Being friends with poetry

Poetry and I have not been friends since I was 9 years old. When I was very young, I fancied myself an accomplished writer as was evident in the silly rhyming poems I created. No, I don't know what happened to my poetry. Somewhere along the way I lost all of my understanding for poetry. Most of it is so metaphorical and, well, weird that I just don't get it.

Until I transferred to CSU Fullerton and took a Literary Analysis class.

My professor was very patient while he answered all of my "I don't get it" questions. I was introduced to Andrew Marvel and William Blake and, of course, William Shakespeare. Gorgeous poetry. Poetry and I are slowly becoming friends.

Until this semester.

I am taking a writing for teachers class and last week's assignment was to write a poem. "You have got to be kidding!" Yep, that's what I said to the professor, who has also been very patient and helpful. I wrote a poem. I decided to write about my concern about my new job. No one, except the professor, has seen it. 

Until now:

As I walk through the Gate…

Dare I go to my happy place

Is the magic still there?

Streams of shooting beams at night

Notable memories and magic

Ever still the black ears promise

Your dreams will come true

Like magic I am transformed 

And I am a little girl again

Now, though, is the magic still there?

Dare I go, all grown up

Just as I was, is it still the same?

Overjoyed with opportunity

Believing in magic is still possible

Says the black ears.

Go ahead and tell me what you think-I can take it. I don't think I'll make a career out of being a poet, but I am learning to be friends with poetry.

Automatic

You already know that I love to cook. It is one thing I can do for me, my family, and my friends just because I love doing it. Cooking brings me joy. And I'm usually the one who's thankful that I get to cook.

Practically every time I cook dinner my boys will say, "Good dinner mom. Thanks!" It always takes me by surprise when they say it. I don't know why it does. After all, I've cooked dinner for my family for their entire lives. Although now that the boys are grown and we're all in college, I don't get to cook every night...well...ok...I cook dinner at least 3 nights a week.  And they still make a point to say "Thanks mom." Every time.

I have my dad to thank for that. He always thanked me every time I cooked dinner-a habit the boys picked up from him. It's automatic. It doesn't seem flippant, though. You know, that just automatic-flippant-thing-we-say-without-thinking-and-everyone-just-takes-for-granted kinda' thing?

You can hear the difference between flippant and genuine...usually. Anyway, they truly seem to be automatically thankful for the dinner I made them. This could be attributed to my great cooking skills (Yes, I am a great cook-no modesty here), but they even thank me when I make hamburger helper!

Yes! I know! Hamburger helper!

Boys are so easy to please.

My point is, I think they are thanking me because they are genuinely grateful that I cooked dinner. They recognize this loving thing I do for them and they appreciate it and want to thank me for it. And yes, that gesture just comes automatically to them. And yes, I am still surprised and touched every time they say it.

This idea of the automatic thank you got me thinking. When do I automatically thank God? I mean the genuine-from-the-bottom-of-my-heart totally thank God? I bet you can answer that as easily as I can:

When something horrible happens and then everything works out ok.

Like the time I got a phone call that my youngest son, Ethan (who was 15 at the time) was hit by a car just 2 blocks from home as he was skateboarding. The guy on the phone told me he was alive and coherent and I thanked God as I bolted out of work to get to Ethan. I thanked God through my tears of relief when I saw him in the emergency room. I thanked God profusely when we realized the only major injury he sustained was a broken arm. I was continually, and non-stop automatically, thanking God for taking care of my son.

A few days ago, I started a new job. I can't begin to describe to you how excited, nervous and thankful I am for this job. After not having a steady job for 3 years and 9 months and hundreds (thousands, maybe) of applications and futile interviews, this job just fell in my lap. Out of the blue.

But when I got the job offer, I did not automatically thank God. Why not? I should have. It was a total God thing! He placed this job right into my lap! In fact, the last few years of my life (ok, ok, my entire life, but you know what I mean) have been about opportunities falling into my lap.

Going to school full time: in my lap.
Providing financial needs: in my lap.
Going on a mission trip: Yep, God put it in my lap and said, "here, you need to do this."
Being a camp counselor: God says, "You need to do this too."
8-week stint as an after school paid tutor: in my lap.
Dare I repeat myself: College has been the smoothest, open, most wonderful thing God has put in my lap!!! And He puts these things in my lap because He loves me. Period. 

Did I ever automatically thank God for any of these wonderful things He's given to me? I have to say...probably not. And these things matter just as much as the horrible things that turn out ok.

By the way, I did thank God for this job. I have been thanking God like crazy ever since I began my new job. It gets me every time. Every time God just provides. He just places something in my lap.

Automatically. 

A Matter of Inconvenience

Vacation is officially over. I went back to school today and, so far, I am very excited about this semester. More about that later...

Before I get into the thick of doing what English majors do best (reading and writing ridiculously monstrous essays) I want to share a concept I've been mulling for most of the summer: Jury Duty. You see, I received a jury summons and, well, due to not having any acceptable excuses to get out of it (summer school had just finished), I did my civic (civil?) duty and served jury duty.

I didn't expect much to happen. After all, when I served for the first time a few years ago, all I did was sit in a room all day. I thought it would be the same this time. Silly me. I was called within an hour after I arrived.

And the antics began. My antics. I couldn't help it! I tried to be a good little sheep and follow along and stand quietly in line, or wait quietly while the judge is in chambers, and not challenge the attorneys while they questioned us prospective jurors, but...well...I'm not a sheep. I made jokes like, "Anyone having flashbacks of 3rd grade while standing out here?" (laughing spreads) Or while in the jury box and the judge and attorneys are in chambers I whisper "Cool! The chair swivels! What would happen if we all swivel?" (gasps and giggles and a dirty look from the bailiff). And yes, I did challenge the prosecutor when she asked me a question about making a judgement call, telling the truth, etc... Basically I asked her to clarify the differences between her job and mine. After a few minutes, the judge stopped us. I was sure I would be excused.

I was not. In fact, I was moved up from being an alternate to sitting right smack in the middle! I was definitely on the jury panel. A few of the other jurors teased me that they thought the judge and attorneys liked me. Great (not really). At the end of the day, we were excused and told to return the next morning. I was livid. It was the beginning of July, a few days before my birthday. My daughter was coming to visit and instead of spending time with Jennifer and my little grandson, I would be stuck in court, being a juror on a case that I really didn't want to have anything to do with! As I walked to my car all I could think was:

This is so inconvenient!

My mind went racing. Was it really inconvenient? Was it? Doing my civic (civil?) duty is inconvenient? What does "inconvenient" actually mean?

I'll tell you what it means (because, yes, I did look it up in my beautiful dictionary as soon as I got home that day): Inconvenient: adj. causing trouble, difficulties or discomfort

From a definition point of view, I was not inconvenienced. I wasn't put in harm's way, or suffered any difficulties or discomfort. I still would have been able to celebrate my birthday with my children and spend time with Jennifer and Brandon, just not as much time. Either way, they would have been just fine with spending time with the boys and my mom.

No, there is nothing inconvenient about serving jury duty (ok, ok, I know there are so many people who would disagree, or want to debate the process, etc...It's not perfect, but it's the system we've got and I know it can get quite complicated and I have learned to have the utmost respect for all who are and have been involved with the process so please, let's just leave it at that. Pretty please. By the way, I did feel guilty about my antics.)

You want to know what is inconvenient? Things that truly make life difficult. War is inconvenient. A broken arm is inconvenient. Cancer is inconvenient. Unemployment-the kind where you apply for 15 jobs in 2 days and get 4 rejection emails and no interviews, or the kind where you are over qualified, too expensive, under qualified or too old to get a job, or you find out there are over 100 people applying for the 1 job you're applying for-that's inconvenient. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

Serving jury duty was the right thing to do. Period. And in the grand scheme of things, it's only a few days, not my entire life. It kept me from doing things I wanted to do, but it didn't inconvenience me.  I realized how fortunate I was that, when court was done for the day, I could go home and celebrate my birthday.

There is a difference between doing what I want to do and doing what I should do. I should always do what I should do. That may keep me from doing what I want to do, but not being able to do what I want to do is not an inconvenience. Does that make sense?

Here's the kicker: on the 2nd day, the jury was excused from service. Not only did I get to enjoy my daughter's visit, I got paid $15 for sitting and swerving in the jury box. Definitely not an inconvenience.

In God's hands

I just realized that it's been over a month since my last post AND I haven't updated on how school is. Hey, what do you expect-I'm on a 7-week vacation and since I really don't like writing, I didn't.

Then I realized that I need to write. It's good for me. So, here I go: I'll write and share with you how the last 6 months of school went.

It went very well.

Ok, ok! I'll give more details!

I have loved being back at school and feel a strong sense of accomplishment at the end of each semester, but this last spring, and in summer school, that sense of accomplishment was evident in more ways than one. I had professors who motivated me and encouraged my writing style and gave me tools to improve my skills. I also had a blast working on essays and projects with a very dear friend from school.

My Chaucer class was the most challenging (imagine reading and interpreting literature in Middle English-it was exhausting!) and I got a B in the class, but learned so much about Geoffrey Chaucer, "Canterbury Tales," mythology and the 14th century.

I also took a class that examined the modern American novel. I had to keep an open mind for this class. I didn't like most of the stories. I'm just not that into modern literature. As the semester went on, though-towards the end of the semester, we read a few books that I enjoyed: "The Crying of Lot 49," "The Hours," "The History of Love," and "Gilead." Part of the theme of these books involved a search, whether a mysterious society, loved ones, meaning of life, spirituality...but they also dealt with leaving a legacy. The last 2 books especially left an effect and I wrote my last essay on these 2 books, incorporating a dedication to my dad and what his legacy meant. I don't know what I got on the essay, but I ended up with an A- in the class, so I assume I did really well.

By the end of the semester, I felt greatly accomplished. I ended with a G.P.A. of 3.78. During the semester I applied and was accepted into the International English Honors Society and got a certificate and a pin. I also was chosen to receive a substantial scholarship (yeah, I cried when I got that letter).  A few weeks later my success was felt even deeper when I received a letter from the dean's office informing me that I had made it onto the dean's honor's list (Yep, I cried some more). To do so much work and feel good about it and succeed-I'm flabbergasted!

But there's been something missing in all of this success. The one person who I found out almost too late that he was my biggest fan. I'm feeling the loss of him more, now that he's been gone for over a year. I feel like my heart has this ache in it that just won't go away. Dad would have been so extremely proud of me. I know this because he cried with me when I got my first A in Algebra 3 years ago (considering that when I was in high school, he spent countless nights pounding algebra into my head and I just couldn't get it-then he finally sees success many years later-imagine what it meant to him to see his daughter finally do well in math). Anyway, that was when I knew how excited and proud he was of me that I had decided to go back to school.

And he's not here to cry with me and celebrate my successes. And he won't be there when I graduate. If you've been reading my blog, you know that I wrote last year about dad not being here, but that the peace of knowing that I am in God's hands and that Jesus is still here has helped. Please don't get me wrong, I still know this, but for some reason, now that it's been more than a year...it's worse. It's tumultuous. It's like Satan is taunting me with the reminder that my dad is gone and will never be there to praise me, or pat me on my back or encourage me to follow my dream to study in England. Yes, it's been exciting to share my successes with my kids, my mom (who is my super fan!) and other family and friends, but I can't share it with my dad.

So, a little part of me shut down. I didn't write. But I need to. And I need to remember Dad's legacy: Do. I need to do. I need to sing. I need to share. I need to keep working and succeeding. Writing has been the best way for me to express myself and work through my ache. Writing, doing, and praying has been my best weapons against Satan's taunting attacks of remorse, failure, disappointment and anger. I am glad that I had 7 weeks of down time. I needed it. Maybe I needed to shut down a little too, but I need to use the tools God gave me to keep living my life. I am continually-sometimes every other minute-putting this ache in God's hands, working through the thoughts of anguish, turmoil and loss. I am amazed at how many times a friend calls, or a song comes on the radio, or something happens (like a Shakespeare festival or trip to Disneyland, or a chocolate party) at just the right moment to bring some peace to that ache. Writing this definitely helps too.

There are some pretty fantastic and exciting things happening in my future. This fall is my last semester and I will have a bachelor's degree in English. I can't even begin to describe to you how that type of success feels to me-it's an unimaginably phenomenal feeling. Oh, not to mention that I've begun the application process to the Shakespeare Institute in England. This time next year, I could be packing for Stratford upon Avon and working on my master's in Shakespeare studies. Right now, I have no idea how I'm going to pay for it, or if I will even be accepted, but I do know that I am supposed to pursue this.

And it's in God's hands.

Almond Belgian Waffles

I woke up this morning craving waffles, but not just any waffles. Waffles, after all, are really not a substantial meal. Then I had a thought: What would happen if I ground up almonds and put that in the batter? At first I thought I'd just add it to a waffle recipe in one of my cookbooks. Except, I don't have eggs, buttermilk or vegetable oil. So, I decided to substitute and experiment. I already knew how to make a buttermilk substitute (at least 1 tablespoon of lemon per 1 cup of milk-lemon is better than vinegar, trust me) and thanks to my mom, there's egg substitute in the fridge. Oh, and I used butter instead of oil. So here's what I came up with:

Squeeze the juice out of 1 lemon into a large measuring cup, then add enough milk (I used whole milk) to measure 2 1/2 cups of liquid. Stir and let stand while measuring other ingredients, or at least 5 minutes.
1 1/2 cups of finely ground raw unsalted almonds (I pulverized about 2 cups of raw almonds in my food processor-it should look like bread crumbs)
2 1/2 cups flour (begin with 2 cups and add a little more if batter isn't thick enough)
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar
3/4 cup butter, mostly melted (1 minute in the microwave-it's ok if there's still pieces of butter left)
1/2 cup egg substitute (make sure you've shaken the carton before you pour so the egg stuff is frothy)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix dry ingredients and ground almonds together, then add all other ingredients and whisk until thoroughly mixed. Batter should be thick, not runny. Add a little bit more flour if necessary. Measure and poor onto belgian waffle iron, bake and enjoy!

I ate them plain and they were simply luscious! Ethan put syrup on his and even he couldn't eat enough! I also think these waffles would be good with a butter that has a bit of honey whipped into it.

The great thing about this blog: I can edit this later if I decide to try real eggs and buttermilk-stay tuned!

My Dad's legacy

My dad passed away one year ago today. I thought about doing some kind of dinner, or something for my family, but I didn't see the point. Plus I'm almost done with summer school and I have a mountain of homework to do. I think having all this homework right now is a good thing-keeps me focused on life and not on other stuff.

I did decide that I wanted to write more about my dad, to write about his legacy for me. For the most part, getting on with life this year has been pretty smooth. At home, we've worked through those tough times when we have to figure out what to do about the plugged pipes, broken water heater or the gardening-the things dad used to do. Or when I was accepted into the English Honor's Society-even mom said how proud dad would have been. These things haven't been the most difficult parts of my dad's legacy. I look at the rose garden outside and smile and be glad that dad taught me how to prune roses. I know my dad would tell me to keep living, and keep studying. All for God's Glory, treasures in heaven, he would say.

For me, the most difficult part of dad's legacy is church. Don't get me wrong, I love my church home. I am so glad that I had the task of picking up grandma for church every Sunday for the first 6 months after dad died. I needed to learn to embrace being where he was, at church, where his hand has touched almost every inch of that building and all of the people, my church family. For a long time when I would hear something in the sermon that reminded me of my dad, I'd shed a tear. Or when someone would tell me a story about my dad, we'd both get choked up, but this is how it's supposed to be. I need to embrace that too.

Dad, me and my little sister Jen.
I haven't found a music photo yet.

The hardest part about being at church is the music.

You see, the biggest legacy my dad left me is music. You may not know this about my dad--not only did he perform in musicals when he was in high school, but for many years, he sang in the church choir. When I was very young, I remember hearing his voice boom while singing what we would now call "the old hymns," like "Amazing Grace," "Old Rugged Cross," and "How Great Thou Art." He loved to sing and he passed that great love down to me.

I remember dad singing all the time and I would sing with him. Our family would take long road trip vacations and we would sing on our long drives. One of dad's favorite stories to tell is how many times we sang "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Jingle Bells" all throughout the year. We couldn't help it-my sister and I LOVED those songs!

After sitting at the dinner table our family would sing a song before praying for our dinner. The song would switch from "The Doxology" or "The Johnny Appleseed" song. I loved both of those songs.

Christmas time at our house was joyous. We sang all the Christmas carols continuously, night and day and dad would lead all of the songs.

Dad imparted his love for music on all of his children. My sister and I took piano lessons. I didn't like it, but Jen did. In high school, all 4 of us kids were involved in the music program. I in choir, John in band and Jen and Joel in orchestra. Jen is an accomplished bassist, and married a wonderful man who has a Phd in music. This legacy of music even has a strong hold on his grandchildren-all of them have been involved in music in some way, shape or form. My son, Ethan, is a music major in college. Dad's love of music has permeated every inch of this family and my heart.

I love worship time during the church service. Singing praises to God, thanking Jesus for his wonderful gift of eternal life-my heart soars, especially when I'm singing in the choir. This past year, while my heart heals from dad's passing, singing in church has usually brought me to tears. I didn't sing in choir this year because I knew I would just be a tearful mess. It has been getting easier as time passes, but when we sing one of those old hymns, or the Doxology (Praise God from whom all blessing flow...) I hear my dad's booming voice and his legacy rings loud and clear in my ears, and in my heart and my eyes well up in overflowing tears.

As you read in my last blog, it does take time. Time to heal and time to recover. Dad's legacy of the love for music is burned in my heart and the voice God gave me (Oh I boom out those songs, but I'm really not that great, trust me). It is in God's comfort and love for me that I embrace dad's legacy and know that it is okay if I'm still a little teary-eyed when I sing those wonderful songs and remember the joy Dad received from singing, hearing, loving and enjoying music.

Here's a youtube video of the Doxology:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=levjTDnb1zM

Instant Coffee

I love coffee. Coffee is a wonderful thing. The smell of the bean, the smell and taste of fresh brewed coffee-ahhhh...it's just divine. I even enjoy the different ways of brewing coffee. Right now I have 2, no um....5 different coffee makers: percolators, auto drip, french press, espresso maker, oh and one of those fancy Keurig things-so fun. I think my favorite cup is from the perc-it just brews a full-bodied cup of coffee.

Then there's instant. Oh, there are some good instant coffees out there, but...well...I'm sorry, but it just isn't the same as a fresh brewed cup of coffee. Coffee is definitely worth the wait!

Now you're wondering what in the world am I getting at-instant coffee is not that big of a deal. Sure, it may not be the best cup of coffee, but when I'm in a pinch, and want that coffee right now, instant is great when I don't want to wait. But is getting what I want instantly really worth it? Am I truly satisfied with instant coffee? I don't know about you, but I am never satisfied with instant coffee.

What about all the other "instant" stuff? You know, you've heard the terms. Let's see, there's "Instant gratification." Yeah right. Look, I'm not a psychiatrist, or a philosopher and getting too profound just makes my head hurt, but from what I can see-or what my life experiences have taught me is that instant gratification (or being gratified by a want or need or desire instantly) is rarely (dare I say never) fully gratifying. In fact, all that instant gratification does is make you want more, make you more dissatisfied, and (dare I say) make you act like a spoiled brat when you don't get what you want right now!

Then there's the term "Instant Intimacy." I almost laugh when I see this because there's no such thing. Sure, it's happened. You jump into something way too fast, get way too deep, then freak out and it all falls apart. In fact, when you're swept into searching for any kind of intimacy in an instant, you end up dissatisfied. There is the argument that it can work, it can develop into something wonderful and long lasting, but the point is LOOOONNNG! It takes time to develop. It takes time to learn to communicate, work and get along. It also takes time to heal.

That's how I know that the whole "instant" thing doesn't work. We humans can't heal, or grieve instantly. We can't just shed a few tears and be over it. We can't just put a bandage on it and be recovered. It rarely (dare I say never) works.

Today (other than it's my daughter's birthday and I mention her in my blog from Valentine's day so look back and you can read more about Jennifer) is a huge day for my family. One year ago my dad had his surgery to remove part of his pancreas. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. While my dad was in surgery, my sister was at her doctor's office being told she has breast cancer. My dad died from complications of the surgery. My sister has finished treatment and is in recovery.

I have learned that grieving is a long process. It is different for everybody, but it is most definitely long. (Dare I say) No one, not anyone, absolutely no one can grieve instantly. It takes time. Sure, maybe it's a year or two, or maybe 10 years or longer, but it is a process that we must go through, and if we don't, we just make it harder for ourselves to live. Sure, we want to just make it go away, or get over it, fix it, but we can't fix grief. We'll have those moments when we're ok, but we'll also have those moments when we aren't and we must let it work through. Healing is the same. Especially with cancer. Jen went through 6 months of chemo, 6 weeks of radiation and is about to have her 2nd surgery. There's just not a magic pill that she can take to get over this. She had to go through the healing process. She's still going through it. We all are.  Right now we all wish my dad was here for Jen. For all of us. So we work through it together and love on my sister.

It was this epiphany about grief and healing that got me thinking about how we humans just aren't made to have things happen instantly. Everything about life: growing up, learning, loving, working, etc...all takes time. When we try to circumvent that and make things happen instantly, it eventually just doesn't work. We're dissatisfied, or spoiled brats or just mentally messed up.

So now what? Go brew a nice cup of perc'd coffee and I thank God that He's given me what I need to live, love, grow, learn, grieve and heal.