The Obligitory Christmas Post

When everything is “meh,” it’s hard to get excited or involved in anything. I found Christmas seriously, seriously hard this year. Decorating became a chore, baking became overwhelming, shopping? All I can say is thank whatever supreme being there might be for Amazon. The most enjoyment I got out of Christmas ramp-up, and don’t laugh because I am dead serious, was ordering wood grain wrapping paper paper to go with our Christmas tree theme: wood ornaments only. 

We spent the week leading up to Christmas shouting, "That's mahogany!" every time a cat or a girl got too close to the tree!

The other highlight of Christmas? Funny story actually.

We haven’t updated our gaming console since the PS2. Really. We have a first gen Wii, but I don’t considering that as an “us” update. The Wii was a gift from my mom many, many years ago. So our console gaming has been rather limited in the past few years. Don’t get me wrong, I love my PS2 and it will not become part of the Dejunking 2015 project at all. I have very specific, very joyful memories attached to it. Yeah, I’m looking at you Sara. Baulder’s Gate Marathon? SSX Tricky until our fingers cramped? Still play ‘em. Still love ‘em.

This Christmas Scott and I decided to finally update to a PS4. Cool, right? We completely skipped a generation! The girls were thrilled when they opened it Christmas morning, squeed even, and couldn’t wait to start playing. So as I was making the Christmas Breakfast and getting ready for work (yeah. Work on Christmas. Sucks, but that’s the hospitality industry for you.) Ashleigh started unboxing and setting up the new shiny.

After a few minutes of ripping plastic, tearing tape, and shredding cardboard, Ashleigh appeared in the doorway, a cord in her hand.

“Mom, I can’t set it up.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s no plug for it,” she said.

“Just unplug something else.” We’ve got a dvd player, Wii, and PS2 all hooked up to our TV, surely there is something we can do without.

“No, Mom,” she wiggled the cord at me, “It won’t plug in. There isn’t a port.”

Frustrated because of the 20 million things I’m trying to get done, I walked into the living room and took the cord from her. “What do you mean?”

“This cord doesn’t fit the tv.” She wiggled the cord at me again.

I pulled the cumbersome, heavy tv away from the wall and look at the back. And Friends, wouldn’t you know it, our TV is so old, that it doesn’t have an hdmi port! Seriously? Yup. Our ancient, only got it because it was on sale and they were discontinuing the model, tv can’t handle new technology.

Scott and I couldn’t stop laughing. The girls? Well, they were less than amused.

Guess what else we got for Christmas?

Changes

I'm not burnt out on blogging. Let me just make that clear. It would be great to say amazing things are happening: I won the lotto, I discovered a new element, Scott and I bought an RV and are currently traveling the lower 48, my novel was getting published.

But none of those dreams have come to pass...yet.

In all honesty, my job has changed gears and although I am now working a normal 9-5 day by the time I get home, dinner, kids, chores...you know the drill, the last thing I feel like doing is sitting at the computer. When I worked 2nd and 3rd shift, it was easier to define my time. I could work on a blog post in the morning when the girls were at school or in the middle of the night when all was quiet at work and I didn't feel like I was short-shifting my time with the girls.

I don't know how other do it! Jobs, kids, chores, blogs?

Well, no. I do know. We make time for what we prioritize. I get that. And right now, my problem is that this blog, blogging in general, just isn't a priority. I've got other things that I need and want to focus on. 

Am I saying goodbye? 

No. 

No, I'm not shutting down. I'm not going anywhere. 

But trying to force myself to commit to a blogging schedule just stresses me out. It stops being fun and entertaining and becomes a chore, just one more thing I need to take care of like the laundry or mowing the lawn. So for the time being, I'll work on posts as and when I can. With no rhyme or reason, I do hope you'll all still check in with me from time to time!

Happy New Year, Friends!

 

Committing to Commitment

I work better, I’ve found, when I have multiple deadlines looming over my head—even if they are self-imposed deadlines. So, I know I said back in October I was back in the blogging game, but then I fell off the edge of the planet again. Go figure. I blame my BFF Sara for that, although she doesn’t know it (then again, maybe she does, she is scary perceptive like a ninja). Sara is in her third trimester and I have gone crafting crazy trying to get my BIG plans completed before Baby arrives! So October passed in a blur of yarn and fabric and emergency poodle skirts. And I’m still not done!

So what does that mean for me? Well, November is going to be busy. As always. I don’t even try to pretend to be surprised. In addition to the crafting and NaNoWriMo, I am going to commit to getting at least two posts a week. They might be short, maybe just be a photo or two. But the more I have to accomplish, the more willing I am to manage my time appropriately and not procrastinate.

And Friends, I am a big procrastinator. If I started a list of all my faults, procrastination would be at the top. I totally blame my family for that one. As the baby of the family, I learned very early on that if I waited long enough, someone else would do my task for me. Heck! My mom and sister still do it! Remember that whole painting my house thing?

(Another fault, since I’m listing them, apparently I don’t like to take responsibility for myself. But I blame my birth order for that.)

But no one is going to craft for me. And no one is going to NaNo for me. And clearly, no one is blogging for me. So I’ve got to pick up the slack. And by pick up the slack, I really mean, actually do the stuff that I want to do: crafting, blogging, writing.

Of course, there is one teensy flaw in my plan. Work. Yup. Me working, as much as I love my job (and a post is coming out soon about that) it really is putting a kink in my whole time management plan. Although to be fair, there are a few things I can do while I am at work that doesn’t interfere with actually working especially during the slow period, but don’t tell anyone I said so!

The Write Way to November

Last year, between a whole bunch of crazy, I decided to forgo my usual November pastime: NaNoWriMo or as I like to call it, No Sleep November. At the time it was the best thing for me to do. Honestly, last year, a month of bizarre writing schedules was just not something I could handle nor commit to. But it was like a punch in the gut when I dropped out. I felt like a tool, disappointed in myself for allowing myself to contrive a nicely wrapped gift package of excuses.

I told myself I hadn’t prepped my story enough. Then I decided I hated the story I was telling. Then I spun into a cycle of “who am kidding,” and found myself staring at a blank screen on my netbook and empty lines in my NaNo notebook - I get a new one every year and all those pages made my head spin, my heart pound. Was this real? I asked myself. Am I having an anxiety attack over something that is supposed to be fun?

So I stopped. Cold. Dead. In the middle of a sentence, I closed the document, did not save, turned off the computer, and walked away from the table.

I was done.

I’m not sure what I regret the most: dropping out or trying to start in the first place knowing I wasn’t feeling it.

Truth be told, I had actually put NaNo out of my mind until yesterday when I got the first official updates from the NaNo people in my inbox. And I panicked!

I’ve got nothing planned! I’ve got too much on my plate! I’m working now - crazy work hours with an even crazier sleep schedule!

After my moment of sheer and utter panic, I stopped and shook my head in disbelief. What am I doing, I thought? I’m already making excuses and I‘ve got a month. I’ll never get anything done unless, you know, I actually go and do it. I love NaNo. I love the crazy, the fast-pace, the insane daily word counts, the weaving and crafting of a story (no matter how much I might think it sucks). I love my few hours at Barnes and Noble typing furiously and drinking buckets of coffee.

I know that I’ve got a good half dozen story ideas that I can plan out this month and be ready to commit to writing in November. So here I am making a public commitment. Call me out on it if you think I’m slacking. Demand that I post my word count in prominent locations. Throw crazy ideas my way and challenge me to make something out of them. I’m game.

October Revolution

It would be great to say I was so entirely busy with my life that I just didn’t have time for blogging, but I try to be honest here so I can’t claim busy as an excuse. In all honesty, there really isn’t one single excuse.

I lost interest.

It became a chore.

I had nothing good to say.

I was doing other things (not too busy mind you, just pursuing different creative outlets).

All sound pretty…excusey.

I could throw this one out there: My eldest got obsessed with interneting and because of that my interest diminished.

And that almost comes to the point. In fact, if I’m going with excuses that one is the only one I would lay claim to. As her interest developed, I started paying attention to my internet habits and realized how much time I actually spent online. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, spending time online, but I saw how much time I could reclaim for other activities.

The time spent at work, much of it while the girls were at school, limited our family time and interneting sucked even more time away.

I stopped writing blog posts, I stopped reading blogs, I stopped clicking on links. I checked my email and Facebook a few times a day, the weather and the news, and then I walked away from the computer. I crafted, played, cleaned, worked.

But even that is an excuse.

There were plenty of times that I thought to myself: Ooo! I should blog this! But didn’t. I didn’t feel like sitting down at the computer. So I made notes to myself and moved on with my day.

So yeah, maybe I just needed a break.

Let’s go with that: needing a break. You saw other blogs and that’s okay. We were on a break. But I want back in.

Burn Barrel Romance

Scott is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise person out of necessity. He has a very physical job and while he isn’t old, he isn’t young anymore either (neither am I for that matter, being a year older than he is). By eight o’clock most nights he is in jammies and ready for bed. So when we came home after Cyra’s concert last week and Scott put his yard work clothes back on I was more than surprised.

“What are you up to,” I asked him as he slipped he shoes on.

“I’m going go burn things and drink a beer…or maybe two. Want to join me?”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

There’s something about sitting in front of a fire with Scott that makes my insides woozy. Normally when we sit around in front of a fire it’s when we are off camping and marshmallows are involved. Not romantic, per se, but nice enough. And making a big fire in the burn barrel, while it might not involve s’mores, is fun nevertheless.

The moon and stars peeked through a mostly overcast sky and I dragged our two Adirondack chairs into the yard while Scott began building the fire. By the time I brought our drinks out – a nice IPA for Scott and a good cup of Earl Grey for me (ironically although the selling and drinking of beer is our main source of income, I don’t particularly care for the taste) Scott had a good size blaze going.

We turned off the flood lights and sat in the glow of the barrel, quietly sipping our drinks. Cyra, her bundle of nerves exhausted from the concert, had collapsed into bed soon after we arrived home and Ashleigh was glued to the internet, giggling over The Meta Picture and fan-girling to manga. The neighborhood was quiet except for the billions of frogs in the pond out front and the occasionally barking of a dog.

I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow Scott and I ended up having a date night: out of the house, in front of a roaring fire, sharing a drink, and no kids around? Sounds like a date to me. So what that it was in the backyard and mosquitoes the size of Cessnas buzzed around us despite the heavy dose of bug spray and citronella candles.

And somehow, magically, we ended up breaking one of our cardinal rules: never, ever, talk religion or politics.

Our views are so vastly different that we don’t even try to come to a common ground anymore. We just accept that we will never see eye to eye on certain things and so those subjects are not permitted. But on this magical, burn barrel date we talked religion. And, even more surprising, it didn’t end in a fight.

I must be maturing.

I don't know exactly how the subject came up, but it all came down to the way we met. Scott claims fate: some force led us to make the choices that led us to meet – he draws the line at calling predestination (even though it certainly sounded like that to me) claiming that just because we were fated to meet didn’t mean, necessarily, that we were fated to be together.

It reminded me of my days back at Flagler when I took a Milton class (you know, Paradise Lost, that guy). Oh the debates that I demanded we have in class (remember, Sara?) all the arguments I brought up about free will versus predestination to the point where the professor had to tell me to give it a rest.

But I couldn’t. It bugs me even today. If the god you believe in is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving then you cannot have free will because he already knows what you are going to do and you can’t prove an omnipotent being false so therefore you have no choice but to do what has already been seen. That, my friends, is predestination.

Whoops!

I’m breaking my no religion, no politics rule here too! Yikes!

Back to the story! My argument is that if we were destined to meet, then all of our choices along the way are trivialized because it wouldn’t matter what choice we made, we’d still have ended up meeting. Scott argues that my view only works if our meeting is the be all end all of those choices. It got more convoluted as the evening wore on. We teased and laughed, joked and smiled. There may have been some kissing too - but I don't kiss and tell!

Regardless of the conversation, I am more than happy with the choices that led me to Scott. Whether it was predestination, fate handing us a road map, or just simple coincidence, without Scott I wouldn't have my girls, my BFF Sara, or a million wonderful memories and moments with a man I can't imagine my life without.

And that, my Friends, I wouldn't change for the world!

Plight of the Computerless (UPDATED)

Remember that time a few weeks ago when I said I'd keep blogging because I wasn't burnt out or anything like that after the A to Z challenge?

Yeah. I didn't lie, but all of a sudden I became slightly more computerless than I was before. You know back when I had a computer to use and all.

Long story short, I finally got around to installing the new cd/dvd drive my sister got me for Christmas (yes, it took me nearly five months to do it. I'm lazy, remember?) and wouldn't you know it, that even though it only took me about ten minutes to install, I apparently screwed up something somewhere, because the second I turned it on, I got the blue screen of death.

Twice.

So off to the Computer ER I rushed with my ancient tower. And, well...I confiscated my daughter's laptop in the meantime, but I'm taking this time to go a little unplugged. It's nice. And some projects around the house are actually getting done. Amazing what one can accomplish without the Internet to entertain me!

Hopefully, the computer techs will be able to fix whatever I screwed up and I'll be up and running again sometime next week. Until then, My Friends, I'll be putzing around the house and garden - have I mentioned my garden yet? No? Well, just wait!

Cheers!

UPDATE:

Seriously, folks, I got my computer back and they techs were all like..."Um it's $40 bucks and we couldn't find anything wrong anywhere. We had it running all day. No blue screen. No weird noises. Nothing."

Okey Dokey.

So , YAY! Computer! Although they did mention that it was a rather old computer. Old? It's barely five...but I guess in computer years that's about 4,724 years old. Guess that will need to get budgeted in sooner or later.

Updates, News, and Other Info

UPDATES:

Blogging A to Z - Guys! Can you believe that it starts Monday? HA! Me either! Remember back when I said I was going to work at getting everything set and prewritten and...yeah. That didn't work at all. So I had a theme, I dropped a theme, I went back to my original idea, struggled to plan it, got a job, and almost decided to forgo the challenge. Then I read a news story in my local paper the other day that made me go, "hmm."

And with that, I present my new and improvised theme:

Archaic Slang Of America's Yester Years Through The Ages And Across The States

I'll admit, the title might need some work - it is a bit wordy, but I like words. I especially like words and sayings that not many people use. So there you go. 

NEWS:

Did you catch up there how I mentioned getting a job? Skimmed right over that part, didn't you? Well! I never...okay, I have but that's not the point. The point, Friends, is that I am once again  gainfully employed. Scott and I had a super long talk (seriously, it's been going on for about a year or so) and after nearly two years of playing the application game with the local school district we came to the decision that I needed to look at other options (really, it is wicked hard to get a position in this district. I'm pretty sure that unless you know someone, it just isn't going to happen). 

Interestingly enough, just like we found our current home on craigslist*, I found my job there too. I am back in the hospitality industry as a front desk clerk at a local hotel. I had my start in hospitality/service way back after I graduated high school and then all through college so I am familiar with it and honestly, I'm good at it. As much as I like to try to deny it, I am a people person and I like interacting with...you know...people. 

That being said, I'll be working a couple of wonky shifts and until I adjust completely, interneting and blogging will be taking a backseat. I'm going to do my best with the A to Z but I honestly don't expect my posts to be very long or story-like as they were last year. FYI - if you are recently joining me, you should check out last year's A to Z when you have a chance.

*remind me to share a really funny-creepy story about looking for jobs on craigslist! Honestly we should do a craigslist bloghop with funny-creepy stories because oh man! do I imagine that you guys have a bunch!

OTHER INFO:

Umm...Okay, yeah, you got me. I don't have anything else to add right now. How's about I leave you with a photo?

Mysterious Cinder Block Circle found just off a trail at Girl Scout Camp.

I Made It Monday

So long story short. Last week was one just plain forgotten. Girl Scout camping was okay but the car breaking down in the middle of No Freaking Where was decidedly not fun, especially when the battery on my phone was going, we were hungry, tired and grungy AND I as a girl (if you know what I mean). Then a week of illness. A head cold got Cyra and stomach bug hit me mighty hard. All that equaled a big "Piss Off" to the world. Which was okay because it was clearly needed. On my end. Not the world's.

Anyhow, After a week of nothing and finally feeling better, I went about this weekend like a prisoner after doing twenty years for a parking ticket. Saturday I tackled the lawn and realized that despite Scott's assurance that I don't need a machete for the Zombie Apocalypse, I most certainly need one for the lawn! Then I spent Sunday baking.

Oh yes, my friends, I give you plenty of warning, this is a yummy I Made It Monday. I give to you:

Battle of the Beer Breads

I've been wanting to make beer bread for a while now and finally found some motivation. It could have been the sheer amount of beer crowding my refridgorator. Or maybe the...nope. It was pretty much all the beer in the house. Now, fair and honest here, I do not drink beer. I don't like it. Never have. Give me whiskey, rum, Bailey's! Scott, however is a big fan of beer - it's his job, you see, so we often have a good deal of it around. 

Beer bread is another matter altogether and I do like it. So, this is what I had sitting in the fridge:

Budweiser, Shock Top End of the World Midnight Wheat, Goose Island India Pale Ale, and Murphy's Stout

And wouldn't you know it I happened to find a whole slew of recipes online for beer bread. For simplicity's sake, I'm not going to upload a gazillion photos of batter and individual loaves. I'll focus on the ingredients and show the end results altogether at the...you know...end.

First up, the Shock Top. This beer, clearly for the December 22nd apocalypse, has been around the longest and needed to be used up. I really wanted to actually try drinking it with it's hint of chocolate, chili and other spices, but I just never got around to it. I found this recipe, at Tasty Kitchen, made with a touch of honey that I thought would compliment the Shock Top nicely.

Cast for Honey Beer Bread: flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, honey, beer, and melted butter.

This was an easy recipe to put together. And Holy Moly! Melted butter! The butter was poured over the batter once it was in the loaf pan. I'd never seen that done before and I had my doubts, but man! did it turn out pretty.

Next, I went with the Murphy's Stout. I found a recipe on TheKitchn for a Cheddar and Chive Guinness Bread that looked like it would be delicious. Again with the melted butter! So much butter! Many of the recipes I looked at called for drenching the batter in butter. Who am I to argue with butter?

Ingredients: Flour, sugar...blah blah blah, cheddar cheese and chives!

For the last two loaves I used the same basic recipe I found on FarmGirlFare. Now her actual recipe is for a dill and cheddar beer bread, but she gives instructions for just a basic loaf. I used the India Pale Ale alone for one loaf and then for the loaf I made with the Bud, I threw in a packet of Ranch seasoning.

Cast: blah blah blah BEER! Could it be any simpler?

Rinse and Repeat. No wait! That's shampoo.

Out of all the recipes I tried, the last one is the easiest to throw together and the quickest cooking. Although, honestly I found that pretty much all the recipes are alike in the basic ingredients and the variations come with the extra seasonings and spices. FarmGirlFare offers a variety of flavors to try.

Now for the reveal:

From left to right (by beer): Shock Top, Murphy's. IPA, and Bud

By far I think my favorite was the Honey Beer Bread with the Shock Top. It's a bit sweeter and with just a hint of the chocolate and chili it could almost pass for a heavy cake. It could have used a touch more honey, I think, and a little less butter. The girls also preferred this loaf.

The Murphy's Cheddar and Chive was I think had the most powerful beer flavor come through. It's very hearty and I thought it could do with a bit more cheese and possibly some oats or nuts or seeds. This was Scott's favorite.

Out of all the breads, the India Pale Ale was kind of boring. There wasn't any punch, any zing, any pizzazz like the others to compliment the hoppyness of the beer. Also, it was very crumbly and the lightest of the four loaves. The girls didn't favor this one at all!

The Budweiser Ranch bread needed something more. Maybe some cheese, I'm not sure. Thinking about it, maybe it was the recipe itself because both the IPA and the Bud followed the same recipe and both ended up feeling incomplete. I like the lightness of the bread as compared with the denser loaves, it just needs something to punch up the flavor a tad.

All in all, I'd say it was an overall success. I think in general I have learned two very important things: first, all beer bread recipes are pretty much the same and very simple which means there is a lot of wiggle room to improvise and devise my own recipe; and two, the darker the beer, the better the beer bread. 

Bonus Bread Photo:

I also, because I'm crazy and was clearly on some sort of bread making trip, made a loaf of Irish Soda Bread which turned out so delightfully good that I'm going to need to make another loaf ASAP, because this one won't last for more than a day!

Poor Amaryllis

Recently I got it in my head that I needed to garden. I had purchased a few bags of potting soil intending to repot my lime tree and a few other plants that had gotten too big for the britches...I mean pots.

Let me backtrack just a bit...you see, I can't garden. Or rather, I'm learning to garden and the plants tend to giggle and scoff at my attempts. But a long while ago when we bought the townhouse we discovered that the previous owner left a multitude of potted plants on the back patio. Instant garden that I completely and utterly ignored. Way back then I had no interest in plants. And because I am lazy to boot, I left the containers right where they were and went about setting up house. A month or so later as spring fully arrived, I was delighted to find that one of the planters had some pretty flowers blooming. I was soon to discover via my mother's wisdom, the huge flowers were in fact amaryllis. I didn't know I like them. Turns out I do. I loved those flowers something fierce.

I know they're hard to see here, but I combed through every photo I had looking for a decent shot of the flowers. Apparently I never actually took just a picture of them. They were caught here in behind the girls during a Easter morning pinata frenzy!

Again, hard to pull out clear details, but I had pink, red, and white flowers.

Oh how little my angels were. These are circa 2009 three years after we moved in.

Despite my love for the plant, I took a strict hands off approach to my care. Sure, during the dry months I threw some water on them occasionally. Once in a while I pulled out the dead leaves, debris, and weeds that clogs around the bulbs. Ninety percent of the time this is what the container looked liked:

When we moved in 2011, I dumped every other container of soil out and took just the pots with us. Except the amaryllis. Those I left alone. I made Scott take a special trip back to the old house just to pick them up because I wanted to keep them.I swore up, down, left, and right that I would become a gardener. I had space now to do so and I knew I could take care of my amaryllis.

And I did.

Sort of.

Here is last Easter. I hid an egg in the amaryllis. See how tall and filled out they are? Those four blooms - two full and two just getting ready to bloom - were the only ones I saw last year. This year? After the autumn dying barely any of the bulbs had any growth at all.

Sure there's some weeds in there...but that adds nutrients and junk, right?

Jump back to last week and my grand plans for repotting. I decided to repot the amaryllis thinking that the bulbs weren't doing well because they were overcrowded. Overcrowded is a massive understatement. My careful neglect over the years had led to nearly two dozen bulbs in that tiny container.

As I was pulling them apart, being exceptionally careful with the roots, I noticed that every single bulb was, to varying degrees, splotched with red spots and patches. I was fairly sure that this was not a normal thing so onto the interent I went to find an answer. In all of the pages I searched mention of a bulb killing fungus that made the Audrey 2 look nice was made but I could find no photos of this dreaded disease.

Where the internet fails, elderly neighbors prevail. I took one of the bulbs and marched across the street where last year, I knew, a gazillion amaryllis bloomed in carefully planned reckless disarray. Mrs. Elderly Neighbor took one look at the bulb I carried and I swear she might have reached for a cross to ward me off!

"Oh, my!" she said as I held it out to her.

"So...that's bad, right?" I asked still just a bit hopeful that my amaryllis could be saved.

"I would say so." She shook her head, "Nothing to do for it. Get rid of all the bulbs and dirt."

"The dirt too?"

"Yes," she said, "it's all been infected."

I sighed, thanked her gratefully, and trudged back to the house to dispose of the bulbs. Stupid things can't even go into the compost.

A pile of bulbs and roots. In the top left of the mass of bulbs you can see one clearly discolored.

But as I was going through them I found three bulbs that only had a couple of little red spots on them. I smiled and pulled out three half-gallon pots. With new soil and individual containers, maybe, just maybe, I'll get a few blooms and I can try to save the seeds and start again.

Meet the Good-ryllis: Angelo, Frankie, and Vinnie. Yeah. I named them after mobsters but it's okay because they're deadly.

Assuming, of course, that the fungus won't affect the seeds.

Christmasy Stuff

DISCLAIMER: The following post contains frank discussion about my beliefs and feelings regarding religion. I don’t often discuss serious things here and I’m sure I’ll go back to posting silly stories soon. Please read with caution.

I knew in elementary school that my family was different from other families because if a sleepover at a friend’s house ended on a Sunday morning I would be dropped off at home early so my friend could go to church. Sometimes though I tagged along; I sat on the hard backed benches and watched the people around me. They were always dressed up like they were going to a wedding. It made me uncomfortable because I was not and I knew that I was the odd one out. I stared at the stained glass windows in awe at the beauty of them. I followed along with what my friend did. If she stood or sat or kneeled, so did I. But I didn’t understand a thing.

I knew who Jesus was. We celebrated his birthday every year. And I played with the Nativity every year. I loved the little sheep and donkeys. I loved moving baby Jesus around, trying him out in different places before finally putting him back in front of Mary. I knew the basic story – I watched all the Christmas specials each year and Linus explained it succinctly every single time. I loved Christmas time. It was the only birthday party I knew of where the guests got all the good presents! And boy did Santa bring me great gifts.

I started paying a bit more attention in middle school. My friends talked about church and I listened. They went to Sunday school and confirmation classes. They spoke of accepting Jesus as their Lord and Savior. I wanted to understand. I wanted to belong. One night, I took my mom’s old King James Bible with its fancy thou’s and ye’s and I read it. Well, I skimmed it to get the general idea.

But I was skeptical about the whole Jesus is God thing. Actually, I was skeptical about the whole book. None of it made sense to me. Right about that time I was big into archaeology and paleontology. I was dumbfounded that the bible made no mention of dinosaurs. That it didn’t explain cave paintings and artifacts from civilizations that came ten thousand years before. I put the King James Version away and left it at that. It didn’t make sense and therefore it was of no use to me.

By eighth grade I knew. Well. I didn’t know, know. I had an inkling, a tickle in the back of my mind that I was somehow different from my friends. I didn’t know there was a name for it but I knew. I was a nonbeliever.

In college many of my friends were quite open about their religious beliefs and after learning about my skepticism, encouraged me to attend church and mass with them. I willing went along. I wanted to understand and maybe, back then, I wanted to believe. I mean I believed in aliens, Bigfoot and the possibility of a Loch Ness monster so why was it so hard for me to believe that an all powerful, all knowing, all loving being watched over us? Why was it so hard to accept that Jesus was the Lord and Savior? There wasn’t any real proof of aliens yet I readily jumped on that bandwagon. So what was the deal? It wasn’t until I dropped out, pregnant with Ashleigh and moved home that I really started looking at my beliefs.

Maybe I was searching for a meaning. Maybe I was confused by my sister’s sudden interest in the church when we were raised to look for answers in ourselves and in facts. I tried to understand. I went to midnight mass at St. Joseph’s on Christmas Eve that year thinking that I would find something in the pomp and circumstance of the night. And though I was near to bursting with excitement over the holiday and Ashleigh’s impending arrival, I felt more awkward then ever before. I didn’t belong in this building, I thought, with all these believers. It was hypocrisy. I didn’t…couldn’t…wouldn’t believe and yet, there I was.

When Ashleigh was three and I went back to college I decided to study religion, philosophy and history alongside with my English curriculum. Maybe, I thought, if I understood religion from a factual sense, then I…I don’t know what I expected. But the more I learned, the more I questioned and the more I questioned the more I realized that religion would not be something I would ever benefit from.

History showed too many problems sprouting from religion, too many misunderstandings, too many battles, too many deaths. It didn’t matter what religion or beliefs one espoused the end result was bad. Philosophy introduced me the Euthyphro dilemma – is something good because it is inherently good or because a god says it is good? My religion professor, a deeply religious man himself, made us dig for the historical aspects of the biblical text and asked us to question each verse.

Studying made me question all over again but this time it wasn’t about finding faith it was about how I was raising my daughter.

I gave a few brief thoughts about not celebrating Christmas anymore. I thought if I could eighty-six it when Ashleigh was young, she wouldn’t feel like she was missing out on anything. But then I thought about all the fun that Christmas is: the decorating, the celebrating, the presents. Sure there is a religious meaning behind it all, but Christmas is a conglomeration of different traditions that early Christians adopted to get the so-called pagans to convert. What farmer leaves his flock out in the fields on a winter night? Where in Luke does it mention an evergreen tree lit with candles or a Yule log? Guess who else was begot by a god: Hercules, Helen of Troy, and Julius Caesar.

Once I started thinking about Christmas in that sense I felt better about celebrating. In fact, I probably celebrate Christmas more enthusiastically now then I did before I got a degree. I decorate the house, I make ornaments and gifts, I love giving presents and spend a good part of the year thinking about and planning for Christmas. I start singing carols as early as August and despite my very vocal complaints about stores putting Christmas displays earlier and earlier each year, I secretly love it.

My sister a year or so ago shook her head at my while I was decorating my house, making room on the shelves for ceramic Santas that my mom painted. I was singing, giggling and just about spazzing out with joy that Christmas was coming - something that I have never outgrown.

“What?” I asked.

“You.” She said. “I don’t get how you can love Christmas this much and not believe in Jesus.”

I’m not sure how I responded. Maybe I made a witty comment or just shrugged but as the years have passed I have come to terms with my love of Christmas. Christmas isn’t just about Jesus anymore. Not really. It's about hope. The story of Jesus offers people hope. You don’t need faith to have hope. And in the middle of winter when nights are long and cold it is good to remember hope.

I will never claim that Jesus didn’t exist. There’s factual evidence. And I will never claim that I know all there is in the universe because really? It’s just too big for us to understand. And that’s alright. Besides, who am I to pass up on Birthday Cake? Yes, I celebrate the commercial side of Christmas and next to my beautiful Nativity are Santa Claus’s, nutcrackers, mistletoe, a decorated tree and many other things associated with Christmas that actually predate Christianity. When the girls ask about them meaning of Christmas I explain to them the religious and the secular, the biblical and the incorporation of other beliefs. I may not believe that Jesus was or is the son of God, I may not believe in an omniscient god and my point with this post is not to spark religious debate; in fact, I’m pretty sure that this post has moved entirely too far away from my original point I wanted to make which is:

OMFG!!! IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE!!!!!!

Tis the Season

November is pressing down upon me and as my busiest month of the year I am not exactly looking forward to it in the traditional sense. Actually, I’m kinda freaked out about the whole thing.

November brings NaNoWriMo, a writing challenge that I have participated in since 2004. In past years I’ve run the gamut of writing: planning, note cards, winging it, basic ideas, just a character. I’ve done it all. This year is the first year I haven’t had a direction before October hit. In fact, I just got my ideas together and drafted a nearly naked plot with a few hazy characters. The years I’ve planned I’ve done better but I’m hopeful that I’ll continue my winning streak.

November also brings a last ditch frenzied approach to finishing craft projects for Christmas. As usual I have set myself very high craft goals and then there was the incident earlier this month that accidentally ruined three projects that were near completion. So I’m restarting three projects, continuing two more and trying to find the time for a good half dozen not even started yet.

November is also Cyra’s birthday month. In previous years we've gone camping, thrown small parties, had a simple dinner. This year? It’s bowling. We haven’t established if it will be a bowling party or just us bowling for fun. Either way it will be fun. She’s a whole decade old this year. It seems hard to believe. I cleaned out my closet last week and pulled out the girls’ baby boxes. I love how amazing they are, what wonderful people they are turning out to be but, still, I miss them as babies.

If I have a second favorite holiday, it is the completely made-up Thanksgiving feast. I love to cook and bake and it's like Thanksgiving was created just to enable my cooking obsession. Thanksgiving is often treated as a week long event in my house. I bake far too many desserts, way too many side dishes and a turkey three times larger than we actually have need for. I think the largest group of people I’ve fed in recent years was maybe ten. Typically there are six or seven.  But that doesn’t stop me from cooking as though I was feeding twenty-seven! This year might be slightly different as we certainly don’t have the budget for a proper feast.

Knowing myself as I do, I doubt that I will be writing much for the blog and that distresses me. I have let myself get out of the good habits of regular blogging and commenting and so of course I want to rededicate myself to daily postings. With all my focus on NaNo and crafting, I think I will once again participate in fatmumslim’s Photo-A-Day for November.

Tis the season alright! Season of crazy. Season of fun. Season of self-induced stress. I work best under pressure and deadlines. If I don’t have one or the other I tend to be lazy and self-indulgent.

I Broke the Lawn Mower (And They Say it is a Capital Offense)

NOTE: I am posting this despite not being able to solve the photo issue I was having. 

I love wind chimes. I have five right now strung up across the yard. I used to have six.

Remember a few months back when I had all that yard work done? Well, the guys were good enough to take down the chimes and rehang them if they got in the way of their work.

Looks like they forgot to hang one back up.

And I found it.

With my lawn mower.

By the way, notice that fancy star shape in the center? That apparently makes this a "special" blade that needs to be special ordered from a parts depot because NOBODY carries it.

This blade is now good for ripping the grass from the ground in a whirlwind of inefficiency.

Keeping in mind that lawn mower blades need to be replaced or sharpened every season I don't mind having to replace it. And it was sort of fun hearing that thwackity clunk clunk clunk for about 10 nano seconds before I let go of the lawn mower and jumped five feet away from it expecting it to of course blow right the heck up!

But having to spend an entire day searching the stores for the replacement was a prelude to a tantrum. After an hour in Home Depot (where I was told to go to Sears because they'd have it), then waiting a half an hour for Sears to open only to be told that they don't carry that particular blade so I should check the bigger Sears in the mall. At the bigger Sears I was told they could order the part for me to pick up later.

"You don't carry it?" I frowned at the khaki wearing man.

"Nope. This is a special order part." He walked to an in store customer computer. "Here, I can help you order it."

Right, I think, because I can't order something online by myself! Jeesh! I don't want to pay for shipping which was the whole point in coming to the store.

"I'm really trying to understand this." I said slowly, my patience had already worn down to a very thin strand ready to snap at any moment. "I bought the lawn mower here." The man nodded at me. "You were in fact the one who sold it to me." (I have a great memory for faces plus he has been working at this Sears in the lawn and garden department for as long as I can remember). He nodded again, but he was clearly just trying to appease me at that point.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And you are telling me that you do not actually carry the parts for the products that you sell?" I am sure steam is shooting out of my ears and my eyes have rolled into the back of my head.

"I can order it-"

"No," I interrupted, "I'm done. I'll just order it at home."

"I'm very sorry," he said as I turned and walked away.

I nod but just kept walking. I had a lethal weapon in my hand in the form of a rusty old lawn mower blade and I so wanted to shank someone.

I (un)Made It Monday

Remember that beautiful crochet project I was working on a while ago? The orangey sunset one?

 

The one where I knew, just absolutely knew that I would need more yarn to complete? Guess which one I can no longer work on because the store where I bought the yarn discontinued carrying it?

So very frustrating, my friends, to be in the middle of a project and not have enough yarn to finish it. Oh, I'm sure I could order it online somewhere...but that's not the point.

Because, I'm impulsive, see. And my level of spontaneity correlates directly with my level of frustration. So I end up with something like this before I even realize it.

Admittedly, it was kind of satisfying to pull the entire thing apart.

There is a new project in the works for this yarn, but as it is a gift, like many of my other projects at this time, and thus cannot yet be revealed.

On a side note, guess whose family is already getting sick of my impromptu bursts of Christmas music? And the stack of Christmas movies sitting by the DVD player? They just don't understand that when I'm in a gifty making mood, I need a gifty making environment to encourage my creativity!

I (almost) Made It Monday

Part of being a Leo is my insane tendency to start projects, become bored and/or run out of material and/or come up with a fantastic NEW project idea and abandon the old one (trust me it is way easier to blame this on fanciful astrological powers - even though I sort of think, occasionally, it's accurate). That often leaves me a half dozen or so projects laying around in various states of completion.

Today I share with you a few of those projects. All of these are crochet projects...I didn't even think to include unfinished scrapbook projects or whatnot because I'm fairly certain that that many photos would crash my blogger account!

Some were abandoned as hopeless. Some set aside in want of more material. Some I set aside as better ideas came to me. Some...I just got plain bored with.

For a while I was big into motifs. These babies are quick and easy to make and once I know the pattern it is almost mindless.

I had a plan for these. A good one too. I will probably finish it up but I left off in favor of a different idea. These were fun to make and the pattern reminded me a little of a merit badge or Star Trek insignia.

These had a strong urge to be a scarf but I couldn't decide on how I wanted to connect them, so in a container they go. The pattern here is a granny square.

These are blocks for a blanket but I ran out of yarn and since I didn't have the budget to buy more at the time I moved on to something else.

I really love this pattern. It's almost like a granny square but totally not!

Another blanket. Another project stalled for want of yarn.

That doohickey is called a stitch holder (in case you ever needed that information) and I love playing with them. I connect them all together and get mad when I need one and they all get pulled out...sort of like what I do with paper clips.

This is my current project and after two skeins of yarn I know I will need more to complete it. I am already budgeting in the money because I absolutely LOVE this. It is a variegated yarn (meaning multiple colors on one skein) and it reminds me of a sunset all orange and fire.

The pattern is a simple ripple stitch. I was going to do a sunburst pattern, but it looked odd with the variegated yarn.

My crochet bag. And the newest project I started - a friendship bracelet for Cyra.

Deja Bill

I’m cyclical. I have my routines and I like them. So it should come as no surprise that every February 2nd, along with millions of other Americans, I watch Groundhog Day. Every year, I see something different in it. This year, before even putting it in the DVD player, I recognize the self perpetuating rut that Bill Murray is stuck in. And I sympathize because I am also in a rut.

Unemployed, overweight, unproductive. Full of self pity, self woe and self hate.

Everyday is the same thing. I might not wake to Sonny and Cher every morning, but the metaphor rings out with truth. The alarm rattles my brain. Kids get up. Kids to school. Chores. Craft. Look for a job. Walk. Chores. Cook dinner. Chores. Go to bed and the cycle resets. If you say it quick enough it gets very chanty, like monks in prayer.

Nothing. Ever. Changes.

Bill Murray escaped from his rut by opening himself to new experiences and opportunities and love. I’ve got love. Being unemployed is certainly a new experience. And opportunities? Well, I’m not to sure about those.

The problem I seem to keep coming back to is that I feel I am not contributing to the house. I am here all day, doing wifely and motherly things, but I’m not bringing in money and our attempt to make a better financial future for ourselves is now being severely undermined.

When I left my job back in August I was confident that I would find something else. As August rolled into September and October, I was still determined, but more than a little worried. I started applying for jobs that I knew I wouldn’t like: waitress, night audit, retail. All jobs I’d did my time in before. And the sad thing is, I wasn’t hired for any of them. I wasn’t even called in for an interview. At a few places I was told I was too qualified. What the heck does that mean? I am too educated and therefore I can’t serve food. Seriously?

November came and with it company and the holidays. I put job hunting on the back burner and crossed my fingers that we’d be okay with just Scott’s salary. And it turns out we were okay. But only just. As before, we have no extra padding in our bank account. Each dollar, every penny is accounted for.

Should I have left my job knowing I had no job offer in the works? Yes. The commute alone would have killed the car and cost us in daycare expenses. Plus, I was unhappy in my work. I felt that I wasn’t making any difference in the lives of the students I taught. I grew frustrated by all the mandates from the district and state. And my frustration and anger was often taken out on Scott and the girls. It was the right decision for us to make. I am a much more pleasant person to be around now.

But still…I’m in this rut. And like Bill Murray, I sometimes despair at ever escaping it. Bill Murray eventually accepts responsibility for his actions and more importantly for his moral development. If he is to escape from a time loop, he must take action to make it happen for himself.

Eight years ago the commencement speaker at my college graduation said to us, “If it is to be, it is up to me.” Ten tiny powerful little words that I had never really thought about…until the other day when I was going through my letter box and each card my dad had sent me in the last eight years had this saying scrawled in the bottom left corner.

If it is to be, it is up to me.

If I am to escape from the rut that I am in then it is my own devices, intellect and actions that will make it happen. I cannot forever wait on the universe to go my way for in doing so I would be playing into a belief that the universe and all in it revolves around me and my wants.

So, Good-bye Rut. I’m tired of you and your silly nonsense. Today is the last day I allow myself to wallow. Yesterday I cried for something I did not have. Today, I scream to the world, what I want I can have if I make it happen.

Like Bill Murray, it is all up to me. My attitude needs to change. My habits need adjustment. My actions need to reflect my goals.

WWBMD – What Would Bill Murray Do?

I wonder if I can get that on a bracelet.

These Are Not The Macaroons You Are Looking For

Recently, I felt the sudden irrepressible urge to bake. It happens occasionally. I was low on supplies so flipping through my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, I settled on making coconut macaroons. Four ingredients: sugar, egg whites, vanilla extract and coconut all hung out in my kitchen, lazing around with bored expressions.

Macaroons are simple I thought, easy and won’t take up the whole afternoon. Oh how little did I realize that apparently macaroons are the high maintenance snobs of the cookie world!

The recipe read a bit like meringues but without the cream of tarter. Add sugar slowly and beat egg whites until stiff peaks form the recipe said. But it should actually have read: Add sugar if you want to and beat the egg whites forever until your arm loses feeling and falls off. Then get pissed off at the egg whites and add a teaspoon of cream of tarter to see if that helps any.

It didn’t help. The cream of tarter? Nope. Nothing. No stiff peaks at all. After about 40 minutes of beating, I finally walked away from the bowl afraid that my little hand held electric beater was going to resign. I came back a few minutes later, dumped in the coconut and told the batter to “get over it.”

The egg whites took their revenge on me though and while I was folding in the coconut, they fizzled, deflated and sunk.

“I am cooking you, stupid cookies!” I yelled at the bowl. This was personal now. The batter was just taunting me now. “I will bake you and eat you! I don’t care how you taste!”

These are macaroons.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macaroon

I don’t know what I made, but macaroons they are not.

Getting ready to go in the oven.



They came out more like a meringue stuffed with coconut then anything else. They might not have looked like macaroons, but, man were they tasty!