Since the purchase of my mummy bag, and the return from my summer adventures, my bag has become somewhat of a sacred place. I go out of my way to create any opportunity to sleep in it.
'No, you take the couch, I'll just sleep on the floor.'
'Oh, you can't find your basket of blankets that's usually right by the couch? Well I guess I'll just use my bag.'
'O shoot, my sheets are probably dirty. Guess it's time to sleep in my bag.'
You get the idea.
I even slept in my bed, on top of my covers, in my Kelty bag for about a week. It's really kind of weird, I know. But I love it. Wriggling into the silky grey and green cocoon makes me feel childlike, safe and snug.
On a camping trip last Spring, one of my hiking companions did not have quite the same experience. There were six of us in what I believe was meant to be a four person tent, ah the joys of camping, and I had the honor of being stuck sleeping next to the kid who hated her sleeping bag. And I mean hated, well, maybe what I actually mean is scared. She was scared of her bag. She writhed for several hours. She was suffocating, sure she bought a kid's sized bag, absolutely undone by the fact that she couldn't assume her usual night time position she affectionately refers to as "the lizard". It would be quiet and then a flurry of swooshing as she trashed in her sarcophagus, trying to ward off the coming death. Death by nylon. It was hilarious, especially if you know her, and if from your perspective, a mummy bag is the best possible option for nighttime slumber.
The camping world adopted the term "mummy" from the Ancient Egyptian burial tradition to name this efficient sleeping gear. All too fitting to my friend who felt like she was being buried alive that chilly May night. Anyway, the Egyptians tightly wrapped their dead in strips of linen. They also shoved a chemical called Natron in the corpse's hollowed out chest, pulled out their brains with a hook and stashed treasures in their form fitting caskets. Yes, so it's a little weird. And sleeping in something named after such a disturbing tradition is a little creepy. Except for the stashing of treasure part, I could get used to finding a diamond or a cool mill stuffed in the lining of my bag. [Hm...maybe I should call REI and pitch that idea...] The reason they wrapped their dead so tightly with cloth however, was to protect them. The salty-concoction and the taking out of the organs was to prevent rotting and to hurry along the crisping process. But the strips of linen, along with the body-shaped sarcophagus [resembling my modern day sleeping bag] was for protection.
I think I'm feeling a little bit of that Ancient reasoning here in 2009. Although I'm not dead, I feel safe inside my bag. Tightly wrapped and neatly packaged in my own little sarcophagus of synthetic batting and nylon.
Alright that sounded a little creepy. Perhaps my own little cocoon is better? Whatever the word choice, I feel at home sleeping in there. All zipped up.
So invite me over, and forget about the blankets. I just need an excuse to sleep in my mummy bag, my little piece of home.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Turning Right.
I am driving toward the library on Reed's Lake in order to catch up on some over-due reading.
[Remember that whole discipline thing? yea. About that...]
It's a warm fall evening, the trees resplendent, dripping with gold. I'm having trouble catching my breath and decide to go for a walk instead. I need to clear my head, and if I've waited this long to read what's another couple hours eh? I park at D&W and start wandering. I don't really have a plan figured out, no route established. I know these streets so I'm just wandering, not in a loop, but back and forth, doubling back and crossing over. The leaves are magnificent. Casting their warm yellow glow, almost outdone by the fantastic sunset. Almost. I let my mind go, here and there. Meandering just as freely as my feet. I reign it in for a quick prayer now and again, but I can't seem to hold its attention for long. As I'm intently studying the hot pink highlight on the clouds through gaps in the orange foliage, I tilt my head back and breathe deep.
I'm excited about thoughts of...well something. Something I will not publish here. My ideas seem as quick to change as West Michigan weather, and I've decided to "treasure these things in my heart" instead of talking about it with everyone because then I have to once again explain why nothing ever happened. Anyway, I'm getting away from the real lesson and beauty here...
I tilt my head back and breathe deep. I can feel passion bubbling up inside me like a slow leak. Not explosive excitement, but that quiet joy and deep peace. It's what I've been feeling like I've been missing. And it comes at the thought of another one of my crazy ideas, which just might, hopefully, turn out to not be so crazy after all. As the sunset diminishes, I think about my route back to my car. I need to turn north, and any of these next streets will do. I start looking to my right, waiting for one that looks pleasant. I finally see one, lined with small trees that are a fleshy orange and yellow, like the skin of a peach. It's gorgeous. I hesitate. Pausing, I look down the sidewalk ahead of me. There are a few green signs signifying other options further down the way. Should I keep going? Maybe there is an even more beautiful road up ahead. I start to move forward, just barely shifting my weight, and then abruptly turn and head down the aforementioned peach colored street. In that brief pause, I decided that this road was it. Maybe there was an even more picturesque road further down. But there is a beautiful road laid right out in front of me now.
So why would I continue along, missing out on something I know is beautiful, just because there might be something further down?
And what if their isn't?
What if this road, right here, is the most splendid path I could take? And I passed it up because of a feeling of "what if"?
O, how superbly this moment applies to my life. I have no way of knowing what streets lie ahead. Am I going to base my decisions on a hypothetical red lined street in the future? Or am I going to head down the road to my right-because it is breath-takingly gorgeous, saturated in warm colors, beckoning my to come and taste its goodness?
And there it is again, settling over me like a blanket. Bringing welcomed warmth, like the first days of spring sunshine. That still tranquility, beautiful inaudible rest.
[Remember that whole discipline thing? yea. About that...]
It's a warm fall evening, the trees resplendent, dripping with gold. I'm having trouble catching my breath and decide to go for a walk instead. I need to clear my head, and if I've waited this long to read what's another couple hours eh? I park at D&W and start wandering. I don't really have a plan figured out, no route established. I know these streets so I'm just wandering, not in a loop, but back and forth, doubling back and crossing over. The leaves are magnificent. Casting their warm yellow glow, almost outdone by the fantastic sunset. Almost. I let my mind go, here and there. Meandering just as freely as my feet. I reign it in for a quick prayer now and again, but I can't seem to hold its attention for long. As I'm intently studying the hot pink highlight on the clouds through gaps in the orange foliage, I tilt my head back and breathe deep.
I'm excited about thoughts of...well something. Something I will not publish here. My ideas seem as quick to change as West Michigan weather, and I've decided to "treasure these things in my heart" instead of talking about it with everyone because then I have to once again explain why nothing ever happened. Anyway, I'm getting away from the real lesson and beauty here...
I tilt my head back and breathe deep. I can feel passion bubbling up inside me like a slow leak. Not explosive excitement, but that quiet joy and deep peace. It's what I've been feeling like I've been missing. And it comes at the thought of another one of my crazy ideas, which just might, hopefully, turn out to not be so crazy after all. As the sunset diminishes, I think about my route back to my car. I need to turn north, and any of these next streets will do. I start looking to my right, waiting for one that looks pleasant. I finally see one, lined with small trees that are a fleshy orange and yellow, like the skin of a peach. It's gorgeous. I hesitate. Pausing, I look down the sidewalk ahead of me. There are a few green signs signifying other options further down the way. Should I keep going? Maybe there is an even more beautiful road up ahead. I start to move forward, just barely shifting my weight, and then abruptly turn and head down the aforementioned peach colored street. In that brief pause, I decided that this road was it. Maybe there was an even more picturesque road further down. But there is a beautiful road laid right out in front of me now.
So why would I continue along, missing out on something I know is beautiful, just because there might be something further down?
And what if their isn't?
What if this road, right here, is the most splendid path I could take? And I passed it up because of a feeling of "what if"?
O, how superbly this moment applies to my life. I have no way of knowing what streets lie ahead. Am I going to base my decisions on a hypothetical red lined street in the future? Or am I going to head down the road to my right-because it is breath-takingly gorgeous, saturated in warm colors, beckoning my to come and taste its goodness?
And there it is again, settling over me like a blanket. Bringing welcomed warmth, like the first days of spring sunshine. That still tranquility, beautiful inaudible rest.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Elephants.
O, how quick I am to forget.
Isn't there a verse about that, "Be quick to forget, slow to speak and slow to become angry"? Oh, wait. No, that's quick to listen. I would feel a little bit better about my memory lapses if that were the verse though. If only scripture would endorse my faults and make my life easier. In some ways, it does simplify life. But mostly, this is not my experience. That is for another day altogether. I was going somewhere with this...
ah yes, my forgetfulness. I'm actually fairly embarrassed by my [frequent] tendencies to forget. I make light of it, often making fun of myself, calling myself a "flake" or a "space cadet". Names others have assigned to me unfortunately. Sometimes the truth hurts.
I forget where I put my car keys. I forget to call people back. I can't remember anything involving numbers. I forget what I learned in Anatomy, of which I took three different courses. I forget names, places, authors, artists, what I ate for breakfast, where I put my sweatshirt, which box I packed my scarves in [currently, the bane of my existence]. Regrettably, I consistently forget birthdays and important events. [Sorry loved ones] I'm constantly overbooking myself-because I forget previously made plans.
Sunday, I was reminded of something I had lost sight of-how good it is for me to walk. I read my profile write-up non-sense for this blog. And I wrote that, "I'm following my feet." Except I haven't been walking anywhere.
Really Jen? Must you literally walk to, "follow your feet"? The answer is emphatically, yes. Yes, I must literally walk. It reminds me of my smallness. My boundaries, limits and mortality. Again, really Jen? Just from walking? And again, I say yes. It makes me slow down enough to think. To think about what I'm forgetting.
It seems I am quick to forget the importance of Christ. Of Community. Of conversations and writing and breathing and reading and memorizing and praying. I am so quick to forget. I've heard that "elephants never forget". Maybe I just need bigger ears...?
Anyway, BBC says it's true.
Isn't there a verse about that, "Be quick to forget, slow to speak and slow to become angry"? Oh, wait. No, that's quick to listen. I would feel a little bit better about my memory lapses if that were the verse though. If only scripture would endorse my faults and make my life easier. In some ways, it does simplify life. But mostly, this is not my experience. That is for another day altogether. I was going somewhere with this...
ah yes, my forgetfulness. I'm actually fairly embarrassed by my [frequent] tendencies to forget. I make light of it, often making fun of myself, calling myself a "flake" or a "space cadet". Names others have assigned to me unfortunately. Sometimes the truth hurts.
I forget where I put my car keys. I forget to call people back. I can't remember anything involving numbers. I forget what I learned in Anatomy, of which I took three different courses. I forget names, places, authors, artists, what I ate for breakfast, where I put my sweatshirt, which box I packed my scarves in [currently, the bane of my existence]. Regrettably, I consistently forget birthdays and important events. [Sorry loved ones] I'm constantly overbooking myself-because I forget previously made plans.
Sunday, I was reminded of something I had lost sight of-how good it is for me to walk. I read my profile write-up non-sense for this blog. And I wrote that, "I'm following my feet." Except I haven't been walking anywhere.
Really Jen? Must you literally walk to, "follow your feet"? The answer is emphatically, yes. Yes, I must literally walk. It reminds me of my smallness. My boundaries, limits and mortality. Again, really Jen? Just from walking? And again, I say yes. It makes me slow down enough to think. To think about what I'm forgetting.
It seems I am quick to forget the importance of Christ. Of Community. Of conversations and writing and breathing and reading and memorizing and praying. I am so quick to forget. I've heard that "elephants never forget". Maybe I just need bigger ears...?
Anyway, BBC says it's true.
"Elephants can certainly build up a memory over the years and hold on to it"They also stated that,
"The older and more experienced the matriarch, the better she is at recognising old friends"I'm not an elephant, but I hope that as I get older and more experienced, the better I am at recognizing 'old friends'. Some of these 'old friends' that I am so quick to forget. Like birthdays and where I put important things. But more importantly, my need for grace and community. The necessity of scripture, prayer and walking. Because after all, I am 'following my feet'. A simple pedestrian, following the adventure of The Way.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Discipline.
I really dislike the idea of discipline. It is a vile word. It makes me feel constrained, controlled and inhibited. It seems so "old school", tight and itchy like a wool turtle neck sweater. The official definition from dictionary.com doesn't help this negative reaction to the word.
dis⋅ci⋅pline /ˈdɪsəplɪn/ –verb
+ to train by instruction and exercise; drill.
+ to bring to a state of order and obedience by training and control.
+ to punish or penalize in order to train and control; correct; chastise.
Synonyms:
+ chastisement, castigation.
+ see punish.
Drill? Control? Punish or penalize? I don't think I want anything to do with that. It's all very unromantic and regimented. And yet, I think I am going to begin a season of discipline. Allow me to explain this, because so far, this appears to be the last thing I would want to do.
This idea of discipline keeps coming up. I was talking with a friend about wanting to be in love with God. About wanting to genuinely love people. I want those things to come naturally. I want to posture myself as a bringer of love, peace, forgiveness and grace. But let's be honest here, that's not natural. Well at least for me it's not. Much to my annoyance. Another thing I'm not a natural at is running. I'm a wheezer, I'm ridiculously slow, I have a little more padding than most born-runners and I can fairly easily convince myself that staying bed is better than lacing up my sneakers. I will say this though, I love it. Absolutely love it. Need it. Crave it. I seriously have withdrawl affects at times.
It wasn't always like this. I remember many days while training for my first big race, wondering what in the world I was doing, trudging through the snow, wet, sweaty and cold, breathing like an overweight smoker climbing a flight of stairs. After many mornings and miles, a funny thing happened. I started to enjoy myself. I started looking forward to my treks. They were rhythmic. Wonderfully predictable and at the same time gloriously unpredictable. I was completely alone and yet surrounded by the city. I felt a sense of accomplishment and release.
I went for a run today on some trails in a park just down the street. Thank the Lord because I was beginning to really, really hate the suburb loop I've been doing. I actually laughed out loud as I turned a corner and an uneven wooden path rose, fell and wound away in front of me, covered in yellow leaves, bathed in golden light from the fall sunlight. Absolute bliss.
To get to the point, it took time to fall in love with running. It took discipline. As much as I hate to admit that. And so perhaps, perhaps part of falling in love with something takes some level of discipline. In order to begin to just love people "naturally" I need to continually make choices that are compassionate. Maybe it means volunteering consistently. Or unloading the dishwasher. Or writing letters. In order to fall in love with God's word, I need to have a little discipline and read it. Consistently. Not just when I feel like it.
So maybe it's just about consistency? Because when something becomes a part of you, part of the fabric of who you are, you miss it in it's absence. Like when I don't run. But I need to return to discipline because-I'll let you in on a little secret- I suck at consistency. Just ask my family and friends. So even if consistency is where it's at, I still need to invite its annoying Uncle Discipline along.
And so it begins. This dabbling into discipline. I'm worried about becoming legalistic and rule bound. Losing the mystery, spontaneity and excitement of it all. It's just a trial period. If I start wanting a buzz cut and uniform I'll pull the plug. But for fun, let's just see what happens. I'm hoping the end will result in an addiction to love and Love.
dis⋅ci⋅pline /ˈdɪsəplɪn/ –verb
+ to train by instruction and exercise; drill.
+ to bring to a state of order and obedience by training and control.
+ to punish or penalize in order to train and control; correct; chastise.
Synonyms:
+ chastisement, castigation.
+ see punish.
Drill? Control? Punish or penalize? I don't think I want anything to do with that. It's all very unromantic and regimented. And yet, I think I am going to begin a season of discipline. Allow me to explain this, because so far, this appears to be the last thing I would want to do.
This idea of discipline keeps coming up. I was talking with a friend about wanting to be in love with God. About wanting to genuinely love people. I want those things to come naturally. I want to posture myself as a bringer of love, peace, forgiveness and grace. But let's be honest here, that's not natural. Well at least for me it's not. Much to my annoyance. Another thing I'm not a natural at is running. I'm a wheezer, I'm ridiculously slow, I have a little more padding than most born-runners and I can fairly easily convince myself that staying bed is better than lacing up my sneakers. I will say this though, I love it. Absolutely love it. Need it. Crave it. I seriously have withdrawl affects at times.
It wasn't always like this. I remember many days while training for my first big race, wondering what in the world I was doing, trudging through the snow, wet, sweaty and cold, breathing like an overweight smoker climbing a flight of stairs. After many mornings and miles, a funny thing happened. I started to enjoy myself. I started looking forward to my treks. They were rhythmic. Wonderfully predictable and at the same time gloriously unpredictable. I was completely alone and yet surrounded by the city. I felt a sense of accomplishment and release.
I went for a run today on some trails in a park just down the street. Thank the Lord because I was beginning to really, really hate the suburb loop I've been doing. I actually laughed out loud as I turned a corner and an uneven wooden path rose, fell and wound away in front of me, covered in yellow leaves, bathed in golden light from the fall sunlight. Absolute bliss.
To get to the point, it took time to fall in love with running. It took discipline. As much as I hate to admit that. And so perhaps, perhaps part of falling in love with something takes some level of discipline. In order to begin to just love people "naturally" I need to continually make choices that are compassionate. Maybe it means volunteering consistently. Or unloading the dishwasher. Or writing letters. In order to fall in love with God's word, I need to have a little discipline and read it. Consistently. Not just when I feel like it.
So maybe it's just about consistency? Because when something becomes a part of you, part of the fabric of who you are, you miss it in it's absence. Like when I don't run. But I need to return to discipline because-I'll let you in on a little secret- I suck at consistency. Just ask my family and friends. So even if consistency is where it's at, I still need to invite its annoying Uncle Discipline along.
And so it begins. This dabbling into discipline. I'm worried about becoming legalistic and rule bound. Losing the mystery, spontaneity and excitement of it all. It's just a trial period. If I start wanting a buzz cut and uniform I'll pull the plug. But for fun, let's just see what happens. I'm hoping the end will result in an addiction to love and Love.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Saturday Night Fever.
Dancing freaking rocks. I love shakin' my groove thing. And I mean LOVE. I used to be nervous about it. Self-conscious. And then Bottom 40 happened to me. Bottom 40 dusted of my dancing shoes. Or maybe uncovered the sleeping "tiny dancer" inside of me. I cannot get enough.
Friends, please continue to get married so I can hit the dance floor.
Okay, I guess don't get married just so I can dance. Get married because you are madly and deeply in love and want to spend your life together. That is such a beautiful thing. I had the wonderful opportunity to see another perfect match tie the knot tonight. One Meghan Farley and Keith Disselkoen. Now Mr. and Mrs. Disselkoen. In trying to describe their union, spirit-filled is the only word I can come up with. Continually referenced was the couple's character. Their hearts. The fingerprints of God in their relationship. It brought me to tears multiple times. Because of the sweetness. The goodness.
Someday, I would love to have a day like today. Celebrating a strand of three chords. Being with friends and family, looking at a man whom I deeply respect, and telling him I want to share my life. Start a new chapter with someone who brings out the best in me, and helps me love people and Jesus better. I don't know when or if this will occur in my life. But I really do hope so. Husband, I don't know who you are, but I'm excited for that day. And I'm praying for you.
Until God aligns our lives, I'm going to dance like a crazy person okay? My feet are sore, my sweat is drying, I think I'm dehydrated and I probably should stretch before bed. I could have kept dancing all night I think. Acting like an absolute fool on the floor. Shakin' and groovin', singing at the top of my lungs. I feel free and uninhibited. Sometimes I'm rockin' and other times I look like "a retarded string bean" [to quote The Wedding Planner-which I unabashedly adore]. But it doesn't matter-I'm just dancing. I can't freaking WAIT until I get to work it again. Bring on the tunes my friends, and I'll be there to shake it.
Friends, please continue to get married so I can hit the dance floor.
Okay, I guess don't get married just so I can dance. Get married because you are madly and deeply in love and want to spend your life together. That is such a beautiful thing. I had the wonderful opportunity to see another perfect match tie the knot tonight. One Meghan Farley and Keith Disselkoen. Now Mr. and Mrs. Disselkoen. In trying to describe their union, spirit-filled is the only word I can come up with. Continually referenced was the couple's character. Their hearts. The fingerprints of God in their relationship. It brought me to tears multiple times. Because of the sweetness. The goodness.
Someday, I would love to have a day like today. Celebrating a strand of three chords. Being with friends and family, looking at a man whom I deeply respect, and telling him I want to share my life. Start a new chapter with someone who brings out the best in me, and helps me love people and Jesus better. I don't know when or if this will occur in my life. But I really do hope so. Husband, I don't know who you are, but I'm excited for that day. And I'm praying for you.
Until God aligns our lives, I'm going to dance like a crazy person okay? My feet are sore, my sweat is drying, I think I'm dehydrated and I probably should stretch before bed. I could have kept dancing all night I think. Acting like an absolute fool on the floor. Shakin' and groovin', singing at the top of my lungs. I feel free and uninhibited. Sometimes I'm rockin' and other times I look like "a retarded string bean" [to quote The Wedding Planner-which I unabashedly adore]. But it doesn't matter-I'm just dancing. I can't freaking WAIT until I get to work it again. Bring on the tunes my friends, and I'll be there to shake it.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The New Deal.
Learning is always fun in the baby stage.
After a quick tutorial on the really expensive garbage disposal, I wondered when I was going to start forgetting all the information I've been receiving this week. There are so many little details.
Rinse the third pans.
Date the six pans.
The lever needs to be in the manual position to start.
Pull the pin to open.
Bleach and hot water to remove pickle scent.
Flip the cheese. And the soup.
Listen for the timer.
You get the idea. I need to start writing this stuff down. I'm loving it though.
I love the rhythm of the day. Early mornings start with prep activities, readying ourselves. Then the lunch rush begins. For two-ish hours it's controlled chaos. Orders being taken, numbers announced, sandwiches wrapped, soup delivered, smiles given. The time flies by while customers eat delicious creations. Then things begin to slow down. Customers trickle in. We can breathe again. We continue to wind-down, turning the music up, cleaning up, and preparing for the next day.
I wonder how long I will love it. Is it just because it's challenging and new? I usually get psyched about anything in the beginning. Which is part of the reason why I really don't know "what I want to do" because I always change my mind. And honestly, I end up liking something once I get started doing it. I mean, I always loved my classes at the beginning of the semester. And then time passed. And the newness subsided. And it was monotonous. I've felt this way in almost all my jobs. Activities. Etc, etc.
So maybe I'm just addicted to new. The dewy, sunrise of another experience. I get withdraw headaches in the afternoon without it. Er, wait, that's coffee. I guess I just get a restless headache and it takes a bit longer to set in.
As time continues and the number describing my age continues to grow, this fixation with new beginnings could become problematic. Disconnected and nomadic? Unstable perhaps? Then again, maybe it will just lend itself to a lot of different experiences and fun.
Bah. Who knows. But for now, I will sleep. And wake up pumped for another sunrise.
After a quick tutorial on the really expensive garbage disposal, I wondered when I was going to start forgetting all the information I've been receiving this week. There are so many little details.
Rinse the third pans.
Date the six pans.
The lever needs to be in the manual position to start.
Pull the pin to open.
Bleach and hot water to remove pickle scent.
Flip the cheese. And the soup.
Listen for the timer.
You get the idea. I need to start writing this stuff down. I'm loving it though.
I love the rhythm of the day. Early mornings start with prep activities, readying ourselves. Then the lunch rush begins. For two-ish hours it's controlled chaos. Orders being taken, numbers announced, sandwiches wrapped, soup delivered, smiles given. The time flies by while customers eat delicious creations. Then things begin to slow down. Customers trickle in. We can breathe again. We continue to wind-down, turning the music up, cleaning up, and preparing for the next day.
I wonder how long I will love it. Is it just because it's challenging and new? I usually get psyched about anything in the beginning. Which is part of the reason why I really don't know "what I want to do" because I always change my mind. And honestly, I end up liking something once I get started doing it. I mean, I always loved my classes at the beginning of the semester. And then time passed. And the newness subsided. And it was monotonous. I've felt this way in almost all my jobs. Activities. Etc, etc.
So maybe I'm just addicted to new. The dewy, sunrise of another experience. I get withdraw headaches in the afternoon without it. Er, wait, that's coffee. I guess I just get a restless headache and it takes a bit longer to set in.
As time continues and the number describing my age continues to grow, this fixation with new beginnings could become problematic. Disconnected and nomadic? Unstable perhaps? Then again, maybe it will just lend itself to a lot of different experiences and fun.
Bah. Who knows. But for now, I will sleep. And wake up pumped for another sunrise.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Rough Chopping and Johnny Cash.
I should be working on sleeping because tomorrow will be a long day but I need to write this while it's fresh in my mind.
_______
I took a short nap today and in my sleepy-waking up fogginess I laid on the couch wondering what life was all about, and why I couldn't just sleep all day.
I'm not sure I've obtained the answers. But I did learn a lot tonight. 4th Street Deli opens tomorrow and I will be there. Behind the counters. Doing who the hell knows what, and I'm nervited. [nervous+excited] Tonight, we prepped. O, the joys of prepping! Perhaps influenced by the book I'm currently reading Take This Bread by Sara Miles, but working in a kitchen is sublime.
I rough copped.
I made shrimp salad with a handful of celery, and onion. A sprinkle of this. A glob of that. Mixed it with my gloved hand to the lyrics of Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls.
The kitchen smelled like oregano, chicken, mayo, cilantro and hot soapy water.
And the earthy, musty smell of sweat. Which, I actually really enjoyed. Reminiscent of the summer perhaps, but honestly pleasant for whatever odd reason.
I made cilantro, lemon pesto and tomato garlic vinaigarettes. One part white balsamic, three parts oil. Watching for a slow drip off your gloved finger. Constantly blending.
I wrapped jalapeno, wheat and tomato bollos.
I de-stemmed parsley with Johnny Cash.
Yellow cutting boards for chicken, blue for cooked meat.
Always sanitize to prevent cross-contamination.
Watch out for the back splash at the dish washing sink, don't use the XL gloves and tie up the neck of your apron to save your shirt.
O, and the purple handled wisk is the spongy one.
It was glorious. My feet slipping and sliding on the floor, clumsily dancing with the others in the kitchen. A hive full of activity, smells and tastes. Colors and textures. I can't wait to prep again.
_______
I took a short nap today and in my sleepy-waking up fogginess I laid on the couch wondering what life was all about, and why I couldn't just sleep all day.
I'm not sure I've obtained the answers. But I did learn a lot tonight. 4th Street Deli opens tomorrow and I will be there. Behind the counters. Doing who the hell knows what, and I'm nervited. [nervous+excited] Tonight, we prepped. O, the joys of prepping! Perhaps influenced by the book I'm currently reading Take This Bread by Sara Miles, but working in a kitchen is sublime.
I rough copped.
I made shrimp salad with a handful of celery, and onion. A sprinkle of this. A glob of that. Mixed it with my gloved hand to the lyrics of Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls.
The kitchen smelled like oregano, chicken, mayo, cilantro and hot soapy water.
And the earthy, musty smell of sweat. Which, I actually really enjoyed. Reminiscent of the summer perhaps, but honestly pleasant for whatever odd reason.
I made cilantro, lemon pesto and tomato garlic vinaigarettes. One part white balsamic, three parts oil. Watching for a slow drip off your gloved finger. Constantly blending.
I wrapped jalapeno, wheat and tomato bollos.
I de-stemmed parsley with Johnny Cash.
Yellow cutting boards for chicken, blue for cooked meat.
Always sanitize to prevent cross-contamination.
Watch out for the back splash at the dish washing sink, don't use the XL gloves and tie up the neck of your apron to save your shirt.
O, and the purple handled wisk is the spongy one.
It was glorious. My feet slipping and sliding on the floor, clumsily dancing with the others in the kitchen. A hive full of activity, smells and tastes. Colors and textures. I can't wait to prep again.
Monday, October 5, 2009
My Favorite Part of Me.
I just dropped some serious coin into my car today. If it wasn't such a sweet ride... I'd be a little bit upset...
Anyway.
Due to this little mishap I also missed my second job meeting. For the first meeting I was almost late and parked in the wrong place. I'm off to a good start.
Let's just say it was a rough day.
I felt like it was the worst day. On days like these, I think about how much of a loser I am. I make terrible decisions. I'm flaky and unorganized. Everyone is a better writer. Everyone else has their life together. I have no skills. And I'm slightly unbalanced. Just slightly.
How do I get to this place?
Sometimes I honestly think I am unbalanced after episodes like this. But maybe it's good for me. Good for me to be reminded of my loser-status. Beneficial to remind me that I'm not that special, talented or wonderful. Shane and Shane pretty much sum it up with,
I've got nothing.
Without Jesus. He's the glue that's holding this whole thing together. So I guess what it is I'm trying to say is that I need some balance. I need something good in me. And I find that in a guy who lead a revolution a few thousand years ago, bringing a new way and redeeming this feeble attempt I am presently making to live a life that means something.
I've been reading this almost every day lately, and since it holds more goodness and wisdom than I could write, I thought I'd put it here:
Anyway.
Due to this little mishap I also missed my second job meeting. For the first meeting I was almost late and parked in the wrong place. I'm off to a good start.
Let's just say it was a rough day.
I felt like it was the worst day. On days like these, I think about how much of a loser I am. I make terrible decisions. I'm flaky and unorganized. Everyone is a better writer. Everyone else has their life together. I have no skills. And I'm slightly unbalanced. Just slightly.
How do I get to this place?
Sometimes I honestly think I am unbalanced after episodes like this. But maybe it's good for me. Good for me to be reminded of my loser-status. Beneficial to remind me that I'm not that special, talented or wonderful. Shane and Shane pretty much sum it up with,
What it is I’m trying to say
Is you are my favorite part of me [Holiday, Pages Album]
I've got nothing.
Without Jesus. He's the glue that's holding this whole thing together. So I guess what it is I'm trying to say is that I need some balance. I need something good in me. And I find that in a guy who lead a revolution a few thousand years ago, bringing a new way and redeeming this feeble attempt I am presently making to live a life that means something.
I've been reading this almost every day lately, and since it holds more goodness and wisdom than I could write, I thought I'd put it here:
Isaiah 55
Invitation to the Thirsty
1 "Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost.
2 Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.
3 Give ear and come to me;
hear me, that your soul may live.
I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
my faithful love promised to David.
4 See, I have made him a witness to the peoples,
a leader and commander of the peoples.
5 Surely you will summon nations you know not,
and nations that do not know you will hasten to you,
because of the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel,
for he has endowed you with splendor."
6 Seek the LORD while he may be found;
call on him while he is near.
7 Let the wicked forsake his way
and the evil man his thoughts.
Let him turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on him,
and to our God, for he will freely pardon.
8 "For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.
9 "As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
10 As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
12 You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
13 Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the LORD's renown,
for an everlasting sign,
which will not be destroyed."
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Dog Conspiracy.
So I never grew up with a dog. I don't really know what to do with myself when a four legged friend approaches. But apparently they know what to do with me.
Now, I'm not really a big animal person in general. They just seem like a lot of work and I'm not a huge fan of hair or slobber. Or the smell that accompanies most animals. But dang it, dogs are growing on me. I hate to say it, but it's true.
It all started with a German short hair pointer that I watched, much to some of my friend's surprise, last year. It was incredibly well-behaved, relatively odor free and a great walking partner. I try to be polite when a guest in someone's home, and if they have a dog that means not running or shouting when they bombard you. And let me tell you, I am a magnet. I swear they pick me out. It's got to be some sort of conspiracy.
I was at Prudhomme's house and Kota could not get enough of me. I was greeted rather aggressively at the door, and awkwardly tried to get him to stop jumping. I always just end up half-falling, half-walking, flinching and blinking, trying to be assertive while whispering commands they've probably never heard before. Let's just say it doesn't usually go well. I sat down and he continued to lick my hand and sniff me. I politely rubbed his head a few times in the hopes he'd leave. But he stayed. To avoid the hot, sticky, wet tongue, I continued to play with his ears as we chatted in the living room. He was kinda soft. And it was kind of fun playing with his ears.
I don't think I'll be running off to the pet store anytime soon. But dogs are everywhere. And they love me, so I might as well get used to it. Shoot, at this rate maybe I'll even own a dog someday.
Until then, if you keep it up dogs, you'll wiggle, shed and slobber your way into my heart, which has probably been your plan from the beginning.
Now, I'm not really a big animal person in general. They just seem like a lot of work and I'm not a huge fan of hair or slobber. Or the smell that accompanies most animals. But dang it, dogs are growing on me. I hate to say it, but it's true.
It all started with a German short hair pointer that I watched, much to some of my friend's surprise, last year. It was incredibly well-behaved, relatively odor free and a great walking partner. I try to be polite when a guest in someone's home, and if they have a dog that means not running or shouting when they bombard you. And let me tell you, I am a magnet. I swear they pick me out. It's got to be some sort of conspiracy.
I was at Prudhomme's house and Kota could not get enough of me. I was greeted rather aggressively at the door, and awkwardly tried to get him to stop jumping. I always just end up half-falling, half-walking, flinching and blinking, trying to be assertive while whispering commands they've probably never heard before. Let's just say it doesn't usually go well. I sat down and he continued to lick my hand and sniff me. I politely rubbed his head a few times in the hopes he'd leave. But he stayed. To avoid the hot, sticky, wet tongue, I continued to play with his ears as we chatted in the living room. He was kinda soft. And it was kind of fun playing with his ears.
I don't think I'll be running off to the pet store anytime soon. But dogs are everywhere. And they love me, so I might as well get used to it. Shoot, at this rate maybe I'll even own a dog someday.
Until then, if you keep it up dogs, you'll wiggle, shed and slobber your way into my heart, which has probably been your plan from the beginning.
An Ode to Ohio
the open road
white lines and yellow flashes
black dashboard
thick grey clouds, heavy, cold
burning trees and golden fields
red barns
corn soldiers
small towns and football stadiums
rusty metal
chipped paint
brick businesses and neatly lettered signs
a tractor driven by yellow gloved hands
a friendly wave from the mailbox
blue skies peaking through
hot sun, cool air
steady beats and addicting melodies
stick shift and steering wheel rhythms
stories, written and lived
stringy caramel
chocolate, melty and creamy
unbridled laughter
uncontrolled joy
deep full breaths
impulsive, felicitous praise
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