. It's shedding leaves and uncovering itself. It always seems peculiar to me, this time of year. As it gets colder and the wind begins to bite and pinch, everything outside seems to be shedding its protection. All the while I am searching out my winter coat, mittens and scarves in order to fortify myself. Seems like one of God's many contradictions. 

It's a strange time for Mother Nature to get naked. All I want to do from now until Spring is crawl under a heavy pile of blankets and take a nap.

Fall goes quickly. I took this photo on Wednesday.

Here is the same tree this morning.

The vivid oranges, reds and greens have faded to muted browns and greys. The sky has gone from being a beautiful blue to a gunmetal grey that seems to stay until March.

There is still beauty. You just have to look a lot harder.

That's my test this year. To look more carefully and practice more gratitude. Late fall and all of winter are a challenge for me. Maybe the trees have a lesson. As they simplify and rest, maybe I can too. There are fewer commitments necessary in the winter. Fewer opportunities to be outside and engaged. 

I want to take more time to create, think and dream this winter. Instead of hibernating, I hope to open my eyes a little wider, open my ears a little bigger and remember to say thanks a bit more often.

It's Crazy

If you know me, you'll know how crazy this is.

I'm making homemade Christmas cards. I'm LOVING it!

I'm the girl that only puts up a Christmas tree once every three or four years. I'm the girl that hates sappy Christmas music. I'm the girl that starts feeling Christmas-y on December 23rd about 11:00 p.m. and wants it all gone on December 25th by noon.

As I've been making these I've been humming cheesy songs and grinning from ear to ear. There is something wrong with me this year!

Let It Be What It Is A Little Longer

I'm still in the post-election place of pride in my country. I know it will end soon but I want to let it be what it is just a little longer.

I, too

I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes.
But I laugh
And eat well
And grow strong.

Tomorrow
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me
“Eat in the Kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed -

I, too, am America.

When I read these words of Langston Hughes I feel the same pain. I also feel the same hope. Being part of breaking down the walls of oppression and building bridges of understanding for everyone makes the day for my people that much closer.

For The First Time In My Life

Last night, as I sat on the couch listening to Barack Obama make his acceptance speech for the Presidency of the United States, I felt what so many people talk and sing about – pride in my country.

In all honesty, I had never felt that before.

And then he said this:

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

We are, and always will be, the United States of America.

He mentioned me – without derision, scorn or sarcasm. 

I'm not ashamed to say that I wept last night. I'm also not ashamed to say, for the first time in my life – I'm proud to be an American.

An Election Day Gift

I found this at Flickr and thought others might like to play along! Get out your red and blue crayons boys and girls. . .it's going to be an interesting night!


Go here to download and print your very own!

What the Walnut Tree Left Behind

Besides a dozen buckets full of nasty, rotten walnuts this is a tree that just keeps on giving. We looked up to find several squirrel nests. I suppose it's along the lines of pitching your tent in the drive-thru lane of McDonald's. I always knew they were smart little critters!

What You're Wired To Do

On Saturday night Ali and I met two friends for dinner. It was at one of our favorite restaurants in downtown Toledo. It's on Adams Street, an interesting little corner of the city that's being revived with offbeat shops and quirky art galleries.

Dinner was leisurely with enjoyable conversation and good food. The restaurant wasn't terribly crowded. There was a large party of about ten people to my right, but the other tables were quiet couples. Our waitress hovered a bit too much but it was our only complaint for the night.

As we were finishing up our meal there was some commotion amongst the large party. They were all older couples, probably in their 60's, and as I turned to look, it appeared that there was a woman having a seizure at the table. The person next to her grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to her feet while shouting that she was choking. Chaos ensued. There were shouts to call 911 while some people leapt to their feet to help and others froze in fear.

Two days later, as I write, it seems like those few moments happened under water. Everything seemed to be happening so slowly. The agitation and panic of the woman who was choking, dragging herself wildly across the restaurant towards the piano, desperately trying to breathe. Her family and friends, distraught and attempting to help. Strangers, leaping to their feet in slow-motion, grabbing for cellphones, knowing it would be too late to wait for a paramedic.

There were a few people who rushed towards the piano who knew how to do the Heimlich Maneuver. Ali was among them. I was amazed. And proud. 

I was too scared to move.

Another woman from their party said that she was a nurse. She was attempting to dislodge the food. Time was running out and nothing was happening. 

Suddenly there was an authoritative voice that lifted above the chaos. In my memory, this voice that was shouting, "She's choking! I know what to do!" broke the underwater spell. Our waitress made a decision and took control. With a few short abdominal thrusts the woman could breathe. And so could the rest of us who had been paralyzed as we watched.

I've thought about this a lot in the last two days. What makes someone rush towards something that is scary when most instincts tell us to move away? Of course the easy answer is empathy, compassion or even love. I get all that.

Here's what I have trouble with. In theory, we all know how to do the Heimlich Maneuver. We've pretended and joked about it a million times. We might have even taken First Aid training and performed it on ResusciAnnie, but most of of us have never done it for real. We've never been face-to-face with another panicky human being who's life is ending right before our eyes.

What is it inside that makes someone take that kind of bet when the stakes are so damn high? 

All I kept thinking was, "If I try to do something and fail, it's not me that dies."

Five minutes after it was over our waitress appeared back at our table with our bill. Her hands were still shaking when she said, "Sorry for the delay with the bill. I was a little busy over there."

Yeah. You were.

The whole thing has left me a little shaken. Why did I freeze? If no one else had jumped up to help, would I? If I had, and she had died anyway, could I have handled that? Am I the most selfish person in the world? Or just the most scared?

Ali and I have talked about it since. She's been trained in First Aid and CRP annually for the last ten years. She works with a population of people who choke easily and has actually saved someone's life in the school cafeteria. She assured me that it doesn't have anything to do with being selfish or scared. In her words, it has to do with confidence and calling.

She knew what to do and she's wired to do it. She asked me if I was there praying. Of course I was. "Maybe that's exactly what you're wired to do."

Maybe. But I still shake when I think about it.