The Threadbare Couch

The Going Price of Mockingbirds

2012-01-21T13:59:00.000-06:00

My Sweet Husband is a pushover for babes. Last night, surrounded by sticky nephews and golf jokes and a sweating glass carafe of water, I watched him pull A Move.

Single girls know this move. It's the faux-casual motion of a guy trying to sneak a glance, arms out, in sudden need of a stretch, maybe; or standing up restlessly, casting eyes around the room a couple of times in a sweeping motion that encompasses the person of interest.

I watched with wry amusement as my husband performed this ritual, and no jealousy pulsed in my veins, no shock. Because he's not a pushover for co-eds in tight sweaters: he's a pushover for fingers a half an inch long, curled around a thumb; a fuzz of hair spreading over a brand-new scalp; kitten-sized tongues poking from a mouth just learning to smile.

Last night, in the restaurant, there was mindblowingly cute newborn baby.

My sister-in-law pointed this out, cocking her head for a view around a partition. Sweet husband perked up his ears and made His Move, casually wandering around Nana, glancing with little interest at Friday night diners, turned in a circle at the edge of the partition, and, as soon as tiny infant was out of view again, rushed back to our table mouthing "OH. MY. GOSH!" with wide eyes more associated with "I just saw Harrison Ford ordering red velvet pancake hush puppies!" or "I just saw Liam Neeson dribble some iced tea" or "I just saw" any one of a number of celebrities.

The point is, he loves tiny humans. And as treacherous as days with a toddler prove to be, it is a joy to watch Sweet Husband parent. Before we married, I remember thinking, "it would be okay to have a son if he was going to grow up to be like this man."

This past week friend (and writer) Jenna-Clare Allen pointed out the ups and downs of parenting:

Parenting is such a hard job. Sometimes it feels like it is all work and discipline, discipline and work. I am so profoundly thankful for peaceful days with my buddy--days where he reminds me of how much I like him and enjoy him as a person--these kinds of days sustain me when we go through the rougher weeks and months of parenting. For the past couple of hours, we sat together on the couch staring out at the falling snow. He sat in my lap, with his arms around my neck, playing with my hair and told me all about life on planet earth as William sees it. He talked and talked. What a fascinating, weird, beautiful soul he has. So thankful for this time to breathe and enjoy each other. Thanks, Wilbo Waggins--I really needed that.

One of the sweetest songs known universally begins,
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turn brass,
Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat.
And if that billy goat don't pull,
Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark.
Papa's gonna to buy you and horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
Well you'll still be the sweetest little baby in town."

Parents hum this as the deep impulse to Make Everything Okay wraps our arms around a crying baby or wipes tears from pudgy cheeks. No matter what the economy is like, we want to have just enough in a bank account for the going price of a mockingbird. The bittersweet pill, of course, is that parents can't always make it alright. We try to hide this from our children for a while, or reveal it to them in stages - Lindsay's parents can't take away her lymphoma, some kids don't have enough to eat. We pull back the curtain gradually, knowing that this knowledge will help make our children compassionate and tender, but oh, how we wish we could buy the world a mockingbird and make it all alright.

Sometimes, like Jenna-Clare wrote, our children surprise us at just the right moment with a mockingbird of their own. Sometimes a loving spouse brings a mockingbird along right when we need it most.

Sometimes, I pray the world would sit on a couch, watching snow fall, saying "wow - we've had a rough day, haven't we? Let's just sit still for a while and enjoy each other's company."

Even so, O Lord, come quickly.
And til then, send us flocks of mockingbirds.

Play Your Drum

2011-12-22T14:41:00.000-06:00

I'm learning what pastors around the globe know so well: that Christmas Is Different For Pastors.
The same truth reverberates - Emmanuel, God With Us. It has, however, sunk in that this year I work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and not only work, but serve to fashion a threshold between tired hungry human hearts and the Trinity.

The Advent season has been joyous at church, candles lit every week, new faces showing up in worship; in the past week I've swung from sitting with a family while a woman has knee surgery to taking the youth roller skating to chatting with a young woman who faces her first Christmas without her mom, a cancer victim, all the while catching Christmas songs on the radio, trying to keep my own Advent calendar up to date and trying new spritz cookie recipes until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open.

At 7:30 last night I told John I was going to bed, then discovered once there that my mind was whirring, despite the sinus infection I'm fighting. A little NyQuil, though, and I was out.

I love Christmas. My favorite time of year, and this year, I'm enjoying watching Jack get to rip paper off packages and exclaim delight at illuminated yards.

I wonder if the poinsettias are watered. I haven't watched "It's a Wonderful Life" yet this year. I need to call and ask who organizes the handheld candles for the Christmas Eve service.
Lots of "I" there, I see.

Truth is, don't say a prayer for me because it's a busy season, it's busy for everyone.
Say a prayer for me because I'm homesick, and say a prayer because I grieve. Those are the emotionally draining things, truly, not busy hubbub. I'm not the only one. Many people in this economy see their loved ones less, and many people grieve during the holidays. Pray for them too. For those separated by distance, separated by hurtful choices, separated by necessity. I think of military families and marvel at their daily strength.

It was a tiring Christmas for Mary, after all - travel over bumpy paths on a stinky donkey 9 months pregnant, then labor pains, then visitors kept bothering her blabbering about visions. I think it took a year or two for the wise men to arrive just to make sure Mary wouldn't tell them where to stick their frankincense.

Truth is, it's hard to feel Not Your Best or Not Your Holiest at Christmas, when you love the season and deeply want to create space for others to worship. Silly human instinct, really, to want to dress up to visit the Manger.

Most of us don't overly love "Little Drummer Boy," but I do, because sometimes I'm keenly aware that all I have to offer the Baby is the ability to bang loudly on a potentially annoying instrument. No bank account of gold, no Neiman Marcus myrrh, just myself, rhythm, playing in thanks for God With Us.

Here's my rhythm, Lord. My excitement at your birth. It's all I have.
I played my drum for Him...

A Retrospective of Beauty

2011-12-08T14:17:00.000-06:00

How time flies when you are immersed in something new. Since arriving in my little town in July, I have learned names; learned relationships; learned places; I have done many things For the First. Administering my first congregational Communion; interviewing and hiring for the first time; participating as clergy for the first time - at a funeral (when you picture your death, have you ever considered you might be someone's first? A funeral director's first job? A loved one's first eulogy?).

Firsts can be exhausting - as any parent will confirm. Since arriving in my little town in July, Little Guy has climbed up onto the dining room table for the first time; he has expressed preference for juice over milk for the first time; for the first time, he's been excited by a Christmas tree, instead of terrified.

But Firsts are foundations, concrete knowledge of how, introductions to pitfalls and practicalities. More than this, Firsts often show intent because skill is not yet honed. And on these foundations of Firsts, we all want to build Beauty. Real Beauty - not beauty products, like cosmetics; not beauty tips, like moisturizing advice.

I believe that we encounter Firsts, we choose them, no matter how big our learning curve or how fresh and new our enthusiasm, because we love beauty and wish to see it flourish. Every gardener has turned a spade of soil for the First time; every dimpled toddler hand has grasped a crayon for the First time and seen, with glee, the colored mark left on the paper.

Since arriving in my little town in July, I have seen Beauty; and I have attempted to build foundations for Beauty to take root in, from which to grow and flourish like a scaling, climbing rose up a crumbling brick wall.

When you encounter a First, reflect. Step back, eye it, and say, "what do I want you to be, First?

A First grandchild is born. "How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

A First cancer diagnosis is received. "How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

A First day at a new job is approaching. "How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

A First move away since circumstances have changed. "How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

A First holiday alone is faced. "How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

A First daunting success is absorbed. "How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

Because Beauty is Grace - grace to the giver, grace to the recipient. Think about it: gardeners revel in the sprouting work of their hands, but so do folks walking their dogs past the flowerbeds...

And when you come to the end of your life - as four people have done since I arrived in my little town in July - you will reflect on your Firsts, your foundations of Beauty, because you will be meeting yet another First - the First time saying goodbye for the final time. And when you reach the Last First, the question still remains:

"How can I build from this a foundation of Beauty?"

Sac-a-Burger and Daleks

2011-07-24T17:56:00.000-05:00

I have become resident of two places since last posting here (eons ago): small-town Texas and a TARDIS.

It's been a whirlwind of Sac-a-Burger and Daleks, new faces and new species, cardboard and sonic screwdrivers.

First United Methodist Church of Kemp has a new pastor: yep, that's me.

And the Doctor has two avid fans - well, three really. John and I have been traveling space and time on a regular basis as we catch up on Dr. Who, and Jack rocks and bounces excitedly every time the theme music starts up. Of course, he does that to his favorite Geico commercial, too.

The dust is settling - we have more empty boxes than full, the stove has been toddler-proofed, I finally know how to unlock the front door of the church, and I know almost everyone's name.

The dust is flying - there are still boxes waiting, Jack's arms keeping getting longer and reaching new things, I'm still navigating the huge bunch of unlabeled keys, and shut-in's await visits...

But we feel at home. After a long, long journey, we are settling, and perhaps that's why we love watching the Doctor travel. We know newness and familiarity, we know homesickness and hearth contentment, we know the brazen allure of horizons and the traveling bug and we know the good warmth of an old kettle on the stove.

Pilgrims - every one of us. Finding our way, whether homeless and alone, or lifelong residents surrounded by community.

Still - it'd be quicker to open the front door of the church if I had a sonic screwdriver...

A Day of MotherJoy

2011-05-07T12:05:00.000-05:00

For me, Mother's Day feels - yes, partly a day to be celebrated and appreciated. But mostly, and especially this year, Mother's Day for me is a time to reflect and give thanks. A day to relish being a mother, to think about the profound change wrought in my life by bringing forth a new life.

I love being a Mother. I was 28, barely, when I got married; a year and a half later, we learned we were expecting. Becoming a mother was something I'd thought about, pondered, kept in my heart.

It is everything and more.

This Mother's Day weekend, I celebrate my mother; my grandmothers; my mother-in-law; I celebrate women who have a newborn, a toddler; those who are single moms, moms of three children, moms who have lost children; aunts, godmothers, honorary aunts. But mostly, I celebrate being a mother.

Put Me on a Stretcher and Take Me to Jesus

2011-04-23T22:55:00.001-05:00

It is Vigil still, the dark before the dawn. We are exhausted, the Church, weak with fasting and grief, but the drum beats a message in the watches of the night: morning, morning, morning will come, a reason to believe that Morning Always Comes.

Yesterday I said "I think that faith, at its core, is the man on the stretcher whose friends carried him to Jesus [eventually damaging a roof in the process]. Faith is saying yes, fine, take me to Him, I'm too tired to argue, whatever. Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus."

Friends, that has been my refrain this week: somebody put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus.

Monday: the innocent-looking box that held the prep kit for Sweet Husband and sent him into spasms of agony (colonoscopies are no picnic). Poor bloke is only in his twenties. Jack's molars are cutting through. Existential fall-out: hosting in-law's with whom we've set up camp are being appointed to a new church - two hours away. Existing pressure to find permanent work heightens to countdown pressure or move with them, about which they are extremely welcoming and kind. I didn't imagine moving out as moving out - all together, and moving in somewhere else - all together. Jack's molars erupting noisily. I go to the dentist with dental pain, fearing an expensive cavity. With laughter, discover the discomfort is caused by grinding my teeth at night. Purchase Nightguard at Wal-Mart. Still stress, but stress that doesn't wear away mommy's molars. John can't sleep from the discomfort: he is awake all night. Monday finally over. At the end of my rope.

Tuesday: Jack wants to do anything but eat breakfast cooperatively. He senses tension in the air. Jack goes to play with tiny tot friend while I take John to have an endoscopy and colonoscopy. We pay $1200 down payment on this scoping and I'm thankful for the Nightguard. I sit in the waiting room, watching others being summoned to their loved ones. Is it cancer? Crohn's disease? Or something manageable - Celiac disease? Bacterial infection? It's not cancer or Crohn's, no ulcers in the stomach, little to explain the raging illness that comes in waves, leaving a pale, weak writhing figure in place of my strong, energetic, confident husband. Biopsies taken: maybe it's Celiac, maybe it's bacteria, maybe it's they don't know...so we begin the wait for test results. I get my husband back to bed, and fetch my Sweet Baby from his play, and he's in a raging burst of energy, and I count hours til bedtime, and I'm so tired I take a wet diaper off and begin to walk away before I realize I've forgotten to put a clean one on. Tuesday finally over. Haven't been this tired since Jack was born - maybe not even then.

Wednesday - I can't remember Wednesday. I think there was a poached egg in the morning. Jack was a wild man, I'm pretty sure. John was very ill, I think. I don't remember. Maybe that was the day I ran errands to stay awake.

Thursday: Took a walk in the rain by myself with an umbrella Thursday morning. Blissful. Wish it would rain every morning just so I could enjoy the ritual daily. Quite an Oxford experience. Mostly a sanity-saving experience. John up a couple hours, resulting in pale fatigue. I think that was one of the days I napped when Jack napped. Started to worry about when I was going to get my freelance work done with all this illness in the house. Nana verbally processed various details of the summer move. Began to fray around the edges pretty critically, I think: I remember Nana and my mother in law murmuring and taking Jack to Maundy Thursday communion so I could rest and coming back and putting him to bed. Maybe that was the day I had melted down and sobbed in the bathroom for a while. Yes, I think it was. John watched Jack for a few hours so I could Cope. Still waiting on Sweet Husband's test results. Kept forgetting to check into oral surgeons in the area for his tooth-with-bizarrely-long-roots removal. Jack still cutting molars, climbing on furniture, asking for DaDa.

Friday: Couldn't take any more stress. Took another walk around the Texan neighborhood with Sweet Tot in stroller. Got a call: brother taking Mom to emergency room. In Michigan. Go into surreal tailspin. Still waiting for John's test results. He watched Jack in the afternoon so I wouldn't lose my mind. Too exhausted to change pants to go to Good Friday choral presentation in the evening. And I told my mother in law, "I think that faith, at its core, is the man on the stretcher whose friends carried him to Jesus [eventually damaging a roof in the process]. Faith is saying 'yes, fine, take me to Him, I'm too tired to argue, whatever. Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus."

John is still suffering. Jack is still breaking molars. We still await test results. Mom is still being treated, in an ICU, for a strep infection in her blood, being tested and scanned and tested. We still await responses from cover letters and resumes.

Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus.

Tomorrow is the Hallelujah.

Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus.

Never has a Holy Week been like this, before - for me...

Take me to Jesus.

If I hear one more platitude, one more well-meant assurance that my troubles will cease (when I've learnt my lesson?), if I hear one more silence because my pain and circumstances are awkward for someone else to bear witness to...

Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus.

I don't know what I'm going to do with Sweet Tot, he keeps trying to roll over and crawl off the changing table when I'm changing diapers - sometimes, dirty ones...but he certainly won't stay still anywhere else, either...

Put me on a stretcher.

And they thought it was pneumonia but now they're not sure, they just know infection is traveling through her bloodstream, and they don't know where it's coming from, and she is hooked to IV's and I'm so tired I can't remember to put on a clean diaper after I've taken off a wet one, and prayer? What is prayer? Prayer is something someone does when they summon energy - isn't it? What energy?

Put her on a stretcher. Take her to Jesus.

How much longer will my Sweet Husband be so ill? He's had it in waves off and on for two years. Don't tell me it's IBS. Is this related to his international travels a few years ago? Does he need probiotics? Antibiotics? Gluten-free diet? Stress-free diet?

Put him on a stretcher. Take him to Jesus.

I love making Easter dinner: ham with cognac glaze, asparagus gruyere tart, home-baked hot cross buns, cream cheese mashed potatoes, bleu cheese deviled eggs with dill, lemon tart. But the oven is cool, the pots and pans are empty and still, no sweet, no savory aromas steep in the kitchen, spilling out into hallways and closets. Easter dinner will have a waitress present.

Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus. I'm too tired to argue. My grief is my faith, my faith is my grief, all I have is tears and even they will soon be gone.

But there are those grasping the corners of the stretcher and taking me: in law's, cousins, uncles, friends that stick closer than a brother, and they count and on three they lift - one, two, three: she is risen.

Put me on a stretcher and take me to Jesus...He is risen indeed.

Why I Like the Dallas Arboretum...

2011-04-03T21:25:00.000-05:00

Gorgeous blooms: poppies in spring

Stunning water elements with water lilies, koi and shade

A beautifully symmetrical sunken formal garden

Only a few of the unique tulips on display

Artist friend Angie and her son bask in the color

Giant toads spout water alongside a bench

Brilliantly hued poppies

One of the many fairy tale castles to entertain kids with hidden clues

Rocks, stream, Japanese trees

A Tempest of a Lady: Elizabeth Taylor

2011-03-23T17:31:00.000-05:00

I've never seen "National Velvet," that paragon of little girls' slumber party entertainment. I've never seen "Cleopatra" or "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," either - I think, soon, I will. The truth is that Elizabeth Taylor was so much a larger-than-life figure that for me, who grew up in her twilight years, she was already ubiquitous.

Though her Shakespearean contributions most famously included "The Taming of the Shrew," Elizabeth Taylor was her own personal Tempest. She redefined femininity in the twentieth century. She redefined a lot of things: what it mean to be a lady, what it meant to be married, what it meant to be fashionable, what it meant to support a cause. She was a Leading Lady in life.

Taylor's gentle youthfulness in films like the first one I saw her in - "Little Women" - lent charm to early photos that captured a beauty unsullied by heartache and tragedy. One journalist speculated that if her beloved husband had not been killed in a plane crash, she might never have had that infamous series of marriages.

She brought all this to bear in roles as raw as Virginia Woolf - a truly brilliant performance.

A woman who could easily have succumbed to bitterness - and photos from several years suggest she walked that line - Taylor instead turned her furies to humanitarian work. Whatever she did, she was a fierce storm, no matter how unexpected the direction - as when she was godmother to Michael Jackson's children.

Part of Elizabeth Taylor's glamour consisted of the way she deconstructed what it meant to be a lady, in a time when many actresses, like her friend Debbie Reynolds, portrayed a staunchly iconic image.

From a young age, I admired Elizabeth Taylor - partly because I liked sharing her name. Partly because she embodied old Hollywood beauty and glamour. Partly because she was a novelty to a rural, small-town girl (eight husbands??). I was probably the youngest fan of her "White Diamonds" perfume in existence.

It's hard to find a modern actress with which to compare Taylor. So many drown in self-doubt or over-expose. But her besetting fault was also her gift: Invictus-like, she lived with confidence, chips fall where they may. Taylor was never a size zero actress fretting on talk shows about her Pilates workouts. She knew how to maintain her mystique. Perhaps Kate Winslet's passionate emotion captures a glimmer of Taylor; perhaps Angelina Jolie's darker shades reflect the pain that informed Taylor's performances, as well as her humanitarian efforts.

But Elizabeth Taylor will remain untouchable as an on- and off-screen tempest. Remember why her career is so storied by tuning in to Turner Classic Movies on April 10, which will run a 24-hour memorial tribute, including some of Taylor's most famous films.

Sharing: God, Myers-Briggs, and Self-Sacrifice

2011-03-21T12:38:00.001-05:00

Recently, a friend commented on the links I constantly email her. Something like, "hey crazy, you always find the randomest things" or "hey crazy, you're always hooking me up with weird news" or "hey crazy..." I don't remember, I just have the vague impression of an implied "hey, crazy!"

The point is, I share. If I see an interesting story online - because I do like to take the pulse of the internet regularly - I email it to whatever friend might find it intriguing, or helpful, or bizarre, or hilarious.

It's what I do.

Now, I also engage in actual communication with friends. It's not a substitute for Real Relationship. I just like passing on info, whether it's an article on zombies and Lent (yep. exists.) or a recipe for Guinness ginger cake (if you're on a diet, no, no, of course that doesn't exist).

I think this habit relates to my Super Ultra Comprehensive Inventory. You know, the virtual one in my head, where I compile years of results of Myers-Briggs personality type indicators, spiritual gifts inventories, multiple intelligence theory rubrics, learning style analyses, and DISC leadership style tests. And those don't even begin to touch the "what notable historical figure would you be?" Facebook quizzes.

I'm always highly verbal, interpersonal and intrapersonally aware, encouraging, dominant or influencing, visual, intuitive, teaching, judging (it's a type, a swear!), and my spatial intelligence is somewhere around minus 1,000.

It's the book of me.

Except, of course, it isn't.

Because people are always changing; people are always hidden in some way - staying barely unknowable; and people are infinitely unique.

I know: psychological profiling is helpful insofar as people fit broad categories, or even specific categories, in general. In general, I will never employ my physical senses to interpret information before I intuit it. My friend Angie will. I never will. I will read an expression before I hear literal meaning of spoken words. That's part of what God knit together in my mother's womb, fearfully and wonderfully.

But what we do with what God gave us - that always changes, day to day. We lean in to God's vision of who we are called to be more or less on any given day - that creative masterpiece God had in mind when, in the dark galaxy of a warm womb, we grew. There are some corners of our souls no one but God will ever know, that no profile or quiz or inventory can quantify.

No matter how much I share, part of me is infinitely hidden. The still, small part vulnerable to a Creator who knew me as an idea, a future, a not-yet. This corner of my soul God knows as a parent knows a child, a parent who has gotten up a thousand times in the middle of the night to clean soiled laundry, stinking waste, with love, as if it were the treasure others could never know.

Share as much as I will, I reserve. Which is part of a truth I've long observed: talkative people keep secrets easily, because everyone assumes that because you talk a lot, you say all you know. When, in fact, it's all that much easier to conceal.

Ha.

But sharing with God is infinitely harder than sharing with friends. At least, it can be. I reserve parts of my soul for God alone, hidden thoughts, like Mary, who "kept these things and pondered them in her heart."

Our human tendency is to hide our inmost selves from God - vain impulse that it is. When God comes walking in the garden, we hide. We make our excuses. We do not share. We do not commune. We do not chat. We promise to return the call.

In fact, God saw it was not good for man to be alone. We need people to email links to. We need flesh and blood to know us.

But that hidden part, unrevealed through texts or Tweets or pen and ink or stone and chisel - it is only known by Shared Flesh - this is my Body, broken for you - by Shared Blood - this is my Blood, poured out.

We can share with God the Father because God the Son shared with us, shared our skin and organs and all. Shared our pain. Our suffering. Our grief.

Not only did Jesus reveal the nature of God to us - Jesus allowed us to reveal our inmost being. Our Truly Human.

From this place of being known, we can know others' suffering without drowning in it. Others share their pain with us and we remember Emmanuel, God Who Shares.

We need to be known. We need to be infinitely hidden. We need to Share.

AP and Reuters photos.

A Burst of Color

2011-03-04T10:35:00.001-06:00

The economic mood matches wide swathes of American landscape: brown, grey, invisible under stubborn mounds of snow, dormant. At one point, being dormant means quiet growth deep down, unseen but stirring. Every winter, though, dormancy becomes stale, and we grow impatient for signs of life. We need a burst of color.

In the Southern climate I peek out at from my window, there are a few early daffodils flaunting their arrival, like the first stars to step out onto the red carpet, eager. Down the street a - dogwood? - is wearing a beautiful gown of pink and white, fluffy and elegant and romantic, a sure classic.

But the rest of the world waits, because at this time in winter - even though our lifetimes ingrain in us the truth of spring - at this time in winter, it seems spring will never come again. An Ecclesiastical thought, perhaps, but it is difficult in frost and ice and death to believe that maybe, this year, Aslan will be on the move. We wait for a burst of technicolor, an Oz for the faith that awakens us from black and white Kansas.

You can't own color, you know. You can own red blankets or green houseplants or yellow cushions or purple paint, but you can't own color. You can create with it and arrange it and display it, but no one owns periwinkle. We receive color, as John the Revelator did, attempting to describe as best he knew how the Oz of the senses, in terms of lapis lazuli and pearl and gold and ruby - colors that hold light and shine them back in your face.

Thank you, God, for color.

For pale yellow banana,

Deep teal lake bottoms,

Flirtatious pink blossoms,

Rowdy orange bursts.

Thank you, God, for color -

when gloom clouds our eyes,

sadness weighs our faces,

bad news hunches our shoulders,

weariness stills our hands.

Thank you, God, for color -

That wakes our sepia dreams,

That displays the truth of spring,

That calls us to create,

That welcomes us to heaven.

"Firmament II" by Angela Nicole Lister, angelanicoleart.blogspot.com

"Sometimes It Takes a Village to Let Seniors Stay at Home"

2011-02-21T21:22:00.000-06:00

For the record, this is one of the best articles on aging I've read in a long time.

And I read a lot of articles on aging. Call it a hobby.

It's interesting that in the age of globalization, what used to happen naturally now has to be formalized. But don't get me wrong: it is much, much better to formalize it and keep it thriving than to let community care fall by the wayside. And in an age of relocation, many people can't count on lifelong neighbors.

This is the kind of elder care I wholeheartedly support. Many seniors simply don't thrive in the geriatric dorms that are nursing homes, no matter how high rated a nursing home is. While specialized care is sometimes required, what if it's not needed as much as we think?

Religious organizations need to take notice of this movement:

Sometimes It Takes a Village to Let Seniors Stay Home

Thinking creatively about how to age well will be one of the defining conversations of the next 20 years.

Homemade Naan: Naan Your Head Yes

2011-02-18T09:56:00.001-06:00

More soon on The Time I Met Pioneer Woman: Sole Numbness, Baby Pee and Epic Thirst.

Totally worth it.

Meanwhile, scanning Ree's website this morning I found this ex*treme*ly exciting recipe from Tasty Kitchen. Given that I just mixed my ethnic foods last night, spreading Mediterranean hummus on Indian naan, I was thrilled. I'm all for making my own naan.

I hope you try it! Follow the link below.

Step-by-Step: Homemade Naan

photo by Jessica Merchant

The Long Surrender: The Only Way Is Through

2011-02-15T12:21:00.000-06:00

Today, I listen to the new album from my favorite band - Over the Rhine's "The Long Surrender." And I lean back, reflecting on surrender, acceptance, and a favorite word of one theologian - "docilitas". Being docile, submitted, accepting, in a peaceful, active serenity.

Sometimes, the only way to escape is to relax, the only way through is to go through.

Last night I met Ree - the Pioneer Woman. She sat for hours signing books, posing for pictures, smiling, writing, making small talk. I was in line for over three hours - and that was with a color-coded wrist band.

And even snaking around the edge of the Border's book store was sublime. I was where I belonged: in a book store, among a bunch of women, waiting for someone I was a fan of. Even though I had a squirmy toddler with me and I was dying of thirst, I was where I wanted to be.

And it's been a while since I felt that feeling: of being where I wanted to be.

We're living with my in-law's at the moment. In a state I'd rather not be a resident of. With my Kitchen-Aid mixer packed in a cardboard box and my Pioneer Woman cookbook packed heaven knows where. I live in a dorm-room set-up, cramming essentials and essential non-essentials side by side: computers, dressers, extravagantly large Craig's List free TV with XBox, my baby on the other side of the adjoining bathroom. Three rooms comprise my life - bedroom, bathroom, nursery. All other space is shared space, shared with Nana and Grandma and the ubiquitously Southern "Papaw." I keep thinking of the nursing home residents I knew who boiled down their possessions to what they could fit in one shared room - one single room if they were lucky and their children were financially able to provide it.

It's been a long surrender. A long way to sharing life with people who were family who I didn't really know. A long way through grieving the loss of cold winters and letting myself enjoy seventy degree February days. I chafe and squirm and wrestle as forcefully as my toddler squirms to escape my arms.

I could pin it on my Scottish blood, where independence is prized above all. I could ascribe my restless angst to human nature.

What I really wonder is how, every day, I feel gratitude welling up in the midst of my squirming bid for escape. I feel deep contentment when I brush the hair off my little boy's forehead, when I watch the sleeping form of my curled-up husband, when I help Nana reach something. How can I feel both? Because I do. I squirm and smile at the same time. I chafe and rest simultaneously.

I could say something trite, like people should want to be where they are, instead of longing to be where they want to be. But I think that betrays our deep heart-long for heaven, even when we try to make heaven here on earth.

I long to be where I want to be. Sometimes, I don't even know where that is. Last night, I accidentally discovered I was right where I wanted to be. I am where I want to be, most deeply: with spouse-friend and baby. I am where I want to be: listening to lyrics that take me home, wherever home is. I am where I want to be: in a safe place with people who want me.

But some nights, I squirm for my Kitchen-Aid mixer and cookbook, that are not where I want them to be: packed in cardboard that is scampered on by lizards.

Will I ever surrender?

Should I, when I long for something good?

Do I have anything left to surrender?

Right now, all I know is that finding ourselves right where we want to be sets us free. Maybe it sets us free to be where we squirm, just a little bit longer.

What Do Unemployed People Need from Churches?

2011-02-01T15:39:00.000-06:00

It struck me the other day that pastors right now are in a strange position: many churches are struggling to meet their financial obligations, since giving has gone down, and needs have gone up. A lot of churches have hiring freezes or staff cutbacks: even famed Willow Creek went through a round of layoffs. At the same time, worshipers are losing jobs, investment income, and sometimes large chunks of their pensions.

Meanwhile, the unemployed population is often a transient population: folks are downsizing from large house to small, from small house to apartment, or are joining together to share housing with friends or extended family.

When a pastor stands up to preach on Sunday morning, how does she or he reach a guy who is uncertain if he'll be in the area six months from now? Job uncertainty keeps folks in the pews from making commitments to local church service since they might score an interview 2,000 miles away.

Church budgets are groaning, people have deep needs, staffing is frozen or cut, and faithful parishioners are abstaining from service commitments: what does church leadership do with that?

Here are some ways, Dear Church, that you can take a sticky situation and infuse it with grace:

Resurrect the church van. Why? Because families are downsizing, including their vehicles. Church vans can provide transportation to weeknight and weekend activities that doesn't cut into family gas budgets, and that compensates for busy parents who are working strange schedules due to the economy. It's "mass transit" for the church family.
-Act: Circulate a discreet sign-up sheet. If you're feeling frisky, announce it as "environmentally friendly church transportation" - that'll give dignity to those who are using it because they don't have an extra vehicle or are short on gas money.
-Note: Make sure drivers are properly licensed/insured. Always follow "Safe Sanctuary" practices when transporting children by having two adults present.

Start a job board. Resources may be scarce, but every church has an abundance of bulletin boards. Use one as a place for employers and laid-off folks to post their vacancies and skills on 3x5 cards. It's startling how easily church members pass each other like ships in the night. Provide a centralized location for people to connect.
-Act: Arrange a semi-permanent display in two columns for employers and job seekers. Frequently announce it in services and in bulletins. Have church office assist in keeping it updated.
-Note: Although some congregations use their websites for the same purpose, not all people have easy internet access; additionally, it's helpful for visitors to have an easily accessed bulletin board, and not to have to go online.

Offer one-time service or group activities. Men and women who are job-hunting are often working part-time, juggling childcare, or are in the midst of significant life transitions like moving. With a lot of stress comes hesitancy to commit to weekly studies or volunteer needs. Much more accessible, though, are one-time opportunities or monthly activities that require little commitment but offer fuel for the soul. Re-thinking activity planning can help keep people on the fringes engaged as much as they're able to be. With staff cuts and parishioner stress at a high, it can also be a way to plan successful activities without requiring too much from a bare-bones staff or overly-taxed volunteer leaders.
-Act: Work monthly or one-time events in to your calendar for the next six months. Explicitly communicate that they are "schedule-friendly" ways to be involved in the life of the church.
-Note: Use one-time service events to help fill gaps from staff shortages - organize church spring cleaning or lawn care, plan a fix-it one-day blitz for senior citizens' homes, etc. Offer one-time creative activities as a relaxed environment for stressed families to enjoy. Another benefit: you're able to try things as a one-time activity that you wouldn't normally risk a six-month investment for.

Preach a Few Sermons on Vocation, Identity, and Spiritual Exhaustion.
When the economy is bad, sometimes God uses career uncertainty to call people into full-time service. While desperation should never be a motivator to enter ministry, sometimes shut doors funnel people towards the Church. A lot of discernment is needed in these times, and folks benefit from hearing sermons on calling and vocation. The psychological side of it is identity: parishioners all around the country are struggling to keep who they are separate from what they do. Do you lose yourself when you lose your job? Men and women who have been unemployed for longer than six weeks are apt to be unemployed a lot longer, even a year or two. Even if the federal government extends unemployment benefits, families are left with extremely tight budgets and sustained periods of high stress levels. Spiritual exhaustion takes its toll: not only are church members fighting to find a job, they're fighting to keep hope, to keep encouragement, to keep faith. Job searches merge with the physical tolls of sustained stress and emotional fatigue, sometimes bringing depression. Folks in the pews worry, "what's wrong with me? I can't feel anything anymore." Or even - "am I still a Christian?" What a ripe moment for pastoral leadership to take the opportunity to reaffirm who women and men are in Christ, to address depression and mental illness battles, and to reaffirm a solid theological understanding of the dark night of the soul.
-Act: Work with your (remaining) staff to plan a sermon series on the spiritual struggles of the laid-off, foreclosed, and broke.
-Note: If your congregation does not have a pastor of counseling, or if your staff has had to lose a counseling position, liaise with Christian counselors in your area who are willing to partner with your congregation for a reduced fee.

Other ideas? Start a church garden, where participants work a few hours a week in exchange for receiving fresh fruits and vegetables. Plan a liturgy of blessing for job seekers. Offer continuing education courses from church members who are established in their fields: computer training, culinary instruction, management classes, auto mechanic workshops. If you have a growing contingency of newly relocated folks, find congregational "tour guides" who will host them around the city for a day. Begin a "God's Provision Prayer Partners" campaign, where volunteers take cards with a name of a jobless church member to pray for daily.

Thymed Avocado Tomato Soup

2010-12-27T12:55:00.001-06:00

It is, of course, the Monday after Christmas: a time for staring, unseeing, at toppling towers of Tupperware in the fridge and mindlessly picking up orphaned bows and crumples of wrapping paper. Scales are creaking and wind-driven snow is attempting to stalk unsuspecting householders by finding every chink around the windows.

Indulgence has reached its limit, and now we hunker down, and wait -

Wait for flights to start pouring forth from New York City's airports again.

Wait for New Year's to trip up every date we write for a month.

Wait for the celebration of Epiphany.

Wait for the tea to steep.

After dutifully plowing through my share of tasty Christmas dinner leftovers yesterday, I was not in a mind frame to inundate my tummy with any more carbolicious mashed potatoes.

After I put sweet baby boy down for his nap, I went to the pantry.

Today is a day For Soup. Not a drawn-out, labor-intensive cooking day, though. I reached for the Campbell's classic tomato. Nor is it a day for skipping savories by microwaving.

I mixed Campbell's tomato with a can of low-fat milk. I looked around. I sprayed a small skillet with olive oil and fetched the whole-wheat bagel thins and cheddar slices.

I looked at the tomato soup and remembered the sprigs of fresh herbs from the grocery store that I got for a dollar-fifty and shucked two stems of thyme into the pot, looked again, and ground some black pepper in, too. My grilled cheese looked a little rich for just a couple days after Christmas, so I sprinkled some dill on it to lighten it up a bit. I looked at the soup again. Savory, but lonely. Luckily, sweet husband had put a simple treat in my stocking: an avocado. (Nana: "I don' b'lieve I ever heard of someone getting an avocada for Chris'mis.") Avocado peeled, large chunks slid into the thyme and tomato. Now we were getting somewhere. I let it simmer for a few minutes to warm up the avocado and provoke the thyme into action. But the grilled cheddar with dill on the bagel thins was done, so I spooned the soup into a bowl and slid the sandwich beside it. A dollop of Philadelphia reduced fat cheese (neufchatel) on the soup later, and I had thymed avocado tomato soup.

"What're you doin' with that avacada?" Nana wanted to know. She gets tickled at my kitchen adventures.

"I put it in the tomato soup."

She snorted and giggled and wanted to know if that was something I'd done before.

"Nope! It's an experiment."

It turns out it was the best tomato soup experiment in the history of the world, because a two dollar avocado and and a dollar-fifty stem of fresh herbs woke up sleepy tomato soup that crept up unawares the Monday after Christmas. I will make it again.

And again and again. Wooden spoons, unite!

Thymed Avocado Tomato Soup

(note: use low-fat milk and neufchatel [reduced fat cream cheese] to keep this waistline-friendly. Also, avocados contain a lot of fat - but it's the 'good' kind.)

Serves 1 large soup bowl, 2 small soup bowls, or 4 cups.

Mix 1 can of Campbell's basic tomato soup with 1 can of low-fat milk in a pot over med/low heat. Stir occasionally.

"Shuck" fresh thyme leaves of 2 stems into soup, and stir (hold end of stem in one hand while running thumb and forefinger over the length of the stem). Add freshly ground black pepper, to taste. Simmer.

Peel ripe (soft, but firm) avocado, cut into large chunks, add to soup. Stir.

Simmer on low no longer than 5 minutes after avocado is added.

Add 1 Tablespoon of cream cheese or reduced fat cream cheese (neufchatel) if desired, and serve.

Voila! A perfect winter treat on cold days after unreserved Christmas gluttony.

It's possible other people have done this exact thing, or that Giada or Paula or one of the other Food Network mavens have made this a million times, but I'm unaware, if so. So no copycat-ing intended.

Bronte on the Big Screen: Jane Eyre Comes to Life Again

2010-11-30T11:15:00.001-06:00

   Jane Eyre is a strange girl. Small - strong-willed - and, we are told, with a piercing gaze. A few years ago, when I shared a house with two women and one small boy, I discovered one day that the girl who lived downstairs in the dining room reads Jane Eyre annually. She plans it, looks forward to it, and blissfully disappears for several days to reemerge using antiquated sentence construction.

   Anything someone reads annually is automatically intriguing. I'd read Wm. Shakespeare and Jane Austen, L.M. Montgomery and Laura Ingalls Wilder. But I had never trod the Bronte path.

   It is cobwebby and sweet, sinister and shadowy. It feels a bit like Dickens - a bit.

   What surprised me most was the intense femininity, the unabashed emotional peek into a strong, quirky female mind in the 19th century. The gothic overtures were expected; the startling, blunt exposure of an overlooked girl was not.

   I loved it.

   Immediately, Emily and I (my friend who lived in the dining room, not Charlotte's sister) began playing the unending game: what actress would you cast? What actor? Who should be Mr. Rochester? Who should be Jane?

   Apparently, some casting directors have also been playing the game. Finally, a new version of Jane Eyre is coming to a theater near you this March (thankfully sans Timothy Dalton, unlike the old version that creeped the wits out of me as a child). I am thrilled to see Dame Judi Dench in this rendition: the incomparable British actress has been making the rounds of classic English literature, having played Lady Catherine de Bourgh in the recent Pride and Prejudice. She has morphed brilliantly from leading lady to aging matriarch (and often manages to seem as if she still is, in some ways, leading lady).

   At any rate, the book - and movie - are called Jane Eyre, not Aging Housekeeper, and you can watch the trailer here. It looks quite promising.

   Is there a loved literary character you wish you could cast? Who would you choose to play your favorite character?

Handknit Stocking Giveaway!

2010-11-22T13:30:00.004-06:00

The winner is...#1, Marybelle!

Alright, soon I'll tell you the story about a game with extended family involving a misinterpretation of "Medusa Getting Her Hair Cut," that ends with "Catching A Dead Girl With A Carrot."

But that's for another day. Today, I am thrilled to showcase Mema! Yep, she's a great-grandmother who handknits stockings and sells them on Etsy - and beautiful stockings they are. In fact, we chatted about her crafty ways recently...

Your profile says you've created things all your life, whether knitting, crocheting, or even woodworking. But when did you learn to knit? What was the first thing you ever knitted?

I can not remember exactly when I started. My mother was an accomplished knitter. She would make suits, coats, sweaters, and she started the traditional socks. My sock has 1951 on it and the white (because of the yarn used then) is now yellowed. But I still use it every christmas. When my mom passed the chore of keeping up with our growing family with new socks for newcomers passed to me.

I started before school. About 3 or 4. So I can not remember what I made first. I do know that as a child I do remember making sweaters and all kinds of cloths for my Barbies.

In primary school in church at about 7 years old my mom came to teach us to knit and crochet. I helped to teach the class with her. I even learned to teach left handed people to do it.

All of the other crafts just came in time. The woodworking is a new thing for me. I just started a couple of years ago after I retired. I have done knitting, crocheting, needlepoint, cruel embrodery, counted cross stitch, bunka (japaneese punch art), quilting, sewing, and I even taught my self how to tat, when I could not find anyone to show me. I have also done a lot of ceramic painting. My house is filled with pictures I have done in all media, and christmas is full of villages, antique santas, and a manger set.

Also most of my gifts at christmas I make too. I love doing it.

You have many grandchildren and one great-grandchild: are any of them involved in making crafts?

My oldest daughter, Wendi, and her daughter, Meghan, both have shops on etsy.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/wordybirdstudios
http://www.etsy.com/shop/barbedlotus
They are both into all kinds of crafts also.

I know how to crochet, but I don't know how to knit. In your experience, what surprises knitting beginners the most when they start to learn? I admit, the prospect of learning makes me nervous.

Learning any new craft is a little frightening. But knitting is not that hard. There are really only 2 stitches to learn....Knit and Purl. Everything is a combination of the two. The hardest part is reading the patterns. You just need to take them 1 step at a time. Just like anything in life that you do.
On my site, the Nordic style pattern is the only one that I got from a pattern. The striped socks with the train and angels on it are a variation of our own traditional sock that I got from my mother. I changed the designs so that they would be different from our family socks. All of the other socks on the site and the patterns I sell are my own. I have tried to make them as easy to read as possible.

After September 11th, safety regulations banned knitting needles on airplanes, apparently considering them "dangerous" or "weapons." What's the strangest place you've ever found yourself knitting? (I think grandmas should be able to knit on airplanes, personally.)

The strangest Place? I have done crafts everywhere. I even knitted on a flight last month. Maybe the round needles don't count.

If you were stranded on a desert island, and you could only take supplies for one craft - sewing or crocheting or knitting or woodworking or painting or whatever - what would you take, and why? (This island has no electricity.)

I think I would have to take cross stitch to that island. It takes the longest to complete and you need the smallest amount of supplies. However, I could knit in the dark. If I am just straight knitting I do not have to watch what I am doing.

Okay, I'm sneaking in one last question because it just occurred to me. Do you think the ability to make things (through knitting, or woodworking, or whatever) gives people confidence? Why would you encourage a young person to learn some of these skills?

I really believe that crafting does boost you confidence. I love to see people when they open their gifts and know that I have given them a part of me. It also teaches people to be creative. I think it makes you think "out side of the box".

Also, for young people, like my youngest granddaughter, Samantha, it teaches them that they can entertain themselves and they have a great sense of accomplishment. I think she will also be like me and love to create things.

Mema, who is shriderb on Etsy, is giving away one custom stocking of the winner's choice!

To enter, visit shriderb and choose your favorite stocking. Leave a comment here telling me which stocking is your favorite.

One entry per person: giveaway ends Saturday, Nov. 27th at midnight. Winner will be chosen via random.org and will be notified by email.

Winner has 24 hours to respond before new winner is drawn.

TRICK OR TREAT! Spooooky Black Flower Photo Giveaway

2010-10-29T14:02:00.007-05:00

This giveaway is now closed. The winner will be contacted!

Warning: I'm in the mood for puns. The last half of the Rangers' game last night was A Monumental Disaster. The person I desperately hoped wouldn't win Project Runway, won. The dogs did not come when we walked around the neighborhood calling and wafting bacon (which I ate on the way home). So be warned: Halloween puns will abound, no bones about it.

In many places around the world, the line between the physical and the spiritual realm is...thin. Blurred. One could even say, ghostly. Some tribes in Africa still feed poison to chickens to see if a woman is guilty of an accused crime (if the chicken lives, she's innocent. Go figure.). Food is left for ancestors to come eat in Japan, a traditional practice that survives in the tech-heavy culture. The Day of the Dead continues to reign in Mexico.

Have you ever seen a ghost, or have you just been creeped out by campfire stories? There's the skeptics' take: "Haunted Hotels' Ghost Stories Good for Business," and there's the "oooh, fun, creepy!" take: "World's Most Haunted Castles."

Some churchgoers tell stories of loved ones seeing the departed come to retrieve them at the moment of death. And there's the strange Bible tale of the witch of Endor summoning the spirit of Samuel from the "abode of the dead," subject of a brilliant Halloween sermon I heard once (refresh your memory here.)

But the classic locale for ghosts and ghouls is The Castle. The haunt of many tourists, castles are mysterious, shrouded in murky history and tales of far-off revenge, torture, and intrigue. Just the sheer number of centuries they've stood, darkened stone passageways and shadowy dungeons, begs the imagination to run wild. I love memories of visiting Edinburgh Castle, Stirling Castle, Warwick Castle, and Dunvegan Castle. Did I see any ghosts? No...but then, I was there during the day...and the castles certainly were mysterious and awe-inspiring. I loved Warwick Castle, but my heart belongs to Scotland, and it is Scottish castles that continue to hold me spellbound.

What better treat this Halloween than to present you with a stunning photo of wild, untamed, Scottish landscape? You're welcome to picture gaunt, forlorn ghosts roaming the valleys, or to keep your mind firmly in the empirical, analyzing the meteorological conditions in the photograph. (Doesn't life always come down to choosing Kirk or Spock?)

Here is Amanda, giving us a glimpse of her photographer life. Whether she was in costume when she shared these answers, I have no idea. But I bet her camera, Betsy, was. Cheeky camera. P.S: Someday I, too, shall name a pet Smooshzilla. Who wouldn't?!?!

I think more people would get into photography if they all had cameras named Betsy. Your camera is named Betsy. How did you get into photography?

I got into photography when I was 4 or 5. Mom, who was forever taking photos of my sister and me, gave me one of her old Kodak Instamatics and that was that! I remember just being awed that I could take this little device, point it at something I thought was interesting, and be able to hold onto that memory forever. Mom’s mom – my grandmother – was also into photography, but whereas Mom primarily photographed people, Nana Kay primarily photographed everything but people – the fog rolling over cornfields in the Missouri Valley, her cats playing, Grampa’s hands as he played piano – so between the two of them, I learned quite a bit about serious amateur photography. It was also through observing them that I learned that cameras have personalities (there really is no other word for it). Mom shot with a newer Instamatic and Nana Kay shot with a Nikon, and they both produced very different types of photos. When I received Betsy (a Nikon) as a wedding present, it took me a while to learn her personality and how best to work with her. As crazy as it sounds, Betsy and I have a pretty great relationships – she’s full of attitude, and is far more adventurous than I. She also is good about getting me to slow down and see what’s beneath the surface, which I think is evident in the black-and-white flower photos.

Do you think that digital cameras, easy access to Photoshop, and photo-happy sites like Facebook have "bettered" the art of photography, or flattened it?

I love this question about the democratization of photography! Let me answer it this way: I love, love, love that people are using photography in ways that just weren’t possible before now – even 15 years ago, photo-sharing had to be done via hard-copy, cameras were still pretty expensive, and other types of technology (e.g., phones and music players) did not have to have a camera appended to them to be considered worthwhile. I think something very profound happens when we humans are able to preserve a slice of our experience. However, I do take issue with folks wanting to recreate one specific type of photograph instead of capturing their own experiences. I’m thinking in particular of the rise of those yellowed-out 70s-nostalgic photos that are so easily created through slapping on a few filters from an iPhone app and uploaded to Facebook or Tumblr. Can those photos be interesting? Sometimes, yes. But do those photos do what I think photography should do (which is to capture one’s unique experience)? Absolutely not.

Of all the photos you've taken, what's your favorite?

There are a few of which I’m quite fond – not because they are fantastic photographs, but because they remind me of a specific place and time and emotion. This photo of my cat, Smooshzilla, reminds me of a gorgeous fall day in Illinois when the wind was chilly but the sun was warm. Smoosh woke up from a nap (and in so doing, woke me up from the same nap!), stretched, and began to clean herself. I’m sure I appreciated that little moment given the praying mantis I’d found on the sidewalk the day before. He was huge and very stately looking – but he was also quite dead. It reminded me of how fleeting life can be.

How do you get a picture to tell a story?

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. I think series of photos can tell a story, but getting one photo alone to tell a story is a tricky proposition because it lacks the context of the surrounding moments in time. I’ve talked with Mom about this quite a bit – in the black-and-white flower photos (the peony especially), she sees something entirely different than I. Of course we both see the same flower, but she cried when she saw it because she said it was so delicate that it released something and she couldn’t help but have a good, satisfying cry. I see it as very shy, just poking its head out into the light to see the world – it’s meek and it’s unsure of how it will be received. Instead of imposing a story or questioning this process that each viewer – like each camera – brings to a photo, I’ve become interested in why each person sees what s/he does.

What's one thing you haven't photographed that you really, really want to?

This is going to sound awful, but I have to answer truthfully: my husband! I’ve known that man going on five years and I couldn’t take a good photo of that man to save my life! I’ve taken many, many photos of him that are honest, accurate and truthful, but I’ve yet to get one that I’m pleased with. Nate, our brilliant wedding photographer, takes great photos of my husband all the time. I suspect it’s a matter of perspective.

GIVEAWAY!

Black Flower Photos is giving this Scottish Highlands

Hills and Clouds

print to one lucky Trick or Treater!

To enter, visit Black Flower Photos and

leave a comment here about which photo is your favorite.

Please include your email address.

One entry per person.

Giveaway ends ("remember, remember") the 5th of November at midnight central time.

Winner will be chosen creepily via random.org and has 48 hours to respond.

What's Up, Slovenia?!?

2010-10-28T15:42:00.000-05:00

According to my Deluxe Radar, I've had four visitors from Slovenia this week.

WHAT'S UP, SLOVENIA?!?

Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you could hear me. There are a lot of miles between North America and Slovenia, after all.

In other news, the dogs are still missing.

In additional other news, and to be honest, as a new parent, I may have said this already but I don't remember and I'm too tired to check, you may be wondering "why all the giveaways? doesn't she ever check her archives and notice she used to write all the time?"

Um, hello. New parent. Still trying not to forget the baby in the car.
And trying not to forget more infant Tylenol, because he's sprouting teeth every other day.
And trying not to forget to brush my own teeth, speaking of teeth.

Be that as it may, I Heart Giving Giveaways, for a few reasons.
1) I've been laid off for like 3,000 years. Giving anything to anyone feels great.
2) Everyone else has been laid off for like 3,000 years. Supporting their businesses feels great.
3) Everyone's brother has been laid off for like 3,000 years. Giving them an opportunity to win something - for themselves, for someone else, as a gift - feels great.
4) I love chatting with Etsy shop owners. HA! Had a pattern going, threw a curveball, didn't I? They are kind, quirky, interesting, hilarious people.

Speaking of curveballs.
Did you SEE the World Series opener last night? I did. Husband's from Texas, you know. Support them Rangers.
What. A. Fiasco. Disaster. Mess.

The 5th Inning was the Inning That Wouldn't End. Being Henry VIII's wife sentenced to a beheading with a butterknife would have been less drawn-out and tortuous.

And then there was the interesting line-up of pitchers from San Fran:
*Emo-guy: the David Bazan of the Major Leagues
*Bearded guy: he makes me want to stroll through a bazaar and drink Turkish coffee
*Faux bearded guy: he told a reporter he doesn't dye it. I can only assume sarcasm.

Hopefully, the Rangers will rally tonight. But the execs at Fox and Lifetime don't consult the small sliver of overlapping demographic Venn diagram that is me:

The viewer who wishes she didn't have to choose whether to DVR the World Series or the season finale of Project Runway. Wow. What if Heidi Klum appeared at the end of the Series and "auf wiedersehn"-ed the losers? Or, OR, what if, for the final game, the Giants and the Rangers had to create a day and evening look for a mystery celebrity?

It's been a long week.

Lost Dogs

2010-10-27T14:05:00.000-05:00

The dogs are out.
The dogs are gone.

They're off, having a fun-filled, romping adventure, or are in harm's way, dodging loaded pick-up trucks and rowdy mini-vans. And I don't know which it is.

Pioneer Woman lost a dog once. Nell never came back.

We moved from the Bluegrass to the Lone Star in the beginning of the summer, and ever since, Charlie and Daisy have been running gleefully in the backyard, barking at the squirrels in the overhanging trees, or chasing each other, or bounding up when Sweet Husband or I walk out the back door. Sweet Husband has checked and rechecked the fence to make sure it was secure.

But they're dogs.

And sometimes dogs dig under fences, forcing their way through, snapping off the bottom of the boards in their desperation to chase or play - what? A cat? A raccoon? A neighbor dog? The mailman? And then their owners go to put them up for the night, and come running back into the house to tell their wives "the dogs are gone."

And then we drive up and down the streets, calling their names, listening to distant barks - all of which sound just like your dog - and we wake up in the morning hoping they've found their way home, through the open fence gate we left propped for them, just in case.

And then I think of the time we brought Sweet Baby Boy home from the hospital, and Charlie would lay at the nursery door as if on guard duty, and when Jack cried, Charlie would whine, and look at me, and trot to the nursery, and back to me, worry crinkling his brown and white face.

And I remember Daisy's antics, and her irrepressible grin, and the time she ran out onto an icy porch and lost her footing and looked like an old Disney cartoon of Goofy, legs flying in all directions.

I think of the Blessing of the Animals that Episcopal churches have sometimes, and St. Francis, who loved birds.

The city has the "lost" report, and photos to accompany it.
Kind neighbors have sent an email alert to the neighborhood association.

Charlie and Daisy, if you're checking your covert canine bark-mail on a library computer and you're reading this, please come home. I promise I'll throw the tennis ball as long as you want me to.

Votive: A Beautiful Giveaway

2010-10-18T15:30:00.001-05:00

This giveaway is now closed. The winner is #2, Julie! Congratulations!

It's that time of year: apples are crisp, Halloween costumes are hastily being assembled, and Martha Stewart: Living has glorious slices of Thanksgiving pie showcased on the cover.

Some of you feel something tickling the back of your brain: like something hiding just out of sight, a glance at the calendar makes you feel you've forgotten something important.

Christmas.

I am pleased to introduce you to an extremely gifted artist. She has a shop on Etsy. She does beautiful work. And she is generously providing a yellow starburst handpainted votive to one lucky person - a gift for you, or someone you love. I encourage you to do some Christmas shopping from talented Yevgenia!

Let me introduce you to Yevgenia.

I love that items in your shop are global - alongside tea cups, there are bowls with chopstick notches, and the ubiquitous English egg cup. Is the wide appeal deliberate, or does it spring naturally?

It actually springs naturally. I grew up surrounded by my grand parents’ English and German tea sets, which are now collectibles. So I naturally, out of melancholy, look out for such items. And I was always drawn to Asian art, sculpture, ceramics and design. Growing up in Moscow, Russia I was surrounded by a lot of ethnic diversity of former Soviet republics, which I think added to my globally appealing aesthetic. And now living in New York City, a melting pot of the world, just constantly broadens my palette.

I notice that you have a beautifully keen eye for nature - many of your items showcase elegant blossoms and foliage. Does your inspiration come from the outdoors, from classic botanical prints, or where?

I love the outdoors! All my summers up until 14 years old were spent in summer camps, hiking or at my grandparent’s house in suburbs by the lake with a gorgeous garden. Now that I live in urban jungle and don’t have a car, I kind of obsess about the lack of nature in the city. I have a gorgeous park 2 blocks away from me, where I’d love to prop up a tent and just live there.

A few of your glass items seem to fuse abstract art with stained glass, the way you've painted them - they actually almost remind me of icons. What's your process - how do you get from a clear, glass object, to an exquisitely adorned ornament?

Being a multi-media artist outside of Etsy I am working with reclaimed windows which I paint and sculpturally build out to create wall hung 3D sculptures which are back-lit. I think this definitely influences how I approach painting glass. The shape of the glass object dictates the design for me, that’s why it’s almost always abstract. I get carried away by a curve or an angle, or some strange reflections produced by the thick edge of the base. But I’m always aware of how it will look against the light and in the shade, from all the angles.

I love that your art has a clear, consistent voice, but that it also stands alone, unique, and personal. Have you thought about creating collections, or do you prefer to allow your pieces to stand individually?

I have already begun creating collections based on my most favorite designs: Grass Fields (with floral permutations), Red Dragon motif (with black and gold variations) and Topography series, which at this point encompasses all the glass works. I did organize my store previously based on the collections but I think it was a bit confusing for the buyers looking for, say, a cup. So I changed the layout based on the type of dishes. I just wish the Etsy store was more customizable.

How does an online venue like Etsy help you in your day to day life as an artist?

It is incredibly inspiring to know that somebody out there likes what I create and wants to own it. This makes my day and gives a reason to go on creating. I think all artists are aware that they need audience; so knowing that I have one is very encouraging.

***************************

To enter this giveaway, featuring the handpainted, yellow starburst votive from Yevgenia, visit the shop here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/yevgenia?ref=seller_info. Find your favorite item, and tell us what it is in a comment below. Include your email address for winner notification purposes. Limit one entry per person.

BUT WAIT! Make a purchase from Yevgenia's shop, and earn five additional entries!

Giveaway ends midnight central time on Monday, October 25th. Winner chosen via random.org and has 48 hours to respond before another winner is chosen.

A Favorite Hymn: "Stand by Me"

2010-10-12T15:01:00.001-05:00

When the storms of life are raging,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When the storms of life are raging,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When the world is tossing me

Like a ship upon the sea

Thou Who rulest wind and water,

Stand by me (stand by me).

In the midst of tribulation,

Stand by me (stand by me);

In the midst of tribulation,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When the hosts of hell assail,

And my strength begins to fail,

Thou Who never lost a battle,

Stand by me (stand by me).

In the midst of faults and failures,

Stand by me (stand by me);

In the midst of faults and failures,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When I do the best I can,

And my friends misunderstand,

Thou Who knowest all about me,

Stand by me (stand by me).

In the midst of persecution,

Stand by me (stand by me);

In the midst of persecution,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When my foes in battle array

Undertake to stop my way,

Thou Who savèd Paul and Silas,

Stand by me (stand by me).

When I’m growing old and feeble,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When I’m growing old and feeble,

Stand by me (stand by me);

When my life becomes a burden,

And I’m nearing chilly Jordan,

O Thou “Lily of the Valley,”

Stand by me (stand by me).

listen: Stand By Me

Kindness of Strangers

2010-09-28T14:21:00.002-05:00

Oh wretched back, that fails me at my hour of need.

Sorry.

Sometimes I wax Shakespearean when I'm in pain.

You should've heard me when I was in labor. It sounded like King Lear in the delivery ward (ba-dum-bum)...

In case you didn't know, the human body miraculously loosens its joints when a woman is going to have a baby.

The part two of this fact is that it takes months for the joints to settle back into their comfortable places again.

During which time period, backs can go out.

Especially if you lean over all wonky with a whopping 21-pound-baby in your arms.

Silly Mama.

ANYWAY, I digress. Nevermind the abysmal depth of my suffering-no, no, I'll be...(hand on forehead)...alright.

Actually, I wanted to talk today about the kindness of strangers. There's so much bad news. Economy. Politics. The owner of Segway dying because he drove his Segway off a cliff accidentally. (Look, I know it's tragic, but don't pretend you're not laughing, too.)

And in the midst of the suffering, and bad news, and egg recalls, let's celebrate the kindness of strangers, upon which Scarlett depended so much.

Recently, a Kind Sir sponsored a giveaway on this blog. A beautiful wooden bowl was featured. I enjoyed interviewing him, and I loved giving something away. I've been too poor lately to be able to give much away, so it was a blessing to bless someone else with someone else's blessing of a woodworking talent.

Unravel THAT.

Anyway, the Kind Sir, being kind, so thoroughly enjoyed being featured here at the Big Red Couch that he said he wanted to send a small thank-you gift. This took me aback, but I thought it was kind, so I said that'd be fine.

In the mail yesterday, Kind Sir's wife sent a beautifully penned thank-you note (I've never met this charming couple) with a delicate, crocheted bookmark in it, which was handy, because I'm reading a thick paperback book right now and keep manhandling it by leaving it upside-down and open, because I don't have a bookmark, which is ridiculous, because I read so much. All my bookmarks are in storage.

So I thought that that was the kind gift, and then she wrote that the kind gift was on its way, but she wanted to express appreciation in the mean time through this delicate, handcrafted bookmark.

Now, I don't know about you, but the tender kindness of strangers that transcended online interactions was very touching. It's been so dark, lately: no one has jobs, and everyone is losing their house, and fish in the Gulf of Mexico are dying, and Peruvian miners are trapped, and I put my back out - which of course ranks right up there with the rest - and I was touched. I just thought it'd be fun to host a giveaway. But it seems, it was more than that to this artisan.

It got me thinking about other strangers' kindnesses: the time someone helped out when I was in school and foolishly ran out of gas on the side of the road; the times people held the door for me when I was a thousand months pregnant; the time a lady paid for my latte when I realized I didn't have any money in my wallet; the times tired-looking folks at the grocery store tell me to go ahead of them since I have two things and they have twenty; the time an anonymous someone paid for my senior trip in high school (still don't know who...); the time people have called out, saying "oh! your scarf - " or "oh - your change!" or "oh - your glove" or whatever I have forgotten or dropped; the time a bunch of women I'd never met came to my baby shower and shocked me with their generosity; the time...

The time.

I am so thankful, today, for the kindness of strangers; for Providence wearing L.L. Bean turtlenecks or Reebok sneakers or whatever you randomly notice about the person standing in front of you or behind you or next to you, who you don't know, but who is kind.

I hope today you can quickly think of several instances in which strangers were kind to you. Strangers who held a door, or gave your car a jump, or paid your grocery bill, or left a note on your windshield saying "it was me that put that dent there, here's my insurance information," or said "wait - your change!" or "no, go ahead of me, it's okay"...

Please share a few of these experiences with the rest of us.

I am so thankful for the kindness of strangers. I bet you are, too.

Bowled Over: Giveaway!!

2010-09-12T19:56:00.017-05:00

This giveaway is now closed, but feel free to enjoy my chat with Jim from the Etsy shop "A Fresh Twist," and enjoy his work!

The WINNER of this beautiful, hand-turned red oak bowl is

JENNIFER BARR!

Tune in for upcoming giveaways...including one that is yummy!

I really enjoyed hosting a recent giveaway - it was so nice to share! I am ridiculously pleased to introduce another giveaway - and this one is all about Jim...

Jim makes bowls. Beautiful wooden bowls. (Read more about him here.) And Jim has made a beautiful wooden bowl out of red oak in honor of the Big Red Couch. Jim and I chatted a little bit and I was fascinated to learn more about woodworking.

This is what I love: not only has Jim hand-turned a red oak bowl for the Big Red Couch, he provided photos of the process, so you can see the bowl being born. I absolutely love this.

So, without further ado...

1. So, Jim, I have to ask: did you get an "A" in shop class? How did you begin woodworking?

Actually, my wife bought me a lathe for my birthday a couple of years ago, and I was immediately hooked. The process of "turning" something that is going to be thrown away or burned up into something useful and beautiful is a very rewarding experience.
In the beginning, I read everything I could about turning, and indulged in a lot of trial and error. Sometimes the wood flew off the lathe and bounced around; thankfully things stay on much more now. For Christmas the next year, my wife upgraded me to a better lathe. I had completely worn out the first one, (motor, bolts, belts)!

2. How did you go from crafting bowls in Michigan to setting up an Etsy shop online?

After my new lathe, my output increased. We had bowls everywhere. People would come over and say how much they liked them. My wife bought a cabinet with a glass door at an antique shop for my bowls. When that was full, she and my two boys made a bigger cabinet with handmade stained glass in the front doors. Soon that, too, was full. My wife had bought some pottery through Etsy in the past and she suggested that I sell my bowls there. It was great setting up the store and I have enjoyed it so far.

3. I see beautifully shaped, crafted bowls - but I don't know anything about the creation process. Can you summarize the steps between a hunk of wood and a shiny, curved dish?

The process of creating is different for everybody. Ask three wood turners what their techniques are for turning and you will get three different answers. I use various tools to carve the wood and the process may take a couple of hours or a couple of days depending on the complexity. As the wood spins I guide it to the shape I have in mind. Other times the wood persuades me that something different would be even better.

4. What's your favorite thing that you've made?

That's a hard one. Probably my favorite piece is the holder for my wife's paint brushes. Made of slightly-spalted maple, it curves in at the middle and flares out on the top and bottom. I like the shape of it and the way the wood looks, but I also like that it helps her to create works of art.

5. Do you ever wonder where your creations will end up - how their story continues after they leave your hands?

I think about this one a lot. I hope that people get use, or possibly even inspiration out of my creations. Who knows where a bowl may end up or what use it may have? The longer a bowl is around and passed on, the longer and more interesting a story it has to tell. I hope that people get as much enjoyment out of them as I do in making them.

And now, for the important part!

Enter to win this very bowl!

HOW TO ENTER:

Visit Jim's shop, A Fresh Twist, at Etsy, and share your favorite item from it in a comment below. Be sure to include your email address. That's it!

Contest ends at midnight central time on Friday, September 17, 2010.

Winner will be chosen by random.org and will have 48 hours to respond once notified.

US and Canadian residents only. One entry per person.

Ashes in a Box

2010-09-04T00:14:00.003-05:00

In ancient Egypt, the dead - the wealthy, at least - were mummified: stuffed, wrapped, and buried with mummified servants, pets, and loved ones in preparation for an immediate afterlife (in which one would desire one's servants, pets, and loved ones).

Below Rome, tourists can walk through echoing catacombs - miles of which are still relatively unexplored - where people were buried, underground, paintings on wet plaster occasionally depicting what the deceased did in life.

In Germany, Martin Luther wrote practical instructions on how to dispose of plague victims to contain the spread of the disease in a way that was both respectful and sanitary. (outside the city)

Across the ocean in Great Britain, you can find tombstones with -er - quite a few names on them. When you live on an island, real estate is scarce. Sometimes graves went several coffins deep.

In modern-day North America, apparently you visit the post office.

Oh, not always. Sometimes there are notable funerals when a sobbing (drunk?) family member sings Frank Sinatra's "I Did It My Way" in tribute of the person up front. (That was an interesting experience.)

Occasionally Catholic churches offer columabariums for the..deposit?..of ashes on sacred space, in a quiet, reverent atmosphere (no Halloween teenagers leaving Budweiser cans on tombstones).

But a few weeks ago, I went, with my mother-in-law, to the Post Office.

It started this way:

"Oh, Joy, did you see you got a card from the mailman for a package pick-up?"

"Yes, I've been putting it off, I dread going."

(to myself: Hmm, what, did J.C. Penney's mess up an order or something?)

"I think it's Mother's remains."

(in my head: WHOA, holy cow, didn't see that coming, no wonder she's weirded out.)

"What?? That's right, there was only a memorial service. It's taken this long?"

(to myself: That's right, Grandmommy donated her body to scientific research, and I guess...I guess now, they're done.)

"Do you want someone to go with you? That's not the kind of thing you should have to do by yourself. I'll go."

"Oh, I'll probably be alright, it's just weird, I mean, it's her - at the post office. I've been dreading this ever since she passed. I guess the university is done. It's just so random that it's now."

(in my head: no woman needs to go pick up her mother's remains at the bleepity bleep post office by herself. I'm going.)

And so, we went. To the post office. To pick up Grandmommy. Kind of.

My sweet, sweet mother-in-law was shaky. She blinked a lot. And then we saw the line. A cold, practical, bureaucratic line over 20 people long.

We were going to have to look at Disney stamps while she waited for her mother's ashes? In a crowded post office in a strip mall?

She gritted her teeth. A long line meant Keeping It Together all the longer. Thankfully, southern women are good at gritting their teeth.

It was hot, and smelly, and she stood with the little card in her hand, as if she'd just ordered a sandwich at a deli. Thankfully, the postal workers waved "pick-up's" ahead. We went to the counter. She handed over the card. The big, bustling man behind the counter bustled into the back room.

We stood. She blinked rapidly. I patted her shoulder awkwardly.

But a few seconds, then a few minutes, then I was trying to make weird we're-waiting-to-pick-up-ashes small talk.

It started to get tense.

They weren't...

They weren't having trouble finding the box, were they?

Sweet mother-in-law began to voice this concern. We'd stood at the counter for at least five whole, long minutes. Others came and went. Someone came over to make sure we'd been helped. Customers filed through the long line.

A big, bustling, worried employee finally returned to the counter.

"We're, ah, having trouble locating your particular package."

My sweet mother-in-law is so sweet. All she said was - tearfully, haltingly - "but it's my mother's ashes." She didn't even have to raise her voice. The big, bustling man looked like - well, like he'd seen a ghost. With a "just a minute," he disappeared into the back again.

I, on the other hand, was getting ready to send sweet mother-in-law into the lobby while I had a loud conversation in front of a crowded afternoon post office with a postal worker whose collar I was gripping from across the counter. My adrenaline was pumping. Whether or not she realized it, if she didn't leave the post office with the box of Grandmommy, there was going to be A Scene.

Luckily, however - after sending her blood pressure through the roof - the big, bustling employee returned from the back, box in hand. Looking...wary. *$&#less. Fearful.

"Please sign this. I'm so sorry for your loss (very reverently)."

Then he looked at me. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Then we were on our way, and my adrenaline began to abate, and now sweet mother-in-law was blinking very hard and mumbling, "it's so small. The box is so small."

And I knew she was thinking about how it couldn't fit her mom - how all that was left of her mother fit in a small 8 inches by 10 inches box that had been shipped in the mail alongside Sears curtains and care packages and late birthday gifts.

It had been over two years since Grandmommy had passed away, but finally, finally - through the United States Postal Service - sweet mother-in-law had gotten her back.

But in getting her back, she realized all over again how truly gone she was.

Sweet mother-in-law pulled herself together - again - and announced she needed some new shirts and wasn't there a sale and shouldn't we browse before looking at urns? In my opinion, she was entitled to whatever she needed to do to get through such a bizarre day.

We browsed sales and avoided the topic, until she brought up her mother. Then I listened and asked and let her talk. And let her get on to other topics, almost desperately, sometimes. We talked of family and childhood, memories and grief, hope and humor.

"Maybe the urn should wait until another day."

Hmm. I knew it really should be now or never - strike while the iron is hot. I gently pushed.

We went urn shopping.

Not stuffy funeral home silver urn. No, decorative, pretty urn at a home decor store.

Once again, finding just the right resting place is no easy feat. A plot in a cemetery is normal, straightforward, simple. Even coffin-shopping is expected; there are salespeople and over-priced caskets, but at least it's...well, normal.

"What do you think?"

Oooh. Tricky question. It's the same question a bridesmaid gets asked by the bride when she's out wedding dress shopping.

"Well, I think if you can't find anything you really like here, we should probably go somewhere else and keep looking. But - it's different if it's a matter of not finding anything that will be perfect for your mother. Nothing will be good enough, because none of these will actually contain all of who she was, even if it holds her ashes."

That seemed to help soothe her thoughts - and fears.

The loudspeaker came on: the store was closing. Sweet mother-in-law chose the urn I thought she'd probably end up taking home. We went home.

We told my father-in-law about the close call at the post office. "What would they do, file a missing person's report?" I gave a spear-you-to-the-wall look in his direction and very deliberately made my face and body language mournful and sensitive as I turned to my mother-in-law, who was fumbling with the post office package. (The truth: it was hard not to laugh at the quip, and he's a dear, dear soul.)

But now new hurdles emerged. The university had mistyped Grandmommy's middle initial on the donor thank you letter. And there was a black, plastic box with her name on it, but...no instructions.

Were the ashes in there loose? Were they in a bag? And how in tarnation do you open the thing? We poked. We prodded. No one wanted to pop it open only to have a plume of Grandmommy's ashes erupt into the air. Finally, sweet husband gently pried it open.

They were in a bag.

Thank goodness.

Sweet mother-in-law transferred the bag to the urn, and the urn to a high bookshelf. She called for Grandmommy's portrait to be propped next to it, and sweet husband spent a half-hour adjusting fake plants and picture frames and urns until she was satisfied.

Grandmommy had finally made it home.

Loverly Winner

2010-09-04T00:13:00.001-05:00

Congratulations, Melissa Ruktanonchai! You won the Loverly earrings featured on Etsy.

Didn't win this time? Fear not. More giveaways to come in the near future!

Tomorrow

2010-09-02T19:57:00.001-05:00

I promise to tell you the story of the time - this summer, mind you - that I went with my mother-in-law to the post office.

To pick up a package.

Herdeadmothersashes.

300th Post Bonanza: Etsy Interview & Giveaway!!!

2010-08-26T21:39:00.014-05:00

This giveaway is now closed. I turned the tumbler, and out popped number...

Congratulations, Melissa Ruktanonchai!

Wow, I'm so excited! Turns out my ***first ever giveaway*** is also my 300th blog post (cue video montage playing to "What A Wonderful World").

I've shared a link to Etsy for quite a while here at the ol' couch, and it is my distinct pleasure to share a lovely conversation I had recently with two deliciously quirky ladies who operate an online Etsy store.

I have a couple of reasons for interviewing them. Times are tough, people. Times are tough. If you've ever thought about turning that random skill you have into some cold hard cash, this is a great opportunity to hear a little bit about how and why these successful ladies did. It's possible that your very own little online Etsy shop could be a great creative avenue - as well as an extra source of pocket money.

These ladies are also kindly GIVING AWAY A PAIR OF HANDCRAFTED EARRINGS. So if you're interested in winning and wearing their earrings, I'd like you to hear a little bit of their own voices.

But because I really, really like listening to the rhythms of the seasons, the extra cool thing about these earrings is that they're so quaintly nostalgic. It's back to school, and every year at this time I have to restrain myself from buying college-ruled notebook paper and Elmer's glue and blunt, rounded scissors.

I love nurturing your inner child.

I love nurturing my inner child.

And I love nurturing your inner scholar - as my college roommate Sarah did when she put on her non-prescription "smart glasses" to get in a studious frame of mind.

So here's a hilarious interlude with Ellen and Kim, "bestest of pals," and owners/creative geniuses behind Loverly.

1. What made you shift from "I love antiques and fleamarkets" to "let's make and sell things on Etsy"?

ELLEN: Well, it all started one day when we found this dirty storeroom in the back of a sweet little shop. Kim and I looked at each other and in that way that long-time friends have, we knew what the other was thinking... “We could magically transform this place into a fantastic shop, just like the ones we love to visit!” And sure enough, after months of scrubbing and painting and red dust up our noses (now there’s a funny story!), we opened Loverly. The natural progression of that was putting our things online on Etsy.

KIM: I have always been a "maker." I credit my girl-scout leader mom who always had craft items on hand and we ALWAYS made Christmas presents. So when we do the flea-market scouring, my first thought is usually "What can I make with this?" (My art room is full of items waiting to be reincarnated.) And I had already established an Etsy store to sell my hand-crafted lampwork beads, findings and jewelry (kimnelson.etsy.com) so we were familiar with what's involved. The difference with this store is it became a joint effort between my wonderful friend Ellen and myself.

2. What are the pros and cons of hosting an online shop on Etsy?

ELLEN: For me, all pros because I have my wonderful pal Kim, who’s a complete workaholic, incredible organizer, and beautiful designer. Okay, so I’ve thought of one con. And that’s trying to keep up with the amazing photos other artists post. Wow.

KIM: The pros are we get to reach a much larger audience than we do with our little shop. I love the Etsy community and finding like-minded people all over the globe. The con is, quite frankly, it's a lot of work to do it 'right.' Like Ellen mentioned, the product photography seems to get better and better and we know that's a huge factor for someone to make a purchase decision. The other con is there are SO MANY AWESOME finds on Etsy, I end up spending as much, if not more, than what I make. And Ellen is partly to blame... she's always sending me links to cool products. Like this really neat internally-lighted furry bra... but I digress.

3. You've taken some super cool old stuff and transformed it into newly usable collectibles, like vintage rulers into earrings, for instance :) Do you call yourselves "crafters"? On your list of favorite felons, is Martha Stewart in the top five?

ELLEN: I like to think of us as artists, rather than crafters. “Crafters” has such an embroidered duck feel about it for me. Snort! Ask Kim how I combat that in my own house with my husband. He tries to get it, but, well, he just doesn’t. Basically Kim and I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to take some vintage, faded cast-aside and transform it into something beautiful. It’s really all about the transformation for me.

KIM: I'm in total agreement with Ellen. Except for the 'snort.' I prefer to chortle. As for Martha, I have been a fan, off and on. I’m mostly envious of her staff. Just think what we could all accomplish if we had staff! ;-)

4. What's your favorite vintage item you have at home? One of mine is an old WWII ration book with someone's name written on the front. Rationing. How weird to think about.

ELLEN: Tough question! I have so many things I love. I would have to say my unfinished portraits of women from the ‘30s and ‘40s. They surround me and I love them like family members. Is it the fact that they’re unfinished? Is it the way their faces come up out of a roughly painted-in canvas?

KIM: Impossible question! I'm enamored with McCoy pottery and have a growing collection I'm proud of. I also treasure my collection of Nancy Drew books. Oh, and there's my refrigerator ware. Not to mention all the old linen postcards I collect. Oh bother... I can't have just one favorite!!

5. Do you have alter egos? Like, stockbroker by day, Etsy seller by night? How flexible and easy is it to have a smashing little side biz?

ELLEN: Absolutely. I’m a writer/EMT by day, vintage transformer by night. I love being busy, and I love how the different things I do challenge me in different ways, but sometimes I need a break from everything to get rejuvenated, you know?

KIM: And I own a graphic design firm (just bought from my partner after working with him for over 10 years) so now I'm learning how to balance being a business owner and creator in multiple ways (some days I feel more schizophrenic vs. just having an alter ego). And Ellen is not just a writer... she's one of our area's MOST talented copy writers, and I rely on her to keep me sane in ALL worlds we walk together.

Thank you, Ellen and Kim, for opening a window onto your creative space!

To enter to win a pair of Ellen and Kim's vintage ruler charm earrings,
simply visit Loverly and leave a comment here, telling me another item from their shop that you admire and including your email address so I can contact you if you win!

One entry per person. Winner will be chosen via random.org and will be notified via email. Winner will have 24 hours to respond or an alternate winner will be chosen.

Giveaway will be closed Friday, Sept. 3rd.,

and the winner will be announced with much rejoicing and playing of tambourines.

I have not received any compensation for this giveaway other than a smug satisfaction in highlighting others' talents, gifts, and abilities, and a fluttery feeling in my heart knowing someone will be blessed with a complimentary piece of jewelry.

I Don't Mean to Blow Your Mind, But...

2010-08-25T14:27:00.002-05:00

Okay, yes. Yes, I do. I do mean to blow your mind.

*POW!*

Have you ever thought, "golly gee, I wish The Big Red Couch would host a ~*GIVEAWAY*~ to celebrate the beginning of a new school year?"

ALL YOUR DREAMS ARE COMING TRUE.

You see friends, one of the best quotes about the lingering nostalgia of the School Year comes from "You've Got Mail" writer Nora Ephron, who penned a fantastic phrase about "bouquets of sharpened pencils" and the desire, years after graduation, to buy school supplies in the fall.

Soon, you'll be introduced to a couple of great gals who have an Etsy shop. Soon, you can enter a schoolbus-y, chalkboard dust-y giveaway...

I know, I know.

You're welcome.

New Duds

2010-08-18T23:24:00.000-05:00

After going on a fashionably prolonged hiatus, The Big Red Couch is back, and by that, of course, I mean me.

No, I have not meandered off during summer break to an idyllic camp with cabins and canoes, more's the pity. No, I have not been the court stenographer during Mel Gibson's recent run-in's with - well, everybody. No, I have not been scrubbing pelicans with a toothbrush in Leezyana.

I have watched my child grow with astonishing rapidity. I have packed up all our possessions and driven on a two-day road trip from the Bluegrass to the Lone Star (with a teething baby). I have held on to, simply held on to, my Sweet Husband - for dear life. We are battle-weary, shellshocked, but we are here.

I have discovered cable.

I have gone to an interview for a nonprofit communications position, held at...

a plastic surgeon's office. A premiere plastic surgeon's office.

Which, of course, inspired me to give my blog a face lift. (ba-dum-bum)

I have discovered that beautiful pansies moved in a planter will not survive July or August in Texas...they are a...wait for it...winter plant here.

The mind boggles.

Boggle. Speaking of games, I have been thrown into the deep end of the pool: with three generations gathered around the coffee table, I have been learning to play bridge.

Now there's a game.

I have Skyped with friends in Oregon and Connecticut. I even watched a movie on the computer (via Instant Netflix) while Skyping. Oh, you magical twenty-first century. What will you think of next?

All in all, the blog's not the only thing wearing new duds, existentially speaking.

Oh, and did I mention my presence on Twitter, or my internet search for a Vietnam vet who apparently took a copy of War and Peace with him on boat patrols of the Cho Chien River? Sir, I have your book.

I have also styled several friends and relations in unique ensembles for specific occasions, albeit "fantasy" styling on occasion given the rather heavy price tag.

I slept.

I drank coffee with Skinny Caramel Macchiato creamer.

I slept some more.

I stayed inside. 110 degree heat indexes don't lie.

Well, everyone needs new school clothes. The Big Red Couch got its polished, shiny Mary Jane's and stiff plaid jumper.

What new seasons are breaking in your life?

It Is Enough

2010-05-31T20:29:00.000-05:00

It is enough -
The gentle waves of wrinkled comforter,
The rhythmic thud of the dog's cheerful tail,
The curled toes of sleepy infant's feet.
It is enough.

It is enough -
The comic antics of a jolly love,
The brewed readied black of blackest coffee,
The dog-eared corners of the yellowed page.
It is enough.

It is enough -
The familiar shape of the caller's voice,
The green glory of a sprouting giant,
The crumbs of extra bread and extra fish.
It is enough.

It is enough, and then it is enough.

EGT/Memorial Day, 2010

Do not reprint without permission

Wonka!

2010-05-04T10:11:00.001-05:00

After lots of serious posts, I'm pleased to celebrate...

Wonka Bars!

Whether you grew up watching Gene Wilder in the classic Willy Wonka movie, or whether you actually read the book, or whether you saw the new Johnny Depp incarnation - who doesn't want to find a Golden Ticket in a chocolate bar?

Well, now you can.

There I was, minding my own business, pushing the cart around the store, and WHAM! a shiny, rainbowy purple package caught my eye - a "Wonka Exceptionals" bar.

And not just any "Wonka Exceptionals" bar.

A Scrumdiddlyumptious Wonka bar.

It contained such yummy trifles as toffee bits and chunks of cookie. IN the chocolate bar.

And some of the Wonka bars have...

Golden Tickets.

Yum, Hooray, Delight.

Good thing I went to the 5:45 AM Jazzercise class this morning.

What Stopped Me in My Tracks

2010-04-27T14:37:00.001-05:00

This website.

But mostly, these posts...

http://tomdavis.typepad.com/tom_daviss_blog/2010/04/who-thinks-that-children-arent-sextrafficked-in-the-united-states.html

http://tomdavis.typepad.com/tom_daviss_blog/2010/04/iempathize-the-story-of-the-sex-cafe.html

http://tomdavis.typepad.com/tom_daviss_blog/2010/04/tomb-of-an-unknown-orphan.html

http://tomdavis.typepad.com/tom_daviss_blog/2010/04/stop-sextrafficking-before-it-begins.html

And one quick thing you can do:

http://tomdavis.typepad.com/tom_daviss_blog/2010/04/when-love-goes-around.html

Take a moment of silence for widows and orphans. As Christ gently reminded, our widows. Our orphans.

Last Will & Testament

2010-04-18T15:50:00.000-05:00

This afternoon, I spent a bit of time working on my will over at www.legalzoom.com. I know - a beautiful, sunny, Sunday afternoon - what could be more natural?

After I wrote my directives, I thought I should share them this side of the grave.

Here they are.

Loved Ones,

While I've thought much about death, since the birth of Jack I've thought about something different - mortality. I hope to annoy, cajole and love you all for decades, but if you hear these words, I must have been summoned heavenward before I expected - hopefully not in a Wal-Mart bathroom, but none of us choose the day or the hour - or location.

I love life so much.

But I haven't stopped.

Where I am now, life is more Life-like, color more Color-y, music more than sound.
Read C.S. Lewis and you'll see what I mean.

If you pay attention to the cross you can't go wrong. Take communion regularly to remind yourself of this.

I want all of you to remind yourselves that I love to travel.
I've left behind some souvenirs for you all.

It's okay to cry - sometimes, or for a while. But I hope my passing brings some shouts of laughter, or you wouldn't really be remembering me, you'd feel artificially woeful.
Make my funeral a rowdy one, and I promise I'll see you again.

People think differently about saints. The possibility is open that maybe I'll be able to pray for you from this side of heaven's curtain. I hope so. You should know that I've prayed for people affected in the event of my death, so I've prayed for you, for this day.

Death is the last enemy. It's okay to hate it. Death is unnatural.
God is not the enemy. Don't hate God. Christ has tasted death for us.
Death is temporary.

See you at the Rebirth of Creation. I'll be the one wearing red.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John, or surrogate -
Please furnish me with a simple, classy coffin. Unless I've got some money now. Then I want it bright, shiny, lipstick red. I'm not joking. I'll haunt you if you fail me on this.
My coffin is my last accessory, after all.

Do not cremate me. It's violence to the body and fails to uphold the reverence of the body that early Christians showed.

Please request that Dr. Lester Ruth preach my funeral sermon; in his stead, there are enough pastors in our collective extended families to find someone.

Serve the Eucharist at my funeral. This isn't an option.

Play the first song from Over the Rhine's "Good Dog, Bad Dog" album at my funeral.

Hold a wake the night before. Not a viewing, a wake. Tell tales, share memories, be Irish.

I want a simple tombstone shaped like the classic rounded "RIP" ones with vintage-looking font and a willow tree etched onto it. Willow trees have resurrection significance in death iconography, I can't remember why.

Donate my major organs, with the exception of my eyes and skin. If you've already harvested them, that's okay. I'm just a little vain about exteriors, is all.

Bury me in something green. I don't want to look worse than I need to.

Please play African Christian hymns at the dinner afterwards with a celebratory spirit and strong rhythm.

Tell John how much I love him, and what a good husband he is.
Tell Jack I love him at his fussiest, poopiest moments, and that he is my delight, and that the saints are watching out for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence in the Conversation

2010-04-15T12:39:00.002-05:00

There have been times, in the midst of chatting amongst a group of people, that silence falls. It doesn't occur after a particularly shocking faux pas, but rather as a natural gap in dialogue. Usually, it happens among people who know each other just enough to find it extremely awkward.

This phenomenon is never helped by the person who inevitably pipes up, "you know, statistics show an awkward silence occurs every seven minutes during conversation," or "you know, studies show people can only allow an awkward silence to occur for nine seconds before someone says something. There. I've said something."

So no one can surround himself with interesting people all the time - and interesting people are often the prevention to awkward silences - it is best to be armed with something in the back files of your mind to share in a group setting. Not gossip. Not depressing news. Not inane rambling about yourself. Not inflammatory topics. (I acknowledge that "inflammatory" is relative.) Rather, something, as etiquette experts of old encouraged, that the whole group might find interesting.

I hope you find yourself befriended by people who allow occasional deep silences to permeate the atmosphere - silences of companionship rather than anxiety.

For other times, perhaps some of these stories will come in handy. But I trust your silence is a comfortable one.

Library of Congress Acquires Entire Twitter Archives

Man on Mower Charged with DUI, Fishing Pole Theft

The Secret to a Child's Academic Success: A Home Library

Iceland Evacuates Hundreds as Volcano Erupts Again

Fresh Eggs: Do-It-Yourself Backyard Chicken Coop

Portraits of the Adams Women: Louisa and Abigail

A Muralist's Tiny Sanctuary

The Religious Leaders Who Died in Poland's Airplane Crash

Students Do Better in School with Physical Activity

Are Airports Ready for the Three-Hour Delay Rule?

Celebrity Gardens

Spring Fever Fashion

2010-04-14T13:09:00.004-05:00

It's that time of year.

The time that I, and all the women I know, are compulsively clearing out closets in a flurry of dust, garbage bags, and disgust.

Loads are carted off to Goodwill or garage sales. Wardrobes are critically assessed and mercilessly slashed.

I finally got rid of a sweater I'd been very attached to. It was only a few years old.

"Few." HA. Try EIGHT.

"But it wasn't that long ago, it was only my junior year of college..."

This kind of thought sends me running to the bathroom mirror to look for wrinkles around my eyes. Luckily, I'm so pale the sun sends me running for caves, which has left my skin in excellent condition. White, but excellent.

When the dust settles and your closet may as well have one naked hanger drooping drunkenly from the clothes rod, you may ask yourself what exactly you're going to wear from here on out.

Well, I will tell you.

#1: This spring, wear pastels only when they've been very carefully chosen.

I know. Every fashion maven out there is strutting the pastel trend. But it was a dangerous pastel tightrope at the Oscars, proving the ubiquitous point that sometimes pastels bring out your color, and sometimes pastels wash you out and make you look like you're recovering from the flu, or simply aren't there and the dress is standing there on its own.

There is a range in pastels. You don't have to go so pastel it may as well be white. You don't have to look like a baby nursery threw up on you (although nurseries aren't the pastel transgressors they used to be). Take a color you already look good in, and find a pastel rendering of it. Keep the tags on the garment, because lighting in dressing rooms is notoriously bad. Try it on at home in natural light. Pay attention to whether it exacerbates undereye circles. And consider what your skin tone will become in the next few months: will you stay fair? Are you planning on using self tanner? Will you be outdoors a lot?

The Big Red Fashion Tip is this: just add a pastel in your accessories. Purse, shoes, scarf, jacket, cardie, large chunky jewelry, sunglasses.

#2: To Skinny Jean or Not To Skinny Jean: The Problem of Leggings

Here's my general advice. If you need a size Large in leggings, or larger than a size 10 in skinny jeans, don't wear them. I've seen leggings pulled off well by Extra Small's, Small's, and Medium's. Skinny jeans can probably be pulled off by a size 10.

But the buck stops there.

You can, however, try wearing leggings under certain skirts or casual dresses. Just be careful.

The Big Red Fashion Tip is this: you're probably not covering up as much as you think with a long tunic top. Your body is 360 degrees, even if your view isn't. And it's the wrong season to balance the look with large, bulky boots. Take the philosopher's advice, and Know Thyself.

#3: Stretch your moolah

Um, the economy has been terrible, and unless you're one of the wealthy who have actually been able to make money on the whole fiasco, you're probably thinking, "wardrobe? ha! I'm lucky I can afford toilet paper!"

Any ridiculous story of woe you have, I can probably match. But that's neither here nor there.

It IS possible to add garments without restricting yourself to a diet of generic macaroni and cheese for a month.

The Big Red Fashion Tip is this:

~Look for basic items on clearance racks. In the past, I've been complimented on clothes from high end department stores - and on shirts from the Wal-Mart clearance section. I've been complimented on my antique engagement ring, and on my sale earrings I got for two bucks. A few weeks ago, I got several basic shirts in flattering colors from - yes - Wal-Mart clearance racks - for $3 a piece. But I also like looking at the Big Big transitional sales, like the 75% off time at Dillard's. If you're patient, you can get expensive items for the same amount you'd pay for cheap items - like the $85 shoes I got once for $17. A cheap equivalent would've cost me $17, but it was all about timing.

[This hooded half-zip tee is $5 at www.walmart.com]

~Don't invest too heavily in trend items. A few years ago, initial shirts were all the rage, and then *poof!* overnight they vanished.

~Consider alteration. If you have a great item that's still fantastic but you've slimmed down, you may be able to salvage it by spending $10 at your local drycleaner's to get it altered.

~Educate yourself to recognize a good piece when you see it. Spend some time browsing on clothing sites that you can't afford. It'll help train your eye to recognize good design.

~Develop your own sense of style. Take into account your body type, your size, your coloring, and your lifestyle. Google something like "flattering style for a pear shape," etc. Then browse online and pay attention to things you keep returning to as favorites. Learn about your underlying skin tone so that you understand what colors will enhance your natural glow and what colors will make you look haggard and depressed.

**extra help on how to dress your body: http://beautybyella.blogspot.com/2007/11/how-to-dress-your-body.html

~If you can't afford a wardrobe makeover, at least invest in a new haircut: everyone wants a fresh take on spring. And it's a good time, with the shift to hotter weather. Keep in mind special summer events you may be part of (weddings) as well as how your activity level will change, and what humidity does to your hair type!

~Keep a pair of bright shoes or sandals in your closet for the summer. There's a lot available in vibrant yellows, greens, etc. They'll add punch to your basic outfits.

#4: Mix Prints Responsibly

Friends don't let friends mingle too many prints. I'll be honest: this is a difficult thing to get right. My best advice? Have a girlfriend who's an artist.

The Big Red Fashion Tip is this: Limit the number of prints you're wearing/carrying to two; or keep prints in the same color palette.

And remember, Sales Tag Sam mascot says "Keep the print smaller than your hand, and proportionate to your size!"

That's all for now. You can do it! Now go look fabulous.

Oh - and if you need a personal shopper, give me a holla.

Real Estate...In An Oak?

2010-04-13T14:07:00.001-05:00

I ran across a few great headlines over at my friend Steve's site, www.thunderstruck.org, and, like the loving hostess I am, thought I should pass around a plate of them. Here. Have a cracker with goat cheese and dill - and an interesting headline.

Mmmm. Goat cheese and dill. That Pioneer Woman!

ANYway, to start things off, check out this story from the Wall Street Journal about upscale tree houses.

Oh no! This Newsweek article wonders if the economy is bringing about the death of the liberal arts. Perhaps in mainstream education the liberal arts are waning, but I'm also willing to guess that perhaps layoffs are encouraging people to branch out into skills they might otherwise shelve - like graphic design, or writing, or music.

Speaking of the liberal arts, check out this "Beautiful Mourning" blurb about a museum exhibit of medieval tomb sculptures. I would like a willow tree on my tombstone, because of its classical symbolism. (Anyone else think of those wretched commercials just now for frozen pizza - "What do you want on your tombstone?" menacingly growled, followed by the victim of an execution dreamily responding "pepperoni"?)

Oh, willow trees. How I want to plant you everywhere. Perhaps I'll write an ode to willows soon. There was an elegant, stately willow in my childhood back yard. It was a great deal of fun. Maybe it was an ent. That would explain a few things.

On a serious note, visit this page to read my piece about porn and violence against women. You can also read about my friend's outreach booth at...ahem...Adult Con. A lot of good came from that ministry kiosk, and I admire this group's moxie. That's all I have to say about that.

Except it's not. It never is. This month is National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month. The majority of sex crimes go unreported. Please - if you have been assaulted, or if (God forbid) you ever are, report it. Help bring criminals to conviction. At the least, the DNA you provide from your assailant's evidence could show that serial assaults are happening. Go to your local Emergency Room. The nurses will be kind and discreet, and any news report will not include your name: assault victims are kept confidential. If it happened in the past and any exams or evidence are impossible, at least report it to the police. It will help give a more accurate picture about what's happening in the community - and most likely, they already have some suspected criminals. In fact, what you describe could match what five other women have also described. You can request a female officer to talk to. Just do it, and help protect your sisters.

Anyway, on a completely different topic, the next on the platter of story h'ors doevres is this unnecessary fiasco about a juvenile's contribution to a local faith-based art display on the Stations of the Cross. Okay, when you read about the local community context, it's evident that some people were concerned. But I actually think that the interpretive photograph was just fine.

Homeschooled kids. Always getting into mischief with their original thinking.

Well, the robins are out pecking away at errant worms, and trees are bursting into bloom. Main Street looks like the trees have been wound in fluffy pink cotton candy.

Eeyore's interpretation of this would mention that pollen counts are through the roof, and that everyone I know is talking about allergy medicine.

But spring is spring, whether or not I sneeze. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Easter Smiles

2010-04-02T16:47:00.000-05:00

Cheering for Kentucky...before they lost.

Laughing at a pun he just made...

Doing his hungry frog impression.

Playing sweet and innocent. Probably right before I changed the world's worst diaper.

Practicing his preaching...

Mama's favorite guys.

Synergy

2010-04-01T18:45:00.001-05:00

I'll admit it: I titled this post "synergy" just to annoy my friend Emily.

Emily and I have a mutual loathing of corporate buzz words. But don't worry, we're both "team players" who like to "visioneer" our "imagined future".

Aaaaaand that's the mood I'm in today. I call it Sassy Smart Alec in Electric Purple. It's probably just derived from the obscene number of mini Cadbury eggs I've managed to eat today.

But let's put on our smart glasses and get down to brass tacks. What are smart glasses? They're the purely decorative specs my college roommate used to put on when she wanted to get things done, like schoolwork. And she was amazingly productive when she wore her smart glasses. As for brass tacks, I have no idea where that phrase comes from. Is it upholsterer slang? Carpet layer lingo?

Anyway, this is our Round Table time, where I share opinions, news, and facts into the Void That Is The Internet. It's like I'm a one-woman episode of "The View." Speaking of which, while Elisabeth Hasselbeck is the panelist with whom I usually share the most in common, I agree a surprising amount of the time with Whoopi Goldberg. I wouldn't know this if I hadn't spent the last 12 months unemployed. But now I do.

So, folks, the *first topic* today is Why Stupid People Happen To Good People. There is some hugely negative press floating around about religion - and it's not because religion is bad, it's because people are stupid - contra Christopher Hitchens.

Three big stories broke this week: the arrest of "Christian" militia members from Michigan, Indiana and Ohio; the ruling of a judge that the family of a fallen soldier pay for court costs in their complaint about that wacko "church" that demonstrates at military funerals; and the alleged negligence of then just church leader, now Pope, Joseph Ratzinger in transferring a pedophile to another congregation.

Here's the deal: the FBI raided militia sites of a group who considered themselves God's warriors. They had improvised explosive devices, or IEDs, and had "breathed murderous threats" against law enforcement officers, plotting to lure them into ambushes by fake 911 calls. Now, I would call these people nuts, or lunatics, extremists, or imbalanced, but I wouldn't call them Christians, just because they themselves do. But when you watch the news, they are labelled a Christian militia group. With all due respect, I suspect that were they Muslim, they would be called an extremist sect that in no way represented the mainstream, and I request all media representatives to afford the same benefit of the doubt in this case. I don't know anyone - anyone - who thinks keeping grenades and bouncing Betties stockpiled is a good idea.

I do know a guy who's really into paintball.

But that's about it.

And I am glad that the FBI finally gave the reason for the raids, because there's nothing that will rile up conspiracy theorists hiding in the woods quicker than unexplained FBI raids on their camouflaged compounds.

The next story is really tragic, but involves some interesting twists. A "Baptist" "church" from Kansas - known for its shock-jock-esque website, www.godhatesfags.com - protests at the funerals of fallen soldiers. Somehow they reason that when servicemen and women are killed in battle, that that is God's judgment on America. Meanwhile, heartbroken families deal not only with the grief of the loss of their loved one, but the hijacking of the funeral by these nutjob protesters who carry signs that say things like "God killed your soldier." So a father of a U.S. soldier who died while fighting overseas finally took them to court.

The problem has been free speech: while everyone wants to protect free speech, most decent people also want to protect grieving families from having protesters show up picketing at their son or daughter's funeral.

Things have reached a boiling point: a judge ordered the soldier's family to pay court costs in addition to allowing these protests to continue. It's now going to the Supreme Court.

And in a strange, but good, moment, this morning on "Good Morning America" former Clinton administration member George Stephanopoulos teamed up with Fox News celebrity Bill O'Reilly to support this soldier's family and to call for some kind of action to be taken to protect other military funerals.

It's possible they'll be able to work the "disturbing the peace" angle. However they're able to argue it, I believe that free speech can be protected while also protecting the families of fallen soldiers.

Finally, right in the middle of Holy Week, the Pontiff finds himself in hot water. New sex abuse cases have been discovered in Germany - and the current Pope was in leadership there at the time. Now, the Vatican claims that he didn't know about the transfer of a pedophile priest from one congregation to another. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. But the fallout is immense: in Germany, when you renounce a religion, you register it with the government to avoid paying a church tax.

Filings have tripled since January.

A wry priest who teaches theology at Notre Dame explained this morning to TV viewers that there is no one who can ask the Pope to resign. People had been bandying about the possibility, but that is simply to fail to understand how the Catholic church works. If a Pope could be ousted easily - well, he wouldn't be the Pope. The whole point is that it's thought that he speaks for God, that he holds the legacy of St. Peter being given the keys to the kingdom - the Catholic church is a church of hierarchy. There is a lot I respect about the Roman Catholic Church, and there is a lot I hold in common with my Catholic brothers and sisters. But the Papacy is not like the U.S. presidency, elected every four years.

That being said, he has a crisis on his hands, and it will be fascinating to see how things unfold. Fascinating, not flippantly, ignoring the damage and heartache of the situation, but rather fascinating from the church history nerd, ecclesial studies angle.

On to the next topic: *mini Cadbury eggs*. They're yummy and delicious. They're the Easter candy I get every year. What's your favorite? Do you have something you make for Easter dinner every year?

*Sweet Husband used to do "Peep Jousting"* - putting two beloved marshmallow Peeps in the microwave with toothpicks stuck in them. As they expand, the toothpicks are thrust into the Peeps. Whichever Peep pokes the enemy Peep first wins. Thus "Peep Jousting."

I think it was a College Guy activity. I'm imagining a really messy microwave surrounded by a large crowd of yelling guys who are ignoring their schoolwork and laundry to turn Easter treats into a competition.

In other news, *I finally captured cute kiddo's smile on camera*. The problem is that he's so dang smart. Every time I'd hold the camera up to take a photo, he'd start concentrating on the camera, and would stop smiling. But BAM! Mommy was persistent, and finally got the picture. They'll be posted sometime soon.

*Put the movie "Glory" on your Netflix queue* - it's the best war movie I've seen in a long time. It's loosely based on the letters of the white leader of the first black battalion in the Civil War.

*Facing the sex industry head on*, Here's a cool website my friend Chad from college has started.

Well, that's all for today's Round Table.

But in more other news, *I discovered today I can block blog followers*.

Which meant I immediately blocked "US Gov Info."

We'll see what happens.

I warned you - Sassy Smart Alec Electric Purple.

What I Like About....

2010-03-11T19:29:00.007-06:00

In the midst of scenes like last night - in which I wondered what smelled bad, then looked down and realized I was still wearing a shirt adorned with copious amounts of spit-up - it is high time I Give Credit Where Credit Is Due.

A few products have been hanging around the ol' ranch for a while. I keep meaning to mention them.

Then Jack cries.

Then I get stuck on a kick of "styling" my friends for the Oscars by scouring the internet for photos of couture gowns from Spring 2010 runways, then scouring again for accessories and hair do's.

It was a great moment when I realized that the Chanel gown I'd chosen for lovely friend Audra in this "fantasy Red Carpet" game was worn by none other than style icon Sarah Jessica Parker to - yes - the Oscars.

She shoots, she scores.

Anyone need styled for a formal event? Anyone? Anyone?

Bueller?

Anyway, so I've been meaning to mention What I Like About several products I've bumped into lately. So here we go.

First, let me tell you What I Like About Truvia.

I've been a Splenda girl for quite a while. Since, in fact, one winter I counted up the number of calories I consumed simply from beverages - I was a dedicated loose tea drinker as well as a coffee drinker. Between the two, I could easily use sugar in five cups of warm beverages a day. That's ten teaspoons.

No, I was not open to less sweet coffee or tea. Don't ask stupid questions.

A friend loved Splenda, and I took the plunge and gave it a whirl. I'd never been a fan of artificial sweeteners, but the "tastes like sugar, made from sugar" commercials got to me.

I was sold. It was...kind of like sugar. A little in-your-face, but no terrible side tastes grabbing for your attention. It was discovered that my perfect amount of Splenda per cup of tea was 1 1/2 packets.

Fast forward. I read about "stevia" in a magazine and see commercials for it on TV, about how it's a plant from which sweetener can be naturally derived. I laugh, and think, "what's next? sweetening your coffee with "ralphia" or "frankia"? But Truvia is a natural sweetener derived from stevia, and I think "hmm, I pregnant. I'm not going to put a lot of thought into this, but natural sounds wise at least on the surface." There are 0 calories in Truvia, and it was slightly cheaper than Splenda.

I tried it.

I like it. In fact, I've switched. I still like Splenda. But I'm a sucker for new packaging.

Enter the nemesis: Sun Crystals.

People, Stay Away From Sun Crystals. You may see it sitting next to Truvia in the store and think "Sun Crystals. Now why don't I try those?"

Because I told you not to, that's why. It's awful. I'm not throwing anything away these days - hello, recession.

I threw the entire box away, because I couldn't bring myself to donate it to someone less fortunate than I. They would curse the day I entered the food pantry.

So What I Like About Truvia? 0 calories. Naturally derived. Nothing like Sun Crystals. Slightly cheaper than Splenda. Cool design on the package.

I should mention that Truvia isn't going to give your beverage a super sweet taste - but it will remove bitterness. It's sweet enough I've been using it for several months in my tea.

Second, let's talk about What I Like About Mrs. Meyers.

A while back - a few months, a couple years, a former life, who knows - I noticed fantastic cleaning products in charming retro packaging. It looked like everything I wanted in a cleaning product - I mean, don't you trust the warm, maternal Mrs. Meyers better than, say, a faceless company called "Dawn"? Anyway, it looked like everything I wanted - except it was obscenely expensive - at least at Kroger's.

Then, THEN, my friend, I found a clearance cart recently. I love clearance signs. They're like rainbows for your wallet.

Pardon that. To paraphrase a Gwyneth Paltrow Oscar speech, I'm leaking all my brain cells through my breast milk.

Anyway, lo! and behold, Mrs. Meyer's dish detergent was on clearance for $1.99 a bottle. I did a happy dance in my soul and put two in the cart. People, it was scented lemon verbena. Ofcourse I put two in the cart. I brought it home.

I love it. I like squirting it in gross skillets, I like washing my hands with it, I like soaking crock pots in it. I like the way it makes my kitchen smell, I like the retro label as it sits on the counter, and I like that a nice plump Jewish lady like Mrs. Meyer's is sitting somewhere polishing silver. Unless, of course, that illusion is akin to Opus' illusion of Betty Crocker in Bloom County. It's entirely possible.

And that's What I Like About Mrs. Meyers.

Let's finish up with What I Love About Smart Ones desserts.

I've been a Lean Cuisine fan for several years. Not that I'm hugely enthusiastic about frozen dinners in general, mind you. But at a couple bucks a pop, they're quick and easy, fairly tasty, healthy, and work whether you're a single gal working in a nursing home, or a new mom too tired to cook.

But I just took a look at Smart Ones. And by a look, I mean a taste.

Mmmmm. One involved cheese and rigatoni. (New mamas have to steer clear of the alluring spicy dishes.)

But then - then - I saw the dessert. Oh, sweet merciful heavens. Now, I'm all for homebaked chocolate souffle with drizzled fudge sauce - and yes, I've made that, and it was delectable.

But sometimes, you've just had a baby. Sometimes, eating something that took two sticks of butter or a cup of sugar or four eggs - or all of the above - doesn't seem quite prudent.

Sometimes, you're elbow-deep in less than kindly scented diapers.

Now, I've had low fat ice cream and frozen treats - some, like Edy's Slow Churned, is pretty good. Some, like Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches, is good if you're not paying too much attention.

But let me introduce you to Smart Ones.

Take it out of the package and let thaw on counter for five minutes. Done. Blam-o. And it tastes better than other low-fat frozen treats.

And THAT is What I Like About that.

The Lost Month

2010-03-03T17:25:00.002-06:00

I'm emerging from a post-partum, new parent coma-like existence. I'm blinking. The world is bright.

I'm pretty sure I've been hibernating. All I remember of the last couple of months is condensed into vague recollections and blurred colors. I have evidence of emails I've sent - there are replies in my inbox. My camera holds photos I've apparently taken. There is clean laundry in dressers - I must have done it at some point. The dogs are still alive. I think Sweet Husband mostly had something to do with that. Even my ivy and shamrock on the kitchen table are still perched with leaves toward the sun - or window, in any event.

Lost is in its last season, and I think new parents everywhere can understand the show's premise: something cataclysmic happens. You're disoriented, stumbling around. You attempt to create a new existence. Strange noises come at you through the night while you sleep.

But I've been rescued off the island - Jack has begun to sleep through the night. A rare blessing, from what I hear, from a two-month-old. Slowly, random scenes are flickering across my vision, a few haphazard memories returning. Sweet Husband is present to confirm my suspicions.

"I remembered something this morning about you saying a few days ago that Steve called. Is that true, or did I dream it?"

"Oh, yeah, he called."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Wow."

And there you have the results of sleeping two, three, four hours at a time, after going through the physical and emotional trauma of childbirth.

Then again, I may be off the island, but lingering effects remain. For instance, the other day, to my friend Angie:

"Why are we standing in this line again? OH. Right. Lunch."

For about five seconds I could not, for the life of me, recall what I was in line for. Even though there was a counter - with food - that smelled good - five feet in front of us.

Hello, brief introduction to dementia. See you again in fifty years, or the next time I have a child.

I'm lucky I even remember I have a blog.

But what's Lost can, indeed, be Found - even if I have to look for it so long I forget what I'm searching for.

Falling in Love

2010-01-20T17:08:00.005-06:00

Where have I been?

Falling in love.

Where has Sweet Husband been?

Falling in love, too.

We welcome to The Couch

Jack Camden Turner,

who came early into this world after a New Year's Day

on January 2nd, 2010 - a Blue Moon baby.

Since then, we've been delighted, exhausted, joyous, and weary.

And boy, is this kid hungry.

He came wailing into the world at 8 lb, 1 oz.

At his two week checkup, he weighed in at 8 lb, 15 oz.

He has long fingers and toes.

His hair is short in front and long in back.

He likes to be sung "Rock the Boat" and enjoys Oldies.

He does NOT like collard greens.

He loves to cuddle, though.

Last-Minute Shopping for Crazed Elves

2009-12-12T18:26:00.019-06:00

I HATE Christmas shopping at the last minute (a week before Christmas, in my book), especially at a mall. I have done both in the past. I will never - ever - do so again.

Remember the big torturous machine that sucks away life in The Princess Bride, that the villains hook up to Wesley, when one of them softens and shouts a warning about the power level: "Not to 50!"?

That's what it does to my soul to leave any Christmas shopping - especially at a mall - until the last minute.

Before I began any online shopping, I vowed my soul would never again be shattered by the hot, dry mall air pumping around pretzel kiosks, the jostled elbows in narrow aisles, the rows and rows - and rows - of Bath and Body Works lotion. So I began year-round buying and planning. I started emailing myself links to sites with good gift ideas for people I know. I buy Christmas cards during clearance sales right after Christmas - sometimes wrapping paper, too.

Well, when the economy slides towards a telephone pole like your vehicle on a poorly salted winter road, not much shopping takes place, period - at the mall, online, or year-round. Instead of browsing catalogs, you browse craft ideas. This year, our Christmas giving looks more like "tokens of appreciation", sprinkled with a few things from gift certificates I've won - especially with the approaching arrival of our own little Christmas bundle of joy, Jack.

But maybe your stock actually rose, or you left all your shopping shamefully late, or your boss had a stroke and started handing out hundred dollar bills, or you woke up from a coma and said "Crap! I need to buy gifts for all the nurses who cared for me during my 18-month hiatus from the conscious," or maybe you're the only person who is making a lot of money during this recession - the inventor of the Snuggie. For those of you who've been hiding from the Christmas shopping you know will be more painful the longer you wait, here are some last minute ideas.

The Gifts That Keep On Giving: Treats from Non-Profits & Faith-Based Organizations

Do you have a Secret Santa work party with a $20 limit? Did you draw someone's name and realize all you know of her is that her cubicle is covered in dog calendars? Help furry friends -and save yourself a trip in the frigid air - by ordering these slippers from the Humane Society; the organization's shopping page even has a separate "dog store" and "cat store." With such a high foreclosure rate, local humane societies are overflowing with pets - there are a lot of stories of guilt-ridden owners dropping off animals at a shelter and speeding off, without leaving any history on the dog or cat, like shot records, age, behavior around children, etc. This shelter actually had to euthanize 600 animals in one month. Or, if you'd rather keep your giving local, donate dog or cat food to your area shelter and give your Secret Santa pal a card with animals on the front, explaining the gift.

The Humane Society also has Christmas cards you can purchase - at $17.50 for 16 cards,

they're much more pricey than the Wal-Mart bargain box, but much less pricey than the thick, calligraphied cards nestled in gold-lined

envelopes at the bookstore. Personally, I would consider these cards to be a part of the gift, or would purchase a box to use sparingly for a few dear friends or family members. Of course, if you know an animal lover/stationery nut, the box of cards in itself could be the gift.

Do you need a gift for a seminary-attending, coffee-guzzling brother-in-law? Mystic Monk's Jingle Bell Java blend is a gorgeous mix of holiday aromas that would warm the hearts of Scrooge and the Grinch all at once. I was given some last Christmas and give my solemn oath of product endorsement. Roasted by monks in a Wyoming monastery, Mystic Monk coffee is a quirky alternative to a Starbucks gift card, and is helping out a fellow faith-based organization, not just a large corporation. (Not that there's anything wrong with Starbucks. Starbucks and I have a beautiful relationship.) At $10 for about 2/3 of a pound of whole bean or ground, it's comparable to the prices of the massive chain, too.

Speaking of yummy Catholic goodness, have you tried Gethsemani Abbey's Bourbon fruitcake? The Wall Street Journal has. Made down the road right here in the Bluegrass,Gethsemani Farms' sweets are mouthwatering. Alright, so not everyone is into fruitcake - although if they had this fruitcake, they would be - but the monastery - and former home to famed Thomas Merton - also offers Bourbon fudge...a great hostess gift.

These beautiful blankets are near and dear to my heart - mostly because one of them came

home to me as a gift several years ago, and has been my favorite blanket ever since. Sari Bari provides training and work for women coming out of the sex trade in India. The blankets and bags are hand

stitched by women who use this labor as a means to provide for themselves instead of working the streets, as they used to. They're crafted from old saris, a haunting reflection of the redemption at work in these ladies' lives.

But sometimes you need something smaller - a stocking stuffer, a gift for kiddo's teacher, a small-budget "token" - and then, I say, Send In The Nuns. Check out these beautiful Sugar Plum soaps made by, you guessed it - some sisters in New Jersey*. At $4, you can't beat the price,

and reportedly, this soap works miracles (aaahahahahaha) on dry, sensitive skin - they have a bar for "gardener's hand." They also have more seasonally-flexible scents like the alluring vanilla bean and pink grapefruit. And if you have an ongoing, friendly religious debate with a Catholic pal, well, what better to get him or her than nun-produced soap. Of course, if you're Catholic, you can give it to your Protestant buddy and tease that they'll need it to cleanse their Pope-rejecting soul! Either way, the purchase supports a faith-based organization - and makes your shopping easier.

If you'd like to get something special for your Old Testament-loving pastor

(and people, show your appreciation to your pastors/priests this

time of year!), and you'd like to support food pantries (all of the demands are up at food pantries right now), you can get an Isaac/Ishmael representative treat basket from Foodzie - featuring rugelach and ma'amoul cookies (Jewish...Arabic...get it?). Anyway, all of these products featured on the Chow Charity page include charitable donations to major food pantries this Christmas season, which means when you make a purchase, you're supporting a small business, you're getting something unique,and a portion of the profits support food banks. Wow, that's making your money work for you. And after all, who doesn't need more bacon peanut brittle in their life?

And to finish it off, because sometimes, you're looking for a gift that doesn't donate to any charity, feed any hungry, or multi-task in any way - when you need something simply to make a person laugh - well, I would go amiss without directing your attention to this keeper:

The Gnome on the Range Bowling Set.

For additional ideas, visit:

etsy.com

http://www.victoriamag.com/article.aspx?id=6258

thinkgeek.com

And don't forget to Save the Publishing Industry, and give magazine subscriptions! I was given a Martha Stewart Living subscription for Easter last spring and continue to love, love, love it!

Martha Stewart Living

ESPN: The Magazine

Gilbert Magazine: The G.K. Chesterton Society

The Economist

Victoria Magazine

U.S. News & World Report

Real Simple

Christianity Today

Because if you don't have time to flip through a magazine, you're too busy.

*Recommended by The Anchoress Online.

Bright Copper Kettles and Warm Woolen Mittens...

2009-12-10T12:33:00.002-06:00

It's that time. There is peppermint ice cream in the frozen food section of the grocery store. Josh Groban's technically proficient, if interpretively tepid version of "O Holy Night" is reverberating the icicles via Christmas radio stations. Churches have been greened. Bluegrass residents are wearing their annual look of shock at cold temperatures, and schools are being closed when a light dusting of snow gathers on sidewalk corners. (The first dusting of snow led to over 100 accidents in Lexington alone. Kentucky is perpetually Surprised at the Arrival of Winter. I think it's because it always coincides with UK basketball season - and of the two, UK basketball is on everyone's mind more. Need I remind you of the sweet nursing home lady who couldn't remember how many children she had, but who knew quite certainly that she was a UK fan?)

Advent has been a little stop-and-go for me. I love Christmas in all its tinseled, theological glory. This year? A blur. I'm pretty sure it's related to expecting a child in early January. Normally, I'd be indulging in crafts, lots of baking, lots of movies. Now, I don't want to be on my feet a lot, the crafts are for the nursery, and I'm too tired from finding great stroller dealers at consignment shops to stay awake for much Dickens or even Chevy Chase.

That, and having an essay deadline hanging over me (essay's not due til the end of January, but since the baby is due before that...must get cracking, and I'm not talking The Nutcracker...). Freelance projects are still popping up, baby shower thank-you notes lie blank and ready to be written, I'm literally months behind on long chats with far-away friends, Christmas cards lie blank and ready to be written, and hey, I still want to bake those Martha Stewart lemon cookies featured in my recent Christmas edition of her excellent magazine. Oh, and I need to add things to my It's Labor Time bag for the hospital. There's a letter of reference to compose, and fabric sitting on the dining room table next to a silent sewing machine. Has the tree been watered recently? Yes, yes, Sweet Husband did that the other day. Did I write the follow-up email to the interview? Yes, yes, I did that the other day. Whoa, but the secondhand dresser for the nursery still needs painted with something that has "cashew" in the name. Dayquil and Nyquil for Sweet Husband? Check. Juice? Check.

When all these thoughts begin to pile up like evil, leering presents under a monstrous, consuming nightmare tree, it's time to step back. If it doesn't get sewn, okay. Daniel Martin Moore's "Christmas Time Is Here" plays in the background. I breathe. If it doesn't get baked, okay. I write long lists to organize my thoughts, my tasks, my emotions. I think about Mary and Joseph and the third trimester trek across rough roads and how she didn't go to childbirth class and I wonder if Joseph delivered Jesus or if some seedy-looking hotel manager's wife cut the umbilical cord. I wonder how much Jesus weighed. I wonder if anyone gave Mary breastfeeding tips, or if she got frustrated and cried against Joseph's shoulder. I hope the shepherds knocked before they came in.

I think that times like these, it's important to step back a bit and consciously adopt a posture of receiving, rather than one of acting. There are times when you build character, and times when you draw on character - and I think, in seasons of fatigue or unexpected limitations, it's important to passively allow God to take you where he will. Overachievers, take note.

Advent is to be received, not performed (pastors - take note). Childbirth will be both acting - hey, there's a reason it's called labor - and receiving - you're receiving this child, this experience, whatever it entails. Jesus' Incarnation was not initiated by humans: that is one of the most important implications of the Virgin Birth. Jesus came, unexpected, uninvited, uncreated.

Receive Christ, then, this season, as you do in Holy Communion. You can put up a tree: you cannot create Christmas. You can get a great deal on The Toy for your kid: you cannot create Christmas. We receive Christmas.

Receive Christ, and the celebration of his birth, this year, and be blessed.

We Are The Champions...

2009-12-07T15:52:00.002-06:00

Ah, Queen: what a triumphant anthem of victory; no false modesty, just a blaring shout of visceral good cheer.

And I Am That Champion.

Okay, okay, it's through no skill of my own. And I'm not so much a champion as a winner. And I'm not really doing anything To Win other than fulfill basic requirements. But that doesn't kill the buzz, all the same.

And I've prayed this little tongue-in-cheek, yet sincere, prayer: "Lord, you know the year we've had. Lord, we've been laid off since March. And oh Lord, I know the winners of these giveaways are determined by random number generators on random.org - but Lord, you directed the casting of lots in the Old and New Testament, which means you can do it now..."

What's all this about, you ask? Turns out there's this whole teeming world of Mom Blogs on the internet - mostly stay at home moms. Turns out advertisers have discovered that word of mouth promotion via Mom Blog sites is really productive. So there are a bunch of Mom Blogs that review products - but those advertisers are wise. They often give one to review, and one to give away to A Lucky Reader.

So I started entering these giveaways because of the baby stuff you can get - small things, like onesies, to large things, like strollers. The host Mom Blog always has a basic entry ("go to Graco's website and tell me one other product you like") as well as other additional entry opportunities. I never do all of those, usually just one or two, but it ups your odds of winning.

And so far, my personal winning tally is...

A toy Oreck vacuum cleaner (not received yet)

A toy Hugg-A-Planet stuffed globe with labeled countries (in the nursery as I type - educational, woohoo!)

A $75 gift certificate to beau-coup.com (coupon code available for use any time)

A $25 gift certificate to maukilo.com (coupon code available for use any time)

A Wicked Jack's Tavern rum cake from Aroma Ridge (already digested by friends and loved ones)

And....today's creme de la creme....

A new XBox 360 Elite prize package for Sweet Husband!!!!!!!! Yes, I can type that safely here, because Subtlety Is Not My Strong Point, so when I got the confirmation email, I screamed, and when he came into the room, I clapped my hand over the monitor and wheezed, "I won you something!", but of course was too excited not to tell him, for which he was very grateful.

"I wanted to try to wait to tell you, but..."

"WHY would you wait to tell me???"

And so on.

The source of scanning all these marvelous giveaways?

http://www.prizey.net/

You'll notice a "select category" drop-down bar, from which you can choose to look at giveaways for baby stuff, giveaways for tech stuff, etc. I never check the "sweeps4bloggers" giveaways, they look too generic to me. But the other avenue is that in gleaning extra entries for things, I've become an email subscriber to a lot of these blogs - which yes, means that I get like 15 emails a day from them, but I just quickly glance through and delete them if there's nothing I'm interested in, or follow the link to new giveaways they have going on.

There have also been a few giveaways I've gone ahead and entered that I personally wouldn't have a lot of use for, but that would eBay for a very nice sum, thus making it totally worth it if I win.

'Tis the season to be frugal.

The Internet: The Gift That Keeps On Giving. Thanks, Al Gore. Thanks.

*Examples of giveaways: baby stuff, baby stuff, kid stuff, cosmetics, electronics, foods, toys, baby stuff, purses, maternity wear, Etsy seller items, personalized Christmas cards, gift certificates, etc...