Wednesday, April 25, 2007

To Please The Masses

Cookies. Gotta love 'em.

I was calmly making lunch when one of my brothers recently suggested a cookie baking afternoon. Unexpectedly, a huge wave of some indefinable something washed over me and I had a Need to make cookies. Right then.

Maintaining with difficulty my calm exterior, I inquired if we had the proper ingredients for baking. I ran over a mental checklist of the requirements for concocting my favorite recipe. Then I decided that we had everything we needed except shortening.

With butter for a shortening substitiution, I figured we would do very well. My brother, who had been scurrying about the kitchen searching for ingredients, asked--again--if cookies would be the order of the afternoon.

I shook my head in denial and got out the bowl and mixer. My Need was to be satisfied immediately!

Butter. Sugars. Eggs. All was well.

Baking soda. Salt. Baking powder. Uh, baking powder?

It was not to be found. Lost amid the still-looming towers of boxes that characterize our lives.

I searched online for an appropriate substitute. I was rather too deep into the recipe to turn back. Deciding that cream of tartar and soda would make an adequete substitute, I turned back to the bowl. For the first time, though, a doubt entered my mind as to the perfection of my final result.

My doubts only intensified when I realized that I couldn't find vanilla either. Nor was I exactly comforted by google's #1 hit on the search "substitute for vanilla." These were the words that met my eye....

"Vanilla extract is the simple, everyday kitchen something that you should have on hand for adding flavor to baked goods and desserts. There certainly is nothing simpler that you are likely to have on hand to take its place."

A little further research suggested substituting maple syrup. Unwilling to leave out the flavoring altogether, I grudgingly measured the syrup, wishing it were not too late to reduce the sugar in proportion.

The saddest of all my reflections, having appropriately mourned some of the flattest cookies known to man: I don't even know which substitution to blame for the failure.

It doesn't much matter. I mourned, after all, alone. No one in this corner of the world is inclined to grumble at anything that starts with a C., ends with an E., and has chocolate chips in it.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Peter

Coming down the stairs, I already know who stands at the bottom.

It's a nine year old boy with white-blond hair, big blue eyes, wearing a dark green sweatshirt. He's tensely crouched down, peering around the corner expectantly. I see a splash of color approximately similar to highlighter green, so I know he's holding a dart gun. I understand that I am walking straight into pitched battle.

I know who it is, crouching tensely at the bottom of the stairs, because I can smell him. It's not an unpleasant smell, exactly. Just not the smell you generally expect from a nine year old boy.

It smells something like chamomile body mist.

How the body mist entered our lives, I don't know. Someone probably gave it to Mom a long time ago. How the spray top broke, I also do not know. But it has been broken for a long time.

We packed and stored it, for reasons I, again, don't know. Probably because if you are any one of the majority in my family, you never throw anything away until it is definitely, wholly, completely, and forever useless.

I unpacked it a couple of weeks ago and it was set on the bathroom counter. It joined a haphazard assortment of shampoos, lotions, and body washes that I admit will probably never find their way to use in our not-so-hip lifestyle. That was when Peter first picked through the pile, looking for lotion.

He has always loved lotions. As a toddler, sharing my hand lotion was one of his greatest joys. Long before he could pronounce the words, he would proudly make the family round inviting everyone to smell his lotion.

"Maul my motion. Maul my motion." We used to exchange amused glances over his white-blond head, look into his big blue eyes, and...take a good sniff.

Anything that "mauled" good was his delight. It still is. When he found the chamomile body mist on the counter, he wanted to smell it. Sadly, though I never knew it before, it is difficult to smell the contents of a bottle very well if the spray top is broken off.

That was three or more weeks ago. The body mist, though still in plain sight on the counter, disappeared from my thoughts. Imagine my surprise when I learned today that though I had long forgotten, the nine-year old mind of my green-sweatshirted brother had not forsaken the hope of "mauling" the mist.

I was pulled rather unwillingly into the bathroom this morning.

"I fixed it," he announced, "I figured out how we can still use it."

Apparently, he joins the majority in our family. The majority that never wishes to label anything "useless." Smiling triumphantly, he turned the bottle upside down so that the perfume, compelled by gravity, dripped slowly out. Shall we, perhaps, rename it "body drip"?

I sniffed inquiringly on command. There's no question that it's a sweet smell, but it's not a scent I'll ever use. I left, ready to go back to my interrupted routine. A few minutes later, standing confidingly beside me at the front door, Peter, smelling now like a veritable perfumery, told me he had figured out how to take the lid off.

He also asked to keep the body mist. He wants to put it in his imaginary "clubhouse" outside. He doesn't know how he will use it; he only knows that it isn't definitely, wholly, completely, and forever useless.

Coming downstairs now, I see him in his green sweatshirt, tensely crouched, partially shielded behind a wall. I see the flash of highlighter green, the white-blond hair, yes, and the too-short khaki pants. I see him, ready to fight and conquer in the pitched battle at hand. And I smell chamomile.

I realize, in that moment, that he won't be nine forever. "Mauls" change to "smells" and someday, perhaps, scent will cease to delight him altogether.

But today....

Today, chamomile body drip in a broken bottle is a treasure to be hoarded in the imaginary clubhouse outside.

I wonder when I became too busy to thoroughly enjoy that special brand of pure, uninhibited pleasure found in the whiff of a sweet smell, and the thrill of crouching tensely behind a wall, confident in the power of a dart gun to put the world right....

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Perspective...

Paul: "Her hair looked like those people that make their hair all streaky-colored on purpose."

Me: "Umm, that's called 'highlights' and it's very expensive to do to your hair."

Paul: "Well, to me it looks like this girl got up in the morning and said to herself, 'Hmmm, I think I'll dye some of my hairs today.'"

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Tag

First, a word is in order about why-I-am-doing-this-tag-right-now. Which is...

Because.

Actually, Rachel is partly to blame. Procrastination is partly to blame. And a random need for a pre-written post outline is also (but only partly) to blame.

Here goes.

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4 and write what it says.

No book in arm's reach. How about a Potterybarn catalogue? "...shade where you need it. Each one is a rugged, weather-loving polyester canvas...." Patio furniture anyone?

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What can you touch?

All of nothing. My arm isn't four feet long. My arm isn't four feet long...thankfully!!

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?

A commercial? I was going to watch a video yesterday and I randomly caught some snippets of something or other as I was flipping channels down to dvd input...

4. Without looking, guess what time it is.

11:59 a.m.

5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time?

11:58 a.m. What can I say? I'm good with time.

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?

Traffic on the road behind the house, the refrigerator humming, my keyboard tapping, and Mom and the kids talking in the office down the hall.

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?

I took Paul out so he could run an errand today. I walked all the way from the house to the car and back.

8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at?

Umm....Rachel's blog?

9. Did you dream last night?

They say you dream every night. But, no, I don't remember anything particular.

10. When did you last laugh?

About two hours ago. We recently replaced the family computer and of course someone must try all the new games. I was watching someone play one of the silliest games I've ever seen. And I laughed.

11. What is on the walls of the room you are in?

Just a round wood wall hanging thing. It won't be staying there permantely, because it doesn't look so great on that wall--either in color or in size. It happened to come out of a box shortly after we moved. The majority of our "wall stuff" is still in boxes.

12. Seen anything weird lately?

One of my curls that refuses to order itself...even into the rather wild mass that is my hair.

13. What do you think of this quiz?

It's existence is opportune for such a day as this.

14. What is the last film you saw?

I am in the middle of Bleak House.

15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?

Buy? I'm a saver, man!

16. Tell me something about you that I don't know?

I really dislike nail files. They give me the shiveries!

17. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you do?

Eliminate all nail files. Isn't this a no-brainer?

18. Comment to President Bush:

Keep on keepin' on, Mr. President!

19. Would you ever consider living abroad?

Yes.

20. What do you want God to say to you when you get to heaven?

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

21. Name 4 people who must also do this quiz on their blog.

C'mon guys. I'm sure any four or more of you should jump at this chance on your own. You can always blame me for it. You don't have to do it right away. You can save it for when you have a random need for a pre-written post outline.

Or you could even do it just....

Because.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Thought Of The Day...

"I'd like to live in such a way that in the morning the devil would say, 'Oh no! She's awake!!"
-Anonymous

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Can You Say Blonde?

Sometimes, I don't know why I tell these stories....

I ran to the post office the other day to mail my grandparent's scrapbook. Actually, I didn't run at all. I drove. On an empty gas tank, no less. (And I do mean empty.)

I kept my eyes out the whole way there and back for the perfect gas station. By perfect, I mean any gas station that didn't force me to turn left across a busy downtown road. I also mean, not Arco. (Not to be picky, or anything.)

On my way to the post office, I found my perfect gas station...on the opposite side of the road. I decided to stop on the way back. Decided, and hoped sincerely that the tank still contained a few drops of petrol! Hey, what's life without taking an occasional risk?

So, on my return trip, I pulled off at the gas station. Pulled up to a pump. Scrounged in my wallet for my credit card (and found it). Got out. Stared in dismay. My gas tank was on the wrong side.

With a disgusted sigh, I popped back into the driver's seat, drove around to a pump on the opposite side, parked, and hopped out.

My tank was STILL on the wrong side. Honest, I don't know how it happened!

I hung my head as I slunk back into my car. Thinking very carefully, I circled the whole gas station, came around, and carefully parked. Hopped out, smiled sheepishly at my gas tank, and slid my card into the payment machine.

It wouldn't take it. I tried again and again. Again...until it told me to "*beep, beep* Please See *beep, beep* The Cashier *beep, beep* Inside *beep, beep* The Store *beep, beep* " I felt my face getting rather red as I tried to make the beeping stop.

Giving up, I glanced upwards briefly for a pump number, and headed for the store. I knew as soon as I stepped foot inside that the cashier had seen me driving around trying to get my gas tank right side in. She smiled knowingly as I handed her my card and explained the machine wouldn't take my payment on pump 7.

"Pump 7 or pump 1?" She inquired, sweetly.

I looked out the window, a little more closely this time. It was pump 1, of course.

The cashier slid my card.

"Enter your pin number," she commanded.

I started to enter it.

"Wait!!" she said..."Was that debit or credit?"

It was credit.

She re-ran the card. I guess ditziness is contagious.

Without further ado, I filled my 10 gallon tank with 10.35 gallons of gasoline. (Did I mention I was running on empty?) Then, I drove away. On a day where it seemed that anything could happen, I was more than happy just with driving....away.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Great Is As Great Does

I. Abhor. Uncertainty.

So...I guess it's obvious that after admitting recently that I don't know "what's up" for my immediate future, I've spent a lot of time feeling uncertain. Aka miserable.

I guess, after my most recent move, I’ve been feeling that I've "turned over a new leaf.” And, somehow, I expected it to say "new things." Surely, this time, the ten year plan would be there. What better time to turn from the daily grind to the dazzling, world-changing life I always wanted?

I wonder sometimes why I’m so easily discouraged by uncertainty. After all, it seems to be here to stay in my life. I know, of course, that part of it is a trust issue. But I've also kind of assumed that my discouragement could be partly blamed on all those many, many people who had expectations of me and my own battles with really wanting to please everyone. And, of course, my tendency to compare myself.

You see, this is the year that many of my high school peers will graduate with college degrees. Others are involved in career or full time ministry choices. This year, for the first time, 75% of the weddings on my calendar are in my age group--the kids I've grown up with!

Yes, by flat comparison, it seems my life has been filled only with general directions, vague hopes, and transient visions. That and cooking, cleaning, making pizzas, paperwork, "ministry opportunities" here and there, answering phones, cooking and cleaning...

It isn’t what I expected to find written on my post-graduate slate, much less the ten year plan. And that's where the Lord has met me. Why do I find uncertainty so discouraging?

Because, perhaps, my ideas of a meaningful life have all been just that. My ideas. I expected that to give me that meaningful life I so want, God would pick one of my ideas and tell me to run with it. God's idea has (obviously) been a little different, and amid my uncertainty lately I've also felt a little disillusioned. I realize that now. And the Lord hasn't neglected to show me why:

"I hear you ask Me what I want you to do for the next ten years--all the time. Why do you never ask, 'What do You want me to do today?'"

Yes, I've been faithful to ask Him about His plans for the future. But I've failed to get His direction for the present. Not having been faithful in the "little," how can I ask Him for "much"? I've been working on applying this lately, though I wouldn't exactly say it's exactly second nature. But, surprise! I've found, too, lately, a contentment different from any I've ever had before. A satisfaction in the small, the insignificant, the mundane. A knowledge that if that's what the rest of my life looks like, it's fine.

Because between God and I it’s all about faithfulness.

So here I am. No college degree. No full-time ministry or mission (as such). No job (and how I dislike job-hunting!). And no Mr. Right. But I've been busy. Cooking and cleaning, unpacking, running errands for my parents, looking for a job (because that looks like "the next thing"), cooking and cleaning...

I’m happy if He is.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Explaining It All

No one should be surprised if I do or say anything especially strange these days....

It's called T.A.X. T.I.M.E.

I finally muddled through my 1040EZ (now that is an oxymoron if there ever was one) for the good old U.S. of A. Then, Oregon was clamoring for her share so I labored even longer over my 40S or N or P (or something like that).

I must add my favorite refrain: "I'm not complaining." I just wish it all made a little more sense. Could this stuff really be more complicated if it was supposed to be hard?

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

She, uh, Missed One.....

I have been spending an hour or two every evening or two hard at work on a special project. I am making a scrapbook for my grandpa's birthday which is...a week from today. This, of course, is an open secret. Open to the world. Closed to my grandparents, please!

I was hard at work the other night, and realizing that I was near the end of the book I decided to spend a moment mentally planning the final pages to make sure I didn't run out of room. Looking at three of my favorite pictures, I mentally visualised two especially nice pages all laid out. But to make it "just right"--I needed the fourth picture. I turned to a stack of photos to isolate The One.

And then I looked. And looked. And....looked. I sorted through stacks of papers. Twice. I checked the floor. I checked my order confirmation to make sure I had ordered the print I thought I had. Finally, I sadly gave up the search--and the project--for the night.

Yesterday, I looked some more. (And looked and....you get the point!) I looked in an album I filled recently. Did I accidently put it in there? I checked behind and beside my desk. Twice. Peter even peered beside the desk with a flashlight, to be doubly doubly sure. I checked all the papers twice more.

Finally, I sadly weighed my options. Should I finish the album without the picture? Or order another print? To sacrifice my Just So Perfect Page seemed unthinkable. I logged into my photo account online to order the picture. The order cleared and my credit card was charged a grand total of $.16.

I went downstairs to work on the project feeling a little grumbly. Working away, I needed to look back at a previous page for some reason. Flipping back the pages, my eye fell on a completed page beautifully adorned with...My Just So Perfect Photo!!!

My newest grumble surfaces when I think of making a special trip to Wal-Mart to pick up a $.16 purchase I no longer urgently need.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

In Precession To A Forthcoming Post

My mind has been mulling over a post on what-God's-teaching-me-lines for the last couple of weeks. Yesterday, a close friend articulately touched near the topic on own heart in this post.

I immediately had some brilliant ideas when I read it. Such as stealing her idea and using it as the foundation for my own article. Or, easier yet, transferring her post word-for-word straight from her page to mine. I don't know how better to say it, after all!

I've decided to be honorable and just simply post the link. Please, go enjoy it...and when I post my thoughts on somewhat similar lines, you'll be the first to know.