Quote of the day:

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, "I used everything you gave me".
Erma Bombeck

My Gift.

In forty-five minutes I will, officially, be 37 years old. Birthday's being a time to reflect I have today, spent some little time looking back on my life and have noticed one gift, in particular, that God has given me. One gift that, I believe, must border on the super natural. Like if I was a super hero, this would be my power.

Can someone sew Empty-Toilet-Paper-Roll-Changer-Woman on a cape for me? That'd be great. Make it official so all the guys in the household can stop writhing in their ineptitude and just accept that God has granted me this particular gift. Wonder Woman and her super strength and lasso of truth, phhut! Please! How does that even compare to the ability to reach under the bathroom sink and retrieve a fresh double-roll and not just set it on the counter or the back of the toilet or even on the dispenser, but to actually pull out the spring loaded bar, place the roll upon it and... (wait for it) put it back into the dispenser!!?!

Yup, a cape, that'd be great... maybe I'll get some boots to match... and a tiara shaped like a plunger....

Autumnal Munchies

It's a beautiful, crisp autumn day here in the wilds of Oregon. The boys have the day off of school so I made some muffins for breakfast to celebrate. These make me so very (ridiculously even) happy:

Pomegranate Ginger Muffins

2 c. flour
2/3 c. sugar
1 T. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1/3 c. crystallized ginger, minced
1 t. fresh lemon zest
1 1/4 c. pomegranate seeds
1 c. milk
1 egg, beaten
1/4 c. butter, melted
Sugar, for topping

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Line muffin tins.
2. Mix dry ingredients (sugar, flour, baking powder, salt) in a large bowl.
3. Mix wet ingredients (milk, egg, butter, lemon zest) in a medium bowl.
4. Make a "well" in your dry ingredients and pour in your wet ingredients until just mixed. Be careful not to over-mix. Over-mixing will make your muffins tough.
5. Fold in pomegranate seeds and ginger.
6. Spoon into tins.
7. Sprinkle tops with sugar, which will caramelize in the oven and make a lovely sugary top (I also like to use raw sugar- gives tops a nice crunchy texture).
8. Bake for 10-15 minutes until puffed and golden and a toothpick inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean.
9. Let cool for 5-10 minutes in the tin, then remove and cool on a cookie rack, or serve.
10. Add a cup of hazelnut coffee with a splash of cream, the Vince Guaraldi Trio, and you have the makings of one great morning.

Warning: not everyone likes the pomegranate seeds in their muffins, of course I think those people are stupid, but if you find the seeds crunchy texture off putting then by all means replace the pomegranate with dried cranberries.

Happy Palooza-Eve everyone!

Pumpkinpalooza is Saturday October 27th!

It’s finally here! The celebration of our favorite spherical gourd is upon us… Pumpkinpalooza ought seven!

The Food: Dinner will be around 7ish and yes, our menu will remain the same with the traditional pumpkin sausage pasta, baguette, and tossed green salad with pumpkin seed viniaigrette. Dessert will be brought by you. Yes, this year you provide the dessert. Why? Because there will be a punkin bake-off (and making pasta sauce and caramel corn for 60 takes all of my time)! Need a recipe? Shoot me an email and I’ll be happy to send you a recipe link for pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin cream puffs, chocolate pumpkin orange cupcakes, and yes, even pumpkin pie. Don’t do the dessert thing? Wanna bring an appetizer? Some bread? A beverage? Another dessert? That would be great, awesome even! Give me a jingle.


The Carving: Carving will begin around 5. We will provide a few carving implements (read: my steak knives), plenty of sharpies, and newspaper. You provide the pumpkin (hint: innovative use of pumpkins of different shapes and colors will be noted in judging), skill, inspiration, and any special tools (i.e. stencils, exacto knives, leather/ceramic tooling kits, or electric helps such as jigsaws, drills, or extension cords).

This year will be the second we judge the carved goods. If your jack-o-lantern wins you shall be dubbed High Pumpkin Mucky-Muck! To acknowledge your superlative pumpkin carving skills and incredible creativity we will slap your name on a tacky trophy and grant you one year of bragging rights. Afore said trophy will accompany you home where it will be kept in a highly visible place (we think your mantle or kitchen table best) till next Pumpkinfest. Huzzah! Warning: last year’s reigning champ is highly skilled and very cute and intends to take home the trophy for another year so bring your skills and your best game face.


The Place: Since we have moved from farm to apartment quarters are tight so accommodations have been made at our church. You need directions? Rsvp and I’ll send ‘em to you. For obvious reasons I don’t feel comfortable posting my party location on the web.

It promises to be the best palooza yet! Besides good eats and good times, pumpkin carving and baked good contests, we have also planned some really fun games and some special treats. So come on out!

Now if you’ll excuse me I gotta get shopping. I need that #10 can of pureed pumpkin, a Guaraldi CD, caramel corn fixin’s, votive candles…

Quote from my coffee cup...

"Childhood is a strange country. It's a place you come from or go to- at least in your mind. For me it has an endless, spellbound something in it that feels remote. It's like a little sealed-vault country of cake breath and grass stains where what you do instead of work is spin until you're dizzy." -Lyall Bush

Mmmmm.... cake breath....

MAMA!

So following Michael's instructions I too followed Liann's example and added a books I'm reading section to my sidebar. Being me I also had to add what I'm eating which then lead to what I'm watching and what I'm listening to. Isn't everyone curious about all the minutiae of my day-to-day life? Good! Me too!

I mentioned on Kathie's blog that my friend Angeleen bought me a chocolate and bacon bar (get your own Chris) and some lavender soda. I had to come here and tell everyone how AMAZING they are.

I know you're thinking, chocolate and bacon, what?!!? The chocolate is meltingly smooth, sweet, but not unctuous and the applewood smoked bacon provides a crispy, salty counter point. A perfect balance of flavors and textures. I don't think it will replace their Naga Bar (Indian curry and toasted coconut in deep milk chocolate) in my heart, but damn, it is fiiiiiiine!

As for the lavender soda... I cracked one a little while ago while I was making dinner. OH MY!!! Pour it into a wine glass, (why? because it deserves it) and enjoy the dry, floral flavor. Think really, really good gingerale, but instead of ginger flavor- lavender. I started smiling from the first whiff and sip and haven't stopped yet (my cheeks are killing me).

So check out the links under what I'm eating if you want more information on Dry Soda's Lavender Soda or Vosges Haut Chocolatiers or better yet head down to Whole Foods and get some for yourselves.

Oh and Angeleen? You are one of the reasons I know Jesus loves me.

Bananas and Bad Dreams, part 1

The other day I found this recipe for banana muffins. I've made 2 batches in one week and have already eaten 3 from the last batch. They are quite tasty and homey and very comforting with a glass of milk and are, for me, pure comfort food. Makes you wonder how the banana, a tropical fruit, became an American staple. I mean our story is about apple pie, not banana cream, yet nothing says soothing goodness like banana nut bread, warm from the oven, slathered in butter. Am I right?

My mom used to feed us bananas sliced up in a bowl of milk. I'm not sure why. For growing pains perhaps, all that potassium and calcium? I don't remember, but regardless of the original intent what it became to me was the quintessential comfort food.

I remember once I was babysitting and one of the kids had fallen asleep on the couch. I woke her up and pointed her toward bed, halfway there she began screaming like she was on fire! I grabbed her trying to figure out what was wrong. She just looked past me and continued to scream and scream. It was horrible. In an act of desperation I gave her a shake and she finally looked at me, collapsed into my arms, and began to cry. She had been having a waking nightmare- walking around with her eyes open, but still caught in her dreaming brain. Needless to say we were all pretty shook up. We scrapped bedtime and went upstairs to the kitchen for some bananas and milk. We all needed a little comfort.

I, unlike some people, do not have cool dreams or if I do I don't remember them. In fact, as a general rule I don't remember ANY of my dreams, cool, horrible, weird, or lame. They all, usually, evaporate with consciousness... usually. About two years ago I had the most horrible dream of my life. I woke up in a cold sweat, sick to my stomach, and too freaked out to be comforted by a good ol' bowl of bananas and milk, a muffin, or anything.





I'm in an orphanage. I grew up here and have recently come back to be on staff and work with the children. I'm in the dormitory with the children and it's rapidly becoming dark and we're all frantically trying to move all the beds into the center of the room. I'm giving instruction to this child and that, "get that bed." "Move these together like this." "Hurry, it's getting dark!" I have it in my brain that we must make one giant bed out of all the beds, fit them together, make a place where we can all huddle together and be safe, but it must be done before dark. The children scramble around in the darkening room and I push and shove at the beds worrying there won't be time.

In walks Lilith or as some of you may know her: Bebe Nuewirth. In my dream she's simply Lilith, not an actress and not the character known as Lilith that she portrayed on Cheers and Frasier, but just Lilith, my childhood friend. We grew up here together and she's one of my closest friends and the orphanage administrator. She got me this job, something she reminds me of as she points out what a lousy job I'm doing. I'm scaring the children she says.

I remind her that the children have reason to be scared and it's not because of me. Horrible things have happened here. I know, I grew up here, I remember. Lilith says all those things were a long time ago and were blown out of proportion by our juvenile brains. I should know better she gently scolds. She continues to talk, making me feel foolish. She's the administrator of this facility now and would she, my dearest, oldest, bestest friend allow anything horrible to happen while she's in charge? She's gracious and smart, sophisticated and intelligent and I feel awful for adding to the children's panic and doubting my amazing friend. I stare at my shoes in shame.

"So a few children died," she says.

I nod, saddened by the memories.

"It happens," she whispers sounding, likewise, sad. And I know she's right. Children die sometimes. It's a terrible fact.

"So a few children got eaten."

My head snaps up. She smiles at me, but she's no longer my dear, elegant, life long friend. Her face has changed and twisted.

She's a demon.

I grab her head and begin to pray. I don't know what to pray I just know: I can't stop.





I woke up then. I could still feel her head between my hands, where my fingers had dug into her ears. If I stop and think about it, I can feel it still.

The dream rode around with me for a few days before I told Chris about it. By then it had lost some of it's alarm and just became "Beth's Creepy Dream". He agreed it was frightening- no wonder I remembered it! And that was that or so I thought. A few days later he told me that in curiosity he Googled: Lilith. She turns up in many old legends, across various cultures. Turns out that Jewish mystism holds that she was Adams first wife and that she left him to become the mother of demons. Some accounts say that in bitterness she seeks to destroy human children, she strangles them or EATS THEM WHILE THEY SLEEP!

Chris wondered: what if my dream wasn't an ordinary dream? What if my sleeping mind saw Lilith and put the face of the only Lilith I knew upon her, hence ol' Bebe? Scrabbling to push beds together before dark because children died in the night, children had been eaten in the night? Dream and legend sync up in alarming ways.

Muffin anyone? Bowl of bananas and milk? Go ahead, get some. I'll wait.

Heh.

Forget Food Network, I'm thinking South Park. Respect my cooking author-i-tay!!!

Make me laugh. Make your own.

God Bless America

Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wiped out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Happy Independence Day!

Roll Out!

English composition, such a boring class. Had I taken the AP exams I coulda avoided it, but I didn't think I was going to go to college so what was the point? But Mom insisted so I spent the entire semester of my freshman year slogging through the monotony while sitting behind a massive dude named Brian.

Brian was big as a house. He was, in fact, so large that the teacher rarely noticed me sitting behind him. Don't misunderstand me; there was no fat on the man. Brian was a wall of muscle and not in a body building, oil-me-up kinda way, but rather a 6'3" broad shouldered brick privy way. He rode a motorcycle and would often wear full leathers and steel-toed boots to class, but for all his Terminator looks he was really just a big teddy bear. A single dad, trying to get his Criminal Justice degree and do the best he could by his kid.

Anyway, Brian had a tattoo (of course). It would peek out from under his sleeve and stopped just above his elbow. I stared at it all semester long and wondered what it could be because for the life of me I could not figure it out. Finally, on the last day of class I worked up the courage to ask if I could see it. Brian smiled sheepishly and lifted his sleeve.

It couldn't have been cheap. It was massive, covering his shoulder and bicep in full color. There, arms stretched above his head in victory, was Optimus Prime. "My daughter likes Transformers," he said. Whatever dude, your daughter's too young to know what Transformers are, I thought (by that time Transformers had been cancelled for at least two years). "You like Transformers," I said.

And why shouldn't he?!?

Matt, and the boys, and I have been looking forward to the movie coming out with drooling anticipation. Tonight was opening night and we were there ready and waiting to be blown away. It did not disappoint.

It was action and nostalgia packed start to finish. Couldn't tell you what thrilled me more- how true they remained to the characters I loved as a kid or how simply bitchin' the effects were, because damn! Never once did I stop to marvel at the CG, I was too caught up in the action and the story and squealing and bouncing up and down in my seat every time a character let fly a signature line. I truly can't remember a movie I enjoyed this much in a long time. I giggled, gasped, and cheered my way through the entire 2 hours.

Even if you weren't a fan like I was of the series, even if you've never laid eyes on the cheesy 80's cartoon, I'd still urge you to see the movie. It is this summers blockbuster hit and its scale must really be seen in the theater to be appreciated. It is chock-a-block with testosterone- cars, gadgets, soliders, weapons, bathroom humor, and robots who move like ninjas. And watching Optimus Prime and Bone Crusher go at each other on the freeway (kick ass!) worth the price alone.

Go see it. You won't regret it, hell; it might even be worth getting inked.

Pork-a-rama

Bacon for breakfast and lunch, pork roast for dinner, and pork ribs for lunch the following day. I didn't plan such a pork-a-rama it just sort of happened.

I have become a bacon snob. I purchase a pound of thick cut bacon from the deli each week. It is far superior to ANYTHING you find prepackaged and not really that much more expensive. You get wonderfully meaty slices that, when cooked right are crisp yet still toothsome (I hate bacon that shatters when you bite into it). Buy it! Bacon lecture done.

So I fried up some bacon for breakfast. The boys and I each had a couple strips with our eggs and English muffins and then I set a couple of pieces aside for the husbands lunch along with a bit of the grease. Yes, some grease. Pork fat, some have said, rules. I don't know about that, but bacon grease is mighty useful stuff- part of the reason I buy a pound a week.

Some of todays by-product (like I said, or, erm wrote rather) was used for Matt's lunch. A couple of tablespoons were whisked up with a bit of red wine vinegar, brown sugar, mustard, salt, pepper, and a healthy glug of hazelnut oil. To this I added a can of drained garbonzos (Matt's favorite), several handfuls of baby spinach, and topped it all with the reserved strips cut into lardons (the Frenchy-French way of saying bacon bits). I packed it all into Tupperware and sent the boys out to deliver the goods.

While they were gone I heated up another pan and added the rest of the grease and in went a four pound salt and peppered pork roast for browning. Once a nice crust was achieved, also known as the maillard effect (thanks Alton), the wee piggy landed in my slow cooker. Why brown before braise? Because it tastes good and I hate the grey look meat gets when sitting in a crockpot all day. That's why! And can I take a moment to add that not all meat is the same and not every cut benefits from time in the crock pot. Sirloin will become tasteless shoe leather, same for pork loin. Stick to the cheaper cuts that benefit from a slow braise. Crock pot lecture done. Anyway, to the cooker I added a diced sweet onion, a bit of rosemary, a splash or three of red wine vinegar, a cup of chicken broth, and a cup of homemade cherry jam. Turned it on low and left it all day because that's what you do with a slow cooker. Talk about tender and the cherry glaze.... kickin'! Right up there with my peppercini pork roast and the Coke-a-Cola pork roast recipe let me tell you!

With three porky meals nestled in my tummy I began on the next day's lunch- pork ribs. Rub 'em down with New Mexican chili powder, corriander, all spice, black pepper, and some celery salt and leave them rest in the frig over night. Next day wrap in a double of layer of foil and bake at 250 for four hours (at least) or until fork tender. Slather on some sauce if you like and serve up with red cabage slaw and potato salad or, if you are a Code Monkey, a generous slab of ice cream cake.

Four meals in a row of porky goodness. Why? I don't know it just sort of happened. Good thing unclean animals were given the green light because those are some good eats. Of course, I'll be eating oatmeal and obscene quantities of produce the rest of month in an effort to keep my heart from completely shutting down, but that's ok. A pork indulgence is needed every now and then.
Pork blog done.

The Allergy Blues

I can't breathe. That's why I'm up at four in the morning, unable to sleep... the sinuses are so clogged it feels like someone poured concrete in my head while I slept and my eyes are so itchy and gritty that it would be a mercy to put forks in them. So here I am Benedryl doused, water at hand to wash away the cotton mouth, and a hanky ready to mop up the tearing eyes and oceans of mucus. Bleh.

The worst part of hay fever is that I live in a constant state of irritation for 1-2 months each year and I'm a bear to live with. My poor family. I growl at little things and find that simple affectionate gestures which the husband and boys try to make in an attempt to soothe this allergy beast annoy me.

"Why are you standing so near me? I can't breathe and you're sucking up all my air!"

"I just wanted to give you a...hug/kiss/pat on the back (insert sympathetic gesture here)."

"Oh. Ok. Um, thanks." Beth then returns the gesture briefly before fleeing to a more oxygen rich part of the apartment.

Benedryl, Chlor Trimetron, Alevert, Clariton, Tylenol Severe Allergy, they're all a joke making barely a dent in the parade of horrific and disgusting symptoms. I've gone old school in an attempt to find some relief- long, long, scalding hot showers, eye drops, and this is new to me, snorting warm salt water. It's supposed to dry out the sinuses- works somewhat, but well, it also produces sputtering, hacking, and vomiting if swallowed. Geez.

This is the price I pay to live where I do. I never had such severe hay fever in California, but then I either lived on a big rock with lots of trees or on land that was paved right up to the ocean, either way no huge swatches of grass not like here. On no! Here, towns are strung together by rolling fields of hay. Shoot me. It's not all vineyards and hazelnut groves up here in the beautiful Northwest. Seems like any yahoo with a patch of dirt to scratch is planting hay. Last year living out at the farm we were surrounded by 90 acres of the stuff and every time Farmer Gary touched it (cutting, piling, baling) I wanted to claw my face off... and throw it at him.

Well, the sun has come up. Looks like it's going to be another beautiful day. Time to go brace myself for it.

I'm such a follower....

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk!

Your results:
You are James T. Kirk (Captain)

James T. Kirk (Captain) 75% Worf 70% Deanna Troi 65% Mr. Sulu 65% Beverly Crusher 60% Chekov 60% Uhura 45% Will Riker 45% Jean-Luc Picard 45% Geordi LaForge 40% Mr. Scott 40% Spock 30% Leonard McCoy (Bones) 30% Data 20% An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 15%

You are often exaggerated and over-the-top in your speech and expressions. You are a romantic at heart and a natural leader.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz

How I Came to Love Ashton Kutcher and Hate "New" Blogger

Well, perhaps love is a bit strong, but he did make me laugh. I've never really liked Ashton Kutcher(what kind of name is that anyway? Right up there with Blaine). He's the same joke over and over, but then I saw "Open Season" and he gotme. There's this one scene... well, I'd LOVE to show you, but ever since Blogger made me switch to "New Crappy Blogger" I get no joy fromYouTube- nothing posts. Zip! And don't get me started on what using the spell check does to my posts! GRAAAAAAH!

It's very frustrating. So while love maybe a bit much HATE isn't! HATE, HATE, HATE technical difficulties! They make my brain hurt. If you can't bang on the machine and make it work then what is the hard casing for?

Anyhow, if you need a smile and are interested in Aston's interpretation of my relationship with Starbucks you can check it out here. Funny stuff.

Grrrr, stupid Blogger... make me change over.... won't post....
*stomps off to bed grumbling*

Toehold on Femininity

Time to blog again and once again I find myself hard pressed to get my thoughts into any kind of coherent order. I've been fighting with this entry for awhile now. My first draft was written, sheesh! I don't know how long ago. It was a couple of pages of frustration and sentence fragments. Every time I'd go into the draft to try and do a little editing I'd get all hot and bothered and overwhelmed by my inability to communicate clearly and would just close the thing in disgust. But lately my life has been one message after another about the importance of manhood, Godly manhood. Books, seminars, friends blogs, conversations, all have been pointing like flashing arrows towards the importance of this subject. Still I avoided my defunct blog draft (which was about contemporary gender roles by the way) and instead I worked on how I interacted with my sons and tried to encourage the men in my life to... reach for the goal of being a man like Gideon: a mighty man of God. To pray, to lead, to become spiritual warriors. Take responsibility. Be present. Be heroes for Christ. Then the collision came...

First I read this: "Shortly before the battle of Thermopylae, Leonidas was secretly asked how he had chosen the three hundred brave men for the suicide mission to defend the Hot Gates. After all, the men appeared to be an eclectic mix of odd choices- grizzled veterans of many campaigns alongside young men unbloodied in battle. To die for your city was the greatest privilege a Spartan could achieve, and all the warriors wanted the honor. Did he pick the bravest men, the best fighters, the greatest Olympic athletes? Or did he choose the fastest, the strongest, and the wisest men he could find?

Leonidas stated that none of those traits factored into how he chose the three hundred. Instead, he chose them based on the character of their wives and mothers. He reasoned Thermopylae would not be the deciding battle of the war- that would come later on the plains of Greece. Since all the men at Thermopylae were destined to be killed, their wives and mothers would be left for the rest of Greece to see. If these women were broken by the loss of their husbands and sons, then the Greeks would lose heart and fail to defend their homeland. But if these women exhibited courage and strength, then the Grecian people would be inspired and win the war. Leonidas said, 'these brave women are to be the new Mothers of Greece. All of the people will be inspired by their dry-eyed example of courage and sacrifice.' Apparently, these extraordinary women performed up to his expectations... as a mother, you have the ability, even the responsibility, to ensure that your son is raised up to be a man who will lead with courage and integrity. That's a huge responsibility, but one that women have been charged with since the beginning of time."

Then I heard a remake of Tom Petty's I Won't Back Down. It's been covered by both Pearl Jam and Johnny Cash and both of those versions are nice (check 'em out on You Tube). In fact I read a review of Cash's version that said:"when Petty sang, 'you can stand me up at the gates of Hell, but I won't back down' you think 'nice chorus'. When Cash sings the same line you know he means it and you take a step back." If that's true of Johnny Cash then it's doubly so of the Sam Elliot version I heard. As an actor known for his gravelly baritone Sam owned it and made all other versions seem like weak tea.

With that song stuck on endless repeat within my brain I spoke to a friend who was discouraged by a husband that doesn't so much honor and cherish as much as he bullies and ignores. Within that conversation I heard myself saying, "just because he's shoved his head up his ass doesn't mean you get to shove your head up yours. Regardless of what he does, YOU do what's right. You have no control over him. You DO have control over your own actions, thoughts, and feelings. Pray!" Then...

Today I was cleaning out my email inbox when I found a letter written by a friend of a friend, gosh, almost a year ago. In the correspondence we discussed the idea of heroes and manhood. He wrote: "I'm less understanding of [the term] 'hero'. Hero is a lot of pressure to put on someone (said the wimpy boy). I wonder how women would feel if held to similar standards/requirements." Can I tell you the choking noises and internal snarky comments that ensued over that?

But today all those things collided and smashed around in that big bag of weird that is my brain. How does a woman inspire? How does she teach or lead? How does a woman confront the Enemy? What is her role in marriage or motherhood? I began to examine the validity of that last emailed comment regarding women and thought, what does a female hero look like?

It's easy to stand back and say what I expect of my husband, my sons, my father, my brother, of any man of Christ, any man of honor, hell, of any man of my acquaintance, but what of women? Where are all the messages of life regarding MY place and gender? What is the role of a wife, mother, woman? Today's society paints a schizophrenic picture to be sure. Physically I'm supposed to be every man's fantasy- lithe and long, pouty and pert. Emotionally, I shouldn't need a man, I should be sufficient unto myself. A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle right? And mentally or spiritually, well hell, I practically am man because I'm his equal and somewhere along the line we confused "equal to" with "the same as". Anyone else see the irony? The modern female should be the desire of every man's heart, but have no need of a man because, for all intents and purposes, she is one. That's why "I'm ok, you're ok" because really you're me.

Egad.

And even as I see the absurdity of all that I know I have bought into it. It seems easy to stand back and look at masculinity and say "well of course" and "pony up." But perhaps all those flashing messages regarding the importance of Godly masculinity were not so much to instruct, but to point out, "Beth this ain't the way, not for you anyway. It's not your story. Look at what YOU have been given." Erm, what is that? I'm not sure I can recognize it. I can stand here and ask are you strong enough to be my man? But a better question, perhaps, is am I strong enough to be a woman and again, what does that look like?

I'm pretty sure it's not the 40-something, tanned and toned, pushed into Brittney fashions who trades in her dignity in a sad attempt to remain 20. The woman who C.S. Lewis described as "spending half her life trying to get to a certain age and the second half of her life trying to stay there." Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain and a woman caught up in retaining her physical appeal, aged 18, is sad. Nor is she a Ripley wanna-be tough in mind and calloused in spirit, emotions numbed or buried except the ones that tell her to be dissatisfied and pissed off. A wife of noble character who can find? I'll tell you where you won't find her: proudly touting a "bitch" bumper sticker on her rig- a woman lost in transit or translation? She's the wife who takes her vows seriously. Vows that can't be dismissed regardless of the circumstances under which they were uttered- youth, naiveté, desperation, or even hope. And regardless of the crap of life, she stays and she stands. She stands for her husband, her family, her God, for those things bigger then her selfish heart. She doesn't back down before the Enemy. To teach courage and integrity to our children, to inspire it in our men, one must first exhibit it, yes? She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue even when she is discouraged. Her children arise and call her blessed because she loved them more then her own comfort or her need to be right.

...and that's where I'm at. And as usual I'm not sure "where" that is exactly (a place of random thoughts held together with a lot of italics and ellipsis, perhaps). The Leonidas vignette keeps colliding with the idea and expectations of feminine heroics which causes me to stop and ponder what those are... helping hands, giving hearts, motherhood, wifedom, doing what's right regardless of how we feel? And before I can find an answer the thoughts morph and smash and change... I hold a responsibilty to raise spiritual warriors, I (woman) was given the ability to inspire, born to be a helpmate/a support, to be something that makes me pause even as I consider it. Eve was made last, the crown of creation some have said, but she was also the soil from which life would spring, she became a foundation as well as a crown, the first multi-tasker. My inheritance. And I know the Enemy seeks to steal that gift from me. He tarnishes it, tells me it's cheap, weak, lame, or (in a different tack) beyond me. I should want Adam's gift- it's better and I should become grasping and dissatisfied, but I'm tired of that idea. Another thought slams in, an old saying: "woman was made of Adam's rib, not his head to be above him. Not of his heel to be trod upon by him, but of his rib. Under his arm to be protected and close to his heart to be beloved." Beloved. Beautiful. Cherished. And the thoughts continue to churn and burn and, to quote the man, "fall down in the mud and the blood and the beer" and above it all the music plays: ...gonna stand my ground. Won't be turned around. And I'll keep this world from dragging me down. No I won't back down. You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won't back down...

I'm ready to own this place called femininity, to champion it, to not back down.

We shall see, hmmm? I'm scrabbling for a toehold here people even if it is only in my chaotic thoughts.

California I Here I Come...

...or rather here I am. Drove down Friday night with Moose and Manny and spent yesterday in a bleary haze. Mom and Dad graciously poked food into me then pointed me toward a bed. But I'm feeling much better now! So my itinerary wasn't really set until Friday hence my lack of contact with dear friends, but here it is now:

Sunday (today): family day in Ontario with grandparents, bro, niece, aunt, uncle, and the 'rents.

Monday: zoo day and puttering in Palm Springs with Mommsy-wuv and Dadums.

Tuesday: Legoland (amusement park during Spring Break? God preserve me). Tuesday night in La Jolla.

Wednesday: Beach walking in the shores then up to the mountain for din with the afore mentioned aunt and uncle.

Thursday: dinner with friends?

Friday: up at the crack of dawn and back home to the land of rain and moss.

So hanging out in Palm Springs 'cause that's were the folks live now so that's a must. Seeing family today and Wednesday and doing the Legoland thing also musts. Anyone wanna come to Legoland? No? Don't blame you. If you change your mind let me know.

The in-laws are still at the condo in Utah. So the only reason we're going to San Diego is 'cause it's close to Legoland. If anyone wants to hang out Tuesday instead or shoot, come to La Jolla with us just give a shout out. Wednesday day is also open for the same reason- we don't have to be at the shores. So Wednesday day work for you, great. In short, love to see you all in this short frantic period I have, but I know this is last minute so if you are previously engaged with other Spring Breaky things well perhaps next time yes?

Will be contacting that Happy Teacher today because, you know, I lub her, but also if the boys don't get to see Paul Bunyan I'll be hearing about it for weeks. Wanna coordinate? Give me or the cute freckled chick a call (meaning Holly not Kathie, though not to say that Kathie isn't both freckled and cute because, you know, she is. I didn't mean to imply otherwsie. I just meant... wow, I have derailed. I need another nap).

Smooch yourselves!

While In The 'Verse...

Your results: You are Derrial Book (Shepherd) Even though you are holy you have a mysterious past.
Derrial Book (Shepherd)		80%
Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command)		80%
Wash (Ship Pilot)		70%
Alliance		60%
Jayne Cobb (Mercenary)		50%
Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)		50%
Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic)		45%
Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)		40%
Inara Serra (Companion)		30%
River (Stowaway)		30%
A Reaver (Cannibal)		10%

Click here to take the "Which Serenity character are you?" quiz...

Notes On The Frig

Browncoat fun (give images a sec to load):


Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Handwriting Key

Monkey. Monkey. Underpants?

Wow, January is nearing it's end. Crazy. Wasn't it just November? It's probably for the better, I guess. I'm not much use in January (or February or March for that matter). Something about the winter months slows me down. Some I know suffer from seasonal depression, me I suffer from a justified reason to be indoors with a blankie reading a book. Baby, it's cold outside! To that end I don't do much during this time of the year beyond eating soup. I used to think that if reincarnation were a real thing then I was most likely oxen in another life. That's right, not one but two (two I say!) very large beasts of burden. Considering my complete lack of gumption or anything resembling productivity during this season I might revise that reincarnation thought. Perhaps I was something that hibernates like a bear or a badger or a something... hmmmm... a what? Wait, it'll come to me.

Well, I should post something I suppose it being over a month since I posted last and all. However, since it is January and since I cannot seem to post anything of consequence two posts in a row I will leave you with a view into my brain courtesy of the CW and Lauren Graham.

Lorelei: ...my brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. I'm writing a letter, I can't write a letter, why can't I write a letter? I am wearing a green dress, I wish I was wearing my blue dress, my blue dress is at the cleaners, the Germans wore grey, you wore blue, Casablanca, Casablanca is such a good movie, Casablanca, the white house, Bush, why don't I drive a hybrid car? I should really drive a hybrid car, I should really take my bicycle to work, bicycle, unicycle, unitard, hockey puck, rattle snake, monkey, monkey, underpants.
Rory: Hockey puck, rattle snake, monkey, monkey, underpants?
Lorelei: Exactly! That's what I'm saying, it's a big bag of weird in there.

Oh! A Tasmanian pygmy opossum!