A Mess by Any Other Name

   One of my frequent sayings is:  There are no failures in the kitchen, only alternative names.  By this I mean that the pie that crumbles to pieces when you attempt to serve it should now be called cobbler.  The bread that refuses to rise becomes pita bread. Not to mention Cajun cooking, which opened endless possibilities with the term blackened.  Even recipes that do turn out, like casseroles, benefit from being given a foreign name like pastisto, or goulash.
    I am wondering if I can use similar creative packaging to beautify my increasing aversion to house cleaning.  I have gone from cleaning weekly to cleaning weakly, from thorough cleaning to "lick and a promise cleaning" to "promise only" (who wants to lick?).  Yesterday I noticed a small clump of Maynard hair on the carpet.  I had two choices:  1) vacuum the entire carpet which, no doubt, needed it  2) discard the wad of hair.  My choice of  the latter option seems indicative my new philosophy.  It would not be quite honest to use the expression "less is more" so I propose "less is enough".  A more contemporary expression would be--minimalist maintenance.
   This is where the use of creative names comes in.  Now that distressed furniture is popular, perhaps the cat footprints I haven't yet detracked from my leather bench could be considered "pet customized".  The dog hair on the carpet could be natural fiber insulation. Another helpful phrase is frosted glass, whose possibilities I discovered by chance when, months after moving into our previous home, I learned the chandelier globes were actually frosted with a layer of dust.  The secret of frosted glass is consistency, sporadic dusting ruins the illusion.  I could even label my home as environmentally friendly, since bits of the environment are tracked throughout my house.  The word faux could cover a multitude of cleaning deficits, for instance, fingerprints could be considered faux texture.
    Pessimists are defined as seeing the glass as half empty, optimists see it as half full, people who see the glass as clean enough are usually called bachelors.  But, since I am long married, I choose to coin the term  adequists or, for picky people who insist on real words, taxonomists. There are no failures in my house cleaning, what I lack in diligence, I make up for in vocabulary.  "A mess, by any other name, would smell. . .?"
   

Looking for Lesser Heaven

    Our BSF leader, whose name always escapes me, (it's the same as mine) pointed out that thoughts of heaven are not as comforting to those of us who are already comfortable as to those enduring persecution.  Guilty as charged.  I was disappointed to learn my mentality hasn't changed all that much from my when I first learned about the Lord's return as a teenager.  I didn't want Jesus to come back then because I wanted to experience getting a driver's license, getting married, SEX, children.  The good thing is that I wanted those things in that order, the bad thing is that I wanted those experiences more than heaven.  Ironically, the God of the universe has given me love gifts and I have fallen in love with the gifts instead of the giver, like a woman who values her wedding ring more than her husband.  I am more ready for heaven now only because, except for having grandchildren, I have experienced most of the things on my to do list. 
     Part of the problem is that I still have a wrong view of heaven.  I picture myself in heaven occasionally glimpsing Jesus in the crowd, but never really having one on one time with him.  Sure he chose me, died on the cross for me, sought me out when I wasn't looking for him and beat me up with his Holy Spirit until I couldn't stand it anymore and got saved, but I'm still not sure there will be enough time in eternity for us to do lunch.  The other part of the problem is that I have a wrong view of the earth, I'm just a tourist here, my home is elsewhere.  My house is actually nothing more than a large suitcase that will be confiscated when I check out.  The lot it sits on is not our real estate, it is land leased from the true owner.  My "real estate" is in heaven, given to me by my adopted dad.  It is sight unseen only because no picture could do it justice and the temptation to check in early might make me do something stupid.  I am looking for a lesser heaven because I am looking around, not up.  I wouldn't pay extra money for a first class seat on a one hour flight when I knew I had a free, infinite upgrade when I reached reached my accommodations.  This life, however many years we have, is the short hop of an infinite journey, I don't want to waste it looking for a better seat.

Close Encounters of the Prayer Kind

   I blogged previously about some of the weird answers to prayers I have had in the past (see Why I Stopped Giving God Advice), but there are also times God answered before I knew I needed to pray.  For instance, just after we moved into our current home I got the stomach flu.  When I sent my son to the garage to get me a popsicle, he noticed the freezer wasn't very cold.  We didn't know that the outlet we had plugged the freezer into was broken.  If not for my flu, we could have lost hundreds of dollars worth of groceries. There are probably many times God has intervened to protect me before I even knew there was a need, this is just one I found out about.
     Another instance happened today.  At our church we make tapes and CDs of the Sunday services.  My job is to copy the cassettes, mail them to the shut ins, and take requested copies to church.  When I stopped at the church today I could only find one of the two envelopes of tapes.  I searched the likely places at my house to no avail.  I resigned myself to having to make additional copies and was cleaning the bathroom when the phone rang.  The nearest phone was in the computer room and lying near the phone was the missing envelope.  I must have answered the phone in that room yesterday while I was holding the tape envelope.  I don't use that phone often (nor do I dust that room often) so the envelope could have laid there for weeks.  I hadn't even bothered to pray about it, I could easily copy more tapes, it's just that losing things I know I had, even if its just a pen, makes me think I am also losing my mind.  I just might need that someday.
     In nursing terms, I would say that we most often think of prayer as being p.r.n., use as needed.  Answered prayer is one of the ways God shows us that he loves us and praying for answers makes us aware of that, but some answers are prophylactic, to prevent the problem.  Those situations: the flat tire that kept you out of the traffic pile up, the doctor who happened to be around when cpr was needed, and the many times we never found out what could have happened, are God working incognito, knowing he will never get the praise he deserves.  Isn't that just like him?
     Today's episode made my relationship to God seem like the one I have with my husband.  We anticipate each others needs, answer questions before asked, please each other in bed, with the familiarity that comes from long years together.  Mankind has long imagined extraterrestrials reaching out to know, help or harm us, but a God who desires such intimacy that he is willing to pick up after me--that is inconceivable.

A Scoff of Snow

     This winter we have had many predictions of inches of snow only to receive a skiff.  This has happened so many times I have begun calling it a "scoff" of snow, nature laughing at us for  the presumption of prediction.  So far the weather has been warm and sunny, my kind of winter, but I know for the sake of the farms and forests we need the added moisture snow provides.  I am not too concerned about the skiers, although they add to the struggling local economy, because skiing is basically an expensive hobby.  Another irony of the unusually low snowfall is that this is supposed to be a "La Nina" year, meaning unusually high snowfall. Residents of Seattle and Oregon would probably agree.
    There was an amusing letter to the editor of the local paper attributing our lack of snow to the wrath of the Jesus statue.  There has been significant local controversy over attempts by a Wisconsin based "Freedom From Religion" group saying the Forest Service has no right to grant a lease for the land on which the statue sits because of the separation of church and state.  They feel that having a statue of Jesus on an out of the way area of the Whitefish ski resort is cramming Christianity down someone's throat. That is like saying the presence of beer at the Mini-Mart  compelled me to become an alcoholic.  This statue was put up by a veteran's group in the 50's as a memorial to those who died in the war.  The lease of a few square feet of public land on which the statue sits has been renewed without question until this year.
     The public outcry on behalf of the statue has been loud.  Some want to keep the statue because of the happy memories it evokes of ski trips past, some as a tribute to the veterans who put it there, but most are mad that a group of Wisconsin loonies are trying to tell Montana locals what to do.  Admittedly, the statue is not a great work of art, but they aren't trying to remove it for lack of artistic value, they want to remove it because it is Christian.  There are eight reasons this is unreasonable:  1) There is no constitutional right to freedom from religion, unless it is opposite day. 2)  You can't see it from Wisconsin.  3)  People from here who don't ski have never seen it, including me. 4)  People who do ski in Whitefish have to go out of their way to see it.  5)  The presence of a statue on public land does not establish a religion.  6) It is an insult to the veterans who erected it.  7) To be fair, scripture and statues would have to be removed from public lands all over the country.  (This is what they want.)  8)  This country was founded by Christian men on Christian principles, those who find that offensive should leave.
     In the ensuing flurry of editorial letters came one from Butte theorizing that the reason snow storms have been diverting around our area is because the Jesus statue is unhappy over being evicted.  Butte, which boasts a huge statue of Mary called "Our Lady of the Rockies", was hip deep in snow.  I appreciated his sense of humor, but now I am beginning to think--what if?  It would hardly be the first time God used natural forces to show his displeasure.  Besides the Biblical accounts, my cousin, who attends a conservative Lutheran church in a liberal association, said that at the first conference in which they tried to endorse homosexuality, a wind storm came through and blew down the tents and tables set up to serve the participants.  During the Minneapolis conference, at the moment the homosexuality policy was approved, a freak tornado hit the hosting church and tore down the steeple.  When it came to rest, Jesus was hanging upside down from the cross.  I don't know if that was God showing disapproval or Satan putting his stamp of approval on the proceedings, but I don't have enough faith to believe it was a coincidence.  It is a dangerous thing to claim some act is God's judgement unless it is specified in scripture.  That audacity has led to all sorts of atrocity. And I don't believe God will punish local farmers and forests for the sin of the atheist "cheese heads".  I'd like to think it is punishment enough that they live in Wisconsin.  Still I wonder whether the skiff and the scoff and the ski hill are letters from the Editor.

The High Plateau

     I think one of the reasons middle aged is so named is because everything heads for your middle.  I have exercised at Curves for a couple years now and noticed that though many have lost limbs (achieved skinnier arms and legs), they remain thick around the middle.  Some think this is God's way of providing extra padding in case we fall down, but even I am not clumsy enough to require this much padding.  Exercise makes me feel better in many ways but has had little effect on eliminating excess me.  I was stuck on a high plateau.  Last year, through Weight Watchers, I was able to lose enough lard to breech the border between obese and  overweight.  Woohoo!  Since then I have been on another plateau, not in the nose bleed section I was in before, but a high plateau nonetheless.
    However my plump plateau came in handy at Christmas when both our house and my gut were filled with treats.  I discovered a fat fact facet:  What doesn't go down, also doesn't go up, at least in the short run--which is the only kind of run I am capable of. My lowly weight loss goal is to lower myself to a lower plateau. Even if I achieve that, it will not change the fact that my high plains have drifted to my middle aged middle.  There is no scenic overlook on the high plateau.
 

Table for Two

    This is another poem written about my grandparents.  The text is accurate, but the tone is not quite right and I can't pin down how to fix it.  But since I don't have another post quite ready, I will blog it anyway. It is a true story.


     Table for Two

When my grandparents
started their marriage in 1928
they lived in a two room homesteader's shack.
When they made their first crop
they bought a table and six chairs.
It was just the two of them,
but grandma was a good cook,
with a large family nearby
and, of course, the neighbors
would be visiting.

Thirty years later I was
one of that family
sitting around the table
sharing the food
and listening to the grown ups visit.
They had a different table by then,
but the cooking, the hospitality
was just the same.

Another thirty years later,
with our young children,
we visited them
in their rural home
later, in a bigger city
with better doctors.
Our annual visits began
in their four bedroom house,
then a three bedroom apartment
and finally, two rooms in an
assisted living facility
optimistically called "The Rainbow".

With no room for a sofa
little family nearby
very few visitors
Grandma no longer able to cook
and meals provided in the dining room,
Grandpa invited us to sit down and visit--
at the table.

Connie's Rules of the Road

     My rules of the road are not about driving, the state is not interested in my input, my rules are about walking.  I do not walk to exercise my body, I go to Curves for that, I walk to rest my mind and refresh my spirit.  It is not a good idea to rest your mind if you are dodging traffic, but I am privileged to live on a quiet street.  These are my rules:

1.  Never take a paved road when you can take a dirt road.  The small muscle movements when walking on a gravel road are good for your legs and sense of balance. The view is good for your soul.

2.  Never walk by houses when you can walk by trees.  See above.

3.  Take your cell phone.  Handy for emergencies, dandy for pictures.  DO NOT use it to make calls.  There are plenty of public places in which to be rude.  If you must reach out and touch someone--text.

4.  Take a dog, preferably your own, although in our neighborhood, neighborly dogs often offer to accompany me.  I actually prefer the dog over my husband (as a walking companion) because the dog doesn't talk to me when I'm trying to talk, and listen, to God.  Stupid dogs are best.  Their lack of pattern recognition makes  every walk a new and exciting experience.  Dog enthusiasm germs easily transmit to humans.

5.  If you can't find a dog, take a child although, for legal reasons, they should be related or have some reason to be with you.  Children haven't been around long enough to have pattern recognition so everything is new and exciting.  Quiet time may have to be sacrificed, but seeing the mundane through the eyes of children restores our minds in another way.

6.  Wear good, comfortable shoes, but not so good that you don't want to get them muddy.  See rule #7.

7.  Except for dry seasons, all the best places are accessible only through mud.  Mud is a small price to pay for adventure.

8.  Don't wear headphones.  There is enough noise in modern life. It distracts from noticing your surroundings, which is a waste in God's scenery and dangerous in man's.  Even listening to gospel music is less uplifting than listening to God.

 9.  Darkness falls and so can you / those who rise and walk before the crack of dawn are likely to fall and crack their head (or some other bone).  The outdoors is not going anywhere and is best viewed during daylight hours.  If you walk in town, darkness is more dangerous because the cars can't see you.  If you walk where I do, darkness is more dangerous because predators can.  Although mysterious animal sounds make for a good aerobic workout, they remove the restful aspect of the walk.

10  If there is time, take a different route home.  Turns a walk into a 2 for 1 special.

    Most of these rules would not apply to people who run for exercise, those people need all the distractions they can get and, in my opinion, mental help.  If you ever see me running, you should run too because it would mean I am being chased by a predator.  Busy lives give us plenty of opportunities to do but few opportunities to be, especially to be with God.  You can't take a higher road than that.

Critical Masses

     I am trying to develop my critical thinking skills.  Critical thinking is the ability to analyze information to form rational opinions and make good decisions.  My natural tendency is to agree with the bias of the person speaking as long as I respect them, at least until the next compelling speaker comes along.  I have not had the advantage of formal logic training but can usually spot obvious fallacies. That is the extent of my critical thinking ability.
     What I am a natural at, however, is thinking critically--about people, ideas etc.  The default setting of my brain is tuned to the "What Other People Should Do" channel, even though it is mostly reruns.  I don't need formal training in being critical, I could be an instructor.  Even though I know what other people should do to fix their lives, I am an optimist by nature, so being surrounded by misguided people doesn't depress me.  Remember those "What's wrong with this picture?" exercises in school.  I could do them, but with no great skill, partly because I am not particularly observant and partly because I am more likely to see the "wrong" thing as a good idea.  The kids who were good at "What's wrong with this picture?" were pessimists long before they could spell the word.
     Current American culture is majoring in criticism and conflict. No longer limited to food and entertainment industries, professional critics are spreading like mold through every media and the masses are welcoming into their homes as entertainment, behavior that would be considered unacceptably rude in real life.  Though blogging is often the computerized soap box of the critical masses, I am hoping to make mine more than a pedantic parade of personal pet peeves.  Anyone can find what's wrong with this picture, I want to find what's right--or, at least, what's light.

Packing It In

     Most years I pack away the Christmas decorations with solemn resignation.  The end of the holiday season means I am stuck with three more months of major winter and  minor holidays.  But this year January 2nd was a day of blue skies, sunshine and a balmy 40 degrees.  I packed the decorations in their boxes as if I were making room for spring.  Now if I could only pack the remaining Christmas cookies and candy away in boxes instead packing them in my mouth and storing them on my hips.  The Christmas tree is standing mostly naked in the living room, wearing only lights and fir.  It must know the end is in sight because for the past three days it has pumped out enough wonderful pine fragrance for me to be willing to keep the tree as an enormous air freshener.
     I fixed our traditional Christmas eve fondue, traditional semi-raw prime rib for Christmas dinner. (I thought having a convection oven would help, but apparently only if you turn that feature on.)  We had our traditional New Year's Eve party at my sister's house and blew up the gingerbread village--a new tradition I came up with.  And today was the traditional undecorating (spell check says that isn't a word, try dedecorating) of the house.  Though I tried not to mention my morning's efforts in front of my suggestible home care client, I wound up "un-ing" her apartment also.  (My choice of words is decorating this blog with red, squiggly, spell check lines.)
     But my main tradition for counting down to the new year is to count my blessings. I live in a warm, spacious, nearly-paid-for house with a Christian man who honored me by making me his wife.  We have three grown children who have become responsible, hard working adults and a son-in-law who answered my prayers for a godly husband for my daughter.  Since my husband values my company more than my income, I work very part time at a fulfilling job as a home health attendant.  Most days, before I leave my client says, " I had a good day today" and I walk to my car thinking they're all good days.  I have been blessed in every way imaginable in this life, and in ways I can't imagine in the life to come. In my life also there are seasons of joyful abundance and winters of discontent, but all are adorned with God's goodness and that will be all that matters when I pack it in.