Not *quite* fluent...

I have learned several languages in my life—some for speaking, some for reading. There are lots of aspects to learning a new language, from the basic vocabulary, to the different forms of verbs (and nouns, in some languages), to grammar rules, to pronunciation and inflection, etc.

There are also stages to learning a language.
There’s the stage when all you can do is say ridiculous things that bear no resemblance to conversation, because for some reason discussing the cat on the chair or under the table or whatever is the way to learn. (I’ve never quite understood this, but...yeah.)

There’s the stage when you can read relatively well but speaking is still a bit beyond your ability.

There’s the stage when you can speak decently, and though no one would mistake you for a native, they might mistake you for someone who can understand them if they speak back to you at their normal speed.

There’s the stage when you dream in the new language, and that’s usually a sign you’re headed for fluency.

When it comes to my Familiarisation process, I would say I’m somewhere between those last two stages. I feel like, as I try to work out things like Remembrance and Christingles and Watchnight, and to navigate the search process which is far more different from the PCUSA than I think most of us realise, I am at the stage of language acquisition where I can speak decently enough, but when someone starts talking to me I still have to spend a significant amount of energy translating to my native tongue before I can proceed in the conversation.

This is also true of basic life things like temperature (I’ve got my weather app on Celsius because it seems like I should be able to figure that out, but I’m definitely translating that to Fahrenheit in my mind when I want to know which coat to wear in the morning)...and cooking, where directions will say things like “use 200 ml of water to cook 40g of quinoa per serving” (I’m so glad I brought my American measuring cups in my suitcase, lol!)...etc.

So...all of that to say, I may look like I’m getting the hang of things, little by little, but I’m still translating inside my mind and that makes me slow to figure out what you’re talking about, or what I’m supposed to do next, or what to expect from the search process or communication norms or what “lay a wreath” means exactly, or which tunes the Christmas carols are sung to (hint: all different than they are in the US!), or how the order of worship is both the same and different from where I am right now and from all my previous experiences.

But my dreams are here, and use at least some of the language and images and culture, so I’m calling that a good sign. :-)

shells

Currently, I live about 50 yards from the beach. It's amazing, and I walk on the beach most days. Someone on Facebook described my photos as "the moods of my beach" and that seems about right...sometimes it's glowing:

And sometimes it's a little...well...moodier:

One night recently I was out walking and this tiny perfect pink shell caught my eye.

As you can see, the beach is not fine sand in this particular spot, but rather it is in various stages of becoming sand. Rocks and shells in many sizes, from complete to tiny fragments, being pounded by waves and rain and wind and people and dogs and horses and seagulls, until it becomes the kind of sand people think of when they think of a beautiful beach. The other side of the harbour has that kind of sand, but this side is more beautiful, I think, as you see a little more behind-the scenes of beach-making.
Anyway, I was looking at this shell, which was perfect, and pink on the inside, and gorgeous in every way, and pondering how it caught my attention in the midst of this particular beach. I picked it up to take home with me. I sent Julia a picture, and told her about it...and then I noticed that it wasn't in my hand anymore.
I had dropped it somewhere along the way.
I hadn't walked far or fast, as I was enjoying the beach and also texting (which normally I try not to do when I'm on the beach!). But still, it was gone.
I immediately tried to retrace my steps and figure out when I'd dropped it and if I could find it again. The tide was coming in, which changes the colours, and also, as you can see, finding one shell in this walk is easier said than done:

I looked and looked. I walked slowly, head down, bending over constantly. I tried to guess when it had slipped silently from my hand and back to its beachy home. I probably went over the same twenty feet of beach, in an 18-inch-wide swath, three times. My Fitbit must have thought I was insane. I looked until my back was beginning to get sore from hunching over, and until the water encroached on the very place I had been walking. 

While I was looking, I had several times I thought I found it. The first one was so similar I actually texted Julia that I'd found it (phew!)...but on looking more closely, I realised it wasn't the same shell. Then I started to find others that were obviously the same animal/type, but again, were not the same shell.

Eventually, I had three that were not the one I was looking for, and I couldn't stay out there any longer with no coat and the tide coming in. I debated: drop the three shells that weren't the perfect one I thought I wanted but had lost? Or take them home, as a reminder not to text on the beach?

As I walked home, three shells in hand, mild self-recrimination reverberating through my disappointment at having lost the shell I thought I wanted (even though just moments before I dropped it, I'd never even seen it before and didn't know I wanted it), I realised:

I'm embarking on a search process, hoping to find the church community God is calling me to spend the next portion of my life with. And sometimes it feels like sifting through thousands of really similar shells. And sometimes it feels like the one I really really wanted is lost to me. And sometimes it feels like every option has something not *quite* right. And sometimes I need to just be in the midst of it all, not distracted and letting things slip through my fingers.

And sometimes the three in my hand are beautiful, and perfect in their imperfection, and one of them could be just the thing.




.
.
.


Note: I'm literally at the very beginning of this process....as in, today I worked on turning my PCUSA search paperwork into the type of CV that is expected here. I've not actually applied anywhere and I don't have any particular place in mind as yet, other than hoping God is calling me to someplace where I don't have to figure out how to afford a car...and also not-secretly hoping to stay somewhere near a beach, LOL.

  

wandering about...

I'm slowly getting to know people and programs in my new parish, and today I thought I'd try to get to know the actual place. The Church of Scotland operates on a geographic/territorial parish system, so there's a defined area that is "ours" (so to speak). So this afternoon, while the sun was shining, I set out with a map of the parish to go for a walk. I walked around the boundaries of the parish, and also many of the interior streets. Here's what I noticed:

* a friend refers to the area as a "leafy suburb" and someone else referred to it today as "old money".... it definitely does have that feel about it...lots of trees, and big houses--mansions, really--(I suspect mostly subdivided into flats), and high walls separating the homes/estates from the streets. And yet there's a surprising number of apartment blocks that could clearly use some work, and also a bunch of small homes or row houses that are clearly subdivided into a lot of small flats. So there may very well be old money, but also struggle, at least with the maintenance of physical buildings.

* I was briefly lost on the campus of a hospital, which was more like a large estate than any hospital I've ever been in.

* Many of the houses have lovely details, like stamped stone or decorate ironworks holding up the gutters.

* At one point I turned a corner and there was a clear view of the castle (which is not in the parish, haha).

* There's a grocery store where almost everything is organic and where the cost of your plastic bag is donated to Save The Children. It's tucked in a neighbourhood...which reminded me that, unlike in the US, mixed-use space is common, and I love it. I love that you can, theoretically anyway, live and work and shop in the same three-block radius. It's so convenient to be able to pop to the grocery store in a 3-minute walk. Or to find an Indian restaurant in the midst of the houses on the block.


* There is a cemetery that has some notable people buried in it....including this gem of church history:

Most of the graves have a surprising amount of information on them, including people's professions, hometowns, favourite things, family members, and who knows what else. But not Chalmers, which I think is fascinating.

 * I was briefly lost, though not for long (thwarted by train tracks), and I also walked to the bus and then home from the ice cream store where I had the bus drop me off, which accounts for maybe 3,000 steps and 30 or so minutes....the rest of these are from my parish exploration today:

* There is a general election tomorrow and I saw a SHOCKINGLY small number of placards for candidates or parties. Compared to elections in the US, the campaigning seems very low-key. I'm not being bombarded with internet ads, there are no signs out in neighbourhoods, and only the occasional window will contain a sign with a name or a party symbol. Honestly, it would be easy to forget there's an election tomorrow, actually. 

This is true not just in the church neighbourhood, but my own as well--I see hardly anything. I have encountered people with tables/tents/clipboards/materials on the sidewalks around town, and of course people are talking about it (and their views) in nearly every conversation, and naturally it's on the news--but seriously: it's amazing how different the atmosphere is the day before an election than it would be in the USA. I can't even describe how strange that is. There's a lot at stake in this election, but the overall feel in the air is nowhere near as frantic or earth-shattering as I've experienced before.

* This is what I came home to:

looking toward Fisherrow Harbor (on the left) and Portobello

* The kitties got a new condo/cave/scratching post today. I'm hoping it'll give them someplace to go when the sun comes up (at 3:30am) and they want to get in the closet....because between their attempts to open the closet door and their throwing of all my clothes on the floor, i can't take the noise anymore. Especially at 4am. :-)

Vegetarian haggis

In the lead up to moving, I was frequently asked about being vegetarian in Scotland.

"Won't you have to start eating fish?"

"It's such a meat-and-potatoes place, how will you be vegetarian?"

"Isn't the food there awful?"

"What about haggis?"

I often respond with the simple reality: a) though of course fish & chips and haggis are a thing, food in the UK has dramatically improved in the past 15 or so years, having moved toward a sustainable/local foodie-type culture; b) Edinburgh is one of Europe's most veggie-friendly cities. I can name about five vegetarian or vegan restaurants off the top of my head (that would be 4 more than all of McHenry County, IL), and the vast majority of restaurants in general list their vegetarian things on their own menu section, or they label everything so you can tell what's safe. And there are a lot of options, not just a side salad! Even the local chip shop has falafel! **

I went to one of these vegetarian restaurants just today, in fact.

There's a more foundational point here though, which is:
I've moved here, I'm not vacationing (though there's plenty to make it feel like holidays, including the sunny weather!)...which means that nearly all of my meals will be ones I cook myself. I live in a flat, with a kitchen. I have been stocking it with pots and pans, pantry staples (oil, legumes, rice and pasta, etc), and tons of fresh local veggies. There's a bakery just two blocks away, and a lovely little greengrocer in the high street that gets a variety of veggies and cheeses delivered each day, and a ton of supermarket options ranging from Aldi to Tesco to the (slightly strange but weirdly awesome) frozen food store.

So...yes, it'll be just as easy to be vegetarian here as it was in Crystal Lake. Perhaps easier, even, since when I *do* eat out, there are more choices.

What I have noticed in a week of grocery shopping is this: everything is clearly labeled as to where it comes from, so I also have a much easier time choosing food that doesn't have to travel thousands of miles to my plate. Which is not to say I'll never eat anything that wasn't grown on this island (because hello, avocado is delicious!) but it does make many of my everyday shopping choices more clear, and I'm all about informed decisions, especially where food is concerned!

And now it's time for some pasta with kale and marinara, some wine, and then some Belgian chocolates. Because, well...compared to going all the way to the USA, Belgium - Scotland is basically local, right? ;-)


**Full disclosure: c) there is such a thing as vegetarian haggis, and it's still not good.
And also d) potatoes are my favorite food, so no problem there. ;-)

It's Been One Week...

...since I moved to Scotland!
Ok, it's not catchy for singing purposes like the BareNakedLadies, but still, it's pretty darn exciting.

A friend asked a few days ago if it felt real or like I was on holiday, and I have to admit that there are aspects of the past week that are pretty vacation-esque, and I have to keep reminding myself that I live here.
Like, for instance, I live about three doors down from the beach.
And I also ate out in restaurants a lot for several days in a row.

But then there are other things, like picking up my residency card, making appointments at the bank, hanging my laundry on the line, learning how to use the four--FOUR--garbage/recycling/composting bins, getting a local phone number, and perusing all my local grocery options that feel pretty distinctly like moving in.

In the run up to moving, everything was so busy and stressful (except for all the fun I had on my "farewell tour" seeing friends and getting to 90% of my favorite things) that I barely had time to think. This past week has been full of breathing space I haven't had in I don't know how long. I have walked on the beach, wandered shops, sat in cafes, read books, snuggled kitties, googled absurd things, and Facetimed with friends and family who are now 8-11 time zones away, and who I haven't had time to talk to in months.

I am already experiencing the spirit of hospitality and generosity that I've known and loved about Scotland for a long time--from kind neighbors to smiling people out on the sidewalk to helpful workers at the mobile phone store to new colleagues I met over evening meals during General Assembly. And the more relaxed pace of life is already evident as well. Not to say no one is busy or that everyone is friendly--just that it feels different somehow.

Of course, my first day at my placement is Thursday, and I could end up very busy very soon, so I won't be making any big generalizations while I'm still in much-needed-days-off mode!

The sun comes up early, and stays up late...there's an Indian restaurant, a Thai restaurant, a bakery, and an ice cream shop within a five minute walk from my flat...the cats seem happy...I've made risotto in my pressure cooker...I'm meeting a friend for lunch tomorrow...it's been sunny and warm since i got here...basically, at the moment anyway, life is good.

part of the stress of the days before the move: I had WAY more stuff than I intended/anticipated. Thanks to the great desk agent for Iceland Air, and to the free luggage trollies at Glasgow Airport, I managed, and everything got here in one piece.

this is my street, as seen from the beach. I live in that building that sits closer to the road, in the centre.

so many shells--from perfectly whole to nearly-sand, and everything in between

doesn't this log beg to be sat on for deep thoughts? It's about five minutes down the beach from my house.

the mouth of the River Esk...a river which has more swans than I've ever seen in one place

the panoramic of my street and the beach, from the promenade

Andrew's favourite new hiding spot is between the bed and the wall

this is the lounge (living room) in my adorable tiny seaside flat. Thanks Nikki! It's gorgeous, and exactly one-person sized...with a beautiful new paint job, a new kitchen, and lots of great ambience. 

from today's walk on the prom as the tide was coming in...

moving...

A few weeks ago, I announced to my church that I am moving away this spring. My last day at church will be at the end of April, and then at the end of May I'm taking a one-way flight to Scotland! I'm transferring to the Church of Scotland, which of course could also be called The Original Presbyterians (tm).

from my first time living on Iona...almost half my life ago!

I've loved Scotland from the first minute I set foot there in June of 2000. This is not the first time I've nearly moved, nor the first time I've considered it. I have friends in Scotland who began asking me in 2012 if I was ever going to actually move, or just talk about wanting to. The timing has never been right before, but this time I think the Spirit has finally lined things up. :-)

I've had this porcelain doll probably 30 years
and I only just noticed that it's a little creepy.
I apologize to everyone who has slept under
its gaze in my guest room.

So...this weekend, I held a living estate sale, and sold a large chunk of my belongings. I still have a bunch left to sell, of course, because it turns out that living in the same place for 10 years means I have somehow managed to accumulate All The Things. I've dropped off a car load of clothes at the thrift shop that supports the women's shelter, and I'll drop off a carload of housewares tomorrow. My condo went on the market today. Things are in motion.

how many picture frames can one person accumulate? a lot. with no pictures in them, of course, because why would I do that?

Lots of people have asked how I decided to do this, and where I'll be going, and if I can take the kitties, and what my dad thinks of my moving so far away, etc. I'm planning to put up a page with answers to all this and more, I promise. Then it'll just be there, in a tab at the top of the page, so it's easy to find.

In the meantime:
*The process for transferring my credentials to the CoS is long, and I've been considering it for a while. I declined the first time I was invited to an interview weekend, but went last year. It feels right and I've loved Scotland and the model of the CoS (geographic parishes) for a long time.
*Yes, I'll take the kitties, and no, they don't have to be quarantined, as long as everything is in order before we go. It will be very expensive to take them, though, so I've set up a GoFundMe page because I'd prefer not to be anxious about going into debt to bring them. They pick up anxiety and I don't want them to be unhappy either!
*My dad seems excited for me, and I've lived at least 2000 miles away for my entire adult life (and some of those years were a lot more than 2000 miles) so I don't get the sense it's a big change, other than in the number of time zones.
*No, I'm not taking my car, because it'll be backwards. Yes, I am taking a few things from my house, but not many. I even managed to cull about half my library, which was like cutting off an arm. I definitely put more than half of my panda collection into the "keep" box though.

Now that the news is out, I'll hopefully be able to blog more. It's hard to write when there's something big brewing that isn't public knowledge yet, so my blog has been neglected. Sorry about that! More to come, I promise.

following the thread of grace

Over the summer, we read the Bible in 90 Days. It was awesome. During worship on the Sunday after we finished reading, we had a "Tour Through Scripture"--each of the following verses were written down on notecards (one book's quote per card), and then we read them aloud, with each person in the room reading a card. In order, obviously (the cards were numbered, too...). Then I encouraged people to take their notecard with them, to put it on the mirror or to carry it around and to use it to memorize the verse, and to use it as a lens through which to look at life for the rest of the year. Where does this snippet of scripture seem to shed light, or give a different perspective, or remind me, etc?

There really is evidence of God's grace, love, and forgiveness all throughout the Bible, in spite of the common misconception that the Old Testament is all wrath and judgment and the New is all love and light. There's plenty of all of those to go around in all 66 books. But this particular tour follows one of the many threads of grace, from "In the beginning..." to "Amen."

Tour Through Scripture: Tracing a Thread of Grace
(for the closing worship service after we finished the Bible in 90 Days, 2016)

Genesis 1.1-4
Exodus 3.14-15 (or 34.6)
Leviticus 19.9-10, 18
Numbers 6.22-27
Deuteronomy 16.16b-17 & 26.10b-11
Joshua 5.13-15 (or 24.13-14b)
Judges 2.18
Ruth 1.16-17
1 Samuel 3.8b-10 (or 7.10-12)
2 Samuel 24.24-25
1 Kings 8.15-21
2 Kings 4.42-44
1 Chronicles 16.8-15
2 Chronicles 34.28b-32
Ezra 7.27-28b
Nehemiah 9.5-8
Esther 9.20-22
Job 42.1-5
Psalm 73.24-26
Proverbs 3.13-15, 19-20
Ecclesiastes 3.10-11
Song of Songs 8.6-7a
Isaiah 25.6-9
Jeremiah 31.1-3
Lamentations 3.22-26
Ezekiel 37.26-27
Daniel 10.11-12, 18-19a
Hosea 11.3-4, 9
Joel 2.12-13
Amos 5.14-15
Obadiah 12, 20a, 21
Jonah 4.10-11
Micah 4.1-5 (or 7.18-20)
Nahum 1.15
Habakkuk 3.17-19
Zephaniah 3.9, 19-20a
Haggai 2.5-7
Zechariah 8.7-8
Malachi 3.6a, 17
Matthew 22.37-40
Mark 2.16-17 (or 4.21-23)
Luke 24.9-12
John 15.12-13, 16
Acts 10.28, 34, 36
Romans 5.1-2
1 Corinthians 1.27-30
2 Corinthians 4.15
Galatians 5.13-14
Ephesians 1.18-19a (or through 23)
Philippians 2.12-13
Colossians 2.2-3
1 Thessalonians 1.2-4
2 Thessalonians 1.11-12
1 Timothy 4.7b-8
2 Timothy 1.9-10
Titus 2.11-14
Hebrews 10.23-25 (or 4.12)
James 1.17-18
1 Peter 4.8-11 (or 1.20-21)
2 Peter 3.8-9
1 John 3.2
2 John 5-6
3 John 4-5
Jude 20-21
Revelation 22.1-6, 20-21


*note: many of the cards used the Common English Bible translation. Some used the NRSV. Very occasionally I might have used something else if I liked the way it flowed, from a memorization perspective, but the vast majority were CEB. 

things I didn't want to learn...

Today I learned what a stress fracture looks like on an x-ray.*

I could have done without this knowledge, especially when looking at an x-ray of my own leg.

It appears that my usual approach of "walk it off" was never going to work...so now I will spend the next eight weeks sitting even more than I have been the past eight weeks. grr.

That means I won't be able to run the fall half marathon. And it means I'm now accepting suggestions for non-weight bearing exercise I can do (at home) instead, so that when I *am* back to running, it won't be like starting from couch-potato...even though I will need to be practically the definition of couch potato for two months.**

Also, if anyone wants to contribute to my "summer of sitting" amazon fund, I have a really long list of books I want to read. hahahahahahahaha.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some comfort foods to eat. Because obviously if I can't exercise, I should instead plan to drown my sorrows in cheese and ice cream...


*it looks like a little bubble almost, wider than it is deep of course, just an arch of fibers separating from the edge of the bone. Now that I have seen it, I kind of think that's what it feels like, actually.

**It's probably not a running injury, just an exacerbated-by-running injury, so let's not go down the "maybe you should quit running" path. 

pulled over

A couple of months ago, I went to the Seder for the first night of Passover at the home of my friend the rabbi. It was a wonderful evening filled with laughter, food, ritual, and telling the story of liberation yet again. We dripped wine on our plates to remember plagues. We dipped herbs in salt water to taste the tears of suffering. We opened the door for Elijah and poured a cup for Miriam. We prayed for an end to slavery. We were reminded that injustice anywhere is a threat to all of us everywhere, and that injustice has disproportionately fallen on minorities who are easily scapegoated.  We ate...and ate...and ate.

At the end of the evening (very late!) I got in my car to go home through the thoroughly deserted streets. About a mile into that journey, I saw the flashing red and blue lights behind me.

The lights on my license plate, and two tail lights on one side, were burned out.
(I didn't even know there *were* lights on my license plate.)

The officer said through my window (which I rolled all the way down, not even thinking about it): "I wanted to let you know--just a warning--because I know we can't see the backs of our own cars."

I reached across to the passenger seat and into my purse and grabbed my phone to show my insurance card and to make a note to get the lights fixed.

He ran my license, of course, and looked at my insurance card, and printed out a warning, and I was on my way.

Why isn't that how traffic stops go for people whose skin is a different color than mine?

Tonight, as I was that night, I am an outsider--not one of the people directly suffering, but one of those longing to make a difference, to bear witness and then to work for change. I have not lived my life in the shadow of my people's persecution. I have not needed to fear the police. I have the privilege of usually being in the majority/blending in, and usually knowing my life is important and my voice is valued.

Tonight I remember, again--the tears of suffering, the waiting for Elijah, the story of liberation, the fact that injustice everywhere is a threat to all of us everywhere.

#blacklivesmatter


*If you read that as "black lives matter more" or "only black lives matter" then may I suggest you check your own psyche before commenting. Because that says more about you and your own fear of losing a position of privilege than it does about the hashtag or the movement or the reality it represents. Let's not pretend all lives matter if we can't say that black lives matter. Suggestions to the contrary will be deleted because there's no "balance" in giving even more voice to the historically majority view. Perfect love casts out fear. 

civilized

Tonight I had dinner with a friend/colleague at an adorable little place on the adorable little square in Woodstock. It's a charming store front with careful architectural details dating back a century--a chocolatier (bean to bar) in front, and a bar/cafe at the back. Along the side are comfy chairs and a fake fireplace. At the back is an old-style bar, all shiny dark wood. They make delicious inventive cocktails and small plates combining flavors you would never expect (just like their chocolate does too).

It was a lovely dinner and great conversation ranging from sheep to church to travel to hobbies to luxurious experiences to books and back again.

And when we left, it was snowing onto the trees and brick streets and sidewalks lined with iron railings, with the old-school street lights giving off a warm glow, and the bank's readerboard said it was -76 degrees (hahahahah). As I brushed the snow off my car, classical music played over hidden speakers throughout the whole square. That's right--even at 8pm on a Monday night, when nearly no one is around, still they are playing Mozart in the town square.

As I drove home I thought about how very civilized the whole evening had been--from the music to the food and everything in between. It's the same feeling that makes me love The Thomas Jefferson Hour--because the theme music makes me feel so civilized and intellectual and normal. Which I realize could also be translated as "elite." But I think that's one of the things I like about both these experiences--that the civilized feel is accessible to everyone. The classical music is playing in the square. The podcast is free. The architecture is there for everyone to admire. The menu may not be accessible to many (it's one of those places where they make everything and use as much local stuff as possible, and that's not cheap but it is good for my neighbors and community and economy) but even just reading over the menu and its imaginative contents is an exercise in expanding the mind.

It so often feels like our culture is spinning out of control toward demagoguery and incivility. People are mean to each other on the internet and in person. It's almost impossible to be a woman online and not receive harassment or even death threats. Our politicians shout at each other and demean one another's person, not just disagree with their ideas. Our popular culture is full of violence. Our education system leans on tests rather than on education, cutting everything that can't be standardized.  (aside: watch this. Then do something to make sure every kid has a chance to connect their brains like this. it'll make the world a better place in so many different ways.)

And into the middle of that: Mozart was playing in the town square as snowflakes floated into the glowing light. Reminding me of who we really are, or at least who I want to be.







**yes, I realize that the way I'm using the word "civilized" is loaded with racial and cultural bias. I keep trying to find another word to encompass what I mean and I don't have one yet. 

hot and cold, new and old...

This year I have spent an inordinate amount of money on my house. In the past 12 months I have needed (due to breaking or danger): a new washer & dryer, a new water heater, a new furnace/air conditioner, and new floors. It's a little out of control.

Of course, now basically my entire house is new and beautiful. My floor is amazing and I still, 9 months after it was installed, walk in every day and sigh with happiness (and relief). My water heater is not leaking and is in no danger of flooding my downstairs neighbor. My washer actually runs a whole cycle without me having to advance it myself, and it has different temperatures of water, and it doesn't leak from some mysterious place underneath! The dryer dries clothes without burning them. And I can control the temperature in my house via an app on my phone (the fancy thermostat comes "free" with a new furnace/ac unit)...and turning the heat on will not lead to CO poisoning.

All a win, if not for the checkbook.

In addition to those new things, I also got something so lovely yesterday. I opened a package from my grandma, which I anticipated held a bunch of recipes. It did...and also a super soft and warm and adorable fleece blanket with a kitten pattern. It has made me so happy for the last 24 hours.

And now, apparently, I'm done with that. Time to turn up the heat and look for a scarf, because the decidedly not-new cats have claimed the blanket, and the old blanket, and basically the whole couch.

This is my life.

Monastery Day, attempt the first

Jan, when she was a parish pastor, used to make a regular practice of "Monastery Days"--days when she was outside her usual workspaces, reading and praying and studying and people-watching. I think she often had her Monastery Days at a Starbucks in a neighboring town.

I have decided that I need something like this if I'm ever going to think a thought all the way through. I have lots of days when I work from home, or from the Starbucks at the train station, or in my office...and all of those are good. But there's something about going elsewhere to read and think and pray that somehow makes things more clear.

So a friend/colleague and I agreed to try these, on the first Monday of each month. We wouldn't do it together, exactly--but we'd do it at the same time on the same day, to hold each other accountable to actually doing it.

Naturally, this first month we were to try it, I had a complication. Namely, that I'm supposed to be facilitating an adult education class on Monday nights. oops. (lol...you would think I would have learned to use a calendar by now!)
So I moved to Tuesday.

Tuesday was bright and sunny, with blue skies to offset the remaining brightly colored leaves as well as the stark empty oak branches. It was a gorgeous day to walk and sit and read and eat and ponder by a lake...so I went to Lake Geneva. The good ol' LG never lets me down (except that one time when Kilwin's was out of my favorite flavor of ice cream...omg).

In the long tradition of solvitur ambulando (it is solved by walking), I rambled along the lakefront path, looking at light playing on water, shadows of fish, enormous houses, changing leaves, and remnants of bygone days. I prayed and thought and spent some time clearing my mind while my body was moving. It was gorgeous.

The only not gorgeous part is that my right knee hurts like you would not believe.*

So my Monastery Day was interrupted, if you can call it that, by a trip to the doctor's office. I'd gotten a call in the morning that if I was willing to drive to Rockford, I could get in that day (filling a cancellation)...otherwise I would wait two weeks. I'm glad I went because I would really prefer to be walking and running without constantly thinking about how my knee hurts. I need that time to empty out and think about other stuff!

While I was walking, I decided to try to pay very close attention to details. This is usually not my strong suit, so I think it's a good practice for me to try for the next month. This is a time of year when things change rapidly, and it's easy to miss the little things.

I don't know that I solved anything while walking yesterday, except for some of the clutter in my mind and heart. I replaced that with beauty, at least for today.

the only piece left...

just a little lakefront cottage...with matching playhouse

the path

this may be one of my favorite photos ever. There's just something about it...

*really, you wouldn't believe it. My pain tolerance is *very* low, so it's entirely likely that if it was your knee, you wouldn't even feel it, while I am over here acting like I'm dying. I swear, it hurts a LOT. For me.

on the patio

Most weeks, I spend one day in "Coffice Hours"--working from the Starbucks, ideally the patio (though I'll go inside if I need an electrical outlet or to get warm!).

It's a good change of scenery and the people are interesting. Mostly I read and write and update the website and answer emails and talk to people. Though sometimes I don't talk to anyone at all...you never know how the day's going to go.

A few weeks ago, it was a busy day on the Starbucks patio and every table was taken. A woman, casually but nicely dressed, medium build, walked through and stopped to talk to people, and when she got to my table I realized she didn't know everyone, she was looking for some help. She needed three more dollars to get a sandwich. Her sister had dropped her off downtown, with a borrowed cell phone, and gone to work. I didn't get to hear why she'd been dropped downtown--it seemed like perhaps she was going around putting in job applications, or maybe she was waiting for a train, I don't know.

In any case, a man, muscular and with a large number of tattoos, pierced ears, a muscle shirt and low-slung shorts handed her a cup of salted almonds and explained in patient patronizing tones how she needed to eat this protein and salt because it would be healthy for her and get the drugs out of her system, rather than asking for money for more drugs.

The woman protested that she didn't do drugs. The man asked why she had an iPhone if she couldn't afford a sandwich. Another man at a nearby table told the woman to go away or he would call the police.

One guess about the color of this woman's skin.

~~~

If I had gone to their table asking for $3, I suspect the assumption would have been that I left my wallet at home, or that my cash had blown out of my hand (it was a windy day), or that I'd just been caught short without my debit card.

~~~

I wanted SO MUCH to confront the man and ask why he assumed this woman was high, or dishonest, or deserved his patronizing scorn. I wanted very badly to speak up and defend her, and call out his racist assumptions and bad behavior.

But I didn't. And I am ashamed to say that. And I am further ashamed to say the reason:

Because he was a muscular man, with a lot of tattoos and piercings, wearing a muscle t and baggy shorts and half-tied shoes, and having shown himself to be a bit on the aggressive/belligerent side. It did not feel safe for me to confront him, any more than it felt safe for that woman.

~~~

He was white.

~~~

The woman left the patio. I don't know where she went, but I hope she came across someone who carried cash and compassion at the same time. I hope her sister had a good day at work, and was able to be supportive when she heard this story.

The man continued to talk, loudly, to his table mate and to the man at the next table, about her.

I continued to sit across the patio, simultaneously too angry and too worried about my own safety to do anything about it. Because assumptions play both ways.

~~~

Sigh.

before Tiny Houses were cool...

Almost every week it seems there is another article or video about Tiny Houses. Google brings up 22.4 million hits just from that phrase. People are making living spaces in freight containers and on trailers, and living in their ingeniously designed 250 square foot space in the woods somewhere. Or in an alley. Or wherever they want, because their house is on a trailer.

If there isn't a Tiny House article, there is a minimalism/get-rid-of-your-stuff article. The latest compiles some startling statistics, including things like "most Americans have 300,000 objects in their home" and "nearly half of Americans can't park cars in their garage." We have more offsite storage than we do people, which means that we are (bizarrely, I think) paying to store things we never see. Are the things in our storage units useful? Do they bring happiness to our lives? If so, why are they stacked in a locked room in a climate controlled building miles away from the house, opened only to put more things in?

I've never been a big accumulator of stuff (besides books...), so I don't really get it. I'm kind of trying to pare down even what I do have, as I seem to have gathered more things than I need or want over the past 9 years of living in one place. (though that article says the average woman has 30 outfits, whereas in 1930 she had 9. I'm super retro, apparently...I have about 10-12, max.) I know people say that stuff will fill the space, and that living in the same home for a long time means you accumulate things more so than if you move frequently (because who wants to pack all that stuff?). But still.

While in Europe this spring, we noticed a large number of little communities that at first appeared to be like community gardens, with garden plots and sheds. Look closer, though, and discover they are neighborhoods. There are garden plots, and swing sets, and lawn furniture, and clothes lines...and those sheds are homes. They have lace curtains and everything. Many of them are smaller than a shed I could go buy at Home Depot and assemble this afternoon in my backyard (if I had a backyard).

Usually these little communities were on the outskirts of a larger town, and often near the train tracks, although in Wittenberg it was just a couple of blocks off the main medieval streets (and would have been just outside the old city walls).

I suspect that little enclaves of tiny houses have been here, at the edge of town, for centuries. It's like the 21st century version of the villages surrounding a castle, where everyone grows a little food and lives in two rooms and maybe comes through the city gates a couple of times a year for a market or festival. Except now people have cars that they park at the edge of the village.

It's strange to think of people living in such small spaces, in what appears from the outside to be hovel-esque conditions, in the Western world in 2015. Even though we primarily saw these communities in former East Germany, it's still jarring to those of us who are used to spacious homes and large yards and storage units. Of course, to people from other parts of the developed world, it's jarring to see how many people here are homeless--a situation which could potentially be remedied with something like tiny house communities, or at least slightly ameliorated, if only we would decide they were legal.

And yet we have this fascination with Tiny Houses.

I wonder if the people who live in these before-they-were-cool Tiny Houses have a fascination with 1500 square foot houses? Or if they enjoy living their Tiny House lifestyle as much as we imagine we would?

random and true

This is one of my favorite products:

It's a great everyday lotion, and it's amazing on sunburns too. (especially since my favorite after sun cream was discontinued. thanks a lot, neutrogena.)

Anyway, it's a great lotion. Not too smelly, not greasy, does its job well.

Except in one way.

Take a look at that package design. Notice anything?

It's so convenient--stable, pumps out just the right amount, fits in the cabinet.

And so inconvenient, because of course the last 20% of the product is in the bottom of the bottle but away from the pump. At best, it requires taking the lid off and using the stick part of the pump (what is that called, anyway?) to scoop it out. At worst, there's significant waste.

I am not into waste. I hate wasting things--whether it be lotion or food. So I am the girl whose bathroom is littered with bottles of lotion, propped up upside down, trying to scrape out the last few drops. My refrigerator is full of leftovers (my friend Elizabeth insists that one day I'm going to get some horrible food poisoning from my leftover habit, but 34 years of solid food suggests otherwise). My laundry room has a bottle of detergent that I have literally squeezed. I use my sonic toothbrush until it stops vibrating before I change the batteries. I have, on one occasion, mixed coffees because I didn't have enough of either to make the cup. (two things: 1. This is not recommended. 2. Never do this with wine.) I turn off lights when I'm not in the room, and my TV/DVD player are almost always unplugged. I keep my thermostat at 80 in summer and 60 in winter, because to heat or cool more than that seems wasteful. I have blankets, after all, and a fan and open windows.

So this lotion bottle irks me. I want for manufacturers to think of these things. It's obviously possible to get both the convenience of the pump along with non-wastefulness, as lots of Aveda products are packaged that way. Help me out here, lotion-makers. I should not have to spoon lotion out of the bottom of the bottle.

I could offer a witty reflection on our throwaway convenience culture, and how we are destroying the planet with our consumerism and laziness. I'm pretty sure we all know that already, though.

Instead, I'm thinking about how often we think something seems great--it has 90% of what we want (convenience, aesthetic, quality) and so we go for it...without realizing that the 10% matters far more than it would seem. How do we, as individuals, as families, as churches, as political bodies make choices that sacrifice the 10% (whether that 10% is sustainability, or people)? What seems like a small thing worth compromising, like a design that doesn't all all the lotion to be accessed, or a million families' food security, or a veteran's mental health care, or a potluck with paper plates, or a few flowers on Mother's Day, or a mere pronoun...those seemingly small things add up: to an aching and groaning creation, a dramatic increase in suffering, a lifetime of hurtful theology.

In other words: while compromises must be made, be careful about what they are. The lotion bottle could just as easily have compromised the pump and still been great, without leading to waste. The real dishes can go in a dishwasher. The children who go to bed and to school with full tummies learn better and become productive members of society. The person who hears expansive language finds themselves in the Divine story rather than cast away. And so on and so on.

Everyone is compromised (thanks RAF), the question is: how will we manage those compromises?



dear Aveeno: please solve your lotion bottle problem. love, a devoted fan.

cooking by the box

Recently, a friend gifted me a free week of Blue Apron. It's a service where they deliver a box containing recipes and all the ingredients--exactly the right amount--for three meals (each with two servings). It seems like a great idea! I already love Door To Door Organics, which delivers me a box of organic veggies and fruits every Thursday. So what's not to love about trying a new recipe without committing to buying a pound of something when I only need a tablespoon? Seems promising.

I got my box last week, and I confess that I haven't had time to cook much. I didn't anticipate my schedule correctly. In any case, here's what's in the box:
*Beet Apple and Goat Cheese Sliders, with potato-frisee salad
*Chole (a chickpea stew with vaguely indian/middle eastern spices) served with naan
*butternut squash canneloni

I plan to make the last two tomorrow (so I'll have leftovers ready for the busy weekend!). I made the first last night--the beet sliders. (no pics, sorry...I didn't know I'd be blogging about it.)

First order of business: everyone in the world has heard me announce that I hate beets. I think they taste like dirt.
Second order of business: I am a firm believer that anything is better with cheese. Goat cheese is even better still.
Third order of business: I try so hard not to waste food.

So here we went, into beet-land, last night.
The recipe page has pictures all over it--pictures of the ingredients both whole and prepared, pictures of the cooking process, pictures of the finished product. It has step-by-step instructions that any middle schooler could probably follow. It was well-organized, telling me to do some things while other things were cooking. The stuff in the box was all clearly labeled with what it is, which recipe it is for, and storage instructions (i.e. "keep refrigerated").

And the end result was surprisingly delicious, I have to admit. I wouldn't choose to make the sliders again, because honestly I would have been perfectly happy to have apple-goat cheese sandwiches and skip the beets. But I did eat 1.33 servings of them, and not only because I was thinking about how I should try to eat more things like beets because they are good for me. It genuinely tasted good. I think the combo of goat cheese and mint (??!?!?!?!) was amazing. I was a little sad not to have thought ahead to the fact that assembling the sliders as directed would mean that they would not be suitable for leftovers. Since I am one person and the recipe makes two servings, I should have found a way to hold on to the prepped innards of the sliders and just toasted the buns when I would want them. I ended up needing to either eat more or waste some, because they couldn't be re-heated.

and the salad? OMG. I was so happy to eat it again for lunch today (with an avocado added because otherwise the avocados on the counter will turn mushy!).

The actual process of cooking?
well...
Maybe tomorrow's experience will be better, because I see that they lay out the steps in a certain order on purpose.

for those who missed the subtext on that: I didn't exactly follow the directions the way they were written.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise to those who know me in person that I have a hard time with recipes. I love to cook, and I own a number of cookbooks, most of which sit unopened on a shelf just waiting for the day I finally run out of experimentory steam. I am the kind of home cook who looks in the fridge and pantry and says "I can totally make something out of kidney beans, soy curls, spinach, barley, eggs, nutritional yeast, an avocado, and almonds." (actual contents of my pantry right now.)

I am less the kind of cook that follows directions.

I think Blue Apron is a great concept. I suspect it puts good cooking within reach of many many people who would otherwise eat cereal or fast food. I will probably get another box sometime in the future. But I am not the target audience for this service. I think the recipes look great, and the one I've tried so far tasted good despite by skepticism and inability to just follow the directions.

I just like to have a little more wiggle room, a little more creative space, when it comes to my kitchen adventures.
In short, I want it to be an adventure. And I have yet to have an adventure when the guidebook is still open in my hand.

the best laid plans...

...sometimes have to be sacrificed for sleep.

I had a super profound blog post for today, I swear. But it will have to wait, because I've been fighting to stay awake for an hour already, so I'm about to take my super lame old-lady self to bed before 9...and before I fall asleep on the couch and wake up with a stiff neck and all the lights still on.

If I manage to keep blogging into December, then you can look for the post I think was going to be so profound. I'll mix it in with some kitty news and food pictures, so you can find it easily. ha.

happy last day of November...as we slide headlong into winter, may your holiday season (whichever holiday you may celebrate) be bright. Especially since it's so dark outside.

Getting Ready

it's almost Advent--the season of getting ready.

but before that, there's other stuff to get ready for.

Namely: MASHED POTATO DAY!

I am in possession of potatoes. and butter. and milk.

I also have french cut green beans, campbell's cream of mushroom, and french's french fried onions.

I have a library book.

I have blankets.

I have cookies.

I have cinnamon rolls.

I'm ready.

Good thing, because let me just tell you, everyone in Crystal Lake was at Jewel today at 5:30pm. The entire parking lot was full and every aisle of the store was packed. I can't even imagine what it'll be like tomorrow.

Sadly, Jewel was all out of sermons on Habakkuk.
(guess what I'll be doing while everyone else is last-minute shopping, making pies, and frantically cleaning their houses for family visits?)

daydreaming of warm

With snow breaking down doors in upstate New York, and all 50 states seeing the below-freezing mark at the same time, and the ridiculous chill we've got going on here, I confess that my writing-muscles are frozen. I don't have anything much to say today besides this:

I wish I lived in San Diego.

Where I could see this every day if I wanted:

And where I could visit Mickey...

And generally not hibernate under the covers and the cats for a minimum of six months a year. I mean, I have the most comfortable bed, and the snuggliest cats, and the prettiest bedroom, but still. As much as I love this, I would rather it be 75 and sunny than -3 and gray.