I've been a bit quiet lately here, and, as usual, it is not without cause. I've essentially spent the last several weeks moving between my bed upstairs and my chaise longue downstairs. I do sit here at the computer some, but much less frequently than I have before. That is because, as some of you closest to me know, and as others may have guessed, we have once again been blessed with a tiny little person who, for the time being, has taken up residence in my womb and, in the process, has thrown my life into a complete tailspin. Today we had the pleasure, for the first time, of both hearing and seeing its tiny heart beating - we were able to see the heartbeat on Tuesday as well. We're about 6 1/2 weeks pregnant, and we've decided to share the news a bit more widely than we have until now, both because we believe that even the newest, most fragile life is worth celebrating and because we'd like to know that people are praying for us. We are thrilled to know that all of the diagnostics so far have shown a healthy baby that is growing as expected and whose size and heart-rate are good.
That said, nothing with me is ever uncomplicated, including, apparently, pregnancy. Our first pregnancy ended early this year - the baby had survived until 7 weeks, and we found out at 8 weeks that it was no longer developing due to a highly unusual complication. I had a molar pregnancy (also known as trophoblastic disease), which meant that the placenta was irregular. Ours was a "partial" molar pregnancy, which means there was a baby (as opposed to complete molar pregnancies in which there are only abnormal placental cells), but it had 3 sets of chromosomes rather than 2, apparently resulting from two sperm fertilizing the same egg, though nobody is sure why this happens. Even if the baby had still been developing when we got the diagnosis, it almost certainly could not have survived until birth, but by the time of our first ultrasound, the end had come. I had to have surgery to be certain that the uterus was clear of abnormal tissue. There was also some concern that the irregular placental cells could regenerate, which might require chemotherapy to treat. All in all, it was a sad, scary and difficult time for us. We needed to wait several months before trying to conceive again, and I had to undergo testing to make sure the placental abnormalities did not recur.
By the grace of God, we conceived immediately when we were ready to try again, and this pregnancy is much, much healthier by comparison. We have, however, had news of a different sort of complication this time that does not necessitate quite so grim a prognosis. The ultrasound revealed that I have a small blood clot in my uterus that could pose some threat to the baby. There is nothing that can be done about it except to wait and see what happens. My body my reabsorb the clot, and it may become dislodged and pass. To the best of my understanding, the largest danger lies in more uterine bleeding (like the bleeding that produced the clot), which is something I cannot control beyond limiting my physical activity. The doctor has ordered me to do nothing strenuous and not to worry. I can handle the first part, the second is a challenge.
We would very much appreciate your prayers for the health of mother and child (and Dad, who is picking up the slack in our lives), but mostly for peace. God is much bigger than blood clots and our worries, and I, especially, would do well to remember that. I suppose it goes without saying (but humor me and let me say it anyway) that we consider this pregnancy, clot and all, to be a huge blessing, and we would very much like to be blessed with a healthy baby several months from now. For now, we're thrilled to have 3 hearts beating in our home.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Calorie Conundrum (a.k.a. why eating healthily is a pain in my stomach)
After recovering from a Thanksgiving food coma and then a visit to the doctor on Monday, I decided, with the doctor's encouragement, to upgrade my diet. This means that Dan's dinners get an upgrade, too, since he'll eat what I eat. I'm basically focusing on simple, organic foods (if it has ingredients I don't recognize, I don't want it going in my mouth), whole grains, whole fat dairy (except for ice cream and the like), lean meats, fruits and vegetables to a greater degree than I usually do.
However, I have almost immediately encountered the annoyance I always have with healthier approaches to food - when surviving on veggies, fruit and whole grains, it takes so much dang food to make up my minimum calorie allowance that I find I can't eat everything I am supposed to eat in a day. Starving myself won't help matters, so, as has happened in the past, I find myself cramming food in my mouth at bedtime and spending a few hours a day trying to figure out how to balance everything day-long without come up wanting. I also spend much more time in the grocery store reading labels, which tries Dan's patience when he is kind enough to accompany me to the store.
Of course, the one thing I still need to remedy is sodium intake; sodium lurks everywhere - which I will eventually do by replacing some of my favorite packaged foods with home-made, but I figure I can take it one step at a time. I just had to complain about it.
And here, as homage to diet as it was, are pictures of our Thanksgiving feast sans the from-scratch pumpkin and pecan pies Dan made. I was very pleased with the food, overall, and I was even better pleased with the company. Among other things, I was very glad of all the help I had from Heather when it came to making the food and from Jeff and Daniel when it came time for clean-up!
Pictured are the turkey with vegetables and stuffing, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce from fresh cranberries, creamed corn from my Grandfather's recipe, mashed red potatoes, sweet potato casserole with pecan topping, gravy, Dan's freshly canned hot pepper relish, Boston canned brown bread and yeast rolls (and the butter and wine, of course).
However, I have almost immediately encountered the annoyance I always have with healthier approaches to food - when surviving on veggies, fruit and whole grains, it takes so much dang food to make up my minimum calorie allowance that I find I can't eat everything I am supposed to eat in a day. Starving myself won't help matters, so, as has happened in the past, I find myself cramming food in my mouth at bedtime and spending a few hours a day trying to figure out how to balance everything day-long without come up wanting. I also spend much more time in the grocery store reading labels, which tries Dan's patience when he is kind enough to accompany me to the store.
Of course, the one thing I still need to remedy is sodium intake; sodium lurks everywhere - which I will eventually do by replacing some of my favorite packaged foods with home-made, but I figure I can take it one step at a time. I just had to complain about it.
And here, as homage to diet as it was, are pictures of our Thanksgiving feast sans the from-scratch pumpkin and pecan pies Dan made. I was very pleased with the food, overall, and I was even better pleased with the company. Among other things, I was very glad of all the help I had from Heather when it came to making the food and from Jeff and Daniel when it came time for clean-up!
Pictured are the turkey with vegetables and stuffing, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce from fresh cranberries, creamed corn from my Grandfather's recipe, mashed red potatoes, sweet potato casserole with pecan topping, gravy, Dan's freshly canned hot pepper relish, Boston canned brown bread and yeast rolls (and the butter and wine, of course).
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving
We walked into a Food Lion on Sunday last, past the old man waiting for his wife on the bench just inside the door, past the lottery machines and a display of store brand soda, past a pile of pale green rectangular boxes. It was time to buy the last few provisions we needed for our Thanksgiving dinner, and I had coupons and a carefully prepared list at the ready on my utilitarian brown clipboard. Unemployment has brought out the bargain-hunter side of me, so I split my grocery trips between the Food Lion on one corner and the Harris Teeter on the other. Time is in greater supply than money, and in this way I can stretch the food dollars without adding much to the gasoline tab.
Food Lion is the unfashionable store; the grocery store of the everyman -- the first one in a fledgling town and the one that claims the less glamorous clientele once the glossy chains move in. It isn't the scrubbed-clean mega-market with shining displays of organic produce and high-end specialty foods; Instead, it boasts a comparatively impressive display of Hispanic foods and a meager smattering of representative items from each category of item you might expect to find in a grocery store.
We walked through the aisles and picked up about $50-worth of food from the list -- well, it was generally sold for more than that, but sales and coupons knocked a great deal off of the cost, and I was having fun thinking of the money we weren't spending. Cream soup cans and toilet paper and other necessities piled up in the cart, and we made our way to the line, passing cart after cart filled with cascading Banquet frozen entrees and the various pork products that seem to be the store's mainstay, along with the tell-tale traditional foods of the holiday.
One of the most shocking aspects of life in the South for the Southern California girl in me is that nobody seems to be in much of a hurry here -- ever. I watched a man at a tire shop earlier this week patiently approach the young man at the front desk to inform him that the repair job he had ordered was still not done properly... first they forgot to rotate the tires, then they didn't check the pressure, and the list went on. Still, the man, clearly frustrated but always polite, simply waited until the job was done right and chatted with me about hockey in the interim. It was that or watch a particularly insipid Judge-Somebody-or-Other show on the TV in the corner of the waiting room. We both chose sociability, and patience, over the voyeuristic pleasure of watching people humiliate themselves on television. Waiting is just what we needed to do, and far from being weird, being neighborly is encouraged.
The lines in the Food Lion are another chance for the exercise of patience, or reflection, or catching up with an old friend who just happens to be in the next line, or a friendly exchange with the decidedly-unstylish, probably overweight and pimpled checker. In this case, while I waited for my shot at the rotating belt counter top, I chose to ponder the huge water bottle on the end of the counter that was filled with miscellaneous small change and bore a hand-written sign: This Thanksgiving will be difficult for all of us. If you can spare anything, we'll make sure it goes to the needy of our community. I looked at the meager offerings in the jar, and at to my cart as my mind wandered up the street and into our refrigerator where our turkey was thawing. I bought it early in the season while smallish birds could still be found. I realized then that even though I was jobless and our shopping was budgeted rather carefully, I didn't have to worry about whether or not we could pay for this food. Not one bit.
I thought back over the last year -- the miscarriage, our job losses, the move I didn't want to make, all of the uncertainty about the future -- all of the things that scared and pained me. Then I looked at the selfless, kind husband who had agreed to accompany me to the store when I know he would have rather been almost anywhere else. I soon found that my eyes were starting to burn. There was this amazing feeling that washed over me, something I had never felt so clearly. It was gratitude. I felt so incredibly blessed, because through His mercy God has seen to it that we haven't have to worry about the basics of life through any of it, and I have love and family and friends and health and so much to be grateful for.
When it was our turn to check out, the checker looked at the box of store brand stuffing (backup in case my scratch stuffing doesn't work as planned or something to add to a future dinner in a hurry) and sweet potatoes and other goodies destined for our table, and she reminded me that I had forgotten the turkey. I smiled and thanked her and told her I had one thawing in the fridge.
Then the checker turned to have a quick exchange with the box boy about the pale green boxes we had passed in the front of the store. "Have those been purchased?" he asked, motioning to the large pile that formed the display. "No," she replied, and she straightened the box in front of us and asked us if we wanted to buy one for five dollars. I looked at Daniel and he shrugged. "Yes," we said, and she thanked us asked the box boy to fetch a replacement from the big pile and added our one box to a very small pile behind the counter. The box contained name-brand thanksgiving fixings sufficient for one person for one meal. Suddenly another feeling washed over me... shame. Ours was such a small gesture, such a tiny offering that doesn't begin to address the real need of those in my neighborhood. I had an urge to buy the whole pile, but that was checked by the reality that we cannot afford that, as much as I would like to.
My imagination started working. Who would get that small box? How would they feel to open it and eat the contents? Ashamed? Grateful? If so, perhaps we shared in the same feelings as well as the same humanity and the same geographic region. I was ashamed as I looked at that five-dollar box and thought of the hundreds of dollars I spend in ways I can't easily account for when so many go hungry around me. I was grateful that there was something I could do at one of the leanest times in our lives together that would fill another belly for one special day.
We walked back out, and the old woman joined her husband. We grabbed our bags and packages of paper goods and waited for a man, and then a woman, to come in out of the cold. We set off through the bracing wind to fill our car with good things, and I fought back tears as we started the short drive back home in relative silence.
I don't know how to say thank you. I don't know where to begin. I do know that this Thanksgiving, my heart is as full as our small family table will be, and I am truly grateful.
Food Lion is the unfashionable store; the grocery store of the everyman -- the first one in a fledgling town and the one that claims the less glamorous clientele once the glossy chains move in. It isn't the scrubbed-clean mega-market with shining displays of organic produce and high-end specialty foods; Instead, it boasts a comparatively impressive display of Hispanic foods and a meager smattering of representative items from each category of item you might expect to find in a grocery store.
We walked through the aisles and picked up about $50-worth of food from the list -- well, it was generally sold for more than that, but sales and coupons knocked a great deal off of the cost, and I was having fun thinking of the money we weren't spending. Cream soup cans and toilet paper and other necessities piled up in the cart, and we made our way to the line, passing cart after cart filled with cascading Banquet frozen entrees and the various pork products that seem to be the store's mainstay, along with the tell-tale traditional foods of the holiday.
One of the most shocking aspects of life in the South for the Southern California girl in me is that nobody seems to be in much of a hurry here -- ever. I watched a man at a tire shop earlier this week patiently approach the young man at the front desk to inform him that the repair job he had ordered was still not done properly... first they forgot to rotate the tires, then they didn't check the pressure, and the list went on. Still, the man, clearly frustrated but always polite, simply waited until the job was done right and chatted with me about hockey in the interim. It was that or watch a particularly insipid Judge-Somebody-or-Other show on the TV in the corner of the waiting room. We both chose sociability, and patience, over the voyeuristic pleasure of watching people humiliate themselves on television. Waiting is just what we needed to do, and far from being weird, being neighborly is encouraged.
The lines in the Food Lion are another chance for the exercise of patience, or reflection, or catching up with an old friend who just happens to be in the next line, or a friendly exchange with the decidedly-unstylish, probably overweight and pimpled checker. In this case, while I waited for my shot at the rotating belt counter top, I chose to ponder the huge water bottle on the end of the counter that was filled with miscellaneous small change and bore a hand-written sign: This Thanksgiving will be difficult for all of us. If you can spare anything, we'll make sure it goes to the needy of our community. I looked at the meager offerings in the jar, and at to my cart as my mind wandered up the street and into our refrigerator where our turkey was thawing. I bought it early in the season while smallish birds could still be found. I realized then that even though I was jobless and our shopping was budgeted rather carefully, I didn't have to worry about whether or not we could pay for this food. Not one bit.
I thought back over the last year -- the miscarriage, our job losses, the move I didn't want to make, all of the uncertainty about the future -- all of the things that scared and pained me. Then I looked at the selfless, kind husband who had agreed to accompany me to the store when I know he would have rather been almost anywhere else. I soon found that my eyes were starting to burn. There was this amazing feeling that washed over me, something I had never felt so clearly. It was gratitude. I felt so incredibly blessed, because through His mercy God has seen to it that we haven't have to worry about the basics of life through any of it, and I have love and family and friends and health and so much to be grateful for.
When it was our turn to check out, the checker looked at the box of store brand stuffing (backup in case my scratch stuffing doesn't work as planned or something to add to a future dinner in a hurry) and sweet potatoes and other goodies destined for our table, and she reminded me that I had forgotten the turkey. I smiled and thanked her and told her I had one thawing in the fridge.
Then the checker turned to have a quick exchange with the box boy about the pale green boxes we had passed in the front of the store. "Have those been purchased?" he asked, motioning to the large pile that formed the display. "No," she replied, and she straightened the box in front of us and asked us if we wanted to buy one for five dollars. I looked at Daniel and he shrugged. "Yes," we said, and she thanked us asked the box boy to fetch a replacement from the big pile and added our one box to a very small pile behind the counter. The box contained name-brand thanksgiving fixings sufficient for one person for one meal. Suddenly another feeling washed over me... shame. Ours was such a small gesture, such a tiny offering that doesn't begin to address the real need of those in my neighborhood. I had an urge to buy the whole pile, but that was checked by the reality that we cannot afford that, as much as I would like to.
My imagination started working. Who would get that small box? How would they feel to open it and eat the contents? Ashamed? Grateful? If so, perhaps we shared in the same feelings as well as the same humanity and the same geographic region. I was ashamed as I looked at that five-dollar box and thought of the hundreds of dollars I spend in ways I can't easily account for when so many go hungry around me. I was grateful that there was something I could do at one of the leanest times in our lives together that would fill another belly for one special day.
We walked back out, and the old woman joined her husband. We grabbed our bags and packages of paper goods and waited for a man, and then a woman, to come in out of the cold. We set off through the bracing wind to fill our car with good things, and I fought back tears as we started the short drive back home in relative silence.
I don't know how to say thank you. I don't know where to begin. I do know that this Thanksgiving, my heart is as full as our small family table will be, and I am truly grateful.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Wunderzeit!
A Double EP is being released by Daniel's long-time musical collaboration, Writ on Water, today.
I might add that today just happens to be the anniversary of the day that Daniel and I met, and it is my patronal (St. Katherine's Day) so it is a special day for us on many, many levels.
I continue to be amazed by the accomplishments of the man I have been fortunate enough to share the last seven years with, and I am grateful to get to see on a daily basis what so many people don't: that he has incredible talents that largely remain hidden under a bushel because of his failure to mention these things to anyone. So, while he won't crow about this latest accomplishment... I will!
For the uninitiated, Writ on Water's music is informed by a Christian worldview, but it appeals to a broad audience. Listeners trying to put it in a genre may label it with terms like "shoegaze," "post-punk," "space rock," "experimental" and "darkwave" (terms which I confess not to understand, but pass on for those of you who may). Don't let the words scare you... the music itself is a peaceful, yet energetic, tapestry of sound infused with a great deal of love.
The private "release party", a.k.a. Thanksgiving dinner at our house for the two of us and Jeff (the voice and main creative force of Writ on Water) and his uber-lovely wife, Heather, will be held on Thursday.
I would invite any of you who may be wish to experience Writ on Water's musical output to visit the links at the beginning of this post.
I might add that today just happens to be the anniversary of the day that Daniel and I met, and it is my patronal (St. Katherine's Day) so it is a special day for us on many, many levels.
I continue to be amazed by the accomplishments of the man I have been fortunate enough to share the last seven years with, and I am grateful to get to see on a daily basis what so many people don't: that he has incredible talents that largely remain hidden under a bushel because of his failure to mention these things to anyone. So, while he won't crow about this latest accomplishment... I will!
For the uninitiated, Writ on Water's music is informed by a Christian worldview, but it appeals to a broad audience. Listeners trying to put it in a genre may label it with terms like "shoegaze," "post-punk," "space rock," "experimental" and "darkwave" (terms which I confess not to understand, but pass on for those of you who may). Don't let the words scare you... the music itself is a peaceful, yet energetic, tapestry of sound infused with a great deal of love.
The private "release party", a.k.a. Thanksgiving dinner at our house for the two of us and Jeff (the voice and main creative force of Writ on Water) and his uber-lovely wife, Heather, will be held on Thursday.
I would invite any of you who may be wish to experience Writ on Water's musical output to visit the links at the beginning of this post.
Friday, November 21, 2008
I, with the uniformed mite, ask WHY?
Why the UC Regents should reconsider that enrollment cut...
Based on the following gem, from a comment, on an article, on the enrollment cut, by the UC Regants, from the US News and World Report site, about which I care as a UC Alum:
"The uniformed mite ask WHY?"
I suggest that the knead four hire education is grater then ewe mite think. As an aside... I love a mite in uniform.
P.S. It snowed last night!
P.P.S. The terribly awkward structure of the above sentence beginning "Based on..." was intentional, too. I haven't completely lost all sense (just almost all cents).
P.P.P.S. Okay... I will stop now.
Based on the following gem, from a comment, on an article, on the enrollment cut, by the UC Regants, from the US News and World Report site, about which I care as a UC Alum:
"The uniformed mite ask WHY?"
I suggest that the knead four hire education is grater then ewe mite think. As an aside... I love a mite in uniform.
P.S. It snowed last night!
P.P.S. The terribly awkward structure of the above sentence beginning "Based on..." was intentional, too. I haven't completely lost all sense (just almost all cents).
P.P.P.S. Okay... I will stop now.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
From the Archives of our Lives
We had a wonderful visit from Steve, Jayne, Thomas and Paul (Dan's oldest brother and his family) several weeks ago, but it just happened to coincide with my work situation taking a left turn, so while I have had photos and things to say about it for a while, I never managed to do so. It's long overdue by now, but I will hope that "they" are right when "they" say, "Better late than never!" Unfortunately, I seem to have lost more than half of the photos from that time in the intervening weeks. I had, for instance, some really cool shots of our nephews hanging about in treetops like monkeys, but I have not been able to locate them. *sigh* I do, however, have a couple of the photos I took back at the house (after the boys went and got sunburnt at the nearby water park). The less camera-shy members of the family appear somewhat more often than the rest of us. I, for instance, never handed the camera over to anyone else, so I just don't appear at all!
During their visit, we went out to eat quite a lot... in fact, I think we did more eating than anything... which was great, since it allowed us to try some of the restaurants we had not yet been to. We also went to Old Salem (which took much more time than anticipated) and did a few other things around town. I managed to cook dinner one night, but it wasn't one of my more shining moments. :) There were plenty of fun moments, including the time when a young girl tried to pick up on Paul in the local Fuddruckers, where the burgers are enormous and the clean-up staff ask for tips in not-so-subtle ways. Back to Paul's admirer... I won't repeat what her friend said in response since it was shockingly frank, but the admirer managed to tell Paul he was "hot" straight out. I, of course, found this to be delightfully funny. I can afford to find it amusing since I am not the mother of teenagers. Speaking of teenagers, Sonic seemed to be a favorite destination for the visiting family, so trips to get drinks and munchies were frequently on the agenda. I didn't object to that either.
Wherever we were, there was an abundance of silliness. I attribute most of it to the boys of the family. I am sure that Jayne and I always comported ourselves admirably. I'm quite sad not to have some of the other photos to share that would have captured even more of the levity, but these few shots will provide a peek at the Connecticut clan's visit to our spot on the globe. While this is arguably *not* the most exciting place to be, we hope they will consider coming again.
During their visit, we went out to eat quite a lot... in fact, I think we did more eating than anything... which was great, since it allowed us to try some of the restaurants we had not yet been to. We also went to Old Salem (which took much more time than anticipated) and did a few other things around town. I managed to cook dinner one night, but it wasn't one of my more shining moments. :) There were plenty of fun moments, including the time when a young girl tried to pick up on Paul in the local Fuddruckers, where the burgers are enormous and the clean-up staff ask for tips in not-so-subtle ways. Back to Paul's admirer... I won't repeat what her friend said in response since it was shockingly frank, but the admirer managed to tell Paul he was "hot" straight out. I, of course, found this to be delightfully funny. I can afford to find it amusing since I am not the mother of teenagers. Speaking of teenagers, Sonic seemed to be a favorite destination for the visiting family, so trips to get drinks and munchies were frequently on the agenda. I didn't object to that either.Wherever we were, there was an abundance of silliness. I attribute most of it to the boys of the family. I am sure that Jayne and I always comported ourselves admirably. I'm quite sad not to have some of the other photos to share that would have captured even more of the levity, but these few shots will provide a peek at the Connecticut clan's visit to our spot on the globe. While this is arguably *not* the most exciting place to be, we hope they will consider coming again.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Where We've Been (There's No Place Like Home)
I have been MIA for a while, but that mostly has to do with the move we just completed. We moved into the house we'd already been living in. Sounds strange, perhaps. We had intended to move elsewhere, but when we gave notice here at the temporary furnished housing, our landlord made us an offer within 5 minutes that we, well, couldn't refuse - a very significant reduction of our rent, and the opportunity to move our own things in. So, last weekend, he moved his things out, and we moved ours in. Many many thanks are due our friend Erik, who came and helped for the weekend, allowing us to be completely unpacked and settled by the end of one week!
The majority of my time has been spent packing up the landlord's things and unpacking ours. When not doing that, I have been couponing (got to love $220-worth of groceries for $118, though I am determined to do even better), job hunting, budgeting, changing our address and doing a variety of other home-related tasks, including things I haven't done in ages, like ironing shirts for Dan, cooking dinner every day and baking sweet goodies for him to take to work. All in all, I have been more busy than I was when I was working full-time. It's been a good busy, though, and I feel the healthiest and most content I have in a long time, in part, I am sure, because I seem to run up and down the stairs in here a few dozen times a day! I am a domestic goddess, until I am called upon to do something else... and dare I confess that I kind of enjoy it?
We still have some kinks to work out when it comes to sorting out life as it will be now, but I'm feeling much more settled and happy than I was for a long time. In the good news department, MooMoo recovered well after having almost all of her teeth pulled (she now has only one fang, poor dear), Daniel was hired permanently at his new job with a possibility for a review and raise in three months, and we think we can scrape by with things as they are if need be. More money would definitely be handy, though, so perhaps those of you inclined towards prayer can pray that we find another source - work for me, a raise for him or whatever is needed.
Here's a slide show of our new digs - it's a 2 bed 2.5 bath townhouse, for those of you who haven't seen it. It's complete with such budget-conscious items as $1 garage sale curtains and a tablecloth re-purposed as a "headboard"! (As an aside, We decided that the initial investment would be worthwhile in both energy savings and eco-friendliness, so we've put energy-efficient bulbs in all but about 4 or 5 fixtures and lamps in the house.) While it would be lovely to be able to replace some things (my desk, for example, is a $20 folding table from Walgreens) and there are plenty of things on my "someday..." wish list, I have been pleased with the way things have turned out, and what I didn't have to spend to do it!
Finally, what post would be complete without plenty of cats? Here are assorted kitty pictures taken this morning... Monte LOVES the roses Dan bought for me, as you can see. I don't have the heart to tell Monte that they weren't for him.
I'm going to try to backtrack a bit here in the next few posts, because there is plenty I haven't written about, including visits from loved ones and other of our recent activities. Stay tuned, as I hope to get going on the blog again now that we have a comfortable place to live and a semblance of order and serenity in our lives.
The majority of my time has been spent packing up the landlord's things and unpacking ours. When not doing that, I have been couponing (got to love $220-worth of groceries for $118, though I am determined to do even better), job hunting, budgeting, changing our address and doing a variety of other home-related tasks, including things I haven't done in ages, like ironing shirts for Dan, cooking dinner every day and baking sweet goodies for him to take to work. All in all, I have been more busy than I was when I was working full-time. It's been a good busy, though, and I feel the healthiest and most content I have in a long time, in part, I am sure, because I seem to run up and down the stairs in here a few dozen times a day! I am a domestic goddess, until I am called upon to do something else... and dare I confess that I kind of enjoy it?
We still have some kinks to work out when it comes to sorting out life as it will be now, but I'm feeling much more settled and happy than I was for a long time. In the good news department, MooMoo recovered well after having almost all of her teeth pulled (she now has only one fang, poor dear), Daniel was hired permanently at his new job with a possibility for a review and raise in three months, and we think we can scrape by with things as they are if need be. More money would definitely be handy, though, so perhaps those of you inclined towards prayer can pray that we find another source - work for me, a raise for him or whatever is needed.
Here's a slide show of our new digs - it's a 2 bed 2.5 bath townhouse, for those of you who haven't seen it. It's complete with such budget-conscious items as $1 garage sale curtains and a tablecloth re-purposed as a "headboard"! (As an aside, We decided that the initial investment would be worthwhile in both energy savings and eco-friendliness, so we've put energy-efficient bulbs in all but about 4 or 5 fixtures and lamps in the house.) While it would be lovely to be able to replace some things (my desk, for example, is a $20 folding table from Walgreens) and there are plenty of things on my "someday..." wish list, I have been pleased with the way things have turned out, and what I didn't have to spend to do it!
Finally, what post would be complete without plenty of cats? Here are assorted kitty pictures taken this morning... Monte LOVES the roses Dan bought for me, as you can see. I don't have the heart to tell Monte that they weren't for him.
I'm going to try to backtrack a bit here in the next few posts, because there is plenty I haven't written about, including visits from loved ones and other of our recent activities. Stay tuned, as I hope to get going on the blog again now that we have a comfortable place to live and a semblance of order and serenity in our lives.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Local Color
Fall has many charms, and several of the more tasty charms are for sale at the local farmer's market. This one has absolutely captivated me. It's quite large and quite diverse, with local products featuring prominently in the offerings, which I like very well, indeed. I like to support the local economy, and I like to be as close to the source of the food as practical. Here are some highlights from the market.
First, my sweetheart in a house made of pumpkins.
Taters, sweet and otherwise.
Some of the many varied pumpkins for sale.
Apples, apples and more apples!
Apples aren't the only cider-fruits round these parts.
Colorful blooms.
Green pumpkins.
Of course, there are other forms of wildlife in town... some that are just as native as well, I am.
Napping red wolves.
Kitties!!!
See ya later alligator, and after a while crocodile.
And my favorite, a cute little Wallaby that let me pet him and nuzzled my feet.
Isn't our world amazing and beautiful!
First, my sweetheart in a house made of pumpkins.
Taters, sweet and otherwise.
Some of the many varied pumpkins for sale.
Apples, apples and more apples!
Apples aren't the only cider-fruits round these parts.
Colorful blooms.
Green pumpkins.
Of course, there are other forms of wildlife in town... some that are just as native as well, I am.
Napping red wolves.
Kitties!!!
See ya later alligator, and after a while crocodile.
And my favorite, a cute little Wallaby that let me pet him and nuzzled my feet.
Isn't our world amazing and beautiful!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A New Season
These days, few things make me quite so excited as the beginning of the NHL regular season. I'm glad to have somewhere to invest my nervous energy and something to follow with interest that has the potential to be quite positive. We decided to go to the opening game of the Hurricanes' '08-'09 season last night, and we were delighted to discover that we could make it to a 7pm weeknight game on time from here when traffic and weather permit, though we plan to do that very seldom indeed. The journey also had the advantage of taking us by a gas station selling 87 for $3.17 per gallon. At home here, it's more like $3.60+ these days, so that was another pleasant surprise.
In other good news, the Hurricanes won, it was the fullest house I have seen in the 11 months I have followed the team and, aside Dan's from missing most of the second period haggling with an RBC Center employee at the ticket window who appeared to be trying to make a spot in the hall of incompetence for herself, we had a nice time and managed to get home before midnight.
As an aside, Dan has decided that earplugs are in order for him at all future games, which was a valuable observation. His hearing has suffered some over the last few months/years, and all of the arena noise is just too much for him, even though there's nothing like a live game and he loves that part. I'm somewhat more compassionate than I might otherwise be to that particular situation because I have a mother with hearing loss whose experience was shared with me some growing up. In fact, I learned enough from mom that I was able to recognize some behavioral signs of Dan's hearing loss before he recognized what was happening and his doctor actually caught the physical fact in testing.
Also aside, a consequence of the ticket window fiasco was that once I went back to the ticket window with Dan to have them fix the overcharge and the wrong seats (among other things), we decided to get some food, and when we headed back to our seats, Senator Elizabeth Dole happened to be right outside the door we needed to go through to get back. She was kind enough to shake our hands and greet us kindly before moving on. It may have been a photo-op, but we had no cameras (only incredibly overpriced Hardee's food) at hand, so you'll just have to take my word on that one.
I'm the last person to find politicians awe-inspiring, but she is a history-maker (the first female senator in NC) and a long-time civil servant who served with five presidents and ran for first lady, so to speak, so given a chance to shake her hand, I will take it.
All in all, it was a fun evening. I'm very grateful for fun times like this one that we get to share. Perhaps it can mark the start of a new season in our lives with more to obviously celebrate... (and I do mean more than just a new NHL season)!
In other good news, the Hurricanes won, it was the fullest house I have seen in the 11 months I have followed the team and, aside Dan's from missing most of the second period haggling with an RBC Center employee at the ticket window who appeared to be trying to make a spot in the hall of incompetence for herself, we had a nice time and managed to get home before midnight.
As an aside, Dan has decided that earplugs are in order for him at all future games, which was a valuable observation. His hearing has suffered some over the last few months/years, and all of the arena noise is just too much for him, even though there's nothing like a live game and he loves that part. I'm somewhat more compassionate than I might otherwise be to that particular situation because I have a mother with hearing loss whose experience was shared with me some growing up. In fact, I learned enough from mom that I was able to recognize some behavioral signs of Dan's hearing loss before he recognized what was happening and his doctor actually caught the physical fact in testing.
Also aside, a consequence of the ticket window fiasco was that once I went back to the ticket window with Dan to have them fix the overcharge and the wrong seats (among other things), we decided to get some food, and when we headed back to our seats, Senator Elizabeth Dole happened to be right outside the door we needed to go through to get back. She was kind enough to shake our hands and greet us kindly before moving on. It may have been a photo-op, but we had no cameras (only incredibly overpriced Hardee's food) at hand, so you'll just have to take my word on that one.
I'm the last person to find politicians awe-inspiring, but she is a history-maker (the first female senator in NC) and a long-time civil servant who served with five presidents and ran for first lady, so to speak, so given a chance to shake her hand, I will take it.
All in all, it was a fun evening. I'm very grateful for fun times like this one that we get to share. Perhaps it can mark the start of a new season in our lives with more to obviously celebrate... (and I do mean more than just a new NHL season)!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
By Divine Appointment
I thought I was going to see my doctor for the follow-up after a skin biopsy. That's what I had in mind... Well, that and asking the doctor if we can start trying to conceive again, since he had done a series of tests to determine my baseline health. I guess you could say that a lot rested on this appointment. However, according to a black woman named Jennifer from Ohio that I met in the waiting room, that was only one of the appointments I was meant to keep today. She says I had an appointment with her as well, only God had arranged this one.
I had arrived at the doctor eager to get the whole business over with. While I am getting quite used to the sort of exam that this office specializes in, I have never gotten used to the indignity of them. I checked in and looked for something to read to pass the time. Thankfully this office has a variety of magazines, unlike the office in Raleigh where I went through the majority of my short pregnancy and post-miscarriage care. That office offered reading choices for two life-events only: happy pregnancy and happy menopause. However, in this office, the smallish magazine that caught my eye was one called Miracle, which happened to be about achieving pregnancy through infertility treatments. I flipped through it, and looked despondently at a chart demonstrating the relationship between rising age and failing fertility. This month I turn 34, and the point at which pregnancy is attended by additional counseling about all the things that can go wrong is one year away. I soon discovered that this particular "miracle" booklet amounted to nothing more than fancy pharmaceutical literature, but it was enough to make me wonder as I put it back on the table if I would be devouring it in a year or two, hoping it held answers we desperately wanted.
My name was called, and, after a routine collection of specimens, I was ushered by a nurse into another waiting room. A tall, neatly groomed black woman sat down across from me. We smiled, and I made a passing remark about how we had made it to the second waiting room, which is always encouraging. She laughed and chatted a little bit. She was here, she said, because she had miscarried a few months ago, but she was now pregnant again. I smiled and congratulated her, and then I told her about my own miscarriage in February. She looked at me and, in dead earnestness, told me that I was going to have a baby. "How can I know this? I don't even know you? All things are in God's hands, and you are going to have a child." She then got up and laid her hand on my shoulder and told me she would be praying for me long after I had forgotten about this day. By then, I had started to cry quietly. "Don't be afraid. You must not be afraid, and never question God's ways. You do believe in Him, don't you?" I said yes. Her name was called, and she disappeared into the back of the office with a final few words of encouragement.
A few minutes later I was called back to the exam room. My eyes were still moist, and the nurse asked if I was okay. I told her I was and that I had just had an unusual - not unpleasant, just unusual - experience with another patient in the waiting room. I had a lot of time to think while I waited, draped in a paper blanket, for the doctor to come check the biopsy site. Most of that time I prayed silently and cried a bit more. It's an emotional day today, and that little impromptu laying on of hands was all it took to help me find my crying place.
The doctor exam was unremarkable, except that he couldn't find the biopsy spot, it had healed so well. He told me we can try to get pregnant, and wrote me a prescription for prenatal vitamins. So far, so good.
As I left, I met the same woman in the back office hall. She said, "Looks like we're on the same schedule," and we walked out together. She told me that there was such a thing as anointing, and that she was passing it on to me. We chatted a bit. She told me I would have news that everything would be fine by Christmas, and that when I got the news, I would remember that there was a black woman named Jennifer in this doctor's office that had encouraged me today. She told me that God had arranged it so that we would be there together and meet. At that point I couldn't help but laugh. A few days ago the doctor's office called and told me they had to reschedule my appointment by about 40 minutes, so I came in later than was my usual preference. I came in when Jennifer did.
I couldn't help but think of another strange encounter in a hospital hallway when my dad was desperately ill in the ICU. We weren't sure (and the doctors weren't convinced) that he was going to live, but a blond woman in the hallway of the ICU told me that my Dad would walk out of the hospital. I remember clinging to her words, hoping that even though the encounter was exceptionally strange, that her words were somehow true. He was wheeled out of the hospital, as are all patients, but Dad recovered after more than one close call and figuratively, if not literally, he did walk away.
The part of me that isn't entirely jaded, that part that isn't completely cynical, that part wants to believe that Jennifer from Ohio was in fact keeping her divine appointment with me. Because while I am still not sure that it's entirely rational to believe anything this gentle stranger said to me, there was a confidence in her words and her eyes that could have persuaded me of almost anything. I've been pretty hopeless lately. It's been easy for me to lose sight of the good things in the midst of all of my worries. If Jennifer persuaded me to have hope again, after a difficult molar pregnancy, job losses, a traumatic move, a skin cancer scare and months of waiting in what has felt like limbo, then perhaps there is something of God's hand in hers on my shoulder. Jennifer could be an angel, she could be a charismatic person with a strong conviction of God's workings, she could be almost anyone or anything. I believe that she is a woman who kept a divine appointment to encourage a stranger. God bless her for that... and, you will forgive me, won't you, if I cling to a hope that she also turns out to be a prophet?
I had arrived at the doctor eager to get the whole business over with. While I am getting quite used to the sort of exam that this office specializes in, I have never gotten used to the indignity of them. I checked in and looked for something to read to pass the time. Thankfully this office has a variety of magazines, unlike the office in Raleigh where I went through the majority of my short pregnancy and post-miscarriage care. That office offered reading choices for two life-events only: happy pregnancy and happy menopause. However, in this office, the smallish magazine that caught my eye was one called Miracle, which happened to be about achieving pregnancy through infertility treatments. I flipped through it, and looked despondently at a chart demonstrating the relationship between rising age and failing fertility. This month I turn 34, and the point at which pregnancy is attended by additional counseling about all the things that can go wrong is one year away. I soon discovered that this particular "miracle" booklet amounted to nothing more than fancy pharmaceutical literature, but it was enough to make me wonder as I put it back on the table if I would be devouring it in a year or two, hoping it held answers we desperately wanted.
My name was called, and, after a routine collection of specimens, I was ushered by a nurse into another waiting room. A tall, neatly groomed black woman sat down across from me. We smiled, and I made a passing remark about how we had made it to the second waiting room, which is always encouraging. She laughed and chatted a little bit. She was here, she said, because she had miscarried a few months ago, but she was now pregnant again. I smiled and congratulated her, and then I told her about my own miscarriage in February. She looked at me and, in dead earnestness, told me that I was going to have a baby. "How can I know this? I don't even know you? All things are in God's hands, and you are going to have a child." She then got up and laid her hand on my shoulder and told me she would be praying for me long after I had forgotten about this day. By then, I had started to cry quietly. "Don't be afraid. You must not be afraid, and never question God's ways. You do believe in Him, don't you?" I said yes. Her name was called, and she disappeared into the back of the office with a final few words of encouragement.
A few minutes later I was called back to the exam room. My eyes were still moist, and the nurse asked if I was okay. I told her I was and that I had just had an unusual - not unpleasant, just unusual - experience with another patient in the waiting room. I had a lot of time to think while I waited, draped in a paper blanket, for the doctor to come check the biopsy site. Most of that time I prayed silently and cried a bit more. It's an emotional day today, and that little impromptu laying on of hands was all it took to help me find my crying place.
The doctor exam was unremarkable, except that he couldn't find the biopsy spot, it had healed so well. He told me we can try to get pregnant, and wrote me a prescription for prenatal vitamins. So far, so good.
As I left, I met the same woman in the back office hall. She said, "Looks like we're on the same schedule," and we walked out together. She told me that there was such a thing as anointing, and that she was passing it on to me. We chatted a bit. She told me I would have news that everything would be fine by Christmas, and that when I got the news, I would remember that there was a black woman named Jennifer in this doctor's office that had encouraged me today. She told me that God had arranged it so that we would be there together and meet. At that point I couldn't help but laugh. A few days ago the doctor's office called and told me they had to reschedule my appointment by about 40 minutes, so I came in later than was my usual preference. I came in when Jennifer did.
I couldn't help but think of another strange encounter in a hospital hallway when my dad was desperately ill in the ICU. We weren't sure (and the doctors weren't convinced) that he was going to live, but a blond woman in the hallway of the ICU told me that my Dad would walk out of the hospital. I remember clinging to her words, hoping that even though the encounter was exceptionally strange, that her words were somehow true. He was wheeled out of the hospital, as are all patients, but Dad recovered after more than one close call and figuratively, if not literally, he did walk away.
The part of me that isn't entirely jaded, that part that isn't completely cynical, that part wants to believe that Jennifer from Ohio was in fact keeping her divine appointment with me. Because while I am still not sure that it's entirely rational to believe anything this gentle stranger said to me, there was a confidence in her words and her eyes that could have persuaded me of almost anything. I've been pretty hopeless lately. It's been easy for me to lose sight of the good things in the midst of all of my worries. If Jennifer persuaded me to have hope again, after a difficult molar pregnancy, job losses, a traumatic move, a skin cancer scare and months of waiting in what has felt like limbo, then perhaps there is something of God's hand in hers on my shoulder. Jennifer could be an angel, she could be a charismatic person with a strong conviction of God's workings, she could be almost anyone or anything. I believe that she is a woman who kept a divine appointment to encourage a stranger. God bless her for that... and, you will forgive me, won't you, if I cling to a hope that she also turns out to be a prophet?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
What I forget
I don't do a very good job of predicting the future. Not in big things; not in small things. For instance, every time I think, "Hey, I'll have time/energy/lots to say and will get a new blog post up," something comes and takes the wind out of my sails. I guess I am rather easy to deflate these days. Time I have. A desire to share what's on my heart I have. The ability to know how to do that, I don't.
Dan and I were talking last night, and I realized that one of my self-preservation mechanisms is working overtime. That is, as badly as I want and need people to socialize with, and as rapidly and drastically as my social circle has shrunk lately (talking to people at work online was a huge part of my contact with the outside world), I think I am uniquely reluctant to make any connections. This has been true since we moved to North Carolina to some extent, but it has become worse in the last two or three months. I think this is largely because I don't know where we will live in a month, and I am so afraid of letting people down and losing new connections that I don't want to connect with anyone new. This means I don't want to go to church here, either. We've been so busy with moving and guests and other impediments large and small that it has been very easy just to not go. I don't want to volunteer, even though I am sure there are plenty of volunteer organizations in the area that could use hands. The future is so uncertain that I feel paralyzed in the present.
It's all very silly, I know. Especially for someone as naturally social as I can be. I talk easily with people, as evidenced by what happened this last weekend when Dan and I went to Raleigh for a free Hurricane's hockey event. We were sitting in line (it was a long line and we brought chairs) to get into the building for player autographs. The sun was intense in the line area, and I was sans sunscreen, so Dan suggested that I go sit on some nearby steps that were in the shade of the building. I took his suggestion and my book and plopped down on the stairs. I had been there about 3 minutes when a woman came and sat near me and started talking with me about her two passions: writing (she has self-published a novel) and the Hurricanes Booster Club (she's on the club's board). By the time I left that spot, I knew quite a few things about her and may have had a new connection, except that I counted the hours between my current home and the club activities she mentioned that I could really enjoy and decided a bit sadly that it wasn't for me. It's not hard for me to make connections. It's just hard to want to maintain them when my life is in flux and I don't know where I live or what I will do for a living in a month or two.
I find the same reluctance in my job and housing search. Both have been fairly anemic so far, in part because until Dan is hired solidly by his company and until we know what his job will offer by way of benefits and pay, I don't know where I want to live and what sort of job I will need going forward. Can I take a lower-pay part-time position? Do I need a full-time position with benefits? Where should I look? Near where we live now? Near where we left, since that's where I would rather be if Dan's job falls through? I have a deep longing to be settled, to have my familiar things around me. I don't like sitting on someone else's furniture every day and cooking with strange dishes. I want to feel like I have a home again, and I can't bring myself to feel that here, even as I spend more of my time "keeping house".
There is a bitter sweetness to my life in this moment. I am happier in some ways than I have been in many years. In others, I am more depressed than I have been for a long time. It's no mystery to me why I feel either way, or both ways. All of the little gains and losses of life add up to one big muddle, and until I feel a strong sense of direction, I fear I will feel that I have lost my moorings.
The most ridiculous aspect of all of this is that I have sometimes lost sight of what makes this time of life no different from any other, namely that I am never in control, and I never know what the future holds. Every aspect of my life can change in a moment, and greater chaos than I feel now can come at the most routine of times. What does that mean? Well, all that I am feeling is subjective. I'm enslaved to the whim of the moment, the latest bit of news, the newest change of circumstance. I lose sight of the fact that God is unchanging in his love, and that while I may allow myself to be tossed about by circumstance, a firm foundation is withing reach if I dare to put down roots. I'd like to, and I need to... but I am afraid to try.
Dan and I were talking last night, and I realized that one of my self-preservation mechanisms is working overtime. That is, as badly as I want and need people to socialize with, and as rapidly and drastically as my social circle has shrunk lately (talking to people at work online was a huge part of my contact with the outside world), I think I am uniquely reluctant to make any connections. This has been true since we moved to North Carolina to some extent, but it has become worse in the last two or three months. I think this is largely because I don't know where we will live in a month, and I am so afraid of letting people down and losing new connections that I don't want to connect with anyone new. This means I don't want to go to church here, either. We've been so busy with moving and guests and other impediments large and small that it has been very easy just to not go. I don't want to volunteer, even though I am sure there are plenty of volunteer organizations in the area that could use hands. The future is so uncertain that I feel paralyzed in the present.
It's all very silly, I know. Especially for someone as naturally social as I can be. I talk easily with people, as evidenced by what happened this last weekend when Dan and I went to Raleigh for a free Hurricane's hockey event. We were sitting in line (it was a long line and we brought chairs) to get into the building for player autographs. The sun was intense in the line area, and I was sans sunscreen, so Dan suggested that I go sit on some nearby steps that were in the shade of the building. I took his suggestion and my book and plopped down on the stairs. I had been there about 3 minutes when a woman came and sat near me and started talking with me about her two passions: writing (she has self-published a novel) and the Hurricanes Booster Club (she's on the club's board). By the time I left that spot, I knew quite a few things about her and may have had a new connection, except that I counted the hours between my current home and the club activities she mentioned that I could really enjoy and decided a bit sadly that it wasn't for me. It's not hard for me to make connections. It's just hard to want to maintain them when my life is in flux and I don't know where I live or what I will do for a living in a month or two.
I find the same reluctance in my job and housing search. Both have been fairly anemic so far, in part because until Dan is hired solidly by his company and until we know what his job will offer by way of benefits and pay, I don't know where I want to live and what sort of job I will need going forward. Can I take a lower-pay part-time position? Do I need a full-time position with benefits? Where should I look? Near where we live now? Near where we left, since that's where I would rather be if Dan's job falls through? I have a deep longing to be settled, to have my familiar things around me. I don't like sitting on someone else's furniture every day and cooking with strange dishes. I want to feel like I have a home again, and I can't bring myself to feel that here, even as I spend more of my time "keeping house".
There is a bitter sweetness to my life in this moment. I am happier in some ways than I have been in many years. In others, I am more depressed than I have been for a long time. It's no mystery to me why I feel either way, or both ways. All of the little gains and losses of life add up to one big muddle, and until I feel a strong sense of direction, I fear I will feel that I have lost my moorings.
The most ridiculous aspect of all of this is that I have sometimes lost sight of what makes this time of life no different from any other, namely that I am never in control, and I never know what the future holds. Every aspect of my life can change in a moment, and greater chaos than I feel now can come at the most routine of times. What does that mean? Well, all that I am feeling is subjective. I'm enslaved to the whim of the moment, the latest bit of news, the newest change of circumstance. I lose sight of the fact that God is unchanging in his love, and that while I may allow myself to be tossed about by circumstance, a firm foundation is withing reach if I dare to put down roots. I'd like to, and I need to... but I am afraid to try.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Kissing Cousins? Oh my!
The past two days I have spent working on our family tree. It's a fun, obsessive activity for me, and it can take up hours at a time, allowing me to avoid the other things I should be doing. I've been in something of a crash mode since getting back from the old house for the last time on Tuesday afternoon. I know I have to go again tomorrow or Saturday, so I am sort of checking my brain into other things for a while, with the full knowledge that I need to start up with some other important things on Monday.
Well, once in a while I discover something kind of cool in my family chart digging. Today, what I discovered was a bit shocking. I found an interesting wrinkle in Dan's family: a man married a woman whose grandfather was his own father! I think that would be a bit more troubling these days, but I guess marrying close relatives was all the rage in bygone eras.
But there's more! You see, Daniel and I are cousins. Before you call the civil and church authorities, we're something like 20th cousins 4 times removed, so I think we're legal in all 50 states. That's my very inexact calculation, and someone who understands the whole cousin calculation situation better than I can correct me if they like, but it's clear that we're sufficiently distant.
In any event, Daniel and I are tied by blood in jolly Olde England -- Elmley Castle in Worcestershire, to be precise -- in the early 13th century, in the person of one William de Beauchamp, Lord of Elmley.
Now, I have known for many years that I spring from a long line of Beauchamps, as I had the dubious distinction of being of the Beauchamp bloodline through an all-male line of descent for 19 generations, broken only when my Beauchamp great-grandmother married and surrendered her Beauchamp name. What I didn't know is that while I descended from the Beauchamps of England, I narrowly missed descending from what I will refer to as the "cool" branch of the family that Daniel, lucky son-of-a-Beauchamp (sorry), managed to descend from, even though his line didn't keep the surname alive for such a long time.
Why is that the "cool" branch? Well, while my part of the family was busy keeping the name alive through various and sundry 5th-born sons and the like, Dan's line was busy surveying their newly-inherited Warwick Castle, which his part of the family would hold for 5 or 6 generations, until a Beauchamp woman in his direct line married her way out of the name and the Castle inheritance. (The Beauchamps only held the castle for one or two generations after that anyway).
So, why is this so cool? Warwick Castle just happens to be the only castle in England that we have visited together! It's a bit of an amusement park now, with the pricetag to match, but it is also beautifully preserved. When we were in the town of Warwick and visited the church there, we spoke to a docent of my Beauchamp forebears... but little did we know that Dan had some of his own, and that they owned the castle! I'll dig up photos from our time there eventually, but in the meantime, I offer this one in public domain:
See, William and Isabel (our mutual great-great-etc. grandparents) had at least two sons. Their son William (Dan's great-great-etc.-1 grandfather) managed to inherit the castle from his maternal uncle. Their other son, Walter, (my great-great-etc.-1 grandfather) didn't... but he did manage to keep the bloodline going in my direction! *sigh*
Ah well... as they say, time heals all wounds. I have now married back into distant descendants of the cool Beauchamp line. What I couldn't do by birth, I could do by marriage... and by accident!
Ah well, castle or no castle, this is one cousin I intend to go right on kissing!
Well, once in a while I discover something kind of cool in my family chart digging. Today, what I discovered was a bit shocking. I found an interesting wrinkle in Dan's family: a man married a woman whose grandfather was his own father! I think that would be a bit more troubling these days, but I guess marrying close relatives was all the rage in bygone eras.
But there's more! You see, Daniel and I are cousins. Before you call the civil and church authorities, we're something like 20th cousins 4 times removed, so I think we're legal in all 50 states. That's my very inexact calculation, and someone who understands the whole cousin calculation situation better than I can correct me if they like, but it's clear that we're sufficiently distant.
In any event, Daniel and I are tied by blood in jolly Olde England -- Elmley Castle in Worcestershire, to be precise -- in the early 13th century, in the person of one William de Beauchamp, Lord of Elmley.
Now, I have known for many years that I spring from a long line of Beauchamps, as I had the dubious distinction of being of the Beauchamp bloodline through an all-male line of descent for 19 generations, broken only when my Beauchamp great-grandmother married and surrendered her Beauchamp name. What I didn't know is that while I descended from the Beauchamps of England, I narrowly missed descending from what I will refer to as the "cool" branch of the family that Daniel, lucky son-of-a-Beauchamp (sorry), managed to descend from, even though his line didn't keep the surname alive for such a long time.
Why is that the "cool" branch? Well, while my part of the family was busy keeping the name alive through various and sundry 5th-born sons and the like, Dan's line was busy surveying their newly-inherited Warwick Castle, which his part of the family would hold for 5 or 6 generations, until a Beauchamp woman in his direct line married her way out of the name and the Castle inheritance. (The Beauchamps only held the castle for one or two generations after that anyway).
So, why is this so cool? Warwick Castle just happens to be the only castle in England that we have visited together! It's a bit of an amusement park now, with the pricetag to match, but it is also beautifully preserved. When we were in the town of Warwick and visited the church there, we spoke to a docent of my Beauchamp forebears... but little did we know that Dan had some of his own, and that they owned the castle! I'll dig up photos from our time there eventually, but in the meantime, I offer this one in public domain:
See, William and Isabel (our mutual great-great-etc. grandparents) had at least two sons. Their son William (Dan's great-great-etc.-1 grandfather) managed to inherit the castle from his maternal uncle. Their other son, Walter, (my great-great-etc.-1 grandfather) didn't... but he did manage to keep the bloodline going in my direction! *sigh*
Ah well... as they say, time heals all wounds. I have now married back into distant descendants of the cool Beauchamp line. What I couldn't do by birth, I could do by marriage... and by accident!
Ah well, castle or no castle, this is one cousin I intend to go right on kissing!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
The elephant in the blog
In a recent post, I mentioned that I anticipated making several blog posts to catch up on what's been happening in our lives because I would have time on my hands. Hahahaha. I honestly intended to, but the circumstances of our lives have become more complicated rather than less so, which has meant, on balance, that I haven't had time to blog. The biggest news is that, effective Sept 17, I have been laid off. In the meantime, I haven't been working. Instead, I have been shoving the tangible expressions of our home-life and history into boxes and moving all of our belongings into storage, patching walls, painting and scrubbing the mostly empty surfaces of the place we called home for a little over a year.
I don't think -- my departure from the family home at 19 aside -- that I have ever been so sad to leave a place, but with Dan still only working on contract and my job no more, we couldn't hold on to our little house any longer. The decision was made quickly and the majority of the move itself was accomplished in about a week. It reminds me a bit of when Dan and I got married... when I decide to do something, I can often be incredibly efficient. Once I settled on the groom, I had lined up a church, dress, caterer, band, and just about every other large detail of the day in about a week. :D Similarly, this move has been a whirlwind of just doing what must be done.
The job loss is a mixed bag, as you might imagine. The bad parts should be rather obvious: financial worries, doubts, feelings of failure, worries about finding a job when unemployment is at record highs, fear of starting over again. *sigh* I'm not immune to those things by any means. However, what I find more interesting is the rest of my reaction ... The reactions of the parts of me that remain hopeful and look forward to new opportunities. I guess this means that there is some degree of relief, some degree of resignation, even though I might not have chosen to leave on my own. There are three main things that come to mind that are positive factors in the midst of the worries and fears:
1. I've been missing working with people. That's not to say my coworkers were inhuman :P -- I mean with people I can see in person with cubicles or desks I can show up at. There are a couple of reasons for this, but the deepest of them is what my past work habits had meant. I tended to work insane hours. I spent so much of the last year connecting to California via the internet that I have didn't get out much. As a result, I made only 2 or 3 friends or acquaintances (of varying degrees) in the entire time I've lived in North Carolina. The lack of local friends makes it easier to relocate 2 hours away... but who wants it to be easy that way? I mean, if you know me well, you know I am more social than that. It's been difficult to feel so isolated, and I am definitely ready to get out of the house...
2. ... which brings me to the another good aspect: the ability to potentially leave work at work and have a home that is a haven from work's stresses and worries. I worry excessively anyway, but I found it incredibly difficult to not carry all of my stresses with me all of the time, because work was at home and home was at work.
3. Finally, if I am honest, I have to confess that over the past year or so, I had gotten to the point where I was deeply dissatisfied. The best way I can describe the "why" of the matter is that I didn't like the person I was at work anymore. I don't meant that I am inherently incompetent or anything, it was just that all of the particulars of the work setting and my personal situation, I think, brought out some of the worst in me. Rather than feeling the joy of the things I did well, most of the time I felt uneasy and worried. Again, this isn't a criticism of the company or the people I worked with, I think it was just what came from the convergence of difficult circumstances surrounding me during this most trying year.
Of course, I can also derive some comfort from the certainty I have now. I'm certain that I won't have the same job in the matter of days. I'm also sad about that and can't help be feel at times that the change represents my failure, but it's really kind of nice to know what the future holds: options I would never have considered otherwise.
I can't help but feel the timing is kind of bad... but there's never a good time for these things. I recall my Dad's job loss right about the time he had to bury his own dad. Now THAT was bad timing. Timing for us could be better, because Dan's job is still a non-permanent contract, we have huge expenses because of our transition between cities, and our benefits will run out with my job. In another way, though, the timing is great, because in the next few weeks Daniel's job will either solidify into something permanent in this area or not; the way that works out may influence where we choose to live now where I (or both of us, for that matter) ought to look for a new job.
So... I will update the blog. Among other things, I have lots of pictures from our visit with Steve and Jayne and the boys that I want to share. I did, however, want to name and talk about the elephant in the blog. It's name is "Change", and it's charging at me again.
On a lighter note, I thought I would thank two of my faithful helpers during the move process: Monte, who can be seen here on box security patrol,
and MooMoo, who is pictured testing the suitability of a box for carriage of delicate contents. 
Monte kept the burglars and mice at bay, and MooMoo snuggled with me and with the boxes to make sure that she remained well-rested and ready for whatever the day might hold. The kitties also, when they were there with me, helped me not feel quite so very alone in the world. That was their greatest mercy.
I'll end on a musical note... We plan to attend our first rehearsal with the Choral Society of Greensboro tonight. I'm looking forward to that very much. There's no audition to weather, so we'll just show up and sing. Sounds like fun to me. :)
I don't think -- my departure from the family home at 19 aside -- that I have ever been so sad to leave a place, but with Dan still only working on contract and my job no more, we couldn't hold on to our little house any longer. The decision was made quickly and the majority of the move itself was accomplished in about a week. It reminds me a bit of when Dan and I got married... when I decide to do something, I can often be incredibly efficient. Once I settled on the groom, I had lined up a church, dress, caterer, band, and just about every other large detail of the day in about a week. :D Similarly, this move has been a whirlwind of just doing what must be done.
The job loss is a mixed bag, as you might imagine. The bad parts should be rather obvious: financial worries, doubts, feelings of failure, worries about finding a job when unemployment is at record highs, fear of starting over again. *sigh* I'm not immune to those things by any means. However, what I find more interesting is the rest of my reaction ... The reactions of the parts of me that remain hopeful and look forward to new opportunities. I guess this means that there is some degree of relief, some degree of resignation, even though I might not have chosen to leave on my own. There are three main things that come to mind that are positive factors in the midst of the worries and fears:
1. I've been missing working with people. That's not to say my coworkers were inhuman :P -- I mean with people I can see in person with cubicles or desks I can show up at. There are a couple of reasons for this, but the deepest of them is what my past work habits had meant. I tended to work insane hours. I spent so much of the last year connecting to California via the internet that I have didn't get out much. As a result, I made only 2 or 3 friends or acquaintances (of varying degrees) in the entire time I've lived in North Carolina. The lack of local friends makes it easier to relocate 2 hours away... but who wants it to be easy that way? I mean, if you know me well, you know I am more social than that. It's been difficult to feel so isolated, and I am definitely ready to get out of the house...
2. ... which brings me to the another good aspect: the ability to potentially leave work at work and have a home that is a haven from work's stresses and worries. I worry excessively anyway, but I found it incredibly difficult to not carry all of my stresses with me all of the time, because work was at home and home was at work.
3. Finally, if I am honest, I have to confess that over the past year or so, I had gotten to the point where I was deeply dissatisfied. The best way I can describe the "why" of the matter is that I didn't like the person I was at work anymore. I don't meant that I am inherently incompetent or anything, it was just that all of the particulars of the work setting and my personal situation, I think, brought out some of the worst in me. Rather than feeling the joy of the things I did well, most of the time I felt uneasy and worried. Again, this isn't a criticism of the company or the people I worked with, I think it was just what came from the convergence of difficult circumstances surrounding me during this most trying year.
Of course, I can also derive some comfort from the certainty I have now. I'm certain that I won't have the same job in the matter of days. I'm also sad about that and can't help be feel at times that the change represents my failure, but it's really kind of nice to know what the future holds: options I would never have considered otherwise.
I can't help but feel the timing is kind of bad... but there's never a good time for these things. I recall my Dad's job loss right about the time he had to bury his own dad. Now THAT was bad timing. Timing for us could be better, because Dan's job is still a non-permanent contract, we have huge expenses because of our transition between cities, and our benefits will run out with my job. In another way, though, the timing is great, because in the next few weeks Daniel's job will either solidify into something permanent in this area or not; the way that works out may influence where we choose to live now where I (or both of us, for that matter) ought to look for a new job.
So... I will update the blog. Among other things, I have lots of pictures from our visit with Steve and Jayne and the boys that I want to share. I did, however, want to name and talk about the elephant in the blog. It's name is "Change", and it's charging at me again.
On a lighter note, I thought I would thank two of my faithful helpers during the move process: Monte, who can be seen here on box security patrol,
and MooMoo, who is pictured testing the suitability of a box for carriage of delicate contents. 
Monte kept the burglars and mice at bay, and MooMoo snuggled with me and with the boxes to make sure that she remained well-rested and ready for whatever the day might hold. The kitties also, when they were there with me, helped me not feel quite so very alone in the world. That was their greatest mercy.I'll end on a musical note... We plan to attend our first rehearsal with the Choral Society of Greensboro tonight. I'm looking forward to that very much. There's no audition to weather, so we'll just show up and sing. Sounds like fun to me. :)
Friday, August 29, 2008
Memories and Old Salem
Sometimes memories come from the strangest of places. Yesterday I stood at the counter of a rented townhouse in central North Carolina cutting green onions for a salad. For a split second, I was transported back to California in the 1980s. I was just a child, in the kitchen or on the back porch of my grandparents' Whittier house -- I wasn't quite sure where, exactly -- and I was watching my grandmother cut green onions... probably for a big family dinner, in the days when my grandparents were both alive and our extended family had a thread, my grandfather, stitching the various parts together. I don't know if it was the smell, the texture, the crunch of the blade through the crisp green stalks or the dull thump of the knife on the cutting board, but the onions awakened a deep memory with surprising force and freshness. This was no cherished memory of a special moment; it was a long-forgotten ordinary moment, but when I lived it again, it became a treasure.There are places that serve to sort of jog our collective memories, and this part of the South seems full of them. So many houses sag, in various stages of decay, where they proudly stood decades ago. There's a sense of connection to the past here that is missing from the orderly streets of California's gleaming new master-planned communities: a scent reminiscent of another time and place wafted on the winds over the fields once soaked with blood, or the sound of an old grandmother singing as she lays the laundry out to bleach in the sun.
Some of these places leave the memories to the imagination, where memorial plaques are absent and tour books are silent; others bring the past to life so vibrantly that you feel you were somehow there -- that you will leave remembering the faces and places alive with the life of another era when life was simple and hard. Old Salem is one of those places, and I found myself wandering its streets and shops and houses twice in the last week: once with Steve, Jayne, Thomas and Paul, and again with Daniel, Erik and Robyn.
Old Salem -- the birthplace of the latter half of what is now Winston Salem, NC -- was settled in 1766 by the Moravians, a protestant sect with German heritage who came from what is now part of the Czech Republic. They call themselves the first protestants, and they may be one of the earliest groups to break from the Roman Catholic church to have a continuous modern presence. They founded Bethlehem, PA, before moving in 1753 to "Wachovia," the nearly 100,000 acres they would call home in North Carolina.
Salem became the center of the Wachovia settlement, and it's location was settled by drawing lots. When God said "yes" via a piece of parchment (after saying "no" in other spots over several years), ground was broken for the new civic center of Moravian life. The town's buildings have since been lovingly restored and the streets and shops are peopled by costumed historical interpreters who demonstrate the way of life in the town from 1766 to the 1800s.
I'll let pictures do most of the talking from this point. They should tell you that Old Salem is a fascinating look at another era, and the sort of place where we can jog our human memory in individual ways, as it did for Robyn when she stood in a garden burgeoning with flowers and bustling with bees and said, "There's a smell here reminds me of my grandmother," and as a people. Ultimately, almost all of us have grown from foreign roots transplanted in American soil. And in Old Salem, we are reminded that those who came before us are not so far removed from us that we cannot touch and taste and smell their world.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Desayuno Chapin y Cumpleaños Felices
I plan to make a series of posts this week: partly because I am rather unexpectedly in possession of more time than usual for blogging and the like, and partly because this last week has been incredibly full. To recap in brief, Steve, Jayne, Thomas and Paul (Daniel's oldest brother and family) came to visit for much of the week. That was a wonderful time, and I promise to cover it in more detail in future posts. However, I plan to work backwards a bit, starting with some of the most recent events.
This weekend, Erik and Robyn came over to observe two birthdays: Daniel's 39th on Friday and Erik's 32nd, which is today. One feature of the weekend was Guatemalan breakfast. Daniel called Guatemala home for 14 years, and so when we managed to find a Guatemalan brand (Ducal) of refried black beans (volteados) in a local store here, he bought them and introduced me to the wonder that is Guatemalan breakfast. I think it will become a favorite at our house. Our version featured volteados, tortillas de mais (corn), chirmol (a sort of roasted salsa that Dan made from scratch), queso (Mexican cheese, in this case, because Guatemalan cheese still evades us), huevos con cebolla (eggs with onion), Crema Guatemalteca (a mixture of sour cream, cream cheese and heavy cream), fruit and coffee. We would have added fried ripe platano (plantains) had we remembered to buy them.
As for the title of the post, Guatemalans refer to themselves as "chapin" and "desayuno" is, as you have probably guessed, breakfast. The second half of the title, of course, refers to happy birthdays, and so, with that, I proceed to part two of the post.
Robyn and I made birthday cakes this weekend. It was a collaborative effort in the kitchen, but I did most of Daniel's cake, and Robyn did most of Erik's. I, at least, had a lot of fun working on them.
Daniel's cake was a "giant ding dong", complete with devils food cake, cream filling and a chocolate glaze. I prefer, however, to think of it as a giant hockey puck. This puck featured something like the emblem of the team that still, in his heart of hearts, has the most pull for Daniel. I got the team emblem close enough that Dan said he recognized it immediately, which was all I aspired to, given that I was decorating free-hand. However, to Dan's great feigned sorrow, I was unable to put the official NHL logo on the underside of the cake. I'm just not that good.
Erik's cake was vanilla with a sort of chocolate chip crust on the bottom and whipped cream frosting and filling. It was very light and tasty (not death-by-sugar like the puck) and was decorated with the brightly-colored emblem of his favorite Swedish fotboll (soccer!) club: Djurgårdens I. F.; where the D. I. F. would ordinarily have been on the crest, Robyn put his name.
On Sunday, we each had a small slice of each cake, offset in part by some cheese and crackers. Robyn and Erik then returned home and Dan and I collapsed into a sugar coma for a couple of hours. It was a fitting end to a very long week.
So, allow me to end with wishes for a very happy birthday to my beloved husband Daniel, to our good friend Erik, and a very happy belated birthday to our darling niece, Talia, who celebrated her first birthday last weekend. I would invite you to visit her family blog for photos of that joyous event, which we, sadly, could not celebrate in person.
Many years!
This weekend, Erik and Robyn came over to observe two birthdays: Daniel's 39th on Friday and Erik's 32nd, which is today. One feature of the weekend was Guatemalan breakfast. Daniel called Guatemala home for 14 years, and so when we managed to find a Guatemalan brand (Ducal) of refried black beans (volteados) in a local store here, he bought them and introduced me to the wonder that is Guatemalan breakfast. I think it will become a favorite at our house. Our version featured volteados, tortillas de mais (corn), chirmol (a sort of roasted salsa that Dan made from scratch), queso (Mexican cheese, in this case, because Guatemalan cheese still evades us), huevos con cebolla (eggs with onion), Crema Guatemalteca (a mixture of sour cream, cream cheese and heavy cream), fruit and coffee. We would have added fried ripe platano (plantains) had we remembered to buy them.
As for the title of the post, Guatemalans refer to themselves as "chapin" and "desayuno" is, as you have probably guessed, breakfast. The second half of the title, of course, refers to happy birthdays, and so, with that, I proceed to part two of the post.
Robyn and I made birthday cakes this weekend. It was a collaborative effort in the kitchen, but I did most of Daniel's cake, and Robyn did most of Erik's. I, at least, had a lot of fun working on them.
Daniel's cake was a "giant ding dong", complete with devils food cake, cream filling and a chocolate glaze. I prefer, however, to think of it as a giant hockey puck. This puck featured something like the emblem of the team that still, in his heart of hearts, has the most pull for Daniel. I got the team emblem close enough that Dan said he recognized it immediately, which was all I aspired to, given that I was decorating free-hand. However, to Dan's great feigned sorrow, I was unable to put the official NHL logo on the underside of the cake. I'm just not that good.
Erik's cake was vanilla with a sort of chocolate chip crust on the bottom and whipped cream frosting and filling. It was very light and tasty (not death-by-sugar like the puck) and was decorated with the brightly-colored emblem of his favorite Swedish fotboll (soccer!) club: Djurgårdens I. F.; where the D. I. F. would ordinarily have been on the crest, Robyn put his name.
On Sunday, we each had a small slice of each cake, offset in part by some cheese and crackers. Robyn and Erik then returned home and Dan and I collapsed into a sugar coma for a couple of hours. It was a fitting end to a very long week.
So, allow me to end with wishes for a very happy birthday to my beloved husband Daniel, to our good friend Erik, and a very happy belated birthday to our darling niece, Talia, who celebrated her first birthday last weekend. I would invite you to visit her family blog for photos of that joyous event, which we, sadly, could not celebrate in person.
Many years!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Before and After
I don't feel I can really write about what's going on in my life at the moment, and I am not much for writing poetry (at least not of the sort that gets shared), but I found myself up at 4am scribbling these words as I thought about regret and time and opportunity, and in the lack of anything else to say, I offer this jumble of sleepless thoughts.
There is the moment before,
and the moment after.
In between comes the moment of transition, as dying lies breathlessly moaning between the twin moments of dead and alive.
It is that middle waiting place; the moment whose long-anticipated passing makes the possible actual, whose flight leaves after behind, in its crashing, tumbling wake.
After having arrived, drenched and dripping with the waters of change, the mind and heart still clamor for what was. Before.
Disbelieving, yearning to plunge back under the surf and emerge where the waves have yet to pound the shore,
I flirt with the time before...
before the death
before the diagnosis
before the darkness
before the loss
before what is done cannot be undone
and after...
Now. This moment after when once again what is just is. No longer becoming, but become. When the after settles in for a nap on the rug, just there on his well-worn patch before the hearth, impervious to the frigid stone and the gray smoldering remains of my extinguished heart-fire.
There, in the bone-cold and bitter silence, it is hard to remember that after is itself simply the before to another moment...
Before whatever is next.
before the birth
before the cure
before the daybreak
before the gain
before what is yet undone is done.
After is where what is becomes what could be.
The place where the heart aches as it thaws from its arctic freeze,
its nascent smoldering flame exploding into beats of life.
The place where ashes give birth to the blazing Phoenix, and the light of hope bursts anew on the world of before.
There is the moment before,
and the moment after.
In between comes the moment of transition, as dying lies breathlessly moaning between the twin moments of dead and alive.
It is that middle waiting place; the moment whose long-anticipated passing makes the possible actual, whose flight leaves after behind, in its crashing, tumbling wake.
After having arrived, drenched and dripping with the waters of change, the mind and heart still clamor for what was. Before.
Disbelieving, yearning to plunge back under the surf and emerge where the waves have yet to pound the shore,
I flirt with the time before...
before the death
before the diagnosis
before the darkness
before the loss
before what is done cannot be undone
and after...
Now. This moment after when once again what is just is. No longer becoming, but become. When the after settles in for a nap on the rug, just there on his well-worn patch before the hearth, impervious to the frigid stone and the gray smoldering remains of my extinguished heart-fire.
There, in the bone-cold and bitter silence, it is hard to remember that after is itself simply the before to another moment...
Before whatever is next.
before the birth
before the cure
before the daybreak
before the gain
before what is yet undone is done.
After is where what is becomes what could be.
The place where the heart aches as it thaws from its arctic freeze,
its nascent smoldering flame exploding into beats of life.
The place where ashes give birth to the blazing Phoenix, and the light of hope bursts anew on the world of before.
Monday, August 18, 2008
If ever...
Six years ago today my beloved and I were "really married" in the sight of 400-odd witnesses seen and untold numbers unseen. It was the moment that my little girl dreams came true, right down to the princess dress!
In retrospect, the most amazing part is that I was given a husband that I can and do truly love and respect. What? That doesn't seem so amazing? Well, I spent several of my formative years thinking -- once I was too practical to continue to think that I would grow up to be a princess or Amy Grant -- that God's plan for me surely meant marrying me to someone I wouldn't love (or possibly even like), since God was a jealous God and I was certain I needed to be taught a lesson. While I dutifully composed lists of godly traits I wanted in a man and prayed for the safety, health and happiness of my yet-unnamed someday husband, wherever he was in the world, from the time I was a young teen, I didn't really have exalted hopes. I think I thought I would be lucky to get someone who would put up with me, let alone care deeply for me, and I entered my 20s still believing that was true. Given that my expectations lowered my standards a bit, and that I probably could have married badly a couple of times over before Daniel and I met, the fact that I was unmarried and not 100% sworn off of men when God brought Daniel into my life seems nothing short of a miracle.
For his part, Daniel once told me that his abiding fear was that God would make him a missionary in India, and later in life he had resigned himself to becoming a monk if the right woman didn't show up, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry to get there. Clearly, Daniel is not a missionary in India nor a monk, and I am not in marital misery or divorced. God knew better, it would seem.
I was right about one thing. I needed to be taught a lesson. I needed to learn that the man God had planned for me was far and away beyond my expectations. More than that, he was what I needed: kind, devoted, talented, intelligent, patient almost beyond measure and a perfect fit in so many ways. I needed to learn something about love. I needed to see that love was neither a fairytale gooey feeling (though I have been blessed with some of that), nor was it the lashes of a taskmaster for my own betterment (though I have needed some of that), nor was it something that I could never experience in a way that enlivened my being (though I despaired of that)... No, love was, as promised, patient, kind, not envious, bot boastful, not proud, not rude, not self-seeking, not easily angered, not keeping record of wrongs... it protects, trusts, hopes, perseveres. It never fails. In my only slightly imperfect husband, I glimpse perfect love, and I am completely overwhelmed.
I may fail to love him as I ought. We have and will face all manner of challenges. There is, however, nobody I would rather face them with.
And so, in awe of God's graciousness and overwhelmed by the gift that is Daniel in my life, I come to the end of my post and I haven't words of my own to say what I wish. And so, what Anne Bradstreet said of her beloved, I quote in honor of mine:
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
In retrospect, the most amazing part is that I was given a husband that I can and do truly love and respect. What? That doesn't seem so amazing? Well, I spent several of my formative years thinking -- once I was too practical to continue to think that I would grow up to be a princess or Amy Grant -- that God's plan for me surely meant marrying me to someone I wouldn't love (or possibly even like), since God was a jealous God and I was certain I needed to be taught a lesson. While I dutifully composed lists of godly traits I wanted in a man and prayed for the safety, health and happiness of my yet-unnamed someday husband, wherever he was in the world, from the time I was a young teen, I didn't really have exalted hopes. I think I thought I would be lucky to get someone who would put up with me, let alone care deeply for me, and I entered my 20s still believing that was true. Given that my expectations lowered my standards a bit, and that I probably could have married badly a couple of times over before Daniel and I met, the fact that I was unmarried and not 100% sworn off of men when God brought Daniel into my life seems nothing short of a miracle.
For his part, Daniel once told me that his abiding fear was that God would make him a missionary in India, and later in life he had resigned himself to becoming a monk if the right woman didn't show up, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry to get there. Clearly, Daniel is not a missionary in India nor a monk, and I am not in marital misery or divorced. God knew better, it would seem.
I was right about one thing. I needed to be taught a lesson. I needed to learn that the man God had planned for me was far and away beyond my expectations. More than that, he was what I needed: kind, devoted, talented, intelligent, patient almost beyond measure and a perfect fit in so many ways. I needed to learn something about love. I needed to see that love was neither a fairytale gooey feeling (though I have been blessed with some of that), nor was it the lashes of a taskmaster for my own betterment (though I have needed some of that), nor was it something that I could never experience in a way that enlivened my being (though I despaired of that)... No, love was, as promised, patient, kind, not envious, bot boastful, not proud, not rude, not self-seeking, not easily angered, not keeping record of wrongs... it protects, trusts, hopes, perseveres. It never fails. In my only slightly imperfect husband, I glimpse perfect love, and I am completely overwhelmed.
I may fail to love him as I ought. We have and will face all manner of challenges. There is, however, nobody I would rather face them with.
And so, in awe of God's graciousness and overwhelmed by the gift that is Daniel in my life, I come to the end of my post and I haven't words of my own to say what I wish. And so, what Anne Bradstreet said of her beloved, I quote in honor of mine:
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
A Mountain and Mayberry
In our temporary home, we're a little over an hour from Pilot Mountain, which we were introduced to this weekend, thanks our friends and weekend guests Erik and Robyn. It's a very lovely place with miles of trails to wander. Sadly, there was a bit more excitement than usual while we were there--EMTs and forest rangers were busy rescuing a 26-year old woman who fell while rock climbing. The good news is that Daniel was told when he asked that she was expected to make a full recovery. The mountain is lovely. Trails lead around its base, and there are gorgeous views in just about every direction.
Nearby is also Mt. Airy, which claims to be "Mayberry" of Andy Griffith show fame, since it is the place where Mr. Griffith grew up. We noticed upon walking around a bit that it seems to be the perfect place to enjoy ice cream and knick-knack shopping. There must be half a dozen little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with ice cream offerings and three times as many stores with Lord-only-knows what in them. We didn't browse much, because, as one might expect, the town had begun to shut down at 5 pm!
Nearby is also Mt. Airy, which claims to be "Mayberry" of Andy Griffith show fame, since it is the place where Mr. Griffith grew up. We noticed upon walking around a bit that it seems to be the perfect place to enjoy ice cream and knick-knack shopping. There must be half a dozen little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with ice cream offerings and three times as many stores with Lord-only-knows what in them. We didn't browse much, because, as one might expect, the town had begun to shut down at 5 pm!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
