This has been an interesting year.
My husband lost his job at the beginning of Spring, sending him (and consequently, me) into this uncontrollable downward spiral of isolation that nearly destroyed our family. I couldn't do anything to save him as he became his own little island away from me. I quietly recoiled into myself, shared my pain with my closest friends and then retreated to the guest room to ride it out and see what would happen.
I did my best to maintain an outward veneer of normalcy for my son's sake. Inside I felt like part of me was dying. I didn't ever think that my happy ending would end this way.
In between, I frequently dipped into the well of love and support that my friends brought to me. And while I felt less than awesome and certainly not happy, the one sentiment they all shared was that yes, I indeed was awesome and yes, I indeed deserved to be happy. To be honest, I didn't even like myself. The stress of becoming the primary caregiver for more than my fair share quickly wore me down. And in the middle of all of this, somehow I kind of lost part of myself. I lost my spunk. I lost my fun. I lost my happy. It was just gone.
Well, much has changed. Mr. has a new job, which is challenging him and awakening him out of his emotional hibernation. And he is trying, very hard although sometimes in ways that don't resonate with me, to be the person I thought I was marrying 3 years and 360 days ago. Slowly but surely, I'm getting back to who and where I was before the storm hit and I might even be better for it.
Lately, I can't sleep at night. I've missed out on so much of life for so many months that there is tons for me to catch up on. Last night I stayed up late coloring my hair. I can't remember the last time I cared enough about myself to do anything like that. This is the king of sad for someone who has had a hot and heavy love affair with 30 volume developer and whatever color tickled my fancy for years.
But I'm back. I'm back, my hair is fun again and I'm ready to bring it. I'm back to being the kind of girl that when my feet hit the floor in the morning, the devil says "oh shit, she's up!"
I'm beyond thankful. Thankful for my friends, my Family 2.0, who never wavered in love and support even when I didn't even think I was worth the effort. And I'm thankful for my husband, who figured out how to snap out of it before he completely failed me and our son. And I'm thankful for my pastor, who when I told him I didn't feel that I had anything of value to share with people, said "Oh, but you do" and he meant it. And he may have been right, and even if he wasn't he challenged me enough to dig my own heels in and put the brakes on everything that had gone awry to find part of me that I'd lost. And I'm thankful for my God, who I am sure heard my whining and thought "would you just shut up? I'm trying to do something here" and somehow kept me sane enough to stick around and see what He was up to.
I'm not quite sure what the point of all the struggle was, but I think He was making me fierce. One request though if you read my blog, God...next time, could we do this with a little less drama? KTHXBAI.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Let them eat cake!
I love cake. Yesterday was my birthday. I didn't get any cake yesterday. I was sad.
So today, I made me my own birthday cake. I know, I'm lame. I don't have a problem with box cake mix, I get box cake mix. It's easy, predictable, always tastes reasonably good and it gets the job done pretty quickly. I don't have a problem with box cake mix. But I have a huge problem with canned frosting.
Canned frosting is an abomination and an insult to any and all baked goods. Canned frosting isn't even really a food! I can't pronounce the ingredients in canned frosting. It's the nastiest nasty that ever nastied. Here's my philosphy when it comes to frosted cakes: if you're gonna do the crime (and eat it), take the time to make real frosting. Really. It's not that hard.
Tonight I whipped up some chocolate buttercream frosting for my cake and it was fantastic! Next time you make a cake, frost it with this...eat it, and be fat and happy.
Buttercream frosting:
1 1/2 sticks butter, softened (If I forget to take the butter out to soften ahead of time, I unwrap the sticks and put them in a bowl and set it on top of the stove while the oven and cake cool. The warmth of the oven is enough radiant heat to soften up the butter.)
1 t vanilla
2 c powdered sugar
3 T milk
Cream butter in bowl, add in vanilla. Sift in powdered sugar and whip together. Add milk slowly to reach desired consistency for spreading. To chocolafy, add in 4 T cocoa powder when you sift in the sugar.
This takes all of 5 minutes and it's SOOOOO worth it!
So today, I made me my own birthday cake. I know, I'm lame. I don't have a problem with box cake mix, I get box cake mix. It's easy, predictable, always tastes reasonably good and it gets the job done pretty quickly. I don't have a problem with box cake mix. But I have a huge problem with canned frosting.
Canned frosting is an abomination and an insult to any and all baked goods. Canned frosting isn't even really a food! I can't pronounce the ingredients in canned frosting. It's the nastiest nasty that ever nastied. Here's my philosphy when it comes to frosted cakes: if you're gonna do the crime (and eat it), take the time to make real frosting. Really. It's not that hard.
Tonight I whipped up some chocolate buttercream frosting for my cake and it was fantastic! Next time you make a cake, frost it with this...eat it, and be fat and happy.
Buttercream frosting:
1 1/2 sticks butter, softened (If I forget to take the butter out to soften ahead of time, I unwrap the sticks and put them in a bowl and set it on top of the stove while the oven and cake cool. The warmth of the oven is enough radiant heat to soften up the butter.)
1 t vanilla
2 c powdered sugar
3 T milk
Cream butter in bowl, add in vanilla. Sift in powdered sugar and whip together. Add milk slowly to reach desired consistency for spreading. To chocolafy, add in 4 T cocoa powder when you sift in the sugar.
This takes all of 5 minutes and it's SOOOOO worth it!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Thankful
So many things to be thankful for this afternoon....
First that God kept me and Moose safe while we drove through West Chicago at noon today.
Second, that Joe & Crystal used to live in West Chicago, so I knew my way through the side streets as the marshalls had 59 closed off. I was scared out of my skin hearing the search helicopters overhead, but it was empowering to know my way around. I love you, my Crystal Pistol!
And of course that they got the armed escaped convicted bank robber guy. And that while he was of course within close proximity of where I was (literally just a block away!) that I never saw him.
Finally, I am thankful to be safe at home. WHEW!
First that God kept me and Moose safe while we drove through West Chicago at noon today.
Second, that Joe & Crystal used to live in West Chicago, so I knew my way through the side streets as the marshalls had 59 closed off. I was scared out of my skin hearing the search helicopters overhead, but it was empowering to know my way around. I love you, my Crystal Pistol!
And of course that they got the armed escaped convicted bank robber guy. And that while he was of course within close proximity of where I was (literally just a block away!) that I never saw him.
Finally, I am thankful to be safe at home. WHEW!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Taps
My uncle Don has passed. His funeral was today.
My uncle was a Purple Heart decorated Vietnam veteran. My aunts and uncles chose for him to receive a military burial. I hadn't been to a military funeral before today, so I wasn't sure what to expect.
This morning I woke to angry thunderstorms. Dark clouds blanketed the sky as torrents poured down. I drove down the road, mentally checking the backseat for my sweater and umbrella. "Great" I thought to myself. Just great. Funeral, in the rain, with Moose. Fantastic.
As I gingerly made my way south, the tiniest pocket opened in the clouds and a brilliant stream of sunlight kissed my cheeks through the car's window. There it was. Hope. Maybe today wouldn't be entirely awful, after all.
My father had flown in for the funeral, along with my most favorite aunt and uncle, and other relatives. I was greatly looking forward to seeing Joe and Lisa. My dad...not so much. There are years of history there. Years of hurts and betrayals. Things I cannot, should not share in such a public venue. We haven't spoken for years, except out of necessity. Spending time with dad would be painful and difficult for me. As much as I have prayed over the years for God to soften my heart and wash away all the hurts, to plant His forgiveness and love for my dad inside of me, it still had not come. It just hadn't come. And believe me, I have begged.
And with a heart loaded heavy with grief for my loss and anxiety for sharing this time with my father, I drove down the road dressed in a slate gray satin blouse and dark trouser jeans. I forgot to take my black dress to the cleaners after the wedding I wore it to a couple of weeks ago. This outfit would have to do, even though I felt bad for not being more dressed up and not covering myself in black from head to toe like a good Mexican in grief. That's how we roll. I had armed myself with waterproof mascara and a box of tissues.
As I exited the expressway and followed the sign towards the national cemetery, my thoughts drifted back to my grandmother's heart way back when. Bless her for being such an exceptional, strong woman. She sent her sons off to war, together. I imagined her back then, not knowing if she would get them back and my chest felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me as my mother-love ached for how she must have felt. Her babies, gone. Maybe not coming back. As my car wound past the military installation, I thought of all the families who had children there now, maybe preparing for a trip to Afghanistan. Tears pricked my eyes for them. How brave. I'm not sure I could do it.
I wound and turned and followed the GPS for what felt like forever. I was dreading this. What was I dreading? Seeing my dad? Laying my uncle to rest? Hurting with my cousins and aunts and uncles? All of the above? Yes. All of the above.
I finally found the cemetery, tucked away in what could have been a nature preserve. The rain had stopped, though the clouds still loomed above. Dark and gloomy, fitting the emotion du jour. As I pulled in, a flag greeted me. I can only assume that this flag is perpetually flown at half mast, for this is a place of honor and grieving. The view still stung me. Flags at half mast always do. There is only one reason to fly a flag at half mast, there is only one message such a sight conveys: something terrible has happened. Life has been lost, and we are sad. We are so sad, we can only hoist this flag up halfway.
After waiting on the rest of the family and exchanging greetings and pleasantries, we were led in a procession towards a commitment shelter in the groves of trees. Me and my cousins and aunts and uncles followed each other past fields of headstones. They stood like a unit of perfect little white soldiers in formation, as far as the eye could see. All perfectly spaced, pristine white, lined up and going on and on and on. My breath caught in my throat and my heart ached a little bit as tears slid down my cheeks.
We arrived at the place where we would have our funeral. Cadets saluted as they were lined up in formation on each side of the outdoor shelter, with a small group of armed cadets to the left side. Three uniformed servicemen and women awaited, saluting, at the head of the shelter. And then I saw it. I saw grief in action, grief burdened heavily as my father and his brothers acted as pallbearers for my uncle. They lifted and pulled his casket, draped with the American flag, towards the head of the shelter. Fresh, hot tears sprang up. Such a burden, so heavy, to carry your brother like that. I had to look away. We filed into the rows of seating, and I sat beside my father. I did not want him to be alone now. The seed of forgiveness and love that I had asked for had been planted after all. Apparently, conditions have to be just right for that kind of seed to germinate.
We were warned that shots would be fired, and that it would be loud. We should cover our children's ears, and our own. Having only two hands, I covered Moose's ears and they fired. Covering his ears left my own naked for the assault on my senses. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The shots rippled through the air and vibrated through the ground, each one bringing forth more tears than the last. It was like a stabbing through my chest, shaking everything within me in a deep, visceral way. I hadn't noticed the trumpets until they started playing "Taps". My brain recollected the words from high school chorus:
Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the lake
From the hills
From the sky.
All is well,
Safely rest;
God is nigh.
And then more tears came. The dressed soldiers lifted the flag from my uncle's casket and folded it up. The soldier in the center hugged it to his chest as he straightened the corners, and white-gloved hands presented it to my eldest uncle with a whisper of gratitude for my uncle's service to his country, and condolences for my family's loss. It was like a scene from a movie, each step and move perfectly orchestrated, with the rifle salute and the cadets and the uniformed service men and the white gloves. Except instead of it being actors there crying, it was my family. It was surreal.
Those Kleenex came in handy. I offered the box to my father at my left, took a few for myself and passed the box back to the weeping behind me. I placed my left hand in my dad's hand as he shook with sadness. The message was simple yet unspoken: Your feelings matter to me. I felt green sprouts unfurl from the seed in my heart. How odd, this juxtaposition of grief and growth at the same time. Life and death in harmony.
My cousin brought forth a bouquet of flowers and dissected it into individual blooms, presenting each of my uncle's siblings with one to set on the casket. My dad quickly handed me his. The message was simple yet unspoken: Your feelings matter to me. The roots of my little sprout grew stronger, as years of anger and bitterness crumbled away beneath it.
A priest offered his greeting, blessing and prayers and then sprinkled some holy water onto the casket, offering each of my uncle's siblings an opportunity to follow him with the same. First my aunt and her husband approached the casket, laying down their flower and sprinkling. Then my uncle and his wife. Then my favorite uncle, and his wife. And then I realized...my dad doesn't have a wife to go with him. I did not want him to be alone now. I went with him. After his little shake from the plastic holy flask, he handed it to me. I'm not Catholic, I don't do holy water, I whispered. Whatever. I shook the little bottle as officially as I could after resting my flower on the casket. It wasn't about the water. It was about doing it together, so I did it. Each of my other uncles and cousins quietly approached and sprinkled the casket, the priest said a closing prayer and blessing and we were done. The uncles were called upon again to transport the casket back to the hearse for transport to the plot. Again, I marveled at the physical and emotional strength required for this task. My poor dad. My poor uncles.
After our little service, we drove in procession again to my uncle's house. We sat and visited and ate and talked. Our kids played together and the uncles had a few beers together in the backyard and even if it was just for one quick afternoon, it was almost like when I was little and we visited at my grandma's house on a Sunday afternoon.
I took my dad home with me to stay with us for a few days while he's in town. Mister had a study group at 7, so after dropping him off there me and my dad and Moose went to dinner. We sat and talked and just kind of got to know each other a little bit again. It's been awhile. We don't really know each other anymore. It was good, though. Maybe we can start over again. Maybe he won't mess up so much this time. Maybe my seed has a chance.
My uncle was a Purple Heart decorated Vietnam veteran. My aunts and uncles chose for him to receive a military burial. I hadn't been to a military funeral before today, so I wasn't sure what to expect.
This morning I woke to angry thunderstorms. Dark clouds blanketed the sky as torrents poured down. I drove down the road, mentally checking the backseat for my sweater and umbrella. "Great" I thought to myself. Just great. Funeral, in the rain, with Moose. Fantastic.
As I gingerly made my way south, the tiniest pocket opened in the clouds and a brilliant stream of sunlight kissed my cheeks through the car's window. There it was. Hope. Maybe today wouldn't be entirely awful, after all.
My father had flown in for the funeral, along with my most favorite aunt and uncle, and other relatives. I was greatly looking forward to seeing Joe and Lisa. My dad...not so much. There are years of history there. Years of hurts and betrayals. Things I cannot, should not share in such a public venue. We haven't spoken for years, except out of necessity. Spending time with dad would be painful and difficult for me. As much as I have prayed over the years for God to soften my heart and wash away all the hurts, to plant His forgiveness and love for my dad inside of me, it still had not come. It just hadn't come. And believe me, I have begged.
And with a heart loaded heavy with grief for my loss and anxiety for sharing this time with my father, I drove down the road dressed in a slate gray satin blouse and dark trouser jeans. I forgot to take my black dress to the cleaners after the wedding I wore it to a couple of weeks ago. This outfit would have to do, even though I felt bad for not being more dressed up and not covering myself in black from head to toe like a good Mexican in grief. That's how we roll. I had armed myself with waterproof mascara and a box of tissues.
As I exited the expressway and followed the sign towards the national cemetery, my thoughts drifted back to my grandmother's heart way back when. Bless her for being such an exceptional, strong woman. She sent her sons off to war, together. I imagined her back then, not knowing if she would get them back and my chest felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me as my mother-love ached for how she must have felt. Her babies, gone. Maybe not coming back. As my car wound past the military installation, I thought of all the families who had children there now, maybe preparing for a trip to Afghanistan. Tears pricked my eyes for them. How brave. I'm not sure I could do it.
I wound and turned and followed the GPS for what felt like forever. I was dreading this. What was I dreading? Seeing my dad? Laying my uncle to rest? Hurting with my cousins and aunts and uncles? All of the above? Yes. All of the above.
I finally found the cemetery, tucked away in what could have been a nature preserve. The rain had stopped, though the clouds still loomed above. Dark and gloomy, fitting the emotion du jour. As I pulled in, a flag greeted me. I can only assume that this flag is perpetually flown at half mast, for this is a place of honor and grieving. The view still stung me. Flags at half mast always do. There is only one reason to fly a flag at half mast, there is only one message such a sight conveys: something terrible has happened. Life has been lost, and we are sad. We are so sad, we can only hoist this flag up halfway.
After waiting on the rest of the family and exchanging greetings and pleasantries, we were led in a procession towards a commitment shelter in the groves of trees. Me and my cousins and aunts and uncles followed each other past fields of headstones. They stood like a unit of perfect little white soldiers in formation, as far as the eye could see. All perfectly spaced, pristine white, lined up and going on and on and on. My breath caught in my throat and my heart ached a little bit as tears slid down my cheeks.
We arrived at the place where we would have our funeral. Cadets saluted as they were lined up in formation on each side of the outdoor shelter, with a small group of armed cadets to the left side. Three uniformed servicemen and women awaited, saluting, at the head of the shelter. And then I saw it. I saw grief in action, grief burdened heavily as my father and his brothers acted as pallbearers for my uncle. They lifted and pulled his casket, draped with the American flag, towards the head of the shelter. Fresh, hot tears sprang up. Such a burden, so heavy, to carry your brother like that. I had to look away. We filed into the rows of seating, and I sat beside my father. I did not want him to be alone now. The seed of forgiveness and love that I had asked for had been planted after all. Apparently, conditions have to be just right for that kind of seed to germinate.
We were warned that shots would be fired, and that it would be loud. We should cover our children's ears, and our own. Having only two hands, I covered Moose's ears and they fired. Covering his ears left my own naked for the assault on my senses. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The shots rippled through the air and vibrated through the ground, each one bringing forth more tears than the last. It was like a stabbing through my chest, shaking everything within me in a deep, visceral way. I hadn't noticed the trumpets until they started playing "Taps". My brain recollected the words from high school chorus:
Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the lake
From the hills
From the sky.
All is well,
Safely rest;
God is nigh.
And then more tears came. The dressed soldiers lifted the flag from my uncle's casket and folded it up. The soldier in the center hugged it to his chest as he straightened the corners, and white-gloved hands presented it to my eldest uncle with a whisper of gratitude for my uncle's service to his country, and condolences for my family's loss. It was like a scene from a movie, each step and move perfectly orchestrated, with the rifle salute and the cadets and the uniformed service men and the white gloves. Except instead of it being actors there crying, it was my family. It was surreal.
Those Kleenex came in handy. I offered the box to my father at my left, took a few for myself and passed the box back to the weeping behind me. I placed my left hand in my dad's hand as he shook with sadness. The message was simple yet unspoken: Your feelings matter to me. I felt green sprouts unfurl from the seed in my heart. How odd, this juxtaposition of grief and growth at the same time. Life and death in harmony.
My cousin brought forth a bouquet of flowers and dissected it into individual blooms, presenting each of my uncle's siblings with one to set on the casket. My dad quickly handed me his. The message was simple yet unspoken: Your feelings matter to me. The roots of my little sprout grew stronger, as years of anger and bitterness crumbled away beneath it.
A priest offered his greeting, blessing and prayers and then sprinkled some holy water onto the casket, offering each of my uncle's siblings an opportunity to follow him with the same. First my aunt and her husband approached the casket, laying down their flower and sprinkling. Then my uncle and his wife. Then my favorite uncle, and his wife. And then I realized...my dad doesn't have a wife to go with him. I did not want him to be alone now. I went with him. After his little shake from the plastic holy flask, he handed it to me. I'm not Catholic, I don't do holy water, I whispered. Whatever. I shook the little bottle as officially as I could after resting my flower on the casket. It wasn't about the water. It was about doing it together, so I did it. Each of my other uncles and cousins quietly approached and sprinkled the casket, the priest said a closing prayer and blessing and we were done. The uncles were called upon again to transport the casket back to the hearse for transport to the plot. Again, I marveled at the physical and emotional strength required for this task. My poor dad. My poor uncles.
After our little service, we drove in procession again to my uncle's house. We sat and visited and ate and talked. Our kids played together and the uncles had a few beers together in the backyard and even if it was just for one quick afternoon, it was almost like when I was little and we visited at my grandma's house on a Sunday afternoon.
I took my dad home with me to stay with us for a few days while he's in town. Mister had a study group at 7, so after dropping him off there me and my dad and Moose went to dinner. We sat and talked and just kind of got to know each other a little bit again. It's been awhile. We don't really know each other anymore. It was good, though. Maybe we can start over again. Maybe he won't mess up so much this time. Maybe my seed has a chance.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Where is the love?
Last night was our last shelter night of "the season". I don't know why there even *is* a "season". Is there some memo that goes out to the homeless people that at the end of May, nobody is homeless? (I missed that memo.) So don't even get me started on the season. It makes no sense to me.
I am both greatly relieved and also deeply saddened to be done. Coordinating the site was a major pain, I'm not gonna lie to you. But it was also a great experience for me and my family. It really helped me focus on all the good things I have in my life and everything I have to be grateful for, even when things are tough for us with no relief on the horizon.
I'm not sure our old church has the same passion for community service that my family has. It seemed to be a struggle each month to get adequate food and help for the shelter. In the end it was always outsiders, not church members who came through for us. This led to some deep feelings of what I will kindly call disenchantment with our old church. Hence, it is the old church and we have moved on to a new church whose passions and views align more closely with our own. As a matter of fact, our new church is the group that bailed us out last night when we came up short on food donations. Our new Pastor even cooked for us and brought over food that his family donated! Whereas, when I asked our old church if they could have our old Pastor make an announcement from the pulpit that we desperately needed help, I was told no because they save him "for the big stuff." Excuse me? We had 70 people at the shelter last night who were hungry and didn't have a place to call home. How does that not constitute "big stuff"?
A few of the guests last night were little ones. Small children, about Moose's age. I was setting the tables for dinner when I saw the families outside waiting to come in and I couldn't help but cry. That could be us with our little guy. It could have easily been us. I don't understand why the members of our old church community weren't more generous with their time and resources. Since we are not going to be attending our old church and since I feel so disappointed with trying to lead people towards compassion when they have no desire to do so, I will not be back as the old church's coordinator. Of course I didn't tell them that, I told them I might be moving so I was stepping down. Which is totally true - we still don't know where we'll land permanently. I'll instead be helping the shelter ministry through our new church while we're here in Naperville for as long as that may be. I'm happy that we will still have the opportunity to "have compassion, making a difference" by putting shoes on Christ's love and bringing it to people who need it.
I popped in to check and make sure everything was cleaned up and all the leftover food had been distributed to needy families in our community this morning. As I pulled out of the parking lot heading home, the Black Eyed Peas shuffled up on my iPod. And just like them, I'm wondering...where is the love?
People killin', people dyin'
Children hurt and you hear them cryin'
Can you practice what you preach
And would you turn the other cheek
Father, Father, Father help us
Send some guidance from above
'Cause people got me, got me questionin'
Where is the love (Love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love, the love, the love?
I feel the weight of the world on my shoulder
As I'm gettin' older, y'all, people gets colder
Most of us only care about money makin'
Selfishness got us followin' our wrong direction...
Yo', whatever happened to the values of humanity
Whatever happened to the fairness in equality
Instead of spreading love we're spreading animosity
Lack of understanding, leading lives away from unity
That's the reason why sometimes I'm feelin' under
That's the reason why sometimes I'm feelin' down
There's no wonder why sometimes I'm feelin' under
Gotta keep my faith alive till love is found
Now ask yourself
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Father, Father, Father help us
Send some guidance from above
'Cause people got me, got me questionin'
Where is the love?
I am both greatly relieved and also deeply saddened to be done. Coordinating the site was a major pain, I'm not gonna lie to you. But it was also a great experience for me and my family. It really helped me focus on all the good things I have in my life and everything I have to be grateful for, even when things are tough for us with no relief on the horizon.
I'm not sure our old church has the same passion for community service that my family has. It seemed to be a struggle each month to get adequate food and help for the shelter. In the end it was always outsiders, not church members who came through for us. This led to some deep feelings of what I will kindly call disenchantment with our old church. Hence, it is the old church and we have moved on to a new church whose passions and views align more closely with our own. As a matter of fact, our new church is the group that bailed us out last night when we came up short on food donations. Our new Pastor even cooked for us and brought over food that his family donated! Whereas, when I asked our old church if they could have our old Pastor make an announcement from the pulpit that we desperately needed help, I was told no because they save him "for the big stuff." Excuse me? We had 70 people at the shelter last night who were hungry and didn't have a place to call home. How does that not constitute "big stuff"?
A few of the guests last night were little ones. Small children, about Moose's age. I was setting the tables for dinner when I saw the families outside waiting to come in and I couldn't help but cry. That could be us with our little guy. It could have easily been us. I don't understand why the members of our old church community weren't more generous with their time and resources. Since we are not going to be attending our old church and since I feel so disappointed with trying to lead people towards compassion when they have no desire to do so, I will not be back as the old church's coordinator. Of course I didn't tell them that, I told them I might be moving so I was stepping down. Which is totally true - we still don't know where we'll land permanently. I'll instead be helping the shelter ministry through our new church while we're here in Naperville for as long as that may be. I'm happy that we will still have the opportunity to "have compassion, making a difference" by putting shoes on Christ's love and bringing it to people who need it.
I popped in to check and make sure everything was cleaned up and all the leftover food had been distributed to needy families in our community this morning. As I pulled out of the parking lot heading home, the Black Eyed Peas shuffled up on my iPod. And just like them, I'm wondering...where is the love?
People killin', people dyin'
Children hurt and you hear them cryin'
Can you practice what you preach
And would you turn the other cheek
Father, Father, Father help us
Send some guidance from above
'Cause people got me, got me questionin'
Where is the love (Love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love (The love)
Where is the love, the love, the love?
I feel the weight of the world on my shoulder
As I'm gettin' older, y'all, people gets colder
Most of us only care about money makin'
Selfishness got us followin' our wrong direction...
Yo', whatever happened to the values of humanity
Whatever happened to the fairness in equality
Instead of spreading love we're spreading animosity
Lack of understanding, leading lives away from unity
That's the reason why sometimes I'm feelin' under
That's the reason why sometimes I'm feelin' down
There's no wonder why sometimes I'm feelin' under
Gotta keep my faith alive till love is found
Now ask yourself
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Father, Father, Father help us
Send some guidance from above
'Cause people got me, got me questionin'
Where is the love?
Sunday, May 24, 2009
I just gotta dance.
My friend Michelle flew in last week for a quick visit. It was, perhaps, the best and most fun 46 hours I've had in a long time! Michelle wanted to see the sights of Chicago, so we took the train downtown and chased the landmarks she wanted to see. We walked Union Station, toured Navy Pier and rode the ferris wheel, saw Wrigley Field, had a drink at the Cubby Bear, stalked cupcakes in Lincoln Park, cruised the Mag Mile, passed Millennium Park and "the bean", then landed back at Union Station to say goodbye. As we left the cupcake place (Molly's, which was AMAZING and seriously everybody should go there!) we passed a cute little boutique with a hand painted decorative sign in the window that said, "Life isn't about waiting out the storm. It's about learning to dance in the rain." and I loved it. It made me realize that is what I've been doing lately. I'm trying to not stress, I'm trying to just enjoy life. Who knows what job Tim will get next. Maybe he'll have to travel a lot. So, I'm just trying to enjoy the family time that we have together. And right there, on the spot, as I read that plaque and it spoke to my core, I vowed...next time I rained, I was going outside to dance. It was Wednesday.
Last night, we were grilling out when I realized I had run out of barbecue sauce. Mon horreur! I zipped to the store, grabbed a couple bottles and ran out to the car. On my way back to the car, it started raining. It was one of those perfect, gentle spring rains that stopped as quickly as it had started. It just kind of cleaned the air and left that unmistakable fresh scent behind. As the rain kissed my cheeks while I dashed to the car, I remembered my promise to myself. So I did what any other perfectly rational, responsible 34 year old mother would do. I slipped into the car behind the wheel, turned the key, cranked up the radio, opened the windows and the sunroof and as I cruised home in the rain...I danced.
Last night, we were grilling out when I realized I had run out of barbecue sauce. Mon horreur! I zipped to the store, grabbed a couple bottles and ran out to the car. On my way back to the car, it started raining. It was one of those perfect, gentle spring rains that stopped as quickly as it had started. It just kind of cleaned the air and left that unmistakable fresh scent behind. As the rain kissed my cheeks while I dashed to the car, I remembered my promise to myself. So I did what any other perfectly rational, responsible 34 year old mother would do. I slipped into the car behind the wheel, turned the key, cranked up the radio, opened the windows and the sunroof and as I cruised home in the rain...I danced.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Oh wow, so much yum!
I wanted bagels yesterday, but I didn't have any. I did, however, have flour, salt, sugar and yeast so I made my own. They are amazing. I won't be buying bagels again. Not when I can make my own that taste better than Panera!
Bread Machine Bagels
1-1/3 cups warm water (110 degrees F/45 degrees C)
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons and 2 teaspoons white sugar
4 cups bread flour
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
16 cups boiling water
1/4 cup white sugar
cornmeal for dusting
egg white
1. Place water, salt, sugar, flour and yeast in the bread machine pan in the order recommended by the manufacturer. Select Dough setting.
2. When cycle is complete, let dough rest on a lightly floured surface. Meanwhile, in a large pot bring 16 c of water to a boil. Stir in 1/4 c of sugar.
3. Cut dough into 12 equal pieces, and roll each piece into a small ball. Flatten balls. Poke a hole in the middle of each with your thumb. Twirl the dough on your finger or thumb to enlarge the hole, and to even out the dough around the hole. Cover bagels with a clean cloth, and let rest for 30 minutes.
4. Sprinkle an ungreased baking sheet with cornmeal. Carefully transfer bagels to boiling water. Boil for 1 minute, turning half way through. Drain briefly on clean towel. Arrange boiled bagels on baking sheet. Glaze tops with egg white if desired, and sprinkle with your choice of toppings.
5. Bake in a preheated 375 degree F (190 degrees C) oven for 18 to 20 minutes, until browned.
My notes:
Check your dough while it mixes in the bread machine. I found that the amount of water noted here wasn't quite enough to make a good sticky dough to blend all the flour in. I ended up adding maybe a scant 1/4 c of warm water to my bread machine.
I divided my dough after it came out of the bread machine. I left half of the dough plain, and to the other half of the dough I gingerly kneaded in 1/2 t cinnamon and 1/4 c raisins.
On the plain bagels, after shaping and the second rising I sprinkled them with a mixture of sea salt and garlic powder with a blanket of shredded cheddar cheese on top.
I sprinkled the cinnamon raisin bagels with a dusting of cinnamon vanilla sugar prior to baking.
I did not glaze any of the bagels with egg white, and they came out lovely. Also, I simply greased my baking sheet instead of using cornmeal (I used all my cornmeal to kill the ants this Spring!) and the bagels weren't any worse for the wear.
Bread Machine Bagels
1-1/3 cups warm water (110 degrees F/45 degrees C)
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons and 2 teaspoons white sugar
4 cups bread flour
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
16 cups boiling water
1/4 cup white sugar
cornmeal for dusting
egg white
1. Place water, salt, sugar, flour and yeast in the bread machine pan in the order recommended by the manufacturer. Select Dough setting.
2. When cycle is complete, let dough rest on a lightly floured surface. Meanwhile, in a large pot bring 16 c of water to a boil. Stir in 1/4 c of sugar.
3. Cut dough into 12 equal pieces, and roll each piece into a small ball. Flatten balls. Poke a hole in the middle of each with your thumb. Twirl the dough on your finger or thumb to enlarge the hole, and to even out the dough around the hole. Cover bagels with a clean cloth, and let rest for 30 minutes.
4. Sprinkle an ungreased baking sheet with cornmeal. Carefully transfer bagels to boiling water. Boil for 1 minute, turning half way through. Drain briefly on clean towel. Arrange boiled bagels on baking sheet. Glaze tops with egg white if desired, and sprinkle with your choice of toppings.
5. Bake in a preheated 375 degree F (190 degrees C) oven for 18 to 20 minutes, until browned.
My notes:
Check your dough while it mixes in the bread machine. I found that the amount of water noted here wasn't quite enough to make a good sticky dough to blend all the flour in. I ended up adding maybe a scant 1/4 c of warm water to my bread machine.
I divided my dough after it came out of the bread machine. I left half of the dough plain, and to the other half of the dough I gingerly kneaded in 1/2 t cinnamon and 1/4 c raisins.
On the plain bagels, after shaping and the second rising I sprinkled them with a mixture of sea salt and garlic powder with a blanket of shredded cheddar cheese on top.
I sprinkled the cinnamon raisin bagels with a dusting of cinnamon vanilla sugar prior to baking.
I did not glaze any of the bagels with egg white, and they came out lovely. Also, I simply greased my baking sheet instead of using cornmeal (I used all my cornmeal to kill the ants this Spring!) and the bagels weren't any worse for the wear.
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