For Danielle. Sort of... But it's for everyone who has lost someone... And all the rest of us.
Why is it that it takes somebody dying before people come together - I mean, REALLY come together - to celebrate that person? I want to know. This has been circling the back of my mind like a flock of vultures and picking away at the edges of my thoughts for literally, weeks now.
It is so frustrating.
Anyway, I got to thinking about death. What death means, and how we respond to it. What life means, and how we respond to that.
It all started because a friend of mine died quite suddenly recently, and... She was such a fun, awesome person, and now she's gone. And I can almost guarantee that the hundred or so people in the room at her funeral had never ALL been together in a room before.
And that made me really angry.
I guess part of that is my grief showing up, because I'm still sad about her, but it's more than that. It makes me angry that when we die, all these people show up to talk about how great we were. Really?
I mean, seriously, it's retarded.
Ya'll (Sorry guys, my Southern "roots" show up a little more when I'm mad.) can't bother to show up for a holiday get-together or a birthday party or a fun weekend or whatever, but hey, I'm dead now, so let's all show up and talk about how awesome she was and how much we miss her...
No. If she was that awesome, you'd have made time for her while she was still freaking alive and wanted you around. (And don't get me wrong, I *know* that plenty of people DID make time for my sweet friend before she died. It just frustrated me to think that they were probably never all in the same room together to celebrate her while she was alive.)
That's what's at the core of this for me, I guess. That the "Hey everybody, let's get together and CELEBRATE each other!" thing doesn't happen nearly as often or as beautifully as it should. And that often we are made to feel as though we are imposing on others' schedules when we *do* ask for that time...
We get so caught up in the minutia of our microscopic lives that it takes the DEATH of young, vibrant, beautiful, giving and compassionate woman before everybody's willing to take a pause, take a breath and go, "Wait up. She was awesome. And we didn't bother to tell her enough before she was gone."
It was enough to make me stop, shake my head, and wonder. Who am I? What will people say about ME when I die?
Honestly, I could care less what people think of me when I die. Or what they say. You know why? Because I'LL BE DEAD. And here's a little secret for you: dead people don't care what the living have to say to, for, or about, them.
It's now, here, in the land of the LIVING that I actually care. Here, in this place, where I still breathe the same air as you do... Where I'm still able to laugh, and cry, and wash the same damned laundry day after day after day after day, and yell at my kids. Here is where I care.
So tell me now, or don't tell me at all. Because once I'm dead, it's over. There'll be no more telling then.
And I'll tell you. Let's make a deal of it, k?
I think of that almost every day now. I think of it every time I say goodbye, or goodnight, or whatever... "Did I tell them that I love them? Did I make them feel special enough... Just in case there is no tomorrow?" Not always in so many words, but the thought is still there, peering over my shoulder to make sure I haven't forgotten.
This is especially poignant for me, because in living with diabetes, you learn really quickly that most people who know about diabetes, including - and maybe especially - your doctor, don't really expect you to live all that long. Which kind of sucks. Like, hardcore sucks. You become aware of your mortality a lot more quickly than others may... Even more so when you've had a brush with death through DKA (Diabetic Ketoacidosis. It sucks, trust me in this.). *I* expect to live a long time, but that doesn't mean anything either. Even if I didn't have Type 1, there's no guarantee that I have another hour or another day. I just live a little closer to te reality of what death is than many people do because I have Type 1.
And being a parent with this... WHOA, Mama, it really brings it home.
So I want to start a new tradition. A new way of going about things. Because the land of regret is for the dead. And I don't ever want to go there... I'm not afraid of death, but I am afraid that I'll look back again sometime and say, "I wish I'd told her how much she meant to me."
The dead don't care about our wishes. Our love that we didn't express, our hopes that we never shared, or the laughs over that last margarita that we never had.
So why do we wait until someone dies to shower them with beautiful flowers and equally beautiful words?
Life gives to the living, and the dead care nothing for it. Our words of affirmation and love and beauty are best spent on the spirits of those around us who still draw breath and can be affirmed and loved and receive beauty.
When I was a young teen, I went to a summer camp where we had a project where we had to give "Flowers for the Living." What this meant was that we each were given a box, and every person at some point during the week of that camp had to write at least one thing about someone else that they appreciated and admired. This was almost 20 years ago, and I still have some of those little slips of paper. They were precious to me, and carried me through some very hard times. And I still remember that experience clearly. It rocked my world in an awesome and powerful way.
So starting here and now, where I have become lax and apathetic and unappreciative... Or where I have held my words to myself, thinking I am too effusive - I want to shake that off. I want to give my flowers to the living.
I want to follow the wisdom of Henry Ward Beecher: “Do not keep alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness, speak approvingly, and cheer them with words and deeds while their ear can hear them and their hearts be thrilled by them.”
Oh, yes. I want to thrill the ears and hearts of everyone I know. Lord grant that I may do so.
Showing posts with label Wisdom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wisdom. Show all posts
The One Where I Talk About The Little Things (Or, At Least, TODAY'S Little Things!)
Lemme tell you - you haven't truly lived unless you've seen a group of hairy, awkward men wearing ill-fitting red dresses saunter down the street. There may have been a few red-clad women in there, too, but it was the men in flowy skirts and the men in the mini-skirts that caught my attention. I mean, who doesn't love hairy legs and chest hanging out of a red Hawaiian-print dress, amiright?
You also haven't lived until you've had a pair of big, serious, six-year-old blue eyes announce to you that they need to drink more water because they're "not hibernated enough." We then had to have a conversation about the difference between hibernation and hydration. Just sharing that may be enough living for some of you.
Today has been a day of ordinary interestingness, like so many others... Well, except for the army of men in dresses. But yeah, otherwise... Relatively ordinary. Filled with hours of mostly meaningless tasks, punctuated by moments of brilliance and beauty and laughter, beginning and ending neither high nor low - just in the that place of routine normalcy.
I love it.
I hate it.
I love the rhythm. I love the pace of the days, and the patterns the weeks follow - in many ways constant - like the stars moving across the night sky, just as they have for thousands of years. I love the establishment of home and chores and routine (As best as a person like me can have one... I still struggle with remembering the day-to-day things that some people could do in their sleep. But that's another post entirely! And anyway, I love the routine such as there is.)... I love the movement of the hours, one into the next, the flow of time like water from one thing to another and yet another after that. I love the way our days make quiet moments, and happy moments, and sweet ones, and how I've learned that through routine, even hard days can become easier.
I hate the quickness of it all. I want to squeeze the life out of every moment lived, and I feel like half of the moments are gone before I realize that I haven't really even touched them. I want to hold every laugh, every breath, every giggle and innocent smile, and NEVER let them go. I don't want to lose them, and I do. Every. Single. Day. I hate the monotony, and how I let the days slip into weeks and SO MANY things are left undone and Facebook has just sucked the life out of an afternoon and where the HELL did all that time go?!?! I hate the promise of "Not now, honey, dinner/laundry/dishes/shopping have to be done before I can play with you." I hate the years that have rushed by and not even stopped to ask me what I thought of it all. I hate the decade that I've spent not achieving some stupidly easy goals that I set at the beginning of this century. I hate the time and it's passage. I just want to freeze NOW. To taste it and savor it and breathe it and feel it and record it.
I definitely have a love/hate relationship with time. Like a lot of other things. I have a love/hate relationship with quite a few things, actually. Like food. And exercise (Although that's really mostly a hate relationship at this point.).
Although I will say I definitely have a love/love relationship with indoor plumbing. The toilet is my friend. As are running water and long hot showers. I was *not* made for the days of chamber pots, thankyouverymuch. Nevermind the fact that I would probably have been born as a hideously poor servant and would be the person who had to EMPTY the chamber pots. *Shudder* No. No thank you.
But anyway. I digress. I guess this whole post got started when I was thinking over the day - and most of the last week - and realized that there wasn't really anything that I felt was extraordinary enough to write about. It was mostly just... Ordinary. As KayKay likes to say, she has an "extra-ordinary" life. More ordinary than most. Ha! Although I must disagree with that... With her, nothing is simply ordinary.
But much of today felt peripheral, tastelessly normal. Like so much of my life, it feels. I love it; my heart often longs for more quiet and rhythm (Which we've had some of lately.) than we seem to get... I hate it; I don't catch hold of the moments and DO the things that I really want to do with those moments.
It's a dichotomy of longing and fulfillment, of want and reality, of truth and desire. And I guess, herein lies the moment where I can find grace. And choose to do *more* with the minutes and hours I am given tomorrow.
In the meantime, I'm going to leave off with a little gem the Ladybug threw out at me today:
We were in the car, on the way to the store to pick up a few things, and out of nowhere, the Ladybug says, "Mommy, the whole world is like a big puzzle game to God."
I responded, "Oh, really? Like how?" And she said, "I don't know, it just is. All the things that happen are like a puzzle and God is playing with the pieces." (That last sentence is a paraphrase, I can't remember exactly how she said it, but it was something very close to this.)
To which I said, "Are you sure it's not a puzzle for us people because maybe we need to figure it out and God already knows it?"
And she answered, "No, it's not for us. The pieces are too big for us to figure out."
And I... Yeah. Mind = Blown. Wisdom from a six-year-old mind. Beautiful.
You also haven't lived until you've had a pair of big, serious, six-year-old blue eyes announce to you that they need to drink more water because they're "not hibernated enough." We then had to have a conversation about the difference between hibernation and hydration. Just sharing that may be enough living for some of you.
Today has been a day of ordinary interestingness, like so many others... Well, except for the army of men in dresses. But yeah, otherwise... Relatively ordinary. Filled with hours of mostly meaningless tasks, punctuated by moments of brilliance and beauty and laughter, beginning and ending neither high nor low - just in the that place of routine normalcy.
I love it.
I hate it.
I love the rhythm. I love the pace of the days, and the patterns the weeks follow - in many ways constant - like the stars moving across the night sky, just as they have for thousands of years. I love the establishment of home and chores and routine (As best as a person like me can have one... I still struggle with remembering the day-to-day things that some people could do in their sleep. But that's another post entirely! And anyway, I love the routine such as there is.)... I love the movement of the hours, one into the next, the flow of time like water from one thing to another and yet another after that. I love the way our days make quiet moments, and happy moments, and sweet ones, and how I've learned that through routine, even hard days can become easier.
I hate the quickness of it all. I want to squeeze the life out of every moment lived, and I feel like half of the moments are gone before I realize that I haven't really even touched them. I want to hold every laugh, every breath, every giggle and innocent smile, and NEVER let them go. I don't want to lose them, and I do. Every. Single. Day. I hate the monotony, and how I let the days slip into weeks and SO MANY things are left undone and Facebook has just sucked the life out of an afternoon and where the HELL did all that time go?!?! I hate the promise of "Not now, honey, dinner/laundry/dishes/shopping have to be done before I can play with you." I hate the years that have rushed by and not even stopped to ask me what I thought of it all. I hate the decade that I've spent not achieving some stupidly easy goals that I set at the beginning of this century. I hate the time and it's passage. I just want to freeze NOW. To taste it and savor it and breathe it and feel it and record it.
I definitely have a love/hate relationship with time. Like a lot of other things. I have a love/hate relationship with quite a few things, actually. Like food. And exercise (Although that's really mostly a hate relationship at this point.).
Although I will say I definitely have a love/love relationship with indoor plumbing. The toilet is my friend. As are running water and long hot showers. I was *not* made for the days of chamber pots, thankyouverymuch. Nevermind the fact that I would probably have been born as a hideously poor servant and would be the person who had to EMPTY the chamber pots. *Shudder* No. No thank you.
But anyway. I digress. I guess this whole post got started when I was thinking over the day - and most of the last week - and realized that there wasn't really anything that I felt was extraordinary enough to write about. It was mostly just... Ordinary. As KayKay likes to say, she has an "extra-ordinary" life. More ordinary than most. Ha! Although I must disagree with that... With her, nothing is simply ordinary.
But much of today felt peripheral, tastelessly normal. Like so much of my life, it feels. I love it; my heart often longs for more quiet and rhythm (Which we've had some of lately.) than we seem to get... I hate it; I don't catch hold of the moments and DO the things that I really want to do with those moments.
It's a dichotomy of longing and fulfillment, of want and reality, of truth and desire. And I guess, herein lies the moment where I can find grace. And choose to do *more* with the minutes and hours I am given tomorrow.
In the meantime, I'm going to leave off with a little gem the Ladybug threw out at me today:
We were in the car, on the way to the store to pick up a few things, and out of nowhere, the Ladybug says, "Mommy, the whole world is like a big puzzle game to God."
I responded, "Oh, really? Like how?" And she said, "I don't know, it just is. All the things that happen are like a puzzle and God is playing with the pieces." (That last sentence is a paraphrase, I can't remember exactly how she said it, but it was something very close to this.)
To which I said, "Are you sure it's not a puzzle for us people because maybe we need to figure it out and God already knows it?"
And she answered, "No, it's not for us. The pieces are too big for us to figure out."
And I... Yeah. Mind = Blown. Wisdom from a six-year-old mind. Beautiful.
My Understanding of Winter
So.
I've been thinking. (As usual.)
Been marinating in the idea of winter lately. For a good long while, actually.
Although it's been an exceptionally mild winter this year as compared to the last few, we are still in the midst of it - and the middle of an actual cold snap! - and I've been thinking about what winter truly means.
Winter is a season, of course. A space in which we live our lives differently than we do the rest of the year. A space for layering and bedding down and keeping the cold out and the warmth in. A space for times of great celebration and generosity and family gatherings... And all that those entail.
Winter is a time of death, waiting for its resurrection; of earth full of grief; of the laying down of life; of decay... As in the tale of Demeter and Persephone.
In my mind, winter has always been a time of waiting.
Waiting for the cold to end.
Waiting for the sun to come back.
Waiting for life to return to the rhythms we find through spring, summer and fall... Winter's rhythm has always found its place in waiting.
I know in some places - like my hometown of Miami - winter isn't much different than the rest of the year. Still sunny, still warm, the winter days are much like the summer ones, except it's slightly-less-than-hellishly-hot.
But here, things are different. There is a marked change of seasons that I love with every ounce of my soul. I love the marking of time through the seasons, and the movement of life. Such beautiful transitions.
But lately, I've discovered that my ideas are shifting of what winter really is.
We've spent some time outside recently, in the woods (Yes, there are woods in my urbanesque life!), and it was there that my thoughts really began to gel... Until then, I'd not really been able to put words to the feeling; it was just an odd sort of knowing that winter was MUCH MORE than I'd given it credit for.
I began noticing all the signs of life in the middle of these cold-barren trees, dead grass and sullen rains. In fact, the natural world was teeming with life. Not the vibrant, twittering, sunny glowing life of summer, no. No, this is a DIFFERENT sort of life. It holds the rich and earthy smell of moss and the color green.
Despite the snow (what little there has been) and leafless existence of the trees, now suddenly even the dirt looks alive to me... I hear the birds singing their winter songs and wonder, "Why has it always seemed so quiet before?" I watch the squirrels chase each other, flying through the trees, and think how happy they must be just to have another day. I uncover an earthworm quite by mistake and realize that its work is moving forward just as it had on those hot July days not so long ago.
So here I've thought all this time that winter was a time of dying before the act of truly living could begin... When instead, it's just been a different kind of living all along. One just as important, where we have to dig down deep into our roots to find the sustenance that we need to savor the moments before we burst into bloom.
I'm not in the space of the phoenix in death, waiting for its rebirth into the fiery glory of living, of spring, oh no. WINTER IS LIFE. Abundant, brilliant life.
A different kind of beautiful living, certainly. A different kind of life. But everywhere I look, I see it. I see life.
And that's the one I want to live. No matter what season I happen to be in.
So no more waiting. Time to jump in, eyes wide open.
I've been thinking. (As usual.)
Been marinating in the idea of winter lately. For a good long while, actually.
Although it's been an exceptionally mild winter this year as compared to the last few, we are still in the midst of it - and the middle of an actual cold snap! - and I've been thinking about what winter truly means.
Winter is a season, of course. A space in which we live our lives differently than we do the rest of the year. A space for layering and bedding down and keeping the cold out and the warmth in. A space for times of great celebration and generosity and family gatherings... And all that those entail.
Winter is a time of death, waiting for its resurrection; of earth full of grief; of the laying down of life; of decay... As in the tale of Demeter and Persephone.
In my mind, winter has always been a time of waiting.
Waiting for the cold to end.
Waiting for the sun to come back.
Waiting for life to return to the rhythms we find through spring, summer and fall... Winter's rhythm has always found its place in waiting.
I know in some places - like my hometown of Miami - winter isn't much different than the rest of the year. Still sunny, still warm, the winter days are much like the summer ones, except it's slightly-less-than-hellishly-hot.
But here, things are different. There is a marked change of seasons that I love with every ounce of my soul. I love the marking of time through the seasons, and the movement of life. Such beautiful transitions.
But lately, I've discovered that my ideas are shifting of what winter really is.
We've spent some time outside recently, in the woods (Yes, there are woods in my urbanesque life!), and it was there that my thoughts really began to gel... Until then, I'd not really been able to put words to the feeling; it was just an odd sort of knowing that winter was MUCH MORE than I'd given it credit for.
I began noticing all the signs of life in the middle of these cold-barren trees, dead grass and sullen rains. In fact, the natural world was teeming with life. Not the vibrant, twittering, sunny glowing life of summer, no. No, this is a DIFFERENT sort of life. It holds the rich and earthy smell of moss and the color green.
Despite the snow (what little there has been) and leafless existence of the trees, now suddenly even the dirt looks alive to me... I hear the birds singing their winter songs and wonder, "Why has it always seemed so quiet before?" I watch the squirrels chase each other, flying through the trees, and think how happy they must be just to have another day. I uncover an earthworm quite by mistake and realize that its work is moving forward just as it had on those hot July days not so long ago.
So here I've thought all this time that winter was a time of dying before the act of truly living could begin... When instead, it's just been a different kind of living all along. One just as important, where we have to dig down deep into our roots to find the sustenance that we need to savor the moments before we burst into bloom.
I'm not in the space of the phoenix in death, waiting for its rebirth into the fiery glory of living, of spring, oh no. WINTER IS LIFE. Abundant, brilliant life.
A different kind of beautiful living, certainly. A different kind of life. But everywhere I look, I see it. I see life.
And that's the one I want to live. No matter what season I happen to be in.
So no more waiting. Time to jump in, eyes wide open.
Sacred Sustenance
So. This post has been rattling around in my head for ages now. A good long while. Months, I tell you!
My sweet friend, the ever-fabulous, ever-chic Miss Heather of Gathering Spriggs wrote a post with the same title (you didn't think I came up with that one on my own now, did you?) last year about cooking and eating that was a joy to read. It rocked my world. And I got to thinking.
My cooking philosophy is quite well reflected in what she said, actually. I TOTALLY IDENTIFY. I'm the creative, free-spirited type. I don't do well with rigid schedules and expectations.
Ritual and tradition are often hard for my free-spirited self. But more and more, I see the value in them the older I get, and am working hard to establish some rituals in our household revolving around the way we eat.
I love food. I love to be in the kitchen making and baking and experimenting. I love exploring blogs and magazines about cooking and trying new recipes. I love to break bread with those who mean the most to me. I love (a little too much, I'm sure) to eat.
So, in case you haven't noticed, I like to eat. (Maybe you haven't. If you know me, though, you KNOW.)
I talk about food a lot. I think about food more than I should. I definitely EAT more food than is *really* necessary. You might say I'm obsessed.
And you'd be (mostly) right. But I like to think about it as more of a love affair. There is something blessed and almost holy in the rite of preparing and partaking in a meal.
Our lives center around the act of eating. Everything else is ancillary. Except for breathing, nothing else (physical) is absolutely necessary. Food is life-giving. Life-sustaining. But the meal should not be consumed simply for survival. Life is about MORE than survival, right? It's about the act of living, of thriving, of being and becoming.
Food is meant to be enjoyed. I mean, what's the point of eating if it's not enjoyable? I honestly believe that life here on earth is too short to not enjoy the things that we have been given. To not savor them. It is NOURISHMENT. Think of the word: to nourish. It means,
And where one's food comes from, how it is processed (or not) is, I think, almost as important as the act of eating itself.
To be clear, I am *not* talking about situations where people are starving and there's literally not enough to go around. I am talking about this subject in relation to what I know.
And as a diabetic, even more of my life revolves around food, in very powerful and mostly negative ways, sadly.
Remember when I talked about guilt in this post? Yeah.
Food and guilt go hand-in-hand when you're diabetic. More so when you're overweight and diabetic.
More about that later (because seriously, who wants to talk about the fact that they are fat?).
And so the act of eating becomes even more complicated (aside from the guilt) when you add-in something like diabetes. Because there's carb-counting, and insulin-to-carb ratios and deciding if you need ALL the insulin now, or if it should be spread out over the next hour-and-a-half. And this usually all has to happen before you can take the first bite of whatever it is you want to eat.
Diabetes involves a lot of complicated maths. Yay. I loves me some complicated maths. Fortunately, my pump does a lot of it for me, but still, there's a lot it doesn't do. And I've been doing it so long now, that it comes almost automatically. Although whenever I sit down to actually THINK it out, it takes me forty-forevers, and I'm half-wrong most of the time.
But I am so sick of the guilt, the shouldnts, the cants. Life is too damn short to not eat a doughnut once every six months, I'm sorry. People, ALL people, but especially people like me, should be able to ENJOY our food. We are constantly told how most things are bad for us - and YES, so much of what is out there, prepackaged, precooked, preheated, preprocessed using God-only-knows what - is SO VERY bad for us, but NO... NOT ALL FOOD IS BAD. And indulging (using common sense and with moderation) is good for the soul.
Anyway.
But as much as I love to cook and eat, I realized when I read Heather's post that I was not nearly as intentional about the meals I make and partake in as I had THOUGHT I was. Despite the love affair, I haven't made mealtime a sacred space. And that, I think, is an area in which *I* personally need to grow. And that's continued to swirl around the back of my mind for these last months.
There is a saying in the Talmud, When the Holy Temple was in existence, the Altar atoned for Israel; today, a person's table atones for him.
So what are YOUR thoughts on this subject, friends? I would love to hear them and invite a discussion. Do share!
My sweet friend, the ever-fabulous, ever-chic Miss Heather of Gathering Spriggs wrote a post with the same title (you didn't think I came up with that one on my own now, did you?) last year about cooking and eating that was a joy to read. It rocked my world. And I got to thinking.
My cooking philosophy is quite well reflected in what she said, actually. I TOTALLY IDENTIFY. I'm the creative, free-spirited type. I don't do well with rigid schedules and expectations.
Ritual and tradition are often hard for my free-spirited self. But more and more, I see the value in them the older I get, and am working hard to establish some rituals in our household revolving around the way we eat.
I love food. I love to be in the kitchen making and baking and experimenting. I love exploring blogs and magazines about cooking and trying new recipes. I love to break bread with those who mean the most to me. I love (a little too much, I'm sure) to eat.
So, in case you haven't noticed, I like to eat. (Maybe you haven't. If you know me, though, you KNOW.)
I talk about food a lot. I think about food more than I should. I definitely EAT more food than is *really* necessary. You might say I'm obsessed.
And you'd be (mostly) right. But I like to think about it as more of a love affair. There is something blessed and almost holy in the rite of preparing and partaking in a meal.
Our lives center around the act of eating. Everything else is ancillary. Except for breathing, nothing else (physical) is absolutely necessary. Food is life-giving. Life-sustaining. But the meal should not be consumed simply for survival. Life is about MORE than survival, right? It's about the act of living, of thriving, of being and becoming.
Food is meant to be enjoyed. I mean, what's the point of eating if it's not enjoyable? I honestly believe that life here on earth is too short to not enjoy the things that we have been given. To not savor them. It is NOURISHMENT. Think of the word: to nourish. It means,
1. To sustain with food or nutriment; supply with what is necessary for life, health, and growth.
2. To cherish, foster, keep alive, etc.: He had long nourished the dream of living abroad.
3. To strengthen, build up, or promote: to nourish the arts in one's community.
Notice how that one word is so much MORE than simply the act of consuming?And where one's food comes from, how it is processed (or not) is, I think, almost as important as the act of eating itself.
To be clear, I am *not* talking about situations where people are starving and there's literally not enough to go around. I am talking about this subject in relation to what I know.
And as a diabetic, even more of my life revolves around food, in very powerful and mostly negative ways, sadly.
Remember when I talked about guilt in this post? Yeah.
Food and guilt go hand-in-hand when you're diabetic. More so when you're overweight and diabetic.
More about that later (because seriously, who wants to talk about the fact that they are fat?).
And so the act of eating becomes even more complicated (aside from the guilt) when you add-in something like diabetes. Because there's carb-counting, and insulin-to-carb ratios and deciding if you need ALL the insulin now, or if it should be spread out over the next hour-and-a-half. And this usually all has to happen before you can take the first bite of whatever it is you want to eat.
Diabetes involves a lot of complicated maths. Yay. I loves me some complicated maths. Fortunately, my pump does a lot of it for me, but still, there's a lot it doesn't do. And I've been doing it so long now, that it comes almost automatically. Although whenever I sit down to actually THINK it out, it takes me forty-forevers, and I'm half-wrong most of the time.
But I am so sick of the guilt, the shouldnts, the cants. Life is too damn short to not eat a doughnut once every six months, I'm sorry. People, ALL people, but especially people like me, should be able to ENJOY our food. We are constantly told how most things are bad for us - and YES, so much of what is out there, prepackaged, precooked, preheated, preprocessed using God-only-knows what - is SO VERY bad for us, but NO... NOT ALL FOOD IS BAD. And indulging (using common sense and with moderation) is good for the soul.
Anyway.
But as much as I love to cook and eat, I realized when I read Heather's post that I was not nearly as intentional about the meals I make and partake in as I had THOUGHT I was. Despite the love affair, I haven't made mealtime a sacred space. And that, I think, is an area in which *I* personally need to grow. And that's continued to swirl around the back of my mind for these last months.
There is a saying in the Talmud, When the Holy Temple was in existence, the Altar atoned for Israel; today, a person's table atones for him.
-Talmud, Berachot 55a
Whoa.While I don't totally adhere to this belief, I think there is SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT to be taken here.
If we are seeking to be holy, seeking for that kedushah (holiness) of spirit, then what does our table say of that? What does the way that we prepare our meals and then take in nourishment speak of our journey toward holiness, toward becoming our best selves?
I am caught and condemned, because up until recently - today perhaps - though I had read Heather's post and have been ruminating on it, I had not thought of our food - our sustenance - as a part of becoming holy.
It has not been sacred. It has very often been rushed and pushed and inhaled and wolfed and digested and annihilated. But it has not been contemplated, delighted in, relished, rejoiced in, enjoyed, and appreciated at all OFTEN ENOUGH.
And a lot of all this, just like everything else in life (more so with diabetes), comes down to discipline. It is a discipline to breathe the aromas and quiet the soul before partaking. To savor every bite. To practice self-control and not snarf down a whole box of Nutty Bars because the Daddy brought them home and now they're just sitting there, mocking you, begging to be eaten. To prayerfully consider snarfing down the whole box and ask God to somehow make them healthy, even if it's only for the afternoon.
I am sadly lacking in discipline in many areas of my life. But I am working hard toward learning more of it. In ALL things moderation. Something our society has lost sight of. Something I am still learning.
I am caught and condemned, because up until recently - today perhaps - though I had read Heather's post and have been ruminating on it, I had not thought of our food - our sustenance - as a part of becoming holy.
It has not been sacred. It has very often been rushed and pushed and inhaled and wolfed and digested and annihilated. But it has not been contemplated, delighted in, relished, rejoiced in, enjoyed, and appreciated at all OFTEN ENOUGH.
And a lot of all this, just like everything else in life (more so with diabetes), comes down to discipline. It is a discipline to breathe the aromas and quiet the soul before partaking. To savor every bite. To practice self-control and not snarf down a whole box of Nutty Bars because the Daddy brought them home and now they're just sitting there, mocking you, begging to be eaten. To prayerfully consider snarfing down the whole box and ask God to somehow make them healthy, even if it's only for the afternoon.
I am sadly lacking in discipline in many areas of my life. But I am working hard toward learning more of it. In ALL things moderation. Something our society has lost sight of. Something I am still learning.
So what are YOUR thoughts on this subject, friends? I would love to hear them and invite a discussion. Do share!
On History
So here it is, a rainy Saturday night, after a grey Saturday day, and I'm thinking. (Surprise!)
Thinking about lots of things, but this last week, something has kind of been floating around my head and won't let go.
You see, I made a connection the other day, and for me, it was kind of an epiphany.
It's this idea of history.
So. What is history?
You know that, right? It's the long and distant past. That place that lives in the back, forgotten corners of our mind, filled with useless facts about Napoleon and Tolstoy and Cleopatra and the Civil War. It's the collective memory our nation, our people, the world.
But is it more personal than that? Of course. It's the dusty boxes filled with the things we did before moving that last time, marriage, kids, the dog. It's the closed up spaces of our personal lives, where our mistakes (and often guilt) reside.
But then I am thinking... What is history, if it is not in relation to this idea of the collective past, but it is also not the history that is our own personal story?
And I hear you thinking, "Well, Kristen, that doesn't leave you with much. You've covered THE WORLD and you've covered YOUR SELF. What else is there? And where the heck are you going with this?!?!?!"
Bear with me here.
And let me tell you the back story.
I've been batting around some thoughts pertaining to my parents' marriage (and later, lack thereof), and my grandparents' marriages and relational issues. I've been thinking about what I have learned about marriage, the roles of husband and wife in marriage, the roles of men and women in general, from my parents and grandparents and even from what I know of my great-grandparents.
Then the Daddy and I had a conversation about our parents' and our parents' marriages, and I asked him, "What do you think you learned about marriage from your parents?"
Well, he didn't much know what to do with that question, but after some deliberation, he decided that there were no major lessons which came to mind, so "Nothing."
In my mind, I ask, how is that possible? How is it possible to live with two other people for the entirety of your formative years and not come away with ANYTHING?
It's not. As a child, even if you're not paying attention, those relational dynamics are speaking to you in ways you cannot understand or imagine. And for better or worse, they will influence much of how you view the opposite sex and significant relationships in later life.
I simply think that I threw the Daddy for a loop with my question, and at some point he'll come back to me with, hopefully, some thoughts.
But anyway.
That conversation got me to thinking more. Let's bring out the psychologist wig here for a minute, because Kristen wants to wear her Freudian hair.
To what degree does our view of marriage come from the marriages we are most intimately connected to? What effect does the relationships of our parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents have on OUR relationship today, if any?
What connections can be made between our past and the course that our present is taking?
And this is where the "Aha!" moment came - the oft-quoted saying by George Santayana:
Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
It flitted through my mind, and the lightbulb came on.
Wait... What?
This is not the far distant collective past we are talking about here. This is OUR history. The history of the generations who walked before us and bore our grandparents and our parents, who brought them up and lived out their lives before us. It is THEIR mistakes that are often repeated in our own lives.
It's not that I didn't already know this.
I did.
But I didn't UNDERSTAND it in the way that I understand it now.
Those: Me.
Who DO NOT LEARN: Take in knowledge of what's needed and put it into action to make positive change.
From History: The history just outside my own that directly impacts me - my parents', grandparents' and great-grandparents' lives.
Are DOOMED: There is no hope for any other outcome.
To Repeat It: Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over, to the third and fourth generations.
Whoa.
To say it another way: If I do not take what I know from my family's lives and then choose to use understanding and knowledge to make practical changes in my *own* life, then I am set up to fail in every area of my life that THEY struggled with in theirs. In marriage. In parenting. In friendships. In working relationships. In character. In faith.
And this is outside of my own issues and areas that I would struggle with anyways. And it applies to *everything*.
Double whoa.
And yikes.
This is on the one hand, a very, very scary prospect.
And on the other... A beautiful opportunity.
Because I don't adhere to the whole, "Can't teach an old dog new tricks." philosophy. That's a bunch of bulls&%t, if you ask me. It might be HARDER to teach an old dog new tricks, but they can learn them! And this dog ain't old enough that she can't learn and learn and learn and keep on learning.
Because I am determined that unless God reaches down from heaven to stop me, my life WILL be different. For the better, hopefully.
I am determined to not live out unhealthy relational dynamics, but instead live in healthy ones. Ones where truth and life and hope flourish. Ones where excellence is the standard. Ones where love - good, hard, aching, growing, giving love - reigns. Ones where we work out the kinks and move on instead of stewing. Ones where our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren are not STUCK, the way we were. Because we learned.
And so, here I am. Looking to start (Or continue, push forward, keep going... Whatever. You know what I mean.) this journey into learning and change even more than I have ever been. And move out of the cycles of anger, and impatience, and divorce, and fickleness, and fear, and hopelessness, and impossible expectations that have driven so many of the relationships in my life and my marriage.
Yes. It is time.
Have you ever thought about it this way? Am I just covering stuff that's old hat here or what? What do you hope to learn so you can move into change? I'd love to hear!
Thinking about lots of things, but this last week, something has kind of been floating around my head and won't let go.
You see, I made a connection the other day, and for me, it was kind of an epiphany.
It's this idea of history.
So. What is history?
You know that, right? It's the long and distant past. That place that lives in the back, forgotten corners of our mind, filled with useless facts about Napoleon and Tolstoy and Cleopatra and the Civil War. It's the collective memory our nation, our people, the world.
But is it more personal than that? Of course. It's the dusty boxes filled with the things we did before moving that last time, marriage, kids, the dog. It's the closed up spaces of our personal lives, where our mistakes (and often guilt) reside.
But then I am thinking... What is history, if it is not in relation to this idea of the collective past, but it is also not the history that is our own personal story?
And I hear you thinking, "Well, Kristen, that doesn't leave you with much. You've covered THE WORLD and you've covered YOUR SELF. What else is there? And where the heck are you going with this?!?!?!"
Bear with me here.
And let me tell you the back story.
I've been batting around some thoughts pertaining to my parents' marriage (and later, lack thereof), and my grandparents' marriages and relational issues. I've been thinking about what I have learned about marriage, the roles of husband and wife in marriage, the roles of men and women in general, from my parents and grandparents and even from what I know of my great-grandparents.
Then the Daddy and I had a conversation about our parents' and our parents' marriages, and I asked him, "What do you think you learned about marriage from your parents?"
Well, he didn't much know what to do with that question, but after some deliberation, he decided that there were no major lessons which came to mind, so "Nothing."
In my mind, I ask, how is that possible? How is it possible to live with two other people for the entirety of your formative years and not come away with ANYTHING?
It's not. As a child, even if you're not paying attention, those relational dynamics are speaking to you in ways you cannot understand or imagine. And for better or worse, they will influence much of how you view the opposite sex and significant relationships in later life.
I simply think that I threw the Daddy for a loop with my question, and at some point he'll come back to me with, hopefully, some thoughts.
But anyway.
That conversation got me to thinking more. Let's bring out the psychologist wig here for a minute, because Kristen wants to wear her Freudian hair.
To what degree does our view of marriage come from the marriages we are most intimately connected to? What effect does the relationships of our parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents have on OUR relationship today, if any?
What connections can be made between our past and the course that our present is taking?
And this is where the "Aha!" moment came - the oft-quoted saying by George Santayana:
Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
It flitted through my mind, and the lightbulb came on.
Wait... What?
This is not the far distant collective past we are talking about here. This is OUR history. The history of the generations who walked before us and bore our grandparents and our parents, who brought them up and lived out their lives before us. It is THEIR mistakes that are often repeated in our own lives.
It's not that I didn't already know this.
I did.
But I didn't UNDERSTAND it in the way that I understand it now.
Those: Me.
Who DO NOT LEARN: Take in knowledge of what's needed and put it into action to make positive change.
From History: The history just outside my own that directly impacts me - my parents', grandparents' and great-grandparents' lives.
Are DOOMED: There is no hope for any other outcome.
To Repeat It: Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over, to the third and fourth generations.
Whoa.
To say it another way: If I do not take what I know from my family's lives and then choose to use understanding and knowledge to make practical changes in my *own* life, then I am set up to fail in every area of my life that THEY struggled with in theirs. In marriage. In parenting. In friendships. In working relationships. In character. In faith.
And this is outside of my own issues and areas that I would struggle with anyways. And it applies to *everything*.
Double whoa.
And yikes.
This is on the one hand, a very, very scary prospect.
And on the other... A beautiful opportunity.
Because I don't adhere to the whole, "Can't teach an old dog new tricks." philosophy. That's a bunch of bulls&%t, if you ask me. It might be HARDER to teach an old dog new tricks, but they can learn them! And this dog ain't old enough that she can't learn and learn and learn and keep on learning.
Because I am determined that unless God reaches down from heaven to stop me, my life WILL be different. For the better, hopefully.
I am determined to not live out unhealthy relational dynamics, but instead live in healthy ones. Ones where truth and life and hope flourish. Ones where excellence is the standard. Ones where love - good, hard, aching, growing, giving love - reigns. Ones where we work out the kinks and move on instead of stewing. Ones where our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren are not STUCK, the way we were. Because we learned.
And so, here I am. Looking to start (Or continue, push forward, keep going... Whatever. You know what I mean.) this journey into learning and change even more than I have ever been. And move out of the cycles of anger, and impatience, and divorce, and fickleness, and fear, and hopelessness, and impossible expectations that have driven so many of the relationships in my life and my marriage.
Yes. It is time.
Have you ever thought about it this way? Am I just covering stuff that's old hat here or what? What do you hope to learn so you can move into change? I'd love to hear!
Right Now
As an update to yesterday's post:
The Ladybug is doing GREAT. Her surgery was shorter than average (they told me an hour, it was only forty-five minutes!), her time in recovery was MUCH shorter than it was supposed to be - she was doing so well that they discharged her less than an hour after the procedure, and today she is bouncing around like nothing happened.
The doctor doesn't even want to do a follow-up visit, and she hasn't complained about her arm hurting even ONCE.
God showed up. Over and over and over.
So today, I am going to do something a little different.
As I mentioned on Monday, I have officially decided that I am going to do my own version of Amanda Soule's posts on SouleMama.
So... Here goes!
Right now, I am...
Reminiscing ... About my Grandmother's life and who she was before Alzheimer's. My babies when they actually WERE babies.
Feeling ... Contented. So very thankful. I am blessed.
Reading ... Still working my way through Beatrix Potter: A Life In Nature, The Scarlet Stockings, and loving this post on BeeMusing.
Marveling ... At what perspective a new day can bring!
Finishing ... My coffee... And the last bits of getting ready for a birthday party today!
Wondering ... Why it's so hard sometimes to appreciate moments until after they're gone.
Dreaming ... Of sunshine and playrooms and gardens and chickens and a homeschool room. Of the day when little girls can run and play outside to their hearts content in OUR OWN outdoor space.
Listening ... To little girl conversation. And Honey I Shrunk The Kids. Which is an interesting combination, to say the least.
Hoping ... Just hoping. Always hoping.
Thinking ... About my lovely breakfast with dearest girlfriends this morning. Feeling loved! Girl time is awesome.
Praying ... Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven...
Desiring ... More joy, more peace, more life!
Learning ... About homeschooling, my girls - the young women they are becoming, the Daddy and who he really is, love, sacrifice, faith... So many, many things.
Breathing ... The softness of little girl hair, my new body spray (YUM, Brown Sugar & Fig... Delightful! Thank you, Miss Gretchen Ann.), the joy of life complete.
The Ladybug is doing GREAT. Her surgery was shorter than average (they told me an hour, it was only forty-five minutes!), her time in recovery was MUCH shorter than it was supposed to be - she was doing so well that they discharged her less than an hour after the procedure, and today she is bouncing around like nothing happened.
The doctor doesn't even want to do a follow-up visit, and she hasn't complained about her arm hurting even ONCE.
God showed up. Over and over and over.
So today, I am going to do something a little different.
____________________________________________________________________________________
As I mentioned on Monday, I have officially decided that I am going to do my own version of Amanda Soule's posts on SouleMama.
So... Here goes!
Right now, I am...
Reminiscing ... About my Grandmother's life and who she was before Alzheimer's. My babies when they actually WERE babies.
Feeling ... Contented. So very thankful. I am blessed.
Reading ... Still working my way through Beatrix Potter: A Life In Nature, The Scarlet Stockings, and loving this post on BeeMusing.
Marveling ... At what perspective a new day can bring!
Finishing ... My coffee... And the last bits of getting ready for a birthday party today!
Wondering ... Why it's so hard sometimes to appreciate moments until after they're gone.
Dreaming ... Of sunshine and playrooms and gardens and chickens and a homeschool room. Of the day when little girls can run and play outside to their hearts content in OUR OWN outdoor space.
Listening ... To little girl conversation. And Honey I Shrunk The Kids. Which is an interesting combination, to say the least.
Hoping ... Just hoping. Always hoping.
Thinking ... About my lovely breakfast with dearest girlfriends this morning. Feeling loved! Girl time is awesome.
Praying ... Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven...
Desiring ... More joy, more peace, more life!
Learning ... About homeschooling, my girls - the young women they are becoming, the Daddy and who he really is, love, sacrifice, faith... So many, many things.
Breathing ... The softness of little girl hair, my new body spray (YUM, Brown Sugar & Fig... Delightful! Thank you, Miss Gretchen Ann.), the joy of life complete.
Some Days
Some days (like today) I feel like a failure.
Some days, I wonder why I even bother.
This is not an "in general" feeling. In fact, it's pretty specific.
As a parent of an emotional, high-energy, dare-I-say gifted child, I am challenged. Daily, at the very least. Generally hourly.
Today, it has been minute-by-minute. For three hours. That's one-hundred-and-eighty minutes for all you mathy people.
I want to do EXACTLY what she does, and throw myself on the floor sobbing.
And I feel like a failure.
I question: Where did I go wrong? Why am I the only one that is allowed to see this side of her? Why did I bother thinking that I *could* not only parent her, but school her, teach her, as well?
The Daddy has asked why we can never seem to make it outside until late in the day, if at all - and generally I'm too exhausted to explain. Three hours of screaming, kicking, throwing things, tearing things will do that to you.
And it happens at least once a week. Sometimes every day for weeks. Except when the Daddy is home. Of course.
Homeschooling wasn't the beginning, believe me. It has been years of this. Homeschooling has simply brought it into a much sharper focus because now I don't get a break - there is no preschool, kindergarten, anything, to send her off to.
I'm exhausted. I want to run away, give my children to someone else, and say, "HERE, they're yours, because I can't do it anymore and SURELY SOMEONE ELSE can do a better job than I can."
And so I must wrestle. I must fight. This is as much about me as it is her. I can't give in simply because it's easier. God Himself has entrusted me with this child, and I must honor His will, His gift, by giving her the very best of me.
Even when it has been one-hundred-and-eighty minutes. Because when I snap, on minute one-hundred-and-eighty-one - which I have, OH SO MANY TIMES - then I am not honoring any of us, let alone Him, He Who is the Creator of the Universe. And we have to start all over.
Because my rough places are just as rough as hers. Because I have just as much to learn.
So I question: Who am I, that You, oh God, would entrust me with such a job? What do You have for me that only my child, my precious girl, can teach me? What would You desire of me that I should emulate and teach both my girls? About life? About holiness? About YOU?
So I plead: Help me, oh Lord. Teach me, oh Lord. Grant me patience. Let Your love shine through.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the storm is over.
The sun is still shining outside. It never stopped. I just stopped looking for a little while, because the tears threatened to overwhelm me.
There is peace. I am ready for whatever the next minute holds. And we may make it outside after all.
The Revelation
Today is the Day of Revelation. According to tradition, that is.
I thought that was a fitting word for today. There has been much revelation going on in my life lately. Just seeing myself, my life, different. Reflecting on some things that I have taken as TRUTH, when in fact, those things may only be delusions built by my own inability to trust real Truth.
Asking hard questions. Hard questions that are taking a sledgehammer to some foundations that have been laid. Hard questions that are made harder when sometimes, the only answer is faith. And not the pie-in-the-sky faith that sings Kumbaya and buries its head in the ground. No... Not the pretend faith that glosses over the hard things and lets everybody think your life is perfect when you're really screaming inside.
But faith. The real, nitty-gritty faith, the kind that shakes its fist at impossibilities and "the odds" and that leaves your fingertips cracked and bloodied because that's all you've got to hold on to.
I'm not talking about the kind of thing where it's obvious that God has closed a door and you're standing there banging your head against it because you just can't let go.
I'm talking about the kind of thing where you don't even know if the door is THERE. But you're going to keep pounding until Somebody either makes one and opens it, or tells you to shut up and go peddle your wares elsewhere.
I think, for a long time, I've been praying the wrong kinds of prayers with all the right intentions. But, as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Point taken, unknown person.
So I've started shifting the way I seek the Face of God.
The last few days have been full to bursting, unearthing questions I'd stopping asking, dreams I'd put away, impossibilities that were... Well, impossible.
In certain areas of my life - my health, for one (and OH! there are PLENTY of others) - I've gotten to complacent, accepting status quo. And it's time for that to end. I have no idea what that looks like (yet), but I know that I am moving into a different place.
I read yesterday over at SimpleMom, a post that basically said, "Never choose good when you CAN choose best." Whoa. Rocked my world, that right there. Because I've been choosing "good" and "good enough" for a good long time.
It's time for BEST. For me to be the best version of me that there is. And with God's help, I'll get there.
Just don't expect to see me next week or next month having lost 50 pounds and running five miles a day and having become Mother Theresa to my children and "the poor." Because I'm more of a realist than I admit, and all-too-often, change is a LONG TIME IN COMING. I know I need it, and sometimes even when I want it, I fight it.
But it's time for best. It's time for the revelation of who *I* can be to come out of the shadows and into LIVING.
So if you do see me next week or next month, though, ask me how the changes are coming. I might need a kick in the pants already.
What's YOUR revelation?
I thought that was a fitting word for today. There has been much revelation going on in my life lately. Just seeing myself, my life, different. Reflecting on some things that I have taken as TRUTH, when in fact, those things may only be delusions built by my own inability to trust real Truth.
Asking hard questions. Hard questions that are taking a sledgehammer to some foundations that have been laid. Hard questions that are made harder when sometimes, the only answer is faith. And not the pie-in-the-sky faith that sings Kumbaya and buries its head in the ground. No... Not the pretend faith that glosses over the hard things and lets everybody think your life is perfect when you're really screaming inside.
But faith. The real, nitty-gritty faith, the kind that shakes its fist at impossibilities and "the odds" and that leaves your fingertips cracked and bloodied because that's all you've got to hold on to.
I'm not talking about the kind of thing where it's obvious that God has closed a door and you're standing there banging your head against it because you just can't let go.
I'm talking about the kind of thing where you don't even know if the door is THERE. But you're going to keep pounding until Somebody either makes one and opens it, or tells you to shut up and go peddle your wares elsewhere.
I think, for a long time, I've been praying the wrong kinds of prayers with all the right intentions. But, as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Point taken, unknown person.
So I've started shifting the way I seek the Face of God.
The last few days have been full to bursting, unearthing questions I'd stopping asking, dreams I'd put away, impossibilities that were... Well, impossible.
In certain areas of my life - my health, for one (and OH! there are PLENTY of others) - I've gotten to complacent, accepting status quo. And it's time for that to end. I have no idea what that looks like (yet), but I know that I am moving into a different place.
I read yesterday over at SimpleMom, a post that basically said, "Never choose good when you CAN choose best." Whoa. Rocked my world, that right there. Because I've been choosing "good" and "good enough" for a good long time.
It's time for BEST. For me to be the best version of me that there is. And with God's help, I'll get there.
Just don't expect to see me next week or next month having lost 50 pounds and running five miles a day and having become Mother Theresa to my children and "the poor." Because I'm more of a realist than I admit, and all-too-often, change is a LONG TIME IN COMING. I know I need it, and sometimes even when I want it, I fight it.
But it's time for best. It's time for the revelation of who *I* can be to come out of the shadows and into LIVING.
So if you do see me next week or next month, though, ask me how the changes are coming. I might need a kick in the pants already.
What's YOUR revelation?
A Year of Memories, A Year of Moments
So here we are, a few hours into 2011... Well, closer to forty-eight hours into 2011, but who's counting?
It is a gloriously bright and beautiful winter's day, much unlike the unseasonably warm weather we had on Friday... Friday, New Year's Eve, was almost like spring has come three months early. Which was okay with me, because it feels like a good time to start blooming anyway.
But I am glad to embrace Mother Winter's return from her day trip, for wherever it was that she went, it obviously pleased her - the sun is shining, outside the air is chilled to perfection, and inside the afternoon light sighs warm through the windows, brightening every corner and glinting like glitter, bringing magic to even the most ordinary things.
So 2010 is over. Unlike most, I am not happy to see it go. But neither am I disheartened to be here, already in 2011. I am just... Me. And 2010, 2011, whatever year it is... Well, that's when it is.
There was no fanfare to welcome the new year - in fact, it was one of our more quiet evenings. There were no resolutions made by me, although I did fleetingly consider one or two.
I personally think that most resolutions - at least the ones that tend to crop up this time of year - are a waste. A waste of time, energy, and emotion. To resolve something - to stand firm in it, or change in such a manner as to eliminate a problem - the word has lost its meaning in much of our modern society. Oh, we resolve to do plenty of things, particularly around New Year's, but most get lost in the shuffle, when it's too hard, and we just don't feel like it. We toss around resolutions like they're fun and easy, when a resolution - I might even go so far as to say ANY resolution - should be entered with thoughtfulness, introspection, and a sobriety that is unheard of by many.
So if there ARE any resolutions that come into being this year, it will be after a time of consideration and prayer. And these last weeks have been too hectic, and I too unwell, to allow for that. Hopefully this week will present more opportunities for reflection, prayer, and thoughtfulness that might lead to some resolve. I don't know.
But in the meantime, I thought I would share the best of 2010 in photos...
It is a gloriously bright and beautiful winter's day, much unlike the unseasonably warm weather we had on Friday... Friday, New Year's Eve, was almost like spring has come three months early. Which was okay with me, because it feels like a good time to start blooming anyway.
But I am glad to embrace Mother Winter's return from her day trip, for wherever it was that she went, it obviously pleased her - the sun is shining, outside the air is chilled to perfection, and inside the afternoon light sighs warm through the windows, brightening every corner and glinting like glitter, bringing magic to even the most ordinary things.
So 2010 is over. Unlike most, I am not happy to see it go. But neither am I disheartened to be here, already in 2011. I am just... Me. And 2010, 2011, whatever year it is... Well, that's when it is.
There was no fanfare to welcome the new year - in fact, it was one of our more quiet evenings. There were no resolutions made by me, although I did fleetingly consider one or two.
I personally think that most resolutions - at least the ones that tend to crop up this time of year - are a waste. A waste of time, energy, and emotion. To resolve something - to stand firm in it, or change in such a manner as to eliminate a problem - the word has lost its meaning in much of our modern society. Oh, we resolve to do plenty of things, particularly around New Year's, but most get lost in the shuffle, when it's too hard, and we just don't feel like it. We toss around resolutions like they're fun and easy, when a resolution - I might even go so far as to say ANY resolution - should be entered with thoughtfulness, introspection, and a sobriety that is unheard of by many.
So if there ARE any resolutions that come into being this year, it will be after a time of consideration and prayer. And these last weeks have been too hectic, and I too unwell, to allow for that. Hopefully this week will present more opportunities for reflection, prayer, and thoughtfulness that might lead to some resolve. I don't know.
But in the meantime, I thought I would share the best of 2010 in photos...
January
 |
| What started out sweet and happy... |
 |
| Quickly began disintegrating... |
 |
| Into utter silliness. |
February
 |
| I finally... FINALLY finished the girls' room. Isn't it beautiful?? |
March
 |
| Do I even need to put anything here? |
April
 |
| Happy girls on Easter... |
 |
| KayKay the cowpoke. |
May
 |
| Only the Ladybug would want me to take THIS picture! |
 |
| Making soup and having a blast! |
June
 |
| A freshly hatched monarch butterfly... |
July
 |
| With relatives like these... |
 |
| Do you even HAVE to wonder about me? |
August
 |
| Playing dress-up at a friend's. Man, she loves that dress! |
 |
| Friends! |
September
 |
| Unhappy cowgirl. |
 |
| Three girls and their boots. |
October
 |
| KayKay loves Chihuly. So do I. But she's lovelier. |
 |
| The Ladybug is, herself, a work of art. |
 |
| Late afternoon little girls. |
November
 |
| The girls with Santa Cow. The Ladybug is a wee bit obsessed. If Fritzy Von Buckeroo won't have her, I think Santa Cow may be her second choice. Oy vey. |
December
 |
| White Christmas, yay! |
 |
| KayKay starting her (potential) career as a guitarist. |
 |
| Cheesy pose, cheesy smile. Happy girl! |
 |
| The Ladybug with her new, glow-in-the-dark game. Cheesy smile part deux. |
And that's that. The moments, the memories... That's all we have left. So goodbye, 2010. It was a good year, dark days and all. And although I feel that I may have had a few more than my share of dark days this year, 2010 was still good to me. I am truly and ever so blessed.
Here we come, 2011. I hope you can keep up with me!
The Day Before New Year's Eve
Today is December 30th, 2010.
Tomorrow is the last day of the year.
Always, before, there has been an impatience, an excitement to the realization that another year was just around the corner. A new year.
But right now, this week, even the last month, I have been wanting to put it off the newness and keep with the comfort of the old for a little while. Wanting to lengthen the hours, to stretch them and savor their moments a little longer than usual.
I don't know why I'm feeling this way - to be honest, this has not been my best year by any method of accounting. For several months there, I was convinced it was my worst, not that many people knew about that season of my life... But no, there is nothing firm or fixed that I can point to and say, "Yes, THIS is why I'm not ready for 2010 to end."
I'm just not... I feel... Unprepared. I rather wish, at this moment, that there was a month *between* December and January, just so that I could take the time to prepare. We could call it "Decembruary." Or "Janucember." Or something completely random, like "Procrastination." Or pull an Edward Lear and create a word just for that month, like "Cranowobblerism."
But no, as the old saying goes, time stops for no man - or in this case - no woman. So march the seconds, the minutes, the hours, ever forward, and unlike us humans, they turn around and look back at what has been, they are only forward-facing, in the here, in the now. There is no introspection beyond the moment.
And maybe, that is how we're supposed to be. But we get too caught up in our past mistakes (ME!!), our past hang-ups, our PAST, that we stop looking forward and long for the momentum to end, to slow, to stop. So that we can do nothing but look and analyze and re-analyze what has been, rather than filling the space that IS.
So here, now, I make this resolution: I will savor the hours tomorrow, the last day of December, the last day before the tides of 2011 come rolling in, and then... I will make it, as in the words of Ann Voskamp, "The Year of Here." I will work hard to be me, and fill the space that is, rather than those of has been and will be.
Tomorrow is the last day of the year.
Always, before, there has been an impatience, an excitement to the realization that another year was just around the corner. A new year.
But right now, this week, even the last month, I have been wanting to put it off the newness and keep with the comfort of the old for a little while. Wanting to lengthen the hours, to stretch them and savor their moments a little longer than usual.
I don't know why I'm feeling this way - to be honest, this has not been my best year by any method of accounting. For several months there, I was convinced it was my worst, not that many people knew about that season of my life... But no, there is nothing firm or fixed that I can point to and say, "Yes, THIS is why I'm not ready for 2010 to end."
I'm just not... I feel... Unprepared. I rather wish, at this moment, that there was a month *between* December and January, just so that I could take the time to prepare. We could call it "Decembruary." Or "Janucember." Or something completely random, like "Procrastination." Or pull an Edward Lear and create a word just for that month, like "Cranowobblerism."
But no, as the old saying goes, time stops for no man - or in this case - no woman. So march the seconds, the minutes, the hours, ever forward, and unlike us humans, they turn around and look back at what has been, they are only forward-facing, in the here, in the now. There is no introspection beyond the moment.
And maybe, that is how we're supposed to be. But we get too caught up in our past mistakes (ME!!), our past hang-ups, our PAST, that we stop looking forward and long for the momentum to end, to slow, to stop. So that we can do nothing but look and analyze and re-analyze what has been, rather than filling the space that IS.
So here, now, I make this resolution: I will savor the hours tomorrow, the last day of December, the last day before the tides of 2011 come rolling in, and then... I will make it, as in the words of Ann Voskamp, "The Year of Here." I will work hard to be me, and fill the space that is, rather than those of has been and will be.
And To All, A Good Night...
Merry Christmas, friends.
Today has been a VERY GOOD DAY. I would venture to say, one of the best days we've had in a while.
I want to remember every moment of this day, to hold it quietly and let it shine in my memory, for those days when it is hard or when I am tired or lonely. I want to remember.
When I am old and grey, I will look back on these cozy winter hours with fondness, cherishing every second - the snow quilted on the ground and trees, lights twinkling, the girls giggles and shrieks as they opened their boxes of delights, the softness of KayKay's hair as I cuddle with her for a minute, a secret smile shared with the Ladybug, my surprise when I found a beautiful gift hidden for me by the Daddy under the tree. I will remember.
Today is about remembrance... Memories made. Grace given. Perfection in an imperfect world.
Even now, we remember: the prophesy, the journey, the mother, the manger, the star, the Child.
So merry Christmas, friends. I pray your holiday was filled with golden memories that shine bright for years to come. To remember, and be remembered.
Today has been a VERY GOOD DAY. I would venture to say, one of the best days we've had in a while.I want to remember every moment of this day, to hold it quietly and let it shine in my memory, for those days when it is hard or when I am tired or lonely. I want to remember.
When I am old and grey, I will look back on these cozy winter hours with fondness, cherishing every second - the snow quilted on the ground and trees, lights twinkling, the girls giggles and shrieks as they opened their boxes of delights, the softness of KayKay's hair as I cuddle with her for a minute, a secret smile shared with the Ladybug, my surprise when I found a beautiful gift hidden for me by the Daddy under the tree. I will remember.
Today is about remembrance... Memories made. Grace given. Perfection in an imperfect world.
Even now, we remember: the prophesy, the journey, the mother, the manger, the star, the Child.
So merry Christmas, friends. I pray your holiday was filled with golden memories that shine bright for years to come. To remember, and be remembered.
Oh, Soup Divine!
So as you, my few faithful readers know, I am a lover of good food. And trying new recipes.
And although the Daddy would probably argue this to the death, I actually do LIKE to cook. And bake. And mix. And make. It's fun, and there's generally always a surprise in there somewhere. This is ME we're talking about.
So I like to cook. Just not all the time. And not anything that requires 42 steps to make. The less effort, the better. Easy is good. REALLY good.
The only exception to this rule is Thanksgiving dinner, and that only comes around once a year, so I can handle that.
But food and cooking are truly important to me. Some of the only blogs I follow with any regularity are food blogs. Much of the reading I do online has to do with recipes and ingredients. Something I always say: "Life is too short not to enjoy the food you love." And this is one of the core beliefs that I have about meals and sustenance. This belief, for better or worse, has also shaped a lot of the approach I have toward being a diabetic. (Surprise! I have the Big D. No, I don't talk about it much. Other than to my closest friends and family, who are probably sick of hearing about it. But yeah. That's a post for another time.)
So. Food. Tasty and easy. And healthy. Healthy is good, too. Which is a challenge at times, because I want to feed my family the best, most nutritious foods possible while at the same time ensuring that none of it tastes like dirt. Or charcoal. Or beans porridge in a pot, nine days old.
ANYWAY. Now that I've written my way halfway to China, let me tell you what this post is about.
You may have guessed already. Soup.
As the title implies.
But not just ANY soup. One of the more divine and inspired soups I've ever had the pleasure of consuming. Or inhaling, depending.
This soup is wow and wonderful. It makes your taste buds sing and cry with delight. I made it two days ago, and I already want more.
I found the recipe for this soup through a meandering series of happy accidents that led me back to one of my more favorite cooking blogs, Orangette. I discovered Molly's blog a couple of years ago and along with this fabulous recipe for the most amazing Banana Cake with Coconut-Cream Cheese Frosting that you will ever taste. To which I ALWAYS add more rum. LOTS MORE RUM.
But I digress.
So I find the recipe for this soup. Red lentil soup. Never heard of red lentils, but whatever. And it immediately appeals. The weather has gotten cooler, and we are in full-fledged autumn that is strongly hinting at a cold winter to come. It is soup season. And I LOVE to make soup, anyway. It's one of my favorite things to make. Because it's easy. And ever-so-tasty.
But of course, being me, I couldn't make it EXACTLY like it was written. As my dear friend Heather of Gathering Spriggs says, "I like to think of recipes as loose guidelines to my creations."
So I took the recipe and tweaked it. And it is unbelievable. And I immediately wanted to share. So here you go! The link to the original soup is above, but here I will outline the way *I* make it. It's not hugely different, but there are a couple of things that I do that I think really make it stand out.
Red Lentil Soup with Lemon
Adapted from the recipe posted on Orangette, which was apparently adapted slightly from In the Kitchen with a Good Appetite, by Melissa Clark. We like to adapt.
4 Tbsp. olive oil, plus additional good oil for drizzling
2 Tbsp. butter
1 1/2 - 2 large yellow onions, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced or pressed (I used 2 tbsp. pre-minced garlic in olive oil)
1 Tsp. garlic powder
3 - 4 Tbsp. spaghetti sauce
2 Tsp. ground cumin
1 Tsp. kosher salt, or more to taste
1 Tsp. black pepper
1/2 Tsp. cayenne pepper, or more to taste
2 Quarts chicken or vegetable broth
2 Cups red lentils, picked through for stones and debris
2 Large carrots, peeled and diced
3 Stalks celery, chopped
Juice of 1 lemon, or more to taste
2 Tbsp. fresh pesto
2 Tbsp. - 1/4 Cup of heavy cream
Cilantro (This is optional for my version - I didn't have any, so I haven't used it, but I'll bet it would be fabulous!)
In a large pot, warm the oil and butter over medium-high heat until hot. Add the onions and garlic and cook until golden. Add in the chopped carrots and celery. Stir in the spices; cumin, salt, pepper, and cayenne, and cook a few minutes longer. Add the broth, 2 - 4 cups of water and bring to a gentle boil. Then add the lentils. Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. Continue to cook until the lentils are soft. Add in the tomato sauce, pesto and heavy cream. Then add the lemon juice. Taste, and add more salt if necessary. Using an immersion or regular blender, puree the soup. It should still be smooth, but not completely smooth. Reheat if necessary, then stir in some cilantro, if desired. Serve the soup with a good crusty bread and a little dollop of sour cream, if desired, and dusted very lightly with cayenne.
Enjoy, and tell me it's not a culinary experience of epic proportions. I dare you.
Oh November, I love your cold, blustery winds... If only because I can bundle up inside and cradle a warm bowl of red lentil soup between my hands.
OH. Soup divine!
And although the Daddy would probably argue this to the death, I actually do LIKE to cook. And bake. And mix. And make. It's fun, and there's generally always a surprise in there somewhere. This is ME we're talking about.
So I like to cook. Just not all the time. And not anything that requires 42 steps to make. The less effort, the better. Easy is good. REALLY good.
The only exception to this rule is Thanksgiving dinner, and that only comes around once a year, so I can handle that.
But food and cooking are truly important to me. Some of the only blogs I follow with any regularity are food blogs. Much of the reading I do online has to do with recipes and ingredients. Something I always say: "Life is too short not to enjoy the food you love." And this is one of the core beliefs that I have about meals and sustenance. This belief, for better or worse, has also shaped a lot of the approach I have toward being a diabetic. (Surprise! I have the Big D. No, I don't talk about it much. Other than to my closest friends and family, who are probably sick of hearing about it. But yeah. That's a post for another time.)
So. Food. Tasty and easy. And healthy. Healthy is good, too. Which is a challenge at times, because I want to feed my family the best, most nutritious foods possible while at the same time ensuring that none of it tastes like dirt. Or charcoal. Or beans porridge in a pot, nine days old.
ANYWAY. Now that I've written my way halfway to China, let me tell you what this post is about.
You may have guessed already. Soup.
As the title implies.
But not just ANY soup. One of the more divine and inspired soups I've ever had the pleasure of consuming. Or inhaling, depending.
This soup is wow and wonderful. It makes your taste buds sing and cry with delight. I made it two days ago, and I already want more.
I found the recipe for this soup through a meandering series of happy accidents that led me back to one of my more favorite cooking blogs, Orangette. I discovered Molly's blog a couple of years ago and along with this fabulous recipe for the most amazing Banana Cake with Coconut-Cream Cheese Frosting that you will ever taste. To which I ALWAYS add more rum. LOTS MORE RUM.
But I digress.
So I find the recipe for this soup. Red lentil soup. Never heard of red lentils, but whatever. And it immediately appeals. The weather has gotten cooler, and we are in full-fledged autumn that is strongly hinting at a cold winter to come. It is soup season. And I LOVE to make soup, anyway. It's one of my favorite things to make. Because it's easy. And ever-so-tasty.
But of course, being me, I couldn't make it EXACTLY like it was written. As my dear friend Heather of Gathering Spriggs says, "I like to think of recipes as loose guidelines to my creations."
So I took the recipe and tweaked it. And it is unbelievable. And I immediately wanted to share. So here you go! The link to the original soup is above, but here I will outline the way *I* make it. It's not hugely different, but there are a couple of things that I do that I think really make it stand out.
Red Lentil Soup with Lemon
Adapted from the recipe posted on Orangette, which was apparently adapted slightly from In the Kitchen with a Good Appetite, by Melissa Clark. We like to adapt.
4 Tbsp. olive oil, plus additional good oil for drizzling
2 Tbsp. butter
1 1/2 - 2 large yellow onions, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced or pressed (I used 2 tbsp. pre-minced garlic in olive oil)
1 Tsp. garlic powder
3 - 4 Tbsp. spaghetti sauce
2 Tsp. ground cumin
1 Tsp. kosher salt, or more to taste
1 Tsp. black pepper
1/2 Tsp. cayenne pepper, or more to taste
2 Quarts chicken or vegetable broth
2 Cups red lentils, picked through for stones and debris
2 Large carrots, peeled and diced
3 Stalks celery, chopped
Juice of 1 lemon, or more to taste
2 Tbsp. fresh pesto
2 Tbsp. - 1/4 Cup of heavy cream
Cilantro (This is optional for my version - I didn't have any, so I haven't used it, but I'll bet it would be fabulous!)
In a large pot, warm the oil and butter over medium-high heat until hot. Add the onions and garlic and cook until golden. Add in the chopped carrots and celery. Stir in the spices; cumin, salt, pepper, and cayenne, and cook a few minutes longer. Add the broth, 2 - 4 cups of water and bring to a gentle boil. Then add the lentils. Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. Continue to cook until the lentils are soft. Add in the tomato sauce, pesto and heavy cream. Then add the lemon juice. Taste, and add more salt if necessary. Using an immersion or regular blender, puree the soup. It should still be smooth, but not completely smooth. Reheat if necessary, then stir in some cilantro, if desired. Serve the soup with a good crusty bread and a little dollop of sour cream, if desired, and dusted very lightly with cayenne.
Enjoy, and tell me it's not a culinary experience of epic proportions. I dare you.
Oh November, I love your cold, blustery winds... If only because I can bundle up inside and cradle a warm bowl of red lentil soup between my hands.
OH. Soup divine!
Moments... And Monday Reading
Good November morning!
Well, seeing as I starting about 32 different posts this week, but didn't actually FINISH any of them, let alone get around actually posting them, I thought I'd go ahead and make it my Monday goal to finish AND post this one.
Today is All Saints' Day (about which I am learning, and incorporating into our homeschooling stuff today), and as yesterday was All Hallow's Eve, our weekend was full.
We enjoyed a potluck and bonfire at some dear friends' out in the country (Miss Olivia, we love you!), played games and had a sleepover, went on the ultimate trick-or-treating adventure in a WONDERFUL neighborhood (There was FREE. HOT. RUM-SPIKED. CIDER. for the parents... Just... WOW. That is all. :O), and ended the weekend (and our evening) with some time at our neighbor's WONDERFUL Halloween party.
It was a good weekend.
Today, this Monday, this first day of the month of November, is a day about moments. And since it's not only being the first day of the week in our modern society, but also the first day of the month, I think that's fitting.
The girls and I took a long walk this morning. It was a perfect morning for it. Blue skies, the air glittering with the crisp ripeness of autumn, and flaming leaves crunching under our feet as we walked. And as we walked, I watched the girls run and play with each other and REALLY CONNECT. KayKay let her sister win nearly every race, and the Ladybug was only too happy to jump and fly and fall into KayKay's waiting arms. They laughed and giggled, and when KayKay found "the last dandelion of the season," she most generously gave it to the Ladybug to make a wish. It was beautiful.
Watching them, I was in love. Enthralled. Entranced.
It was a walk filled with beautiful moments.
THIS is why I always wanted to be a Mommy. THIS is why we are choosing to homeschool. Moments like this morning, bursting with beauty and joy, closeness and connectedness, imagination and beauty. I am so blessed. And so grateful to be able to take this journey of homeschooling with my sweet girls.
No, not every moment is perfect. Most aren't, actually. So many are filled with frustration and tears and all the messy stuff of life. But those that are, like this morning, so infused with beauty and light and crystal-clear joy... Ah. Those are the moments that stay with us. And that make our hearts ache with the wonder of it all.
Those are the moments that glow with the glory of Him who made each of us. Let me not forget it. And let me not lose sight of the fact that life is only lived fully if I can savor these precious moments...
Below are some links to Monday Reading! Enjoy, dear friends! (P.S. The links and books are all jumbled up, although I didn't link to any books I am currently reading, only one that I am thinking about reading!)
Fostering Strong Sibling Relationships: Simple Homeschool
Fun With Crayons: The Homeschool Classroom
Brussel Sprouts People Will Actually Enjoy Eating: Kitchen Stewardship (This one I gotta try!)
Crafting A Life Plan With Intentionality: I Take Joy (This article is AH-MAZING. I wanna be like her when I grow up!)
Crafting Rich Experiences For Our Children On A Frugal Budget: Simple Mom
When Opposites Attract In Marriage: Family Life
Real Food On A Real Budget: Keeper of the Home
Well, seeing as I starting about 32 different posts this week, but didn't actually FINISH any of them, let alone get around actually posting them, I thought I'd go ahead and make it my Monday goal to finish AND post this one.
Today is All Saints' Day (about which I am learning, and incorporating into our homeschooling stuff today), and as yesterday was All Hallow's Eve, our weekend was full.
We enjoyed a potluck and bonfire at some dear friends' out in the country (Miss Olivia, we love you!), played games and had a sleepover, went on the ultimate trick-or-treating adventure in a WONDERFUL neighborhood (There was FREE. HOT. RUM-SPIKED. CIDER. for the parents... Just... WOW. That is all. :O), and ended the weekend (and our evening) with some time at our neighbor's WONDERFUL Halloween party.
It was a good weekend.
Today, this Monday, this first day of the month of November, is a day about moments. And since it's not only being the first day of the week in our modern society, but also the first day of the month, I think that's fitting.
The girls and I took a long walk this morning. It was a perfect morning for it. Blue skies, the air glittering with the crisp ripeness of autumn, and flaming leaves crunching under our feet as we walked. And as we walked, I watched the girls run and play with each other and REALLY CONNECT. KayKay let her sister win nearly every race, and the Ladybug was only too happy to jump and fly and fall into KayKay's waiting arms. They laughed and giggled, and when KayKay found "the last dandelion of the season," she most generously gave it to the Ladybug to make a wish. It was beautiful.
Watching them, I was in love. Enthralled. Entranced.
It was a walk filled with beautiful moments.
THIS is why I always wanted to be a Mommy. THIS is why we are choosing to homeschool. Moments like this morning, bursting with beauty and joy, closeness and connectedness, imagination and beauty. I am so blessed. And so grateful to be able to take this journey of homeschooling with my sweet girls.
No, not every moment is perfect. Most aren't, actually. So many are filled with frustration and tears and all the messy stuff of life. But those that are, like this morning, so infused with beauty and light and crystal-clear joy... Ah. Those are the moments that stay with us. And that make our hearts ache with the wonder of it all.
Those are the moments that glow with the glory of Him who made each of us. Let me not forget it. And let me not lose sight of the fact that life is only lived fully if I can savor these precious moments...
Below are some links to Monday Reading! Enjoy, dear friends! (P.S. The links and books are all jumbled up, although I didn't link to any books I am currently reading, only one that I am thinking about reading!)
Fostering Strong Sibling Relationships: Simple Homeschool
Fun With Crayons: The Homeschool Classroom
Brussel Sprouts People Will Actually Enjoy Eating: Kitchen Stewardship (This one I gotta try!)
Crafting A Life Plan With Intentionality: I Take Joy (This article is AH-MAZING. I wanna be like her when I grow up!)
Crafting Rich Experiences For Our Children On A Frugal Budget: Simple Mom
When Opposites Attract In Marriage: Family Life
Real Food On A Real Budget: Keeper of the Home
Monday Reading
Good Monday!
It's a rainy and cool day today, simply perfect for a hot cup of tea and some quiet reading... You may or may not know this, but I am a reader. And by reader, I mean READER. I read. A LOT. I read to learn. I read to relax. I read because I LOVE WORDS... And language. And the flow of good conversation and great stories... These days there are far too few books in my repertoire, mostly blogs to be honest, but I still typically carve out about an hour a day devoted to reading. The stack of books on my side of the bed is actually threatening to take over the room.
So I thought I would share some of my reading with you... And maybe I'll make it a regular thing or something! But before I do, I wanted to share something I wrote the other night. I recently discovered a blog called Single Dad Laughing, and there is some great reading there. He's raw and real and has great insights, and I love that. Anyway, he wrote a post that ended up being partly about reading, literature and writing, and in an unusual move for me, I decided to comment (I tend to be a lurker, but I'm trying to overcome that. :O)... And I think it turned out really good. Good enough to share here, with my friends, rather than the big, anonymous internet. But not just "good," as in "good writing," but "good," as in, "This is a piece of me and what I believe." And I want to share that here. So, there you have it.
"...I am not the world's best writer, but I am passionate about a well-turned word in all it's many forms.
I am a reader... A poet, a novelist, a journalist, a researcher, and a storyteller at heart... My poetry is often raw and unpolished, my novel has yet to be written, my journalism is simply moments put to paper, my research casts a wide and varied net, and my stories are rarely heard by anyone other than my children, but they are there.
Perhaps, like all great poets, I'll become wildly famous when I'm dead and someone discovers all the scraps of paper, the Starbucks napkins, and the tattered journals filled with my writing. Or perhaps, my children, who are but babies now, when going through my things will read words they've never known, and somehow be changed. And that is more than I could ask for.
Perhaps I'll write my great novel, the one that I have pent up inside me, the one with no name, no characters, and no plot, and it'll top the New York Times bestseller list for weeks and I'll be everyone's new favorite author. Or perhaps the manuscript will sit, untouched by any publisher for years, until it is forgotten. At least I will have written it.
Perhaps my stories will be told to generations to come. Perhaps not. But none of that matters, because what's most important is that I love words. And if no one ever reads my writing again outside of my children, (and then likely after I am gone) I pray that the one thing they learn from it is that our words, spoken or written, are some of the most powerful tools we have available to us. They have the potential to stir unquenchable passions, calm raging oceans of emotion, and provoke great change - as evidenced by your blog, Dan.
And I hope that my children learn that their mother was a woman of passion, who spoke plainly and with great care, knowing that her words had a far-reaching impact, even if no one heard them but her. Because I am a wordsmith..."
Not bad for a 3:30-in-the-morning-and-I-have-low-blood-sugar-so-I'm-surfing-the-internet comment, eh?
And right now, KayKay is quietly immersed in reading herself, about 50 pages into Peter Pan (fairies and pirates and crocodiles, OH MY!) and loving it. The little Ladybug is happily playing in the bath upstairs, and I am listening to the soft sounds of happy splashing, murmurs of little girl imaginations at work, and the wind whisper through the leaves on our giant oak outside our window as it makes its way through the curtains and twines around my legs, purring the whole time like a cat.
So with that in mind, I thought I'd share some of the things I have been reading recently. Most of it has been related to parenting and homeschooling (as usual!), but of course there are a few random things thrown in here just to spice it up. Enjoy!
Articles
New Urban Habitat
RhymeBrain (This is just fun. I am going to be using it as a tool in homeschooling in the future, methinks. :O)
Books
The Cage (A Holocaust Survivor's account... A wonderful, though hard, read.)
In My Hands (An account of a rescuer of Jews during the Holocaust... Also a hard read, but very good.)
It's a rainy and cool day today, simply perfect for a hot cup of tea and some quiet reading... You may or may not know this, but I am a reader. And by reader, I mean READER. I read. A LOT. I read to learn. I read to relax. I read because I LOVE WORDS... And language. And the flow of good conversation and great stories... These days there are far too few books in my repertoire, mostly blogs to be honest, but I still typically carve out about an hour a day devoted to reading. The stack of books on my side of the bed is actually threatening to take over the room.
So I thought I would share some of my reading with you... And maybe I'll make it a regular thing or something! But before I do, I wanted to share something I wrote the other night. I recently discovered a blog called Single Dad Laughing, and there is some great reading there. He's raw and real and has great insights, and I love that. Anyway, he wrote a post that ended up being partly about reading, literature and writing, and in an unusual move for me, I decided to comment (I tend to be a lurker, but I'm trying to overcome that. :O)... And I think it turned out really good. Good enough to share here, with my friends, rather than the big, anonymous internet. But not just "good," as in "good writing," but "good," as in, "This is a piece of me and what I believe." And I want to share that here. So, there you have it.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"...I am not the world's best writer, but I am passionate about a well-turned word in all it's many forms.
I am a reader... A poet, a novelist, a journalist, a researcher, and a storyteller at heart... My poetry is often raw and unpolished, my novel has yet to be written, my journalism is simply moments put to paper, my research casts a wide and varied net, and my stories are rarely heard by anyone other than my children, but they are there.
Perhaps, like all great poets, I'll become wildly famous when I'm dead and someone discovers all the scraps of paper, the Starbucks napkins, and the tattered journals filled with my writing. Or perhaps, my children, who are but babies now, when going through my things will read words they've never known, and somehow be changed. And that is more than I could ask for.
Perhaps I'll write my great novel, the one that I have pent up inside me, the one with no name, no characters, and no plot, and it'll top the New York Times bestseller list for weeks and I'll be everyone's new favorite author. Or perhaps the manuscript will sit, untouched by any publisher for years, until it is forgotten. At least I will have written it.
Perhaps my stories will be told to generations to come. Perhaps not. But none of that matters, because what's most important is that I love words. And if no one ever reads my writing again outside of my children, (and then likely after I am gone) I pray that the one thing they learn from it is that our words, spoken or written, are some of the most powerful tools we have available to us. They have the potential to stir unquenchable passions, calm raging oceans of emotion, and provoke great change - as evidenced by your blog, Dan.
And I hope that my children learn that their mother was a woman of passion, who spoke plainly and with great care, knowing that her words had a far-reaching impact, even if no one heard them but her. Because I am a wordsmith..."
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Not bad for a 3:30-in-the-morning-and-I-have-low-blood-sugar-so-I'm-surfing-the-internet comment, eh?
And right now, KayKay is quietly immersed in reading herself, about 50 pages into Peter Pan (fairies and pirates and crocodiles, OH MY!) and loving it. The little Ladybug is happily playing in the bath upstairs, and I am listening to the soft sounds of happy splashing, murmurs of little girl imaginations at work, and the wind whisper through the leaves on our giant oak outside our window as it makes its way through the curtains and twines around my legs, purring the whole time like a cat.
So with that in mind, I thought I'd share some of the things I have been reading recently. Most of it has been related to parenting and homeschooling (as usual!), but of course there are a few random things thrown in here just to spice it up. Enjoy!
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Articles
29 Lincoln Avenue: Project 10 (An AMAZING project for girls - age 10, but I'm thinking ahead!)
New Urban Habitat
RhymeBrain (This is just fun. I am going to be using it as a tool in homeschooling in the future, methinks. :O)
Books
MotherStyles: Using Personality Type To Discover Your Parenting Strengths (This book has given me some great insights into personality type and how I can use MY personality to my advantage in parenting. I highly recommend this one, if you are interested in personality types...)
The Phantom Tollbooth (THANK YOU, Miss Olivia for introducing me to this... It is one we will be getting and I'm CERTAIN the girls will love it! This is a great book for young children. Great moral stories told in a MOST unusual manner! :O)
The Phantom Tollbooth (THANK YOU, Miss Olivia for introducing me to this... It is one we will be getting and I'm CERTAIN the girls will love it! This is a great book for young children. Great moral stories told in a MOST unusual manner! :O)
The Cage (A Holocaust Survivor's account... A wonderful, though hard, read.)
In My Hands (An account of a rescuer of Jews during the Holocaust... Also a hard read, but very good.)
It's Spring for Me
Spring? What the heck d'ya mean, Kristen? For goodness sake's it's OCTOBER! And it's COLD. It's time for sweaters and hot cocoa, and you're talking about spring???
Well, let's just say there are lots of things in my life that are coming into blossom right NOW.
Some struggles that I have had my ENTIRE adult life are finally coming to an end, and I feel that I am finally stepping into new places of wholeness and healing. And I couldn't be happier about it!
There are also some shifts happening in our family dynamic, and I am excited to see how we grow into these new things.
For example... I never knew that I had anger issues until I had my children. I was fairly even-tempered and easygoing. So I believed that that was who I was, and it never occurred to me that I might be an angry parent. But then I had my daughters and...
Oh. My. Goodness. Wow. For a while there I felt like all there was of me was this angry mommy monster who did nothing but yell and scream and freak out about EVERYTHING. Yuck. It was an awful place. I have made strides forward, but in eight years, there has not been the feeling that I had control over this area of my life. The angry monster controlled me, not the other way around. Ugh. And how many prayers have I prayed? Deliver me, oh Lord. Help me, God. Save me from myself. And most especially, save my children. Protect them... From me. From my anger.
Oh, there has been a lot of guilt and tears over this part of my life. So much.
But finally, in the last month or so, it's like the walls that have kept me from finding self-control have crumbled down. And I can breathe. The monster is gone, replaced by peace. Yes, the monster still tries to come out at times, but it isn't in control anymore. And if it does manage to make an appearance, it is very quickly sent packing. So where there was brokenness and grief, now there is wholeness.
And what a change I have seen in my children. God is so good.
So this is my spring; I have come out of the winter of my desolation and into the newness of what my life as a mom can be like outside of anger.
And that's just ONE thing. There are many others! Baruch HaShem.
Well, let's just say there are lots of things in my life that are coming into blossom right NOW.
Some struggles that I have had my ENTIRE adult life are finally coming to an end, and I feel that I am finally stepping into new places of wholeness and healing. And I couldn't be happier about it!
There are also some shifts happening in our family dynamic, and I am excited to see how we grow into these new things.
For example... I never knew that I had anger issues until I had my children. I was fairly even-tempered and easygoing. So I believed that that was who I was, and it never occurred to me that I might be an angry parent. But then I had my daughters and...
Oh. My. Goodness. Wow. For a while there I felt like all there was of me was this angry mommy monster who did nothing but yell and scream and freak out about EVERYTHING. Yuck. It was an awful place. I have made strides forward, but in eight years, there has not been the feeling that I had control over this area of my life. The angry monster controlled me, not the other way around. Ugh. And how many prayers have I prayed? Deliver me, oh Lord. Help me, God. Save me from myself. And most especially, save my children. Protect them... From me. From my anger.
Oh, there has been a lot of guilt and tears over this part of my life. So much.
But finally, in the last month or so, it's like the walls that have kept me from finding self-control have crumbled down. And I can breathe. The monster is gone, replaced by peace. Yes, the monster still tries to come out at times, but it isn't in control anymore. And if it does manage to make an appearance, it is very quickly sent packing. So where there was brokenness and grief, now there is wholeness.
And what a change I have seen in my children. God is so good.
So this is my spring; I have come out of the winter of my desolation and into the newness of what my life as a mom can be like outside of anger.
And that's just ONE thing. There are many others! Baruch HaShem.
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