Not a New Post

I cannot blog right now.  I have 60 hours of Olympic coverage to catch up on.  All the glory, the drama, the tears (that I have been shedding), the ice-dancing, the victory and dissapointment, the suspense.  I love every second.  (Except for the luge...I got a little tired of the luge.)  I'll be back after closing ceremonies.

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner!

Friday Brian and I went grocery shopping.  We didn't intend to.  We had two things on our list: creamer and toothpaste.  200 dollars later, we exited the store.  We only took in one shopping bag with us.  (The bag boy asked if it had been our intention to fit everything into that one bag.  Smart*&@.)  But it was SO LONG overdue.  We'd been scraping by on stale crackers and moldy cheese.  (Maybe it wasn't quite that dire.)  But we were tending towards eating out way too much again because there just wasn't much in the house to work with.  So we stocked up in order to nip it in the bud. 

I came up with this plan of eating chicken wings and watching the Olympics for our Friday night entertainment.  And of course, I didn't want to buy pre-made chicken wings (virtually the same as eating out plus all the bogus preservatives and fillers).  I resolved to make my own.  And I did.  And they tasted AMAZING!  I fried them myself.  I made my own Buffalo wing sauce AND I made my own ranch dressing.  I turned all Betty Crocker and crap.

Saturday morning Brian and I got up and the conversation that ensued went something like this.

Brian: "Do you remember those AWESOME wings you made last night?  They were so delicious." 

Lisa: Blushing with pride but trying to be humble "Well I did fry them in peanut oil.  Peanut oil makes everything delicious." 

Brian:  "It didn't hurt that we covered them in butter then." 

Lisa:  "Ooh.  There was a whole stick of butter in that sauce wasn't there?  So we fried the chicken in peanut oil and then covered them in butter?!?!?!?!"

Brian: "And then we dipped them in a cup of mayonnaise."  The ranch dressing contained much mayo.

Then there was an exchange of horrified looks followed by crazed laughter. 

Brian:  "I guess we better go work out today, huh?"

So we probably would have been better off going to McDonald's and eating three Big Mac's with extra special sauce. 

But those wings tasted MIGHTY fine!

Christmas 2009

 

So I'm a little late with my Christmas reporting.  But I'm finally going through pictures and sorting my life back out and figured I might as well share these lovely family pictures with you.  At least I think they're lovely because they are of my families that I love so dearly.

All I can say is, WOW, what a difference this Christmas season was from the last one!  It makes a huge difference to be feeling well mentally and to have the emotional energy to pour into having family fun.  I enjoyed the two weeks around the holidays immensely this year and laughed my tail off.  (Laughter tends to be the gauge I use to decide whether or not something is a success.)

The first part of the holidays were spent down in Indy with the Showalter clan where there was a steady stream of food entering our mouths for four days straight.  I kept my mouth open and just let the food roll in.  My mother-in-law would not let us open presents on Christmas eve BUT she did allow us to open stockings (yes, we are all six years old - or maybe it's just me) which was delightful and did stretch the festivities out a little longer.  All in all it was a lovely, and relatively quiet four days spent bonding with family.

Then the Christmas festivities began with my loud, manic, crazy family.  Thus began the talk-as-loud-as-you-can-and-over-somone-if-necessary-if-you-want-to-be-heard marathon.  (Some of the weaker in-laws are rendered virtually mute for the weekend.)  And our gathering would not be complete without a game of bingo for cash prizes that gets everyone in the Christmas spirit.

But one of my favorite moments of the holidays came when my family was gathered at my house for "Christmas Part II" on a Tuesday evening for a Skyline Chili feast.  (Yes, there were 16 people packed in my tiny house but they were all really good sports about it.)  I decided that we needed to get a family picture.  Which makes everyone sort of roll their eyes but they tend to humor me.  (I am the baby of the family after all.  I know how to work it.)  So I'm trying to convince them to get in the spirit of things and I keep saying, "Who knows when we'll all be together like this again, or if we ever will" with a slightly sad and wistful voice.  A touch dramatic, I admit, but it had been three years since we'd all been gathered under one roof.  (Things are harder now that one family now lives in Texas and one in Chicago.)  So all the adults are sitting at our dining room table while I plead my case.  And my mom (always the optimist) says "Who knows, maybe next year there will be more in the family.  Someone might get married or have a baby."  Ah yes, a much more positive spin than my "someone might die before we get together again" approach.  At that precise moment the oldest grandchild, Courtney who is 19 and living on her own now, walks up to the table and says: "I have an announcement to make."

And a collective GASP goes up from the table of adults.  We all hold our breath as one.

Courtney, sensing our panic, quickly blurts out, "I just wanted to thank you all for my Christmas gifts."  (She had been unable to be present for "Christmas Part I.")

And a collective SIGH of relief went out from table, strong enough to rustle all the curtains in my house.  *Note to Courtney, "I have an announcement to make," is usually reserved for major life-altering events.  You might want to use that one more judiciously in the future! 

So the picture was taken.  But I really wanted to torture everyone by doing what I dub "The Mennonite Family Picture Series."  (I'm sure it is used by many other faiths and cultures but I associate it with my Mennonite families.)  You may know now exactly what I'm talking about.  The series goes like this:

     picture of entire extended family

     picture of just grandkids

     picture of grandkids with grandparents

     picture of grandparents with just their children (no spouses)

     picture of grandparents with their children and spouses

     picture of just the children - no spouses

     picture of just the children with spouses

     picture of each family unit

     Did I miss any?

But I didn't torture them that way.  And when I look at these pictures and think back to my Christmas 2009 memories just one warm word defines how I feel: Love.  I am so very lucky.

Wee Wee Wee All the Way Home

Yesterday I had the honor of pig sitting six little piglets. Our friends Dan and Felicia have a delightful, and might I add HILARIOUS, farmstead full of a menagerie of animals. But life on the farm is rough and Dan has had to learn the heartbreak of losing beloved animal friends. But this little miracle of life helps make it seem worth it. The piglets are a week old and are being bottle fed right now. So, that's right: I got up at 5:30 in the morning and bottle fed hungry little, slurpy piglets. And I didn't complain. And Brian almost broke down in tears at the wonder of it all (er, me getting up peacefully...not at the miracle of life.)

Feeding them is a little tricky because it's hard to remember which ones you have removed from the tub and fed already. So I would put the ones I'd fed into the clear bin next to the tub. Except that a few of them could jump out...which made things a little trickier. But never fear, because as you can see, my co-pig sitter, Reggie, was on hand to assist. He worried over them. Licked them. Put his head in the bin like a mother hen to check on them when they made noise. But the biggest help he provided was by herding them when they escaped during feeding time. I knew that this instinct of his (evidenced by his violent attempts to herd the vacuum sweeper) would come in handy one day. I would find Reggie in the corner by the basement stairs and realize Oh! There must be a piglet over there. One more reason to love this most amazing of dogs.

I guess I can check off the "bottle feed a piglet" on my list of things I should do before I die list. :) I'm just a simple gal really.

Mary Oliver

Is there some reason I never knew that the poet Mary Oliver existed?

Last night after attending an absolutely delightful yoga class with my friend Heather (led by Jamie Robinson) our yogi read us a Mary Oliver poem as we relaxed at the end of class. It was so gentle and moving as we lay there, after having twisted our bodies like pretzels for an hour, to be caressed by this inspiring poem. He read it twice so we could soak up the words. And then, he rang a singing bowl. And frankly, I could not have loved him any more than I did at that point. (You may not know that I have a singing bowl given to me by my mother-in-law. A bowl that I love deeply and has been carted around to all sorts of places because it soothes my soul. And it's sort of a party hit.)

The poem connected with me in a way that poetry hasn't for some time - maybe because I haven't spent time reading much poetry and fostering my love for it. And frankly I think most of us need more poetry in our lives. So today I took some time reading her poetry online - and was completely entranced. I have visions of printing these poems out and wallpapering my house with them. They are that good.

I share with you the poem that inspired me last night:

Mornings at Blackwater

For years, every morning, I drank
from Blackwater Pond.
It was flavored with oak leaves and also, no doubt,
the feet of ducks.

And it always assuaged me
from the dry bowl of the very far past.

What I want to say is
that the past is the past,
and the present is what your life is,
and you are capable
of choosing what that will be,
darling citizen.

So come to the pond,
or the river of your imagination,
or the harbor of your longing,

and put your lips to the world.
And live
your life.

-Mary Oliver

Brian's Point of View

I just find this sort of amusing.

Brian went to San Diego a few weeks ago for work. I was very jealous because I've heard it's absolutely lovely there. He was staying right by the ocean and was working on a screen for an international film festival. (Whatever, fancy-pants.)

So he called me one night and I was all questions and curiosity about what it was like out there. But Brian isn't really known for being overly observant or capable of wonderfully descriptive word paintings. (Honestly, he can be on the phone with someone for an hour and when I ask, "what'd you guys talk about?" he responds, "um, nothing really." Really?!? Because it took an hour and that's a long time to not say anything. This has made me into a phone stalker. I follow him around while he's on the phone - because he's a phone wanderer - seeing as it's the only way I'll be able to glean any information on what went down in the conversation. As much as I hate the phone, I still want to know what happens on it.) So here we were on the phone and Brian doesn't have a single thing to say about his surroundings. So I decided to make it easy for him. I made a request: "Describe to me in four words the area that you are in." He didn't tell me to get lost, or quit being stupid (which I love, because he doesn't try to argue with my quirkiness). He went completely silent as he pondered. And then he said:

"There's a lot of Adobe."
(Yes, technically five words.)

Really? That's the best you could come up with? So I made fun of him for a while. (Wouldn't you?) Honestly I don't know what I was expecting. Something profound maybe about the untamed beauty of the ocean or the beach. Perhaps something about the landscape or the street culture. I guess I just wasn't expecting to hear about the local construction materials. But I suppose that's just how Brian takes in the world. Funny man.

And One More Awkward, Horrifying, Situation...

My new year's resolution of blogging more regularly has not gotten off to a very good start. So my Valentine's resolution will be to blog more. I may need a St. Patrick's day resolution as well...and an Easter...maybe Memorial Day...I'll keep trying. (I really do enjoy this!)

But since I'm here I'll tell you about my latest unpleasant/annoying life situation that really isn't that big of a deal but just another example of why I find life to be a series of awkward and uncomfortable scenarios being played out. It involves my hair. Again.

For nine years I faithfully went to Jason Davidson for all my hair styling needs. Before him I just sort of bounced around from stylist to stylist, never ready to commit to any, never finding that je ne sais quoi. So I'd go to someone a few times and then avoid that salon like the plague so I wouldn't have to see their face when the betrayal they felt registered on it as they realized I was getting my hair styled by someone else. I don't know if this is how it feels to them but it's how I imagine it must feel. But then I found Jason, or rather my sister-in-law did, recommended him to me, and the rest is history. So several years ago when he moved to Toledo I thought it would be all over. But he continued to come back to Warsaw every weekend to cut hair. And then a few years ago when he told me he had enrolled in college to become an accountant, I knew our glorious days together were numbered. But I was figuring I had until May of this year. So I was shocked and horrified and not at all emotionally prepared, when he told me casually in November that "this would be our last appointment together." We did a little stroll down memory lane and quickly did the math and I couldn't believe it when he said that he had been styling my hair for NINE YEARS!!! That is longer than many marriages. It's more than twice as long as I was in high school and that just makes me feel old. (I don't know why. I guess it seems unrealistic that I could have been out of high school long enough for that length of a hair-cutting relationship.) So, I bid him a fare-well and left, feeling a bit dazed and a whole lot of being in denial.

I had eight weeks before I needed to embark on the journey that I so dreaded: the journey to find a new stylist.

And it's not that I'm really that worried about my hair although I fully admit to being a bit vain about my hair. (Look, I'll never be a leggy, slender, beauty. But I can have a good hair cut dang it!) My hair will grow out from a bad cut. It's that whole rotten process that goes along with it. Meeting a new stylist, judging their abilities and my haircut, deciding if they pass muster, and then trying to avoid them if they don't. And I hate having to make small talk for 45 minutes to an hour. Oh, how I hate that. I don't know if they expect me to keep the chatter going or if they prefer I shut up. Do they really care about what I'm making for dinner? Do I really care about what shows they enjoy watching? I feel like I never really received the full instructions for this song and dance and I just don't know all the rules. Jason and I had enough history that it was pleasant and I think he knew I was comfortable with long periods of silence. But yet we seemed to click conversationally. Oh Jason, why did you have to leave me?

So my hair got pretty shaggy and my bangs were unbearable. I have to say that I love rocking the bang look. Okay, now I'm going to digress terribly.

When I decided to go with my new style, specifically bringing back the bangs I never imagined the reaction I would receive. I have never received so much immediate and strong reaction to any haircut I've ever gotten. And I've gotten A LOT of styles over the years. Some of the reactions:

• You look like a geisha/You look like a China girl (that one's totally not PC but I heard it)
• You look like Amelie (a crazy French movie)
• You dyed your hair didn't you? (Uh, no)
• You look like a flapper girl from the 1920's
• Wow I love it, it looks so retro!
• Etc...

But my favorite reaction by far was Brian's. We both got home in the early afternoon. He said nothing but shot me questioning glances all day. Approximately eight hours later he casually asked, "Did you do something different with your hair?" Priceless.
Back to the present moment. My hair was shaggy bad. I had not had the heart to call any place and make an appointment. I got desperate and walked in to a salon that I was planning to call anyway to see if they would take a walk-in. And the salon is beautiful! And I told the lady at the desk that my hair-stylist of nine years had abandoned me and I was frightened. Yeah. I said it. I wanted them to know that I was serious about my hair and my stylists and that I was interviewing them and they could have a loyal customer if things went well. Jessica would be cutting my hair and I looked in the book of stylists while I waited and discovered she was a junior stylist - i.e. inexperienced. So Jessica cut my hair and she was lovely and nice. Although she tried to push product (which I had forgotten that salons did because Jason just didn't do that). And my haircut was actually quite nice. But a.) Jessica has only been cutting hair nine months, b.) I don't know if we have that much in common, and c.) after barely cutting off a whisper of bangs and asking me if she had cut off enough and me going, "uh, no," she declared that she had never cut anyone's bangs that short before. WHAAAA!?!?!? My bangs aren't crazy short. I'm not asking anyone to take my bangs up to my hairline. What do you mean that these are the shortest bangs you've ever cut? And then she refused to cut them in a blunt line the way Jason did. She tapered them and then tried to give me a reason why she thought this was best and I was all "whatever, they're fine." But, she had been aware that I had been with a stylist for nine year (the lady at the front desk evidently took me seriously) so I assured her at the end that she had done a great job. And she had. I wasn't lying. For my first experience post-Jason I walked away happy. But I still wanted to explore more options.
Then she walked me to the front desk and there it was. The question I had feared. She asked, "so do you want to go ahead and schedule your next appointment?" Now she did a great job and all but I'm not ready to COMMIT just yet. But I'm also a big wimp. So I said, "sure." (My plan was to schedule and then call later and cancel.) But here's the kicker. She told me then that she was glad to meet me, AND SHE HUGGED ME. She hugged me and now it's like we're gosh-darn family. She felt like she had succeeded. And it's not that she didn't. I just need to play the field a little before I settle down. But she hugged me and I don't know what to do. Because I really loved the salon but how do I go in there and "interview" other stylists with the huggy-feely lady looking at me? It will feel like killing a puppy.
A decision will have to be made. Soon. And I don't feel equipped to handle it. And that is my current annoying life situation. Aren't you glad I blogged again?