Dear Diary,
In preparation for Father's Day, I was at the store looking for a card to give my husband and my dad.
I tend to go with humor when looking for a card for my dad.
I think the sentimental cards are too schmaltzy for him. He appreciates sentiment, just not
scrolly-scripty-cursivey stuff.
The opposite is true for my Mom. When shopping for Mother's Day cards, I look for the sentimental not the humorous. I think she'd be disappointed if I didn't get a little flowery in expressing my love for her.
Back to Dad.
Perusing the Father's Day "humor" section I found cards mostly about:
1. Beer
2. Golfing and swearing, and swearing while golfing
3. Flatulance
Yeah no.
Not appropriate for my dad, and I would hope -- unless your dad is still in college or adolescence -- not for most.
So I went home and created my own card that was about, well, how I couldn't find an appropriate card for him...with just a touch of humor and personal sentiment.
So on this special day, I lift my frosty mug to all the dads who aren't of the cookie cutter variety.
It's your day; go ahead and watch your golf/baseball/fishing channel between elevated feet.
Just don't ask me to pull your finger.
I love you Dad!
LJ
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Hummer!
Dear Diary,
This is probably my fifth year feeding humming birds. That first year it took most of the summer for my feeder to be discovered. It tried my patience, but it did pay off.
The following summers continued the trend; I wanted to give up after weeks of no sightings.
Forget it, they are not coming.
Sugar water will ferment and mold after several days in the hot sun. So regardless of whether it was being consumed, I would continue to refresh the nectar (made myself). As I poured the liquid into a freshly cleaned feeder, I had to push down the negative thoughts.
Why go to this trouble?
How will that tiny bird find this tiny feeder on their big migration northward?
Maybe I didn't get the sugar-to-water ratio right. Maybe they will taste it, stick out their tongues in disgust, and somehow spread the word on Yelp that I rate only as good as a Waffle House found anywhere below the Mason-Dixon line.
Yes, those are my thoughts! For the most part.
The graphic template for this diary is themed around the hummer and has been from the start.
I think it is because they are so little.
And cute.
Anything in miniature automatically implies cuteness. Even ogres. Have you seen Shrek's babies?
Hummers delight me to no end.
When I spot one through my kitchen window, hovering over the plastic-flower-oasis-of-nectar, my child-like glee can hardly be contained.
"Hummer!" I announce to whomever is in earshot.
I use my "loud" whisper voice, and speak it so quickly that I turn a two-syllable word into one: "Humr!"
Every time: "Humr!"
I'm sure it drives my family crazy.
"Humr!"
I don't get tired of it.
I think it's because it provides the satisfaction typical of any symbiotic relationship: they eat food and I get the pleasure of watching them eat the food.
It's also affirmation that persistence pays off.
And that I actually do rate better than a Waffle House.
LJ
This is probably my fifth year feeding humming birds. That first year it took most of the summer for my feeder to be discovered. It tried my patience, but it did pay off.
The following summers continued the trend; I wanted to give up after weeks of no sightings.
Forget it, they are not coming.
Sugar water will ferment and mold after several days in the hot sun. So regardless of whether it was being consumed, I would continue to refresh the nectar (made myself). As I poured the liquid into a freshly cleaned feeder, I had to push down the negative thoughts.
Why go to this trouble?
How will that tiny bird find this tiny feeder on their big migration northward?
Maybe I didn't get the sugar-to-water ratio right. Maybe they will taste it, stick out their tongues in disgust, and somehow spread the word on Yelp that I rate only as good as a Waffle House found anywhere below the Mason-Dixon line.
Yes, those are my thoughts! For the most part.
The graphic template for this diary is themed around the hummer and has been from the start.
I think it is because they are so little.
And cute.
Anything in miniature automatically implies cuteness. Even ogres. Have you seen Shrek's babies?
Hummers delight me to no end.
When I spot one through my kitchen window, hovering over the plastic-flower-oasis-of-nectar, my child-like glee can hardly be contained.
"Hummer!" I announce to whomever is in earshot.
I use my "loud" whisper voice, and speak it so quickly that I turn a two-syllable word into one: "Humr!"
Every time: "Humr!"
I'm sure it drives my family crazy.
"Humr!"
I don't get tired of it.
I think it's because it provides the satisfaction typical of any symbiotic relationship: they eat food and I get the pleasure of watching them eat the food.
It's also affirmation that persistence pays off.
And that I actually do rate better than a Waffle House.
LJ
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Porch Time
Dear Diary,
I've been inspired by the green thumbs and artistic skills of friends who have a knack for creating beautiful spaces. In other words, I have seen some back yards that just beg me to sit and rest awhile, maybe even with a special beverage. (I'm talkin' coffee, people!)
I have seen humbler retreats more reminiscent of my own; an aging, worn deck or not-so-perfect patio with a lawn chair and a pot of flowers -- or not.
Last week my mother wrote me an email from her back porch, a lovely screened in lanai with plenty of lively vegetation (and occasional lizard) within and without. She was watching the nearby deer as she typed. In closing she declared, "Hope you are getting some porch time too."
Porch time. I am going to adopt that term.
Though we have a deck, not porch, I love to eat there,
read there,
nap there,
bird watch there,
and talk with my husband over margaritas there.
My mother knows full well that porch time means down time, and maybe even talk-on-the-phone-long-distance time.
Porch time is ME time.
And it's time to get me some!
Hope you find plenty of porch time this summer!
LJ
I've been inspired by the green thumbs and artistic skills of friends who have a knack for creating beautiful spaces. In other words, I have seen some back yards that just beg me to sit and rest awhile, maybe even with a special beverage. (I'm talkin' coffee, people!)
I have seen humbler retreats more reminiscent of my own; an aging, worn deck or not-so-perfect patio with a lawn chair and a pot of flowers -- or not.
 |
| See the hummer feeder? Hummers delight me! |
Porch time. I am going to adopt that term.
Though we have a deck, not porch, I love to eat there,
read there,
nap there,
bird watch there,
and talk with my husband over margaritas there.
My mother knows full well that porch time means down time, and maybe even talk-on-the-phone-long-distance time.
Porch time is ME time.
And it's time to get me some!
Hope you find plenty of porch time this summer!
LJ
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Dressing Room Moments II
Dear Diary,
After several weeks and two failed attempts, I am happy to be publishing a post!
There was a moment in a dressing room recently that I just can't keep to myself.
[Link here for my first dressing room moment post written almost one year ago.]
I want to share it because it was such a cliche moment for us parents grappling with our teens' choices....a charming speech given by a quietly desperate mother trying to steer her daughter's choice into another direction. A moment parents are guaranteed to find themselves in sooner or later.
While my oldest daughter was trying on summer clothes, three mothers, moi included, were stuck in the cramped space outside our daughters' dressing room doors. Much like being in an elevator, those close quarters really only allow for staring at the floor or the door behind which your daughter stands. Occasionally the awkwardness would be broken when a mother decided it was time to talk directly through the door, straining to hear the grumbled/mumbled replies, as if making negotiations at a drive through window.
"Do you need another size?"
And so it went.
Doors opening and shutting,
girls and mothers conferring,
hangars of clothes passing from one hand to another.
A dressing room door nearby opened and The Mom stepped forward to look within. Then I heard a one-way conversation by this mother that went like this:
"Are you sure you want to wear that? I mean in public-- you would wear that in public? You will be wearing that in front of your grandfather; you wouldn't be embarrassed wearing that in front of him?"
I could only imagine what she was viewing on her daughter....a swimsuit? Short shorts? A tank top?
I chuckled, but only because it wasn't me trying to cajole my daughter into wearing something more modest or appropriate.
I was not unsympathetic. I was ready to acknowledge this mother's troubles with my oh-what-we-mothers-put-up-with solidarity face.
My daughters have modesty built into them like a V6 in a Mustang GT. So I haven't had to make those kinds of arguments with them.
I think it helps that their mother models it.
(Modesty, not the Mustang. But I wish I was modeling the Mustang....I digress.)
Our growing children have minds of their own and a desire for making independent choices. Some of their choices are questionable and require the universal parental admonishment, "If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?"
Or my new favorite, "Would your grandfather approve?"
Yes, I chuckled at that scene.
And I am oh-so-grateful I haven't had to pull out the "grandfather approval" card.
Yet.
Happy shopping!
LJ
After several weeks and two failed attempts, I am happy to be publishing a post!
There was a moment in a dressing room recently that I just can't keep to myself.
[Link here for my first dressing room moment post written almost one year ago.]
I want to share it because it was such a cliche moment for us parents grappling with our teens' choices....a charming speech given by a quietly desperate mother trying to steer her daughter's choice into another direction. A moment parents are guaranteed to find themselves in sooner or later.
While my oldest daughter was trying on summer clothes, three mothers, moi included, were stuck in the cramped space outside our daughters' dressing room doors. Much like being in an elevator, those close quarters really only allow for staring at the floor or the door behind which your daughter stands. Occasionally the awkwardness would be broken when a mother decided it was time to talk directly through the door, straining to hear the grumbled/mumbled replies, as if making negotiations at a drive through window.
"Do you need another size?"
"Can I see it on you? I am buying it so I need to see it on you."
"Are you almost done?"
"Here, I got you a different color."
And so it went.
Doors opening and shutting,
girls and mothers conferring,
hangars of clothes passing from one hand to another.
A dressing room door nearby opened and The Mom stepped forward to look within. Then I heard a one-way conversation by this mother that went like this:
"Are you sure you want to wear that? I mean in public-- you would wear that in public? You will be wearing that in front of your grandfather; you wouldn't be embarrassed wearing that in front of him?"
I could only imagine what she was viewing on her daughter....a swimsuit? Short shorts? A tank top?
I chuckled, but only because it wasn't me trying to cajole my daughter into wearing something more modest or appropriate.
I was not unsympathetic. I was ready to acknowledge this mother's troubles with my oh-what-we-mothers-put-up-with solidarity face.
My daughters have modesty built into them like a V6 in a Mustang GT. So I haven't had to make those kinds of arguments with them.
I think it helps that their mother models it.
(Modesty, not the Mustang. But I wish I was modeling the Mustang....I digress.)
Our growing children have minds of their own and a desire for making independent choices. Some of their choices are questionable and require the universal parental admonishment, "If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?"
Or my new favorite, "Would your grandfather approve?"
Yes, I chuckled at that scene.
And I am oh-so-grateful I haven't had to pull out the "grandfather approval" card.
Yet.
Happy shopping!
LJ
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
The BEST Gal Pal Reunion
Dear Diary,
I spent the last two nights of my spring break away with The Gals.
Not my own girls, but with the most genuine girlfriends a gal could ask for.
College is a time of stress and growth and fun.
In those circumstances, bonding with those you share it with is only natural. I am blessed that those bonds remain strong to this day -- though time and distance try their best to weaken it.
So before I begin overindulging in Oreos while I cry over the topics of love, bonding, and the difficulties of long-distance friendships, I'm going to change the emotional direction of this post and reflect on some superficial guidelines that made my weekend the BEST gal pal reunion....
The camaraderie of old times came back in a wink. The trust we established in our young adulthood allowed us to waste no time opening our hearts to each other from the get-go.
So, thank you, gal pals, for continuing to be each other's cheerleaders, advisors and counselors.
That will come in handy when, let's say, one of us ends up in jail for jumping a turnstile at the El.
Smooches!
LJ
I spent the last two nights of my spring break away with The Gals.
Not my own girls, but with the most genuine girlfriends a gal could ask for.
College is a time of stress and growth and fun.
In those circumstances, bonding with those you share it with is only natural. I am blessed that those bonds remain strong to this day -- though time and distance try their best to weaken it.
So before I begin overindulging in Oreos while I cry over the topics of love, bonding, and the difficulties of long-distance friendships, I'm going to change the emotional direction of this post and reflect on some superficial guidelines that made my weekend the BEST gal pal reunion....
- Jumping up and down, squealing, and hugging are acceptable when reuniting with old friends, even in a public place such as, say, a hotel parking lot. I know we are 45. But that's the thing about being 45 -- we don't care what others think!
- Bring sleep aids to share: earplugs for the light sleepers and nasal strips for the snorers. No, I don't mean the pore cleaning ones, though someone could provide those too. It will help keep the peace if everyone is offered one, especially the ones who deny being a snorer! I seriously wondered how my sound-sensitive bed mate didn't suffocate under the two pillows she buried her head under. Hmmm. Must have been the others in the room, I was quiet all night!
- Snacks and drinks must be brought by all. There will be too much of both, but you may get a couple tasty new dip recipes out of it. (Bonus tip: Five women cannot eat two large pizzas for dinner. One will suffice. Especially after all that good dip.)
- Individual checks at meal times are required if you want the peace of mind that comes with knowing you aren't going to be paying extra for the lush at the table. Unless of course you are the lush at the table.
- Husbands need not worry when we call the 20-something bartender "Hon." He looks at us as if we are his mom, not a hot cougar. With a drink.
- Have an escape line at the ready when talk about politics or religion gets too un-comfy. These examples worked for us: "Soooo, what's your favorite candy bar?" and "I like what you did with your hair."
- Keep health talk to three minutes a person. This includes mental and physical health. Seriously, pull out the cell phone stopwatch and go around the table. Then be done. We are at the age when talking about our health problems is comparable to events worth medals of honor. But no one wants to hear about your medals. We want to talk about ours. As we get older we may need to increase the time allotted for this activity.
The camaraderie of old times came back in a wink. The trust we established in our young adulthood allowed us to waste no time opening our hearts to each other from the get-go.
So, thank you, gal pals, for continuing to be each other's cheerleaders, advisors and counselors.
That will come in handy when, let's say, one of us ends up in jail for jumping a turnstile at the El.
Smooches!
LJ
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
The Lottery Lady
Dear Diary,
I don't play the Lotto. Unless the jackpot is record-breaking-ly HUGE, and my chances of winning are infinitesimally smaller than they would be on a normal night; then I open my wallet and throw my money at a little piece of paper containing some randomly picked numbers and a dream.
I do watch the drawings when I catch the nighly news, especially when they are modeled by my BFF, Linda Kollmeyer -- also known as The Lotto Lady.
Yes. I said BFF.
Though she doesn't know it.
When it comes to sliding panels open to reveal the next numbered ping pong ball, Linda is all that!
She is spunky, yet down to earth.
Awkwardly wise, yet unpresumptuous.
I can critique her outfits without putting her on the defense.
The sparkle in her eyes and spring in her step speak to me through the television.
And her hair is never the same two days in a row. She's so versatile!
Though the relationship is one-way, I'm sure she would agree that we could be besties, go out for a health shake together (she is a personal trainer), spill our hearts out, and encourage each other in every aspect of womanly life.
Before you start jumping to conclusions about my mental health, let me tell you a little story:
Recently I skimmed through an Ann Landers column about a person who is an avid obit reader and who admitted to being "disappointed to not find a familiar name" on the obit page. Although Ann was critical of this person at first, she was inundated by readers who were sympathetic to her, calling her "lonely" and wanting to help her get a life.
Before writing this post I was concerned that upon revealing my one-way friendship, my dear readers would perceive me as being a lonely, pathetic, delusional person. But the Landers column encouraged me to open up.
There is also the possiblity that maybe, just maybe, I am ahead of my time; that this is the friendship of the future -- since much of our lives are spent in front a screen (TV, computer, tablet, phone). Soon we'll all be having heart-to-hearts with pictures of pixeled people with text bubbles above their heads, or falling in love with our GPS' voice. Hmm. They should make a movie about that.
Aren't virtual, one-way relationships easier?
But I digress.
Regarding Linda, I am validated. I have discovered that I am not the only person who feels this way about The Lotto Lady. She has a fan base.
You can check her out at this WGN interview, and view her fan page on Facebook.
But keep in mind she was my friend first!
Lucky me!
LJ
I don't play the Lotto. Unless the jackpot is record-breaking-ly HUGE, and my chances of winning are infinitesimally smaller than they would be on a normal night; then I open my wallet and throw my money at a little piece of paper containing some randomly picked numbers and a dream.
I do watch the drawings when I catch the nighly news, especially when they are modeled by my BFF, Linda Kollmeyer -- also known as The Lotto Lady.
Yes. I said BFF.
Though she doesn't know it.
When it comes to sliding panels open to reveal the next numbered ping pong ball, Linda is all that!
She is spunky, yet down to earth.
Awkwardly wise, yet unpresumptuous.
I can critique her outfits without putting her on the defense.
The sparkle in her eyes and spring in her step speak to me through the television.
And her hair is never the same two days in a row. She's so versatile!
Though the relationship is one-way, I'm sure she would agree that we could be besties, go out for a health shake together (she is a personal trainer), spill our hearts out, and encourage each other in every aspect of womanly life.
Before you start jumping to conclusions about my mental health, let me tell you a little story:
Recently I skimmed through an Ann Landers column about a person who is an avid obit reader and who admitted to being "disappointed to not find a familiar name" on the obit page. Although Ann was critical of this person at first, she was inundated by readers who were sympathetic to her, calling her "lonely" and wanting to help her get a life.
Before writing this post I was concerned that upon revealing my one-way friendship, my dear readers would perceive me as being a lonely, pathetic, delusional person. But the Landers column encouraged me to open up.
There is also the possiblity that maybe, just maybe, I am ahead of my time; that this is the friendship of the future -- since much of our lives are spent in front a screen (TV, computer, tablet, phone). Soon we'll all be having heart-to-hearts with pictures of pixeled people with text bubbles above their heads, or falling in love with our GPS' voice. Hmm. They should make a movie about that.
Aren't virtual, one-way relationships easier?
But I digress.
Regarding Linda, I am validated. I have discovered that I am not the only person who feels this way about The Lotto Lady. She has a fan base.
You can check her out at this WGN interview, and view her fan page on Facebook.
But keep in mind she was my friend first!
Lucky me!
LJ
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
In the Heart of the Moment
Dear Diary,
Today I saw my heart.
I don't mean in a poetic way, within some act of kindness or secret evil tendency.
I mean in a literal, physical kind of way.
I took a stress test, and, along with it, an ultrasound of my pumper.
It didn't dawn on me that I would be able to see the pictures while I lay in my breezy, gray hospital gown on the white papered table.
But when the light did dawn, I thought,
Cool! Very-very cool! I will get to see my own heart!
As I made out the black and white video images on the screen, my throat tightened and my tear ducts filled. My thoughts changed from Cool! to
Oh my word! I am seeing my own heart!
When I revealed my emotional state to the ultrasound tech, she responded by giving me a narrative of the things she was seeing on the screen, pointing out such foreign things as my "mitral valve" (what I saw: a floppy flap opening and closing) and my "beautiful left atrium" (what I saw: a chamber wall hiccuping in and out.)
I was surprised at my rush of emotion to those pictures on the screen.
I have seen precious life on a monitor before, in the ultrasounds of my preborn babies. The tiny hearts beating so quickly, the body parts perfectly formed as God planned. Now that elicits emotion for good reason!
In theheat heart of the moment, I let my romantic side emerge as I watched the heart do what God designed it to do. It is a hard working muscle, but it's also a vessel --
containing my spirit,
my life,
my love,
ME!
Many people will never get to see what I saw.
The cool thing about the heart is that you don't have to see it to know what it contains.
The way you live your life will reveal that.
As I stared at the wonders on the screen, the Sunday School student in me was hoping to spy a miniature Jesus smiling and waving at the "camera" from one of my heart chambers.
'Cuz I know I have Jesus down in there too!
LJ
Today I saw my heart.
I don't mean in a poetic way, within some act of kindness or secret evil tendency.
I mean in a literal, physical kind of way.
I took a stress test, and, along with it, an ultrasound of my pumper.
It didn't dawn on me that I would be able to see the pictures while I lay in my breezy, gray hospital gown on the white papered table.
But when the light did dawn, I thought,
Cool! Very-very cool! I will get to see my own heart!
As I made out the black and white video images on the screen, my throat tightened and my tear ducts filled. My thoughts changed from Cool! to
Oh my word! I am seeing my own heart!
When I revealed my emotional state to the ultrasound tech, she responded by giving me a narrative of the things she was seeing on the screen, pointing out such foreign things as my "mitral valve" (what I saw: a floppy flap opening and closing) and my "beautiful left atrium" (what I saw: a chamber wall hiccuping in and out.)
I was surprised at my rush of emotion to those pictures on the screen.
I have seen precious life on a monitor before, in the ultrasounds of my preborn babies. The tiny hearts beating so quickly, the body parts perfectly formed as God planned. Now that elicits emotion for good reason!
In the
containing my spirit,
my life,
my love,
ME!
Many people will never get to see what I saw.
The cool thing about the heart is that you don't have to see it to know what it contains.
The way you live your life will reveal that.
As I stared at the wonders on the screen, the Sunday School student in me was hoping to spy a miniature Jesus smiling and waving at the "camera" from one of my heart chambers.
'Cuz I know I have Jesus down in there too!
LJ
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Tale of A Fish Tile
Dear Diary,
See this fish tile?
This brightly painted piece of Spanish clay holds a lot of meaning for me and my husband.
It's a reminder,
a memory,
a souvenir,
a promise,
a hope.
~Reminder~
I keep it in my bathroom where I see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night (right next to Psalm 118:24: This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it).
~Memory~
A few years ago we had the privilege of traveling to St. John, Virgin Islands, for our wedding anniversary. It was a wild adventure, one that we wouldn't have been able to handle well as newlyweds (our plane was filled with them); but as seasoned partners, we could giddily absorb the highs and maturely roll with the lows.
As part of our weekend package at the guest house Treetops, we were supposed to take a boat tour of the islands with our hosts, Hank & Karen Slodden. But, of course, the islands had just experienced the worst storm of the season the day before we showed up, and the marina was unable to prep their boat and get it into the water. One of many disappointments on the trip. Can I help it we were married during hurricane season?
Yes, I am getting to the tile.
Hank and Karen are innovative and artsy. They had collected this authentic Spanish tile from an island Rockefeller resort undergoing renovations (Caneel Bay, popular with celebrities). The tiles were discarded and abandoned in the undergrowth. So they gathered what they could and started incorporating them into their landscape.
~Souvenir and Promise~
Upon our departure, Hank handed us a tile, with the promise that if we bring it back, he would accept it as our ticket to the boat ride we never had. And the best snorkeling, to boot.
~Hope~
I really would like to go back.
Some day.
(When I need a break from seeing other parts of the world I haven't been to yet.)
I envision us driving down the steep stone-and-cement drive and producing the tile with a triumphant smile that says, "We remembered. We came all this way. We dare you to renege!"
But it won't be during hurricane season, to be sure.
LJ
See this fish tile?
This brightly painted piece of Spanish clay holds a lot of meaning for me and my husband.It's a reminder,
a memory,
a souvenir,
a promise,
a hope.
~Reminder~
I keep it in my bathroom where I see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night (right next to Psalm 118:24: This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it).
~Memory~
A few years ago we had the privilege of traveling to St. John, Virgin Islands, for our wedding anniversary. It was a wild adventure, one that we wouldn't have been able to handle well as newlyweds (our plane was filled with them); but as seasoned partners, we could giddily absorb the highs and maturely roll with the lows.
As part of our weekend package at the guest house Treetops, we were supposed to take a boat tour of the islands with our hosts, Hank & Karen Slodden. But, of course, the islands had just experienced the worst storm of the season the day before we showed up, and the marina was unable to prep their boat and get it into the water. One of many disappointments on the trip. Can I help it we were married during hurricane season?
Yes, I am getting to the tile.
Hank and Karen are innovative and artsy. They had collected this authentic Spanish tile from an island Rockefeller resort undergoing renovations (Caneel Bay, popular with celebrities). The tiles were discarded and abandoned in the undergrowth. So they gathered what they could and started incorporating them into their landscape.
 |
| My legs and some creatively placed fish tiles. |
Upon our departure, Hank handed us a tile, with the promise that if we bring it back, he would accept it as our ticket to the boat ride we never had. And the best snorkeling, to boot.
~Hope~
I really would like to go back.
Some day.
(When I need a break from seeing other parts of the world I haven't been to yet.)
I envision us driving down the steep stone-and-cement drive and producing the tile with a triumphant smile that says, "We remembered. We came all this way. We dare you to renege!"
But it won't be during hurricane season, to be sure.
LJ
Monday, February 17, 2014
Obscure Olympic Observations
Dear Diary,
It is Olympic season, the biggest international athletic event televised, and I have become the biggest couch potato in order to watch them. While it isn't on 24/7 in my home, it is on every evening and weekends. Yes, I am even sacrificing my Downton Abby time slot to watch men and women hurtle themselves down mountains and over patches of ice.
Spending so much time as a couch blob worthy of a gold medal has stimulated a handful of obscure observations.
Anyone want to add their own?
Go USA!
LJ
It is Olympic season, the biggest international athletic event televised, and I have become the biggest couch potato in order to watch them. While it isn't on 24/7 in my home, it is on every evening and weekends. Yes, I am even sacrificing my Downton Abby time slot to watch men and women hurtle themselves down mountains and over patches of ice.
Spending so much time as a couch blob worthy of a gold medal has stimulated a handful of obscure observations.
- Despite the cold season, most winter Olympic sports are performed in skin tight body suits or barely-there sequined costumes. My gut tells me Olympians don't have the same psychological hurdles to overcome that I have when it's time to go swimsuit shopping.
- Is it a prerequisite for female Olympic snowboarders and skiers to be radiantly beautiful and have great teeth? (I haven't noticed the men so much. Honest hubby!)
- Shaun White cleans up real nice. (OK, so I noticed one man.)
 |
| courtesy wevegotyoucovered.buzznet.com |
- I have an appreciation for medal winners who are thrilled to get Bronze.
- Despite the hours of watching, I haven't seen NBC show one medal ceremony.
- The biggest winners are also the biggest risk takers. Sometimes it pays off, sometimes it/s disastrous, but at least they give it their all.
- Winning isn't all about skill; it is also about the mistakes of your opponent. (I learned this long ago in my high school tennis "career"-- except I wasn't on the winning side.)
- I don't care what part of the world you live in, you gotta feel a little bad this happened...and hope that the guy in charge of snowflake #3 isn't making his bed in the gulag now.
 |
| courtesy businessinsider.com |
- I heard the Russians spliced the successful five-ring moment in dress rehearsal into the broadcast for their own country. Can't say that I blame them.
Anyone want to add their own?
Go USA!
LJ
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
For the Birds
Dear Diary,
Take a look at this winter scene outside my window.
Do you see anything wrong with this picture? Like the fact that there are no birds at the feeder? And the fact that the feeder is (still) full?
I was too late.
I didn't remember to put the feeder out this fall.
Being the compassionate tightwad that I am, I only feed the birds in winter when food is more scarce.
Usually I put the feeder out before December and bravely wade through the frigid air and cold white fluff to refill it every few days. I love to watch the Nuthatches, Chickadees, Cardinals, and other birds daily.
But I was too late.
I put it out in January.
I don't have to spell out the kind of winter we are having. Apparently the birds don't want to go check out the new neighborhood rest stop in the dead of tough winters. I don't blame them.
But I miss them.
The feeder has been out for more than a month now. It's frustrating that all that good seed is sitting unnoticed and blowing in the wind. I have seen birds briefly hang out in the tree, little feathery puff-balls roosting on a branch. And one or two have investigated the feeder. But they did not return or go tell their birdie friends about it.
Who knew word of mouth had such power, even among the birds?
(Perhaps the inventor of the Tweet actually knew what he/she was doing?)
So, the feeder forlornly hangs, a bleak reminder of my ineptness, my forgetfulness.
But it's also an anticipated source of joy for me and a patient beacon for my little beaked friends to find when they are ready to look.
Keep warm and well fed!
LJ
Take a look at this winter scene outside my window.
Do you see anything wrong with this picture? Like the fact that there are no birds at the feeder? And the fact that the feeder is (still) full?
I was too late.
I didn't remember to put the feeder out this fall.
Being the compassionate tightwad that I am, I only feed the birds in winter when food is more scarce.
Usually I put the feeder out before December and bravely wade through the frigid air and cold white fluff to refill it every few days. I love to watch the Nuthatches, Chickadees, Cardinals, and other birds daily.
But I was too late.
I put it out in January.
I don't have to spell out the kind of winter we are having. Apparently the birds don't want to go check out the new neighborhood rest stop in the dead of tough winters. I don't blame them.
But I miss them.
The feeder has been out for more than a month now. It's frustrating that all that good seed is sitting unnoticed and blowing in the wind. I have seen birds briefly hang out in the tree, little feathery puff-balls roosting on a branch. And one or two have investigated the feeder. But they did not return or go tell their birdie friends about it.
Who knew word of mouth had such power, even among the birds?
(Perhaps the inventor of the Tweet actually knew what he/she was doing?)
So, the feeder forlornly hangs, a bleak reminder of my ineptness, my forgetfulness.
But it's also an anticipated source of joy for me and a patient beacon for my little beaked friends to find when they are ready to look.
Keep warm and well fed!
LJ
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Colorful Hearts
Dear Diary,
I sat next to her, a sugary sweet kindergartner. We were coloring.
She showed me her picture: two brightly dressed scribble people. I could tell they were girls from the long hair--one blonde, one brown.
Colorful hearts surrounded them; green, purple, red.
"Guess who this is," she smiled at me.
"Hmmm, who?" I asked, not wanting to assume.
"That's me and you!" she replied.
"Oh, I love the colorful hearts you made!"
"Yes!" she said, then added, "My daddy got 'trans'-ported to Mexico."
That was an eyebrow raiser.
And a colorful heart breaker.
Just what does one say to that?
"Ooh, I am so sorry to hear that," I sympathetically replied.
"I am never, ever going to see him again," she continued, frowning.
Oh Lord, what do I say to this girl? I prayed.
"I bet you can write to him or talk to him on the phone," I replied feebly.
"Yes, I could!" she replied with a glimmer in her eyes. "I could give my letter to mommy to mail."
Heavy stuff for a sweet little girl to bear.
The weight she carries will leave an impression on me for a long time.
But her green, purple, and red hearts will always be part of her story, too.
<3 <3 <3LJ
I sat next to her, a sugary sweet kindergartner. We were coloring.
She showed me her picture: two brightly dressed scribble people. I could tell they were girls from the long hair--one blonde, one brown.
Colorful hearts surrounded them; green, purple, red.
"Guess who this is," she smiled at me.
"Hmmm, who?" I asked, not wanting to assume.
"That's me and you!" she replied.
"Oh, I love the colorful hearts you made!"
"Yes!" she said, then added, "My daddy got 'trans'-ported to Mexico."
That was an eyebrow raiser.
And a colorful heart breaker.
Just what does one say to that?
"Ooh, I am so sorry to hear that," I sympathetically replied.
"I am never, ever going to see him again," she continued, frowning.
Oh Lord, what do I say to this girl? I prayed.
"I bet you can write to him or talk to him on the phone," I replied feebly.
"Yes, I could!" she replied with a glimmer in her eyes. "I could give my letter to mommy to mail."
Heavy stuff for a sweet little girl to bear.
The weight she carries will leave an impression on me for a long time.
 |
| courtesy layoutsparks.com |
<3 <3 <3LJ
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
A Very Big Girl Day
Dear Diary,
My oldest girl is growing up.
She had a Very Big Girl Day today.
She had the day off of school --the second day off to be precise, thanks to another polar bear vortex --and, being the tough Midwesterners we are, we decided it was an opportunity to head out the frosty door and take care of some Big Girl business.
First, she dropped off her first job application. I sat on a hard bench in the elevator lobby and watched her head up to floor #3 of the office complex with application in hand.
Without me.
I knew if I went with I'd just meddle; I Really Wanted To Go Orchestrate Her Success Myself.
Next, with Certificate of Completion in hand, we went to the DMV for a new DL. Yup. Her first driver's license.
Trying hard to suppress flashbacks of my own failed first road test, I sat in a blue plastic chair nervously waiting for her return.
I had given her permission to Fail. Does that make me a bad mother?
I prayed for her. Any question about bad mothering was now redeemed.
She passed, of course. The chain of road test failure going back one generation had been broken!
We admired her shiny plastic ticket-to-freedom. Nice picture, too.
Next we hit the road again, this time to the local drug store for a valid passport photo. My Big Girl is going to Europe this summer. Without her mommy. Who has never been overseas.
Rats.
Add the 23 letters from colleges and universities that she received within one week of her published PSAT scores, and have I painted a clear picture of my girl getting Soooo Big?
Yet somehow I get the feeling she wasn't the only one who put on her Big Girl Pants today.
Feelin' small and humble,
LJ
My oldest girl is growing up.
She had a Very Big Girl Day today.
 |
| Filling some big shoes 13 years ago. |
First, she dropped off her first job application. I sat on a hard bench in the elevator lobby and watched her head up to floor #3 of the office complex with application in hand.
Without me.
I knew if I went with I'd just meddle; I Really Wanted To Go Orchestrate Her Success Myself.
Next, with Certificate of Completion in hand, we went to the DMV for a new DL. Yup. Her first driver's license.
Trying hard to suppress flashbacks of my own failed first road test, I sat in a blue plastic chair nervously waiting for her return.
I had given her permission to Fail. Does that make me a bad mother?
I prayed for her. Any question about bad mothering was now redeemed.
She passed, of course. The chain of road test failure going back one generation had been broken!
We admired her shiny plastic ticket-to-freedom. Nice picture, too.
Next we hit the road again, this time to the local drug store for a valid passport photo. My Big Girl is going to Europe this summer. Without her mommy. Who has never been overseas.
Rats.
Add the 23 letters from colleges and universities that she received within one week of her published PSAT scores, and have I painted a clear picture of my girl getting Soooo Big?
Yet somehow I get the feeling she wasn't the only one who put on her Big Girl Pants today.
Feelin' small and humble,
LJ
Friday, January 17, 2014
Are You Mexican?
Dear Diary,
I work in a bilingual school.
The minorities are the majority here.
These dark haired children with varying degrees of beautiful, not-so-pale skin dominate the hallways and classrooms. I am hard pressed to find any child of Anglo/European descent in the building.
Family and friends who are readers of this blog know what I look like. But in case a reader comes across this highly entertaining and thoughtful diary who has never heard of LJ, let me provide a sweeping generalization.
I am of Euro descent. Gazing upon my countenance one might guess I am German, which is partly correct; however, thanks to my maternal grandmother, I have more Bohemian in me than any other single nationality. So it is fair to say I am...well...fair!
This week I had the privilege of participating in this conversation in my kindergarten room. Names have been changed.
Niki (to her friend): Katy, are you Mexican? I'm Mexican.
Katy: I'm Mexican-American.
Niki: I will make you a bracelet that's Mexican! (Turns to other friend) Claire, are you Mexican?
Claire: No, I'm not from Mexico.
Niki (turning to me): Mrs. LJ, are you Mexican?
The absurdity of her question really made me laugh (inwardly of course) as I straight-faced answered her, "No. No I'm not Mexican."
But the really cool thing about that exchange was that it wasn't an absurd question to her. At five years old, she has little notion about what being Mexican -- or any minority for that matter -- means.
Thus she did not hesitate to ask her blond haired, blue eyed teacher, "Are you Mexican?".
We are approaching the birthday of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
As part of his famous I Have A Dream speech, he said:
LJ
I work in a bilingual school.
The minorities are the majority here.
These dark haired children with varying degrees of beautiful, not-so-pale skin dominate the hallways and classrooms. I am hard pressed to find any child of Anglo/European descent in the building.
Family and friends who are readers of this blog know what I look like. But in case a reader comes across this highly entertaining and thoughtful diary who has never heard of LJ, let me provide a sweeping generalization.
I am of Euro descent. Gazing upon my countenance one might guess I am German, which is partly correct; however, thanks to my maternal grandmother, I have more Bohemian in me than any other single nationality. So it is fair to say I am...well...fair!
This week I had the privilege of participating in this conversation in my kindergarten room. Names have been changed.
Niki (to her friend): Katy, are you Mexican? I'm Mexican.
Katy: I'm Mexican-American.
Niki: I will make you a bracelet that's Mexican! (Turns to other friend) Claire, are you Mexican?
Claire: No, I'm not from Mexico.
Niki (turning to me): Mrs. LJ, are you Mexican?
The absurdity of her question really made me laugh (inwardly of course) as I straight-faced answered her, "No. No I'm not Mexican."
But the really cool thing about that exchange was that it wasn't an absurd question to her. At five years old, she has little notion about what being Mexican -- or any minority for that matter -- means.
Thus she did not hesitate to ask her blond haired, blue eyed teacher, "Are you Mexican?".
We are approaching the birthday of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
As part of his famous I Have A Dream speech, he said:
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."Dr. King, I just met your dream, and her name is Niki.
LJ
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Keep Calm and ?
Dear Diary,
I am baking cookies today and while I wait for them to cool I decided it was a good time to share my new fridge mantra for the year.
But before I did that, I needed to do some research on the "Keep Calm and Carry On" slogan that became so popular in the last couple of years. I wondered about its origin. I had heard it was from Britain, hence the crown, but other than that, as far as I knew it could have been the name of another boy band Simon Cowell had discovered.
I learned it was not a boy band but a slogan the British government was prepared to use prior to WWII to keep the public from freaking out about predicted air raids. It never was publicized properly and so never caught on at the time, unlike the American slogan, "Loose lips sink ships" and Uncle Sam's "I want YOU" declaration.
I did my research because I wanted to share with you the napkin I pilfered from the home of my brother and sister-in-law over Christmas. Many of my readers know how much I love cookies. And though I didn't know what I was going to do with it at the time, I just couldn't see using it and throwing it away!
So I hang it on my fridge.
And take pictures of it for my blog.
I suppose you, too, can fill in the blank for how you could handle what comes your way in the year ahead: Keep Calm and ____________
Pray?
Drink coffee/wine/both?
Hide under the covers?
I think my Snickerdoodles have cooled. Care to join me?
LJ
I am baking cookies today and while I wait for them to cool I decided it was a good time to share my new fridge mantra for the year.
But before I did that, I needed to do some research on the "Keep Calm and Carry On" slogan that became so popular in the last couple of years. I wondered about its origin. I had heard it was from Britain, hence the crown, but other than that, as far as I knew it could have been the name of another boy band Simon Cowell had discovered.
 |
| Original poster from 1939. |
I did my research because I wanted to share with you the napkin I pilfered from the home of my brother and sister-in-law over Christmas. Many of my readers know how much I love cookies. And though I didn't know what I was going to do with it at the time, I just couldn't see using it and throwing it away!
So I hang it on my fridge.
And take pictures of it for my blog.
I suppose you, too, can fill in the blank for how you could handle what comes your way in the year ahead: Keep Calm and ____________
Pray?
Drink coffee/wine/both?
Hide under the covers?
I think my Snickerdoodles have cooled. Care to join me?
LJ
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Lies for 2014
Dear Diary,
This Christmas I found out I am pretty good at lying.
I had appointed myself Game Director for a gathering with my family.
The Ding-Dong Bell game we attempted didn't go over very well.
I could tell by the blank look on my brother's face.
Or was that disdain?
Anyway.
We also played a game called Two Truths and a Lie. A person tells three things about himself (for instance, three of his favorite movies) except a lie needs to be part of the answer, which others try to root out.
"Movies" was just the warm up.
The Big Question was: What are your goals/What do you plan to accomplish in 2014?
I made up the question, for Pete's sake, you'd think I could come up with three answers!
As we all paused a moment to ponder this question, here's how it played out in my head:
=======================
Okay, my lie will be that I want to run/walk my first 5K.
That's actually believable since they know I am a walker anyway.
Plus it is the trend these days--everywhere you turn there is a 5K fundraiser.
Yeah that's a good one! Believable, but sooo not gonna happen.
Now for the two truths.
Hmmmmm.....goals for 2014.....
I know.
I will say I want to take a French cooking class....start a whole LJ & Julia bloggy kind of thing.
Wait a minute. That's another lie. And it's been done before. I need to think of a truth.
Uhhhhh.
Okay.
I will tell them I plan to audition for community theater.
They know how much I enjoyed acting in my school years.
Drat.
STOP THINKING UP GOOD LIES!!! I need a truth. A TRUTH!
I should change this game to Two Lies and a Truth.
What is something I do want to accomplish this year?
Wow. I'm blank.
This is embarrassing.
Maybe they won't notice if I just slip out of the room.
I'm suddenly very thirsty.
Okay maybe not thirsty exactly, but a drink would be really appropriate on so many levels right about now.
=======================
While I did enjoy the participation of others in this game, I ended up sitting this one out.
And, yeah, between sweet sips of wine, I did feel a little like a loser.
How could I not have any personal plans or goals for the year?
Honestly (honestly!) I just want to have a good year --a blessed year-- being a mom/wife, caregiver and friend.
I guess that makes me a good liar (or just a poor game player).
And maybe walking a 5K this year will turn out to be a truth after all.....naaah.
Happy New Year!
LJ
This Christmas I found out I am pretty good at lying.
I had appointed myself Game Director for a gathering with my family.
The Ding-Dong Bell game we attempted didn't go over very well.
I could tell by the blank look on my brother's face.
Or was that disdain?
Anyway.
We also played a game called Two Truths and a Lie. A person tells three things about himself (for instance, three of his favorite movies) except a lie needs to be part of the answer, which others try to root out.
"Movies" was just the warm up.
The Big Question was: What are your goals/What do you plan to accomplish in 2014?
I made up the question, for Pete's sake, you'd think I could come up with three answers!
As we all paused a moment to ponder this question, here's how it played out in my head:
=======================
Okay, my lie will be that I want to run/walk my first 5K.
That's actually believable since they know I am a walker anyway.
Plus it is the trend these days--everywhere you turn there is a 5K fundraiser.
Yeah that's a good one! Believable, but sooo not gonna happen.
Now for the two truths.
Hmmmmm.....goals for 2014.....
I know.
I will say I want to take a French cooking class....start a whole LJ & Julia bloggy kind of thing.
Wait a minute. That's another lie. And it's been done before. I need to think of a truth.
Uhhhhh.
Okay.
I will tell them I plan to audition for community theater.
They know how much I enjoyed acting in my school years.
Drat.
STOP THINKING UP GOOD LIES!!! I need a truth. A TRUTH!
I should change this game to Two Lies and a Truth.
What is something I do want to accomplish this year?
Wow. I'm blank.
This is embarrassing.
Maybe they won't notice if I just slip out of the room.
I'm suddenly very thirsty.
Okay maybe not thirsty exactly, but a drink would be really appropriate on so many levels right about now.
=======================
While I did enjoy the participation of others in this game, I ended up sitting this one out.
And, yeah, between sweet sips of wine, I did feel a little like a loser.
How could I not have any personal plans or goals for the year?
Honestly (honestly!) I just want to have a good year --a blessed year-- being a mom/wife, caregiver and friend.
I guess that makes me a good liar (or just a poor game player).
And maybe walking a 5K this year will turn out to be a truth after all.....naaah.
Happy New Year!
LJ
Friday, December 20, 2013
Canine Elf - IHS Moment #8
Dear Diary,
I have made mention of him before, my Charlie.
Our canine friends can be stinkers for sure (see Dissed by a Dog), so perhaps our little way of payback would be in the form of good natured ridicule.
(No dogs have been harmed in the making of this post.)
You've seen the pet shaming photos online: guilt-faced dogs and a conviction notice in the foreground, toilet paper kerfuffle or exploding pillow innards in the background.
And here is another way in which we annoy our dogs: dressing them up. And it sure puts a smile on my face! Check out this one-minute, extremely professional video....
Ok, not extremely professional, but it is waaay better than dogs barking out the "Jingle Bells" song, which made some professional more money than they deserve.
After all they put up with from us humans, don't let Santa forget your pets!
LJ
Our canine friends can be stinkers for sure (see Dissed by a Dog), so perhaps our little way of payback would be in the form of good natured ridicule.
(No dogs have been harmed in the making of this post.)
You've seen the pet shaming photos online: guilt-faced dogs and a conviction notice in the foreground, toilet paper kerfuffle or exploding pillow innards in the background.
And here is another way in which we annoy our dogs: dressing them up. And it sure puts a smile on my face! Check out this one-minute, extremely professional video....
Ok, not extremely professional, but it is waaay better than dogs barking out the "Jingle Bells" song, which made some professional more money than they deserve.
After all they put up with from us humans, don't let Santa forget your pets!
LJ
Monday, December 16, 2013
Why I Don't Drink Much Caffeine - IHS #7
Dear Diary,
I am having a love/hate relationship with my blog right now.
I love writing.
I hate that it is taking up so much of my mental time.
I am neglecting my chores and my Christmas preparations, and am cheating my family of a Christmas spirit I desperately want to feel.
On December 9, I challenged myself to post a joy of my heart each day until Christmas.
I am reneging that challenge.
It is no longer a joyful task.
Saturday's post did not get published.
I did write a post for Saturday, but the key idea was actually in a one-minute video I tried to upload. And tried,
and tried,
and tried again.
I wasted a lot of time.
No Can Do.
And I was more than a little irritated by it.
So, I need to have a reality check, stop obsessing and start living (and cleaning)! I need to start organizing, wrapping, and panicking about my (lack of) Christmas card ideas. I want to put joy back into my day, not just in one little gem I manage to pull out for these posts.
I need to chill.
So, while I will post more before Christmas, I am taking the pressure off of myself (which was soley put on by ME) to post every day.
So here is my IHS for today. It comes full circle to my advent calendar I alluded to on the 9th. It was homemade by church ladies, and it is adorable. Felt people with googly eyes. Hearkens me back to my childhood Sunday School days, with green felt boards and Bible story characters stiffly demonstrating the story at hand.
On this the 16th day of December, the procession of people and animals gathering to welcome the baby Jesus is getting quite large.
Here is what I noticed this morning.
Upon closer inspection, their googly eyes actually make them appear to have hada little waaaaaay too much coffee.
Yup. Wide awake.
I guess they don't want to miss Christ's coming.
Neither do I. So I'll catchya later.
LJ
I am having a love/hate relationship with my blog right now.
I love writing.
I hate that it is taking up so much of my mental time.
I am neglecting my chores and my Christmas preparations, and am cheating my family of a Christmas spirit I desperately want to feel.
On December 9, I challenged myself to post a joy of my heart each day until Christmas.
I am reneging that challenge.
It is no longer a joyful task.
Saturday's post did not get published.
I did write a post for Saturday, but the key idea was actually in a one-minute video I tried to upload. And tried,
and tried,
and tried again.
I wasted a lot of time.
No Can Do.
And I was more than a little irritated by it.
So, I need to have a reality check, stop obsessing and start living (and cleaning)! I need to start organizing, wrapping, and panicking about my (lack of) Christmas card ideas. I want to put joy back into my day, not just in one little gem I manage to pull out for these posts.
I need to chill.
So, while I will post more before Christmas, I am taking the pressure off of myself (which was soley put on by ME) to post every day.
So here is my IHS for today. It comes full circle to my advent calendar I alluded to on the 9th. It was homemade by church ladies, and it is adorable. Felt people with googly eyes. Hearkens me back to my childhood Sunday School days, with green felt boards and Bible story characters stiffly demonstrating the story at hand.
On this the 16th day of December, the procession of people and animals gathering to welcome the baby Jesus is getting quite large.
Here is what I noticed this morning.
Upon closer inspection, their googly eyes actually make them appear to have had
Yup. Wide awake.
I guess they don't want to miss Christ's coming.
Neither do I. So I'll catchya later.
LJ
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Pick Your Own IHS (#6)
This is my sixth installment of a series of posts describing an IHS moment leading up to Christmas. For those of you not keeping track, IHS means Inward Heart Swell, the antithesis of the IMG (Inward Mental Groan). It is my attempt to highlight the joy in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, or not-so-noticeable side of the Christmas season.
Dear Diary,
Today you can pick your own IHS.
I could have searched online for fabulous photos of a palm tree, crystal waters, and white sandy beaches, as well as the deep blue and pure white of an Alaskan mountain range or glacier.
Instead I chose a scene I see every day 'cuz it is my reality. I have cold weather friends and fair weather friends. Anyone who knows me knows which weather friend I am! So rather than hog this page with what I want to see, I thought I'd make it IHS friendly for all.
Which photo takes you to your happy place?
Photo #1
Photo #2
Come back and visit this page anytime you need a pick-me-up.
You're welcome,
LJ
Friday, December 13, 2013
Just Like Grandma Made - IHS Moment #5
This is my fifth installment of a series of posts describing an IHS moment leading up to Christmas. For those of you not keeping track (mom), IHS means Inward Heart Swell, the antithesis of the IMG (Inward Mental Groan). It is my attempt to highlight the joy in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, or not-so-noticeable side of the Christmas season.
Dear Diary,
Church cookbooks are the best. The are full of tried and true recipes that blue and silver haired ladies have been making for ages, and which have pleased the palates of the generations they serve. Orange Cake, All Day Stew, Sauerkraut Relish, German Chocolate Pie all tantalize the senses.
I have several of these books, and--heaven help me--they aren't all Lutheran!
The Lutheran cookbook does have a leg up on the other denominations in one area especially: Jello. Jello molds, salads, and desserts are a staple of the Lutheran cookbook, along with the Potluck chapter and - my favorite - the This & That chapter, for recipes so undefined and random they have no place in the regular sections of the book. (Wild Animal Milk, anyone?)
I am lucky enough have a recipe book from the churches of both my paternal and maternal grandmothers. They are special because I can find and use the recipes tagged with their names. They are (even more) special because my grandmothers have passed on to glory, leaving the need to cook and eat up to the rest of us waiting our turn to attend the heavenly feast already prepared for us.
Recently I had the privilege of making my grandmother's pie crust recipe.
I admit, it has been a while since I bothered (thank you Pillsbury!).
But really, my grandma's recipe is excellent -- and it makes about 5 crusts so I can freeze the extra, just like the dough boy's!
Who knew pie crust could give me such joy? But every time I pull one out of the freezer, I really do have a heart-filled moment.
Happy baking!
LJ
Dear Diary,
Church cookbooks are the best. The are full of tried and true recipes that blue and silver haired ladies have been making for ages, and which have pleased the palates of the generations they serve. Orange Cake, All Day Stew, Sauerkraut Relish, German Chocolate Pie all tantalize the senses.
I have several of these books, and--heaven help me--they aren't all Lutheran!
The Lutheran cookbook does have a leg up on the other denominations in one area especially: Jello. Jello molds, salads, and desserts are a staple of the Lutheran cookbook, along with the Potluck chapter and - my favorite - the This & That chapter, for recipes so undefined and random they have no place in the regular sections of the book. (Wild Animal Milk, anyone?)
I am lucky enough have a recipe book from the churches of both my paternal and maternal grandmothers. They are special because I can find and use the recipes tagged with their names. They are (even more) special because my grandmothers have passed on to glory, leaving the need to cook and eat up to the rest of us waiting our turn to attend the heavenly feast already prepared for us.
Recently I had the privilege of making my grandmother's pie crust recipe.
I admit, it has been a while since I bothered (thank you Pillsbury!).
But really, my grandma's recipe is excellent -- and it makes about 5 crusts so I can freeze the extra, just like the dough boy's!
Who knew pie crust could give me such joy? But every time I pull one out of the freezer, I really do have a heart-filled moment.
Happy baking!
LJ
Thursday, December 12, 2013
I'm No Scrooge!
Dear Diary,
"Whoever sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully......You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, which...will produce thanksgiving to God."**
Generosity.
Ask me what it means and I originally would have answered something like "the unconditional giving of material things." (Think Scrooge's attitude, after the visit from the three spirits!)
I could name several friends who have a propensity for generosity. Although they inspire me, I envy their ability to naturally do something I find a bit more difficult to do.
Then I realized, Bah, humbug, I'm no Scrooge!
To be generous is selfless.
It is loving and compassionate.
And, yes, I think unconditional is also a part of being generous (except for maybe the small favor of a receipt for tax purposes.)
And it doesn't have to involve money or a material object.
A person can be generous with their time and talents as well as their treasures.
A generous heart is full heart and, therefore, is a heart full of potential IHS moments.
God bless us, every one!
LJ
**This IHS moment for today was brought to you with the help of:
The Bible, 2 Corinthians chapter 9
Charles Dickens
and Walt Disney.
"Whoever sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully......You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, which...will produce thanksgiving to God."**
Generosity.
Ask me what it means and I originally would have answered something like "the unconditional giving of material things." (Think Scrooge's attitude, after the visit from the three spirits!)
I could name several friends who have a propensity for generosity. Although they inspire me, I envy their ability to naturally do something I find a bit more difficult to do.
Then I realized, Bah, humbug, I'm no Scrooge!
To be generous is selfless.
It is loving and compassionate.
And, yes, I think unconditional is also a part of being generous (except for maybe the small favor of a receipt for tax purposes.)
And it doesn't have to involve money or a material object.
A person can be generous with their time and talents as well as their treasures.
A generous heart is full heart and, therefore, is a heart full of potential IHS moments.
God bless us, every one!
LJ
**This IHS moment for today was brought to you with the help of:
The Bible, 2 Corinthians chapter 9
Charles Dickens
and Walt Disney.
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