A List Of Thoughts

Outside my window... 

I hear A Duet For Mower And Weedeater playing

I am thinking... 

about organizing my day

From the learning rooms... 

Moonlight Sonata, To A Wild Rose and Notturno await me

I am thankful for... 

an enchanting little girl who kisses me a hundred times a day

From the kitchen... 

the dishwasher is begging me to unload it

I am wearing... 

a dark-brown, ankle-length, tiered skirt and a dark-brown tanktop

I am reading... 

The #1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith

(recommended by my bookworm in-laws)

I am hoping... 

for more light and less fog

I am creating... 

a gift for a beloved friend

I am praying... 

for light to shine from above

Around the house... 

there are toys everywhere

One of my favorite things... 

is my midi-interfaced, digital, hammer-action piano with a Steinway digital sample 

A few plans for the rest of the week... 

laundry, cleaning, birthday party and a fun Saturday brunch

Here is a picture thought I am sharing with you...

(Topic borrowed from The Simple Woman's Daybook via Walk Slowly, Live Wildly.)

Those Crazy Words

Butterfly hates getting her hair washed.  

In retrospect, I regret being so careful with water when she was a baby, never letting it get in her face and eyes.  I thought I was being kind because I don't particularly like water in my own face, but I realize now that I missed my opportunity to desensitize her to it.  Now she hates the thought of a single drop getting near her face, which will be a huge problem when she takes swim lessons.

Sometimes when her hair gets dirty, I will just put it up in braided buns (aka Bear Ears) and put off the drama another day.  She has started using this as a negotiating technique.

This conversation occurred a few weeks ago, and I just came across my written record of it.

Mommy:  We are going to wash your hair today.

Butterfly:  I just want to have bear ears.

Mommy:  No, your hair is very very dirty and we have to wash it.

Butterfly:  I am going to be very unhappy if you wash my hair.

Mommy:  You shouldn't say that.  You should say, "I am going to be so happy because we are washing my hair, and my hair will be silky and clean."

Butterfly:  I'm just going to leave because you are saying those crazy words to me.

For Daddy, On His Valentine Birthday

I had never imagined

not once

until yesterday

that those magical days

of wandering

through the woods

with an all-day sucker

staying in earshot

of the chainsaw

and later

the axe's chop and clack

exploring the mysterious

dark creek down in the

bottom

I didn't know those moments

could be remembered

as anything but

adventurous, luxurious

exciting

but now

I think of your freezing hands

your aching muscles

lifting the axe above

your head over and over

all day long

I see the mountain 

of triangular logs

in the back of the trailer

heaped high for us to sit on 

as we dodged low-hanging

branches on the way 

home

and I realize

only now

the neatly stacked

pile of wood

warming us through the

winter

was the fruit of 

a day of labor

and not 

a day of fun

The Anthem Of My Fierce Heart

"From A Wigwam" was the first song I learned to play on the piano that I really liked.  It was on the last page of the book Teaching Little Fingers To Play, and it was a 'hands-together' song.  Not only that, but my left hand played two notes at once for the entire song.  Those two notes provided the Indian drum-type rhythm while my right hand played the 'Ba ba, Ba ba-ba bam' part.  

It was very fierce sounding to my young ears, and it pleased my fierce little Indian heart.  Deep down, I knew I was an Indian, and finally I could express my wildness in song.

I was almost certain I was an Indian because my cousin Mark was a real, 100% Indian.  Since I was related to him, it was only logical that I was at least part Indian, despite my pale skin, green eyes and un-black hair.  Mark, on the other hand, had jet-black hair and skin as brown as the moccasins he wore every day that summer.  

According to Mark, the ultimate proof of authentic Indianhood, was the ability to find arrowheads, and he had found many along the gravel road leading to my Papaw's house.  I was awed by those finds, and I would imagine bows and arrows and feathers and scalps as I smoothed them in my hands.  But I always had to give them back, which was woeful since, to my great consternation, I had not found my own yet.

My lack of success did not stop me from looking every day, my eyes glued to the ground.  I never stopped believing that one day I would find my proof, and everyone would know that I was a displaced Indian princess, wild at heart and worthy of the anthem in my beginning piano book.

*Disclaimer:  when I was growing up, the political (and geographically) correct term Native Americans did not yet exist, so we did not yet know we were supposed be playing Cowboys and Native Americans.

In Which The Mommy Is Rendered Speechless

We seem to be in a parenting stage in which Butterfly does not see the need to do what Mommy and Daddy say.  We have been discussing obedience for quite a while.  Since she is so verbal for her age and sounds much older than she actually is, it is sometimes difficult to know how much to expect from her.  After all, she won't be three until the end of next month.

Today at the library, Butterfly found it an impossible task to stay beside me and instead decided to run up and down the rows in a very un-quiet manner.  Consequently, when we got to the car, she was not allowed to look at a new book she had picked out herself.  After the drama of her tears passed, we had this conversation while driving to the grocery store:

B: Mommy, can you just be happy?

M:  Yes, I can.  And can you obey me? (she knows what that word means)

B: (shaking her head no)

M: You know, if you don't obey me, bad things will happen, like time out or not getting to look at your book.

B: I don't want bad things to happen!

M: Then you should obey me.  If you obey me, good things will happen!

B: Why can't you just be a good mommy?  Why don't you not ask me [to do] things?

M: (crickets chirping)

My husband said (when I called him in shock) that it sounds like something he would have said.  Well, then.

To Sing of Brightness and Beauty, Part II

To honor the life and commemorate the death of Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, who died Sunday at the age of 89, I am reposting one of my earlier entries. I hope he had those many days of joy that were just a preview of the eternity of delight he is surely now experiencing.

Here's a quote from Cancer Ward, by Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, one of my favorite novels (and authors) ever: The author is describing the character Vera Gangart:

Her smile was kind, not so much her smile as the lips themselves. They were vital seperate lips, which seemed about to flutter from her face like a lark into the sky. They were made, as all lips are, for kissing, yet they had other more important work to do: to sing of brightness and beauty.

Everyone should read that book and really anything else by Solzhenitsyn. As you can see from the paragraph above, he has a lovely way with words. I am trying to read more of his work, but he wrote so accurately about the oppression in the Soviet Union that much of his work is very, very sad and disturbing (though Cancer Ward is, surprisingly, not so sad and kind of funny at times).

For his trouble and talents, he was arrested many times, tossed into the gulag (prison camp) and was eventually exiled to Kazakhstan. He also won an Nobel prize for literature, which may have saved his life. It brought him and his work so much attention from the outside world that the Soviets couldn't really kill him without a big uproar. He eventually left (escaped?) the USSR, and he now lives in Vermont. For a brief biography of this remarkable author and man, go here.

Also, if you are an artistic person, you MUST read his Nobel prize acceptance speech located here. Wow.

Now read his books! You can start with A Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich; it's really short and covers one day in the life of a gulag prisoner. Then be sure and read Cancer Ward. (By the way, the author also had a bout with cancer when he was in exile and spent time in a soviet cancer ward. And we think our lives are hard...) For some really sad but true non-fiction, you can read The Gulag Archipelago about life in the former Soviet Union.

Thank you, Mr. Solzhenitsyn, for believing in a better world than the one you saw around you and for persevering to show us that art really can change things. May the rest of your life be peaceful, and may you see as many days of joy as you did sorrow.

A Foray Into Fiction

I came from that small town in south Georgia you hear about on the news occasionally -- the one where all the peaches die every year and nobody knows why.  They've had all these scientific people in from Atlanta digging up dirt and checking on the weather ever since it started about seven years ago, but all anybody can come up with is that it's a 'natural phenomenon'.  That means they just can't figure it out but are too proud to admit it, what with all those doctorates after their names, so they just slap a fancy name on it and they're done.

I figure my explanation's as good as any.  See, it started about the time my crazy grandmother started thinking she was a witch and could fly around at night on her broomstick (which was really a pool cue from the billiards room my grandpa had built that time the Vanderbilts came down from Asheville to visit).  

Grand had no idea where Estelle, the help, kept the real brooms and couldn't ask her because Estelle had gone down to see her daughter's first baby being born down in Macon.  Anyway, Grand is the creative type and when she saw all those tassels hanging from the valances in the music room, she yanked them all off and put two and two together, so to speak, and she had herself a broom.

And I know for a fact Grand hated peaches all her life and couldn't stand the way the air smelled when they got ripe every year, so I imagine she just cast a spell on all those trees one night and that was the end of them.

But that doesn't stop them making headlines every year and all the bookies taking bets on whether anyone would eat a peach grown in Bonaire, Georgia that year.

(I found this in one of my old journals.  It was an exercise in creative writing I gave myself years ago.  My husband liked it so I thought I'd post it since I couldn't think of anything else.)

The Miniature Maxi-Dress

The funniest thing happened to me last Saturday:  after I posted the story of the sewing elves' visit, they magically re-appeared!  I think they like the publicity.

This time, we constructed a maxi-dress for Butterfly.  I had a couple of really pretty cotton scraps from my grandmother's house.  It looked like someone had re-purposed an old table cloth or sheet, and I had the leftover pieces.   

Together with the elves, I came up with this:

Don't you LOVE that fabric?  It is so soft and so groovy!  You can't tell in this picture, but it goes all the way down to her ankles.     

I still didn't use a pattern, and if she grows very much, I will have to re-construct it.  The bodice is held together with a hook & eye and only opens down to the gathers (the back of the skirt is just one piece).  So there's not much room for her actually squeeze into it -- it's a tight enterprise, especially with little wiggly arms.  Once it is on, though, it is quite roomy, and she just loves it.  If only she would stay little forever... 

I am even more envious of this dress than I am of the tutu because I have wanted a maxi dress (a long sun dress) for several months now.  They were all the rage in the 70s, and now they are wonderfully back!  I love how they are so flow-y and breezy and all those fabulous things.  

And here's the exciting thing:  I won't have to wait long because I am about to start making my own!  I will be using the fabric I got for my birthday and a new pattern I got last week.  I meant to make The Walk Away dress with it, but I am a little nervous about that pattern and decided I wanted a maxi-dress more anyway.  I'll try the other dress with some not-quite-so-expensive fabric, I think.

I'll keep you posted on that project.  Hopefully, one day I'll show you a picture of Butterfly and mommy in their respective maxi-dresses.  If the sewing elves will just come back!

(This post is part of the Water Cooler Wednesday blog carnival at Ethos.)

I Want A Tutu, Too

This week we made a tutu for the butterfly.  She thinks it is too puffy, unfortunately.   So maybe next time we'll go for less poof.

I would really like to make one for myself...maybe in silver.  But I wonder, would I just be embarrassing other people to wear it at my age?  Shouldn't I care about the feelings of others, maybe just as a public service?

But when one doesn't think of doing something at the appropriate age (say, in one's twenties....), does one have to miss it entirely?  Do I have to wait till I get to heaven to wear my tutu?   (Because, you know, there will be tutus GALORE in heaven.)

I don't think so.  I've never been known for my patience.   So maybe one of these days you'll see me, here on earth, walking around in a silver tutu with extra poof.  You never know.

The Sewing Elves

Last month, I posted a picture of Butterfly in my brother's wedding wearing her flower-girl dress made in my very own home by sewing elves.  Here is the rest of the story:

My brother asked us last year if Butterfly could be a flower-girl in his beach wedding in May.  At the time, I thought to myself, "Maybe I could make her a flow-y little dress.  That would be fun!"

Fast-forward to the week before our trip:  I had not made a dress nor did I have had any plans whatsoever for her attire.  Then I got sick with some kind of feverish cold that lasted days and days.  It is not pleasant to have a fever for six days straight.  

We had plans to leave on a Sunday, and when Thursday rolled around, I suddenly remembered the dress, or rather the lack thereof.  I couldn't just go out and buy one for a variety of reasons, most involving the lack of disposable income for beach flower-girl dresses and the desire to not inflict those feverish germs onto the unsuspecting public.

I remembered my plan to make a dress and then remembered that I didn't have anything like a pattern or fabric.  So I looked around at what I did have.

I had the leftovers from a fabulous vintage chenille pillow sham I got at my grandmother's house (and had previously used for the skirt at the bottom of this post).  I had an old linen slip that was unwearable due to a huge rip across the back.  I had several white cotton sheets just begging to be turned into something.  And finally, I had a little package of various shell buttons I got for about 25 cents when a fabric store was going out of business last year.

A while ago, I saw this top online and thought it looked easy to reproduce, so I looked at it again.  I measured Butterfly and got to work.  The pillow sham became a bodice and straps, the linen slip became the skirt, and the sheet became the lining.  (Yes, I said lining.  Aren't you impressed?)

Now, lest you think I am some kind of amazing seamstress, I want you to know that I have not followed a pattern since I was in fifth grade and my mother made me enter the 4-H apron contest.  It was such a trying experience that I refused to get near a sewing machine until my daughter was born 27 years later!  Since then, I had basically only sewn straight lines to put blankets and burp cloths together.

This is what the elves taught me to do:  I used the existing hems on everything.  I also used the zig-zag stitch on my machine (that I had never noticed before) to make the button holes.  I could not figure out how to put the button hole maker onto my machine, much less how to work it.  If you look carefully at this picture, you can tell these are my first buttonholes! 

Here's a full length view of the finished dress in the wedding:

Necessity really IS the mother of invention.  And inspiration, I guess!

Because I Said So

I promised myself I would not employ that phrase in my maternal vocabulary.   I told my naivety it is only fair to a child to give her a good reason for whatever you were wanting her to do.  I assumed it would only take a little imagination and creativity to come up with sufficient answers to the inevitable challenges to my authority.

And then somehow, somewhere, someone (obviously inspired by the devil himself) said the phrase, "But, whyyyyyyyy?" around my verbal little copy-cat sponge.  With a little pause and a slight breath after the 'but' and a long and drawn out 'why' with a falling tone, it was the worst possible combination of two words for her to overhear.

Would you just please observe a moment of silence for me?  

While I have not yet broken my promise, I am running out of anything else to say.  I mean, who can come up with 7 answers to 'butwhy' in 120 seconds?  I am NOT exaggerating.

I have tried the following:

"What are you talking about?"

"That doesn't make any sense at all?"

"What did you say? Is that English?"

"Blah, blah, blah, blah"

"Because the sky will fall down on you if you don't"

"Because the monster in the disposal will come out and eat you"

"Because you will turn into a frog"

"Because, because, because, because, because.....because of the wonderful things he does"

(OK, I've only used first half, but I have thought the rest.)

What would you say?  But, why?

(This post is part of Watercooler Wednesday at Ethos.)

A Beach Butterfly

Butterfly was the flower girl in my brother's recent beach wedding. Here's a picture to tide you over until I write about the sewing elves who came to my house and created a little dress for her to wear. 

I will post that story, really. I will do it at least before she grows up.

Thank You, Encyclopedia Brown

I have been pondering The Case Of The Vanishing Breakfast for sometime. Each day, as I prepare my morning meal, I serve myself generous portions - surely more than I will need. After the tasty repast has been consumed, however, I find that my tummy is not full, and I can usually only remember taking a couple of bites.  What happened to all that food if it did not reach its planned destination?  I began to suspect that mine was not the only tummy being filled, but I had no real proof.  A mystery, indeed.

I decided to look to a few experts for a solution.  What would Sherlock Holmes, Guy Noir, Nancy Drew, Jupiter Jones, Trixie Belden and Encyclopedia Brown do in a case like this? Follow the clues, of course.   

Like any good private eye, I set my trap and staked out the scene.  Voila!  I procured photographic evidence of a little-known creature rumored to be completely imaginary:  The Breakfast Elf.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you irrefutable proof that she exists:

Don't be surprised if you hear about this ground-breaking discovery on NPR.  If I don't return your calls in the next few days, it's probably because I am busy with interviews.  Or because my phone reception at my house is non-existent.  One of those.

Butterfly Elbows

These little dimpled elbows were much yummier than the bread we made that day.

A Love Sonnet

My husband just e-mailed me asking for the text of a love sonnet he wrote me for our third anniversary.  He just found out about a love sonnet contest at Prairie Home Companion today, the day of the deadline.  Since I typed it all out for him, I thought I'd share it with you as well.

In keeping with our own anniversary traditions, he wrote this poem on leather, the customary third anniversary gift.  He also got me some incredible Fluevog knee-high, lace-up leather boots to celebrate our becoming debt free that same month.

Though rare, some things I've found improve with time
And though these can range from the finest wines
To a truly great pair of leather boots
To a Shakespearian sonnet, the truth
Found at their core, distilled by time's warring
Factions: a golden heart of Quality
Whose luster is only evidenced the
More through every passing year's abrading.
And as a poem can newly strike the heart
Each year it's read, or music find anew
Some hidden treasure, all our sacred art
Seeks that eternal, upward sloping view.
And now, my clearer eyes begin to see
The beauty our togetherness will be.

Isn't he awesome?

The Green Allergy Cure

Have I mentioned that after a lifetime of suffering, my husband is no longer allergic to Spring?  And maybe even dogs?  Here is the marvelous story:

For about a month and a half, we have been drinking daily Green Smoothies consisting of frozen fruit (usually mangos & pineapples), bananas, spinach and water - all blended up into a delicious and delightfully green smoothie.  Rob also adds locally-produced honey to his.

(Before you say "Eww, gross.  I could never drink spinach," you MUST make one for yourself and taste it.  It is very, very yummy; you can barely taste the spinach.  In fact, you should take the Green Smoothie Challenge, as we did.)

We started out enjoying about 16 ounces each daily, but Rob started having more and more. He would make a blender full every morning, drink half for breakfast, and take the rest to work to drink with a bowl of soup for lunch.  

Rob also began to add more and more spinach (or kale) to his smoothies, using the locally-produced honey to offset the extra green flavor.  He typically uses around 16 ounces of fruit, about 3/4 of a bag of spinach and two tablespoons of honey daily.

Well, as you know, spring has finally arrived and with it, we expected the usual month of Rob Not Being Able To Breath because of his allergies.  This would entail constant sneezing, loud sleeping, and just altogether miserableness for him.  We would buy lots of very expensive Claritin, which may or may not help but must be tried.  And allergies lead to asthma, which leads to chronic inhaler use, which leads to even more general misery.  And Spring is not the only thing he is allergic to, if you'll recall this post and this post.

BUT NOT THIS YEAR!!!  This year, Rob has been allergy-free!  He has had nary a sneeze and has been so quiet as he sleeps that I sometimes wonder if he's ok.  But I look over and he is still breathing - silently!   We have even visited his parents twice, and he has had no reaction whatsoever to their dog.  Normally, he would need the inhaler.

I cannot explain what an amazingly, fabulously, wonderful change this has been in our lives.  While I did not suffer the allergies directly, I always felt the effects of a chronically miserable husband (not to mention feeling so bad for him.)  Rob had tried the daily use of local honey in the past to no avail.   We think it is the combination of the greens and the honey that has helped him this time.

And the money we spend on frozen fruit, bananas & spinach is NOT being spent on Claritin, inhalers and tissues!  By the way, the cheapest frozen fruit around here can be found at Whole Foods, surprisingly enough.  It is drastically cheaper, also, so check it out.  (I haven't tried Sam's, but even Walmart and Costco were much more expensive than Whole Foods.)

Butterfly LOVES the smoothies also.  Her favorite way to drink it is to put on her lamb ears, climb up on the table and drink it in a crouch while baaing.  She apparently thinks it is the way a little sheep would drink it. 

So...will you try a Green Smoothie?  

Here is the recipe we started out with:

8 oz frozen fruit (we use 3 parts mango, one part pineapple)

1 banana

1 cup of water

2 handfuls of spinach

Blend the fruit and water until it is all smooth.  Add the spinach and liquify it.  Pour into a glass and drink with a straw.  Yum!

Try it.  It could change your life!

(This post is part of Watercooler Wednesday at the blog Ethos.)

With Bells On

Our dear friend Eric is getting married next month after patiently waiting years and years for the right woman.  To say we are thrilled for them would be an gigantic understatement.

Dreamy Laughter

This morning Rob and I were awakened around 6-ish by the giggly laughter of the Butterfly.  It was a lovely sound to hear first thing in the morning. 

It became even lovelier when we realized she was still asleep and was laughing in her dreams.  So we smiled sleepy smiles at each other and dove back into our own dreams.

Then this afternoon, she fell asleep in the car.  While stopped at a stop sign, I looked back and saw her looking around, awake (or so I thought).  She smiled, mumbled something, closed her eyes and went right back to sleep.  

Broaching The Subject

Butterfly and I had our first conversation about death this morning. 

B:  What is that, Mommy?

M:  It is a dead bug.

B:  A dead bug?

M:  Yes.

B:  I want to look at it.

M:  You can go look at it, but don't touch it.  It is dirty.  I need to throw it away.

B:  You want to hold it?

M:  No, it's dirty!

B:  It can move around?

M:  No, it can't move around.  It's dead.

B:  You get some batteries?

M:  (unable to speak due to laughter)

After I took the picture, she looked at it on the camera and said, "That bug is really hard to see!"

Real People With Real Hopes

(Thank you to Shlog for the images and posting.)

Very Bright Indeed

"I'm a sunshine.  I'm very bright," said the Butterfly to the Mommy.

A Historic Speech

Barack Obama spoke today in Philadelphia about the condition of race relations in our country. It was one of the most encouraging and truthful speeches I have ever read. (I haven't had a chance to listen to it yet.) Here's an excerpt:

But I have asserted a firm conviction -- a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people -- that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.

For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances -- for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives -- by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny...

In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds -- by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.

In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand -- that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.

Read the whole speech here.  Are you inspired yet?

High Hopes

Well, I am going to make a dress.  Or maybe I should say, I am going to try to make a dress.

For my birthday, my mother took me shopping for a present, and I chose to get the above pattern, some gorgeous fabric, and a few fun notions to make the fabulous vintage-looking wrap dress on the right.  Here's the fabric:

I am really excited, and if I must confess, more than a little nervous.  I had a really difficult time picking out the fabric, and that is the easy part.  When I got home, opened the pattern, and looked at the instructions, my heart starting beating faster and I sort of lost my breath.

I just started sewing a couple of years ago, and up until now, I've pretty much only sewn straight lines.   I've only used a pattern once in my life - to make an apron in 5th grade for 4-H. (And that went so well, it took me this long to try again.)  Even then, my mother was there telling me exactly what to do.  And not to do.  And how to take out seams.  A lot.

Since then I have mainly just cut squares and sewn them together.  Then a few weeks ago, I made Butterfly a little skirt out of pants, and I thought, "Well, if I can do this I could really make some fun clothes if I used a pattern!"  

But my mother, the expert seamstress, has gone back home now, leaving me here with a pattern, fabric, notions and a toddler.  Hm.  

I hope this turns out well.

How Does She Know That?

Recently, Butterfly (or should I say Bunny...), who is not-yet-two-and-a-half, has amused and astounded me with what comes out of her mouth.

Yesterday evening, we were walking to the car and were about to go home for dinner.  She said, "I am so hungry.  It's hard to think."

Then this morning, I came downstairs after my shower to find her eating with Daddy, and she said, "Your outfit.  I like it mommy.  You look very pretty.  You look very great!"  (Melt, melt, melt, says my heart.)

And a few minutes ago, she was running (and running and running and running).  As she sailed by each time she yelled, "I'm running so fast you can't even see me!"

And then this evening, while she was eating her scrambled eggs:  "Thank you, chickens!"

Who needs television when you have a toddler?

Ghosty-Ghosty All Alone

Hiding behind the sheers, she shows us those chocolate eyes.

An Inspiring Example

In a couple of weeks from now, on April 4th, we will remember a sad day in history: the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Today I read a very inspiring article about him.   I hope you will read it and be encouraged as well.  The author says the following about Dr. King:

He was able to bring corporations to the point of acquiescence without resorting to violence or bribery. He was able to pass legislation that changed the daily lives of not only blacks but also women, people of faith, and immigrants - without ever being elected to public office or attempting to buy political influence. He was able to garner and leverage the attention of the entire international community on behalf of America's poor, marginalized, and disenfranchised - without ever being appointed to an ambassadorship or other high-profile international post. He was able to remind U.S. citizens what a democracy was and to engender a sense of moral responsibility that, more than 40 years later, challenges us to be the good we want to see in the world. King was a political genius.

When I read that, I realized how empowered it made me feel.  Even though I am not an elected or appointed public official, I can still change the world around me -- right now.  Granted, it will most likely not be on the scale of Dr. King, but it can be on some scale.

Many times I incorrectly assume that the only way I can make a real difference in our country is to exercise my right to vote.  But this occurs only once or twice every four years, during a very stressful season that seems to turn even potentially great leaders into mud-slinging, truth-bending meanies.  Then afterwards, it seems as though I can only sit around helplessly and cringe when they make the very decisions I was hoping they would avoid.  I've been cringing a lot these last few years as our government enacted policies and exerted its power in ways far from the peaceful and loving manner I longed for.

But this article brings me hope, as the author references the "Whatever you do to the least of these, you do me" parable of Jesus and concludes with the following:

So in this politically charged season, when race and gender and ideology are, as we have seen already, apt to become weapons in a war for the hearts and minds and hopes and dreams of all U.S. citizens, all politics remain identity politics - but that doesn't mean we have to pit our identity against the identity of another. In the spirit of King - and Jesus before him - we can choose to identify with more than just ourselves. We too can be both privileged and unprivileged, black and white, Asian and Latino, Muslim and Jew, Christian and Pagan, rich and poor, citizen and immigrant, national and international, public and private, veterans and peacemakers, Republican and Democrat, homosexual and unborn, blue collar, white collar, and no collar.

We can know each other's suffering, be acquainted with each other's grief, and work on each other's behalf to heal the hurts that have for too long divided the human family and robbed us of the solidarity that is, perhaps, our only hope of a brighter tomorrow.

Who can we be today?  What hurts can we share and eventually help heal?  Who are the least around us?

The Happy Red Meadow

The other day in my dining room, there was a flock of farm animals grazing upon a lovely red meadow.

 They were lovingly tended by a happy little farmer.  No candy on earth is as sweet.

Smoothies And More

For my next Virtual Birthday Present, I would like to have a power blender.  I would take either a Blendtec or a Vita-Mix because they are both amazingly powerful. 

We received a KitchenAid blender as a wedding gift, and I always thought it was the best blender ever.  But that was before I heard of these Power Blenders.  

Apparently, you can blend up a car in these machines because they are so strong.  One Vita-Mix user said you could replace the blades with dull sticks of wood and still crush ice in seconds because of the intense speed created.  That is a little scary to me, I have to say!

Recently, we have been drinking lots of yummy Green Smoothies, which consist of some frozen fruit, a banana, some water, and a few handfuls of spinach (or something else green).  Our blender does a great job of liquifying the ingredients over the course of 3 to 5 minutes (if you don't want any lumps whatsoever).  

Our friend JD has been on the same Green Smoothie kick, and he has a Vita-Mix.  I asked him how long it takes to make one in his blender.  His answer:  "Fifteen seconds."  Wow.

You can also grind wheat, knead bread, cook soup, make ice cream, make nut butters, and a million other things with one of these.  Oh, and make whole food juices without the messiness of a juicer and leftover pulp.  And it cleans itself easily.

Sounds really handy, doesn't it?  Eating healthy food would be a breeze, so I would consider it an investment in our health.

Cost:  around $399

Zap To It

Here's the fanciest Virtual Birthday Present I am giving myself this year.  It is the ZAP-X 100% electric car.  Here are some of the vitals:

• Speed:  0 to 60 in 4.8 seconds; top speed 155 mph
• Mileage:  about 1 cent per mile
• Range:  350 miles per charge; 10 minute re-charge; 9,000 life cycles
• Interior:  Seating for 5 + 2 with European ergonomic design
• Carputer:  All electronic touch screen with Windows XP (the tragic flaw...), Wi-Fi, blue-tooth, high definition video, iPod ready, Fire wire, USB2 and Mini USB ports
• Extras:  Keyless bio-metric entry and ignition, energy-collecting windows and windshields to harness solar energy

Cost:  $60,000 total cost; $25,000 to reserve one

What I love about this most is the fact that you can just plug your car into ANY electric outlet for 10 minutes and then drive 350 miles!!!  Forget about all the $4 gas prices.  And the 'car-puter' sounds very handy (and would be even better if it were a Mac...).

I wonder how Curious George looks in high definition.  Does he get his make-up airbrushed on?  I'm sure Bella would love to find out!

The Vital Things First

First of all, I cannot even think of giving myself anything for my virtual birthday (even imaginary) until I first get these things:

• A Child and Family Reunion
• A New Mother and Baby Kit
• An All-Inclusive Mongolian Ger
• A Sewing Machine and Training
• A Girl's Bicycle
• A Pair of Goats
• Some Fruit Trees

Wouldn't you like to get some of your own?

Not Quite Yet

My younger brother told me recently, when I congratulated him on reaching the ripe age of 36, that I was almost forty.  I told him that I am NOT almost forty; I am almost thirty-nine.  (I think it looks better written out like that - not so shockingly large, I think.)

Today is the last day I can officially be almost thirty-nine because tomorrow I will be actually thirty-nine.  And on this, my birthday week, I would like to do a series of posts on Virtual Birthday Gifts I would give myself if I had unlimited funds and otherwise different circumstances - things like a solar-powered house, an electric car, etc.  Stay tuned...

Enough Pink To Last A While

I think she got excited about everything matching.

A Perfect Day

After so much despondency in the last blaaaahg, I had to tell you about Sunday's perfect day.  It included the following wonderful elements:

1. My husband got up with Butterfly and I slept an extra hour
   
2. I got to see fun friends at church
3. Our brand new pastor encouraged us that it is never too late to invest in those old dreams 
4. I had lunch with my husband, my angelic child & a marvelous friend OUTSIDE under a blue sky with white clouds
5. We shopped for yummy, healthy food at food heaven, a.k.a. Whole Foods
6. We went window shopping under the sunshine and had yummy raspberry gelato
7. We ran into another friend and had a nice catch-up chat
8. We were all happy, healthy and well-rested

I love those days, especially when they turn into a week.  I guess one nice thing about being sick and having a boring week is that the next week is marvelous just by default!  

Here's to wonderful days and weeks and months and years!

Gloom! Despair! Agony!

I have had an unwelcome visit from a stomach flu bug, and in addition to the physical unpleasantness, the extraneous disappointments have really gotten to me this time. 

• I was really doing well on The Green Smoothie Challenge and was on my 10th day in a row of yummy, healthy green-ness. (I started a week early.)  However, now I feel like I never want anything green ever again.
• A while ago, I banned High-Fructose Corn Syrup from my house.  Yesterday, I was forced to allow 2 liters of the carbonated crap in the door (and in my body) in the form of ginger ale.  I didn't have the heart to ask my husband to travel 45 minutes out of his way after working hard all day (and before cooking his own dinner, caring for our toddler and cleaning up) to get me the healthier version from Whole Foods.
• Ditto on the white noodle stuff.  You can't get chicken-noodle soup made with whole-grain pasta at Kroger.  I wonder if you can get it anywhere.
• My daughter has probably become a Curious George addict since she has watched multiple episodes a day for the last three days.  But I wanted her to have a little fun since I certainly haven't provided any for her.  Except for pretending to be the baby when she was the mama and cooking food for me in her little kitchen.  She did like that.  
• Since I joined the Y on Valentine's Day, I have been very consistent in exercising multiple times a week.  Not this week.  My muscles are surely atrophied by now.
• I hate missing much anticipated, once-a-year events because of a stupid virus.  Today I have to do that.

So there you have it.  The blahs.  From the melodramatic viewpoint of an ENFP.  But the good news is that I am the last member of my household to experience this evil, so when it's gone from me, hopefully it will be gone forever.

Happy Amplification Day

I've been wondering why we call this year Leap Year and today LeapDay. 

Most of the definitions for leap refer to jumping over or passing over something.  But this is the one year we don't skip a day.  

Shouldn't the other years be leap years and this one be called Amplification Year?  Or something a little less antonymic than Leap Year?

What do you think?