Kelp and Hot Flashes

One of my daughters (a lonnnng way off from menopause) mentioned that she sometimes uses refined salt because of the iodine content.  When she was exclusively on unrefined salt, she began having hot flashes.  She discovered that one symptom of iodine deficiency can be hot flashes.

Quite a few years ago, we bought a bottle of kelp supplements -- essentially seaweed in capsule form and thus full of iodine.  This summer I began taking a few capsules each week for the mere reason of thinking there was nutrition there that ought not go to waste.  But after hearing about my daughter's experience, it clicked: it's the kelp that has been keeping my hot flashes at bay.  Not the supplements aimed at menopause-type symptoms. 

So now I'm more careful to remember my kelp, and I'm having no problem with hot flashes anymore.  The downside of this is that --this year-- I'm needing sweaters and socks as the cool weather sets in.  Well ... better than growing me a goiter!

Psalm 111:4

He has made His wonderful works to be remembered. (Ps 111)


Not only has He done wonderful works.

But He also makes sure that we (we who are weak, we who cannot remember, we who cannot by our own reason or strength believe) know of His wonderful works.

Sometimes I worry that I cannot possibly remain in the faith for the rest of my life.  But hey, I'm not the one who keeps me believing anyhow.  He makes His wonderful works to be remembered!

New Dishes

The old dishes were annoying us.  Quite a few had broken.  The bowls didn't stack, and thus hogged too much space in cupboards.  The plates were so flat that, when carried to the sink after a meal, silverware and salad dressing and meat juice would slide off the plate and fall on the floor.  But even cheap dishes ($3 per place setting) seem too pricey when we already have dishes.

So every trip to Goodwill included a scan of the dishes-section.
#1 --  "Do the bowls stack nicely?" 
#2 --  "Are there enough place settings?"
#3 --  "Is there some sort of raised edge on the plates?"
#4 --  "Ugly, tolerable, nice, or pretty?"

Last month I finally found bowls that stacked, plates that weren't too flat, with plenty of pieces for four people.  On top of that, there were several serving pieces in the set.  My only problem was that the dishes are SO pretty.  Could I buy them?  Would the men in the house be bothered by the flowers? 

Less than $20 for 26 pieces.  And the guys are okay with new set.  Woo hoo!  And not once has a knife slid off a plate as we clear the table after a meal. 

And I'm tickled -- they're SO pretty!!!  Sometimes it's the little things that make you smile!  As a friend said recently, "Never underestimate the power of a coffee mug that makes you happy."

Where IS That Tree of Life Anyhow?

And he showed me a pure river of water of life, 
clear as crystal, 
proceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb. 
In the middle of its street, 
and on either side of the river, 
was the tree of life, 
which bore twelve fruits, 
each tree yielding its fruit every month. (Rev 22:1-2)


Okay, okay.  I know that what John saw can't be described very easily, and that we're often told it's in "apocalyptic language" and all that jazz.  But still, there's this tree that's in the middle of the street (or is it in the midst of the river?) and it's on either side of the river. And I always thought, "I am just not getting the layout of this picture here.  What's where?"  But then I noticed something in church.


First, we know that the tree of life is connected to Jesus' cross (a tree!) and that the fruits of this tree are for our healing.  Second, we know that blood and water came from that tree, from Jesus' side, and that we are saved via baptism (water) and the Lord's Supper (blood).  (And if you don't believe me on that, take a peek at 1 John 5.)



So here's what I'm pondering about this whole "location thing" of this tree:
 
When you look at the altar on Sunday morning, the chalice and the paten are in the "middle of the street," kinda.  Y'know, they're in the center.  If you're walking up the center aisle of church, they're smack-dab in front of you.  But then, what happens during the distribution?  The pastor is taking of that "tree," that fruit, to the communicants kneeling along the altar rail, "on either side of the river."  So it's in the middle and it's on either side.  I think that's cool.



Maybe this is silly.  But it takes what seems to me to be an unwieldy picture and makes it a little more understandable.  And it dovetails with what we know about the worship life of the Church and so much of the imagery used throughout Scriptures.

Counterfeit Money

I have seen counterfeit money at work that is fresh off the presses, crisp, new, and fake.  Counterfeits are more likely to be "distressed" though -- crumpled and a bit dirty.  The counterfeiters know that a fresh bill is more likely to catch attention.  (And fresh ones do.  Even the real money that is bright and crisp gets my attention, and I examine it a bit more than normal.)

But the fakes I've encountered over the last couple of months have been in horrible shape.  They've been so faded they're barely legible.  Thing is, that can happen to real money too.  Some of the counterfeits have been torn in two and taped together (one with masking tape instead of clear tape).  But we see that too in real money.  Some of the counterfeits have a humongous black mark on it, from Sharpie or dirt.  That too can happen with real bills.  It seems that the thieves are hiding their counterfeits by making the money look so bad that people assume the badness of the money is from how crumpled & torn & marked & faded instead of noticing that the badness is from its being FAKE. 

Moral of the story: go ahead and be suspicious of really cruddy bills. 

Come Unto Me, and I Will Give You Rest

And when the fight is fierce, the warfare long,
steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
and hearts are brave again and arms are strong.
Alleluia!

Ah, how hungers all my spirit
for the love I do not merit!
Oft have I with sighs fast thronging
thought upon this food with longing,
in the battle well-nigh worsted
for this cup of life have thirsted,
for the Friend who here invites us
and to God Himself unites us.

Weary am I and heavy-laden.
With sin my soul is sore oppressed.
Receive me graciously and gladden my heart
which here is now Thy guest.
Lord, may Thy body and Thy blood
be for my soul the highest good.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Look at that!  All three of those hymns say the exact same thing! 

Anthropomorphizing God?

The math books we're using this year are marvelous.   They cover all sorts of non-math stuff too!  So last week we were reading about anthropomorphizing* pets.  Or a chair.  Or a clock.  Or the sun.  The author also mentioned that some people anthropomorphize God.

Think about that.

Can somebody anthropomorphize YOU in a story?  Can a news article anthropomorphize a rock star or a politician? 

It's nonsensical. 

So how can GOD be anthropomorphized?

Sure, you can do it if you're Muslim or Jewish or Hindu.  You might even think it's possible to anthropomorphize God if you believe what too many Christians believe: that Jesus quit being a man and went back to being "just God" when He ascended to the Father's right hand. 

But we trust in a God who was incarnate.  Our God is a man.  So how can we even talk about "anthropomorphizing" somebody who's human?



* footnote: ascribing human characteristics 
to a non-human creature or object

Christmas Lights

We came home on Tuesday night to find a massive amount of Christmas lights decorating a tree in our yard.

We didn't put them there.  The neighbor did. 

Gary said the wife asked (after she saw what the husband did) if it would be okay or if they should take the light-strands down.  So it appears she has some understanding of our yard as differentiated from their yard.

But there's still something uncomfortable about seeing that display.

A Terminal Illness

(At risk of offending Jenny and sending her running away, with her fingers in her ears, singing "La la la la la la la....  I can't hear yooooooouu....")

There is a certain amount of mourning to go through upon receiving the diagnosis of a terminal illness.  It shocks.  It saddens.  It often forces one into involuntary fasting.  It drives us to prayer.

But then life goes on.  For a while.  Maybe longer than the doctor expected.  Maybe shorter.  But the life that goes on, goes on with a changed perspective.  (Remember that country song, "I hope you get a chance to live like you were dying"?)



There are certain economic realities.  Believing that these economic principles are just somebody's "beliefs" or somebody's opinion Does Not Change the fact that these economic principles are incontrovertible truths.  When these economic laws are transgressed, there will be consequences.  (It's no different from my believing that I can fly will result in my smashing onto the ground when I "fly" off the roof of the house.)



Tuesday's vote totals were not due to voter fraud.  Tuesday's decision was a revelation of the will of the American people. Tuesday was a turning point in American history.  (Or maybe election day of 2008 was, but this Tuesday showed that November 2008 wasn't a fluke.)

So now we mourn the diagnosis.  No, we don't know when the end will come.  But we live with two realities: the days are numbered, and God still blesses.  We pray "Give us this day our daily bread" with a greater understanding of the "dailiness" and less reliance on our own strength to provide for ourselves.  We live with uncertainty about the future of our temporal existence, with nothing to rely on but the Lord's gracious promises.  We cannot count on a future of prosperity and a retirement laced with world travel, so we will be content to take each day as it comes, thankful for whatever joys of life and family and creature-comforts we happen to have at the moment.

And that's not necessarily a bad place to be.
We don't like having our idols taken away.  But when we do, there is only One who remains true and faithful and inflinchingly for us.  

"This is the victory that overcomes the world -- even our Faith."

To the Polls

One 5-quart crockpot full of African peanut soup.  Bowls, spoons, ladle.
Hummus, sliced cucumbers, and pita chips.
Fresh salsa, guacamole, and tortilla chips.
Hot pot, tea bags, stevia, and mugs.
Water bottles full of good water from home (in hopes of avoiding the city water for at least part of the day).
Teriyaki beef jerkey, cashews, and trail mix.
Apples, pineapple chunks, cherry tomatoes, and tangerines.

It's going to be a LONG day at the polls.  The township provides donuts for breakfast, and sends along some white-bread buns & bagels to help with the pollworkers' lunch.  I do not need to start a long and stressful day on a sugar-&-white-bread fix.  So I'm taking along MY version of yummy comfort foods.

The prospect of out-of-state poll watchers scares me.  I guess part of the point is that they want to be intimidating, huh?

So how exhausted will I be, come evening?  Fall-into-bed tired?  Or so curious as to need to watch some election results?

Gary's Back

Three weeks ago Gary hurt his back by committing the wild and crazy act of [gasp!] setting a coffee cup on his desk.  After several doctor visits, four days of working from home, lots of drugs, and six days of being [self-]banned from driving, he began to improve. 

God answered our prayers and decreased Gary's pain, increased his mobility, and provided the above torture device equipment via Craigslist.  (Torture device:  look how red his face is!)  The doctor suggested borrowing an inversion table from somebody to see if it might help.  Finding nothing to borrow, we were thankful to find one on Craigslist the very next day for a great price and only a half-hour away.

The inversion table has helped tremendously.  Gary even mowed the lawn today!

We stumbled over the inversion table which sat smack-dab in the middle of the living room for over a week.  But now Gary needs it only once or twice a day (instead of 4+ times daily) and Gary's capable of walking up and down the stairs easily [woo hoo!]. So it was time to relegate the torture device to the dungeon basement.

This involved a massive rearrangement of the basement.  Bookshelves were moved.  (Argh!  That is always SO much work!!)  We dusted and vacuumed.  Hardest of all, I sorted through some stuff to pitch.  Ow, ow, owie!  It hurts to throw away perfectly good homeschooling software just because the programs are too obsolete to run on any computer we've got around here.  It hurts to throw out vcr tapes of movies I love; but who wants videotapes these days?  The garbage stack will be big this week.  The finished part of the basement is opened, neatened, put in order, and cleaned. 

And we can walk through the living room again.

October Confirmations at Church

Alia's Theology

My 3-yr-old-at-the-time granddaughter drew this picture recently.  It was one of many, including making some letters, drawing a chicken, and some plain old scribbling.  But her mother wanted to get a picture of this one before it was erased for whatever-came-next.

The Aftermath of the Election

I just realized today that I haven't been praying too much about the outcome of the election.  Over the last couple of weeks, I've been praying more for how the people respond to the election results. 

Four years ago I remember people talked about how great it is that, in America, unlike some other nations, there was a peaceful transfer of power.  [Assuming the incumbent is not re-elected] will we be saying the same thing next year about this transfer of power?

Today in the prayer of the Church, we asked for "faithful citizens."  That's about Tuesday.  But it's also about the days and weeks following Tuesday.  Lord, have mercy.

Nerds

Paul and Mandy in their Halloween best!

Those Martyrs

Excuse me for a brief ADD moment regarding Romans 5:


For when we were still without strength,
in due time Christ died for the ungodly.
For scarcely for a righteous man will one die;
yet perhaps 
for a good man someone would even dare to die.
But God demonstrates His own love toward us,
in that while we were still sinners, 
Christ died for us.   (Romans 5)



So Jesus told John Mark (aka, the "rich young ruler") that no one was good but God. 

Jesus IS the "good man."

Perhaps for a good man --for the Good Man-- someone would maybe possibly dare even to die.   "Those martyrs stand, a priestly band, God's throne forever near."




Ah, but that's not Paul's point here.  His point is that Christ does what none of us could ever do: He dies for the ungodly, for sinners, for me.

Why It's Hard to Pray

from John Kleinig (not a quote but the gist of what he said) --

You find it hard to pray?  You intend to have family devotions every evening?  You intend to do a better job this time of sticking to your private prayers each day?  But you keep failing!

That's exactly what the devil wants!  Your failure to pray doesn't mean you're a failure at it and therefore should give up.  Your failure to pray is, instead, proof that the devil is out to stop you at all costs.  Your failures are, oddly, evidence of how important your prayers are!

And maybe if you know how important it is to Satan that you don't pray, maybe it will be easier to persevere in your prayers, going to your Father who invites you, who offers you help, who promises to hear.

Country Dancing

Mr Toad's Character

What a difference 100 years can make!

Background:  Maggie and I weren't sure what new book to start after our last read-aloud concluded.  We'd run across a reference to The Wind in the Willows in her math book [yes, I did say math book, odd as that may sound to those of you who don't know Fred] and I realized that Maggie had not heard TWitW last time the family had read it.  [Amazing problem that homeschool mothers have!  Some children have the audacity to not be born yet when you did something that all the kids were supposed to experience for "school."] So anyway, we grabbed a copy from the library and started reading.  I enjoyed the book well enough when we read it 20 years ago, but I'm finding it positively delightful this time!!  Maggie appears to be finding it acceptable. 

In The Wind in the Willows, Mr Toad likes new things.  He likes nice clothes.  He flits from one new curiosity/passion to another.  When he fell in love with boating, he ditched his previous passions.  When he decided to go traveling in a gypsy carriage, he was done-done-done with boating.  When he discovered a motor car, he promptly dropped his interest in traveling in his gypsy carriage. 

My impression is that, when the book was written, this Affinity For The New was seen as a character flaw.  Most of the other animals were more content with their place in life and with the simple pleasures of their surroundings.  Not Mr Toad.  The other critters bore with Mr Toad's idiosyncrasies.  He was curious about new things and always wanted to find out more about whatever-was-novel-today.

Today, in our society, in our economy, it's all flip-flopped.  Contentment is not considered good.  It's often considered hokey.  It's often considered unpatriotic (as contentment won't boost consumerism).  And it's definitely considered "dull."  Desire-for-the-new is held up as a cherished characteristic. 

We even run political campaigns with the promise of CHANGE.

My, how values have ... uh ... changed.

I have gobs of pictures to download off my camera. But in the meantime I will steal borrow some other people's snapshots.

Alia raking leaves.

Our friend Rachel caught a lovely picture of Maggie!

Olivia and Andrew.

Olivia and Maggie.

Mandy and Paul.

Zoe in the pile of leaves.

Surely in Temples Made with Hands...

I used to love "Built on the Rock the Church Doth Stand."  It has some great lines and a good, strong tune. 

But when I began to understand that Jesus really truly IS there in the Divine Service -- there in His word -- there in the Supper -- there in the preaching -- there in the absolving -- I began to be troubled by

Surely in temples made with hands
God the most high is not dwelling.
High above earth His temple stands,
all earthly temples excelling.

But He is dwelling here, in this building, in this nave, in this chancel, on this altar.  He is!

When I crabbed about that line to Pastor Wiest, he told me to "take it up with Paul" because it's exactly what the apostle said when he was preaching in Athens, at Mars Hill.  Well, just go and hog-tie me, Pastor Wiest!  Darn it, how can I argue with the apostle who was inspired by God to say it?

But it still bothered me.

So after church today we looked at the Greek.  And now it makes a little more sense.  All through John -- especially where Jesus talks about abiding in the word, and abiding in the Spirit, and abiding in Him, and His abiding in us -- it's a different word.  It's not the same kind of "dwell."  So often "dwelling" is "living" or "abiding" or "remaining."  But at Mars Hill, when Paul said that God does not "dwell" in earthly temples, it's more like God isn't housed in earthly temples, like, y'know, "contained."  

Well, now, that makes loads more sense. 

He does abide here in our churches.  He does remain there.  He does dwell with us there.  But He's not limited there; He's not locked up there.

So now I'm wondering what impression the song gives other people.  Maybe I'm the only one.  Maybe everybody else thinks it's a no-brainer that God is everywhere and yet at the same time is specially located in the holy place of our churches.

Hush That Timer!

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

"Whose timer?'
Nobody answers.

"Hey, Andrew, is that your timer?"
"No, I didn't set it."

When I find Gary, "Hey, did you set the timer?"
"No."

When I find Maggie, "What's the timer for?"
"I don't know."

"Well, somebody must have set it for something."

But nobody owned up to it.





Oops.
Oh yeah....
I wanted to remember to not forget the perma-press in the dryer.

Oops.

A Story: The Dark Night of the Soul

One Tuesday evening twenty-some years ago, I sat in a classroom at the seminary with about 100 other women.  The sem offered mini-classes for wives, and this one was crowded because it was being led by a popular teacher.  One of the wives brought up her fear for the rest of us.  You see, according to her, the rest of us weren't really Christians.  We hadn't really turned our lives over to Jesus.  We hadn't really made Him lord of our lives.  She knew what we were like because she used to be one of us, thinking that she was a Christian.  But then, ah, then, she had a conversion experience, you see.  She wanted us to realize our dire straits so that we too might Make A Decision For Jesus and thus be saved.

Her proof-text for all this was from Matthew 7: "Not everyone who says to Me, 'Lord, Lord,' shall enter the kingdom of heaven....  I will declare to them, 'I never knew you; depart from Me, all you who practice lawlessness.'"  She accused the whole class of being the ones who thought they were doing the Lord's work but who would be surprised at the end of the world when Jesus says, "Get lost; I never knew you."

I remember well how the teacher/pastor let her keep talking.  I remember well how he said somberly, "Yes, that passage frightens me.  How do I know if I am the one to whom Jesus will say, 'Depart from Me'?"  I remember well how that evening terrified me.

For three weeks, life was hell.  I knew I couldn't pray for help.  After all, God only hears the prayers of Christians, and I obviously was not a Christian.  I don't think I talked to Gary about it at the time; it would be shameful to tell him about it.  I was afraid of death, afraid of a freak car accident or whatever might suddenly kill a 20-something gal.  Death meant an eternity in hell; I wasn't a Christian.  I was trapped in my imperfection.  I had no hope.  There was nothing I could do to ensure that I was living up to God's standards.  Nothing I could do to ensure His wrath would not zot me to hell. 

Then, blessedly, this came up, somehow, in a conversation with our pastor.  Tom Baker [no, not Four, and not Puddleglum, but the pastor] lavished the Gospel upon me.  He told me that Jesus was the one who baptized me.  He told me that God chose me, that I couldn't choose Him.  He told me that Jesus' death on the cross forgives my sin.  He kept telling me and telling me and telling me, forgiving me, blessing me, pointing me to Christ and His work instead of ro my navel-gazing.  I suppose it might have been a little like Luther's tower experience.  "You mean He forgives me?  Me?  But it really is true that I'm as sinful and unbelieving as this 'holy' woman accused.  And still, Jesus forgives me???"

Today I can see how God worked good through that hellish situation.  What the devil means for destruction, God uses to draw needy people to Himself.  I have had to learn again and again what Pastor Baker gave me that day, that week, that month.  Yes, the accusations of Satan (and that sem wife) on that horrible Tuesday night so long ago, ... the accusations are true.  But truer yet --and oh so much bigger-- is my Savior's love for me and His blood shed to save me. 





Through the years I wondered how the teacher could stand in front of class and allow that woman's accusations to stand unanswered.  Through the years I wondered if he too had been damned by her words.   Was the pastor so full of doubts that he could not defend the scores of women in the room that night?  Had someone come to him later with the good news of the forgiveness of sins?  Had someone brought him the peace that Pastor Baker brought to me?  How sad it would be to "hope"* that Jesus' righteousness would cover you, while continuing in the uncertainty that Jesus might instead announce on the Last Day, "I never knew you."

 *Footnote: Sometimes "hope" means

 a sure and certain hope, something 

that is incontrovertible.  But too often

 "hope" means merely wishful thinking.

In Christ Jesus 

we have boldness

and access  

with confidence

through faith in Him.   (Eph 3)

Gobs of Tables

Today is garbage pick-up.

So we're driving to chapel this morning, and I see a table out with the neighbor's trash.   I was gripped by an overwhelming urge to brake and turn around and nab that table!

Maggie didn't understand.  She doesn't remember Nanna's basement.  Nobody in my family ever bought tables.  We just took one from the stash in my grandma's basement.  Why she had a penchant for collecting tables, I do not know.  But she did.

And as revealed by this morning's fight with myself over "To dumpster-dive, or not to dumpster-dive?  That is the question," there must be a smidge of Nanna's need-for-tables in my genetic make-up.

Loving the Beautiful People?

He has no form or comeliness.
And when we see Him, 
there is no beauty that we should desire Him.
He is despised and rejected by men,
a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.  (Isaiah 53)

Oh, so if there were beauty, 
then maybe we would desire Him.

In other words, 
we desire what pleases us, 

what makes us happy, 

what is beautiful to us.

"Well, DUH," you say. 

"Who desires what's despicable?" you say.

Oh.

Yeah.

There is One who does.

How weird!

How blessedly weird!

And amazingly, that weird, unearned love makes the ugly one beautiful. 

Demon Possession

"Can a Christian be demon possessed?"  I've lost count of how many times I've heard people ask that question.  And this week I heard a most awesome answer.

Christians can and will be attacked by the demons.  That's not possession; it's an attack.  A person may wonder if it's demon-possession.  It may feel the same.  It may appear to be the same.  But in the end, does it matter if we know whether it's an attack or possession?  After all, the remedy is the same thing: "Depart, you unclean spirit, and make room for the Holy Spirit!" ... and then the comfort of the forgiveness of sins for Jesus' sake is applied to the afflicted one.

How awesome is that?!

Devotions

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise."

Is that really so difficult to say?

I recently attended a gathering.  The devotions had no invocation, no versicles, no creed, no hymn, no psalms, no canticles.  The devotions started with a religious reading, followed by a prayer.  You'd think we could have at least prayed the Lord's Prayer.  (Jesus did say, after all, "When you pray, say 'Our Father....'")

We've been reading John Kleinig's book Grace Upon Grace for Bible class this fall.  In it, he talks about how God's people are made holy by things like the invocation, creed, Our Father, and the benediction.  As I read that section of the book, I reflected on how impotent we think those words are.  They seem silly to most of us.  They seem little.  They seem like the same-old-same-old. 

And then you throw together more than a hundred Christians, and we pray, and I feel cheated (yes, cheated!) that we can't even say "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."  We can't have someone read a psalm to which we can respond with the Gloria Patri.  We can't confess the Faith together -- "I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth...." 

Really, dear pastors.  God gave you the words to say.  You can find them in the book.  He ordered you to speak them for my comfort, for my strengthening, for my life.  Would you please just say them?!

Jereboam's Sign

The man of God was sent to Israel to prophesy to King Jereboam (1 Kings 13).  The Lord told the prophet not to eat or drink while he was there.  When the king invited him to stay for lunch, the prophet said no.  When a false prophet invited him for lunch, the Lord's prophet said no.  But then the false prophet scammed him, saying that the Lord had had sent a message for the guy to stay and eat after all.  So the prophet did.  I feel for the guy in the story.  He'd done the hard job of reporting bad news to the king. He'd already said "no thanks" a couple of times.  Then he listened when someone lied to him.  I can sympathize with his reticence to being rude to the men of Israel.

Still, he died.
The Lord said "Don't eat while you're there."
He ate.  He died.

It seems like such a small thing he did wrong.

But this is a sign to Jereboam.  Death was the result when Adam and Eve turned from God's word.  Because we forget those stories of ancient history, God gave a fresh sign to Jereboam: "Act contrary to the good word I have given you, and it will result in death."  If such a small disobedience resulted in the prophet's death, how could Jereboam ever hope to escape death for leading God's people into idolatry and false worship?  What God says will surely come to pass.

Darned Allergies

I polluted my body today.  Attending a conference, I consumed a cup of coffee (with sugar), a cup of tea (with sugar), some white-bread noodles with lunch (although I had the sense to skip the white-bread sandwich), store-mayo on the cole slaw, a delectable clam chowder (sigh -- dairy, of course), two bites of cake, a small Pepsi, a handful of white-bread pretzels, and two glasses of beer.   And I failed to take my enzymes with lunch.

Ah-choo!
Ah-choo!

At least I had the self-control to NOT guzzle sweet-tea all afternoon and to keep my hands off the candy-bars.

Ah-choo!
Ah-choo!

So this is why I bother to take my vitamins, drink my kombucha, take my enzymes, bake my whole-grain-laden brown bread, mix my own salad dressings, etc.  All that dag-blasted effort I put into eating right must make a difference after all.  One brief day of minor indulgences and this is how much I itch and sneeze?!

Tomorrow I will do better.

I hope.

A Cascade Effect

It's common for those with some level of monetary security (even though it's not wealth) to look down on those without.  I remember years ago when Rush would dispute the line, "There, but for the grace of God, go I."  He had a point.  It does matter that people rein in their spending and that they work hard and make good decisions.

But what I've been noticing is how bad situations multiply.  Also, how good situations multiply.  It's like there's a spiral, going up or going down.  It's like there's momentum in one direction, momentum that can be slowed or increased, but which is very hard to reverse entirely.

A person may have been in a devastating car accident.  A woman may have been abandoned by her husband, with children to care for.  Maybe a house fire.  Maybe cancer or some other disease.  Maybe a house that turns out to be termite-infested or full of mold.  Sure, bad things happen, and people can (and do) work hard to rise above the circumstances.  But when there are ongoing health problems, it makes it harder to obtain work and advance in the company.  When there are financial problems, there's that much less money available, and so maybe a person can't take advantage of a good deal when it pops up.

And in the same way, good situations feed off themselves.  Maybe a teenager can find a good job because the parents have connections.  If there's extra money, it can go toward investments, or toward paying off a house (or buying the next car with cash) so that less is wasted on interest.  A person with good health can expend the effort and ability to do things that not only save money but also increase well-being; consider older folks who cannot shovel their own walks or clean their own gutters and what it will cost them to hire someone to handle those chores. In this society, a person with nice clothes and pretty looks will face different opportunities than those with haggard and grizzled appearance.

Katie was telling us today how some of the people Nathan runs into at work look down on those who have less.  Katie was listening to moms at the library who are pleased that one of them found a maid who will work for very little money.  In both cases, it was like the poorer people deserved what they got.  And it is true that poor choices will often result in uncomfortable results while responsible choices may result in more freedom.  But certainly not always! 

What are people supposed to do when they're stuck on the downward spiral?  Can we intervene in others' bad-momentum and slow it or reverse it?

The Sun's Bedtime

Last time Pastor went to Scandinavia to preach, he came back and reported to Bible class about his trip.  They were there in early summer; the sun wasn't down for long overnight, and the nights didn't get dark-dark.  I thought it was tremendously interesting that he mentioned how they didn't get tired.  It would get to be midnight or later, and they would notice the clock which told them how late it was.  But their bodies didn't tell them.

The sun is setting earlier and earlier.  And I am so sleepy.  I need naps on the days I'm not at work.  On days I don't nap, I'm yawning away by 7:00 and struggling not to nod off by 8:00 or so.

If this is virus-fighting, I should be giving in and sleeping, letting my body use its reserves to fight the germies.  If this is "the sun went to bed so I should too" I probably ought to be fighting my desire to laze (and popping more D3 capsules).  The trick is figuring out which is which.

Baptismal Pooping

What is it with my kids?  "Receive the sign of the holy cross," and some water connected to "I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" ... and they filled their diapers to overflowing.* 

Twenty-three years ago today my baby spent the church service wrapped in a kitchen towel.  You'd have thought, by this point, that on a baptism Sunday I'd tuck a change of clothes into the diaper bag.  But no.  I forgot.  And Paul outpooped the poops of all his older sibs.  After the baptism rite, I bathed the other end of the kid, snagging a dish towel from the kitchen drawer so he wouldn't be cold and naked.

Also on this day 23 years ago we sang "Oh, How Great Is Thy Compassion" for the baptism hymn.  Pastor Wieting initially thought it was the oddest request he'd ever had for a baptism hymn.  Really?  "And in our deep degradation, Thou hadst mercy so that we might be saved eternally." Ah, yes, it works just dandy as a baptism hymn.  I'll sing it again today.  Maybe others in the family will too.


* Except for the two youngest. 

Bronchitis Treatment? Or Coincidence?

Salt water from a neti-pot can clean out sinuses.  Salt-water gargles can soothe a sore throat and wash away excess mucus from the throat.

Monday night I was wishing so bad for a "neti pot" that could wash snot out of bronchial tubes and the lungs. 

For some reason, it crossed my mind that hot, moist compresses might help.  Soaking in a hot tub might do something, but that's not long enough.  So I placed a wrung-out hot washcloth at the base of my neck, covered it with a heating pad, used a wide Ace-bandage to strap the heating pad to my upper chest, turned it on, and went to bed.  (Okay.  Okay.  I know the instructions that come with the heating pad say you should NEVER sleep with the heating pad on.  It's a fire hazard.  Or you could burn yourself.  I'm sure they're right.  I was a bad bad person to go to sleep with the heating pad turned on.)

About three hours later, I woke up, coughing.  I spent an hour --an entire hour-- disturbing Gary's sleep mightily, coughing and coughing and coughing up mucus and snot-balls.  It was disgusting!!  But amazingly, by morning my chest was no longer tight.  It's not like I was done coughing for the next two days, but my health was much better than I'd expected it to be.

So was it a coincidence?  Or shall I try it again (bad bad bad to use a heating pad this way) next time a cold tries to settle in my bronchial tubes?  My logic is that we use moist heat to draw infection such as in a stye or an abscess or in mastitis or in boils.  Maybe the moist heat drew the infection together so that it could be coughed out? 

Shhhh -- The tricky part is going to 

be my trying to remember this little 

experiment next time my bronchial 

tubes get clogged.

Poll-Worker Training

Okay, so maybe I'm just kinda sorta, a-little-bit maybe, intimidated.

I went to training this afternoon for those of us who work the elections.  Voter-ID was shot down by a Madison judge.  So today we talked about what proves identity, what we can and cannot ask for, as well as what proves residency.  [Mind ... spinning....]  Since the poll-workers in our group really seemed to care about the integrity of an election (that is, everybody having his vote counted, and only one vote counted per person) there were lots of questions.  "Wait!  You don't mean to say ...."???   Same-day voter-registration is fraught with problems!

We know that turnout will be exceptionally high for next month's election.  At the end of the training session, one of the poll-workers asked just how high a turnout the clerks anticipate.  They said "high 90s."  HIGH NINETIES?!  They told us that our county had the highest turnout rate in the country for the last presidential election.  It sounds like it could be a very long day.

Write-ins?  Do you know how much longer that makes a poll-worker's day?  We have to be there a minimum of 15 hours as-is.  Every write-in ballot makes the day longer, as we have to record them by hand. 

One of the poll-workers reported that she had received phone calls at home, asking if she usually voted absentee or in person, and what time she would be voting.  She was horrified.  Why would anybody want that information unless they were scheming to submit absentee ballots in the name of other voters, bumping their votes? 

They told us that there would be "observers."  I don't know if one side or both will be there to observe.  But some of the poll-workers are aware that at least one campaign is training observers to be there to watch closely.  We were taught what observers can and cannot do.  We were warned that out-of-state "observers" will sometimes cause conflict, suggesting voting irregularities because different states do have different laws.  (For instance, one time I was registering voters, and I had a 17-yr-old come to vote.  He wasn't trying to scam anybody or hide his age.  The state they'd recently moved from allowed 17-yr-olds to vote in the primary if they'd be 18 by election day.  He and his brother and his dad initially thought I was disenfranchising the teenager.  Nope.  Wisconsin law doesn't allow that.)

Military votes can come in via online or email ballots.  That will be interesting.

I think I better make a crockpot of substantial soup to take with me that day. And hearty bread.  And beverages.  And cookies.  

What a chance to say HI to all the neighbors!

Dairy-Free Tomato Soup

Saute in some olive oil:
1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1-3 tsp hot pepper, minced (may substitute a pinch of red pepper flakes)
until onion is transluscent.

Add:
2 quarts of canned tomatoes (or about 4# of fresh tomatoes, chopped)
1 bay leaf

Bring to boil.  Then add:
1 Tbsp brown sugar
3 slices of bread (or 1-2 oz of soda crackers)

Continue to boil over medium heat for about 5 minutes.
In small batches, put soup through blender to puree.

In saucepan, bring 1 pint of chicken broth to a boil.
Add tomato-smoosh to broth. Heat through.
Adjust seasonings with salt, black pepper, and other spices of choice.

If soup is too thick, water it down with water (for those who must avoid dairy) or with whole milk.





Hat tip to Sue's blog. 
Thanks for the yummy suggestion!

The Conundrum of Healthy Eating

When you most need the good food,
when you most need to avoid store-bought products with their additives,
when you most need vitamin-packed whole foods,

is when you're sick or weak
and cannot prepare the usual wellness-instilling fare.

Red Leaves

Katie and the girls walked to the library yesterday.  Katie tells about the 3-yr-old's trip on her blog.  But I didn't see 1-yr-old's tale written anywhere yet. 

So Zoe had a brown, dry leaf that she could carry.  After a while, she dropped it.  When she noticed that she no longer had her leaf, the barely-talking child indicates to Mom that her leaf had gone missing.  She needed help.  So Katie picks up a red leaf and hands it to Zoe.

Zoe looks at the red leaf and says, "Hot!  Hot!" in that way babies do. "Hwwwwhhwww; hhwwwwhhww!" she blows to cool it.

I don't know about you.

But I think that's pretty

good deductive reasoning.

Wrong.  But good thinking!

President Hamilton

A local high school is celebrating its 50th anniversary.  This week's newspaper contains a history of the school district.  In 1959 or '60, a contest was held for naming the new school.  One person suggested naming "Hamilton High School after President Alexander Hamilton."

So now we wonder: Is this what they're teaching the kids in the public school?  That the school is named after President Hamilton?  Or was this just the newspaper's own botch-up?

Don't you wish this were a joke?

FALL Flowers?

Goldenrod and wild asters.  Mums and fall roses.  Wildly red sumac.  Yup.  Sounds like September and October.

But daisies and sunflowers?  Tender young milk weed and new Queen Anne's lace?  Dandelions and bird's-foot trefoil?  And a profusion of wild snapdragons, like I've never seen before!

Not sure what to make of this crazy weather....

Oh, Those Children and Their Comments!

So after chapel each day, the headmaster talks to the student body.  Today there were some geography questions in preparation for December's geography bee.  But the initial question was whether anyone knew the location of last night's presidential debate. 

First guess: North Carolina.

Second guess:  Well, not really a guess.  First-grader Cole starts talking about the debate, and how it was "between Barak Obama and ... and ... and ... uh ...  well ... and ... uh ... well, that OTHER guy, y'know, the one we're cheering for."

(Lots of quiet snickering ensued from the adults.)

And What "Issues, Etc" Said

Pastor Bender was on IE today, talking about his Monday night fun: singing at Wrigley.

Close of the Commandments

"Punishing the children ... to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me."  Unfortunately, I always imagine this with a wagging finger and a scolding tone.

"But showing mercy to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep My commandments."  It was recently pointed out to me the difference in numbers.  "Third and fourth" versus "a thousand." 

How overwhelming is the mercy in comparison to the punishment!

Pastor Bender at Wrigley

Rachel took video last night from the stands, and hers turned out well too.  But John (Pastor's son) was down on the field, so this is the close-up version.

For those who haven't heard the story:
As part of our 50th anniversary celebration, the congregation attended a Cubs/Brewers game.  Brewers won; Cubs lost.  But Josh Vitters hit his first major league home-run that night ... right into our section of the bleachers.  The church janitor was the one who nabbed the ball, and he handed it to Pastor, who is a loyal Cubs fan.  (He jokes that it's very Lutheran to be a Cubs fan, you see.  It's all about the theology of the cross.)  When the Cubs approached him, asking what they could offer to encourage him to return the memorable ball to Mr Vitters, Pastor said he wanted to sing the National Anthem at a home game.  They'd never been asked that before.  But they agreed to try to make it happen.  And when they heard his audition tape, they gave him the opportunity.  And here he is ...

Sunbeam Mixer

For years I had a KitchenAid mixer.  I loved it.  It beat my cookies, kneaded my bread, and whipped up birthday cakes. When my standard-sized mixer died after about 15 years, we bought a larger one that could handle enough bread dough to make two full-sized whole-wheat loaves.  When the motor began to shed metal shavings, we knew the bigger machine wouldn't have the longevity of the older, regular-sized machine.  But we let it keep grinding away. 

In April it died.  Good-n-dead.

Option A:  Buy a replacement for $500.
Option B:  Buy a Bosch, which has a reputation for being a multi-decade machine-of-durability.  But that's more expensive yet.
Option C:  Buy a standard KitchenAid, which is $200 if you can find one on Craigslist or wait until the pre-Christmas sales. 

Y'know, if I believed that a machine would actually last 10-15 years or more (!), I might find a way to afford a new one.  But at the rate things are going, I'm not sure I can count on more than 5-8 years, and possibly less.  As a stop-gap measure while I decided what to do (or maybe as I waited until the pre-Christmas sales) I decided to buy a hand-mixer.

At Fleet-Farm I found a Sunbeam Heritage mixer* for thirty bucks.  It has whips, beaters, and dough hooks, powered by a pretty decent motor. When I first bought it, Maggie was at a loss.  She'd never operated a hand mixer before.  It took a while to figure out the machine.  We needed to slightly tweak how we made bread, as the mixer didn't have enough power to knead 8 cups of ww flour.  Because the bowl doesn't spin itself, you have to bother to hang onto the mixer and move the beaters around the bowl [gasp].  And yes, it can even make cookies, not just breads.  As an added bonus, we can whip the mashed potatoes instead of just smashing them up with the potato masher -- yummy.  As I was running $30-50 per year for my KitchenAid's depreciation costs, it looks like I'll be ahead if my little Sunbeam mixer lasts me just one year.

I wish I could have confidence that the quality of merchandise would be better if I forked over more money for a reputable brand known for quality and longevity.  But I don't.  So for now, I will just ask God to give me decent tools, and see what He provides.  Over the past five months, this Sunbeam has gone far beyond my expectations.





* I'm suspecting it may have been discontinued, as it's no longer available on the Sunbeam site, is expensive on Amazon, and is down to $22 at Fleet-Farm.

Matthew 6:25

Do not worry about your life, 
what you will eat or what you will drink;
nor about your body, what you will put on.
Is not life more than food 
and the body more than clothing?

It was pointed out in Sunday School opening this week that, in the Church, we eat something.  And we drink something.  And we put on something, something --Someone-- more than mere food and more than mere clothing.

Matthew 6:25

Try looking at a crucifix while reciting our memory verse for the week:  "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?"

Jesus on the cross.  What does He have to eat or to drink?  Nothing.  Neither does He clothing.  He won't even hang onto His life for much longer.  But ...

He is life.

 

Pay Attention, People!

Early during choir rehearsal, the director enjoins us to focus, to pay attention, to knock off the chatter, etc.

Later, the choir director [in an ADD moment] grabs a music stand, shifts it to a spot in front of his mother, and suggests that she can put her music there when her hand tremors get bad.  It will hold her music without shaking.  And she can put her small water bottle there.  And hey, she can put her teeth/dentures there too.

A moment later, he strikes a chord on the piano so that we can start singing the next stanza.  Virtually nobody starts singing.   "Hey!  Focus!  People, pay attention!  Why can't you focus?" 


We laugh.

Sprouts

During late summer's fresh-tomato season, Maggie and I made a lot of alfalfa sprouts and a few tries at other sprouts.  Years ago, when I first heard about making sprouts, people made it sound like rocket science, with pitfalls hiding here, there, and everywhere.  But I found that it's easy-breezy when you have a screen lid for a wide-mouth canning jar.

Place a tablespoon or two of seeds in a one-quart jar.  Add water and soak for 12-24 hours.  Drain.  Rinse well with water and drain immediately, 2-4 times a day for a few days.  Keep the jar covered with a thin cloth so that the little seeds think they're in the dark. 

Screen lids are available online if you can't find them available at a health food store nearby.  I haven't tried the plastic ones (available for purchase, or the ones you cut out of plastic embroidery canvas) but it just seems too closed for airflow to me.  I have not had luck with making my own screen lids out of window-screen from the hardware store (too floppy) or using cheesecloth (doesn't allow enough water to drain off cleanly).  There are, however, instructions online for making a lid out of a spatter-screen for a skillet.  As those are available at dollar-stores, it might work well. 

Although it takes only a few seconds at a time to tend to the sprouts, you do have to rinse them at least twice a day.  If you're going to be gone for a few days, don't start them yet; the poor little sprouts will just dry out and shrivel up.  The biggest trick is remembering to rinse: we put an index card by the kitchen sink (where we see it often!) with a note to "rinse sprouts."  Pretty soon we'll have more batches started and enjoy loading up our sandwiches with sprouts.  Avocado, onion, tomato, cheese, sprouts, maybe some thin-sliced meat....  Yummy!

Freedom of the Gospel, and Power of the Gospel

In Kleinig's Grace Upon Grace, he talks about the power of prayer.  "Only if we begin and end with our spiritual weakness can we safely appreciate the true power of prayer" (page 193).  "When we pray, we do not tap our latent spiritual potential, nor do we even exercise the power that we possess by virtue of our Baptism or conversion" (pages 193-194).

He says it's not about the power Christians have been given in their regeneration.  Even though we have been called "God's sons," even though we have been declared holy, even though we have the Holy Spirit working within us, our "power" is not ours; it is something we receive, not something we possess.  We are weak.  Really really weak.

On a related note, it makes me wonder about those who sputter objections about "too much Gospel."  Some people keep bringing us back to the Law; they want "enough Law" to be preached so that Christians will be encouraged to do good works.  It sounds like they think we are able to harness some power within us to Be Good.

It makes me wonder if such people do not themselves know the freedom of the Gospel and the power of the Gospel.  Maybe they think "all that Gospel" cannot possibly "work" because they cannot begin to conceive of people actually doing good except to earn a reward or avoid a punishment.  But if a person believes in the Law, if a person lives by the Law, then it's no surprise that he would think the Law is where we find our motivation.

Discerning the Lord's Body

Pastor Stuckwisch writes about the importance of discerning the Lord's body and blood in the Sacrament.  In the article, he points out things that pastors can do (beyond what they say) to help the parishioners understand that this cup and this bread IS Jesus' blood and His body.

I remember the friend who told me that some in his congregation complained that he elevated the host at the Pax Domini, and that he knelt at the altar.  "Pastor," they said with a little bit of derision, "you act like it's really Jesus there."

Ummm...

How does a person respond to that?  "Exactly"?

Who Needs to Listen to the Lord?

Pastor has been pointing out in stories how often people know what the Lord says, know that it's true, and yet keep acting in opposition.  This happened over and over again in the stories of King Saul.  He knew that David had been anointed by the Lord.  And yet he was determined to get rid of David and make sure his own sons were lined up to be the next king.  He knew what God said; he knew it was true; and yet he had no intention of listening to it.

Another example is 2 Samuel 3.  Abner (who had been the commander of Saul's army) had fought against David all along, as Saul pursued David.  Saul died.  Abner set up Saul's son as king, in opposition to David's kingship.  Abner fought against David.  Then, lo and behold, Abner got ticked at Ishbosheth (Saul's son who was ruling Israel) and said in verse 9 that God should zot him [Abner]  if he doesn't go and help set up David as king over all Israel "as the Lord has sworn to him." 

Seriously?  Abner knew all along that the Lord had sworn to give the kingdom to David.  And still he was scheming, warring, and rebelling.  He thought he would thwart GOD? 

Yup.
(Ain't it amazing that we can be so dense?)
(And why is it so easy to see when it's other people doing it?)

Canning Circus

I may never can again.

Things did not go well when I attempted to put up some incredible chili last week.   So yesterday I made chili and froze it.   The goal for today was to can either salsa or plain tomatoes.  Taking the lazy way out I decided to can the tomatoes plain.  However, it failed to be "the lazy way."

1.  Accident with the pressure canner which was supposed to be doubling as a water bath.  Boiling water.  Exploded.  On me.  (Lots of cold showers and many applications of fresh aloe mean that I ended up with only a few blistered areas.  The treatments resulted in most places settling down to bad first-degree burns.)

2.  Broken handle on the canner lid when it hit the floor.

3.  Lots of water all over the floor.  When the shower was colder than I could stand, I'd get out and would make attempts to mop up the kitchen's puddles.

4.  Then Maggie accidentally dumped the mop bucket.  All the water from the canning accident --plus the water that had been in the bucket from mopping earlier-- was back on the floor.  I'm glad I could laugh at that instead of cry.

5.  One of the canning jars broke.  The canner was full of tomatoes floating around in the canning water. 

6.  Water boiled out of the canner onto the stove, extinguishing the flame on the burner, while the natural gas kept pumping out into the kitchen.  Hooray for open windows!!!

So what all else went wrong?  I can't remember at the moment.  But this list seems mighty short compared to how the day actually went!

I now have
a) very clean kitchen counters,
b) a floor that's been mopped three times since Monday, and
c) some nice tomatoes in the freezer.

Moral of the Story #1 -- Quit canning.
Except for jelly.
Moral of the Story #2 -- When I forget this lesson, make sure I never can anything in quart-sized jars again ... unless I buy a regular water-bath canner.  Pints will be the limit for water-bathing in the pressure canner.

I'm going to have to wear real shoes to work later this week.  Flip-flops are really a lot easier on my burned foot.

Remind me again why this is supposed to be worth it?

Fresh-Tomato Chili

Saute together in a humongous pot:
1.5 pounds hamburger
2 onions, finely chopped
1 large sweet green pepper, finely chopped
1 large hot pepper, minced (or a medium-sized very hot pepper)

Meanwhile, use the food processor to chop up a whole gob of tomatoes (about a gallon of diced tomatoes with their juice).

When the hamburger is browned and the veggies soft, add
1 Tbsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 tsp garlic powder
3 Tbsp dried parsley
1.5 Tbsp chili powder
1.5 Tbsp cumin
1/4 tsp basil

Stir well.  Add tomatoes.  Mix. 
Drain water from 4 pints of of canned kidney beans.
Add beans to soup.  Heat.  Adjust seasonings.



Mmmmmm.   This is the chili which I tried to can, and I shouldn't have.  Batch #2 is bypassing the pressure-canner and going straight into freezer bags.   Mmmmmm.

Offering to Help

As my mom's health began taking a turn for the worse last year, she mentioned one of her regrets.  She says she wished she'd done more things to help her parents as they got older.  At the time, Mom heeded the advice of the social workers and the nurses and the therapists, who all say not to do things to help an elderly or disabled person, if that person is capable of doing the job for himself. 

This makes sense.  Right?  If we cater to a toddler, that child will expect to be waited on.  That child will not grasp for independence.  We will thwart the child's motivation to "Do It Myself!" when we overhelp.  So would it not be the same for a person who's had a stroke or other health impairment?  Are not those multitudes of little, daily tasks sort of like "therapy" practice?

And yet, how much frustration do we allow to crowd in on a person's life?

When we're raising our kids, there's a question we continually bump into:  "Is he ready for this?"  Is Joey wetting his pants because he's not developmentally capable of using the potty, or is he just being stubborn about peeing in his diaper?  Is Susie refusing to stay in her bed at night because she truly needs company and comfort, or is she just being manipulative of her parents?  When your homeschooled 9-yr-old cannot read and cannot memorize his times-tables, is it because he's a lazy so-and-so (and will not do the work), or because he's a late-bloomer (and cannot do the work)? 

But that question doesn't go away when the kids grow up!

We end up with sore muscles.  Do we keep up that exercise regimen we just started?  Or do we give the sore body a rest to recuperate?

Do we give help to the neighbor who's struggling to return the grocery cart to the cart-corral?  Or do we let the man do it himself, as it is his day's exercise? 

Do we help a teenager straighten out the jumbled words coming from a brain that struggles with auditory processing?  Or do we leave her on her own to figure out why we don't understand her question?

I am capable of coming into the kitchen while carrying a bushel of tomatoes.   But I am glad when someone opens the door for me.  Just because I could do it, doesn't mean they should let me.  Or make me.  It's polite to offer help.  It's kind.  It's a courtesy that we should offer to one another.

Those of us who teach children have watched as our students reach the saturation point in their learning.  A fourth-grader wants to read a book for fun that's easy enough for second-graders. Isn't that okay?  Or do we make him read up to his ability level all the time?  A teacher lectures, but must give the students an occasional break to get out of their seats, walk around, chat for a couple of minutes, etc.  When our brains are taxed by new concepts, or hard skills or ideas, we may need a short break.  We need time for the new information and new skills to gel, to settle, to become part of us and our thinking.  That goes for post-stroke therapy, or learning to walk again after an accident.




It keeps coming back to "I can't" versus "I won't."  When someone can't, we respond very differently from when they won't. 

But how do you know which it is?

The Pressure Canner

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've had my fill of tomatoes.  Wow!  Even two weeks ago, I didn't suspect that it would be possible to get tired of tomatoes.  Ever.  But sadly, the tomato sandwich no longer calls to me, enticing me, whispering that I should have a second, or a third, or a fourth.


Now the work of continuing to put them up.

Earlier this week I made a huge batch of chili.  BEST chili I've made in years.  I put seven quarts into the pressure canner.  Phooey.  Every single one of them leaked.  The seal on three lids stayed, but I am suspicious of those jars anyway.  Tonight I hauled out one of the jars that didn't seal; after 90 minutes in the canner, the flavor had changed.  It's still perfectly acceptable, but it's not blow-your-socks-off yummy any more. 

When I canned the salsa, I forgot to add the lemon juice.  (These days, the low-acid tomatoes require added acid to ensure safety when water-bath canning.)  So I don't know whether to put those salsa jars in the refrigerator, or whether they will be safe enough in the basement pantry for a couple of months.

I know that it's supposed to be better to can your food than freeze it.  I know canned food is safe even when the freezer fails.  I know it's easier to heat the canned food quickly.  But if I spend hours of work canning, only to botch it up and have the taste go downhill, is it okay if I just cross my fingers and hope the freezer keeps doing its job to preserve my goodies?

Me

It so happens that, due to the holiday and scheduling flukes, I ended up being off work for nearly the whole week.  My jobless week included church, a trip to visit my mom, lots of tomatoes and canning and cooking, Bible class, laundry, and some schoolwork with Maggie.  And about 20 hours before I was due to clock-in at work again, I realized:

I feel like myself again.  

I have this sense that "me" is back.

I wish I could do something about that.
Thank God I could be a stay-at-home mom and housewife as long as I did.

This Is a Good House

We have been flirting with the idea of looking for a house in town so that Maggie will be close to the library, church, the stores, the rec center, and possible employment opportunities.  When we moved here, we knew we wanted to be close enough to town to walk or bike.  But it is an hour walk -- for me or Gary -- more for Maggie.  Could we ever find another house that's comparable?

Difficult aspects of this house:
Big yard to mow.
Big deck, so it's hard to keep up.
Three miles from downtown.
No dining room; breakfast nook is tiny.

Nice aspects of this house:

Brick.  Warm.  Little wood to paint.
Newish roof.
Dry!  No mildew.
No water in our basement even when others have flooding.
Not an apartment/condo where you share walls, basement, and entryways.
Established garden space, with room for more,
and asparagus, cherries, berries, etc, are already solid.
Mortgage is decent; what's comparable in town seems pricier.
Radon mitigation system in place from former owners.
Kitties allowed outside; in town they must be leashed.
Large garage; plenty of parking space in driveway too.
Most of the windows have been replaced.
Light and bright and airy.
Fantastic neighborhood.  Safe.
Well water is healthier and tastier than city water.
No water or septic bills.
Lower property taxes than in town.
And finally, we're already here, settled.  (I hate moving.)

I can see why people downsize to smaller homes when the yardwork and housecare becomes burdensome as they age.  On the other hand, it could possibly be cheaper to pay someone else to do that rather than live in town with the extra costs there.  The big question is whether Maggie can develop enough strength and endurance to transport herself into town when necessary.  Thing is, there are two businesses here in town that work with the Dept of Vocational Rehabilitation; our current home is, at most, half-mile further from many of the homes in the center of town, and right now we're closer than many to these two business.  So while it may be convenient now to be closer to downtown, it might actually move us away from potential jobs for Mags.

Where's that crystal ball when you need it?

Mysterious Chemical

It's time for that biannual job -- weather sealant for the deck.  Step 1: clean the deck.  Don't use the power washer. Don't wear myself out with too much elbow grease.  Instead, this time I would use the chemical wood cleaner. 

I realized, when we had cleaned about 1/4 of the deck, that we were halfway through the jug of this blue cleaner-stuff.  Do a little math:   "Gary, while I keep applying this, would you run to the hardware store and buy another gallon?"  He did.  When the first jug was empty, we opened the second.

It was brown. 
And it smelled turpentiny.
And it looked oilier.

But the label was exactly the same.  I pondered whether they had changed to a new formula??  I began to use it.

But something was wrong.  Gary came over from his part of the job (where he was using the hose) to have a look.  He too thought something was wrong.   So we quit for the evening.

A couple of hours later, my hands were burning from the chemical (even though I had been wearing rubber gloves).

Nothing on the website about recalls.

The next day I called the manufacturer.  They had not heard any complaints.  They told me which jug contained the correct cleaner.  (The blue one was real.  The brown one is the Mystery Chemical.)  I took the bottle back to the store to swap it out.  I explained to the store's owner and the manager what had happened.  The guys couldn't believe it.  We checked all the jugs on the shelves; there was another weirdo one. 

Right now, my guess is that the brown liquid was one of the active ingredients in the wood cleaner, unmixed.  I hope that someday I'll find out what it was. 



Moral of the story:  I really ought to trust my gut-level instincts more.  Why do I keep rationalizing possible reasons/excuses for things?  Why do I always assume that I'm being stupid, that I'm not understanding, that the other guy is right?  It seems like I too often end up regretting it.

The Mini-MoPed Girl

Dear Neighbor,

I understand.  And I agree that most people are over-protective of children.  I understand that your 7-yr-old daughter is having a grand time zipping around the neighborhood in her new toy.  I understand that it's good for her to play outside instead of being zoned out in front of a television or video game.  I understand that a little freedom is important to her development.

But I have news for you.  A helmet is not enough protection for a child who is operating a motorized vehicle.  On public streets.  At 15-20 miles per hour. 

I assume your child does not have a license to operate.  After all, she's half the minimum driving age.  And her inability to notice oncoming traffic or to stop-&-look at intersections tells me that she'd fail a driving test if she were old enough to apply for a license.

I'm sure you are blissfully ignorant of how many close calls your daughter has had.  I doubt she realizes the close calls either.  Luckily the cars that she has come close to smashing into have seen her first, stopped, and sat still, waiting, while your daughter narrowly missed damaging their vehicles. And she goes on her merry way, unrattled.

I hope we can figure out who you are and where you live before the day the ambulance arrives.  I'd rather talk to you sooner instead of later.

Susan

Hiring the Good Employees

I am not the manager.  I am not the supervisor.  But I've seen quite a few tellers come and go during the months I've spent at my job.  Some went on to promotions.  Some quit.  Some lost their job.  And I've noticed a pattern.

There is an indefinable, unpinpointable characteristic that distinguishes the good employees from the bad.  And it's got something to do with compassion for others. 

Employees can put on a show about being polite, but for some of them the politeness comes with relatively little effort because of the concern they have for helping the other guy.

Employees can be hard workers because they know the boss will smile upon them for it, but if their hard work is done only to earn the boss's favor, it's hard to keep up the effort when he's not looking.   Others work hard because it's part of their desire to help their customers and their co-workers. 

Employees can complain behind the backs of the nasty customers, but then their crabby rebuttals [spoken surreptitiously to co-workers] affect their attitude so that it oozes out around the edges to all the customers.  Others understand that a rude customer may be "rude" simply because she didn't hear the cheery greeting to give a pleasant response, or because something tragic is going on his life.

Most people who are looking for jobs these days must apply online.  Sometimes hundreds of people apply for a handful of jobs.  There is no way for an employer to get that "feel" for what the prospective employee is like, to assess those indefinable "vibes."  And there is no way for the guy who's job-hunting to be able to "sell" himself on the basis of that most-important quality.  That's hard for the guy who needs a job.  But it's also a difficulty for the person who's doing the hiring.  I'm beginning more and more to think that, if I'm ever in a position of making hiring-decisions, my gut-level intuition should have a lot more clout than my reason and logic.

Update

Tomatoes are doing nicely.  Best year for peppers I've ever had.  We ate some awesome stuffed-pepper skillet the other day.

Maggie and I went to the science museum today.  They have a bed of nails to lie on (to demonstrate dispersion of pressure).  We tried it.  Prickly.  But not painful.

Bethany and Evan moved back to Madison.  You get a big ol' crew of workers on moving day, and yowza, the work goes fast!

Monday was a potluck tailgate party at the Brewers/Cubs game.  A whole bunch of people from church attended; it was one of the events for the 50th-anniversary celebration.  Fun night.  The best part was the home-run ball hit right to our section, the first major-league homer for that player.  Maggie has decided that she is a Cubs fan. 

This week and next I'm not scheduled for any extra hours at work.  I'm just working my own hours without any substituting.  I hope all the new tellers work out so that this stability-of-schedule lasts for a while.  This week I'm learning to balance the ATM.  Next week I will be trained on being a morning-opener.  New stuff -- hooray!

Maggie and I cleaned the garage.  Now I can use it for lunch tables for a baptism dinner someday soon.   :-)

Andrew started classes today.  Well, class.  He is taking only one this semester.  He still has his part-time pizza job.  Saturday is his first day of CNA-type home-visitation job.  

School (and thus chapel) starts next week.  Today was my last day to sleep past 6:30.  I should learn to go to bed in the evenings.

Roman Soldier?

Our town hosted "Heritage Days," a montage of historical re-enactments, all the way from ancient Greece & Rome, up to WWII.  Fun times!  And it gets better every year.

Wisconsin Senate Race

Jeff Fitzgerald.

For all you undecideds, take a look at our Assembly Speaker. He stood firm with Gov Walker.

Granted, any of the four candidates will make a good Senator.  And I will vote for whoever is running against Tammy; she's all for bigger government, higher taxes, and more govt regulations.

But choosing between the four on Tuesday?  Tommy isn't as conservative as I'd like.  Mark has pulled some shenanigans in recent elections, so that he's not my top choice.  Hovde sounds good in many ways, but he's unproven; without a voting record (and being what I consider an out-of-stater) I have no way to know whether he's feeding me a line he thinks will gain my vote, or if he's genuine.

Jeff Fitzgerald has endured the nastiness thrown at him, and still has governed well.   I encourage you to vote for him on Tuesday.

Romney-Ryan Rally

I haven't been in a traffic jam this bad in years.  Even when on my rare forays into Chicagoland, I haven't seen this kind of traffic for a long long time.  But people were polite and safe and (for the most part) patient drivers, so that helps.

There were, of course, protesters.  I counted 23.  I may have missed 1 or 2.  I wondered how the network news would report the number of protesters.

Of all the folks who spoke (Congressmen, national leaders, state leaders, etc.), Scott Walker and Paul Ryan received the most enthusiastic reception.  The crowd is reported to have been 8000 to 10,000+ (and since we needed tickets to enter, they actually have a count of attendees, and not just a guess).