I Bring You Bill

 

balance sheet ok

*I just haven’t been able to blog as often as I’d like to lately, and today’s Plinky Prompt looked like a lot of fun. Write a 100 word story WITHOUT using the letter ‘e.’ Why don’t you give it a try?

Publish a story without that worn-out, paltry digit? Okay. Though, you must know it will subsist of concoction only. Any analogy drawn or similarity to your own conditions is wholly fortuitous.

I bring you Bill, who, for motivations unknown to most, was apt at adding (computation living within at full-mast as air constrains a living soul). So apt was Bill at adding that many a good company was wont to hunt his approval on all things involving a tally, rallying round to watch summations grow. Until that fatal day, not a soul did fathom that Bill would compound and burn.

Put Off the Old…

Part of today’s message at church was about taking off our old selves and putting on the new. Sure sounds easy enough up in the balcony, praising with the angels. But, I know this week I’m probably going to get stuck in my old ‘me.’

I’m not really the ‘button-up-the-front,’ dress shirt kind of self you can just slip in and out of on a whim–more like the smothering, ‘too-tight’ turtleneck type that gets stuck around my shoulders while I’m trying to wrestle me over my big, fat head. I might need someone else to grab an end and give me a good yank.

I was thinking about this on the drive home: how changing isn’t always easy. Getting rid of some of the old things is… well, it’s hard. For one thing, I can’t always remember where I’ve left the new self, and sometimes I feel like–at least the old me’s got me covered.

You know what I mean: it’s hard to stop being angry at someone when you feel like it might leave you naked–exposed and vulnerable again. So, I just want to hang onto that outfit a little longer while I rummage through the house and find that forgiveness jumper. And, anyway, I like the way it enhances my curves. Oh!–you said it gets on your nerves.

I had no idea it was going to be like ‘Groundhog Day,’ either. You know–the movie where he keeps waking up the next morning and starting the same day over? No matter how many times I take myself off–I’m all wrapped up in me the very next morning. When I was young I had some friends who carefully laid their clothes out every night before they went to bed– I also had some friends who stuck my head in a snow drift till I thought I was going to faint–I just can’t live up to trying to be like my friends anymore.

This is why I’m glad the pastor reminded me that I have to let God change the way I think about things–by getting into the Word. It’s all by grace–I can’t earn it, or be good enough to do it, or feel bad enough to get it right. God does it–but I have to ‘co-operate.’

And, BOY, do I really want to learn to get it right. God is forgiving–this I have discovered with great delight–but, people? Honestly, sometimes sitting out in an arctic snow bank in my birthday suit with a pack of ravenous wolves seems more appealing than apologizing for a sudden slip of the old nature. Especially if my ratio of old to new days is one in ten, and no one even notices the other nine. Dressing to the ‘Nines’ doesn’t always cut-it with other people–which is probably a good thing because putting off ‘falsehood’ is right at the top of the list, anyway. It’s the first thing to go.

I was thinking about that, too, because, let’s face it–we’re all a little deluded about ourselves, and sometimes we’re just the last to know–wouldn’t it be easier if we could rip off each others’ outfits, instead? Cause I sure wonder if some people aren’t getting dressed in the dark… What’s that? Did I get this log suit at the lumberyard?

Plunder

Life has been seeming a little heavy lately, like it sometimes does.

Locked up emotions seem impenetrable.

I usually just wait for the fog to lift when that happens.

Enjoy the view in spite of it.

 Wait for God to bring me out and breathe new life on the dead bones.

 I did make it out to raid my parents’ garden, though.

There’s nothing like fresh plunder to perk up a slumping soul.

Never underestimate the power of peas in the pod,

a welcome mat,

a good dog,

and knowing you didn’t have to do any of the work…

 

to reap the rewards.

Still, parents can be a little scary–at any age…

This Poem Is Brought to You By the Letter S

Samantha’s Stratagem

just another Plinky Prompt (for August 1st–write a poem with each word beginning with the letter ‘s’)

“Surely she should save some,”
Sam suggested secretively;
slighty surreptitiously.
So slick she spun such subterfuge
seeking satisfaction.

She’d slink silently, stand-offishly;
solitary.

Should Sasha spill some
snacks she’d strike speedily,
snatching,
spinning slightly
sneaking somewhere safe;

spoiling supper
scarfing sweets seductively.

Sasha smiled, sweet student,
shared several sugary Snapperdoodles
selectively;
soon spending sundry
snacks seldom savoured so spiritedly;

starkly subsiding.

Silly Samantha:
some say she shouted selfishly,
some say she slithered someplace sniffling;

such strategies seldom satisfy.

Communicable Deep Freeze

Lately, I’m back in poetry mode. 

It just happens to me out of nowhere–all I want to do is write poems and be very deep about everything.  If I don’t succumb I’ll be completely miserable, so I’m learning to go with it.

This is what came to me this week after encountering someone who seemed terribly cold.  This person’s coolness was so tangible it was chilling.

I was thinking about the way that is–that when we have a cold heart we feel somehow justified; like it’s our right.  Even if we knew how it affected those around us we wouldn’t care–we couldn’t care, really. 

Once coldness sets in, only the warmth of God’s love can deliver us–I know.

 

Communicable Deep Freeze

 A cold heart is contagious:
creeps like osmosis
through the air;
seeps like silica
into the senses,
paralysing pulsing
 arteries of faith,
cell, by steely cell.
Petrifying hope.
A numbing invasion
seizing unsuspecting souls
till every beating
heart is congealed
in the bloodlust of trust.

 

Diane — The Interview

When I asked Diane to be the next PRP she was hesitant.  She may be the life of the party (most of the time), but she’s also pretty private, and having your personal life splayed across the World Wide Web is not for everyone.  She did agree, though, with minimal arm twisting and bribery (just kidding), and here’s how that went:

 

Me:  What are some of the things you like?

Diane:  Cherry cheesecake, silence, sounds in the woods, amusement parks at night, walking in the rain, walking when it’s a full moon, loud rock music while driving, singing out loud, blueberry picking, potato chips. 
 

Me:  Pet peeves?

Diane:  Coming home after work and the dishes aren’t done.

Me:  How was it growing up in a remote Northern Ontario village?

Diane:  Positive:  running through overgrown bushes, singing, falling into my own imaginary world where I was in control. Knowing the people that lived around me, no one was a stranger.  We had freedom to walk anywhere, anytime.  Once, at two in the morning, I walked along a railway track about half a mile long without any fear.  I was fourteen at the time, and we didn’t fear for our safety. If we did get hurt it was within our own circles.  Outdoor skating and swimming at a nearby provincial park.  Everyone was invited to weddings.  Town activities were fun because you knew everyone.

But, we were often bored, and the town had its own pecking order. We were isolated from the big cities–no playgrounds, malls or restaurants.  Activities were limited and everyone knew too much about you.

Me:  Describe your family life.

Diane:  I am blessed with a man who is kind, gentle, and dedicated. He has been patient, caring, understanding, and stood with me through many shared hardships. Together we brought four children into this world and dedicated our lives to raising them. He and the children have been my greatest pleasure and joy to this day. If everything disappeared from my life, all would still be well as long as they were in it.

Me:  You’ve often mentioned a ‘Turning Point.’ What was that?

Diane:  At seventeen I went to a retreat with a Catholic youth group.  By this time I was broken inside and didn’t know what to do about it. I had built many walls to protect myself from people, from allowing them to hurt me in the ways they had. I went for a weekend of spirituality, what I received had a major impact inside of me.

One of the events was a two-hour time of prayer. Praying without books or beads was foreign. What would I do?  After what seemed like five minutes the announcer said we were at the end of the two hours. I was in tears when the lights came on, and something was different inside of me after that. I was alive. I could feel joy, happiness, and freedom–emotions I had tucked away. I found myself volunteering for activities (not something I did).

I loved every moment of the rest of the retreat. It was like I was floating, in love and loving life. But, I tucked all those wonderful feelings back where they belonged when I had to return to the real world. It would be years later when I felt that love again, when, at twenty-four, Christ opened the door for me to see who God was and the love he had for me. It continues to be a journey of healing, and I have found myself many times needing grace, forgiveness, and mercy.

Shame had always been a constant companion. I would never look anyone in the eyes.   When someone spoke to me and I was expected to look at them, my heart would beat faster, my body would stiffen and I felt like I was shrinking. Anyone outside my comfort zone would trigger these reactions inside of me. I know it’s difficult for most people to engage in conversation and interact with others but, for me, it went beyond the ordinary. So, I avoided interacting with people. Making appointments and answering the phone were difficult and I had to prepare myself for those conversations. Over the years I have conquered these hang ups.

Me:  What’s the biggest breakthrough you’ve experienced lately?

Diane:  I love the woman I was made to be–now.   I was the girl they laugh at in high school for growing up to be fat with kids hanging on her hips (as though it’s a tragedy not to remain a knockout).

Being a mother is one of the greatest joys of my life. But, my weight was not embraced with such joy. When my stomach started bulging out I hid it with loose clothing. It’s the mushroom that got the best of me.  I never looked at a mirror for years, only at my face. I never wanted to see those bulges. I would never look at myself in a picture. I had aged. I was fat. I avoided these things… until lately.  I love who I am with the bulges. Not that I promote being unhealthy, for those reasons I try to eat better. But, I am who I am. Not perfect, but full of many things that have blessed my family and others. I bring to society the good and the flaws.

I cannot fully explain why, but today I can look at pictures of me, knowing that I am who I am, the person who, should we meet, would want, somehow, to be a blessing to you.

Thanks, Diane.  You sure bless everyone you come in contact with–just by being plainly, remarkable you.

Magnetic

My friend Diane is like a magnet.　

　

No, not a fridge magnet

　

　

　

Not that kind of magnet, either.  More like a ‘people’ magnet.  They’re drawn to her–all kinds of people: big, tall, small people, thin, round–all people and especially hurting people. 

Maybe it’s because she’s had a few struggles in life, herself, or maybe it’s just that she truly has the ability to accept others right where they are–no strings attached, no hidden agendas. Maybe both. Either way, she sure attracts people.  Rabble-rousers, hooligans and schismatics alike (and a few regular folk, of course), all feel the pull toward her genuine desire to put others first.

‘Conventional’ is not a word I would use to describe her.  But, ‘fun?’  Well, that’s another story.  

She’s one of those plainly remarkable people who could jump out of her seat at the end of a six-hour office management meeting and get everyone up doing the limbo. Nobody gets hurt. When you’re around Diane, not only is it okay to be a kid again, you feel like you really are.

She’s got a radar for anyone who looks like they might be in need of a ride, an encouraging word, a card, a phone call, a friend… And, I can honestly tell you, in the more than ten years I’ve known her I have never once heard her gossiping, slandering or complaining. At times, we’ve shared our gut feelings together about some serious issues, but never a word to malign another.   In fact, she does her best to slip out of conversations heading in that direction.   That makes her my hero.

We all get a handful of really good friends who help make us who we are, who actually change the  direction our life might otherwise have taken–just by being in it.  Diane is one of mine.

I have found myself  making changes in the way I’ve treated others by following  her example, and secretly admiring her for how outgoing she is.   She’s the kind of person who gets things started; big on ideas, and even bigger on helping everyone feel like they’re a part of whatever is happening.

You can’t possibly think of Diane without thinking of her wonderful family. And wonderful is not a word I use loosely here. They are creative, energetic, fun-loving and extremely caring. When someone near to me was going through a difficult time financially the whole family came up with a Wal-Mart gift card for $500. Not from the overflow of a lucrative lifestyle–rather, from a jar they keep to collect offerings for those in need. And, maybe that’s because they know about that, too.

This potato farming family spent several years running their own retail business, not only here in our small town, but way up north. Travelling Highway 144 up to Chapleau every week was just part of the family adventure of owning a dollar store operation. Her husband, Michel, even hit a moose on his way back, once.

They literally lived in the back of the store–all six of them. They’ve lived in basements and vans, too, and maybe that’s why they’re such a close family, I don’t know–one thing I do know is that they’re big on respecting others–almost as big as they are on having fun. Did I mention they like to have fun?

With one daughter just graduating high school and another going into it, a son going into college, another son working and a husband (who loves her to pieces–and it shows) farming fifty plus hours a week, she can breathe a little easier now. That’s because she’s saying goodbye to a season of her life that has so defined her for the past twenty years–being a home school mom.

Yes, remarkably, through running an organic vegetable farm, a small business in three locations and, more recently, a sleep shift at Christian Horizons (so she could be home during the day with the kids), leading a youth group, and lending hands to anyone in need she managed to do an AMAZING job of, not only being the glue that held her family together, but shaping, educating, forming and moulding some of the most absolutely delightful young people you could ever know.

I wish I could go on.  This truly beautiful woman has blessed me more than my meagre words could ever possibly convey.  And, if I could be half the blessing to others as she has been to me, I know that I will have lived a life well worth living.

I asked Diane to if I could interview her for my next PRP post, and she agreed.  Why don’t you grab a coffee and come meet us over here?

I Still Cry Sometimes

Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere, when I’m least expecting it, and I wonder at how the dam could so easily burst when I thought the waters had all dried up. One minute you’re filling in forms and before you know it that insensitive piece of paper wants to know exactly what date your marriage ended on. I still cry sometimes.

 

No, it’s not the desperate, dark grieving kind of crying, the kind that once had me getting help because my children deserved to have a mom growing up. It’s not self-pity, either. That kind of crying is like your soul swallowing up the shards and letting them slice away at your broken heart–it only intensifies the pain. It wasn’t that.

I guess you could liken it to a healing salve. It’s the kind of crying that comforts. Wraps you in a hug of ‘I sure wish you never had to go through this’ assurance, and lets you feel like you’re still worth something. It’s when God lets you lean on him and lose yourself in his compassion.

Whoever thinks divorce is an easy solution has never had one. I don’t say that with fingers pointing in any direction–I have enough of my own ‘stuff’ to deal with to keep me out of everyone else’s for the rest of my natural life. It’s just that it kills. It really kills.

Sure, there is healing and recovery from it. There’s healing and recovery after a tsunami, too, but I don’t recommend one as a way to clean out your car port.

So I filled in the form. I had to stop a time or two and just let it out. All those dates I’d rather forget: the date we got married, the separation, the divorce… Then I got to the end and had to fill in today’s date (yesterday’s, now) and it was like someone opened the blinds and let the light shine in the shadows,

 

and I felt I should build my altar. This is it.

June 28th. I was still a teenager. No, not your ‘happy girl next door’ kind of teenager–the restless kind. The kind that couldn’t-find-anything-good-in-life-unless-she-was-drinking kind of teenager. The one who’d dropped out of school because she was going to live her own life her own way–who wanted, more than anything else, to be free, but carried her dark addictions with her everywhere she went.

It was the day I came to God when he called me out of my darkness to trust in his Son. It was the day I laid all my burdens down and sailed away six inches off the ground for so long. It was the last day I ever felt the overwhelming craving to have a drink–ever. And the day God promised he would never leave me, though I have lived in constant fear of it for so long.

But, today–looking over those forms, I know it to be true. I can look back over my life and see that he has been with me all the way. He has been with me EVEN THOUGH so much of my struggling has been my own making. I have often stumbled and fallen in my faith; have let God and others down, have been certain that next bolt of lightning had my name engraved on it.

But, though he’s taken me out to the wood shed a time or two, I’m still his. I can’t tell you how good that feels. The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him… (Lamentations 3:25).

I still cry sometimes,

 

but I don’t mind anymore.

Days to Remember

At my age, getting a love letter in your mailbox doesn’t happen every day.

Okay–it actually never happened… ever.

Which is why

when it does happen

it is a

cherished occasion.

Especially when that love letter

comes from a

very special

secret admirer.

Children have a way of giving us days to write home about.

Toasted Turmeric and Spinach Parmesan Rice

 

Today was a rainy cold day–just the kind to stay inside and rekindle my Toasted Turmeric and Spinach Parmesan Rice recipe.  Actually, I just thought that sounded good–I’m inside most of the time anyway.

Years ago, while flipping through a magazine I saw a recipe contest for brown rice that got me thinking about doing a little more than just steaming it.

Here’s what I came up with (though I never did enter the contest):  The last time I made it I added a huge dollop of coconut cream, which made it creamier and gave it a richer flavour–but I was all out of it tonight.

Toast a half cup of brown rice.  Toasting the rice first gives it more of a chewy texture.

In a small saucepan add to it 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese,

1/2 cup of milk, and 1 cup of water.

Bring to a boil while stirring often (to keep the cheese from sticking to the bottom), and add 1/2 cup of thawed chopped frozen spinach, well-drained and pressed.

Bring back to a gentle boil and add 1 1/2 vegetable bouillon cubes (I prefer the msg free kind), and stir until dissolved.  Then add 1 tsp (or more if you like) of turmeric (I like).  *This was a recent addition as I’ve added turmeric to just about everything this past year since I read about its anti-inflammatory properties.  I also like to add a little onion and garlic powder.

Stir well, cover and simmer for 20-40 minutes (depending on the brand of rice you’re using).

And there you have it,

just the right side for buttery steamed string beans and garlicky broiled chicken wings–years ago I was introduced to my (then) boyfriend’s mother’s broiled chicken wings.  They were lightly salted and broiled–and that’s it!  But they blew me away, and I find I sometimes prefer them without the extra breading and sauces. 

The Peach Betty, from this month’s Canadian Living magazine, was the perfect ‘warm me up’ finish to this hearty meal.

Have any of your own ‘rainy day’ recipes?