Monday Arrived a Day Late

11:16 p.m.
Toss and turn, fail to fall asleep.

12:16 a.m.
Worry about whether I should eliminate canola oil and any and all margarine and shortening from our diets, and if making a spread from raw butter, olive oil and flax seed oil would be better. We don’t use much shortening, but we do use margarine sometimes.

12:37 a.m.
Wonder where the hell to find raw butter. Is the Challenge brand of butter raw?

1:07 a.m.
Wrestle with the deeply-ingrained idea that saturated fat is evil. Turns out, it may not be!

1:12 a.m.
Think of contacting a professor in work department who has some research on polyunsaturated fats.

1:17 a.m.
Feel shitty that the cookbook I worked on advocates canola oil. Feel a bit like an asshole. Think of implications of working in the nutrition field for the first time.

1:20 a.m.
Wonder how A. will react to this dietary change. He may like it. It is incorporating more butter, after all!

1:25 a.m.
Realize I don’t have to feel as guilty about making shortbread cookies with all that butter. Wonder if they would be good with whole-wheat flour.

1:35 a.m.
Finally drift off to a fitful sleep full of nightmares, dammit

2:48 a.m.
Get up and go to the bathroom

3:38 a.m.
Wake up, certain that my alarm is going to go off in the next five minutes. Wait.

3:45 a.m.
Realize that it is not 6:30 a.m. Look at watch and swear out loud when I see what time it really is

5:07 a.m.
Buster whines at me a while, then jumps up on the bed

6:30 a.m.
The alarm finally goes off. I had been asleep for over an hour.

6:30 a.m. – 7:10 a.m.
Am grumpy

7:20 a.m.
Much more alert after a warm shower. Notice, for the first time, that there are two piles of doggie puke in the bedroom

7:23 a.m.
Finish scrubbing up puke, blotting up cleaner

7:24 a.m.
Have a gagging spell

7:30 a.m.
Eat Overnight Oatmeal. The memory of doggie puke and the sticky consistency of the oatmeal result in another gagging spell.

7:33 a.m.
Give up. Toss the rest of the oatmeal in the trash.

8:something a.m.
Remember the snow blower isn’t working properly, so A. and I pile into the truck, uncertain if the car will get out of the drive or back to the house later tonight. THANK YOU 30+ MPH WINDS. Love those snow drifts you’ve sent us!

9:07 a.m.
Accompany co-worker into storage area to look for missing brochures.

9:08 a.m.
Notice something has spilled all over an open box of printed materials.

9:08 a.m.
Realize I tipped my coffee cup right over the materials.

9:09 a.m.
Swear profusely

9:15 a.m.
Prepare files to re-print the coffee-stained materials.

How the hell has your Tuesday been?

Friday Five: Not as Occasional

1. It has been -10 degrees with the wind chill due to 55 mph winds for a few days in a row now. Spring? Are you coming soon? Please? Because dammit, this is absurd.

2. A. is worried that Belle is depressed. The cycle of not enough walks, not enough road trips and too much BORING WINTER may be taking its toll. Other than fitting in more walks and some trips to the mountains, I don't know what to do. Our dogs don't play with toys. They don't chase sticks. They wrestle and cuddle. There is always lots and lots of both of those activities. Any suggestions?

3. It could be that A. is fucking with me and totally planted the "Belle is depressed" thing in my head. Bastard.

4. Yesterday I realized that I have work commitments that cannot be re-scheduled on the Rockies Home Opener. I am in total despair.

5. I bought myself a birthday present last weekend. I never buy much for myself. I will hem and haw over a $10 purchase. But I just HAD to have this:


And yes, I will be wearing this to work on April 4. *sniff*

Lenten Ruminations and Devotions

I am not too active "in the [Catholic] Church" anymore, but it used to play a very important and defining role in my life. Most of my dearest friends I met through church retreats and volunteer opportunities organized by my favorite parish. I grew to appreciate and cherish the divinity and dignity inherent of every living thing, largely through my friendship with Father R. He taught me and our community so much. This man is a wonderful leader and represents the followers of Christ that I can admire. (If you've ever seen The Laramie Project, then you've seen a small glimpse into what a fine man he is.) He voiced his opposition to the hypocrisies in the Church while respecting it as his own community. That is not an easy task.

I miss the community intensely. Eventually, I found I was crying through Mass a few too many times, enraged and heartbroken by the hypocrisies and hatred that too often prevailed. You can probably guess what bothers me the most: not welcoming gays and lesbians as fully divine members of the community, turning "our" backs on divorced individuals and families, refusing to recognize that women are capable and inspirational members of the Church who would be a remarkable addition to the priesthood, etc. Basically, I've been a total (and happy) pain in the butt of every priest and nun I've known since high school.

I struggled with my relationship with the Church mightily. If I were truly a member of the community and took that membership and its accompanying responsibility seriously, shouldn't I stay and work to bring about the changes I think "The Church" so desperately needs to be more like Christ? I suppose I am just not strong enough for the fight. After years of internal conflict, I finally stopped attending Mass. I am not always at ease with this, but I wasn't always at ease with attending, either.

I suppose part of why I am not fit for the battle is I never really bought into everything the Church said. I wasn't never really, oh, fundamental about my faith, for lack of an articulate explanation. The Church has many hard and fast rules that I always interpretted as suggestions. (Cafeteria Catholic, anyone?) Parables and readings and spiritual studies always seemed to me to represent ideas and considerations to facilitate an active spiritual journey. I didn't see those as actual, immediate answers. I never took any of it literally. I even struggle with whether or not I actually believe in a literal sense either Jesus Christ the Man or Jesus Christ the God . I always have--and still do--believe in Jesus in a spiritual way. In a connected way. In a divine way. I could go on and on, trying to articulate this, but clearly it is beyond my means. Maybe in another post some day.

All of this leads me to how I am feeling about today: Ash Wednesday. This used to be a powerful symbol for me, and in many ways it still is. I still chose to observe this devotion, though its meaning for me is still ambivalent. Right now, for me, it is a time to do the hard work of engaging my faith, of examining what I do in my life that keeps me from Christ. (And for me, Christ is found in/is every human being, and when I really think about it, every living thing in our system. I think of Christ as our unconditional connection, through grace, with every living thing and God. But, anyway....) Also, what do I do in my life that keeps others from Christ? How do I hinder their faith journeys, rather than nourish it? (In whatever form, vocabulary, etc. those journeys may be.)

So, along with giving up soda for Lent, (as usual! When I think of a soda I'll remind myself of Jesus, or whatever they taught us in CCD classes) I've decided to meditate daily. I am hoping to develope a habit of quietness, where I can look for and find my demons in an environment of peach and grace. I am hoping to train myself not to react to these demons, but rather draw them out and face them. And maybe reconnect with whatever my faith is again.

Oh, and I will also work on The Thesis for at least three nights a week. Bah.


Now for the fun part! Do you observe Lent? What are your plans for the next 40 days?

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This post turned out to be much heavier than I'd planned. Obviously, I've decided to throw it out there anyway. I am struggling with how to articulate much of what is bouncing around my head, so please bear with me.

And Then There Were Five

My step-brother, C., and his wife, J., welcomed their second son, Little L, yesterday! A. and I are an auntie and uncle five time over!

The umbilical cord had wrapped around L2's neck twice, but thankfully the doctor was able to perform an emergency c-section and baby and mama are doing really well. My step-brother is over the moon. He is so in love with his kids. It is awesome to see. I hope Big L. is tickled with his new baby brother!

Welcome, Little L!

***

I am a tad bummed out that Little L. and I don't share the same birthday. At least we are both under the sign of Aquarius. Woohoo!

***

C. and I have never been very close. When our parents married, he and I lived in the same house for all of four days before I left for college. During my visits getting to know the step-sister who was "away" wasn't really a priority. Football and girls were his primary concern, as they would be any high school boy. There are days when I really regret that we don't know each other better, that our relationship is cordial and polite but not close. Other days I am thankful that our relationship is cordial and polite because at least then it isn't resentful.

I've watched C. grow from a shy, awkward, skinny cowboy to a dedicated, ripped athlete. And now, over the past few years, I've watched him grow into a very adoring, patient, and committed father. It has been a remarkable transformation. He is huge. He played college football. And his is so, so, so very gentle with his babies. I may not know him well, but I am still proud of him and the kind of father he's become.

***

My sister, T., is due in less than two months. I love being an auntie!

Each With Our Own Name

Inspired by this post by Shauna over at Pickles and Dimes, I decided to delve into my dark, dark past and share with you why I am a Shovelling Pain In the Ass.

Yes, yes I am.

When my father re-married, my family moved into my step-mom's house. She'd been in this house since her first marriage, and my step-siblings knew this as their only home. Since my family was moving 75 miles in this marital deal, it was a no-brainer.

My family adopted many of the daily routines and rituals that came with that house. It provided my sisters and I with some unfailing structure which we desperately needed after losing our mother, and it kept the household in smooth running condition after it had more than doubled in size. We were all happy.

Until that first winter.*

The neighbors on our block were almost all elderly and couldn't shovel their sidewalks and driveways. If they couldn't, then they shouldn't be shovelling. The neighbor next to us wasn't elderly, but she'd adopted two parapaligic children and didn't have time to shovel. She also had a MASSIVE driveway and sidewalk to accommodate all the wheelchair-loading and unloading in her vans.

So, the no-nonsense thoughtful and generous woman that she is, my step-mom decided early on that she and the kids -- who now included my sisters and I -- would shovel everyone's sidewalks, driveways and stairs. EVERYONE ON THE ENTiRE BLOCK.

It gets better. Stay with me.

Not only did we have to shovel the entire block's worth of sidewalks, driveways and steps, we had to do this at 5:00 a.m. Why? Because. The paperboy delivered the paper at 6:00 a.m. and we couldn't let him make any stubborn footprints in the snow that could turn to ice.

And.

We had to shovel the street. Yes. I am not shitting you. You read that correctly. We had to shovel all of the snow from the sidewalks, driveways, steps, and the street at least three feet into the center of the street so that when the plow came down the middle the snow was actually moved instead of just piled up in everyone's gutters and in their driveways. Once reasonable progress was being made and snow was starting to show up in the street, my parents followed up with snowblowers and blew it even further into the street.

At one point -- I swear I remember this but T. and A., do let me know if I am only hallucinating and creating an alternate reality for myself -- we each had our own shovel with our name on it.

Needless to say, I have very little patience and no capacity for understanding when folks won't shovel their 20 feet of sidewalk in front of their house. It is a character flaw I share with all of my siblings. And I get lit up and all sorts of crazy-ass PISSY when I see some little old lady shoveling her own walk. Hello? Neighbors? Where the hell are you?

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* To be fair, I was a freshman in college with my family moved into the new house an so my sisters shoveled far more than I. But I did do my fair share of shoveling, especially because the bulk of time I spent visiting my family was during the winter months.

Loved

Without fail, for each of his daughter's birthdays, my father sends flowers. It is the one thing I always look forward to, every year. There is something about this ritual that makes me feel so very cherished.





My friends from DC and NYC sent me flowers as well. This is one of the best arrangments I've ever seen.




Thank you, for all you do to remind me how loved I am. It means the world to me.

***

Please excuse the crappy picture-taking. What can I say? Photography is not one of my gifts!