Clean Apartments

Yesterday Katie and Nathan signed a lease on an apartment ten minutes from here, a little closer to work, and closer to church too. Katie cleaned last night for a while. She worked on the kitchen this evening; I worked on the bathroom.

Katie cleans. Whenever she leaves an apartment, it is in better shape than when she took possession of it. It is frustrating to leave an immaculate apartment and then be docked on your security deposit because the apartment manager just assumes that he has to have a cleaning crew come in whenever there's a change in tenants. I have no idea what the cleaning crew did at their last apartment, but they obviously didn't even open the cupboards because Katie & Nathan were charged for destroying (or losing or stealing) an item that was left sitting in the cupboard.

Likewise, this new apartment was cleaned before Katie and Nathan took possession. And it wasn't bad. But there's the grunge on the refrigerator gasket. And caked-on soap drips on the underside of the bathtub soap holder. And it makes me shudder to think of the thick greasy goo on the ceiling fan in the kitchen. I don't think of myself as a good housekeeper. Adequate. Above average. But not consumed with perfection over our cleanliness level in the house. I suppose I have spots in the house that other people might be horrified at while I am blind to those problems. I suppose that the apartment's filthy spots might be something that only Katie and I care about. But still....

If I'm living with my own dirt, that's one thing. But moving into a place with somebody else's grunge, that's a different story.

Birthday Party

Wow! There are balloons that need to be hung for the celebration! There was a chocolaty spatula to lick a few minutes ago! There are streamers on the ceiling! This is a good day!

But I Really Wasn't Job-Hunting

Cashing a check at the bank this morning, it came up in casual conversation with the clerks that I was applying for a job at the library. They were thrilled to hear I was considering a part-time job. But I'm not supposed to work at the library according to the gals at the bank. I need to apply there. They neeeeed someone. They pushed an application on me. They didn't want me to leave; they wanted me to fill it in right then, wishing that the manager could hire me today.

What's going on????

I wonder how long I have to wait before I know whether I'll get an interview with the library. (Hours and pay at the bank and library are fairly similar. A little less on-your-feet time at the bank. The library doesn't have incessant background music. The bank has more windows.)

Maybe it's time to get a job?

Psalm 69:11-12

I became a byword to them.
Those who sit in the gate speak against me.
I am the song of drunkards.

If the psalms belong in the mouth of Christ [and by the way, they do] then it is interesting to see these verses in light of the cursing and swearing and foul language that permeate our society. Jesus' name IS used as the song of drunkards. It IS a byword.

Tank-tops and Shells

It is supremely unfair that the time of life when a woman's hormones force her into sleeveless shirts is exactly when her upper arms are getting floppy and her elbows are getting wrinkly.

Writing a Resume

Checking out of our local library recently, I noticed the poster that said they're hiring. Although I need income, I haven't been looking too hard for a job, seeing as how I already have a job teaching the kids. But I've kept my eyes open, just in case the perfect job pops up.

And this is it! The hours don't interfere with chapel or church or choir. The job is in a building filled with [get this...] BOOKS. [Be still my heart!] The pay is decent; the hours are enough to make a difference to our budget but not too much to prevent all my frugality measures of cooking and gardening. It's the kind of job that requires attention to detail, organizing books and labels, and other tasks that fit my personality well and that I'm good at. It's close enough to bike, or even to walk if absolutely necessary. And the 'customers' are my neighbors who have willingly come to learn something! How cool is that?!?

So this week I've been learning about resumés and cover letters. It's so hard to tout yourself; I think the traits the employer is looking for should be taken for granted. I mean, it's a sad commentary on society that an employer has to specifically state that employees should have a strong work ethic and be friendly to the customers. So I need to find a way to get across to potential employers that I'm the kind of employee that they will be thrilled they hired. How do I know which desirable characteristics are the ones to list, and which good characteristics must go unmentioned? If I'm brutally harsh in my self-evaluation and still recognize that this is a job I'll be superb at, how do I differentiate myself from the people who think they're marvelous at everything and say so in order that they might win the "pick me! pick me!" game.

Brown

I bought knee-socks to go with my skirts because I'm tired of spending money on hose and then having them run. Knee-socks are cheaper. One of the pairs of socks in the recently-purchased package was brown. So this morning, getting dressed for church, I pulled on the brown socks to go with my brown Birkenstocks.

One day. One short morning. I haven't worn brown for years. And in one morning I'm already tired of brown.

I think I got too much brown in the 70s. Enough brown to last a lifetime. Gimme blue, red, black, and white, please!

1830's Trails

Never could keep 'em straight: the Trail of Tears and the Santa Fe Trail. In all honesty, I'm not sure that I ever realized they were separate places.

They both were east-west trails in the US.
They weren't that far apart, and both trails overlapped some of the same longitudinal lines.
The stories of both trails involved Indians and soldiers.
They occurred at the same time.
And obviously, they both contain the word "trail."

We're reading a history book that covers world events during Abraham Lincoln's lifetime. (By the way, I've learned more about Napolean in the last month than I ever learned in school.) Also, Andrew and I are working through some lectures on American wars, and right now we're on the events that led up to the Mexican War. So, in the same week, we stumbled upon both trails.

Now, maybe you learned more history than I learned. Or maybe you can keep straight titles that have the same word in them. But if you too are a Bear of Very Little Brain, here are the differences:

The Santa Fe Trail was a little further north, and began & ended further west than the Trail of Tears.

But more importantly, people went back and forth on the Santa Fe Trail; it was a trade route. The Trail of Tears was a one-time trail, from east to west, from the Cherokee homeland into exile.

I think now I'll be able to keep them straight.

My Name ... according to Alia

So as to differentiate between the two grandmothers, it was discussed amongst some people who live here what my grandma-name should be. Lu (Nathan's mom) is Grandma. Some of the family (but especially Andrew) decided I should be Nanna. For days they tried to teach Alia to call me Nanna. She finally complied.

For about a week.

Wednesday she decided I was "Grandma." Funny to see her and her 18-yr-old uncle arguing over whether my name is Nanna or Grandma!


For those of you who haven't met me and my eldest, here's a picture. We do look just a little bit similar. So the computer's screen-saver is rolling through pictures; Alia is watching; a picture of Rachel pops up on the screen; and Alia says, "Grandma!"

:-)

Lack of Jokes

Some of my friends and family have greatly enjoyed the daily jokes I used to have on my blog. I hear about people missing the daily laugh when I don't get around to gathering jokes. But it's been hard recently to find jokes. Internet copyright laws have become stricter. Sifting through online jokes involves skipping over lots of really filthy (and unfunny) jokes. Then there are the mediocre jokes which aren't worth laughing at. And when I find something funny, these days it is inevitably copyrighted. I spent an hour this morning hunting jokes and found only one I could post, and it was only slightly funny. I found a three hilarious ones, but I'm not willing to risk the fines if somebody finds out I've posted them here. And I'm not willing to post the links because there may be one or two good jokes on a full page of other stuff (including icky ads). Gary suggested finding old joke books, old enough to have gone out of copyright. But those are probably old jokes that y'all have heard before. Besides it would take a lot more work. I understand that people want to be paid for what they do. But still, ... "pay me to pass on my joke and brighten somebody else's day"?

Today's Laugh

Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.

The question? What do women really want? Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query; but, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.

Arthur returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the priests, the wise men, and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer. But the price would be high; the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first. The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend. Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, and made obscene noises. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.

Arthur refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden; but Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table. Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur's question thus: 'What a woman really wants,' she answered, 'is to be in charge of her own life.'

Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared. And so it was, the neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom, and Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. What a sight awaited him! There was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen before him. The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened, and the beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she would henceforth be her horrible deformed self only half the time and the beautiful maiden the other half.

Which would he prefer? Beautiful during the day ... or night?

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch? Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by night, a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous intimate moments?

What would YOU do?

Noble Lancelot said that he would allow her to make the choice herself.

Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.

The moral of the story is:
"If you don't let a woman have her own way ... things are going to get ugly."

Madison

We watched a movie tonight that would not have drawn our interest were we not APT fans. It's supposed to be a story of hope.

I'm not sure I saw any hope.

I loved watching Jimmy and Brian and Sarah. I loved seeing the local stuff: the scenery, the beer labels, the houses, the restaurants.

There was a lot of rhetoric about politics and the war. As we watched, I wasn't sure whether the show was trying to promote those viewpoints or giving us cause to shake our heads and say "tsk tsk." There was also a lot of foul language. But these things would have been forgivable if the story had a great message in the end.

But it didn't.

The poor chap in the movie had been a war correspondent and came home jaded and hopeless. He couldn't get rid of the horrid memories. He no longer believed that we can Change The World and make a difference. I didn't expect a Christian message of hope. But I did expect some secular version of hope. And for the life of me, I don't know what it was. The reviews talk about how Michael (the main character) finds hope. Through the movie he drinks a lot. And then he spends Christmas with a friend, including babysitting the friend's daughter on the afternoon of the 24th. The friend is positive and upbeat and has hope that things are generally good and will work out. But that in itself doesn't appear to give hope to Michael; it just seems to show him that not everything everywhere is thoroughly despairing.

Gary said it was the most depressing thing he'd seen in a long time. Afterwards he hunted up a funny tv show to watch.



Right now, I am thinking about what Pastor says about the Christian life being full of joy -- even when we do not feel it. Right now, I am thinking about the joy of family, and satisfaction with a job well done, and comfort in not taking on responsibilities that are not yours. Right now, I'm noticing the lack of dialogue in this film (all the scenes that are so so quiet, filled with pensive waiting and thinking) and contrasting that quietness with the voice of God's Word that brings life. Paul said that if Christ be not raised from the dead, we are of all men the most pitiable. But when you see what passes for "hope" out there in the big wide world, maybe not. Even if Christianity were a hoax, it still would have a lot to offer. Do you remember what Puddleglum said to the Witch when she was trying to convince them that there was no Narnia, no world except the underground one that lay in her grasp?

Suppose ... suppose we have only dreamed and made up these things like sun, sky, stars, and moon, and Aslan himself. In that case, it seems to me that the made-up things are a good deal better than the real ones. And if this black pit of a kingdom is the best you can make, then it's a poor world. And we four can make a dream world to lick your real one hollow.

"I Be Back"

My granddaughter Alia has been learning to talk. You know how some kids start to speak earlier and make solid progress? Well, Alia is one of those kids who didn't talk and didn't talk -- and occasionally people would suggest that something was wrong with her. But when she started talking, it was a torrent.

One day, Nathan asked, "So what is this? Is she learning a new word every single day now?" Oh no! WAY more than one a day. Probably more than one per hour. And then, a couple of weeks later, 3- and 4-word sentences. And even pronouns and possessives used correctly. It is so much fun to watch and listen to kids as they acquire language!

At the playground the other day, waiting for Maggie to finish at choir practice, she would "leave" me with a cheery reassurance, "I be back" and wave farewell. Around the back of the slide, climbing up the different levels of the fort, informing me at each level, "I be back," and then she'd slide down. "Look! You're back!"

Not everything is perfect in Language-Learning Land, though. This morning, Alia was telling her daddy that she wanted beer for breakfast. Beer? The kid wants beer? For breakfast? He finally discovered the item was "pear." Ah! That makes sense!

Is It Arrogant?

One of my dear friends (who is now Eastern Orthodox) would tell me that we are to humble ourselves and listen to the Church Fathers. He would say that it's sassy and disrespectful to think that they may have made occasional errors or that we (18 centuries later) might see something in a better way than they.

Many years later, I'm still wondering about that.

In Psalm 119 (:97-104) the psalmist says he understands more than the ancients,he has more understanding than all his teachers, because he meditates on the Lord's testimonies. I'm wondering if/how that fits in with my friend's comment about submitting to the Church Fathers.

Adam & Eve's children knew that the Seed of the Woman would crush the head of the serpent. Adam walked with God and talked with Him. And yet, through the centuries, God revealed more and more. The Messiah would come from the tribe of Judah. And later, the Messiah would come from the line of David. And later, the Messiah would be born of a virgin. And many years later, the Holy Spirit --through the prophets-- reveals that the Christ would be born in Bethlehem. As the prophets meditated upon God's word, preached God's word, wrestled with God's word, the Holy Spirit showed them more details. Does this mean that Habakkuk and Jeremiah were lacking in respect for Adam and Noah?

You know in your own life how you take more care with situations when once you have encountered a problem. Me -- I don't like kids to slam doors. I "knew" that door-slamming was bad, but I became vehement about it after my baby's finger was nearly severed in a slammed door. I am more diligent about washing the undercarriage of my vehicles during salt season winter after we lost a reliable car to huge amounts of rust [at 220,000 miles]. It's not a bad thing to face problems and cope with them and try to prevent those problems from coming back to cause harm another day.

The Holy Spirit was poured out on Pentecost. The apostles knew Jesus' teaching; they were close to Him; they are the authority upon whose word the Church is founded. The church fathers knew the apostles' teaching; they were students who passed on the message they had heard. But do we have less now? Less reliability? Less insight? Less accuracy? I think, as the Church has encountered heresies and heterodoxy, as the Church has struggled to refine her language in response to misunderstandings, she has gained, not lost.

Delight in Loving

I know, I know ... they've told me a thousand times. Love is not a feeling. Love is an act. Love is a commitment. Love means doing whatever is necessary that the beloved might live.

And yet, being the sinners that we are, sometimes we love begrudgingly. We love because it's our duty to love. We're called to love our neighbor, and by gum, we'll grit our teeth and love, no matter how much we'd rather not.

And then there's the love that rejoices in being able to love. The love that gives delightedly. The love that is unaccountably tickled pink to sacrifice itself for the beloved.

It can sometimes be discouraging to be loved by someone who is dutifully loving you. But oh, how the heart dances with sheer joy when it is loved by one who is delighted to do the loving, whether it's your husband, your Savior, your mom, your friend, or even just your dog.

Enchilada Soup

After stewing a chicken this afternoon, I objected to making chicken-vegetable soup again. I'm not tired of eating it, but right now I'm tired of making it. After hunting up some decidedly different recipes and merging them and then tweaking a bit, I came up with a soup I loved. Even Alia (a soup-hater) thought it was good and snarfed it down. The balance of ingredients listed below is approximate, as I was wingin' it, tasting and adjusting the whole way. If you try it, you may have to adjust amounts of spices and salsa and peppers to suit your own taste.



Stew a 3-4# chicken in 3 quarts water.
Remove chicken from broth and let cool until it can be handled.

Mince 2-3 hot peppers.
Chop a sweet bell pepper and a large onion.
Saute veggies in a small amount of oil.

While whisking chicken broth, slowly sift into the broth
1 ½ cups cornmeal,
stirring so that there are no lumps.
Continue to stir frequently while soup heats,
so that the creamy texture doesn't burn onto the bottom of the pot.

When broth begins to thicken slightly, add
1# frozen corn
1#-can of black beans, drained
1 cup salsa
the sauteed onions and peppers.

Season with approximately
1 tsp Better Than Bouillon
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
2 tsp cumin
2 tsp chili powder
1 tsp garlic powder
dash cayenne
Continue to stir frequently over medium heat until corn is hot.

Remove meat from chicken bones. Chop.
Add 1/2 the chicken and
1 ½ cups shredded cheddar or American cheese.

Stir gently until cheese melts.
Top with Fritos, salsa, and/or chopped cilantro.
Makes about 6 quarts of soup.

Legal Holidays

I have a hang-up. I think Memorial Day is on May 30 regardless of when the government decides to skip the mail delivery on some late-May Monday. I think Lincoln's birthday is February 12 and Washington's is February 22, regardless of this new-fangled "Presidents' Day" when the banks and schools are closed. So I smiled broadly at the interchange at school on Monday morning.

Every day after chapel, before the students break off into their classes, the headmistress covers several all-school items. First is the date. "Today is Monday, October the ..... ???" And one of the little kids tries to answer. Yesterday the response was "the 11th!" And the headmistress says, "No, but you're close" whereupon several quizzical looks were tossed her way by the adults. Pastor checks the date on his watch and says, "Yes, it is too the 11th."

Oops.

Well, she goes on to talk about Columbus Day and the discovery of the Americas. Then it was Pastor's turn to be momentarily confused: "But it's not Columbus Day. Columbus Day is the 12th!"

Ah ha! Another person who thinks that holidays belong on their actual dates! So all these middle-aged folks are confused by the government's declaration of legal holidays, ranting about Armistice Day being on November 11, and Memorial Day being on May 30, and that it's not really Columbus Day on the 11th whether or not the banks are closed. We know the truth about the dates.

And these kids ... Their whole life's experience has been Monday holidays, with no understanding that these days weren't plucked out of nowhere but were anniversaries of real events that really happened to real people in history.

Leprosy

Leviticus 13 contains instructions for determining whether a skin sore was leprous, whether a person was clean or unclean, waiting periods, and other practices associated with leprosy.

In the middle of the passage is the curious statement that a person whose skin is all white, a person who is entirely covered with the leprosy in every spot, shall be declared clean. Pastor Wiest told us that this verse ultimately referred to Christ, who was thoroughly and totally and completely infected with the leprosy of our sin, but who was clean.

Go, Show Yourselves to the Priests

This Sunday's story was the Ten Lepers (Luke 17). Jesus told them to go show themselves to the priests. So, where were the priests?

Yup, they were in Jerusalem.

Where was Jesus headed? How about that! He was headed to Jerusalem too. Why? This wasn't just one of His many trips there; this was the last time to go up to Jerusalem.

So these nine dudes who did not cling to Him and thank Him for His healing, they are off on a trip to where there are soon to be universe-shaking events. Will the men still be there on Palm Sunday and through the holiest days of all history? Maybe not. But it's likely, as long as they were in Jerusalem anyhow, that they would stay for the feast of Passover after having been cut off from the worshiping community.

The very events that won the forgiveness of sins would be preached & displayed in Jerusalem soon enough. Although these lepers did not return to Jesus in faith, Jesus nevertheless graciously sent the men to a place where they might hear the Gospel again.

Weekend Projects Go Bust

The air is warm; the windows are open. This will not last long. It's time to cram in a few projects that must be done according to weather. For example, use the smelly polyurethane now or forever hold your peace -- or till next spring at least.

We had about 3 cups of forest-green paint leftover from the old tree house. The forest-green picnic table was in bad shape. Time to use up the leftover paint so as to dispose of the container and spiff up the worn spots of wood. When we woke up this morning, the picnic table looked wet, really wet! Turned out I put water-base on top of oil-base paint. Gary came to the rescue. He hosed down the picnic table and benches, washing the unstuck paint onto the deck, and then he sprayed down the deck so it didn't turn green. And all this before he headed out to preach this morning. Wow -- that's patience for a wife who screwed up her first weekend project.

The kitchen table has been SO sticky. Don't know why. But when it's not just paper that sticks to the table but even potholders that need to be peeled off, it's time to do something. Friday afternoon I stripped the table top. One polyurethane coat after another went on smoothly, leaving me an increasingly smooth and beautiful table top. Anticipating a final coat, I just went to check for dryness. There are bubbles. Not little pinprick air bubbles that make the smooth surface feel a bit sandy -- these are airbubbles 1/4" or 1/2" in diameter. WHAT HAPPENED??? Screw-up #2.

As long as I was wielding a paintbrush full of polyurethane, I decided to coat the mantel. The wood there is so rough that it cannot be dusted: the wood shreds fibers off the dustcloth. Six coats of polyurethane later, it's not smooth, but it is definitely smooth enough to dust. After my experience with the kitchen table, I'm thinkin' better to leave well enough alone on the mantel.

The last summer project to tackle is freezing or canning the hot peppers. But I can wait until a rainy or cold day for that. No sense in wasting these final gorgeous days of sunshine!