this, that, and the other

What I wish married women knew about single women

2012-01-17T13:48:00.002-05:00

I started writing a blog post about the value of hard work but it started to sound a bit like Communist propaganda. So, I decided to allow it to sit for a while until I was in a less vehement state of mind to temper it.

Instead I will write about something that is near and dear to my heart and I've have about 10 years to contemplate it. In 2010 I wrote two blog posts about being single (you can find them here and here). I had such a interesting and good response to them that I decided to write a little more on being single.

Somehow I have managed to reach 30 untethered to marriage. This is not at all where I pictured myself at the age of 30. Perhaps that's why turning 30 has been a bit of a struggle for me. It could've also been the insane amount of stress associated with moving and renovating in the last six months.

I guess the misconception I would like to address has to do with the perceived freedom of singles. I've run into this problem time and time again with family and friends. First off let me assure you that I am single and quite busy. No, I do not have two toddlers hanging off my legs and a bun in the oven. Instead, I have a full time job that keeps me from home 10 hours a day with 1.5 hours commute time included. Also included is the fact that I still must keep house, just like any mom of three. Sure, I don't have five kids to mess it up the moment I turn my back. But I have dishes stacked in my sink from Saturday's dinner because after a day of hauling and stacking wood I was exhausted. I didn't do it on Sunday because it was Sunday and I needed to rest. And I didn't do it Monday because I had one hour between arriving home and Bible study. By the time I got home from Bible study, it was bedtime. So there my dishes sit taunting me in scummy filthiness.

It can be argued that I chose to be this busy. It can also be argued that the mother of five chose to have kids whether five were planned or not. So, let's level the playing field a little. God has chosen to place us in our indivual lives. Some of us are married, some of us are single. Had I chosen my path in life, it would've definitely included a husband by now. That's not how it worked out though. Instead of pining though, I chose to do something productive with my life. I have a career, not really something I planned on having. Honestly it just happened. Sometimes it is incredibly mentally draining. Just remember, mom, when you are exhausted from disciplining you strong-willed two-year-old all day. I am exhausted from mental strain of meeting an unrealistic deadline. Really, we have a lot in common.

Another misconception I run into is that being single is much easier than being married. I understand that marriage is a partnership being two sexes. I understand that means the "M" word. Miscommunication. It also includes compromise in order to not kill each other. But here's the deal, while you are working through a miscommunication to come to a compromise with you husband, I am wringing my hands over whether I made the right discussion to move to a partially renovated house. I'm agonizing over the fact that I'm leaving behind four years worth of lovingly nurtured and tended gardens and soil. And while I have a best friend to lean on, she is not my husband. She can decide to up and move to China tomorrow. In the godly sense of marriage, there is not that uncertainty with a husband.

I am single. I am not building a life with someone "till death do us part." I am filled with uncertainty for my future. I am burdened with being the sole decision maker in my life (I'm not negating that God leads my decision making but you get my point). I do not have the physical strong arms to lean into when life is simply too overwhelming. And please don't say that God is my husband. God is my rock. He can never fill the place of a husband. Just like God could never be the wife of Adam. When life does look overwhelming, I do seek the strength of God to pull me through and that's why I am not crushed as a single person. Honestly, I don't know how I would cope without God in my life as a single woman. He's the one that calms my fears when there's a domestic dispute within yelling distance of my house.

Sometimes I just want a man's strong arms to dig a hole. I want him to check my oil and fix my broken tail light. My dad has helped me in so many ways with these things but it never removes the desire to have a husband at home to meet those needs. I have learned to do a lot of these things myself to the point that I'm perplexed when a man jumps up and says "That's to heavy, let me carry that for you." At first I took it has a matter of pride until I reminded myself that a woman's body really wasn't designed to lift 50 pound bags of potting soil.

By now you get my point but let me add to this. While I am not in the "exact" same boat as a mother of four under five, our emotional struggles are not that different. We both deal with the overwhelming insanity life throws at us. But please don't resent your marriage or children because they tie you down. I understand that there are just those times when you need to sit in the bathroom with the door locked because you're tired of "Mooooooommmmmy". I cannot relate directly to you situation but I can relate to the rage of emotions trampling through your head a breakneck speed. We're emotional beings, us women.

So, to all you married women out there, the next time you're hanging out with your single friend ask her what's driving her nuts at work and compare that to how your kids are driving you nuts. Relate on how tied down you both feel to your families and jobs. Seriously the emotions are not different. Take five screaming kids apply the word STRESS. Take the phone ringing of the hook and an ad an hour past deadline, apply the word STRESS. Different, seemingly, unrelated situation–same emotion. Get what I'm driving at. Now, is not the time to compare and contrast lives. Now is the time to find our common ground and be encouragement to each other. I do not live in a blissful haven of singleness. Nor do you bask in the sun of marriage. While both states are deeply beautiful both states are equally difficult. The one thing they have in common is that they are where God has placed us, right now. We cannot change that. Now is either the time to embrace that or snub you nose at God. You choose.

Through the Front Window

2012-01-12T19:46:00.001-05:00

One of the benefits of this house are the sunrise and moonrise. With the short days I'm often up when the sun comes up. The other night I looked out the window just the catch this beautiful moonrise. I know these things happen on a regular basis but I never cease to be astounded by the beauty of the spinning of this planet.

It's the Random Things in Life...

2012-01-06T15:44:00.001-05:00

January Haiku

2012-01-01T19:16:00.001-05:00

January night
A fire cracklin' on the hearth
Warms the body's soul

Who are you and what have you done to my front yard?

2011-12-23T13:16:00.000-05:00

When I woke up this morning, I decided to buy a vacuum cleaner.

Because that's what everyone thinks about at 7 AM.

I shuffled my sleep drugged body down the hallway and into the living room where my laptop was located. When I walked into the living room I started talking to the rabbit. Yes, this is what happens when I am home by myself. I talk to the rabbit. As I peered at his cage I noted that Samson did not appear to be in his cage but was, in fact, sitting next to it in front of the front door. In the meantime, a glint of white, in my peripheral vision, distracted me from the escaped prisoner.

There, in my front yard, sat a mud spattered Dodge Durango. "Well…" I thought, "that's a bit peculiar." I gawked through the front window trying to discern if there was anyone inside. At the same time, I realized that I was prancing around the house in my pajamas. And then I looked at my fury little convict, took a step in his direction and watched as him streak behind the couch. Oh, yes, that bunny had been out all night, exploring, and had come to know the living room as his close and intimate friend.

I decided that the rabbit snatching would have to wait while I called Dad to notify him of the random truck in my front yard. Mom answered the phone since Dad isn't remotely functional until 8:30 AM. I informed her of the situation and she awoke my father with the news. In the meantime, I needed to figure out how to catch my furry beast who had no intention of being caught. This led to a five minute chase that included climbing over boxes and behind the Christmas tree. I cornered him and finally drug him out by his ears. I know, I just heard a collective gasp of horror but I was gentle. Although, he does appear to be giving me the cold paw this evening.

After banishing my fanged friend to his prison cell, I ate my soggy Rice Crispies and jumped in the shower. Upon exiting the bathroom, I heard someone pounding on my door. I assumed it was Dad but had a deep paranoia that it was the driver returning for his truck. I walked to the kitchen door and and opened it up (it leads to the studio) and about jumped out of my skin. Dad was standing there. I was expecting him to be at the outside studio door. With that rush of adrenaline I cleaned and unpacked the entire house in 1.5 minutes flat.

Before giving me a mild stroke, Dad had done a little sleuthing and concluded that the guy had driven in the driveway then through my yard to get back on the highway. But things got a bit sketchy when the driver attempted to return his vehicle to the road. Last night there had been a heavy downpour which had caused the yard to turn into an Irish bog. The other factor he had working against him was an incline off the road which causes me to fear for my life every time I mow it. Those two things combined plus his lack of directional skills caused him to plant his back tires about 8" in my front yard.

We weren't really sure what to do other than call the cops. I went on to work while Dad waited around for the police officer to show up. The cop was able to track the driver down. He told her that he was trying to make a u-turn. Initially, I thought perhaps it made sense. And then I remembered that I live on a dual highway. So…was he driving the wrong direction on the highway? It sounded all a bit sketchy to me. In the meantime, the tow truck decided to do a little Extreme Makeover landscaping in the front yard. The police officer decided to chip in and proceeded to get stuck in the yard also.

I got home early tonight so I had enough light to inspect the damage. The ruts had been all filled in. I thought it was a bit strange that Dad hadn't mentioned filling them in when I talked to him. I also noticed that the dirt color was different than the pile of topsoil nearby.

Later that evening a friend stopped by for a visit and as she walked in she handed me a note that had been stuck in the front door. It read: "Sorry for the inconvenience this morning. My apologies. If you need anything else, please call me at ___________. My name is ____________. Thank you." As if things weren't weird enough already. I called Dad later this evening to wish him "Happy Birthday" (I forgot and had to be reminded by both my sister and mother) and asked him if he'd filled in the ruts. No, he had not.

So, the man who I had been calling a drunkard all day had returned to my yard, filled in the ruts and left a note of apology. I kind of felt like a heel. Maybe he was a drunkard. But, I still arrived at the conclusion that common courtesy still exists. And I'm thankful he didn't pound on my door early in the morning and scare the crap out of me. The good news is that if that would've happened Samson would've been waiting to chew his ankles with his pearly white fangs. (The other scenario was that when Samson was free last night he stole the truck, went joy riding and got stuck in the front yard. Stranger things have happened. Right...Right?)

I knew that when I moved into this house someone would eventually end up on my front yard. I just didn't think it would happen one month after my arrival.

A Simpler Life: Wrangling the Internet into Submission

2011-12-20T13:27:00.001-05:00

The last year has left me feeling like someone removed my brain and ran it through a blender. Kind of like Egyptian mummification except my brain was replaced and I'm still alive. And I'm expected to continue living life normally even though I feel like my brain is seeping out my ears.

In order to simplify my life, I have spent quite a bit of time contemplating what contributes to this mushy brain syndrome. The very first thing I decided was that I needed to write it down. While thinking is an excellent practice, too much of it without organization often leaves me more confused than when I started. The second thing I knew I needed to do was write it here. Why? Because making my intentions of a simpler life known to friends and family keeps me accountable.

So how does this simpler life work? Good question. I started by accessing the things that take of the most of my time. Sleep, work, internet, driving and housekeeping. Sleep is essential and I aim for about 8–9 hours per night. Work keeps food on the table and a roof over my head. Driving gets me to work so that I can accomplish the previous. Housekeeping simply means I try not to live in a pigsty. But that word right in the middle...well, that is the great murderer of my time.

When I am bored, internet is there to save the day. I waste hours surfing the internet and cruising social media. While realizing the waste of time the internet has been for me, I thought that there must be one redeeming quality to its infinite accessibility. You may laugh when I say this but go ahead. Recipes. For instance, I have 5 ingredients in the fridge. Often I go to the internet to find a recipe that includes those 5 ingredients. While that is useful, I also recognize that it destroys my own culinary creativity. How else do magnificent cookbooks appear? Because cooks and chefs, alike, got creative.

One of the other things I use the internet for a lot is researching gardening and DIY projects. While I find quite a bit of useful information, I also stand with my previous statement, it often destroys my creativity. Essentially, I turn my brain off and allow the internet to think for me. At the same time, I am not a horticulturist and need the internet to give me tips on what it causing fungus on those tomato plants so I don't loose a year's crop.

I have come to the conclusion that the internet is one big fat waste of time. What do I do to change that? I have decided that I will designate a certain number of hours to internet usage per week. Right now I'm going to say 4.5 hours. That, of course, does not included the internet usage required for my job. If I see that it's too much time I'll dial it back a notch. I have also decided that I need to be more intentional about my internet usage. Ok, I know that sounds weird. As I mentioned before, I often use the internet for recipes, gardening and DIY research. Instead of immediately heading straight to the internet when a question/thought pops in my head, I'm going to write it down. I have a feeling that by the time I sit down to use the internet, I'll have already answered some of those questions on my list.

I have several other ideas that I intend to implement to simplify my life and I will share them with you over the next two weeks. We are in the season of contemplating and making New Year's resolutions but that's not what it's about for me. These are life resolutions for me—changes that I want to be permanent in my life.

Wrecked for Christmas

2011-12-12T21:24:00.000-05:00

Last Friday night I had a meltdown over putting up the Christmas tree. The past six months have been some of the more stressful months of my life. I'm ready for life to return to "normal." Christmas is my favorite time of year. Honestly, it's not about the gift-giving for me. It's about the traditions that surround Christmas. I love decorating with the green and red and driving up at night with candles shining from every window. My Christmas tree meltdown centered around the destruction of my traditional perception of Christmas. I didn't realize it until those moments but I thought Christmas was only Christmas when all the decorations were up. That realization made me feel empty.

On top of that I found gift-giving a bit stressful. It's been a struggle between not knowing what to get people and trying to legitimize giving another gift to children who already have everything they need. The frustrating part is I love to give people gifts. But, I hate giving gifts when it's expected. Why can't I just pick something up, I know is special to someone, and give it to them right away? Why do I have to wait for a highly commercialized holiday that has been sucked dry of it's meaning?

Initially, I had contemplated doing the whole World Vision gift thing again. It didn't seem right though. I felt like there was something deeper I needed to learn this Christmas. As I was pondering this sticky situation I realized that while the celebration of Christmas centers around Christ, it was never practiced in the Bible. For some reason, when I realized that I knew that I had stripped Christmas down to a skeleton.

And that's when Christmas began to be reconstructed in my life. I began thinking about the saint that shares this holiday with Christ. Saint Nicholas. To do a cursory search on Saint Nicholas rendered much in folklore but nothing that seems to be truly factual other than that he lived and died. According to legend he inherited a considerable sum of money and gave it all away. Therefore, that would make him, by today's standards, poor. On top of that the man, Christ, for whom the holiday is named, was little more than a pauper himself.

So, where does that leaves us Christians in the craze to buy the biggest and best gifts this holiday. I'll tell you where it leaves me. Empty. I have been fed a big, fat dose of poison by my culture and society. If you go to church, you hear "The real meaning of Christmas is Christ." And then we tear into overpriced wants on Christmas morning that end up broken or on the Goodwill pile next year. This year I've been faced with the reality of real needs from real people. People who need clothes, heat, electric and a septic system. And they are in my own backyard. My country. Then I turn around and look at the pile of gifts I bought...

While I am not knocking the traditions of Christmas, I am trying to dethroned Christmas as we perceive it. I don't believe gift-giving is wrong but when it gets in the way of paying someone else's electric bill so it won't be shut off, then I call it wrong. When I moved, I realized how much money I had spent on stuff I really don't need or even want. I can't get over it. Every time I walk into my house and see the boxes of things that still need unpacking (that I've lived without for the last month), I feel a unrest in my soul. It keeps telling me that something is wrong. My priorities are messed up.

This Christmas, the best gift I have received it having my perception and approach to Christmas messed up. It's wrecked me. I'll never be the same. My hope for Christians this year is that the stuff really won't matter. My prayer is that family, friends, enemies and the least of these will be the only thing that matters to them. I pray that God will wreck them for Christmas.

Dirty Underwear

2011-11-21T15:56:00.001-05:00

Men are going into my house today. The house that I moved into a week and two days ago. They are working on the air vents that carry warm air into my house. About half of the vents are accessible. The other half...well, they're buried behind mounds of precariously stacked boxes. I am not at home. I am at work. These men will be in my house working on vents next to my dirty laundry.

"Oh please God do not let there be dirty underwear lying about."

My father will be there. Hopefully he will hide my undies. That concept still disturbs me but at least it's not a stranger. My father will graciously clear a path to the vents but I am still horrified at the conditions they will be working in.

The kitchen counters are covered with debris and I'm not sure that I've wiped them off since I've moved in. I stomped through the kitchen wearing dirty boots on Saturday and haven't swept the floor yet. This morning I packed a box of inherited china that I'm hoping no one decides to use as a stool. Yesterday we cleared a space in the middle of the living room so we could use the fireplace and have a sofa to sit on. That means, the vents in that room became even less accessible.

I knew that these men were coming today, as did my parents/landlords, but what we didn't know is that they needed to be in the house. We figured that sealing the ductwork meant they would be under the house. Hence, my frantic search for the lawnmower key the morning since it was parked in front of the crawl space access hole.

What I didn't know is that I needed to be hiding my dirty undies.

"All I ask Lord is that this not be one of those houses that these men go home and tell stories about."

The Fight

2011-11-17T12:58:00.001-05:00

Nobody tells you that life is hard when you're, oh say, five years old.

Nobody tells you when 16 either. Or 21, fresh faced from college and ready to conquer the world.

No, I found out somewhere around the age of 29 that life doesn't pan out the way I plan. More often it ends up like a stubborn knotted shoe lace. Since about May my life has been packed full of hard work and stress. Just about the time I think I have one problem figured out another pops up. And then there are the phone calls bringing news of divorce, abuse, serious car accidents and cancer diagnosis. Eventually, I just want to sit in corner and peel paint off the walls that I carved out precious evening hours to paint.

I said something to my sister about this: "I came out of college ready to conquer the world and now I'm turning 30 and jaded."
She replied, "But by the time you reach 40 you've decided to live and make the best of it." It pays to have a sister 11 years, 10 months and 14 days older than me.

Everywhere I turn I feel like a ship battered in the storm. Suddenly, I find a stolen fifteen minutes in the bathtub with a book a vacation. Today, I found a war within myself. I was struggling to find the silver lining amongst life's crashing waves. I knew I needed a life preserver so I looked up John Mark McMillian on Spotify. I wasn't really paying attention to the lyrics as I was sadly texting a friend to cancel an outing. I was staring at the computer when I came to myself and started listening to track four.

Chase me down like a lion

Like a bird of prey

Lift me up from the ashes

Of my hearts own shallow grave

Cause I know that I love you

But sometimes I’m afraid

Whoa oh…

Spare my body from the wolves, God

That crouch down at my door

Lift me up above the waters
And the sharks that guard your shore
Cause I know that I need you
But sometimes I know it more

Whoa oh…

Harbor me in the eye of the storm

I’m holding on to love you swore

I felt like I was listening to one of King David's Psalms. And right then and there I knew I was going to be alright. God is going to harbor me in the eye of the storm because He swore to love me. He sees every moment of every day. He knows my inner turmoil and the pain of my heart. He sees my stolen tears crammed between moments of frustration. I can't stop the whirlpool that spins me out of control. It's the ride of a lifetime. One day these pains will only be a distant memory. I seek God in order to live a life of authentic faith. Glorious moments occur in life but in a split second. I once though that life with God was one extended glorious moment. That because I knew God, life would be easy. An authentic faith is not easy. It's a fight. Hence Paul's many reference to fighting the good fight and the armor of God. If it were easy we wouldn't need armor to fight anything. We'd be feasting on milk and honey in our castles on the hill.

In the meantime, I choose to fight and find those moments of joy. I choose to be content in my life. The life that God has chosen for me to live. When life's circumstances threaten to overwhelm to me, I will remind myself that God saw this coming and is all around holding me up. When I crawl out of bed in the morning, I choose to pick up my sword and conquer the day. I will not allow this life to defeat me.

Moving Day

2011-11-12T12:51:00.000-05:00

(I wrote this on Sunday, November 13)

Who knew that, between Rachael and I, we could accumulate so much stuff. I had a herd of angels who graciously descended and helped us transport our worldly goods from point A to point B. Between watching Hoarders, American Pickers, watching my parents clean out this house and moving into this house I have come to one conclusion: We must purge. If I look at it and think, "Why do I have this?" It's a good indication that I should remove it from the premises.

I've noticed this weird problem in the last couple of months. I keep moving certain objects around the house. They are objects that I cannot, for some reason, find a place for. It has got to be the most ridiculous habit ever. It's as if there is a lapse in my synapsis to process that I must put the object in it's proper place. More importantly, "Where is it's proper place?" Ah, the crux of the problem. Those stupid little things that never seem to have their place.

I read on a blog once that one habit of highly organized people is that they have a place for everything. I've concluded that I'm not highly organized. I consider myself semi-organized. That means I know where most of things are in my house. The semi part happens when life happens. Everything gets thrown on a pile. Eventually, when I get around to sorting the pile, I discover missing objects such as a hammer and insulated mug in the shed. I've only been looking for both for several months. They've been there since my last birdhouse project...I'm not sure when that was but I do know it involved my buying a new jigsaw. By the way, where is that jigsaw? Probably at the top of Mount Doom in my living room.

Mount Doom Angle A

For the most part, Rachael and I were staying one step ahead of our merciful angels. That means that we were able to pack just enough ahead of them to keeping them coming back for more. The only problem with that type of frantic packing is that we ended up with random socks in the same boxes as the plastic wrap. I have a feeling I'm going to discover more boxes on Mount Doom like that. Even better, towards the end, we stopped labeling boxes. It's going to be like a Jack-in-the-Box. I never know what's going to jump out and scare the crap out of me.

Mount Doom Angle B

Since Dad is still working in the kitchen and the studio is not complete, everything that belonged in those two room plus the living room is in the living room. Hence the Mount Doom reference. I tried to keep some semblance of order but toward the end we were all tired and I was just happy if my stuff wasn't lying strewn throughout the yard. Although that may have been a better option since it would probably be gone in the morning like the old toilet that use to be by the well in the front yard.

We still have work to do at the old house. A few odds and ends are lingering in the shed, the house needs to be cleaned and a few plants dug out of the flowerbeds. Thankfully, I have Tuesday off and will be working my tail off to get those things done. In the meantime, I will gratefully thank my Lord for making Sunday a day of rest and stare at the green walls of my room (the TV and DVD player are currently in Mount Doom somewhere).

The changing of the guard

2011-11-08T13:14:00.000-05:00

In a few short days I will no longer occupy a house on a street corner in Greenwood. I will no longer hear the barking of the neighbor's dogs from every side. I will no longer listen to cheering from the Little League field. I will no longer be awoken from my Sunday afternoon nap by my neighbor mowing or revving his truck. I will no longer have to worry about people seeing my underwear when I hang it on the clothes line.

Instead, I will live with the constant din of traffic streaming up and down 13. I will live next to an establishment with a less than savory reputation. I will live across from a local vegetable stand which I can walk too if I dare my fate with high speed traffic. I will watch people get pulled over by the local, overambitious police force.

I'm going to miss that little house in Greenwood. But I'm not going to miss the dining area floor shaking every time I walk across it. I'm going to miss friends stopping by on an evening walk. I'm going to miss the neighborhood gossip and the local hooligans running around. I'm going to miss the interest of living in a small town.

On the other hand, I'm going to enjoy more indoor/outdoor space and watching the sunrise from my living room window. I'm going to enjoy big shade trees and magnolia & holly greens for Christmas decorations. I'm going to enjoy expanding my garden and creating an inviting outdoor space destined for a multitude of summer evening cookouts. I'm going to enjoy a larger studio space to create in and pursue ideas/concepts. I'm going to enjoy a workshop where I can work with my hands. I'm going to love the wood burning fireplace (it's the one thing I've missed the most since I've moved).

Moving and renovating is stressful and exciting. It's a double edged sword that pumps through my viens in a combination of adrenaline and panic. I've spent hours stressing over tile for the kitchen backsplash, paint colors and flooring options. While I find it fun and exciting, I also find it frustrating when my preferences always lean toward expensive. I want amazing and cheap. Wrapped in shiny paper and a pretty bow on top, please.

So, in spite of the dark circles under my eyes and the frantic packing at 6:30 in the morning, I'm excited to move this weekend. I'm tired of commuting that 2 miles back and forth and ready to just be there. This week that little house, on the street corner, stopped feeling like home. Last night we put the new (used) table in the kitchen and it felt like home. Now, I just feel like I'm staying at someone else's house and it's just weird that my clothes are in their closet.

Saint Johnstown sunset

2011-10-24T20:09:00.002-04:00

I haven't updated lately so I thought I'd share this picture from the the day of my birth 30 years later.

Home is where the most stuff you own is...

2011-10-12T13:51:00.000-04:00

So I figured I should pop in here and give a little update on life and the progress of the Promised Land. As you can tell I haven't updated in a while and from what I've read about being a "good blogger", I'm being bad. To which I say, "Go pack sand. It's my blog, I'll do what I want."

When contemplating how to describe my life, I envisioned myself as a ping pong ball being slammed back and forth between home and work. And I'm not talking about the friendly table top game between friends, I'm talking Bruce Li ping pong champion.

Yeah, that's my life.

I'm waking up at night with my mind racing, trying to figure out how to get so much down before October 31, aka D-Day. So, I wake up a little earlier and try to cram in an hour's worth of house work before work. My caffeine intake has risen dramatically.

I have this thing I do when I'm under a lot of stress. No, it's not a nervous twitch/convulsion. I look for the light at the end of the tunnel. And then I grab ahold of it and hang on for dear life. Just about when I think my head is going to explode, it's over. At least that's what I tell myself. It helps me get through the day.

The status on the Promised Land is ND. Otherwise known as Not Done. There are a mere 2.5 weeks left in this month and I often find myself reaching for a paper bag.

"What's that for?" you ask.

Either to throw up in or to help me keep from hyperventilating.

Honestly though, I'm dealing with this stressful situation well. Several years ago I experienced the precursor to panic attacks when under immense stress. My chest would get tight and a deep breath was hard to come by. I promised myself I'd never let myself get to that place again. And by the grace of God I've never been there since.

Back to the Promised Land. The bathroom and my bedroom are almost complete. The septic system is in, functioning and grass is growing at a steady pace. Rachael's room is on hold until next week when a contractor will replace the floor and joists below. The living room is being prepped for painting. The kitchen is being prepped for cabinet removal and installation. One of the family room walls will be water proofed along the foundation next week. The porch is on and the roof and eaves are progressing nicely. Had it not been for the rain, it might've been done this week. The flooring for the entire house has been ordered, as well as the ceiling for the living room. All window, but three, have been replaced.

In the meantime, I pack a box here, paint a wall there and try to deal with my still productive garden. And drink copious amounts of caffeine.

The Changing Face of My Faith

2011-09-10T22:19:00.001-04:00

If I asked you what you were doing when you heard that the twin towers had been hit by planes, you would be able to tell me in detail.

I had returned from Israel a little over a month before. When I left my mother country I didn't know who would be taking the oath of office in January 2001. When I left my country, it was safe.

I was willingly walking into the firestorm of the second intifada. I was leaving my safe country for a country filled with war and death. I would sit in my apartment in Jerusalem and hear the rumble of bombs in Bethlehem. I could hear helicopters fa-waping overhead as they headed to and from the firefights. I was told that if I heard a loud explosion-type sound to listen for sirens. If I heard them, it was a bomb. If I didn't, it was a sonic boom. Comforting words.

I remember an event that clarified how much danger I was in. One afternoon I, along with the two girls I lived with, were shopping in the Old City for groceries. We were making our way through the Arab Quarter when we spotted two masked men, several yard from us, attempting to destroy a surveillance camera. It seemed as though time stopped as I processed the significant danger that I was now in. I remember the tension as eyes turned to the men–the Arab men and women's palpable support of the rebels. And just like that. It was cover. From out of nowhere two Israeli soldiers appeared and drug off the two men.

When I came home people asked me if I wanted to go back. No, I didn't. If I told them that I didn't, I often got appalled looks. Why wouldn't I want to go back to the land that Jesus walked? Because it was a very hard place to live. I was tired of always looking over my shoulder and being crassly yelled at by men. Israel is not a safe place.

In my mind, the United States was. Until September 11. I had only been home about a month when the twin towers fell. About a week after I was home a Sbarro pizza was bombed in Jerusalem that I had walked by two weeks before. The knowledge was sobering. It was a place that I had touched. Until that point, nothing that close had happened to me. Until September 11. My safety was shattered in a split second. I remember the train wreck of thoughts crashing through my head as I watched the towers collapse. I left the fragile nation of Israel to return to a country beginning a war.

All this, and I was only nineteen, almost twenty. I hadn't even finished college. The country that I would live in for the next 10 years would change dramatically. It would go from an economically stable nation with jobs for all, to a struggling economy filled with high unemployment. This was not the Reagan Era and I had to make a go of it. I finished college and worked jobs that payed the bills until I landed a design job that kept me running. That is, until the housing industry tanked.

Now, I have left my "country" of safety to one filled with uncertainty. The prosperous nation I once knew is beginning to fade into history even when people tell me that we'll pop back. And maybe we will.

What this uncertainty has done is shake my faith. Growing up in a society filled with everything you needed and an easy access to it, made for a cushy life. My parents didn't give me everything I wanted and taught me to work hard. But, it was easy to get pulled into the knowledge I could get whatever I wanted. I grew up in a culture where I didn't need God to get the job done because I could do it myself. Now, the ability for self-sufficiency has been taken from me. And whether we as American Christians want to admit it or not, our faith is shaken.

I find myself as a crossroad trying to decide if I will allow God to control my future or if I need to hold onto the reigns a little longer. You see, my faith was weak 10 years ago. Even though I am filled with uncertainty and questions, I am convinced that this is a process that will transform the face of my faith in God. I no longer look to America to protect me but God. Now I pray prayers that sound more like King David's "Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings, from the violence, my deadly enemies who surround me." (Psalm 17:8-9) My faith is changing to sole dependence on God instead of man and his fallible governments.

We live in uncertainty today. We hear of war and rumors of wars. Natural disasters are seemingly out of control between tornadoes, flooding, hurricanes, wildfires and earthquakes. Time and time again I hear people saying this is a wake up call for the American church and that the end times are approaching. I can't agree and disagree more. The fact of the matter is, God has been trying to get our attention all along. It's that still small voice that Elijah heard on the mountain.

And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.

God's not in those things, they just conveniently work to His benefit. I find it sad that natural disasters and life's hardships are what's forcing me to listen to God's still small voice. But my faith must endure the fire to be pure gold. "In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ." (1 Peter 1:6-7)

And as far as the end times go, with every breath we draw we get closer to them. I get so tired of the reactionists who say that this or that world leader is the antichrist. Or every time a natural disaster strikes it's a sign of the end times. Here's the deal, the Bible says that "the Lord will come like a thief in the night." (1 Thessalonians 5:2b) The point of that statement is that we are not to encourage us stock up on canned goods or quick get married, to the wrong person, so you can have sex. It's meant to challenge you to live a full and meaningful life. A life that pleases God.

So when uncertainty surrounds you cling to the one sure thing. God. Don't live in fear for the future, live in faith for the now.

Dating Rule No. 1

2011-08-31T14:03:00.004-04:00

Don't send your little brother next door to ask a 29-year-old woman to be your girlfriend.

Last night I was standing in the kitchen washing some dishes when the front doorbell rang. I figured it was the neighbor kid. Recently he rang to doorbell three times in one day. I was not impressed. Since I was washing dishes and Rachael was closer she answered the door. On our front steps stood Robert.

Now let me just tell you a little bit about Robert. The first time I saw Robert was upon my return from a ladies retreat about three and a half years ago. Rachael and I were sitting in the car having a rather intense, reflective discussion. As we were discussing some point from the weekend, I looked over and saw Robert. He had climbed on the supporting 2x4s of the fence and was edging his short, pudgy body along while clinging to the fence top. That, in and of itself, was not unusual for a little boy. What made the situation highly entertaining is that he was engaging in an extremely serious conversation with himself. His brow was furrowed in concentration while his mouth flapped non-stop. If I were my neighbor, Stanley, I would've berated the young hooligan for challenging the integrity of my fence. Instead, Rachael and I entertained ourselves watching him. Something about his unabashed imagination reminded me of myself.

Throughout the last couple of years I have observed and encountered Robert on many occasions. His home situation is somewhat lacking parental stability and as a result he ran my neighborhood streets. His most notable ability is rollerblading. He also came over for smores one night when I had friends over. One day I saw him, from my kitchen window, running through the neighbors lawn "watering" their plants with a bottle of Gatorade. That prompted me to name him "the Hooligan" before I knew his name was Robert.

During a Christmas delivery of cookies Rachael discovered that Robert had a teenage brother. Interestingly enough, we did not know he existed. Nor did he know we existed. In fact, about a year ago he discovered that I existed. I drove past their house on my way home one day (not a common occurrence) and he was sitting on their front steps. I estimate him to be about 17. I barely got in the back door of my home when the front doorbell rang. I opened it to find Robert standing on my sidewalk. He somewhat dubiously asked me how old I was. I informed him that I was 28. He nodded his head seriously with a look of confusion on his face and walked away muttering "My brother wanted me to ask. I don't know why." Why, dear boy? Because he is a hot-blooded male.

This story really is leading to last night's doorbell ring.

Last week I was stomping around in my garden when Robert startled me from behind by asking how old I was. This time I was somewhat confused. I'm only a year older than I was last year. What confused me was that he said he was supposed to ask me. I'm sorry, wasn't the census last year? I told him that I was 29. Several minutes later he was back asking how old my "sister" was. I mistakenly told him she was 28. I forgot she had a birthday recently and we happen to be the same age. I found it to be a bit odd and perplexing but shrugged it off and continued my pre-hurricane trauma preparation.

Well, last night I found out why he was asking our age. When Rachael opened that door to reveal Robert, he placed this request at her feet, "My brother wants to know if you'll be his girlfriend?" Rachael replied that no, she was sorry but she could not be his brother's girlfriend. She was very kind and did not laugh in his face (as I would have done). Rachael could tell that Robert was embarrassed and didn't want to make it any more uncomfortable for the poor child. Robert walked away to deliver the sad news to his teenage brother. Rachael huddled in the kitchen and told me the news as we watched him dubiously walk down the street. I announced, with much bravado, that she should've told Robert to tell his brother to grow a set. Thankfully, Rachael is much kinder than I am.

Faith in the Storm

2011-08-27T19:41:00.000-04:00

Are you experiencing stress-induced anxiety due to a hurricane?

Yes.

Would you like to sit in a closet and suck your thumb because of a hurricane?

Yes.

Is the sound of incessant rain and wind pounding you house causing you to become insane?

Yes.

Would you like Hurricane Irene to go away?

Yes.

Is it going to?

Not at the moment, maybe tomorrow.

Let's be honest. I have been a bundle of nerves for the past 48 hours. Ever since they ordered the evacuation of the Ocean City, I have been running through different horrific scenarios in my head. The fact of the matter is that none of that has done me any good. I'm pretty sure Rachael is stressed out just dealing with my roller coaster of emotional swings. One minute I'm cracking a joke about the hurricane and the next I'm stress cleaning the bathtub to fill with water.

Through it all, Rachael has been a steadying influence in my emotional wrought state of mind. I asked her last night, "How are you so calm?" She told me, "I just trust that God is going to take care of me in spite of everything." For some reason, I have a problem giving over control of the storm to God. Ok, so I have control issues. No really, I'm not kidding. This is super important.

The reason I am filled with anxiety is because I don't have control over this storm. It's like this precious object that I clutching to my chest to protect it. When you think about it, it's down right silly. In the Bible there is a verse that speaks directly to this particular issue. It's found in Matthew 8:23-27:

²³ Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. ²⁴ Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. ²⁵ The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!” ²⁶ He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.
²⁷ The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”

These are the verses I'm clinging to tonight as the eye of the storm passes over us. It was hard to hold onto them when I ran out to fix the drain spout. But, they've held fast for 2000 years so I think they'll hold up through this storm. I have a little faith, I'm hoping it will grow this weekend.

...even the wind and waves, even the wind and waves.

Why I Believe Social Media is Of-the-Devil

2011-08-21T21:23:00.001-04:00

Do you remember the "Christian" movement that considered all rock music evil? I do because I went to a church that, while not fully embracing the idea, did not use musical instruments in the worship service. When I was a teenager, musical instruments became more excepted in the church. Although, I have a clear memory of an elderly woman walking from the front of the church to an anti-room off the back of a sanctuary because she was offended by the instruments. During the rock-music-is-evil movement it was taught that drums were especially evil since African tribes used them to summon spirits. And let's not get started on why dancing is next to blasphemy.

I really don't believe social media, such as Facebook and Twitter, are of-the-devil. I just said that to get you to read this. Recently, I have been contemplating the pros and cons of social media. I love being able to connect with friends from college and keep up with their lives. It's also a great tool to keep up with friends that are overseas. If you think about it, it's quite amazing to be able to connect with people halfway across the world and maintain a meaningful relationship with them.

On the other hand, social media opens up a nasty, rotting can of worms. While I'm at it, I'll throw in anything else every man and his brother can comment on such as blogs, forums, news media, etc. When a dude is sitting in his parent's basement in his underwear with a key board at his fingertips he becomes invincible. It's as if Clark Kent has ripped off his shirt to be transformed into Superman. Seriously. I like to watch a funny YouTube video every now and then. Have you ever noticed how a thread of comments can quickly dissolve into F-you? Yes, I really did just use that as an example.

One Sunday morning my peaceful little town was rocked by murder followed by a hostage situation. In the hours that followed I witnessed people degrade to the baseness of humanity. In a time where a local family was suffering loss and trauma, some dude in his underwear was making offensive unfounded statements. All because he was given the power of social media. I find it hard to believe that he would make those statements, in person, to the face of a grieving family.

Social media gives people a spine that they do not have in the flesh. It creates a false sense of importance. The computer becomes a shield and people spew ignorance from their fingertips. And before you assume that I am a self-righteous I'll let you in on a secret–I speak from experience. Several years ago I was part of a forum that connected Mennonites all across the US and beyond. The forum is what I would consider the precursor to social media. As I recall, I got involved in some rather heated discussions over something as stupid as the Apple vs the-rest-of-the-computer-universe debate. In retrospect I find it interesting how quickly innocuous questions or comments could degrade to cutting remarks. It's sad quite frankly.

We as a culture need to develop social media manners. That's probably wishful thinking. In the past couple of months I have considered deleting my Facebook and Twitter accounts. I've become tired of dealing with the peculiar social nuances that Facebook creates. Suddenly, I don't have to talk to people to actually find out about their lives–I can just read about them whenever I want. Have you ever been caught in one of those awkward conversations where you ask the person a question that you already know the answer to because you read it on Facebook? I think it's awkward because we are not designed to communicate that way. Facebook is creating truly superficial relationships.

In contemplating this particular issue I've put together a couple of thoughts regarding social media etiquette.
When you're updating your status, would you really say that to everyone who is your "friend?" Perhaps your grandmother is your "friend". Do you really think she wants to read your curse peppered rant about your job? I mean, that's assuming your grandmother doesn't swear like a sailor. I guess what I'm driving at is there are people you wouldn't dream saying certain things in front of because you know it would be offensive.
When you want to comment on something someone posts ask yourself, would you say it to their face? Really. Take away the computer and stand in front of them. Would you say it? If your "yes" is even tinged with a little bit of doubt that probably means you need to keep your fingers off the keyboard.
Nobody really wants to know every single thing about your day. Social media really is a wonderful place to share things like good music, books, recipes, crafts, etc. I've found a ton of information just because I read about it on Facebook. That's really where social media shines. It shares information that I would, more than likely, never come across. On the other hand I really don't want to know that you just went to the bathroom. That's gross.
Don't use Facebook to discuss things that a better dialogued with your husband, best friend, pastor, mentor, etc. When you open yourself up through social media in the personal way, it will bite back. I'm not saying that you shouldn't be honest about who you are, I'm saying that 75% or more of your Facebook relationships are superficial. That means that you open yourself to a world of hurt when you get deeply personal through social media. Really, you don't need that in your life. It's tough enough as is.

Social media removes intentional from our relationships. That means we have to walk backward and get intentional about our relationships. Go out to coffee and spend a leisurely morning poking through an antique shop with a friend. Call a friend up and find out how they are doing after that very difficult miscarriage. Have them over for dinner and a game. Don't assume that you know people because you read about them on Facebook. That's just it "about them." You don't really know someone until you spend time with them. You can't know their heart if you just reading their status. Knowing people, is being with them. So, get up, walk away from the computer and call that friend you've been meaning to get up with all week.

Book Review: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

2011-08-10T22:46:00.001-04:00

I truly enjoyed this book. I ran across it on my goodreads.com newsletter. I really liked the sound of the plot so I put it on hold at my local library. On a side note, if you are not familiar with the Delaware Online Public Library System, you should be. I've been using it for quite sometime and love it. If I run across a book online that I'm interested I run over the library site, plug in the title and put it on hold. I don't even have to walk through the doors of the library until the book comes in. When the library calls it's kind of like Christmas. I often use the system to look at cookbooks, decorating or gardening books to decide if I actually want to invest in them.

Anyway, I got this book from the library and the first thing I noticed was the design. The cover had several vintage photos of "peculiar" children. On principal I really don't judge a book by it's cover. I appreciate a good design but I've been duped too often by smutty content. Although I was in the middle of another book I kicked it to the curb and dove right into this book. I was very intrigued by the plot.

I'll give a brief overview without saying more than the flyleaf. The story centers around 16-year-old Jacob. When he was a child his grandfather told him stories of peculiar children who could levitate and lift boulders with one arm. His grandfather showed him pictures of the children and told Jacob that he lived with them to escape the monsters. The boys parents convinced him that they were just fairy tales made up by his grandfather to cope with the horror of the holocaust. Jump ahead to Jacob's teenage years. His grandfather dies a tragic death that sends him on a journey to visit the home where his grandfather spent his childhood. The plot of the book definitely falls into the fantasy typish genre but in a way that makes it kinda sorta believable. Kinda sorta. I'll put it this way, it's sort of like X-Men just dialed back a few notches. In a quant-island-off-the-coast-of-Wales sort of way. And that's where I'll leave it because anymore will ruin the story.

At first I was a little put off with the smattering of language coming out of Jacob. But, as the book progressed Jacob matured and the language changed. That, in and of itself, fascinated me. Riggs (the author) did an excellent job of creating a juvenile character that matured throughout the book. The other thing I loved about the book were the pictures. Riggs incorporated old pictures from his and other collections. You see, Riggs collects old pictures of people he doesn't know. If you watch the Talking Pictures book trailer below he explains it a little more.

In Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children he uses these pictures to illustrated the story. And I loved it. It was such a wonderfully, unique, novel concept. Using found pictures to enrich the story. In fact I loved it so much I bought couple of pictures for myself at an antique store last weekend. I pull them out, look at them and contemplate the lives of past people. I find it absolutely fascinating.

I feel like Riggs did such a great job of taking something ancient, writing, pairing it with something not-so-ancient, photography, and making something new. We live in a society where we pretty much regurgitate other people's ideas. I should know. I'm a graphic designer. There is very little new left in this world. So, you have to get really creative and execute a concept well. And that's what Riggs did.

It was a great read and I'm having a difficult time getting into my current book. That's always a sign that I just finished a good book. As far as books go this year I would rate this book second to The Help with Touch coming in third. It's such a good read I want to go stroke the cover...except, I just returned it to the library.

The Calm Before the Storm

2011-08-09T13:36:00.002-04:00

In order to mentally prepare myself for the next couple months of renovation and moving, I ran away to western Maryland for a four-day weekend. My aunt graciously opened her home to Rachael and I for a four day weekend. Grantsville is a oasis in the heat of late summer although the natives complain of the humidity. I usually chuckle in their general direction. On our way home we watched the temperature rise about 10 degrees to rest peacefully in the 90s.

The respite was lovely. I galavanted about restoring brass drawer pulls, splitting wood, visiting local antique stores and artisans, buying stained glass for new bathroom, reading, lounging in and around the pool and traipsing through the field.

a donut peach from the local farmers market. delicious.
i also had a homemade donut from a local store. tasty.

the well stocked bull frog pond.

portrait of a cow

the horses were jealous that we were paying attention to the cows.

thistle vs. bumble bee

the cows loved me. i'm not sure why but as soon as i walked
into the field they started following me. rachael was jealous that
i was getting all the attention. what i didn't tell her was that i was
very nervous with that much bovine flesh stalking me.

just one of the many black eyed susans on the property

queen anne's lace or wild carrot

dragon fly

Tonight I'm off with my posse to choose counters for the bathroom and kitchen, flooring for the kitchen and lighting for the bathroom and anything else that might strike our fancy.

The Man with my Bathroom Sink Faucet

2011-08-03T13:34:00.000-04:00

I like a good deal. Maybe it's the Mennonite in me. Maybe it's the picker in me. Whatever it is, if I see something that I find useful, for a good price, I buy it. Usually this means I have to dig and search for a long time to find what I'm looking for but that's OK.

Last night I stopped at my favorite hardware store to get a spare key made for my car. Unfortunately, I picked an incompetent, retiree to cut my key. I seem to have a knack for picking out the person that can't cut my key. That being said, he was a very nice gentleman and after recognizing his inadequacy he asked his manager to cut it. I give him props for effort and trying to learn.

After I had my key in hand I made a beeline for the checkout only to be snagged by a sign in the middle of the store reading "Garage Sale." It was compiled of the items from the stockroom that looked like they were stuffed back in a corner and forgotten. As I walked over to a table I noticed a nice exterior door handle set that originally was $75 and was on sale for $25. It was antique brass which is the same color that the rest of the doorknobs will be replaced with. I also noticed that there was a heavily tanned, mustachioed man wearing plaid shorts, a white shirt tucked in and a guido gold chain. I wouldn't have noticed him other than the fact that he was talking loudly on his phone about a good deal. Henceforth I shall refer to him as the New Jerseyan. (I don't have a thing against people from New Jersey. My boss and her parents are from New Jersey and they are very nice people. I'm referring to the New Jerseyans that try to run me off the road, in my own state, when I'm already driving 10 miles over the speed limit. Thank you for helping keep Delaware sales tax free.)

I called my parents to ask if they wanted me to pick up the door handle for The Promised Land. Mom told me that it sounded like a good idea but to consult my father who was at The Promised Land. As I was talking to her I looked behind the door handle and saw this:

A rather nice Delta faucet. I then looked at the price tag and saw this:

I also mentioned this deal to mom and she thought it sounded good but she was unsure if dad needed it. So, I hung up with her and called dad. On the second phone call he picked up and I proceeded to describe the door handle. He told me to go ahead and get it. I picked up the handle box and continued describing the faucet deal to him. I have a habit of walking and talking and wondered to the other end of the table. That's all it took. The New Jerseyan pounced. He picked up my faucet! Literally split seconds after dad told me to get it. I wondered down another aisle, out of earshot of the New Jerseyan, to explain the recent crime. While I was still on the phone I could see the New Jerseyan down another aisle just looking over the box. He wasn't even sure he wanted it! The New Jerseyan picked it up because he heard me describing a good deal to dad. I lurked, fuming at my rotten luck and envisioning myself running across the store, poking him in the eyes and snatching the box from his hands. Alas, I needed to get home and I'm terrible at feigning disinterest.

I took my spare key and door handle to the checkout. I felt the desperate need for commiseration and gave a brief overview of the crime to the friendly cashier.
She peered over the candy shelf and asked "Is it that tall man over there?"
I looked scornfully over at the New Jerseyan and replied, "Yes."
"Figures," she retorted.
I felt better. I wasn't the only one to recognize a scoundrel.

I drove home growling the whole way. I called mom. I called Rachael. I repeated the story. I mentioned that maybe I'd stop by the same store in the morning to see if the New Jerseyan had left it. I growled some more. I stopped at the Ace Hardware in Milton hoping that they too had a Garage Sale. They didn't.

I felt the need for a strong drink so I purchased a 50 cent Dr. Pepper from the soda machine outside the store. It was ice cold and carbonated enough to make my eyes water. The Dr. Pepper wasn't quite enough. I needed the raspy, raging voice of Marcus Mumford. I scrolled through to track 11. Dust Bowl Dance.

It felt wholly appropriate. Especially the line "...one man has and another has not." I felt a little better by the time I got home and was completely distracted from the crime when I walked through house door. It was time to move on and deal with the fact that some people are just, well, not nice.

On my morning drive to work I was once again conversing with my mother via phone. Mom and dad had made a trip to Lowes the night before to pick up the sink and toilet for the bathroom but had managed to forget purchasing a faucet. She asked if I was going to stop at Ace to just see if the New Jerseyan had left the faucet. I had completely put the crime out of my mind until mom mentioned it.

I pulled into the parking lot and got out of my car with little hope that luck would be on my side. I walked into the store, around the checkout counter and there it was. The New Jerseyan had left it! I was immediately elated and then disgusted. Until then, I was still giving the New Jerseyan the benefit of a doubt. It made me sad to know that people actually stooped that low. My mother put it very eloquently. Dirty rotten scoundrel. That's like swearing for my mother.

In the end, I feel very blessed. We needed a faucet and God provided. I know that you may think it sounds cliche but I really don't believe in shear coincidence. I had a need met. And for that I am thankful.

Moooooooving On

2011-07-30T23:20:00.000-04:00

So...a lot is going on in my life. Summer is full. It's always full. Way too full.

Along with canning, I am also preparing to move to another house in about 2-3 months. The house is only about a mile away. Thankfully. I have also been looking after my sick roommate for the last 3ish months. Which has led to taking on more house/garden work than normal. I have often found myself thinking "How do those stay-at-home moms survive?" I concluded that it was the bathroom. Yes, bathroom. If you're a stay-at-home mom, you know what I mean. With the approach of 30 I have noticed more of my married-with-children friends cloistering themselves in the nearest bathroom for a private phone conversation. Throughout the conversation I routinely hear the distant sound of door pounding and claims of near death experiences. But I digress.

This summer has left me with the perpetual feeling of exhaustion. I've experienced quite a bit of stress due to decision making. It's everything from choosing paint colors to whether to mow when it's a 100+ degrees as opposed to 90+ degrees. Because really, what is the difference. The house Rachael and I are moving into is my parent's rental property. It's a nice little rancher style home built by Nanticoke Homes somewhere in the late 40s or early 50s. The craftsmanship of the house is somewhat to be desired. The previous owners preferred cheap over quality. Hence the reason the roof leaks like a sieve between the patio roof and exterior house wall. It was a veritable Niagra Falls during a recent thunderstorm. The house is getting an overhaul. New septic, well, roof, siding, windows, paint, flooring, cabinets, porch and no more pink and black wall tile in the bathroom. Praise Jesus! Can I get an AMEN?!

For as long as I can remember my father has told me "Don't due business with family." And here we are, my parents and I, doing business. In order to make this process as painless as possible, I've only given my input when asked. With the exception of the bathroom. I spoke when I wasn't spoken to. It was the perceived nightmares. Really, can you imagine walking into a pink and black tiled bathroom with black toilet, sink and tub in the middle of the night. It's enough to make me run the two miles, in the dark in a nighty, to the comforting arms of my mother. I really have a hang up with that bathroom.

I didn't really think I was going to have much input in the renovation of the house. Then my dad asks me how I'd like the kitchen cabinets to look, what I would like to replace the bathroom tile with, etc. And it's all very random. I can be holding a completely different conversation with dad when he blurts out, "What color appliances do you want in the kitchen?" The previous conversation derails and blows up a small town while I try to wrap my brain around this turn of events. I didn't even know I had an opinion. Really, I love my father. He's a great guy. He's renovating a house for me. Who can't love a dad like that? Well maybe if he didn't make me pay rent...but that would just make me a mooching almost 30 year old.

For a couple months there was next to no progress being made on the house aside form the enormous mound of dirt in the back yard. I was unsure if they were installing a septic system or the tallest point in all of Sussex County. Right now, I'm leaning towards the later since I still can't use the toilet. Once the huge mound of dirt got to a specific size the septic guy said that the water guy had to get there and dig the well. Dad called. He didn't come. Dad called again. He had irrigation wells to dig. Thankfully I wasn't living there at the time because I would've be hospitalized for severe dehydration by the time it "suited" the water guy to show up.

In the meantime, I put a little pressure on by reminding my parents that, yes it was the end of June and I needed to move in by the end of October. Things continued to move slowly. The septic guy had the water but nothing seemed to be happening. I still couldn't use the toilet. Dad still didn't have the building permit to add the porch onto the front of the house. Dad seemed to be contemplating a lot. Rachael became increasing concerned, in between vomiting and a root canal, that progress was not being made. I was too. But, you see, getting my father to move faster during the decision making process of a house renovation is like getting running into a large boulder. Dad likes to do things right. And I decided from the get-go that I would rather have things done right than, ahem, the condition it is currently in. So, I have patiently waited with bated breath and chewed fingernails for progress.

My part of the bargain has been to choose paint colors. Rachael and I stopped at Sherwin Williams at the beginning of July to pick up paint samples. They were having a sale at the time but I knew we weren't really to decide overnight. So, I asked when they were having another sale. I was informed that there would be one later in the month. 40% off! We Mennonites like a good deal. Most of the agonizing was done over my room. The last time I painted my room, I ended up with three different colors before I was happy. Somehow the sale snuck up on me and suddenly we had to make final decisions. And now I will have a yellow kitchen. I'm happy with that. Really, I am.

At the same time of the paint ordering other progress suddenly started to be made. I had recently informed my parents that there was a serious possibility that our third roommate could be moving out sooner than anticipated. Mom and Dad sped off to order the new stove and pick out windows. I also threw out that Rachael and I may need a temporary place to live if the house wasn't done and oh, would you mind if we moved in with you? Strangely there has been a lot of spackling and tile removal this week...

Now things are at the point when I can really start getting involved. Doors are ready to be painted and in about two weeks I anticipate a room or two may be ready for a painting. Once the bedrooms are painted Dad will rip out the carpet and access the condition of the hardwood floor underneath. Then we'll find out if we're keeping or carpeting. In the meantime, I'm taking a mini vacation to visit my aunt and cousin in the mountains of western Maryland. After a five day weekend of waking up late and lounging by the pool, I will return home to work with a vengeance.

That sounds good to me.

Cucumber Adventure: Whence Sonya traipseth through a field

2011-07-13T21:38:00.002-04:00

This is a story of how this (Larry)

now looks like this.

It was 7:30am Monday morning. The alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button and roll over for another nine minutes of sleep. At 7:39am the alarm screams again. I turn it off and lay in bed thinking. This is how my thoughts went: Why is it morning? How is it Monday already? Mom said that they picked the cucumber field near them yesterday. She said that there were probably big cucumbers left on the ground where they loaded the trucks. Rachael wants those for making cinnamon pickles. I mentioned to Rachael that she could go pick them up or we could do it together tonight. Rachael hasn't been feeling well and if leave the cucumbers till tonight they might start rotting. I have to leave for work at 8:15. If I get out of bed right now, get dressed and pack my breakfast, I can pick up the cucumbers and bring them back by 8:15.

I launched out of bed and drove away at 7:50. Dad had said that the field was behind their house. I headed that direction while calling Mom to confirm the location. She didn't answer and apparently the field wasn't behind their house. I called her again and she answered. The field was down the road at the front of their house. Thanks for the somewhat confusing directions. I finally landed at the selected location and sallied forth with my five gallon bucket. So, there I was at 8:00 in the morning stomping through a semi-muddy field picking up unwanted and unloved cucumbers. It was a veritable treasure trove of over sized cucumbers. Within 10 minutes I had a 5+ gallon bucket full of cucumber. I stomped my muddy flip flops back to the car and loaded up. Five minutes later I was unloading the booty at my house and running up the steps to tell my sleeping roommate that I brought her a lot of friends to keep her company. Her response was something like "Okaaaaayyyyy." And she rolled over and went back to sleep.

Throughout the afternoon Rachael peeled the cucumber and started slicing and coring the mountain. After making dinner I joined her at the tedious job of slicing and coring. I had to run over to my parents to get another large pot since we ran out of pots to put them in. By 10:00 we finished the first stage of preparation and the cucumbers we soaking in a lime and water mixture.

While I was at work the next day Rachael soaked the slices in an alum, vinegar and red food coloring mixture. After three hours she drained them and added a syrup made of vinegar, water, sugar, red hots, cinnamons sticks and salt. For the following three days we have to drain the syrup, reheat and pour over the slices. This process keeps them from fermenting and helps the slices absorb the syrup better.

Friday night or Saturday morning (it all depends on how ambitious we feel) will find us heating jars and canning these lovely treats. They are an especially tasty addition to the table at Christmas dinner. To me they taste like Christmas in a jar. If you need a jar for you Christmas celebration call us, we'd be happy to sell you a jar—we only made 5 batches. Or you can make them yourself.

Cinnamon Pickles
8-9 large cucumbers
2 cups pickling lime
8.5 quarts water
Peel and sliced cucumbers in about 1/4 inch slices. With a knife remove the seeded centers of each slice (yes, it takes a long time). Place sliced in a large pot and stir in lime and water mixture. A simple way to do this is to measure the lime on top of the slices and pour the water over it. The lime dissolves pretty easily that way.
Let slices soak overnight.
In the morning or late afternoon or whenever you get out of bed, drain the lime water off, cover slices the water and soak for 3 hours.
Drain and just cover with water and add:
1 cup white vinegar
1 bottle red food coloring
1 T alum
Boil 1 hour, then drain.
Heat syrup in a separate pan:
2 cups white vinegar
2 cups water
10 cups sugar
12-14 ounces red hots
8 cinnamon sticks
2 teaspoons salt
Pour over cucumbers and soak overnight.
In the morning, drain off syrup and reheat to boiling. Pour back onto cucumber. Repeat this process for 3 mornings.
On the fourth morning heat the pickles in their syrup, pack into hot jars, top with hot lids and pray your lids seal.
Makes 10-12 pints

Strangely Surreal Evening

2011-07-13T12:20:00.000-04:00

I left work later than normal last night. No big deal.

I took my normal secret furtive route to get to the highway. As I approached the highway I noticed that the northbound lane, and my path home, was blocked off. I turned right instead of left and headed for the back way home. Except every man and their brother were going the back way. So, I decided to take the secret, secret back way to grab 9 and avoid all the traffic. I didn't know where I was going. I pulled out my trusty iPhone and discovered some lovely Sussex County back roads. It was a rather nice drive and took it as an adventure to explore some rural roads. I landed at Hopkins Dairy Creamery to get myself a scoop of dairy fresh ice cream to fortify me for the drive. The rest of the drive home was fairly uneventful and I arrived home in an hour instead of my normal 45 minutes.

After grabbing a bite to eat, I attacked my tomato plants. As mentioned in my previous post they were in dire need of pruning. I was somewhat unsure of my plan of action but I started with removing suckers and branches that looked like they were dying off. I was pleased with the results of the first plant but that was the easy one. The rest of my pruning experience was peppered with words like "Crap," "Ouch" and "Oops." I finished with good results, dirty finger nails and sweat soaked clothes.

Before I headed inside to scrub off the filth I picked yellow squash and cucumbers. I then decided to take the produce to our neighbors since I had plenty in the fridge. As Rachael and I walked out the door we saw that neighbor walking by. We were about to accost her when she asked if we'd seen one of the neighbor kids. Rachael and I walked over to another neighbor to ask if they'd seen the boy. After about 15 minutes, and right before the father called the police, the boy showed up riding his bike behind the ball field.

Rachael and I returned to our original mission and took the bag of produce to our neighbors. It was a slightly awkward conversation that included fleas and cigarettes.

We returned home and I took a quick shower before crawling in bed. As I lay there in a dozing stupor I reflected on how odd my evening was. Left work late, detour, ice cream, pruning tomatoes, looking for a missing kid and awkward conversation with neighbors. Maybe not so surreal to you but to me, quite odd.

Tomato Saga: Trellising

2011-07-10T20:59:00.002-04:00

I feel like every time I come home from work my tomatoes have grown a foot. It could be due to my lack of observation or the crazy thunderstorms we've had this week. Which by the way, was a bit like Armageddon on Friday night. We went over to the "new" place with Rachael's brother to do some work on the new chicken coop and got flooded out of the carport. That's an issue that I must speak to my landlord (AKA my father) about.

Out of control cherry tomato

Anyway back to my tomatoes. They're growing in leaps and bounds this year. My mother is a huge proponent that the lightning from thunder storms causing plants to grow at a higher rate of speed. Her reasoning behind this concepts is that lightning is loaded with nitrogen. Plants like nitrogen therefore they grow. Honestly, I don't know if there is any scientific proof to this but I'm going to choose to believe her because she's my mom.

I'm thinking fried green tomatoes.

Ever since I started growing tomatoes I've been through multiple methods of keeping the plants upright. The idea that you want to keep your tomatoes in their full and upright position comes from not wanting the fruit to lie on the ground therefore making it more susceptible to pests and rot. That first year I fashioned tomato cages out of a roll of fencing left from a previous renter. It worked pretty well since the plants stayed relatively small. My garden only produced tomatoes (and a few sugar snaps) mainly because of neglect and tomatoes grow like weeds. They were right at home with the rest of my garden of weeds. Due to the prolific nature of my tomatoes we canned a lot of salsa and not enough tomato soup. I also discovered that different canning techniques can cause tension between two women raised in different Mennonite homes.

Garden pal hanging on the pepper plants

The following year I used the same technique but I had all kinds of problems with my tomatoes. I put in my garden late because of the construction of the raised beds. Soon after they were planted and growing along nicely we had a small tornado roll through the little town of the Greenwood decimating my garden to green sticks in the ground. After looking over the destruction I replanted one tomato plant and vigorously fertilized them with Miracle Grow. Surprisingly, they came back. But not for long. I placed my homemade cages around the plants and within a month knew that it was a bad idea. Some of the plants became so large that they began to crush my flimsy cages. On top of that tomato blight plagued southern Delaware and created a bad year for tomato production. I think I canned a few jars of whole tomatoes at the most.

Cherry tomatoes that will be running
out my ears in a week.

Last year I found these plastic stakes with cross bars that snapped in between them. In theory, they were a good idea. In conclusion they were a terrible idea. Once again my tomatoes became enormous and that flimsy plastic did nothing to support them. And once again, in spite of their enormity they produced next to nothing. Thankfully my cousin gave me a bushel basket full of Big Mamas and I restocked on salsa and tomato soup.

This year I'd had it. I needed a good tomato year. I started doing some research and discovered a trellising technique that looked promising. I also looked into how to prune the tomatoes to get a better production. I have a small space to work with so I need my tomatoes to produce for me. So far they are getting quite large and have a lot of green fruit on it. My only concern is that they plants are growing together and I don't know if that will effect the ripening of the fruit. When I spoke to my mother (AKA Garden Guru) she said that she just prunes off whatever she doesn't want. She has a bit of brutal streak when it comes to gardening. Perhaps I will take her advice and brutalized my tomatoes also.

Here are a few pictures of the trellising.

Place a T-Post at the end of each row and
drive them in with a post driver or with
a muscular man and a sledgehammer.

Run twine in parallel rows on either
side of the main stem of your plant.
It's best if you start this process when the
plants are young and small.

Sit back and pray that it works.

Book Review: Touch by Alexi Zentner

2011-06-03T12:17:00.001-04:00

I came across this book in one of those periodic emails that I receive from GoodReads. It's like Facebook for reading nerds. I don't keep up with my account very well but I do like to peruse the emails to see if there's anything that interests me. Touch struck me as an interesting book so I immediately went to the online library system and placed it on hold. I was pleased to see that although it was checked out I was the next one on the list. I later realized that the book had only hit the shelves April 4th hence the ease with which I was able to get my hands on it.

This is Zentner's first novel although he has had short stories published in magazines such as The Atlantic Monthly and Narrative Magazine. I was able to cruise through this book in 24 hours due to the fact that I was sick. But also because it was such an intriguing book.

The book is set in the Pacific Northwest which leads the imagination to enormous, ancient tree lining a rugged coastline. The book did not disappoint. It's set in a small, logging town that was founded by the narrator's grandfather. The story isn't so much about narrator, Stephen, as it is about his grandfather. The story begins with Stephen describing how his grandfather reappeared in this life soon after the death of this own father. Throughout the short period of time that Stephen spends with his grandfather he learns the story of how his grandfather founded the town and met his grandmother. It is a reminiscent book. A book of remembering. The thing that intrigued me about this book was its apparent normalcy peppered with ancient monsters. I don't know how else to describe it. It was one of the things that kept me coming back for more. The idea that there was something strange just around the bend.

One of the things Zenter did so well was to surround me constantly with cold of the Northwest and the grand majesty of their ancient forest. Through reinforcing that feeling he immersed my imagination into the story. I will note one downside, it is a bit of a dark book to read. It's not dark, as in, evil. It's the feel of the book. It's like a long cold winter of being cooped up inside. That kind of dark. But, then again, I think that was exactly what Zenter was going for. To which I say, "Bravo."

This is a story for the imagination filled with such strong descriptions that when you close the book you feel as though you've just come out of it. Honestly, when I finished it, I kind of looked around and thought to myself "Where am I?" And that's when I know I've read a good book.

Choose Your Identity

2011-05-09T22:28:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in a while. The reasons could be multitude. But, I'll give you multiple choice to help you narrow down options:

A. I've been busy at work

B. I've been busy at home

C. I bought $75 worth of flowers and needed to do something with them

D. I've been creating handmade items for a craft show.

E. The laundry...

F. all of the above

If you guess "F" you've guessed right.

On to the subject of my post. Choose your identity.

I was posting a comment on a friends blog when I noticed the statement "choose your identity." In any other context, I thought, that would be a very weird statement. Standing at the grocery check-out, "Sir, please choose you identity." Or perhaps making a phone call to the phone company that keeps screwing up your bill, "In order to process your request please choose your identity." When I read that statement, I felt like I needed to be choosing between white or dark meat, chocolate or vanilla, good or bad. It felt like an option between Sinister Dark Sonya or Sonya Super Christian. I know, it seems as though I gathered a lot from one statement. But, that's how my thoughts roll. Like an avalanche.

Wouldn't it be nice it life was like that? We would get to choose our identity. On any given day I could choose to be a fabulous baker or my rabbit. Or perhaps I could be someone influential with lots of clout. That would be nice. Then people would listen to me when I talk. And I wouldn't have to repeat myself ever because it would be captured on camera for digital eternity. Unfortunately, life does not present us with such choices. We've been dealt our lot in life and must except it. Right?

I've recently been faced with the issue of my social standing. I don't have one. For the most part I don't care until I am treated like a peon. Then I get annoyed. Really annoyed. I fume, I rant and become all around unhappy. The idea that because I don't have money or "connections" makes me less of a person really gets under my skin. But it's something I need to let go. The fact of the matter is...sometimes I treat other people the same way. It might be because of the way they look or something they say. You see, we don't get to choose our human identity. God gave it to us before we were conceived. But, there is another identity has nothing to do with our social standing or the home we are born into. It has everything to do with the fact that God created us and Jesus sacrificed His life for us. Now both you, and I, can choose our identity. Now I can find my identity in Christ. And in the words of Robert Frost, "And that has made all the difference."

Food Friday: The Almighty Oyster

2011-03-25T20:49:00.004-04:00

I have been trying to like oysters my entire life. My first memory of oysters was an oyster eat for farmers at a local fire hall. I use to hang out with my uncle all the time when I was a kid and he just so happened to be a farmer. I must've been around the age of ten when I ate my first fried oyster. And I hated it. Oyster stew was the traditional Christmas Eve supper for my extended family. I hated that also. I have a distinct memory of my grandmom standing at the kitchen stove of the farmhouse cooking oyster stew. Of course it wasn't complete unless you topped it off with oyster crackers. That's pretty much how I new oysters growing up. Fried and in soup.

During the winter of 2010 I took on the challenge of reading Chesapeake by James Michener. My favorite section of the book was The Watermen (If you don't want to read the 1000+ pages of Chesapeake you can read The Waterman in a stand along book). That book helped me understand how important oysters are to this region of the country. Another thing that peaked my interest in oysters was the designing of the Henlopen City Oyster House logo. I read a ton about oysters and even hand drew the oyster in their logo before scanning and converting it to vector artwork. Gradually, I warmed to the idea of eating oysters. In actuality I began to feel that I was an embarrassment to my Delmarva roots for my lack of oyster eating. I decided that if I was going to eat an oyster, it was going to be from Henlopen City Oyster House. I knew that they only served high quality, fresh oysters so I couldn't go wrong.

Finally, I had an opportunity in November of 2010. I tried them in a way that I'd never had them before. Raw. Before you gag and throw up, it's not as bad as it sounds. People assume that they are slimy and smell fishy. That's not the case at all. Good, fresh oysters are tender, briny and taste like the ocean. I tried them with the various accompaniments: horseradish, vinaigrette and hot sauce. I settled on the hot sauce. Just a little bite to go with the natural briny flavor of the oyster. With the raw oyster experience under my belt, I decided to revisit the fried oyster. Once again I traipsed back to Henlopen City Oyster House. This time I erred on the side of conservatism and ordered an oyster po' boy. I figured that if I didn't like fried oysters I would have enough roll and toppings to mask the flavor I always hated. It was delicious. They served it topped with a spicy slaw that was absolutely lovely. It was very much worth the adventure.

My next adventure will be to make an oyster stew that I like (see my recipe below). Not to be disrespectful to my mother or grandmom, I have never liked their oyster stew. I am on a mission to make the "He Stew" as related in Chesapeake. The key is getting the quantities right. But the kicker is doing it without cow's milk. Milk based soups and stews are challenge for those of us who get headaches from dairy.

I now feel like a true Delawarean, slurping down those oysters as people have for years on the Delmarva peninsula. If you are a bit dubious about oysters, Henlopen City Oyster House, in Rehoboth Beach, is a great place to try them raw, fried or in a stew. I've also been told that Po' Boys in Milton serves a kicking oyster po' boy. Now if I can just get over my aversion to picking blue crabs.

Oyster He Stew
1/2 lb bacon
2 small onions, coarsely chopped
2 large stalks celery, coarsely chopped
6 cups milk
2, 8oz cans of oysters, drained and liquor saved
1 tablespoon butter, browned
Old Bay, salt and pepper

Fry 1/2 lb bacon until crispy. While the bacon is frying get you milk heated through in a medium pot. Remove frying pan from heat. Dip out all but about a tablespoon of bacon drippings from your frying pan. Be careful, the pan and grease are very hot. Be sure to wipe the side of the frying pan for any wayward grease (you don't need a grease fire on your hands). Return pan to heat and saute onions and celery until soft. Add celery and onion to heated milk. Add a tablespoon of bacon grease to the pan and add oysters to pan just long enough to infuse with bacon flavor. Add liquor and heat through. Add oysters to milk, celery and onion mixture along with browned butter. Season to taste with Old Bay, salt and pepper. Crumble the bacon over the top of the stew and serve.

All in all, I really liked the stew which is good since I haven't been a fan in the past. The bacon added a delicious flavor. Now I do need to give a bit of disclaimer. I consider this recipe to the a work in progress. The original recipe called for tapioca powder as a thickener when the oysters were cooking in their on liquor. I actually had granulated tapioca that I ran through a coffee grinder but it didn't grind it fine enough. I'm thinking that adding some heavy cream and flour/cornstarch could do just the trick. If you try it out leave me a comment and let me know how it went.

Book Review: Winter Haven by Athol Dickson

2011-03-24T20:07:00.002-04:00

If you're looking for a good read that's relatively fast paced and keeps you coming back for more, then this is just the book for you. I was first introduced to Athol Dickson by a friend of mine when he recommended River Rising. Ironically enough, I ran across both of these books at Ollies. I love to go to Ollies. It's like going on a treasure hunt where you never know what you're going to find. I loved River Rising (as did my pal Rachael) so when I found Winter Haven I scooped it up.

Winter Haven is set on an island off the coast of Maine and has all the charm of the Salem witch trials. And that's what makes it good. Dickson paints a very grey picture tinged with suspenseful dark corners. The main story line surrounds the suspicious recovery of the main characters brother's body. She travels from Texas to Maine to identify the body. Simple enough. But this is where the plot takes a twist. Her brother hasn't aged a day since he ran away from home. Don't worry I didn't ruin the book for you, that part is written on the back of the book. Along with the perpetual misty fog Dickson throws in the legend of Pilgrims that went missing on the island. That plays into the plot quite well. He introduces a handsome sea captian who lives in an enormous delapitated mansion on the other side of the island. And a witch. Did I mention a witch? The book is chock full of foreboding and is fast paced enough to keep you turning pages. Nicely enough, Dickson does not sacrifice valuable details for the fast pace. The beauty of Athol Dickson's works are that every detail has a purpose. If it's in the book, he has a reason for it. In a way it messes with your head a lot. That's what I enjoy about the book. I had the end figured out about three quarters of the way through. In spite of that, I had to know exactly how Dickson was going to make everything pan out. To me, that's the key to a good book. If the reader figures it out but can't stop reading then the author has accomplished something.

All in all it's a great book to sit on the couch and read on a dreary sunday afternoon. Which is exactly what I did. I usually don't have the pleasure of combining a great book, with rain and an empty afternoon. Winter Haven was the perfect choice for that afternoon.

Photo Spotlight: The Dog Days of Spring

2011-03-23T13:24:00.004-04:00

I'm trying out a lens a friend of mine is letting me borrow to see if I want to buy it. I figured a good way to get a handle on it was to photograph the studio dogs during their afternoon potty break.

Roscoe the stoic. He seems much more majestic than he really is. But he's a good boy. He's much easier to photograph than Sophie since he's not in perpetual movement.

There's nothing better than a good 'ole roll in the grass.

Sophie in moment of stillness. Only briefly since she's ADD. The only reason she's sitting still is because she's going to get a treat.

Shooting a black dog is a difficult task especially if that dog is incapable of sitting still for two seconds. Several of my pictures caught her in moments that made her look like demon dog. But this one caught her in mid-stride with that wonderful attentive look I was striving to capture.

I like these two Delmarva mutts. Roscoe with his dopy, stoic nature and Sophie with her boundless energy and sweet personality. I also like the lens I'm trying out. I've been plotting to figure out what I can hock on eBay so I can afford the lens without dipping into my regular income. I can't sell my firstborn since I don't have one.

Vintage Pepsi Crate Upcycle

2011-03-22T13:12:00.003-04:00

So you bought this great Pepsi/Coke crate at a flea market or antique store. The problem is you don't know what to do with it now. You thought it was cool, so you bought it.

Now, what? It has great patina and looks like it's made hundreds of trips to the soda fountain.

It even has the city of origin stamped on the side of it.

Well, here's what you do. You ask your friend, who has an eleven month old son, to save all of her baby food jars. You then fill those jars with buttons/beads/or something small you have in mass quantity.

And you slide those bad boys into your recently acquired vintage Pepsi crate. Voila! You feel instantly organized and return repeatedly to you craft room to stare at their glorious organized beauty.

I have two of these. Unfortunately someone got involved with a can of spray paint and sprayed that lovely Coke crate blue and yellow. Guess I can just say I'm a fan of the Fighting Blue Hens now. I have a third one that divides into quarters where I put odds and ends. I got a sweet deal on all three and paid $20 for them. I saw one in a local antique store for $22.

Next upcycle: wooden wine crate converted into a thread rack.

From the Archives: The North First Street Food Pantry

2011-03-21T13:48:00.000-04:00

[I started writing this blog when this event happened way back in November. Unfortunately, I became sidetracked and never returned to finish it until now. With that being said, enjoy!]

I am not a morning person. After I crawl out of bed it is best not to speak to me for a good half hour or more. So, it's not surprising that when I walked out my back door to leave for work last Wednesday I had a hard time processing why my shed door was hanging open.

I stared at it for a couple of seconds and then walked over to stare at it somemore. I then walked to the car and deposited my paraphanelia for the day in the back seat. And walked back to the shed again to ponder the meaning of such things. My intial thought was that I forgot to lock it up the previous Saturday and I didn't notice until that morning because the wind blew the door open. But, as I stood in the doorway looking around, I noticed a gap on one of the shelves. My cooler was missing. The next conclusion was that one of my roommates had borrowed the cooler for grocery shopping. Then, I noticed a container of borsht (Russion beet soup) on the floor. That could be explained also. I had been digging around in the freezer Saturday and the contianer could have easily rolled out of the freezer basket onto the floor (I can become quite violent when searching throught the freezer). Something in my head told me that this was not the case. I walked over to the freezer and opened it. It looked significantly more empty. Interestingly enough, the food that was missing was meat and food that was in store packaging. All of the corn, green beans, rhubarb, etc that I had frozen from my garden last summer was still there. I quickly concluded that someone had broken into my shed and stolen food from my freezer. Slight freak-out in my head. I walked over to the shed door and saw this:

I concluded very quickly that this was not the state in which I left the latch on my shed the Saturday before and ran into the house (not because I thought the bugler was still lurking in the shed). I ran upstairs and woke up my other roommate, telling her breathlessly that our shed had been broken into and food was stolen. Her slightly frantic, half-asleep response, "What?!" She launched out of bed and accompanied me to the shed to inspect the damage. I needed to be on the road to work by this time and she graciously told me that she would take care of calling the police and our landlord.

I hopped in the car and headed to work, calling my employer, parents and sister to let them know what happened. In the midst of all that my roommate called and told me that the police were coming by at 11AM. She also informed me that we were not the only shed break-in in the neighborhood. Apparently, there had been a rash of break-ins on Monday night (11/22). She called me back later after the cop had come and dusted for fingerprints. He definitely thought that we had been hit Monday night and not Tuesday night as I had first suspected. The shed door must've been shut tight enough that it didn't swing open until a gust of wind caught it Tuesday night. After contemplating the situation, I concluded that he was correct because the container of soup that had fallen on the floor was completely thawed and there was not condensation on the plywood. Yes, I have watched too much CSI. It also matched up the MO of the other intrusions since they did take our gas cans as they did in other sheds.

My immediate response to the break-in was a sense violation of personal space. The fact that someone was in my shed rummaging around and taking my things was a bit unnerving. My paranoia deepened when I found out that the last place to be broken into was a house instead of a shed. I bought deadbolts immediately, considered putting bars on my windows and barricading the doors with furniture. My paranoia wore off until a rash of car break-ins occurred that included my parents Jeep. I then considered creating a steel bubble to surround me at all times. Yesterday, my roommate and I had a conversation with our neighbor that revealed someone had been attempting to break into her house for the last three nights. Now, I'm just down right miffed. I have considered various booby traps that I could set throughout my house and yard. I have also thought about the fact that I don't have any baseball bats with which to hit an intruder. I bought a vintage fan instead. It's much more effective as a weapon if its on when I throw it.

The sad thing is that petty crime has been on the rise in the Greenwood area. Mostly break-ins. The reason I find it sad is that desperate times have caused people to take desperate measures. When I discovered food missing from my freezer, there was a part of me that just wished they would've knocked on the front door. I would've been more than happy to give them the food from my freezer. As a result, I have become much more sensitive to the needs of others at this time. I am blessed with a steady job, a roof over my head and hot food. Others are struggling to make ends meet, facing foreclosure or just lost a job. Remember that when you see a food pantry or hear an announcement of the need of a church member. Don't be stingy and give until it hurts. You will never regret it.

What do you do when disaster strikes...halfway around the world?

2011-03-20T08:19:00.000-04:00

Japan has been on my mind a lot in the last week. The amount of video footage recording the event is overwhelming. As I sat watching this video the morning after the earthquake/tsunami, my mind reeled with the magnitude of the disaster. If you take the time to watch the video, you will see cars driving down the highway becoming trapped and swept away in the wall of water. In those moments, as I watched, I realized that I was actually seeing a recording of human life snuffed out.

It's not easy to swallow.

To move on with your day.

And do business as usual.

At the same time it is. Even though we live in a society saturated with media and information, there is a numbness that takes over the mind. When a disaster is far away and has no immediate impact on our lives it's easy to pick up and go on. How many of you want to do something but are flummoxed as to what to do? I know I am. This morning I read an article online (which I won't link to in the case the author doesn't like what I have to say) that basically said that we should let Japan take care of themselves. Why? The premise was that they were prepared to deal with a disaster of this magnitude themselves. The unspoken statement was, they have plenty of money to bail themselves out. I'm not sure what rock he was living under but nothing prepares a country for several thousand bodies washed up on its north western coastline. No government agency is prepared to deal with thousands of missing people, lack of shelter, water and food. The fact of the matter is, human life hangs in the balance. We do not get to play God and decide whether or not we help. It is our responsibility to love our neighbors as ourselves or in this case an old enemy. On December 7, 1941 the Japenese bombed Pearl Harbor. Several years later the United States retaliated by dropping atomic bombs on both Hiroshima on August 6, 1945 and Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. The initial death told between the two cities was 120,000 deaths. In the months to follow the country lost several 100,000 more due to fallout and radiation related diseases. Perhaps this is the time for the United States to redeem itself for the horrific mistake that we made 70 years ago.

As I write this I can hear the critics in the back of my head saying that the Japanese deserved it because they are godless or they condemned the Israeli government for allowing 160,000 housing units to be built in East Jerusalem (yes, I did read that in an article). But the fact of the matter is that if Jesus were living on earth today, he'd be on the first plane over there. He would be leading search and rescue. Digging through the rubble pulling broken bodies, alive and dead, free of their tombs. He would weep as he did for Lazarus. This Jesus I see is caked in mud, sleeping little and doing all he can to save lives. Why is it so hard for us to see?

We don't see Jesus doing these things because we attribute more human characteristics to Him than God characteristics. We want God to be a wrathful God that sticks it to those who do wrong. Here's the thing, God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit cannot always be attributed with human characteristics. Even though we were created in the image of God, it does not mean that we always carry those Godly characteristics. The key to Jesus' pure life here on earth is that He was fully human and fully God. When Jesus came to earth, He came with a new kingdom. In His kingdom, God and man are united once again because the blood sacrifice has been paid. Jesus walked the earth, teaching us a new way of life filled with love, compassion and caring for one's neighbor. I'm not saying that we need to treat Jesus/God/Holy Spirit like our homeboy, it's just the idea that when love comes in it changes everything. How we perceive the world, life, suffering, people that drive us nuts, etc.

If we're at a loss of what to do, all we need to do is pick up a Bible and read one of the gospels. Jesus is the perfect example and tells us exactly what to do through His life story. In all this, I have one statement from the Bible that is a constant in my mind, "Who knows the minds of God?" It's not a cop-out statement, just a statement of understanding that I don't get what goes on in God's mind. It's a statement of knowing that God is unfathomable yet so personal. I'm not going to end this post with a neat little package of ideas of what to do for Japan. So many things can be done, if you just take a moment and surf the internet or talk to your pastor. What I want you to think about is how God wants you to react in theses moments of great crisis and human suffering. And how God wants you to change and see the world through His eyes.

Digital Darkroom

2011-02-11T21:42:00.001-05:00

I'll be the first to tell you that Photoshop is not a verb. A couple of days ago I posted some photos that I was fiddling with. I had run them through some Actions and I started wondering what else I was capable of in Photoshop. Basically, Photoshop is the digital photographers darkroom. I edit pictures constantly at work. I "Frankenstein" all the time. But, I've never really done serious work to one of my own photos. I wanted to know what I really was capable of. I pulled a picture that I took at Fort Delaware a year and a half ago. I liked the picture's context but the back "light of God" drove me nuts. The picture isn't very crisp in a few places due to motion blur but I'm pretty please with final product.

Original

Work in Progress

Final

Actions

2011-02-07T20:57:00.000-05:00

Yes, they do speak louder than words. But, that's not what I'm referring to. I'm talking about Photoshop Actions. I am by no means a photographer extraordinaire. I am a hobbyist. By trade, I am a graphic designer so I use Photoshop every day. I have been following photographers online for quite a while now and I've been fascinated with their post-production work. Today I was surfing the net and discovered that one of the tools they use are Actions in Photoshop. I ran across K. Miller Actions and found the price quite reasonable for a small set of Actions. I've been geeking out all evening playing with them. So, I thought I'd share a few of them with you.

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

Good Eats

2011-02-05T18:00:00.001-05:00

It's a dreary day here in little 'ole G-wood. But, who says you can't grill in February. My favorite PBS show is Primal Grill with Steven Raichlen . I use to watch it every saturday but they changed the showing time and I could never catch it. This morning I was working on various sewing projects when, low and behold, Steven Raichlen's glorious face appeared on the television. Of course, it gave me a hankerin' for some grilled food. I settled on two lovely t-bone steaks courtesy of my roommates father. Grass-fed none-the-less. I also did a side of grilled onions and skewers of mushrooms and cherry tomatoes.

It was windy so I need to had a wind block.

Don't I look like a pro?

If you're considering stopping by for supper, forget it. It's gone.

I Want Some Fabric and So Do You.

2011-02-03T09:54:00.001-05:00

My cousin is giving away some lovely fabric. If you are interested visit http://livingthebeautifullife.blogspot.com/2011/01/giveaway.html

If you're not interested you should at least gaze upon her awesome photography!

A Monday I Would Prefer Not to Repeat

2011-01-26T21:53:00.000-05:00

I'm typing with nine fingers. Yes, nine. Let me tell you this unfortunate story.

Monday's are always a bit of a struggle for people across the country. At least for those who have a Monday through Friday, nine to five job. This Monday started with checking on my sickly roommate. After assuring myself that she was, in fact not dead, I cruised on down to work. The day was fairly uneventful except for the emergency job in the middle of the day. And this is when things took a turn for the worse. At approximately 4 pm, I was minding my own business cutting back complimentary cards for the Rookery. That's when my left pointer finger got involved with an Exacto knife. When they broke up a piece of my left index digit was missing and I don't mean that figuratively. My initial concern was that I had bleed all over the job. Which I hadn't. As I gazed down upon the scene of the crime I noticed that a piece of me was laying there between the metal ruler and discarded Exacto knife. It was a beautifully clean cut. And I was bleeding like a stuck pig.

After about a half hour, I wrapped the finger up in gauze and tape and finished up my work day. Thankfully, my employer finished the cutting since the Exacto knife and I weren't exactly on speaking terms. As I was preparing to leave work, I got a phone call from my sickly roommate. My nine-year-old neighbor was looking for a ride to an awards ceremony. Ok, so, it was 5:10. I needed to stop at the Rookery to deliver complimentary cards after which I needed to stop at the pharmacy to pick up various bandaging material and cough syrup. And, I needed to be home by 6:15 (it takes me 45 minutes to drive home without stopping).

I walked through the door at 6:08. At that moment, I was greeted by my sickly roommate who needed to be escorted to the walk-in clinic in Seaford. I quickly affirmed that they were open until 7:30. So, we jumped in the car and headed to the neighbors. They didn't need a ride after all. I pointed my black steed towards the southern region of the state and went were my GPS told me.

It lied.

I had the sickly roommate make a quick phone call and I corrected my course. We arrived at the walk-in clinic and after filling out the paperwork we waited about five to ten minutes. After a quick inspection she was diagnosed with sinusitis and bronchitis. I loaded up the sickly roommate and pointed the black steed toward the Bridgeville pharmacy. We waited for about 15 minutes for the truckload of drugs and then went our merry way.

But not before a stop at the school for the sickly roommate to prepare her lesson for the substitute teacher the following day. 45 minutes later I pulled into my driveway. It was 9 pm.

And then it happened. As the sickly roommate was exiting the vehicle it became apparent that her purse was MIA. I pointed my black steed toward the school. No pursey. I called the pharmacy. Why yes, they did have a purple purse in their possession. After ascertaining that I wasn't a thief (due to the fact I knew her name and my name came up on her phone), I pointed my black steed toward the pharmacy. When I walked into the store the manager noticed that my purse was the same design. I guess that affirmed that I really wasn't a thief. When she returned with the purse she told me that the girls in the back we wondering where we got them. I stuttered at the absurdity of the situation. I then informed her that we had purchased them from Mission Passport and that I could get her the representative's card.

I walked away laughing. I crawled into bed at 10:30, chuckling at God's sense of humor.

Black Cat Farm

2011-01-23T18:01:00.000-05:00

This past week I was at a funeral. You're probably wondering what that has to do with a black cat farm. Well, everything. If I wasn't at the funeral, I would never have heard this very interesting tidbit of information about an island in the Chesapeake Bay.

I was standing several feet from the casket listening, irreverently, to this very fascinating story. The following day I perused the internet to confirm that the story was, indeed, true. As it turns out it is quite true.

A man by the name of Charles Carroll owned Poplar Island in the Chesapeake Bay during the 1840s. His only claim to fame, aside from owning a black cat farm, is the fact that his grandfather signed the Declaration of Independence. Well, as it goes, he discovered that Chinese of that time coveted the fur of black cats. (Whilst listening to the telling of this story I was unsure to where this was leading...) The Chinese liked to use the fur to make coats. Our dear man Carroll came upon a grand idea. He turned his island into the Great Poplar Island Black Cat Fur Farm. He ran ads offering 25 cents for female black cats. Apparently, he already had a plethora of black tomcats. You can also imagine the lengths at which people went to turn non-black cats into inky cash. 25 cent was good money in those days. Carroll paid fishermen to throw fish along the beach to feed the fanged beasts. And then tragedy struck. During the winter of 1847-48 the cold north wind turned the Chesapeake Bay into a feline freeway to the mainland. With no means of waterborne transportation the fishermen could not get to island. Perhaps sensing their immanent doom to live in their death upon the back of a Chinaman, the catly inmates made a run fur it. And so ended the first and only cat farm on Eastern Shore.

A Tribute to My First Laptop

2011-01-20T18:13:00.002-05:00

I haven't bought a new computer in almost six years. But, as fate would have it, my G4 Powerbook had a collision with the floor last week. Unfortunately, it landed on the on the exact point where the power cord plugs into the computer to charge the battery. Even more unfortunate is the fact that spot is one of the weak points in the structure of the computer. When I picked it up off the floor, I heard Taps playing in the distance. I knew my beloved laptop was not long for this world. Actually, I'd known that for quite some time. I was just trying to stretch as much life out of it as possible. I upgraded to operating system as far as it would go and I knew when my job decided to upgrade to Adobe Creative Suite CS5 it would be at the end of it's life.

Reluctantly, I coughed up the bucks and bought a refurbished MacBook Pro. In fact, this is my first post from my shiny, new computer. The jump from an almost six-year-old G4 Powerbook is almost astounding. The resolution is brilliant and the thing is snappy. I'm excited to see how it handles Photoshop, InDesign and Illustrator. I wanted to migrate all that over this afternoon but it was going to take almost four hours and I still have work to do on my old laptop.

Now, it would be a disservice not to talk about the merits of my beloved G4 Powerbook. It was my first laptop and the second Mac I ever owned. To some people, it may just be a laptop. To me, it's a child. I'm having a hard time figuring out what to do with it because I have such an attachment to it. In a way, giving up the old laptop is like saying goodbye to the end of an era. I bought it way back during my first post-college job at Embroidery and Screen Masters. It then weathered a six-month part-time job. After that it stood by my side as I began my graphic design career and worked in the industry for the last four and a half years. I have watched countless movies and listened to numerous books on CD on it. I have designed logos, business cards, ads on it. I drug it around the country with me. It has been my constant companion for the last five and a half years. It has never frozen and I've never had to restore the operating system on it (take that you PC users!). I've had problems with files a handful of times and once in a while a program will freeze. I've never had it worked on and never needed to. Just a couple weeks ago I put two gigs of RAM in it to give it a power boost. Tossing it aside feels like throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Just wrong.

Now, you might say, "Sonya, that's just shallow of you. It's just an object that will fade away." And I agree whole-heartedly with you. It's just stuff, right? I try to take good care of my stuff and make it last a long time. Not because I'm neurotic and a skimp but because I'm trying to be a good steward of the things I have. I've been pondering the scripture that talks about selling all that you have and giving it to the poor. It's a hard verse to swallow in this materialistic, bigger-is-better country we live in. I grapple with myself over the verse. I ask myself questions like "Could I do that if God asks it of me?" Right now, I would say very reluctantly, "Yes." But, I would do it kicking and screaming. I want that to change. I want to be able to say "Yes" and do it cheerfully. God doesn't want my resentful, i'm-doing-this-because-you-asked-me-to giving. Think about it, if you tell your kid, who's mad at you, to give you a hug and say that they are sorry saying "I hate you" and they do it resentfully, do you find pleasure in that? No, it makes you annoyed. But, if your kid comes to you of his/her own will and does it, you find joy in that moment. It's the same with God. He likes it when we come to Him willingly and give openly. With that being said, I'm going to figure out how to give willingly with my computer.

Addendum: My old laptop crashed a mere three hours after posting this update. It just goes to show that pride goes before a fall...and I crashed.

A Slap in the Face

2011-01-10T13:59:00.000-05:00

Right now, I am reading The Hole in Our Gospel by Richard Sterns, President of World Vision.

In chapter four he quotes a passage of scripture from Matthew 25. He then rewrites it in today's language. Check it out:

"For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me."

Now look at it again:

"For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank bottled water. I was a stranger, and you wanted me deported. I needed clothes, but you needed more clothes. I was sick, and you pointed out the behaviors that led to my sickness. I was in prison, and you said I was getting what I deserved." (RESV—Richard E. Stearns Version)

All I can say after reading that is, "Ouch!"

P.S. Wanna keep tabs on how you can help change the face of immigration in this country? Check out www.undocumented.tv

2010 in Pictorial Review: This year I...

2011-01-04T14:26:00.000-05:00

read Chesapeake by James Michener.

assisted Rachael in the making of stuffed animals.

survived back-to-back snowstorms in February.

helped make a first century Israeli meal.

went fishing and caught a trophy fish.

attended my first pig roast and made the rub and sauce to go on it.

attended the awards ceremony for the printing of a box I designed.

spent a lot of time with this guy.

planted stuff in the garden.

smoked salmon in a tin.

photographed bunnies in the yard.

spent a weekend with wonderful college friends.

welcomed A into the world.

grew some stuff.

and more stuff,

and still more stuff.

hung with her an awful lot.

made sushi for the first time.

spent a night in Vegas

saw the Golden Gate bridge,

the Pacific Ocean,

and San Francisco.

saw seals for the first time.

spent some time in prison.

went into a chocolate coma at Ghiradelli.

saw the Redwoods

and the Hoover Dam.

used the roadside facilities while reading the Sears catalogue.

road down Route 66.

ran from a t-rex.

ate at the Roadkill Cafe.

saw the Grand Canyon.

ate sourdough bread in San Francisco.

drank Arizona tea in Arizona.

petted this creature a lot.

welcomed another A into the world.

buried Mom-mom in Buckhorn, Kentucky.

ate a fried Twinkie for the first time.

tried to break my toe.

built a birdhouse without my father's help.

designed and created "Birds on a Wire."

canned a lot of stuff.

made beer can chicken for the first time (hiney-ken).

made a bow tie.

met the lead singer from Gungor

donated my birthday to charity:water.

welcomed J into the world.

went to Catalyst in Atlanta, Georgia.

babysat theses kiddos a lot!

helped my dad reupholster this chair.

had my shed broken into.

finished the year with a snowy end.

Thoughts on Being Single: It’s Not a Disease

2010-12-09T21:11:00.002-05:00

The constant problem I face is the lack of a significant other. Let me rephrase that. The constant problem I face are those that give me a laundry list of potential mate suggestions. Sometimes, it’s awkward. At other times, I grin and bare it. And still others, I yuck it up and slap them on the back.

When I was 25, I attended a family reunion in the area. During the course of the reunion the different family groups got up and the various members were introduced. When it came my turn I was introduced as “Sonya and single.” Now, there is an example of an awkward situation. Even though I do come from Mennonite background it is relatively frowned upon to marry your first or second cousin. The person was well-meaning and did not intend to portray me as a desperate, old spinster scoping out my first and second cousins for a potential mate. They only meant to communicate the stage of life I was in. Although being single is part of who I am, sometimes it hurts to be introduced like that. It’s better than other descriptors. Singleness is not my identity, it’s just one of the many adjectives to describe who I am. That’s what we singles want the rest of the world to know.

Throughout my twenties, I have had a particular admirer whose interest I did not return. For a while I tactfully avoided him which eventually turned into a flagrant avoidance. Probably not the best way to deal with the situation but it was very awkward problem. Unfortunately, I have have been teased mercilessly about him. Those are the times that I just grin and bare it because, apparently, I meant to just cope. If I fight back, then I’m just a spoiled sport, right? Can I just speak for the single women (men also) out there? We do not like to be teased over situations like this. Whether you realize it or not, it cuts very deeply. You see, deep inside us there is a part of us that wonders if we should just compromise and settle for someone less than what God intends for us. When singles are teased over these awkward situations it tears at our resolve. My resolve and conviction that God has me just where he wants me.

And then there are the times that I just yuck it up and slap ‘em on the back. I don’t mind so much talking to friends about this or that guy. I have a good laugh now and then with friends discussing anything from a serious relationship to the absurd. Two of my good friends and I discussed traveling the United States via hot air balloon and stopping at mega churches along the way. One night I was hanging out with some family members and they were discussing various guys they could hook me up with. It was definitely one of those yuck-it-up situations. Finally, my cousin turned to me and said, “Don’t you just love when people try to hook you up with guys?” I responded “Well, I’m kind of use to it by now. Being single is not a disease.”

And that’s the crux of it, it’s not a disease. I am not contagious. It’s not as if I have Ebola. And, strangely enough, singleness will not kill me. I refuse to live my life as if there is a cancer of my soul because I am not married. It’s easy, as a single woman, to put my life on hold because there is not a man in my life. That can be the disease of the single. It can literally leave you standing at the end of your life trying to figure out what you did with it. You will scratch your head and wonder why in the world you wasted all that time pining away. If you believe that your life cannot move forward without a boyfriend/husband, you, my dear, are mistaken. The fact of the matter is that God created each and every one of us significant. God will not wake up one morning and smack His forehead and say “Oh dear, I forgot to give Sonya a husband! She hasn’t been able to do anything significant without a husband. I’d better get on that ASAP!” If you are single, it is not a mistake. It is on purpose. God had this planned from before your conception. Several years ago I came to the realization that I had put my life on hold, to some extent, because I was not married. When I understood that, it was like a kick in the pants. I stopped living my life and limbo and started living on purpose. It released me from a lie and gave me the freedom to pursue my dreams. When I get to the end, I want to look back on a life that was lived on purpose. How ‘bout you?

Thoughts on Being Single: Contentment & Longing

2010-11-20T21:12:00.000-05:00

I feel that I have been single long enough to be allowed to write this. I know that there are people out there that have been single longer than my 29 years and I acquiesce to their wisdom on this matter. But, I believe that since I am 29, that gives me legitimate cause to wax eloquent on this matter.

When I was in high school I didn't see any point in dating. It's not that I wasn't interested, I just knew that in four short years I would be off to college. It also helped that there weren't boys interested in me, as far as I knew that is. Then, I went off to college and figured I'd meet the love of my life. Instead, I went into short-term missions which forbade me from dating. When I returned from Israel, I went back to college in hopes that my knight in shining armor would sweep me off my feet. The fact of the mater was I didn't have time to notice guys, much less socialize, due to the intense workload I carried. I dated books frequently.

I graduated and moved back to Delaware, loveless and unheartbroken. Unless you call breaking up with textbooks a heartbreak. I was thrown into the lion's den of technical college education. When I heard my first professor swear, I was certain that there was not a righteous man to be found in the entire college. Honestly though, I wasn't really looking considering I was so geeked out over my new-found love for graphic design.

Time has slipped by. I haven't been in college for 7.5 years now. I have watched friend after friend get married and still I wait in my tower to be rescued by my knight in shining armor. I do not say this to make you feel bad for me. But, if you do, monetary donations are accepted. I'm looking into a long-term relationship with a computer. Please make checks payable to Sonya Chisenhall. Enough with the silliness, let's get a little bit serious.

I don't mind being single. I'm not going to lie and say it's been like that all along. The truth is, it's been a struggle to get here. I would say about 85% of the time I'm happy being single. The other 15%, I'm stabbing myself in the eye watching a chick flick (I've had to stop watching them because I'm becoming concerned that I may loose my eyesight)

If you've been single for a long period, you understand. If not, let me break it down for you. My life has not stopped because I am single. I have a full-time job, I am involved with church, I garden fervently and I have my paws in a ton of other things that I am constantly trying to get out of. I have a life that's full. I have wonderful single and married friends to keep me company. Because I am single, I have the time to pour my life into these things. At times, it is a struggle since the misconception is that because I am single I have plenty of time to do stuff. I have tried to be very discerning in this matter because I must have time for the most important thing in my life, God. Also, if I do everything asked of me I would be in the loony bin. Relationships are important to me. When I die, I hope that the treasures I store up through these relationships with out-number my earthly treasure.

That's how I feel 85% of the time. What's the other 15% like, you ask. Well, let me tell you. It's something like sadness and longing combined. It makes me kind of mopey. Weddings can be difficult at moments (and that's not to make my married friends feel bad). Watching couples hold hand or give a peck on the cheek makes my heart cramp a little. In spite of the 85% contentment, that 15% longing can feel like the world coming to a grinding halt. It's not that I don't enjoy weddings or seeing my friends happy with their spouses, it just occasionally brings longing bubbling to the surface.

When you boil life down, contentment and longing affect all of us. The lesson that I am drawing from my singlehood is that contentment where God has place me in life is more important than longing for a premature relationship that will cause pain and heartache.

Awake My Soul

2010-11-17T15:42:00.000-05:00

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes

I struggle to find any truth in your lies

And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know

This weakness I feel I must finally show

Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all

But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall

Lend me your eyes I can change what you see

But your soul you must keep, totally free

Har har, har har, har har, har har

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love, you invest your life

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love, you invest your life

Awake my soul, awake my soul

Awake my soul

You were made to meet your maker

Awake my soul, awake my soul

Awake my soul

You were made to meet your maker

Mumford & Sons

Kentucky

2010-11-16T20:34:00.000-05:00

In July, I traveled to Buckhorn, Kentucky with my parents and various members of my extended family for the burial of my mom-mom. It had been about 12 years since I visited the land my father came from. My last trip was an adventurous affair with my cousin, uncle and mom-mom to visit my great aunt, Sophie, and deliver a green box van. My cousin and I name the van "the green machine." Aunt Sophie lives up a hollar. And no, I'm not kidding, it really is called a hollar. A hollar is where two mountain meet but don't really form a valley or ravine. Sometimes it has water running through it, sometimes not. That particular time, it was dry but for a trickle. And so up the hollar we drove. We broke out of the hollar and there on a vibrantly green knoll, surrounded by dense Kentucky forest, was Aunt Sophie's house. That evening we ate chicken fried in lard. Some of the best I've ever had. Fat and all. I slept in a bed with mom-mom that night surrounded by the late August humidity. When I awoke the next morning, I was struck by the beautiful site of the mist caught between mountains. It gets stuck there and lingers until the morning sunlight burns it off. It's something till this day moves me with it's beauty. I wondered around that grassy knoll and poked around in the shallow water of the hollar for crawdads. I remember the quiet. No sounds of traffic or airplanes. Just quite except for cacophony of summer that came on the in late morning. It was a peaceful place where time slowed and passed me by at an easy pace. I can't say that I remember much more of that trip. Except for the guy with the thick southern accent at a nearby store.

So when I returned this summer, those memories lingered in my mind. And the trip did not disappoint.


The inside of the Buckhorn Log Cathedral where my dad was baptised

The store where dad would buy an RC Cola and Moon Pie when he was a boy

While we were there some genuine hillbillies showed up.


Morning over the lake.

The cemetery on top of the mountain.

Invictus

2010-11-11T16:00:00.001-05:00

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms by the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

Crop Dusters

2010-11-11T13:05:00.001-05:00

Crop dusters have always been a part of my life. I know the season is warm when I hear their tell-tale buzzing early in the morning. I've been wanting to photograph them for quite some time but haven't ever had my camera at the right place at the right time. But, one morning I did. The only problem was that I was home sick but the drive for that picture compelled me outside. So, there I was, running my sickly self around my neighborhood to get the perfect picture. Unfortunately, I didn't get what I really wanted but I will show you my attempts.

Thoughts on Turning 29

2010-10-27T14:05:00.000-04:00

I turned 29 a couple of weeks ago and so far, I'm none the worse for wear. Considering this is the last year of my twenties I've been contemplating what that exactly means for me.

When I was a kid I took my time growing up. I wasn't really interested in getting older or having more responsibility. I took my time, I dug in the dirt and watched the world go by. It was with much reluctance that I embraced adulthood. But slowly, 10 years later, I have. Except for those brief moments that I find myself sitting at a stop light wishing I was a carefree four year old again.

My twenties have seen me through college, the return from a foreign country, a multitude of road trips, my first "real" full-time job, the weddings of many friends and now the births of their children. I find myself swallowed in a career of four and a half years and single. I can't say that I have felt that much changed with each year that goes by. Although when I turned 25, I was pretty sure that I was falling apart. I spent a good four to six months battling with one health problem after another. Thankfully, that is long gone and hopefully that means I don't have to contend with health problems for another 25 years. When I look back on the years as a whole, I see a ton of growth in my life. Spiritually, mentally and emotionally. Although, I must say that my physical being hasn't changed that much aside for some a few extra pounds. I am constantly "under-aged". Meaning, people often think that I am much younger than I am. I threatened to show a guy my license when he thought I was in high school. I was 25.

If you would've told me the day I graduated this would be the place I'm at in life, I would've called you crazy. I figured I'd be married with children by now not a single woman in a career. But, the fact of the matter is, I wouldn't trade my experiences (painful or not) for the world. It is what has shaped me and changed me and molded me into who I am today.

I'd go to say that in another 10 years I will read this and laugh. I have a feeling that the next 10 years are going to be much more eventful than the last 10.

Let's Talk Politics Again...

2010-10-24T18:32:00.000-04:00

but this time in regard to the church.

I've grown up in an area densely populated with hard-core Republicans. I, myself, happen to be a registered Republican. The church that I grew up in was predominately Republican except for one guy (that I know of). Stating that you were Democrat would've been akin to saying that the Bible is a cosmic joke. Several years ago I became a member of a smaller community church that is much more diverse than the church I grew up in. Guess what, there were people with a different political view.

A couple years ago I did something really stupid. This is not to be confused with the stupid things I do on a daily basis. No, this was one of those mother ship stupid moments. It was soon after the most recent election between John McCain and President Obama. The setting was my place, Wednesday night right after the Tuesday election and it was small group. I can't remember exactly what I said (I believe that I have blocked it from my memory) but I said something very negative towards our recently elected president. I figured everyone held the same opinion except for one couple who happened to have voted for him...which I didn't know until after I said something stupid. Several weeks later I had a conversation with my cousin in regard to this couple's feelings on the matter and realized that I had to call them and apologize. What I had done was very wrong as a leader and especially as a follower of Christ. Over the last couple of years I've contemplated this subject and come up with a few thoughts I'd like to share.

Don't assume that others share the same political opinion that you do.
This can get you into a lot of trouble. If you just shoot your mouth off about one candidate or another you can really insult someone unnecessarily. There's nothing wrong with expressing political opinion but do it respectfully. God has called us to respect our leaders, not bad mouth them. We forget that a lot.

Don't get you panties in a wad when someone disagrees with you.
In an earlier post, I commented on how politics can make perfectly civil people rabid dogs. I heard a political situation today made very awkward by a civil person turned rabid dog. Remember that God gave us free will to make choices. That means people around you will make choices that are different than you and that applies to politics.

Don't be a political evangelist.
A couple of years ago there was this guy who stood on the corner of Route 13 and 16 in Greenwood and preached hell-fire and brimstone. I found that offensive. Especially, since I was on my way home from church. I felt like yelling at him "Dude, you're preaching to the crowd and the crowd don't like what you are doing." How many people do you know personally who gave their life to Christ because someone screamed at them? OK, there might be a few because they were afraid to burn in hell forever. But, that doesn't exactly paint a pretty picture. The same applies to politics. Shoving your political opinion down someones throat makes them gag and throw up. They don't like it so stop it.

Most of all, be civil.
Polite. Kind. Respectful. Talk about the issues. Believe it or not the Democrats and Republicans actually have valid thoughts. Valid thoughts we never hear because we assume they are all radically far left or right. We make generalizations about those who hold different values and thoughts. But the fact of the matter is, we really do need to think about what the war is doing to our country and how health care should be reformed.

How do Christians fit into this whole scheme?
You know, a lot of social problems in this country and around the world would be solved if we would just act like the people that God has called us to be. The fact of the matter is, we turn our backs on it daily. Instead, we opt for comfort. Can you imagine what you would look like if God smacked you upside the head with a 2x4 every time you turned your back on him? It would not be a pretty sight. So instead of trying to push some political agenda this season, perhaps you should push the Christ agenda. Introduce people to Him through meaningful conversation, acts of genuine love, grace and mercy and prayer. Be bold and don't be afraid to speak His name. And if politics happen to come up, well, don't assume they hold the same opinion, be respectful and have good conversation about the subject. Conversations that could very possibly change the world.

Sarcasm in the Bible

2010-10-20T08:23:00.000-04:00

This morning I read this passage from Habakkuk 2:18-20:

What profit is an idol when it's maker has shaped it, a metal image, a teacher of lies? For its maker trusts in his own creation when he makes speechless idols! Woe to him who says to a wooden thing, Awake; to a silent stone, Arise! Can this teach? Behold, it is overlaid with gold and silver, and there is no breath at all in it. But the Lord is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him.

Can you see the sarcasm in this passage? People who think that God is enthroned in heaven speaking King James English have another thing coming to them. God is making fun of people who take a chunk of wood or metal and hack it into a "god". How strange those people must seem to God. They take something He created and make it into something to be worshiped. God's saying "Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of joke? I'm over here hanging out in the temple and rather then take the time to come talk to me, you're hacking a god out of something I made. Then you expect it to breath and talk?!"

You know the Bible is humorous, scandelous and bloody if you just take a moment to read it. Not that you should only be looking for humor, scandel and voilence. But, the fact of the matter is that this Book is something that you would not read to your child is it said "God's Story: Sex & Murder Included". You'd probably do a double-take and pass on the bedtime story. Yet, I learned all kinds of bloody stories when I was in Sunday School. I'm not sure if that was good or bad. As an adult, I can look at this Book with fresh eyes and see what an amazing diverse Book this is complete with sex, murder, scandel, love, grace and redemption. What a complex peice of work this is, full of new meaning every time I read it.

Catalyst East 2010: Francis Chan

2010-10-19T22:08:00.000-04:00

It's Time to Change the World

2010-10-11T20:30:00.003-04:00

This Thursday I am turning 29. Yes, I am a woman. And yes, I did just publicly admit my age.

Quite frankly I don't care if you know how old I am. But, that's besides the point. It's always bothered me that my birthday puts so much attention on me. The older I get the more uncomfortable I feel when people ask me what to give me for my birthday. First of all, I have a job and can afford the things I need. Second of all, the things I would request for my birthday are more than someone wants to pay (i.e. that new MacBook Pro that I need to upgrade too).

Which glass of water would you choose to drink?

Here's my shtick, I want to do something that's going to change the quality of life for someone else. That's why I decided to give up my birthday this year to support charity: water. What that means is, I want to build a well to give people clean water. There are a billion people in the world that have no access to clean water. What does that mean for them? Disease.

It makes you gag when you see your dog drinking out of a mud puddle.

A quote from the charity: water website states:

Unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation cause 80% of diseases and kill more people every year than all forms of violence, including war. Children are especially vulnerable, as their bodies aren't strong enough to fight diarrhea, dysentery and other illness.

90% of the 42,000 deaths that occur every week from unsafe water and unhygienic living conditions are to children under five years old. Many of these diseases are preventable. The UN predicts that one tenth of the global disease burden can be prevented simply by improving water supply and sanitation.

I want to change the world. We have to stop addressing these problems with fatalistic attitudes. Don't think that just because you are one person means that you can's change the world. If you weren't here, the world would be a whole heck of a lot different. So, don't underestimate the impact your one life can make on the world.


Yet, children all over the world are drinking dirty water right now.

So, back to my shtick. Most of you weren't even thinking about giving me a birthday gift. But would you consider donating money to build a well. It costs $5,000 to build a well that will revolutize the lives of 250 people (now that's a number you can sink your teeth into). Visit www. mycharitywater.org/sonyachisenhall or click HERE to donate now.

The Difference Between Worship Music and Hymns

2010-09-29T20:38:00.000-04:00

I was sitting in church on Sunday, third row from the back, on the left side. I was supposed to be helping with the nursery. When I went to the nursery, there was only one child. Considering it does not take two adults to care for one three year old, I was sent back upstairs. One child narrowly escaped the bad influences of Sonya. My pastor was preaching from Galatians 2. Unfortunately, I suffer from short-term memory loss so I cannot tell you exactly what the sermon was about. But, considering it was Galatians, I'm sure it had something to do with the law and grace. At the end of sermon, my pastor shared this amusing antidote comparing worship music and hymns

An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended the big city church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

"Well," said the farmer. "It was good. They did something different, however. They sang praise choruses instead of hymns."

"Praise choruses?" asked the wife. "What are those?"

"Oh, they're okay. They're sort of like hymns, only different," said the farmer.

"Well, what's the difference?" asked the wife.

The farmer said, "Well it's like this ... If I were to say to you, 'Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well that would be a hymn. If, on the other hand, I were to say to you, 'Martha, Martha, Martha, Oh, Martha, MARTHA, MARTHA, the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows, the white cows, the black and white cows, the COWS, COWS, COWS are in the corn, are in the corn, are in the corn, in the CORN, CORN, CORN, COOOOORRRRRNNNNN,' then, if I were to repeat the whole thing two or three times, well that would be a praise chorus."

As luck would have it, the exact same Sunday a young, new Christian from the city church attended the small town church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

"Well," said the young man, "It was good. They did something different, however. They sang hymns instead of regular songs."

"Hymns?" asked the wife. "What are those?"

"They're okay. They're sort of like regular songs, only different," said the young man.

"Well, what's the difference?" asked the wife.

The young man said, "Well it's like this ... If I were to say to you, 'Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well that would be a regular song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you,

Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear thou my cry
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth.
Turn thou thy whole wondrous ear by and by
To the righteous, glorious truth.

For the way of the animals who can explain
There in their heads is no shadow of sense,
Hearkenest they in God's sun or his rain
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.

Yea those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight,
Have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night
They all my mild Chilliwack sweet corn chewed.

So look to that bright shining day by and by,
Where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn
Where no vicious animal makes my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn,

then, if I were to do only verses one, three and four, and change keys on the last verse, well that would be a hymn."

I had a good hoot over that one. And then I shared it with my dad. I could delve into presenting Christianity in a cultural relevant manner and yada-yada-yada. But, I've had a long day at work and my brain is beyond fried and at the point of charcoal. I will leave it to say, there is a time and place for everything. Enough said.

Now, I will commence staring at the wall, petting the rabbit or reading Going Rogue by Sarah Palin. Or do all three while listening to The Budos Band on Grooveshark.

Introspection

2010-09-26T18:57:00.000-04:00

The weather feels a little more like fall tonight. It's cool and cloudy with the promise of rain. I'm sitting on my front steps so I can watch the world go by and think.

I had a good friend over for Sunday lunch today. I've known her for over 10 years. She got married a little over a year ago and moved three hours away to start a dairy farm with her husband. After lunch we sat in the living room and talked about everything from farming to acquintances from our past. It was good to just sit and talk. To catch up.

[side note]
My next door neighbors are just down right odd. The teenage son had his truck parked on the street and decided to park it in his driveway. Instead of just backing up and turning into the driveway, he drove down the street, almost a block, and turned around. Upon arriving back at his driveway, he turned on his hazard lights, pulled perpendicular into the middle of the street and then backed into the driveway. So odd.
[end side note]

Sometimes in life, we get too caught up in all the things we believe we need to do and don't take the time to sit and talk an afternoon away. The fact of the matter is, I can't take all this stuff with me. Spending quality time with friends old and new is more important than all the things I "need" to do. So, wherever you are, grab a cup a tea and a friend and kill an afternoon just talking. No agenda, just whatever comes to mind. It's amazing the good it does the heart.

Why Politics Suck but Suck Me in Every Time

2010-09-14T22:19:00.000-04:00

I hate politics. Really. I do.

When someone starts talking politics in my presence I throw up a little in my mouth and imagine myself running from the room screaming. Instead I turn my head to the nearest wall and start banging. One thing that really drives me nuts are the signs. It's not that they are designed poorly (which they are) but because they are every-freakin'-where. I pass a lot of them on my way to work. I spend 1.5 hours every day viewing their glorious radiance race by from the interior of my Mazda. I have daydreams of using a flame thrower and laughing like a maniac while I characoal them. I also hate mudslinging. I dislike career politicians. And people that lie. I am also not a fan of grown men that act like children having a brawl on the playground. I do not appreciate the rabid insanity that political discussions insight in groups of people. People who are congenial and politely discuss the weather any other time of the year. This is why I hate politics. It makes people crazy.

But when the sun rises on election day, I am as red, white and blue blooded as any American. I march into my district polling place, sign my name and vote Republican. And don't you forget it (mind you, I'm non-resistant and the Republicans support the on-going war...). I tell other people to vote. It becomes my civic duty for a day. And then I rabidly check online and watch TV to see the results. I cheer and scream with joy, like a banshee, when my canidate wins (because I've done such a great job promoting him/her that day).

And then I return to my cranky, imaginary flame-throwing self. Which I will continue to be for the next two months until the final elections in November.

But for just one moment, I will bask in the glory of the tea party upset in Delaware. Yes, Christine O'Donnell rocked Mike Castle's world today. I met her once. She was down to earth and seemed normal. I liked that. She rocks boats. And I like that too. Now that's I've shared that, I will go back to hating politics.

Fall is in the Air

2010-09-13T14:03:00.001-04:00

This past weekend I ventured northwest four hours to wash windows for my aunt. You probably find that to be a odd weekend adventure but I've been doing it for her ever since I was in high school. My aunt has a lovely house that was once a barn. My uncle planted some trees and started converting the barn into a house in the 70s. He passed away almost 15 years ago to a fight with cancer leaving part of the house unfinished. My aunt hired the services of my father to finish off the house. Today it is a beautiful rambling house full of windows that need washing. My aunt likes me to wash the windows because I do a good job and I don't break things. Mostly.

Yesterday morning I woke up coughing do to a remnants of a cold and decided to walk around the property. I wanted to try out a new photography app on my iPhone so I snapped a few pictures.

the view down the lane past the house

the faithful tractor

the field that houses the neighbors horses

willow leaves on red stone

leftover rain

the last blooms of summer

the beginning of fall

a grove of pine trees that my uncle planted

enjoyment for the grandchildren

the spring house

As you can tell it was a dreary morning and was chilly around the edges. When I was down by the spring house a red squirrel started chattering at me. I started worrying that it wasn't chattering at me but a bear in the woods that I couldn't see. I booked it back to the house. There was no bear.

The weather was perfect for starting a fire and drinking hot cider. So, I did just that. My aunt gets the best cider from a local place. It's unpasteurized, sweet and a little bit tart. Delicious hot or cold and tastes just like fall to me.

After my taste of fall, I returned to the Delaware flatlands to wait for fall to strike in a couple weeks. It's the season of bonfires, apple crisp and cider, pumpkins, gourds, hot tea and crisp air.

The Art of Canning

2010-08-12T22:35:00.000-04:00

It's 10:15 and I'm sitting on the floor of my kitchen waiting for my batch of ketchup to reduce. I have learned over the past three years that when the vegetables call, I must drop what I am doing and attend to them. Hence, the reason I'm sitting on the floor of my kitchen at 10:15 PM.

I always thought my mother to be slightly insane for the absurd hours that she kept while canning. Now, I understand her insanity. Mom tried desperately to teach me the art of canning while I growing up. I fought the idea kicking and screaming. I can't say that I have terribly fond memories of canning. To say that I hated it would be putting it mildly. But, there are a few happy canning memories from my childhood. I remember sitting on the porch of my grandparents house trimming greens beans and shelling lima beans. I did enjoy frenching green beans and cranking apple sauce. The fact of the matter is, I didn't pay very close attention to the process of canning when I was growing up.

When I moved out of my parents home and decided that I would grow a garden and can food. Interesting how bills can suddenly motivate one to do the things one hated in as a child. The first year I grew a garden it was an embarrassment to my ancestors. I did grow an abundance of tomatoes. I canned whole tomatoes, tomato soup and salsa. And then I gave away mass quantities of tomatoes. I'm not sure how they thrived among all that wire grass. Since then I have expanded my canning repertoire to apple sauce, peaches, pickled green beans, beets and and carrots.

It has not been unusual to find me a awake late at night. The art of canning being at the beck and call of your vegetables. They are my master, thrashing me into submission. But, all I can think of at the moment is how lovely it will be to lay my head upon a pillow.

Summer Sigh

2010-07-27T21:54:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed that the air smells different in the summer? I'm not talking about the infamous Delaware four-stench. I'm talking about the summer sigh.

Last night I drove home from Mom and Dad's after a delicious meal of summer's bounty. Since I don't have air conditioning, I was driving with the windows down. It was dusk and a full moon was rising as orange as a round of chedder cheese. The breeze was blessedly cool and as I drove I noticed a medley of scents that reminsced of summer evenings from years past. It's the scent of a summer sigh. The warm baked earth breathing out, and in the cool of the evening. It's a humid, sweet, holly blossoms mixed with honeysuckle smell. It's the fragrence of freshly turned hay in the field awaiting baling. It's that fresh aroma of dew washing the thristy ground.

And lightening bugs.

They were everywhere last night. I traced memories of a skinny, barefoot child filthy from a day's play dancing across the lawn after blips of light. Of a smudged facing gazing in wonder threw a mason jar filled with flashes of light. And as an adult taking a moment to breath and watch the lightening flash above while it's namesakes dot the field below.

Now, I sit in my second story bedroom with the window open and the air conditioner blasting in the other room. It's very energy inefficient of me. I like to look out this window at my sleepy little town. The end of the day is so much different than the beginning. No one is rushing to work. The street lights cast their yellow spell. The heat quietly gives into the cool of the night. But the real reason I have the window open is to hear the sounds of summer.

The car meandering by.

Crickets chripping.

Frogs thrumping.

Gentle breeze stirring.

Pavement exhaling.

The summer sigh.

Things I Do in the Yard

2010-07-25T21:04:00.000-04:00

I do a lot of things in the yard. I live on the corner of a block in town so I'm exposed from almost every side to the rest of the world. People can pretty much see whatever I do in the yard. When I moved here three years ago it was an adjustment since I'd spent my entire life in the woods with little exposure to the one neighbor I had. That meant I could hang out my laundry and not worry about the neighbors seeing my underwear.

I like to be outside so it's not unusual to see me frolicking in the yard. Often, I wonder what my neighbors think about my odd activities. For instance, last week I spent a couple of hours spray painting sticks silver for a wedding reception. I had to think that my neighbors were staring out the window trying to figure out why exactly I was spray painting sticks. Right after my roommates and I moved into the house I spent a lot of time fixing and painting various things outside. My brother-in-law gave me his old grill which I took completely apart in order to clean and freshen it up with a new coat of paint. As I sat in the shade of the maple tree my neighbors youngest daughter decided to sit at the end of the fence and observe this process. It made me feel like I was on live television.

I had a neighbor right across the street that was in his fifties. His name was Stanley but his wife called him s-t head. In spite of that fact, they were a very nice couple. Stanley was on disability due to heart problems, so he was at home all the time. He knew everything that happened in the neighborhood and would call the town when his neighbor's lawn would get too long. Stanley observed pretty much everything that we did. The first year I lived there I had a miserably failed attempt at growing a garden. The only thing that grew was roma tomatoes. One morning I thought that I would conquer the encroaching wire grass and got up very early to combat the problem for the heat set in. Stanley was also up for some reason and offered the use of his "weasel." It looks kind of like a bunch of spurs attached to a horizontal bar and a handle and is next to useless. I do have to say that it gave me a certain amount of comfort to know that Stanley watched everything that we did because I knew that he'd be the first to call the cops if anything went ary at our house. He was also kind enough to repair a piece of our fence when it fell over for no apparent reason. Stanley and his wife have since moved to the other side of the tracks to be replaced by a woman and her son that seem less than pleased when we attempt to speak to them.

I have been known to paint various objects in the yard including a chair without a seat, a wheelbarrow, wagon and lawn furniture. I have climbed on top the the rabbit cage to cut a piece of dead branch out of the tree, with a hacksaw, just to say I did it. I have place a large portion of my body into the rabbit cage to repair the wire sides. Last spring Doug regraded my driveway and built raised beds out of railroad ties for my garden and herb garden. Rachael occasionally runs through the lawn with the rabbit on his harness which is highly entertaining. I now hang out my laundry and have to hide my underwear behind other clothes so my neighbors can't see which brand I wear. I spend hours in the garden and flower beds maintaining them. And at the end of the day it's not unusual to find me relaxing on the deck.

Time and time again I wonder what my neighbors think of my more interesting yard activities. I could probably write a book just on their observations. Alas, I will never know and I will just have to make up my own responses to entertian myself.

He's a rabbit!

2010-07-16T08:19:00.004-04:00

I have a rabbit. Most people have a dog or a cat. I have both combined into the body of a rabbit. I named my rabbit Samson, because he has a long flowing main of fur around his head. Hence, the name of his breed, lionhead. Samson is a quirky creature prone to bouts of affection and disgruntled behavior. It’s kind of like have a woman in constant PMS living with me (I’m allowed to say that because I am a woman).

Samson is similar to a dog in that he has inappropriate longings. Most of them are directed towards my roommate's arm. This is much to Rachael's dismay since she is looking for manly affection and not the inappropriate longings of a rabbit. Samson also begs, much like a dog, for attention. When I leave for work in the morning, he rushes to the side of the cage, stands on his hind paws and shoves his nose through the bars of the cage. Don’t be fooled by his display of cuteness though. He has ulterior motives. I have yet to figure out what they are but I believe it has something to do with plotting my demise. Which leads me to why he is like a cat. He is an independent creature with a mind of his own. Samson does not like to be picked up, ever. On the other hand, he loves to be petted. Sometimes he returns the affection by vigorously grooming my arm but more often than not he wants me to pet him, now.

One of the rabbit books I’ve read says that you can train a rabbit much like a dog. In Rachael’s experience, it’s not true. Oh sure, he’ll come for a treat the first few times but after that he returns to his corner, rubbing his paws together and staring at her with hooded eyes. Never trust a rabbit with hooded eyes.

Often I see a great influx of rabbit around Easter. When Easter is long gone people figure out that rabbits really make horrible pets. Rabbits look so cute and cuddly in the pet store but when they get them home they discover that rabbits really don’t like humans and would like to kill themselves. Samson has attempted to kill himself on numerous occasions. The most noteworthy was the time Rachael took him to school to visit her third grade class. She was taking him out of his cage when he ran out, raced up her body and hurtled himself onto the floor. Needless to say, he did not come away uninjured. He busted out his two front teeth and the supporting teeth behind them. Thankfully rabbit teeth grow constantly and within two weeks everything was back to normal.

Rabbits are very expressive through their ears. When Samson is angry he lays his ears back against his body. Occasionally, he performs this behavior when he sees me walking towards him which leads me to believe that he will begin chewing on my ankles, if given the chance. When Samson is happy his ears turn forward and when he’s on alert they turn to the side. When Samson is really happy he grinds his teeth. Its either that or he’s sharpening them to take out a chunk of my wrist. When he’s really, really happy he races around the living room doing crazed hop-twists called binkys. But my favorite is when he’s confused. Sometimes he gets agitated and starts digging in the pillow he’s siting on. I like to take my hand and push the pillow upward. This evokes the confused rabbit look. One ear kind of goes forward and the other one to the side. Of course, I continue to do it repetitively because its great entertainment and free.

Rabbits are also very clean. For the most part Samson is litter box trained. He grooms himself constantly and he even vacuums his own poo when he has an accident. When I mention vacuuming, I mean that he eats his own poo. Yes, actually it is disgusting. Most animals are prone to disgusting behaviors. Dogs lick their bottoms and cats lick their private parts, often at the least desired moment.

So, the moral of the story is: if you desire to have a pet that is disgruntled, affectionate, suicidal and planning your demise, a rabbit is just for you. I am convinced that in the deep dark of one night I will awake to Samson perched on my chest preparing to sink his snowy white fangs into my jugular vein. Pets are so therapeutic.

Saying Goodbye

2010-07-09T09:26:00.001-04:00

Last night I got into my car and drove to Milford. I considered asking Rachael if I could borrow her car since she had air conditioning and I didn't. But, there was a part of me that wanted to feel the heat to remind myself that I was alive.

I was taking a trip to say goodbye to Mom-Mom.

Mom-Mom with her two oldest boys, my father and Sim

I have a confession to make: I haven't seen Mom-Mom in three years. The sad thing is, she is in a nursing home only 20 minutes from my home.

Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop with my father, Henry and Sim

I'm going to explain to why I haven't visited her, not to legitimize my actions, but in hopes that my story will keep you from making the same mistake. About three or so years ago Mom-Mom was admitted to the hospital for some physical issues. She never came home. Her mind broke. Mom-Mom went from an independent, fairly self-sufficient woman to needing constant observation. She was filled with anxiety and incapable of focusing on anything other than the things that tortured her mind. That was the last time I saw her. My mind is stamped with the image of Mom-Mom sitting on the edge her bed, wringing her hands, her forehead creased with worry. Some months later Mom-Mom was diagnosed with psychotic dementia.

My heart broke.

Phil, Sim, Mom-Mom, Eblen, Pop-Pop, Henry, Jess

Although I have never had a close relationship with Mom-Mom, I still love my family members deeply. When I am confronted with pain and hurt of the ones I love, I become a turtle. I pull all the tender, easily injured parts of my heart inside my shell and I wait for danger to pass. It's my coping mechanism.

Mom-Mom with all her siblings

Mom and Dad visited Mom-Mom religiously every Sunday. Mom would give me regular updates on her and encouraged me to visit when she seemed to be doing well. I couldn't go. It was as if my feet were cemented to the floor. In the deepest part of my heart, I knew I should visit her. Time and time again I was plagued with the thought "What if that was you?" If it was me, I would still want the ones I love to support me. Maybe that's selfish but I believe it's a intrinsic human need to be loved. Yesterday, I got the call. It was my sister telling me that Mom-Mom wasn't doing well and if I wanted to see her I should go as soon as I get a chance. I felt torn in two. From deep inside me gurgled up the scripture speaking of visiting those in need. I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I cried.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

And I went.

Mom-Mom traveling in the Philippines

Mom-Mom was tucked comfortably into bed with oxygen pumped in through her nose. She saw Mom and I but there was no recognition. Those few moments seeing my grandmother's labored breathing and frail body did my heart good. It gave me closure. The last memory of my Mom-Mom is no longer that anxious woman from three years ago but of her tucked into bed resting comfortably waiting for the embrace of her Savior.

Mom-Mom traveling in Israel

Mom-Mom died this morning (7.8.10).

She is no longer anxious.

No longer suffering.

At peace.

And so am I. I have faced a demon and won. For me, Mom-Mom died three years ago when I saw the anxious husk of the grandmother I once knew. The last three years I have waited for the physical end. That was wrong. Just because, Mom-Mom's mind was not the same did not make her deserve my love any less. In fact, it should have strengthened my love through the pain. But, I was safe inside my shell avoiding the pain. Tuesday morning God convicted me. He laid bare my neglect and selfishness. I cannot change my past but I can alter my future.

Tara, Trent, Tony and myself

Mom-Mom loved her grandbabies.

Do not make the same mistake I did. When you are faced with the pain of watching a loved one deteriorate physically or mentally, do not abandon them in their moment of deepest need. Love them through the pain. In their last moments on earth they may or may not realize it but they will die loved. That is what God has called us to do, love unconditionally.

So, my journey begins—to learn to love without bounds.

Voyage 2010

2010-07-05T18:45:00.008-04:00

I currently have a little time to kill while I wait for my pork loin to roast in the oven. It's been a month since my expedition to the west coast of the United States to visit San Francisco and beyond. I thought, perhaps, it was time to give a brief rundown. I have quite a few pictures but I've tried to narrow them down to the highlights.

My trip launched from home at 2:15 am to catch a 6:30 am flight. I was accompanied by my faithful friend, Rachael, whose family we would meet during our layover in Chicago. From Chicago we few into San Francisco where we were whisked away by our hosts. After a quick lunch Edward and Peter drove us around San Francisco. Our first stop was the Golden Gate Bridge.

We visited various points of interest including Lombard Street and the Coint Tower overlook. The evening's activities included a party about 40 minutes down the Pacific coast to Montara, a quiet ocean side town. Our drive took us along the coast on Route 1, part of which is named "the devil's spine." The reason for this rather dubious name is that people frequently get into accidents and occasionally parts of the road crumble into the ocean below. Before we arrived in Montara, Edward stopped for a briefly at a beach which was my first view of the Pacific.

The next day our travels included a trip across the Bay Bridge to the man-made, Treasure Island. It gave us a lovely view of the Bay Bridge, San Francisco, the Golden Gate and Alcatraz.

That afternoon we head to the Ano Nuevo State Park to get in some hiking and see the seals. It was a gorgeous afternoon and the weather was perfect.

On our way home from Ano Nuevo we stopped at Pigeon Point lighthouse which was used during times of whaling. It's set on top of a cliff and during certain times of the year you can see whales. I did not see whales but I did see a couple of seals and tons of ice plant.

The following day took us, via ferry, to Alcatraz. They have a great audio walking tour there and totally worth the money to go.

Afterwards we headed down the wharf to Fisherman's Wharf where I indulged in some clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl. It was stellar. For dessert, we headed over the Ghiradelli for the best chocolate ice cream I've ever had in my life. Rachael opted for butter pecan.

From there we drug our tired and highly sugared bodies 45 minutes away to Muir Woods to see the Redwoods. We went at the perfect time of day because we got in free and there were hardly any people there. I prefer not to view tourist attractions with the tourist.

The next day we drove 10 hours down to Las Vegas to spend the night.

The next morning we went over the Hoover Dam for the tour before depositing Caleb at the airport.

From there we headed towards the Grand Canyon. Part of our route took us on historic Route 66 and was one of the more entertaining parts of our trip. One of our stops included Hackberry General Store which had tons of stuff artfully arranged around it's exterior.

I got in touch with my farming roots.

While Rachael got to know a local Native American.

From there we stopped briefly at Grand Canyon Caverns so Jared could get in touch with a T-Rex.

We had a bite to eat at the Roadkill Cafe. Rachael and I shared a BLT on rye.

The next morning we scooted up to the Grand Canyon. It is as glorious and magnificent as you could ever imagine and then some.

From there we headed down to Phoenix to spend time with Rachael's aunt and family. After two and a half restful days we headed home. When we got to our car, parked at BWI, we discovered that someone *cough* had left the dome light on and run the battery down. Thankfully, BWI has assistance for those things and had us on our way quickly.

I had a blast, laughed a lot and didn't think about work for a whole 10 days. It was wonderful.

The Pre-Packaged God

2010-07-01T15:13:00.003-04:00

The older I get the more I understand that we, humans, put God in a box. When I was in college I was taught to design outside of the box. It came to a point that every time I heard that phrase, it made me gag. The concept of designing outside of the box was to approach graphic design with a non-traditional view of the way things have always been done. Essentially I was taught to reach inside myself and pull out world-shattering creativity.

I am approaching the end of my fourth year as a professional designer. My design skills have been pushed, pulled and stretched. But, you know what's happened? I've crawled back inside the box. I'm tired of taking on the non-traditional view of a project only to discover that it's not received well. You see, as people, we do not like change. We fear it. We may think we want to embrace it, but when faced with change, we climb back into the box. We close the lid. And tape it shut, just for good measure.

That's what I do with God. We all do it at one point or another. I build a box. Sometimes hastily and sometimes with great care. It is a box in which I find perfection. It is comfortable and not scary at all. And then I put God in it. I close the lid. And tape it shut, just for good measure.

Then, one day, I am faced with a trial that sucks me down like quicksand. In that desperate moment, when life is sucking me under, I cry out to God. I scream. I gasp. And in that moment to end all moments, the box explodes. I find myself wrenched from the grasp of the trial and faced with the unexpected.

Miracle.

You see, it isn't God that I put in that box, it is my perception of who God is. Funny thing is, no box can ever contain God. Think about it, how often do you perceive God one way and discover that He's not. Or, how often do you see a situation as hopeless when God steps in and turns everything upside down.

I don't know about you but I'm tired of the box. It's time to burn it. I need a miracle.

when God spanks me...

2010-06-29T07:26:00.005-04:00

I think God talks to each of us differently. To some people He says (with a Bronxs accent) "Dude, what are you doing? That was stupid. I told you it was going to be stupid but you just had to do it." To others He says (in a British accent) "What thou hast done is not wise. Thou shalt not do that which is unwise." To me He says (in a quiet, deep, fatherly voice) "Sonya don't do that, you are going to hurt yourself and others."

Most of the time God speaks to me in that deep, quiet, fatherly voice but every now and then he sounds like the dude from New York City. That's usually about the time I get spanked. Such an event occurred about a week ago. I was asked to do something I didn't want to do. In typical fashion, I threw a temper tantrum. It was mostly an internal struggle with occasional outbursts of disgruntled behavior (that's how we adults do it). I went kicking and screaming anyway to do the thing that I didn't want to do. And God spanked me. I knew I was going to be spanked. The whole time I was throwing my fit I knew I was going to get it. Then it happened. I was ashamed of my unseemly behavior and my lack of love.

When God spanks me, I usually end up feeling sheepish. It's not because God is a bully and shoves me into place. On the contrary, God's spankings involve tons of love and a gentle nudging to show me my misguided ways. I am now mollified and have learned a valuable lesson about blessing: Don't throw temper tantrums and I won't feel like a heel when I receive a blessing.

the darjeeling unlimited

2010-05-28T07:26:00.003-04:00

i love tea. i have loved tea for as long as i can remember. my first memories of tea include hot day summer afternoons and a sweating, gallon pitcher of sweetened lipton. in my opinion, my mother made the best iced tea. she would bring a saucepan of water to a boil and throw in 7 tea bags and let them steep for about 10 minutes. she would then remove the tea bags and add 1 1/4 cup of sugar. she then would take a gallon pitcher, dump 2 trays of ice in it and poured the contents of the saucepan into the pitcher. then she took rinsed the tea bags in the saucepan to get any excess tea out and poured that into the pitcher. she filled the pitcher the rest of the way with water and dumped two very large spoonfuls of lemon juice into. mixed, poured and enjoyed.

i probably drank more iced tea as a teenager than i did water. my other experience with tea was mint/garden tea. mom would cut enormous handfuls of mint tea and steep them in a hot pot of water. that i also drank iced throughout the summer.

when i went to israel for 9 months i began to drink hot tea in ernest. it was there that i was introduced to drinking tea with milk. i thought it was gross intially, but it grew on me. the apartment that i shared with my 5 teammates was chilly in december and so i would drink cups of tea to supplement body heat. plus tea was cheap and cheap was good.

when i returned from israel i didn't drink tea quite so earnestly but as time wore on my obsession with tea grew. i couple years ago i learned that there are an exceedingly great number of varieties of tea. i plunged myself into the world of tea with a fanaticism. now i drink whole leaf tea steeped in a tea ball resembling a giant safety pin. i drink teas like moroccan mint (gunpowder green tea with mint), green tea with cherry blossoms and rooibos (a red, decaf tea from the southern part of africa). to say i'm a fanatical purest would be true. i believe that the best cup of tea must be made from whole leaf tea and never drink milk with it unless it's black or red tea. but i'm still not above iced lipton or mint tea. today i have 4 patches of mint growing in my herb garden, apple mint, chocolate mint, peppering and spearmint. for me hot tea is the taste of winter and iced tea is the taste of summer.

i have the priveldge of having friends that travel the world and occasionally one of them will bring something tasty back for me. in this case it wasn't for me, but for my roommate but we enjoyed this package of darjeeling straight from darjeeling, india.

i'm also a huge believer in sweetening my hot tea with raw sugar. it's delicious!

i just recently had a friend that brought my roommate and i these two packages of darjeeling. and it was a good thing since our supply was running dangerously low!

i picked up this tea set at a flea market for a couple bucks. it's handpainted japenese china. i made a pot of tea and enjoyed drinking it out of this lovely cup last saturday morning.

in case you desire to explore the world of tea a little more these are the two sources i order from regularly the republic of tea and tea source (not a terribly enticing website but the tea come nicely packaged in resealable bags). sip, swallow, enjoy!

the anti-clique clique reunion

2010-05-15T21:18:00.004-04:00

i got around to pulling off the photos that were on my nikon and discovered that the only thing i had on it were pictures of was a weekend reunion with college friends.

i spent two years of my post-highschool life at Rosedale Bible College smack dab in the middle of Ohio. my time at Rosedale actually flanked the year i went to Israel. when i came home from Israel, i spent a month at home and then straight off to Rosedale to complete my associates in Biblical studies. that's where i met these lovely ladies.

it was cold and windy and, of course, we picked the most cold and windy spot to take this picture. the setting was pretty, that's all that mattered.

we relocated to the less windy temperatures of the lilac bush.

we spent the weekend in a house across the road from danny and liz's. the house we were in was actually the orginal farmhouse on the property. the barn and milking parlor were situated near the house. liz and danny live between hagerstown and hancock, MD just over the PA line. in spite of the fact that it was a cold and windy weekend, the area was beautiful. the grass was vibrantly green and the mountians made for a lovely backdrop.

proof that Danny and Liz are actually farming.

we spent a lot of time talking, catching up and getting aquantied the the husbands that have married these beautiful women. rachel and i are the only unmarried in the group and that will only be for a short time since, she is marrying kiron in july. no need to give me words of advice on my singlehood, i've heard them all.

the guys were on a mission to play settlers of catan. i was lame and went to bed because my 28-year-old body just doesn't stay up till the wee hours of the morning anymore.

i was thinking back to those Rosedale days and about the things we did together. here are just a few:

BRA (Bedtime Readers Association). we would gather in anita and queena's room for the half hour dormtime and read aloud from barbara kingsolver's the poisonwood bible. slightly depressing story but great read. i have fond memories of lounging on the floor listening to the story and the sounds of 18-20 year-olds getting ready for bed.
indoor picnics. once again we would gather in anita and queena's room to eat crackers and cheese on a blanket spread on the floor.
an evening excursion to dublin that landed us in london. first off i just think it's weird that there are towns named dublin and london in central ohio. the story goes that we were headed to dublin to a coffee shop to celebrate someone birthday. due to detours and the confusion of back roads we ended up at a truck stop in london, which, by the way, is in the opposite direction from dublin. we drank hot chocolate, ate truck stop food and stayed away from scary trucker men.
interperative studying. you may have heard of interperative dance but i'm pretty sure you haven't heard of interperative studying. it was the night before an exam and a couple of us ended up on the stage in the chapel. why we picked that location i'm not sure. as i recall we were studying world religions and cults. at one point, anita stood up and started interperating the information we were studying through acting. it may have helped me remember some vague point on the exam but i can't be certian.
multiple inside jokes including randal balmer and little lamb.
quoting/acting lines from the emperors new groove

i have such great memories hanging out with those women. i am eternally grateful that i drug my sorry butt back to RBC to complete my associates if only for the reason of meeting these women and forming meaningful, lasting friendships with them.

a pic for the road.

fail

2010-05-13T12:51:00.005-04:00

i will admit failure. there's no point in trying to make up something. the fact of the matter is, life got busy. in the winter it's easy for me to make up grandiose proclamations about the things i'm going to do. then the spring hits and i go into throws of frantic activity including tons of yard work, a women's conference at church and a weekend reunion with friends from college. so, my photos of the day have fallen by the wayside. in lue of that, i'll share a couple photos of what's been going on in my life in the last month and a half.

hanging out with samson in the hammock which is tied to the only tree in the yard and the shed.

dinner in a tin. i have this facination with cooking over fire whether it's in the fire pit, gas or characoal grill. i found this great recipe for smoked salmon in a tin in my jamie at home cookbook. i also made side of kale in tin foil packages seasoned with garlic, salt, olive oil and lemon juice. it was delicious and you should definitely try it.

a dear friend of mine gave birth to her first child, a son, Alex. he is a chunk of baby, weighing in at 10.1 lbs. mom, dad and baby are at home enjoying this new stage of life.

my clematis is blooming with a vengence. unfortunately, the weather was rather windy last weekend and a lot of my blooms have been blown off. i stomped off the the amish green houses to buy the rest of my plants for my flowerbeds last saturday and now i'm looking forward to a nice saturday this weekend getting them into the ground. i also need to plant my summer garden. this year i'll be planting a cherokee purple tomato, hillbilly potato leaf tomato, amish paste tomato (for canning), hill country red okra, provider bush bean, pencil pod golden wax bean, fish pepper, yellow peppers, florida high bush eggplant, A & C pickling cucumber, yellow squash, and zucchini. i love having a garden in the summer and i could wax elloquant about them but i will refrain.

i went to a shorebirds game last saturday with some friends and took my baseball fanatic nephew with me. we had a blast and even had the entertianment of a drunk guy sitting next to me. last year the highlight was a broken bat flying into the section next to us.

i have some other photos from the month on my nikon i need to drag off the throw up here. i'll try to get that done before another month and a half goes by.

[pod] baby beets

2010-04-08T21:31:00.002-04:00

i planted my spring garden a couple of weeks ago and i have babies now. that's how i refer to them, my babies. i currently have sugar snaps, two varieties of beets, carrot, lettuce mixture and two varieties of spinach. of course as soon as i see them pop through the soil i think that they need to be mature immediately. oh well, the patience of gardening.

[pod] green bottles

2010-04-07T21:21:00.002-04:00

i have always been fascinated with bottles. as a result i have collected them over the years and between i and one of my roommates we now have an interesting collection. these are just a few that grace the top of a bookshelf in the living area.

[pod] studio violence

2010-04-06T14:56:00.004-04:00

today i was walking out of the studio to get a drink of water when i looked over and noticed this. i'm not sure who is responsible but i would hazard a guess that it was a boy of 11 or 13.

Monday, April 8, 2010
[pod]cast
i listen to and watch podcasts frequently. one of my favorites is mark driscoll from mars hill church in seattle washington not to be confused with rob bell's mars hill church. mark driscoll is currently preaching through the gospel of Luke and i think it's his best series so far. that's just a matter of opinion. the thing that makes this series particularly unique is that he traveled, last summer, through israel to gain on-location footage of the places talked about in Luke. for me, it's like i'm walking through israel all over again and it brings waves of nostalgia washing over me. not only that, it's good preaching. stellar, in fact. you can download the sermons from itunes or watch them here.

[pod] lent

2010-04-04T20:41:00.017-04:00

it has been a while since i've posted and admittedly it has not been easy to make my way to a computer to post. i have been very busy in the last two weeks between work and planning the maundy thursday service at church. now, the service is over and i am breathing a sigh of relief knowing that the next service is 363 days away. with that being said, i feel as though my photos of the day have suffered deeply in quality throughout this time. i believe that is a result of putting my creative powers into my work and planning the maundy thursday service. i will also admit that i missed two days where i took no pictures at all. sad but true.

throughout the 40 days prior to Easter i gave up sugar for lent. lent is not a tradition that i grew up with but adopted because i think it's a meaningful practice. the point of fasting is when i crave what i gave up i think of Christ and His sacrifice. admittedly, i don't always do that. but, self-denial is a good thing because i give up the things that the flesh wants and am constantly reminded that just because i want it doesn't mean it's good for me. the interesting thing about lent is that it makes my anticipation for Easter is deeper. Even though it was on a physical level, it adds depth to the meaning of Easter. when i was planning out the delicious sugary things that i was going to eat Easter morning, i couldn't help but think of the real meaning of Easter celebration. the celebration of my risen Lord! fasting constantly pointed me back to the cross and reminded me that Jesus gives my life purpose.

Saturday, April 3, 2010
[pod] the mess

this is the ensuing wreck that occurs in my room when i spend several weeks immersed in business. whatever is in the common area, that is mine and does not belong there, ends up on my room on a pile. eventually, i have a path that leads to the door, dresser and closet. at times, even that is questionable. is it embarrassing? yes. i am 28 years old and should know better by now. but no, i flagrantly strew things hither and yon and very rarely do i ever make my bed. my mother would be ashamed. that's why i never invite her upstairs to view the chaos i call my room.

Friday, April 2, 2010
[pod] the unknown fluff

post Maundy Thursday (aka Good Friday) rachael and i traversed the southern third of Delaware to trap pond state park home of the bald cypress. this, of course, was after we so lovingly unpacked our cars of all the props from Maundy Thursday and returned most of them to their rightful places about our home. this was also after sorting through a pile of costumes. and after we delivered soup tureens and oil lamps to my mother. after which we delivered said costumes to their rightful owners. and then there was a stop at Tractor Supply to price "the peacemaker" (a new lawn mower) which was followed by a rather arduous journey through Lowes. that led to a flat bed cart filled with paving stones, two large bags of potting soil, a bag of pebbles, a lawn mower and a lamp shade. this, in turn, created entertainment for the rest of the customers in Lowes as rachael pulled and i pushed. finally around 3 pm we made it to trap pond whence we devoured our earlier purchased greenwood chicken next to the pond whilst shivering. it was slight chiller than anticipated. we then forayed into far dark wood for a hike or sorts where we came upon the pile of fluff pictured above. moments after discovered fluff we heard the sound of an owl hooting and took cover lest our eyes be plucked from our very head. actually, what really happened is i took this picture, we pondered the "hoot" and hiked on until we found a sunny spot to sit, read and discuss Genesis 16. that in essence was the whole point of the hike. i am teaching on Genesis 16 on Wednesday night for small group and wanted to discuss it with the resident teacher to get a firmer grasp on the passage. it was successful, but the mystery of the fluff remains just that. a mystery.

Thursday, April 1, 2010
[pod] exhaustion

this is a photo of a woman who has been sleep deprived and boarder line insane for two weeks due the planning of a Maundy Thursday service. for those of you who have never heard of Maundy Thursday (as i had not until about 4 years ago) it is a service that commemorates the Last Supper. i have found it to be a very meaningful service that prepares my heart for the Easter weekend. this year my small group dressed as the 12 disciples and Jesus. throughout the night we quoted the scripture that Jesus spoke 2,000 years ago. we also served a simple meal of lentil soup, homemade matzoh, hummus, lebne, grapes, dried figs, dates and almonds. we also participated in foot washing and communion. the whole evening was lite by candles and oil lamps. in spite of the perfect opportunity, i did not take any photos of the evening due to running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010
[pod] teddy

yes, i am 28 years old and still sleep with a teddy bear. i know, he looks kind of rough but he has been my constant companion for the last six years. he was a gift from my mother who kindly replaced my previous teddy bear that fell out of a truck when i was on my way home from college one term. he went unnamed for quite sometime until one of my roommates took it upon herself to name him teddy. occasionally she takes up the banner of improper teddy usage and goes on a campaign to save him from such things as: being stuck between the bed and my wall indefinitely and of clutching teddy upside down while sleeping. in spite of his worn state he continues to be a quietly patient companion.

Monday, March 29, 2010
[pod] peppermint

evidence of Maundy Thursday planning lying on the coffee table beneath a slumped bottle holding peppermints. peppermints make me think of my mom's peppermint angel food cake. she just makes an angel food cake from the box and uses a cool whip based peppermint icing that she dusts with crushed peppermints. then she puts it in the freezer for a little while so that it's firm when we eat it. it's delicious and i love it from the bottom of my heart.

Sunday, March 28, 2010
[pod] green glass

continued evidence of Maundy Thursday planning. can you tell that it absorbed my life briefly?

Saturday, March 27, 2010
[pod] arabic coffee
.it's been a while since i've made arabic coffee and for some reason i was struck with the desire to make it on this Saturday afternoon. i decided to use decaf coffee since i didn't need to be all hopped up on caffeine. arabic coffee is similar to turkish coffee in it's strength but different in that it is made with the addition of cardamon. it's sweet, strong and delicious!

Friday, March 26, 2010
[pod] cheaper by the dozen

i visited my high school alma mater, greenwood mennonite school, to see "cheaper by the dozen". i was a part of this play in high school about 13 years ago but not as an actress. i was a sound effect. for a cat. yes, i did say sound effect for a cat. i have a little-known talent of being able to screech, very realistically, like a cat. the play director who was also my english teacher was lamenting the fact that he was unable to find the sound effect of a cat screeching. one of my beloved friends, who knew my cat screeching talent quite well, announced that i was capable of the task. i could've crawled under my desk. and so, that's how i found myself behind the curtain screeching like a cat. it was fun to watch 13 years later, but the used a dog instead of a cat...it just wasn't the same.

Thursday, March 25, 2010
[pod] i love you miss huddleston

since taking this picture i have finished reading this book. it is a childhood memoir written by philip gulley, a quaker minister in central indiana. i have been reading his "harmony" series lately but took a break to read this memoir. i have laughed out loud reading his books. the plot of his story surrounds a quaker minister and his congregation. his characters are larger than life but so often i find them to be almost realistic in the attitudes they portray in the church. they are a great, fun, quick read and highly entertaining.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010
[pod] the sauce jar carrier

here is where i talk about my work. i don't do that very often on here but this was significant enough to warrant comment. a while back i worked on a project designing a sauce jar carrier for grotto pizza that contained sauce jars whose labels i also designed. it was a fun project to work on and i love designing packaging. the project went incredibly smoothly and the printer was so impressed by the design that they decided to submit it to the PGAMA awards. it won in it's category but unfortunately, not best of category. we lost to covergirl. i must clarify here that i was not the one winning the award, it was the printing company winning the award for printing the piece. convoluted, i know. but, i must say that the printing company we worked with was extremely gracious and knew that without the design they could not have submitted the piece at all. it is still exciting to see something that i worked on win an award of some kind.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010
[pod] ironing

i was wandering through the living room when i looked up and noticed the steam rising from the iron when rachael lifted it. i grabbed my camera to capture it but for some reason, try as she might, she could not replicate what i had seen moments before. i still love how the light is coming in through the window and the general feel of the picture.

Monday, March 22, 2010
[pod] rabbit
this is a lame pod mainly because i was lazy and i've already taken a photo of samson. it was convientant and that was all that mattered at that moment. he was probably considering peeing on my beds at that moment.

Saturday, March 20, 2010
[pod] thorns and daffodils

my daffodils were gorgeous this year. rachael very lovingly trasplanted them from their haphazard arrangement around the house to lining the back of the flowerbeds along the front and part way down the side of the house. last year they looked a little anemic. this year they were in their radiant glory. oh yeah, so apparently my camera did not focus on the daffodil as well as i thought it did so the leafless rose bush is what's in focus. they will be glorious in about a month from now.

Friday, March 19, 2010
[pod] pig roast

i went over to my sister's house to help my brother-in-law prepare the pig by rubbing it with the previously posted rub. he then started a bonfire next to the pit to burn the night oil. i actually meant to take a picture of the pig, in it's rubbed glory, but forgot and had to settle for this picture instead. i will just say, the pork was amazing. i pulled an entire ham and dumped a vinegar-based, caroline style, bbq sauce on it. stellar.

[pod] the rub

2010-03-18T21:05:00.003-04:00

tomorrow night around 6pm three of my cousins and my brother-in-law will be putting a 160 lb pig on a cooker to roast for about 12 hours. i have a deep fascination will grilling, bbqing and smoking so i volunteered to make the rub for the cavity of the pig. this is a carolina bbq rub recipe so it's spicy with a touch of sweet. i'm going to have them pull some of the pork and then dump a spicy vinegar sauce over a pan of the meat. salivating yet?

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

[pod] st. patty's day

i like this holiday. i'm not sure why, but i like it. i think it's because i admire st. patrick. i read a historical fiction book called patrick by stephen lawhead a couple of years ago and found it extremely challenging.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

[pod] fishin' hat

i wear this hat when i fish. i thought you should know that. (and my rabbit just pulled a feather out of the pillow on the end of the couch. freak.)

[pod] southern finest bbq

2010-03-15T22:11:00.002-04:00

my roommate and i ordered dinner tonight from southern finest bbq in dover. my employer's family stopped there this past weekend and they raved about the food. so when rachael told me she had an appointment in dover i jumped at the opportunity to get some take-out from southern finest bbq. i ordered the bbq combination and the fried whiting with collard greens, black-eyed peas, stewed tomatoes and cole slaw on the side. to say it was delicious would be putting it mildly. as rachael put it "the cheapest happy in the world!" southern finest bbq will be having a couple of blues bands come in on saturday night, april 10 so if you are hankerin' for some stellar soul food check 'em out. you can also read about them a little here.

[pod] renewed

2010-03-14T09:03:00.004-04:00

i step outside and close the door.

in the stillness of the night,
i hear a passing car
i think that i might
have heard a sound from afar.

my feet pause as they crunch upon the gravel
i strain to hear with baited breath
the distant sound of winter unravel.
i am frozen in mid-step
while round me heaves all humanity.
can they hear the promise of new life
of a great and beautiful new sanity
the distant sound to the end of strife?

'round me swirls the fog in mist
if only man could understand
and comprehend the jist.
i take a step, wipe my feet of sand.

i step inside and close the door
take a sigh with all my might
the sound of spring peepers o'er
lingering in the night.