dodging cicadas and other thoughts

I don't have any one particular topic on my mind today, just a smattering of random thoughts, but I feel like sharing anyway.  Enjoy the madness...

1.  I have discovered that I can cook and that not only am I pretty good at it, I actually really enjoy it.  The best part is making things from scratch with no recipe and feeling totally brilliant when it turns out well.  And feeling like at least I learned something if it doesn't.  But I've noticed even with my new-found appreciation for all things culinary, I still rarely cook for just myself.  This is why having a boyfriend who likes to eat is ideal (and would be even more ideal if said boyfriend wasn't so picky...but I digress...).  When left on my own I usually end up eating some odd combination involving something like scrambled eggs and a pickle.  But I never forget dessert. 

2. St. Louis has recently been invaded by an insane amount of cicadas.  You know, they're black with big wings and beady red eyes.  They kind of remind me of june bugs on steroids.  Seriously gross.  Fortunately in my little corner of the county we have remained cicada-free and I really didn't quite get what all the fuss was about until yesterday when I went to church.  After parking the car and watching about a billion cicadas zooming and diving around the parking lot, I almost didn't get out of the car.  I seriously contemplated just turning around and retreating home.  But I eventually worked up the courage, jumped out of the car and ran, arms flailing, to the door.  I managed to escape with only one brave bug landing in my hair, which was promptly removed, and breathed a sigh of relief as I entered the church, knowing I would be safe.  But then it dawned on me... I would eventually have to leave...  Shudder.


3. I have a really hard time being completely lazy.  Today I wasn't feeling well and I decided to spend the day doing nothing (and not in the way that incredibly brainless song on the radio says either).  I tried to ignore the dirty stovetop and the dog hair tumbleweeds gathering in the corners, and instead set up camp in my comfy chair and watched daytime TV and terrible B-movies all day.  I only showered because I had to visit the chiropractor and I thought she might appreciate the gesture.  After my appointment I got a little carried away and tried running some errands.  This is because it is impossible for me not to do something productive without feeling guilty.  But overall, I managed to fight my nature, refused to make any to-do lists, and relax.  And let me tell you people, it took some effort.  Hmm...irony.

perplexities

Lately I've been prepping my students for the big state standardized test (more thoughts on that monstrosity later), which means daily I am spewing out things like "What is 3/5 + 7/10?" and "What tool do you use to measure force?" (the answers to which are 1 3/10 and a spring scale, respectively, in case you were curious).  All of this rapid-fire review has given rise to some questions of my own that have been plaguing me for some time and to which I have not yet found satisfactory answers.  Perhaps you can help...

Why are doors to doctor's offices always so heavy?  Aren't people generally there because they feel unwell?  And when you are ill isn't pushing heavy objects pretty much the last thing you want to do?

Why is it acceptable for my dog to lick me and I think it's adorable "kisses", but if another human were to lick me I would be a little freaked out?  And perhaps not want to be around that person quite so much...?

Why does every green thing on the planet grow in my backyard, but very little grass?  And can you really call clover/violets/dandelions/weird green leafy mystery bushes a lawn?

Why do birds try to run from things?  Don't they remember they have wings...and that whatever is chasing them can't fly?

Why does the local carwash have a "best wash" but also offer a step up called an "extreme wash"?  Isn't the whole meaning of the word "best" that there isn't anything better?

Why do men love ugly chairs so much, even when compared to equally comfortable stylish options?  Why do they always gravitate toward nail-studded leather or marshmallow-puffed recliners?

Why do we have eyebrows?  And if they serve no function why didn't we decide years ago to just start shaving them off completely?

Let me know if you have any reasonable explanations to the above perplexities, and if perhaps you have some of your own.  I may be able to help, but only if it's a topic on the fifth grade test.

pound cakes and lessons learned

I am in awe of anyone who bakes successfully.  There is something about baking that has always eluded me and I have never been very good at it.  My cookies are too flat, my cakes are too dense, and don't even get me started on the praline fiasco of Christmas 2010.  Baking is a technical art and there is little room for error.  Perhaps that is why I seemed doomed to failure. 

Last night I felt domestically inspired and pulled out a recipe from my grandmother for Cream Cheese Pound Cake with Strawberry Filling.  Well, to be exact the recipe itself came from Better Homes and Gardens, one of many issues my grandmother piled into my arms on my recent visit.  I think she was trying to tell me something.  Well anyway, the recipe didn't call for anything too unusual and it sounded manageable.  As long as I used the right ingredients in the right amounts and followed directions exactly, I should end up with a delicious cake just like the one in the picture.  Antique cake plate, strawberry garnish, festive linens and all. 

What I ended up with, however, was an oozing, somewhat mushy mess on a dinner plate.  I'm not quite sure exactly where I took the wrong turn.  I know I measured the sugar wrong at first, but I caught my error and added more later.  I know I used a bundt pan and not a tube pan, but they're practically the same thing right?  And I know my oven bakes at a deceptively higher temperature than its setting, so I turned down the heat.  But that's the thing about baking.  One small detail can be off and things just don't turn out.  Add your sugar too late, use the wrong pan, or crank your heat a few degrees too high and you could end up scraping strawberry lava from the oven floor. 

I am so glad the rest of life doesn't follow this pattern.  It's so reassuring to know that I can make a little mistake here (Hello, bangs?) and a little error there (What do you mean you can't put potato peelings down the garbage disposal?) and things will ultimately balance out.  And often what seems like a misstep at the time, actually turns into something quite beautiful.  (So I quit my job and packed my things but now I can't move to Seattle after all?  Kansas City here I come!)  Even the daily hiccups and little catastrophes are a part of a wonderfully complex masterpiece we call life. 

So don't be afraid to throw some ingredients in a bowl, mix it up, and bake it at some mystery temperature.  That mess you call a failure?  It's just one more lesson learned. 

the thaw begins

These past days with their warmer temperatures and sunnier skies have given me a serious case of spring fever. I want to be outdoors as much as possible and soak in the fresh air. Spring has always been a symbol of new beginnings, new hope. As the world around me thaws, I find my heart warming too. I'm a little more likely to notice the good I've been missing. It's not that these things haven't been there all along, just that I've been too blinded by the hard stuff to see them. But today as the sun shines through my open windows, I am taking notice. So here, in no particular order, are some small blessings that I've been missing out on. Maybe some of them are the same for you and you just need someone to point them out.

• a naughty puppy who makes me laugh
  
• an open sunroof and a breeze through my hair
• dark chocolate
  
• holding hands with someone I love
• laughing with someone I love
• just being in love
• new babies and all their perfect possibilities
  
• a faithful dog with her head on my knee
  
• 90's music
• bread
• car dancing
• new paint and blank canvas
• knowing God is faithful and holds me in the palm of his hand

a very good year

Have you ever been to a fancy restaurant and ordered a bottle of wine? They bring it out to you, show you the bottle, pour a little, and wait while you sample it. Of course I know nothing about wine, other than the simple fact that I like it, so I usually just sip it and say something really profound like, "Mmmm tasty!" and wait for the snobbish waiter to go away and gossip about me in the kitchen. Well another thing that has always confused me about wine is the claim that the bottle is from a "very good year." I'm sure it has something to do with the quality of the grapes from that particular harvest. Maybe there was more rain or fewer pests. The vines bore fruit that was beautiful, delicious, and fragrant.

This has become my theme for the new year. Not just because it has to do with wine and I can use it as an excuse to drink more of it, but for the deeper implications as well. You see, the year 2010 was a year of trial and struggle. Yes, there was much good to be thankful for. I have a job I was made for. I have a comfortable house and two snuggly mutts. I have fallen in love. But God had a plan for me this past year that was not an easy one. It was worthwhile, important, life-changing, but not easy. Struggles hit like crashing waves on rocky shores, pounding down my selfishness, my pride, my need for control. It's been tough.

Now as I look forward to 2011 I don't want to forget the lessons learned in the previous year. I want to use that season to carry me into a new one. From a season of drought to a season of plenty. The true change, however, is not my circumstances, but my heart. I may be tempted to give credit to "more rain" (money, time, relationships) and "fewer pests" (challenges, difficulties, strain and struggle). But the true cause for a sweeter fruit this year will be my hope in the Lord. As I draw closer to him and learn to trust him in his faithfulness my heart will grow, and grow strong. My roots will be deep. I will reach for the sun. I will produce a sweet harvest of love, compassion, wisdom, and grace. And at the end of this year, when it's all bottled and put away, I'll be able to look back and say, yes it was a very good year.


Blessings to you as you begin a new year. May the peace and hope that can only be found in Jesus be more real to you than ever as we continue through the journey of life.

Emily

"to do" to "to done"

You may recall, if you were one of the three people who accidentally stumbled across this blog, that yesterday I had an extensive list of projects to do. Instead I chose to sit down and restart my blog. Makes sense, right? Well after that ten-minute diversion I could not avoid the work any longer. So, following a drum roll please, here is my proud list of accomplishments for the day:

• purchased a multitude of Christmas presents online (beats fighting grandmas and tired, stressed out mommies at the mall)
• finished decorating for Christmas - ribbon, garland, massive quantities of candles, dishes, and other assorted winter-themed chotchkies
  
• vacuumed 20 pounds of pine needles from the floor, furniture, and myself
  
• artfully managed to repack all the boxes and shove them in the closet before they came tumbling down
• contacted Amazon about a package that was mistakenly delivered to my house for the previous occupants who have apparently forgotten that they moved and that a change of address is required
• fiddled with the deadbolt on my front door so that it finally locks without having to push on it with the force it would take to move a semi-truck filled with deadbolts
  
• got ready for an evening out and was early (thanks to establishing a "going out uniform" which involves me wearing the same outfit every time)
• handmade a birthday card with stickers and markers, you know, old school

All in all, it was a satisfying day. It had the right blend of heavy lifting, housework, and idle internet surfing. It ended with a delicious dinner, good conversation, a Schlafly Hefeweizen, and an eleven o'clock bedtime. Just what a Saturday should be.

insomnia

I never thought I'd be one of those people who really loved to sleep. I've always been an early riser and rarely nap. I just feel like there are so many things to be doing and I'm wasting time if I am sleeping. I go to bed early to ensure my eight hours and switch off the alarm at the first buzz. I didn't even know the snooze button existed for the first twenty-something years of my life. I always hit the ground running.

Every night when I get in bed I read or do sudoku (insert geek joke here) and try to get my mind to begin the shift into neutral. Only lately, my mind hasn't slowed down at night. It's still motoring, gears turning, full speed ahead. In that small moment, just before I turn out the light my head fills. Worries and what-ifs. Doubts. Anxiousness. Analysis. Over-analysis. As the external world fades into quiet, these thoughts come shouting into my brain.

There are two demons at work here. One is the nagging worry. I said something stupid. It's going to storm. What if I never fall in love? The other demon is my need for control. I can't change what I said. I can't dictate the weather. I can't make love happen. I am not in charge. Both demons lead to fear. Fear curls up in the corner of the brain and settles in at the most vulnerable times. For me, it is that edge between awake and asleep.

So I find myself on the attack. The best way I know to fight demons is through prayer. Here is my new nightly prayer:

God, this day has been yours from beginning to end. As I pass into sleep, please keep my thoughts on you and your countless blessings. Speak to me, Lord, in my dreams and in the stillness. May I be reminded of your unconditional love and faithfulness. And may I be filled with a peace that comes from knowing you hold me in your hands of protection and grace. Amen.

So now I will turn down the covers, push the dog to her side of the bed, flip the switch, and talk to God. And get what I never thought I'd need so badly.

A little sleep.

a few years worth of wisdom

Advice to the Me I Used to Be:

1. You'll make plans. God will have different ones. Be flexible.

2. Overalls were not, and never will be stylish.

3. Pay attention. To people. To your surroundings. Soak in God's blessings.

4. Leave. Go somewhere. See the world before the excuses set in.

5. You can teach tough kids.

6. You really should balance your checkbook.

7. First impressions are confusing, and should often be totally ignored.

8. If he isn't trying, he isn't interested.

9. Just because it's what is expected of you, it doesn't make it right.

10. Make eye contact. You never know.

loose tooth

I'm back, blogosphere, and I'm better than ever. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it sure sounded good, right? And confident. Like I should be bursting through the doors in a great pair of heels and one of those huge wide-brimmed hats that women only wear to fancy horse races, arms out and voice raised in triumph. So maybe in real life it's more like flip-flops and frizzy hair, and I trip through the doorway and my voice has a little bit of that change of pitch on the end that makes a statement sound more like a question. Am I better than ever?

There is a line I like from a Caedmon's Call song that goes, "You know I had a laugh that the same old struggles that plagued me then are plaguing me still." Is that not the human condition? I notice a weakness, try to scrub it out, only to find myself back where I started. It's like a loose tooth. You know it'll hurt if you press on it, but you just can't stop yourself because even though it hurts, there is something oddly comforting in the pain.

I'm like that with comparisons. Not the literary or philosophical kind, but those sneaky half-conscious comparisons I make between myself and others, usually other women. I see another girl and wish I was that thin. Or that tall. Or that artistic. Or that intellectual. Or blah, blah, blah. The list goes on, the list of things I view as glaring inadequacies within myself and unfair blessings to others. And then they turn into questions to God. God, why did you make me so scatter-brained? God, why did you make me with big thighs? God, why did you make me so ___________? I begin to question my very design.

The thing is, it's not about measuring up. It's about being better than someone else. Because if I'm better than someone else, then that gives me a sense of pride. And therein lies the true darkness. C.S. Lewis described pride as the root of all sin, or the granddaddy of sins, if you will permit a coloquial rephrasing. You see, the real reason I compare myself to others is not to feel like I'm less than others (although I will come back to that in a moment), it's for that rare and fleeting moment where I feel like I am more than others. It's when the pain turns into selfish joy. Ugly. I'm so ugly then.

The other side is that there is something oddly comforting about feeling less than others. I can turn it into an excuse. I'm not pretty enough to go talk to that guy or I'm not organized enough to remember your birthday. Those are things that beautiful girls with dayminders do. Not me. There's relief in the excuse. It's really quite handy that way. I can also play the victim. I can feel sorry for myself and wallow and have an Eeyore-type attitude because I have so obviously been overlooked in the gene pool. This is quite convenient as well, because suddenly I've shifted the blame. I make it God's responsibility.

So this is where I find myself again. Wiggling that loose tooth. Sticking the thorn back in my side. Comparing myself with those around me. Maybe I never really stopped, but just became less conscious of it. Either way, here it is, staring me in the face. So now I have a choice. I can choose to question God, make excuses, and play the victim. I can choose to bury myself in that strangely comforting pain. Or I can choose to believe God. I can believe Him when He tells me that he lovingly and artistically molded me. I can believe Him when He shows me that through Him all things are possible. And I can believe Him when He reminds me that He has made me more than a conqueror.

The choice is not easy.
But the choice is clear.

cabin fever

a summer memory

scent of cut grass and a charcoal fire
swallowing bitter beers and trying to like the taste
a wedge of lime and plug it with your thumb
dog chases fireflies blinking teasingly
and conversation on the back porch
spilling
into
humid

night

laryngitis

Have you ever lost your voice before? Mine currently sounds like a series of raspy croaks with intervals of unintentional squeaks and various other noises I didn't know were possible from an adult voice box. I'm like a broken microphone catching only every other word and cracking into ear-splitting feedback forcing others to cover their ears and shudder in pain. It's rather annoying. No, annoying isn't adequate. It is debilitating.

Now before you go thinking I'm just being over dramatic, (which I never am, how on earth could you accuse me of such a crime!) let me explain. I communicate for a living. I use my voice like an artist uses paint or a carpenter uses tools. As a teacher so much of what I do requires me to speak. My words can paint pictures of pioneers and parallelograms, make tears evaporate from crying eyes, and stop a nine year-old pencil-launcher in mid-throw. I need my words. And I can't have them. Now you see the problem.

But here's the silver lining: without the sound of my own voice, the rest of the world takes over. I'm hearing my family, my students, and my friends more clearly. They have great ideas. They have beautiful lives that I miss when I'm always the one speaking. The wind chimes outside my window, Missy Higgins on my iPod, my dog barking at a squirrel. Mozart who?

The best thing I've done has been to go on a long walk and listen for God. I always tend to think when God speaks it is going to be some kind of booming echo across the valleys, but God is rarely is what I expect. He is subtle in the way he communicates with us and if we are too busy listening to the sound of our own voices we will miss what he has to say. So many times I sit down to pray and I talk ceaselessly from "Dear God" to "Amen", leaving no room for the Holy Spirit to lean down and whisper in my ear. This morning, his voice was on the wind as it swirled around me. "Come to me. Keep coming. Don't hide. This is all for you." Words of love that spark feelings of homesickness; it's been so long since I've let him speak.

What do you need to hear from God? That he has a plan for you? That he will never leave you? That you are a masterpiece of his creation? Maybe the best thing you can do for God today is lose your voice.

home is with your homies

I remember reading in my seventh grade World Civilizations class about people called nomads. They moved from place to place without ever having any real permanent settlement. This sounded like "the life" to me, always on the move, exploring new places, herding goats. Well, maybe not the goat part, but the concept sounded glamorous. That is, until I started living it.

I am in a phase in my life with very little permanence. I am already in my second city and second job since graduating college a little over two years ago. I have lived with a total of 15 people, 2 dogs, and 1 cat in the past 7 years. (No, not at the same time.) I've seriously considered moving to at least 5 different cities in the past two years. I have done the job search thing 3 times, and am preparing for the next round. This is not the glamour I imagined. This is a problem. I have no home.

And now, after spending a much-needed and therapeutic weekend in the same city as my three best friends, sisters would actually be a better word, I find myself seriously reassessing what it means to be home. All this time I have been looking for three things I thought made "HOME".
1) The perfect city - safe, cultured, educated, fun things to do, good places to eat, places to find shoes for less than $20, this is all I asked.
2) The perfect job - with a sense of real purpose, a feeling of appreciation for what I do, the opportunity to be creative and teach how I want, freedom from standardized testing, a salary above 40k (okay I might have been stretching it on the last two...)
3) The perfect house - affordable, cute, spacious, fenced yard for the dog, plenty of little fix-it projects for me

One of the problems with these things is that they all involve the idea of perfect, something all of us seek, but none of us find, because in the end we live in the world and because it is the world and because we are human, it is undeniably flawed. So I scratch the word "perfect" and I am still left with "city, job, house". Each of those things sound so cold and empty to me when they are isolated like that. That is because they are missing one very important thing: relationship. So now I've come to find that the things I've been seeking, the things I have used to define "HOME", are inadequate. Here are my new top three:
1) Family - a church home, parents who love you unconditionally, a dog that thinks plastic bottles are treasures and stays with you while you cry, friends that know you completely inside and out and stand by you
2) Dreams - working to change lives, fighting the odds, putting yourself on the line for the good of others, wanting the seemingly impossible, planning a Christmas tree farm/art studio/book writing/antiquing/teaching career
3) God - meeting daily through prayer, reading the Word, having compassion, seeking truth, living like Jesus, sacrificing, forgiving, loving, loving, loving

Now let's look at these three words - family, dreams, God. Much more inspiring. These are things to live for. These are things to seek. As I look toward my next steps in life, I will look for these three things, and wherever I find them, I know I will be home.

nothing to wear

You should know something about me. I hate trying on clothes. Sizes are always different and mirrors are deceiving. I only shop when I have one thing in mind and then I am focused and direct. The hard part is, I almost never find what I am looking for. I was thinking about this the other day as I was shoe shopping for some brown flats. My brain being what it is and never content to mindlessly search for footwear, began to wander into the realm of meaning and purpose to which it visits often, but is never entirely comfortable. Thus, I have stumbled across an analogy that I feel befits my life at this juncture. I am proud of this thought for two reasons: First, it came to me while shopping, which is not a particularly philosophical pursuit. And second, I am quite terrible at analogies and feel that this is a weakness which must be remedied so that I can appear more intelligent than I am in conversations with people of superior intellect. So without further adieu, I present my thought for the day:


My life is like a dressing room. I am forever trying things on - different job, different city, different friends - and nothing seems to fit. Everything gets tossed into that reject pile of things that were too tight or too loose or too itchy. And the mirror by which I judge is distorted so that nothing ever appears as it really is and I am left questioning whether what I am wearing at the time is a good fit. And if I continue this pattern - trying on, reflecting, rejecting - I am afraid that in the end all I will be left with is a bunch of empty hangers.


I know. It's deep. I'll give you a minute to think on it. In the meantime, does anyone know where I can find a really cute pair of brown flats?