A Prayer

Almighty God, you alone are good and holy.
Purify our lives and make us brave disciples.
We do not ask you to keep us safe,
but to keep us loyal,
so we may serve Jesus Christ,
who, tempted in every way as we are,
was faithful to you. 

From lack of reverence for truth and beauty;
from a calculating or sentimental mind;
from going along with mean and ugly things:
O God, deliver us.

From cowardice that dares not face truth;
laziness content with half-truth;
or arrogance that thinks we know it all:
O God, deliver us.

From artificial life and worship;
from all that is hollow or insincere:
O God, deliver us.

From trite ideals and cheap pleasures;
from mistaking hard vulgarity for humor:
O God, deliver us.

From being dull, pompous, or rude;
from putting down our neighbors:
O God, deliver us.

From cynicism about others;
from intolerance or cruel indifference:
O God, deliver us.

From being satisfied with things as they are,
in the church or in the world;
from failing to share you indignation about injustice:
O God, deliver us.

From selfishness, self-indulgence, or self-pity:
O God, deliver us.

From token concern for the poor,
for lonely or loveless people;
from confusing faith with good feeling,
or love with wanting to be loved:
O God, deliver us.

For everything in us that may hide your light:
O God, deliver us.

May the God of peace
make us holy in every way
and keep our whole being--
spirit, soul, and body--
free from every fault
at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

– from Oremus

Ash Wednesday - 2009 Intention

It's Ash Wednesday. I read somewhere recently that nobody likes Ash Wednesday. It's full of all those churchy words and concepts that we would rather forget – sin, forgiveness, death, self-examination, discipline. I have to differ. I believe that Ash Wednesday, when approached with honesty and vulnerability, can be the most powerful and purposeful day of the year.

This day opens up the gateway to 40 days of telling the truth about ourselves to the God who already knows everything anyway, yet still loves us without reservation. It gives us 40 days to face ourselves and learn not to be afraid. It also give us 40 days to allow ourselves to be transformed.

For me, in order to be authentic and vulnerable, I have to confront my own sin. To be more specific – I need to embrace my own sinfulness if I want to be able to allow God to make it into something different. I have to own the notion that there are so many ways that I choose death over life every single day.

That's all sin is you know. It's all those experiences that make parts of ourselves, and others, die. The dying may come in tiny, tiny ways or it make come in waves of pain and brokenness that crash over us like an ocean that has no end. But, it's all sin. It all brings death. And it takes us further and further away from the person God created us to be. And that's why, I believe that sin is not the same condition for everyone. Is anger at your boss bringing you energy to change situations or is it bringing you the death of purpose and joy that comes from productive work? Does one glass of wine bring you relaxation with a good meal or does it lead you down a path of self-harm and mindless consumption? The choices go on and on and each one is different for each individual.

If there's one thing I know for sure this year – I need more life and less death this Lenten season.

So, as I sit at my computer screen and search my heart for those things that make parts of my spirit die, I know that the thing I need most to focus on this year is forgiveness.

With that in mind, the thing that I'm going to add to my spiritual journey for the next 40 days is an online retreat and practice group. The course is called Forgiveness - Growth in Love and will be hosted by Contemplative Outreach, founded by Fr. Thomas Keating. Keating is best known for his teachings on the kind of prayer I already practice, Centering Prayer.

From the course description: 

Forgiving is one of the most difficult and complex gestures and yet, like love, it is one of the things which defines the essence of our humanity. In fact, the contemplative dimension of forgiveness reveals that at its core, forgiveness is a divine gift of love, a movement of love so profound that it reveals the truth of our nature — fully human and enlivened with the divine potential.

Yet, the very fact that we do not forgive, or find forgiveness so difficult, reveals another essential quality of our humanness — free will. We have a God-given ability to choose, to be and to do as we please, and how we choose defines the level of our being. In seeking to live a contemplative life in the modern world, we are invited to make conscious, loving choices.

I said in yesterday's post that I feel like I've already given up enough. I don't back down from that statement. I still feel profoundly hurt by the Church, by Christianity and by the people who so loudly proclaim to be Christians. However, this is the intersection at which I get to choose – will it be new life in the future or will it be continued death in the past?

I'm going to start with the Ash Wednesday service at Trinity Episcopal downtown, tonight at 7:00. My 2009 40 Day Lenten intention is to practice forgiveness and embrace life – abundant and free. 

What's yours?

Pancake Tuesday

Today is Shrove Tuesday, the day that precedes Ash Wednesday – the beginning of Lent. I've written several times about how Lent is my favorite of all the church seasons. It speaks to me in different ways every year and this year is no exception. Forty days of introspection and gentle quiet before the new life that comes on Resurrection/Easter morning appeals to a very deep place in my soul. But, that's tomorrow.

Today is Shrove Tuesday. It's also known as Fat Tuesday (marking the beginning of Mardi Gras) and just plain old Pancake Tuesday. The association with pancakes – and crepes, if you want to get fancy! – comes from the custom of using up the rich ingredients in refrigerators and cupboards such as eggs, milk and sugar before the 40 days of fasting and repentance began. Many people still eat plainer, more simple food during Lent. This is also the beginning for some, primarily those in the Catholic tradition, who choose to give up meat on Fridays.

Pancake Tuesday is supposed to be the feast before the fast.

I've been thinking and praying a lot about my personal Lenten journey this year. One of the things that I've given much energy to is the idea of "giving something up" for Lent. It's the traditional way to open up your Spirit and make room for new life. The Franciscans use the term detachment – the less stuff that preoccupies your life and your heart, the more room there is for God, for taking care of yourself, and for loving other people.

As I've prayed about this these last few weeks the thought that continues to return to me is that I've given up enough for right now. I feel very comfortable, and comforted, by the thought of adding just a few simple spiritual things for this Lenten journey. I will expand on those things tomorrow.

Tonight is pancake feast at our house!

1 C. flour
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1/4 t. salt
2 T. sugar
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 C. buttermilk
3 T. unsalted butter, melted

In a large bowl whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and sugar. In a separate bowl whisk together the egg, buttermilk, and melted butter. Add the egg mixture to the flour mixture, all at once, and stir or whisk just until combined. The batter should have some small lumps. Make sure you do not over mix the batter or the pancakes will be tough.
Heat a frying pan or griddle over medium high heat until a few sprinkles of water dropped on the pan or griddle splatter. Using a pastry brush, brush the pan with a little melted butter.

Using a small ladle or scoop, pour about 1/4 cup of pancake batter onto the pan, spacing the pancakes a few inches from each other. When the bottoms of the pancakes are brown and bubbles start to appear on the top surfaces of the pancakes (2-3 minutes), turn over. Cook until lightly browned (about 1-2 minutes).

Repeat with remaining batter, brushing the pan with melted butter between batches.

Serve immediately with butter and maple syrup or your favorite jam.

Monday Miscellania

I think it borders on cruelty to drag your ass out of bed at 4:45 on a Monday morning only to get to the Y and have it smell like freshly brewing coffee. Just my humble opinion.

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

Oliver's new indoor obsession is the dishwasher. (His outdoor obsession is squirrels.) When you open the door to put in the dirty dishes he's johnny-on-the-spot – licking all the dirty plates and whatever else he can reach, especially licking the door where things have dripped down. Last night after dinner his collar got caught on the bottom rack which was pulled out while we were loading it. We heard a spectacular crashing sound and found him scared out of his mind, dragging the rack, right next to his head, as he tried in vain to escape out the kitchen door. The more he tried to run the more dishes flew out of the rack and onto the ceramic tile floor. The louder it got, the more panicky he became. Luckily, the only thing that broke was a soup bowl. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that the stoneware liner from my brand new 6.5 quart crock pot landed on his foot. . .poor baby. . . good thing his foot cushioned its fall!

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

I bought a new crock pot yesterday. I've never been crazy about crock pot cooking. Because I'm gone from about 7:30 in the morning until after 6 in the evening, things cooked in the crock pot have always turned to mush. And, to me, there is nothing worse than sitting down to a meal you've worked hard to prepare and have it be inedible.

Then I read that there are now programmable slow cookers! You tell it how long to cook, either on high or low and then it automatically switches to "keep warm" and stays there until you turn it off! Genius I tell you!

To celebrate I made this soup to break it in. It was very good. Even Ali, who's notoriously picky, liked it. She confided after dinner* that she'd never eaten cabbage and was sure she wouldn't like it but decided to just dive in a give it a try – without whining first! Genius I tell you!

TURKEY WILD RICE SOUP

2 C. cooked turkey (I used local, canned turkey)

8 C. turkey or chicken broth (I used a combination of both)

1 onion, diced

2 carrots, chopped

3 ribs celery, chopped

1 tsp. sage

2 tsp. salt

black pepper

2 T. balsamic vinegar

2/3 C. wild rice (not instant or quick cooking)

1/2 of a small head of cabbage, chopped kind of smallish (I think spinach would also be good if you've convinced yourself you don't like cabbage!)

Combine all in crockpot. Cook on high 4-6 hours, or on low 8-10 hours.

* She confided this as she was loading the stoneware liner into the aforementioned bottom rack of the dishwasher!

Making Memories

We've had the kid-ling for the past three nights again.

Last night we were just too tired to do anything else so we turned on the TV. I'm not a big fan of parking kids in front of the television. It kind of feels lazy. I also think that it's a big reason that kid-ling, who will be 4 in March, has a tougher time than other kids his age interacting and conversing. However, it was Friday night and we were all tired.

Kids TV programming is barely recognizable. The only thing that even seemed familiar was Blues Clues. We turned on the Noggin Network and hoped the programming was a little more educational than on the Cartoon Network. He got excited when a program called Wonder Pets came on.

Ali and I were laying on the couch watching him and watching the show. The baby animals were using Tarzan as their model to swing through the forest on their way to save another baby animal from imminent danger. They were doing the Tarzan jungle yell when suddenly I had a very vivid memory from my own childhood.

At the age of maybe six I was watching an old Tarzan movie on TV. It was running in black and white. There was someone who had done something very bad who was tied, upside down, between two young sapling trees that had been bent down and crossed in front of each other. Suddenly the rope that held the two trees together was cut and the man was ripped in half, from his crotch upwards, as the trees sprung back to their standing positions.

Hearing those baby animals doing their Tarzan impersonations last night brought that memory back with a whoosh last night. And then it really got me thinking about how we never know when we're making a memory.

What will kid-ling remember about the days that he spent with us while he was four? That we let him watch cartoons? The "Auber" jumps on him and makes him cry? That we let him eat all the bananas he wants? That we loved him and tried to set boundaries for him – or will he remember that he thought we were mean?

What about in my own life? What little things will stick with me and go on to become very sweet and tender memories and what things will I let go of forever?

It's an interesting thing to ponder as I go about my days. You never know when you're making a memory.

Something Just Isn't Right

I woke up this morning kind of off kilter. I just felt out of balance somehow. My left ankle still hurts from yesterday's adventure. My shins are very sore too. I think that's from trying to keep cloggy, non-running type shoes on my feet while trotting around the neighborhood. The only good news is that my left butt cheek feels fine.

I didn't sleep very well. I woke up a lot - mostly arguing with myself about whether or not I was going to the Y this morning. At about 2:15 I decided that the answer was no and turned off the alarm. I would give myself a day for my shins to settle down.

Somehow Sammy knew. He started crying from his crate at 4:45 on the mark.

I went to the Y.

Something still felt out of order.

Instead of the elliptical I did the recumbent bike thinking it might be better on my ankle and shins. That felt wrong too. I could only manage 25 minutes. I was supposed to lift weights today. I went home instead.

As I stood in my kitchen, waiting impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing, it hit me. The planets weren't out of alignment. Mercury does happen to be in retrograde, but I'm not sure I believe in all that stuff. My epiphany occurred while standing the middle of the kitchen.

My pants were on backwards. . .

Yeah. Seriously.

My Morning Run

This is my third week of getting up and going to the Y every morning. I do 30 minutes on the elliptical machine and then lift weights. It's making me feel better about myself and I'm still looking forward to it every day. I felt really good this weekend when I walked up a few flights of stairs with someone and I realized they were out of breath and I wasn't! I also noticed I could throw around the 40 pound bag of dog food with a bit more ease than I could before. It's kind of fun to be more prepared for what life hands you because you are just a tad stronger. 

Or not.

I was getting ready to leave for work this morning and needed to put a few things in the car. I was careful to shut the front door behind me because Oliver has a history of bolting out the door and down the street. I clicked the door shut and looked behind me, through the window, and saw him sitting on the couch. I headed towards the car and suddenly I saw Oliver streaking past me and down the driveway. What the *?%$??

I took off after him, screaming his name. He took a left at the end of the driveway and headed out towards Lima Avenue, a very busy street that time of morning. He's an extremely fast little bugger and by the time I had run past the first four or five houses he was approaching the intersection. 

I saw that there were two kids on the other side of the street. They had stopped to look at the crazed, middle-aged woman with wet hair running down the sidewalk screaming, "Oliver! Oliver! Oliver!" at the top of her lungs. I figured they would grab him until I could get there.

Oliver ran across Lima Avenue with cars stopping, or at least slowing down to stare. He ran up to the two middle school aged boys and started jumping on them. They looked at me, still a block behind, and turned around and walked on.

It was at that moment that I contemplated crying. By the time I could get across Lima Avenue's traffic he was gone. I had twisted my ankle and I had no clue where he was. The two boys were staring at me.

"Where did he go?" I gasped. "Between those two houses," they mumbled, before walking away. I had no choice but to take off running again. Not to be too theatrical, but I wasn't exactly dressed appropriately for a morning run. 

I decided that I had to ignore my ankle and keep going or I might never see Oliver again. . .(Perhaps it's a good thing my brain was semi-starved of oxygen at that point or I might have decided just to let him keep right on going!) I cut between the houses and caught a glimpse of black and white spots. They were headed away from me still. I kept going. The only thing that finally stopped him was an open garbage can which proved to be just a bit too much temptation. Guess he was hungry after his morning exercise.

I grabbed his collar and put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I looked behind me and realized that we were all the way to Donnell Middle School. At that moment it dawned on me – I had no way to get him home but to carry him. When I caught my breath enough to pick him up I realized he was shaking, nearly uncontrollably. Carrying a 40 pound shaking dog is no easy feat, especially when you're wheezing and wondering if that noise you're hearing in your chest just might be a death rattle. . .

Heading back towards Hurd Avenue, schlepping a dog I contemplated either kissing or smacking,  I wondered how long it would be until Ali realized that half her family was missing. It was only another block or so when I saw the Mountaineer coming our way. 

She got us all home intact and Oliver casually walked to the food dish as if nothing in the world had happened. He munched his breakfast while I collapsed on the couch. I guess there are a few lessons to be learned from all this.

1. If we plan to keep this dog I need a bit more cardio preparation on the elliptical machine.
2. We need to consider replacing the handle on the screen door to one that requires an opposable thumb to operate.
3. It makes no difference what I wear to work – I need to keep tennis shoes on at all times.

Apparently, Oliver is none the worse for wear. I, however, have a problem. I seem to have pulled something in my left butt cheek.

Thanks, spotty dog. How about tomorrow we just do the elliptical at the Y, huh?

Stop Shooting the Wounded

Last Sunday afternoon at the Y I ran into someone who used to come to the church I pastored. She was pretty active for about six months or so. I knew that she found our little space because she was deeply wounded and needed a place to heal. She told me at the time that she wouldn't be there forever but that she had gifts she needed and wanted to use. We could offer her the time and space she needed. True to her prediction, she was ready to move on a few months later. I kind of lost track of her.

As we chatted for a few minutes last week she apologized. She already knew about Open Door and its foolishness. She had heard how they had lost their way and that they were just a "smoke and mirrors" image of what they were called to be. She asked if I had found a new spiritual home. "No," I said, "I really poured my heart and soul and everything I had into that place and I'm just not ready to try to find something that I'm not sure exists." She agreed. Then she added, "I just want to say that I'm sorry that we're all part of an institution that shoots its wounded instead of helping them heal." 

Most of this week I thought about that conversation.

Then on Friday night I got a letter in the mail (real mail. . .in an envelope and everything!) from my Aunt Nancy. It was the kind of letter that you only receive a few times in your life and almost always at a time you really, really need it. It was full of kindness and encouragement and the kind of positive things that people really need to say to each other a lot more often. Tucked in with the letter was a newspaper article she had cut out. It was entitled, "Location Provides Peaceful Place for Preachers" and was about a local man who had built a free vacation cabin for preachers and their families to use. She asked me to pay particular attention to the statistics cited in the article.

• 1,500 pastors leave their churches every month due to spiritual burnout, moral failure or contention in their churches.

• 80% of seminary graduates leave the ministry within the first five years.

• 70% of pastors suffer from depression - most do not deal with it.

• 50% of pastor's marriages will end in divorce.

• 80% of pastor's spouses wish their spouse would choose another profession.

• The majority of pastor's spouses said that the most destructive event that had ever happened in their marriage or their family's life was the day their spouse entered the ministry.

It was kind of a relief for me to read those statistics. I think it meant that what I knew in my heart was actually true – I was depressed. I was alone. I wasn't prepared. It was hard. And, maybe most importantly – I did the best I could do at the time.

If you read this and go to church - tell your pastor that you appreciate them. You may not agree with everything they say or do. You might think they only work on Sunday or that they just work at the church for the money (there were those who said those things to me!). No matter what you think, give them a little encouragement. It goes a long way.

If you read this and don't go to church I can't say that I blame you. I don't really want to be a part of an institution that shoots its wounded any more either.

Why God Invented Wine

I figured out why God invited wine – combine Valentine crafts, paint and four year old boys. It's the perfect storm. 

Could you please hand me my glass??

The evening started easily enough. I armed the kid-ling with a heart shaped potato stamp and some pink, red and white paint. With a lot of help he was able to stamp everything in sight. So far, so good.

Once B. (kid-ling's 8 year old cousin) arrived we set him to cutting out the hearts. He's a dream kid – smart, polite, easy-going. Not to mention he LOVES crafts! Since cutting wasn't a skill for kid-ling we gave him the hole punch and let him go to town.

(You will now noticed that kid-ling is not in any more photos from the evening. That's because about 42 seconds after this shot, he spent the rest of the evening alternately throwing a temper tantrum or fake crying while laying on the kitchen floor. . .)

After cutting and punching a hole in all the hearts we started assembling our Valentine flowers. 

Ali decided earlier in the afternoon to turn this little affair into a full-blown party. Don't you love the headgear??* Three out of the four of us enjoyed bubbles, coloring books, creating and a little bit of candy.

B. with his bouquet of flowers - His plan was three for his mom, one for his grandma 

and two for friends at school.

From our chaotic house to yours – Happy Valentine's Day!

Now, where did that wine glass go??

* Yet one more reason I love her. Any excuse for laughter and a party will do!

Forgive Me If I Snore

Forgive me if I snore. I'm tired. 

Having the kid-ling all week has had it's moments. Honestly, most of them have been good with the exception of the toilet seat incident. And, I can't really complain very loudly about that either because at his grandma's house this week he flushed a toy down their toilet. Today, the professional plumber is removing the toilet from the floor to try and find it. He's also trying to keep the nasty toilet water from overflowing for the millionth time since the toy disappeared. . . My new toilet seat was only $9.95.

Anyhow, the rest of the time has been good. We took him to the Y to go swimming Tuesday night after work. Ali went to pick him up and I met them in the Y parking lot. When he saw me, he came running with his arms open for a hug. Kinda makes your heart melt. And helps you forget about toilet seats.

At the risk of sounding like a whiner – he's a bit energetic. He doesn't wind down easily. There are no moments of sitting quietly together in the evenings. There's a lot of dancing and hollering though. There's also a love/hate thing with Oliver, who he calls "Auber." 

"Auber?? Auber, where are you? Hey! Where's Auber??" 

Alas, Oliver is even a bit more energetic than the kid-ling so when "Auber" comes in from the very, very muddy backyard what generally ensues is screaming - and not in a good way.

I'm on my second week of getting up at 4:45 to go work out at the Y every day. Late evenings of dancing boys and muddy dogs are wearing me out. But these things are my choice. And I love them all. So, that's where we are.

Tonight we're making Valentine flowers for presents on Saturday. Call us crazy, but this little project involves paint! And scissors! And, with God's intervention - a boatload of patience! The kid-ling's eight year old nephew is coming over too. That ought to help! I'll post pictures tomorrow. If we're all still alive.

(You knew I'd get him over to the crafting dark side one way or another didn't you??)

So, did I mention that I'm tired? Or that I'm still making it to the gym every morning? I'm proud of myself.

And, since this post is probably not rambling enough already, I'll close with a recipe. I've made this Baked Oatmeal on Sunday night for the past two weeks. It makes enough for breakfast for a whole week. You just scoop some into a bowl, pour on some milk and microwave it for 2 minutes. I add a sliced banana.

Maybe it's giving me just an extra little bit of energy. 'Cuz, I'm tired.

3 C. oatmeal
1 C. sugar (white or brown – your choice)
1 C. milk (try subbing apple juice! I bet it would be great!)
1/2 C. butter, melted
2 eggs
2 t. baking powder
1 1/2 t. salt
2 t. vanilla extract

2 t. ground cinnamon

1 t. freshly ground nutmeg

dried fruit of your choice - so far I've used dried cherries and dried blueberries

Mix all the ingredients together and pour into a greased pan. (I have a 7x10 baking dish with a lid that works perfectly.) Bake at 350 for about 35 minutes. Cool and refrigerate.

Need I Say More?

One week a month, for the next four months Ali and I are hosting a 4 year old for an extended sleep-over. Yesterday was his first day. He was here less than an hour before I needed to go buy this.


My eye has been twitching ever since. What else is there to say?

Wasting 15 Minutes of a Sunday Afternoon

1. YOUR REAL NAME
Tanya Michelle Pike

2. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME:(mother and fathers middle names)
Carol Patrick

3. NASCAR NAME:(first name of your mother's dad, father's dad)
Clinton Gene

4. STAR WARS NAME:(the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Pikta

5. DETECTIVE NAME:(favorite color, favorite animal)
Blue Dog

6. SOAP OPERA NAME:(middle name, town where you were born)
Michelle Georgetown

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Green Margarita

8. FLY NAME:(first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Tapi or Take (if you can read the directions the second time around!)

9. STREET NAME:(fav ice cream flavor, fav cookie)
Praline Thin Mint

10. ROCK STAR NAME:(current pets name, current street name)
Oliver Hurd

11. PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on)
Penny Pasedena

12. YOUR GANGSTA NAME:(first 3 letters of real name plus izzle)
Tanizzle

13. YOUR GOTH NAME:(black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Samson

14. STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav candy)
Jessica Joy

Back to the Books - With Crackers!

I've always been a little bit ashamed of one of the things that I enjoy most.

No matter how you look at it, it's not really very cool to be a someone who enjoys making things and spending time in the kitchen. As long as I can remember I've loved to do things that involve making a house a home. There's not even a cool way to write that. . . am I a "homemaker?" I'm certainly not a "housewife." When people want to tease, either kindly or not, they call me "Martha." My dad used to call me "Becky Home-ecky."

I was thinking about that when I picked up "The I Hate to Cook Book" and "The I Hate to Cook Almanack: A Book of Days, Recipes & Relief for the Reluctant Cook and the Harried Houseperson" at an estate sale last weekend. Both books are by Peg Bracken and they are completely hysterical. Bracken wrote the majority of her works in the 1960's and 70's, in the midst of the birth of a more outspoken feminist culture.

What immediately drew me in was an essay entitled "How To Make A Graham Cracker and Why." First, she gives the recipe. It's straightforward and not too complicated. Then she writes this:

"...As to why you would ever make graham crackers when you can buy perfectly good ones cheaper, I suppose the reason is that it's rather fun if you don't have to. Fun in the way a walk in the mud can be, if you're dressed for it, or the way even cleaning a closet can be, once in a blue moon when the soul's weather is right and your mind can roam free while your hands busy themselves with a not too demanding operation.

Sometimes I wonder if those who hate domesticity so vocally ever award themselves a day like this. I mean a day to roam around in and cultivate – whether it comes up flowers, weeds or graham crackers. This kind of a day is a celebration, really, of those curious freedoms you can know – at home."

So, in celebration of the ordinary life  –  one that I still find creative, sustaining and meaningful – a recipe for Graham Crackers.

1/2 C. shortening

1 C. brown sugar

1/2 C. granulated sugar

1 t. vanilla

2 C. whole wheat flour

1 C. white flour

1 t. baking powder

1/2 t. baking soda

1/4 t. salt

1/2 C. milk

Cream shortening and sugars together. Sift together all dry ingredients and add them alternately with the milk, mixing well after each addition. Chill about 20 minutes in freezer.

Divide dough into 4 equal sections. Roll each section into 1/8" thick, 5"x15" rectangle. Cut into 6 smaller rectangles, 2.5"x5". Make a long indentation down the center with a table knife and prick the surface of the dough with a fork to make the classic graham cracker indentations. 

Place rectangles on greased cookie sheets and bake in a 350 oven for 10-12 minutes, until edges are brown.

Enjoy and have a great weekend!

Love,

Martha

Exactly How Smart Is A Squirrel?

Have I mentioned that Oliver is completely obsessed with squirrels? He spends every waking minute during the daylight hours running from window to window in the house, gunking the glass up with nose prints, infatuated by their every movement. If you happen to be sitting on the couch when one moves from the front of the house to the big tree in the neighbor's yard you should contemplate wearing a helmet. Consider that your warning if you come visiting.

When we took him to the vet for his first appointment after adopting him, Dr. Freeman's first question when noticing that he's mostly Pointer was, "What's he obsessed with? Rabbits?" When we said squirrels he said, "No use it trying to change that. He will spend his whole life chasing them."

Now, I'm not really a squirrel hater like most people. I've always been kind of amazed by them. They are fast, smart, sassy and when they aren't annoying you by stealing things they have no business having, they make you laugh.

However, after dinner last night there was a convergence of events in our backyard that can only be attributed to some sort of freaky planetary alignment or something else kinda bad because, last night, no one was laughing at squirrels. And Oliver was getting whacked at with a tennis racket.

I wrote before about the walnut tree in our backyard. One of the last things we did in the fall was pick up buckets full of walnuts. For some reason - probably laziness - we didn't empty that last bucketful. It's been sitting in the backyard since November. At some point one of the dogs knocked it over and they had great fun snagging a nasty, rotten walnut out of it and playing keep away with each other. About a week ago I realized that the 10 gallon bucket was completely empty. . . and that the squirrels inhabiting our tree were awfully big. There's really no polite way to say it – these buggers are meaty! And, corpulent equals kind of slow I guess.

You know where this is heading. One minute the dogs are playing nicely. The next, Ali and I are running and hollering (in our pajamas for those who want the full mental image!) for Oliver to drop the screaming, writhing squirrel. It finally took a whacking tennis racket and being cornered at the fence behind the lilac bush for him to drop it. I grabbed Oliver and dragged him to the house calling him bad, bad things.

The rest of the evening is now a blur of tears and snot, several visits to the back corner of the yard to see if it was still breathing and moaning, and the general wringing of hands that happens when I'm confronted with a situation I have no good way to handle.

Knowing, that in a million years,  I could never bring myself to finish the squirrel off, I went to both next door neighbor's houses to see if they could do it for me. No one was home. I made several phone calls to those whom I thought might come to our aid. No one answered. Through text messages with someone who was otherwise engaged, it was suggested that we put it in a plastic bag and seal it shut. It was the only viable option left.

We armed ourselves with a shovel, a garbage bag and gloves before heading back there one last time. Thankfully, he was finally dead. We gave him as much respect as possible as we carefully disposed of his obese little body.

The question that we're left with this morning is this - just how smart is a squirrel? They thought they had struck the mother lode when the snow was flying in December and their bucket was overflowing with free walnuts. They ate until they could eat no more. Now they can't run. Are they smart enough to pass the word around about what happened last night? I guess time will tell.

RIP Mr. Squirrel

Books, Books, Books

Another reason that winter drags in Ohio is that there just aren't any good flea markets. You have to content yourself with antique malls, and in my humble opinion, the thrill of the hunt just isn't the same. You might find something interesting, but in looking at the price tag you want to put a padlock on your wallet and go screaming for the car. It's just not the same as the booths filled with junk from someone's attic that's going for a quarter a box.

Finding ourselves in serious junk withdrawal on Saturday, we went to the large antique mall in Maumee.

I came home with these.

If you weren't a preteen girl in the early 1970's, you might not recognize the first three books as numbers 1, 7 and 39 in the original Nancy Drew Mystery Stories series. Grosset & Dunlap published the original series, of which there were 56 books. The first, The Secret of the Old Clock was published in 1930. The last, The Thirteenth Pearl, was written in 1979.

I think Nancy Drew was my first girl crush. She was independent, confident and smart. She wasn't afraid as she outsmarted villains, endangered herself and her friends by going into hidden staircases and abandoned mansions and crossing haunted bridges. 

And do I dare mention that her best friend was a tomboy named George – short for Georgia??

Critics said that the Nancy Drew books were formulaic and predictable – the characters never aged; the plot was always about restoring an inheritance or a missing identity; the clues involved jewels, maps, diaries and wills; and that each chapter ended with a cliff-hanger. They are correct. But when you're eight or nine and reading book after book, jumping right into a formula that you recognize makes you feel like you're with an old friend and the fun is about to begin.

I'm sure that I read all the books in this series more than once each. And I loved every one of them.

Maybe reading them again will help pass a few dark, late winter Ohio  evenings.

Stay tuned for more on the two books on the bottom tomorrow. You're dying to know more aren't you?? I just pulled a Nancy Drew and used a cliffhanger ending!  

I feel so girl detectiv-ey!!

Candlemas

Today is the celebration of Candlemas. It's the day that we are equally between winter and spring. I like the idea of the seasons of life being a wheel - and that makes today a special, cross-quarter day.

I didn't know a lot about Candlemas until I started doing some reading and research. Like most holidays it began in the pagan tradition before the Catholic church superimposed their own meanings on top of a celebration that already existed. I think I like the old observances better!

HISTORY::

In Western Europe this was the time to begin preparing the soil for planting, and this day marked the beginning of Spring. Because their lives were sustained by grain, the celebration was marked by taking wheat flour, mixing it with yeast, holy water and milk and making a loaf of bread. This loaf was then taken outside and laid in the first row of the farmer's new field as a blessing and prayer for the coming year's harvest.

In Ireland, today is called Imbolc and it celebrates the feast of Brigid. She was the pagan goddess of fire and fertility. On her feast day her statue was washed in the sea - for purification; and then carried through the fields surrounded by candles. The legends about the goddess Brigid were slowly replaced by the Catholic church with Saint Brigid who founded the first convent at Kildare in Ireland.

As if saddling Candlemas with Saint Brigid weren't enough, the Catholic church took it upon itself to also declare today the Feast of the Purification of Mary. The theme of purification is the only thread that seems to link these two occasions.

CELEBRATION IDEAS::

Because Candlemas has it's roots in preparation for the coming harvest, grain-based foods are good ways to celebrate. Pancakes and crepes are traditional. These two, with their round shapes and golden color are also symbolic of the sun and coming spring.

Gather all your candles onto one table. Add elements from nature. Reflect on your hopes and dreams. What "seeds" do you wish to plant in your life? Make these dreams and goals something concrete - write them in a journal or talk about them with someone so that on Lammas (the festival of the first harvest on August 2) you can look back and see what progress you've made.

Take a walk. Look for the beginnings of the spring.

Nature has always been an important part of my spiritual practice. I am in awe of the power of the seasons and the beauty of the world. I think I will make a little candle altar tonight and we can have a little quiet time.

Gentleness:: With Me

I found a friend on Facebook who has been going to the Y every day this week. I haven't seen a lot of her since the whole church mess. She was never unkind to me when everything fell apart, but I didn't want to put her in a position of discomfort so I didn't contact her much. Her status updates on FB all week were so happy and proud of herself that I wrote her a note about how much I admired her motivation.

Since choosing the word "gentle" for myself to focus on for this year the word has been anything but gentle with me. It's funny all the things that a little focus and attention will teach you about yourself.

All of my life I've struggled with motivation over the long-haul. I have no problem getting excited about something new – learning a new skill; starting a big, new project; beginning a new program of exercise, diet or some kind of self-improvement plan. I know that there are LOTS of people who struggle with these same issues. We start something with the best of intentions and then slowly things fall apart.

But the area I've been trying to mine within myself for the last few weeks is why I have such a hard time following through. And this is where gentleness - or lack of it - is kicking my ass. Since January I've discovered that intellectually I know what I need. Physically, my body craves health and I have the ability to recognize the signs and signal that it gives me. But, psychologically there is a deep-seated block about my own self worth.

Since beginning the work with gentleness directed at myself I have discovered some scary things. 

Most days, even though I am thirsty, there is something inside of me that will not allowed me to get up and get a glass of water. I will go most days only drinking a cup of coffee in the morning. Nothing with lunch. Nothing with dinner. Nothing in between. I recognize that I'm thirsty. But I don't do anything about it.

If I have to go to the bathroom I make myself wait. Sometimes for hours. Even though there is absolutely no reason for it.

I bite my fingernails. Until they bleed.

The pattern is repeated in a million little ways. Every day. And, it's reinforced every time I try to make any kind of changes. I can eat healthy for a week. Then it's like there's a boulder rolled in front of the little space in my heart that's filled with motivation and for the next week I'll eat nothing but junk. And then feel even worse about myself.

Here's what I've come to know - that somewhere along the way in my 44 years I learned a lie – that what I need isn't important. What I need doesn't matter. And, I'm having a really hard time reversing the damage.

I know that this whole post is probably too self-revelatory. It's TMI. But it felt important for me to say it out loud.

So, here's what I'm going to do. When I'm thirsty, I'm going to try my damned-est to drink a glass of water. Sounds simple. Trust me - it's not.

I also went out on a limb and asked J. if she would like some company at the Y at 5:30 in the mornings. She very graciously said yes! Maybe we can help motivate each other. Give each other a reason to show up every day and do the right things.

If there's one thing I know for sure about myself it's that I will do anything in the world not to let other people down. 

But maybe, just maybe – I can learn to lift myself up in the process.