The River Runs Dry

(This overly dramatic, sentimental, and sappy post brought to you courtesy of the James Taylor that keeps playing on my Simon & Garfunkel Pandora station. You're welcome.)

This week marks a milestone in the Showalter household.  Julian has been in our lives for six whole months. (Yay!) But this also means I met my six-month-goal of pumping breast milk for him, thus giving myself permission to stop if Julian still wasn't nursing. That if always looming large in my head and heart. As long as I was still pumping, there was a chance that we might still succeed in breastfeeding. This week I had to accept the inevitable reality that this would not be part of the story of Julian and I.

When I became pregnant breastfeeding wasn't even a question.  OF COURSE I would breastfeed! Why wouldn't I give my baby the best, and save boatloads of money all while bonding with, and nurturing my baby in the process? I had heard it can be hard; harder than we're all led to believe.  But I would overcome any pain or frustration presented to me, and I would succeed! It turns out, you simply cannot force a baby to latch who has no interest at all in the breast. It had almost nothing to do with me and my own determination and everything to do with my little guy's preferences.

I had an image in my mind of what breastfeeding would be like and I longed to know that relationship with a squishy little baby. After struggling with infertility for so many years, I relished the opportunity to share this special bond. I was prepared to nurse anywhere and everywhere and anytime he needed me, and for as long as he needed me.  We were going to share snuggles and smiles and gentle caresses. Instead this is what my journey with breastfeeding looked like:  

A pump and syringes and supplemental nursing systems and nipple shields.  All of it, ultimately, unsuccessful.  

Oh, but the success stories! I read so many stories of women who finally gained success in their sixth or seventh month of trying.  I read stories of adoptive mothers who were able to begin lactating and nursed their babies! If they could do it, without the benefit of pregnancy hormones, surely I could figure out a way to make my baby see that nursing was so much better than that darn bottle. Why could this not be my story?

I know what I would say to another momma.  I would say, "look at your beautiful, healthy, happy baby. He is thriving. You are doing the absolute best for him. Don't be so hard on yourself! You did everything you could do. He loves you regardless. Don't you dare think of yourself as a failure! Your little one is so lucky to have such an awesome mother who cares so much." I would try to love and encourage her into knowing what an amazing momma she is.

So why don't I feel this? Why is this not settling into my soul? 

I can't shake the what-ifs. What if I hadn't allowed the hospital to give Julian formula? (But he was so tiny and he needed to eat, and my milk wasn't in yet.) What if I had put him to my breast every single feeding instead of allowing Brian to feed him during the night sometimes? (But Brian taking turns with me was such a blessed relief in those first sleepy days.) Did I do the mouth exercises with him often enough? Did I try nursing often enough or hard enough? What if I hadn't taken that two week reprieve in trying a few months in? (But we both ended up crying violently every time we tried nursing and the stress was not good for either of us.) What if I had held him differently or controlled my emotions better? What if? What if?

What if once I decided just to pump for Julian, I had pumped more often or taken more supplements so my supply wouldn't have dwindled to practically nothing? (But it became so difficult to pump once he became more active and alert, so often crying the entire time I pumped.) 

What could I have done to prevent this failure? Because that's what this feels like - a failure. I have cried buckets of tear over what might have been.  I cried as I packed away the pumping supplies this week, surrendering to reality.  In the end, it is better for me to use my time being present with my little guy rather than fighting his frustration only to produce a few ounces of breastmilk a day for him. Even now I sit here fighting tears as my breasts leak, like some cruel final gasp at a dream that can't come true. It feels like a betrayal of my body.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the incredible support I received from Brian, who held me while I cried and said all the right things, even as I remained inconsolable.  I have had wonderful support and non-judgmental care from my lactation consultant and the wonderful group of other mothers that meet there. I know this is self-inflicted, all of it exacerbated by the worry that this might be my one and only shot at caring for a baby and wanting it to be perfect.  

Through all of this I have learned to be careful about expectations and judgements - the ones we place on others and the ones we place on ourselves. I have now been around enough mothers that I have just thrown all judgements out the window. Your child wants to breastfeed until they're six? Great! Do it. It's more strange to feed your child milk from a cow than from their own mother. You don't want to breastfeed? You have your reasons and mothering is hard. Choose your battles. You want to co-sleep? How cozy! You want to put your baby in a crib across the house? Hooray for getting sleep and having time where your body is your own for a moment. Cloth diaper or disposable diaper? Baby led weaning or baby food purees from Gerber? We all decide what works best for our family and makes each member healthy and happy.

(Also, don't believe the hype about breastfeeding and pumping helping you lose weight.  I put on 10 pounds in the months after giving birth because providing food for another human being makes you hungry!  Turns out this is common, but nobody talks about it lest breastfeeding seem unappealing. Expectations, people.) 
   
So, today I mourn. I might keep mourning tomorrow.  Maybe I'll mourn this until Julian is 18. Who knows? But it is time to physically lay this down, wipe away my tears, and put this energy and emotion into the next thing.

What, you ask, is the next thing? Tomorrow I turn to something I know darn well that I can do: cooking! My body may not want to produce milk for my baby, but I can sure as split pea soup make this child nutritious and delicious food.  He shall have all the food delights that any baby could ever dream of hating and rejecting.  (Because, you know, kids are kind of jerks.) Here's to the next chapter.  Bon apetit!

Shoe Droppings

A few days ago I mentioned that, while I am in a good place in my life currently, there is a foreboding sense that perhaps it is too good to be true,  too good to be lasting.  Perhaps this is setting me up for tragedy.  I do not enjoy feeling this way.  But I have my reasons.


This year has seen tragedy strike my piano studio.  Heart-breaking, devastating tragedy.  The worst kind of tragedy.  Two of my students have lost a parent to death this year.  


At the beginning of the school year the mother of an eight-year-old boy (with two other sons, even younger) was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  She exited this earth just last night, on her birthday.


In February the father of an eight-year-old girl (with another son and daughter, even younger) very suddenly passed away.


The mother that was lost was 38.  The father that was lost was 36.  


There is no sense in this.  This is unjust and cruel.  This is sad beyond any words that can be spoken or written.


These events have shaken me.  To be sure, what I'm experiencing is in no way a comparison to the world-shattering realities both of these families face, and I am not trying to minimize that or elevate where it has taken me.  But these deaths have made me examine my life, question my security, and quite frankly, brought me fear.  


Brian and I are 35.  These things could happen to us.  Why shouldn't they visit our household?  What is keeping tragedy from striking my home?  


I had a moment with my hairdresser (who,like many, has a special knack for  getting me to talk about things I wouldn't normally spill) where I was expressing sorrow for these families.  The night before my appointment I had been in the kitchen with Brian, making a meal, laughing and enjoying his company.  And then I stopped and thought, "here I am having such a sweet moment with my partner, and a few miles away there is a wife who is mourning the loss of her husband, and husband who is caring for a dying wife."  And I felt bad; guilty about the lovely, care-free evening I was able to experience.  I told these things to my hairdresser.  And she, in no uncertain terms, told me that that was exactly what I was supposed to do.  I was supposed to love Brian, hold Brian, and enjoy our time together.  I was not to take that for granted and by having those sweet moments I was helping bring more love to this hurting world.


Many of you know that lately I have been raging over the phrase, "everything happens for a reason."  Not everything happens for a reason.  There is no reason that these six young children should be robbed of their mother and father.  There is no reason this wife and husband should lose their beloved.  


This is not to say that I think nothing happens for a reason.  I do believe that the divine intervenes at times with mystery and infinite wisdom, opening up pathways, providing angels in our lives, or perhaps setting up a road-block.  Sometimes the reason things happen is because of our choices.  But sometimes there simply is no reason.  "Everything happens for a reason" seems to take away our responsibilities as human beings.  Because we are always left with a choice.  We have a choice as to how we use the events in our life.  


These mothers I've referred to, one who survives and one who has passed, have used these events in intentional and life-affirming ways.  The mother who passed shared her experiences, through CaringBridge entries, of living in limbo - trying to live even as she approached what she came to call "her second birth."  She wrote about the joys and the struggles in candid, beautiful and haunting ways; full of grace and always embracing the light.  The mother who lost her husband has shared about that experience as well, through both a blog and honest, heart-breaking, and often hopeful and positive posts on Facebook.  


And both have clung stubbornly to their faith in God.  I use the word "stubborn" because I can't believe their faith just stayed put through these experiences.  I believe they both had to make the audacious decision to remain rooted in this faith.  Regardless of your beliefs, I think you would find both of these women to be inspiring and deeply thought-provoking as they have faced life's most difficult scenarios.  I can't comprehend where they find the strength to carry on.  Still, they have chosen to find beauty and goodness in this life even as they recognize and live with pain.


I don't know where this leaves me.  I don't know that I have a conclusion to all of these thoughts.  I only know that right now I grieve for these families.  But I will also try to celebrate all the beauty they have experienced in their lives, and I will try to celebrate the beauty in mine.  (If you need help finding some beauty, go ahead and watch the video below. May blessing find you where you are.)

Last Lesson

It was a beautiful day for our last piano lesson, Nadia and I.  The sun was shining, the windows open: it was as if the heavens were blessing this last meeting between the two of us.

Nadia came to me as a young girl, she must have been in the fourth or fifth grade.  I had taught her older sister some years before and I was aware that their mother had passed away from cancer recently.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  Would she be fragile and shy, would I need to handle her with kid gloves?  But she came with enthusiasm for learning the piano and an outgoing, sweet, and funny personality.  And we had so many good times together as I watched her develop into a wonderful pianist and a delightful young woman.

I knew today was coming.  This wasn't one of those times where it hits me like a punch in the gut.  She graduated from highschool this spring, and this is an inevitable ending - sad though it may be.  But she gave me the beautiful gift of seeing this thing - piano lessons - through to the end.  It wasn't always easy.  There were plenty of weeks she struggled with practice or didn't make it to a lesson.  We shared the disappointments of poor performances and slow progress at times.  But we also marveled at her increasing ability, her love of music, and those times when her performances just shined.  I loved how inquisitive she is, about music and life.  We laughed A LOT in our lessons.  She also gave me one of those moments that makes me so thrilled to be a piano teacher this spring: she played me a song she had composed.  And it was enchanting - a sweet, beautiful piece of music. 

But on this gorgeous June day, at Nadia's last lesson, we also had the chance to sit and talk to each other - something that normally just can't happen in a half hour lesson.  I wanted to encourage her to continue playing, and to know what she had planned next.  And with the lesson done, we could sit and talk like two friends, without the barrier of the teacher student dynamic - another great gift to me.  She doesn't know what is in store for her next.  And in so many ways neither do I.  I love teaching piano and I know I'm going to continue to do it.  But I also have this feeling that there is something else too.  I just don't know what.  We both had a sense that we are waiting to see what God has in store for us - as if we are both sonatas waiting for the composer to finish the next movement.

Nadia has probably taught me as much as I've taught her, as do most of my students.  I can't wait to see where she goes in life.  This was a good ending, both sad and happy.  As she rose from the piano bench to leave we hugged.  Then we hugged again.  The two of us - unfinished compositions that we are.

Sticks and Stones...*Warning: Feminist Rant to Follow*

“All right, ladies, let’s get to work. I called you a lady to humiliate you. It’s a motivational tactic we coaches use.” - Sponge Bob Square Pants

Something has been bothering me a lot in the last few years and it seems like I'm becoming more and more aware of it - and more sensitive about it. I am sick and tired of men cutting each other down by, in essence, calling someone a female. It occurs in a lot of different ways, and by using many different phrases. And I can barely stomach it anymore. Some examples of phrases I have recently heard, from one man to another man, (and they aren't pretty):

"Don't be a girl."

"Quit being a pussy!" (We all know this means "don't be a vagina" which at its very essence means, "don't be a woman.")

"Man up."  (This one may not fit, but just sort of bothers me.)

"What are you? A woman?"

"Come on now, hike up your skirt and play."

"Who lit the fuse on your tampon string?"

There are a lot of other variations I hear that I shan't repeat here because of their vulgarity (as if the above were not vulgar enough). This drivel is unbelievable to me. Would we tell each other, or our children, not to be a black person, or a Jew, or a dirty Arab? I imagine a lot of people still do, but generally the circles I move in don't do that. But those same people (even those who are followers of Jesus) don't hesitate to throw out these little barbs of latent sexism when they wouldn't do the same regarding race.  And these are good people, people I love and even admire.  But what bothers me most is that these are men who have daughters, who are married to - and presumably love - a woman, who have mothers.  Why is this okay? 

I've heard people come back with: well, of course, a man shouldn't be something other than a man, shouldn't try to be something other than a man, and that's all these phrases allude to.   

Nice try.  We all know that this kind of language means that being a woman is "less than."  This language means that women are weak, both emotionally and physically and that there are no qualities in women that should be emulated.  It means being anything like a woman is something one should avoid at all costs, lest you be seen as weak, useless, expendable. 

It is a futile battle that I fight to get the men around me to take this seriously.  (And even most women.)  They think I'm being such a typical "girl" about it, that I'm being way too sensitive, that there's no harm in this good-natured ribbing.  (Even Brian thinks I'm off my rocker about this one.  He tries not to speak this way simply because he doesn't want to hear me rant for five minutes, not because he actually embraces what I'm saying.)  But this isn't good-natured ribbing.  This type of talk settles into our psyche, becomes part of our culture and society, and shapes our expectations of what we can become.  Look around you at how it doesn't even occur to most women to be offended at this talk!  Is it because we view ourselves this way that we simply accept it?

We have finally reached a point in our society where it is okay to raise little girls more like boys.  They can be good at sports, wear pants, get dirty, be good at math and science, and have strong wills.  I would say, typical masculine qualities.  But we are still not okay with little boys being raised in any way that resembles feminine qualities.  I don't think that women and men share identical characteristics - and viva la difference - I don't want us to be the same.  But when will we start to actually value the wonderful characteristics of females - or at the very least, not see them as the very worst? 

Gratitude Realized

How do I begin to tell you about my decision to resign a position I once loved and felt called to?  Where do I start?  Whatever I say here will seem so...so inadequate.  But I almost feel that I need to try to put into writing some sort of summary of the journey I have been through in the last year for my own closure.

On March 14, I informed my congregation of my resignation as Minister of Worship and Music at North Main St. Mennonite Church (and also as church secretary) with the intention of finding a new church home.  A painful and profoundly difficult day.  And here it is May 19 and I am staring my last Sunday as Minister of Worship and Music square in the face.  This Sunday will be the last time, in this role, that I stand on the platform and lead a hymn I love and look out at the faces of the congregation as they sing along heartily.  It will be the last time that I will play the piano for prelude and offertory and accompany the praise team - as a minister.  It will be the last Sunday that I enjoy worship, clothed in the role that I have learned to live in and embrace. 

And it really hurts. 

I don't think I'm ready to write about the process that led to this decision.  At some point I will need to.  It feels too raw at this time.  But I can say, happily, that my feelings toward this congregation have taken a drastic turn from what they were at the moment of my resignation.  While I am still secure in the knowledge that North Main is not a good fit for Brian and myself in the long run, my feelings of frustration, anger, disillusionment, and maybe even disgust, have all but been forgotten.  I now feel gratitude, love, regret, and affection.  I know that I will be able to walk away and things will have ended as well as they possibly could have.  And that's what I have desired all along - that this break would be as positive for all parties as it could be. 

At the beginning of April I attended a Mennonite Women in Conversation Retreat in Laurelville, PA that was AMAZING!  (The keynote speaker was the super-awesome Megan Ramer.)  The theme of the weekend was gratitude, always a topic that resonates for me.  And I realized in that weekend that I had not allowed myself to grieve the loss of my position.  Perhaps because I was the one to make the decision, and because of that I felt guilty.  What right did I have to grieve?  I'm the one who is hurting our congregation, people I love.  But I needed to accept the fact that I am allowed to feel sad, even if the decision was mine.  I also allowed myself to feel the fear of not knowing what is next for me.  What will I be now that this position that gave me so much identity is over?  And how will Brian and I survive without my income?  As I allowed myself to be present in these feelings, the floodgates of emotion just opened up.  That weekend allowed me to move towards healing, even as I journey through this mourning process.

A question in one of our sessions that weekend was how do we live in gratitude during times seasons in our lives where things to be grateful for are not apparent, where things are difficult?  And I made a decision to move through this stage in life with gratitude - whatever that means, however I can find it. 

So, I am grateful to have had this experience and opportunity.  I am grateful for the friends and family who have walked through this with me, lending me an ear or a shoulder to lean on.  I am grateful for a "sabbatical" this summer as I try to figure out where I am being led.  I am grateful for a husband who assures me that things will work themselves out.  I'm grateful for the adventure of whatever is next.  I am grateful for a congregation who is sending Brian and I with an outpouring of love.

Last Sunday the church had a carry-in dinner and short program for Brian and myself as a farewell.  I was given a gift of a beautiful salad bowl (made by a man in our congregation) and tongs.  And in that bowl people placed blessings for Brian and I.  I have not read the blessings.  I am holding on to them.  And this summer I will pull them out - one at a time - when I feel I need one, and I will savor them.  In the end I am left with a bowl full of blessings. 

And I am so grateful.

Oh Fooey Moment

I attended a funeral on Thursday morning (for the man who commit suicide). I was to play piano for special music and some hymns and provide postlude. I spent some time with the family and vocalists on Wednesday to plan out the music. Luckily one of the vocalists was comfortable leading hymns so that I could accompany because one the congregational songs ("In the Bulb there is a Flower") really requires accompaniment. The other congregational song was the hymn "Wonderful Grace of Jesus." Such a great hymn! On Thursday morning driving to the church I was excited beyond all reason that I was going to get to sing alto on "Wonderful Grace of Jesus." I'm normally the one leading hymns and I'm, decidedly, an alto. I love singing alto. I'm constantly in mourning about singing soprano all the time because I'm leading. But I was going to sing alto on that beautiful morning and I couldn't wait!

I get to the funeral and park myself on the front bench so I can easily access the piano. I arrange my music tidily beside me. I even open the hymnal to "Wonderful Grace of Jesus" so that after accompanying the first congregational song I could race back to the pew, gather up my hymnal, and not even miss one measure of glorious alto singing. So I accompany the first hymn. It goes well. It finishes and I practically sprint back to the pew, pick up my hymnal, and look at the song leader with anticipation. Here is the inner dialogue that followed:

I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready!

The song leader is looking at me. Is he waiting for me to be ready to start singing? How considerate of him.

He's making eye contact with me. Yes mister song-leader, I'm ready to go. (He must sense how excited I am. Nod your head to let him know he can start.)

Why does he keep looking at me?

He's motioning with his hand. That's strange.

HE'S MOTIONING TOWARD THE PIANO! Oh no! He wants me to play.

(Me, popping up and heading to said piano.)

I don't get to sing! Oh the humanity! (Sniffles inwardly.)

(Sitting down at the piano)

Oh fooey! Bob did ask me to accompany this! I remember it now so clearly. I really dropped the ball on this one.

(Positioning hymnal on the piano.)

I have never played this song on the piano. Fingers don't fail me now.

(Begins to play.)

So there it was. Poor guy. He didn't have a pitch pipe, how was he gonna start a hymn? My excitement blinded me. It went fine though. I apologized later. And on a serious note, for what could have been such a sad and tragic funeral, this is one of the nicest, most touching and meaningful funerals I've ever been to. What a testament to a loving family. Rest in peace Mark.

Face to Face with Mortality

Three viewings in two weeks. This is the most concentrated season of mourning that I think I've ever been part of. All of them tragedies. They weren't the kind where Great Aunt Millie was 98 and had lived a full life and died peacefully in her sleep. All were cases of the deceased being gone, seemingly, too soon.

The first, a 55 year old man who passed away due to a medication error that occurred in the early and darkest hours of the morning. (The nurse administered insulin to a non-diabetic.) After a week in a coma, he passed away.

The second, a 72 year old man who had battled illness the last several years. His quality of life was quite poor and his golden retirement years were not what he and his wife had dreamed of.

The final, a 40 year old man who tragically succumbed to depression. There are no words for this one. This one is unspeakably painful for his family and friends.

But these viewings have been places where I have seen the best that humanity can be in many ways. I have seen moments of forgiveness and reconciliation. I have seen friends reunite over tragedy. I have glimpsed both vulnerable and sentimental moments taking place. These last two weeks have opened my eyes to the value of viewings. I guess I've always wondered what the point of a viewing really is. I suppose they are just rites that humans need to process sorrow, to offer comfort, to allow us to realize that we are part of a large community of humanity. And I need to be more willing to attend them.

So, tomorrow morning I head to another funeral where I give the only thing I can really offer of any value in situations like this - music. I only hope that my piano playing can speak to the sorrow that my words can not address, and offer comfort.

Accidental Trendsetter

I was listening to NPR yesterday (it's so annoying to hear that isn't it?) on my way home from Goshen and "Talk of the Nation" was dealing with the new trend of being recession savvy. The terms being bandied about were "recession chic" and "recessionista." Leave it to our country to turn something bad, like the current economy, into a trendy bandwagon to jump on.

The show was sparked by an article by Kelly Marages of the Washington Post entitled, "I'm Not Buying Recession Chic." She begins the article talking about how people who brown-bagged their lunch in corporate America were, until recently, considered weird and dowdy. And now, "these days, it's precisely parading that plastic container around the office at midday that shows that you're resourceful, that you're rolling with the times, that you're cool in a do-it-yourself recession-y kind of way." Oh dear.

Topics of the conversation included how all the morning talk shows are jumping on this theme and providing ideas on their shows for saving money in this economic wilderness. For instance, people have been stunned that they can rewash plastic bags and reuse them. Imagine that. Or that they can *gasp* cook at home. Lay-away has now come back into vogue. The guests on the show yesterday made a point of saying that those that need to be frugal with their money, and that always have, ALREADY KNOW ABOUT THIS STUFF AND DO IT! The wealthy now love to talk about how they are making changes because of the dreadful economy. High end restaurants are now offering $150 tasting plates, down from the usual $300. Many argued that it is precisely the wealthy who need to be spending money right now. It is their job to fuel the economy. I don't know if I completely agree, but if their motivation is to be "recession chic" and not responsible, then they should probably go ahead and keep spending.

And then it occurred to me. Oh my word. I accidentally became a "recessionista" without knowing it. The "Great February Dine-In" could be interpreted as me becoming "recession chic." Oh geez!

I'm sorry economy! I can't help you right now. I understand you're going through a rough time but I'm not wealthy and I've been dining out as if I am. You are on your own. I'm not leaving you hanging like this to be "cool." It's merely coincidence that my analysis of personal finances coincides with this new, and very strange, trend. Please don't hold it against me. I'll try to help you in other ways.

Maybe though, it is all the talk of the economy that scared me into taking a closer look at our spending. If it is, isn't that a good thing? I don't know. But I hope that all of you don't take me as trying to be "recession chic." I'm just not really chic at all.



P.S. I will not be washing out plastic bags and reusing them. They never dry and they always seem greasy no matter what. I decided long ago (after my mother washed and reused every plastic bag that came across her path) that I simply must draw the line there. Ha! Take that recessionistas!

The Great February Dine-In

The Great February Dine-In went off without a hitch. I really expected it to be impossible or at the very least, mind-bogglingly difficult. It actually wasn't at all. Just goes to show if I look at something as a challenge and stick a catchy name on it I can make it happen. Currently it is March 9 and I have not dined out since February 1.

The weird thing is, not only was it not difficult...it was easy and sort of transformational. I figured it was going to be a huge challenge and so to set myself up for success, I planned ahead. I came up with a list of menu options and then went grocery shopping to supply the items for most of the items on my list. The fact that I had ideas seems to be what made the difference. I feel so much more relaxed and in control of my schedule. Even though I have been cooking a whole bunch more...I feel less rushed and stressed. It has been so strange. Really, really strange.

And here is the real kicker. I sat down last weekend to crunch some numbers. I knew what Brian and I had spent in January on dining-out and that the number for February would be, well, zero. However I fully expected to have increased my spending on groceries from January to February to compensate for the lack of meals spent dining-out. But that was not the case. In fact I spent $110 less on groceries in February. That BLOWS MY MIND! The key here seems to be the advanced planning. Even when I was cooking in past months I was coming up with something to prepare and then sending my faithful husband to the store for me because I didn't have everything I needed. Each of those trips cost between $17 and $35. Simply not running to the store all the time is a cure for overspending. (Especially if said faithful husband picks up a few extra things every time he runs to the store...primarily pork. He has an irresistible urge to buy pork.)

So now, I find that I am turning into my mother: going to the store for staples and staples only, no funny-business. Brian is not enjoying this new grocery shopping personality I have embraced. He accused me at the grocery store of always getting to buy luxury items that I want but not any of his luxury items. He whined when we didn't go down the snack aisle. I said we didn't need snacks. Then later, standing by the sandwich meats, flipping through coupons, I casually mentioned that we had a coupon for Doritos. Brian immediately, and with all the seriousness of a military Sergeant, proclaimed, "I'm on it," and darted off to the snack aisle before I could even blink. I guess I'll have to find a happy medium in this new endeavor of mine. And while the "Great Dine-In" is officially over, I feel like I learned a lot, changed my perspective, and gained so much more than money.

February Challenges

Brian and I recently took on a couple of challenges. The first challenge came out of a conversation in our Sunday school class that ended with several of the couples in the class committing to observe "Meatless Mondays." Brian has been really fussy about it. He gets the point. But he doesn't like it.

Now, I am not a vegetarian and I don't even want to become one. I respect the vegetarian lifestyle a lot but I believe meat, in moderation, is a healthy and important part of a diet. (Also, I'm afraid that if we all stopped eating meat at once there would be a bunch of feral pigs and cows and I would walk into my back yard and find stray pigs rooting around there.) However, we Americans have taken something healthy and natural and turned it into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza. One person in our class had heard a report that many rural Chinese are only able to eat meat on holidays. Many have moved to the cities where they can earn more and consequently can now eat meat once or twice a week. Once or twice a week!!! Americans can easily eat meat three times a day! Bacon at breakfast, cold-meat sandwich at lunch, and meatloaf at supper. No problem.

Another person in our class had heard a report that if each person in the middle class in China would increase their pork intake by 10 pounds per year (roughly one pork chop a month) they would starve the rest of the world. This is due primarily to the grain that it would take to feed the pigs and the farmland lost for growing the grain and hosting the pigs. Now, I don't know if this report is totally accurate but still, we thought, in the converse, what could happen if Americans ate 10 pounds less of meat each year? Would we help? So some of us have decided to give it a try with Meatless Mondays. This is mainly to raise our own awareness, to keep us thinking about the rest of the world and to fight the American seduction of over-consumption. And it should be a health benefit to cut a little meat from our diets. So far, I have not eaten meat on a Monday in 2009.

The second challenge came through me taking a hard look at our finances and nearly suffering a coronary when I saw how much we spend dining out. I was trying to figure out where we could save some money. "If we get a different phone plan maybe we can save $20 a month or if we up our deductible on the car insurance we can save $15 a month...OR IF WE NEVER WENT OUT TO EAT WE COULD BUY A NEW CAR EVERY MONTH!" Okay, it might not be that extreme but it was ugly. So I have deemed this challenge "The Great February Dine-In." (You may be realizing that I do much better with lifestyle changes if I view them as a challenge and give them a catchy name.) It is an attempt to see if we feel any major difference in our finances if we don't eat out at all. I'm hoping by the end of the month I'll have excess cash to throw on the bed and roll around in. We tend to spend a lot because of being busy. "We have a meeting at the church tonight...let's run through the drive-through on the way." Or if I get home late from teaching piano lessons and am too tired to cook, we order pizza. We fritter away a lot this way. So, I'm attempting to plan ahead a little better and adjust my food desires.

We really do love to go out to eat. We love to try new restaurants and visit favorites and we really try to support locally owned restaurants around here. But so much of the food we were eating, we didn't even really enjoy. It was junk that tasted bad that we ate because we're busy. The good news is that we really love to cook. And we cook at home a lot, it was just shocking to see how much we don't cook at home.

So far so good. Until Brian came home last week with an email he had printed out from work. Da-Lite's sister company in the Netherlands was sending over some employees to tour the plant and build rapport with the Warsaw employees. To build rapport, they scheduled two meals for Brian to attend with them at the two nicest restaurants in Warsaw! So during The Great February-Dine In, Brian was able to go to two of my favorite restaurants, Cerulean and Noa Noa, for free. (We go to Noa Noa on our anniversary or very special occasions, it is our favorite restaurant in the world probably.) Needless to say, my bitterness was great. So last night was Meatless Monday (which Brian totally didn't observe) and I didn't really feel like doing a bunch of cooking for myself. So I made some deviled eggs for my main dish. Turns out, deviled eggs don't really make a great main dish. And they turned on me during the night and, long story short, it ended with me curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor at 2 in the morning. Not good. Tonight my supper was equally sad: Vienna sausage I found tucked in the corner of my pantry that someone had given us two Christmases ago, some stale crackers, and a few olives. It's 11:00 p.m. and I'm feeling okay. Let's keep our fingers crossed.

So I don't know where these challenges will take me. I'm sure we'll be back to dining out, we just enjoy it too much. But maybe we'll make dining out really count rather than being a second rate convenience meal. And maybe we'll learn a few lessons about our over-consumption habits along the way.

Allelujah! The Great Storm is Over

I thought I'd give a little update. It would appear that my medication has kicked in!

Despite:

• It being colder than is reasonable for any human being to endure
• My car being crushed by a giant tree limb last week and it being in the shop until the 24th
• Brian's loan vehicle, a sweet Gary's Mobile Home Sales van, freezing up at work and being back down to one vehicle
• Having to run around to various appointments today

I am in a good mood!!!

It just feels really nice right now to wake up feeling okay - without feeling like the weight of the world is on my feeble shoulders.

So, I'm going to get some work done today, get my house tidied up, and sit on our new couch tonight and enjoy a movie or two with my favorite guys (Reggie and Brian). Tomorrow I learn to knit socks. All is right with the world.

Unwanted Guest

The end of 2008 found me hosting an unwanted visitor. My old nemesis: Depression.

At first he came around, knocking softly at my door. I told him I didn't want what he was selling, he was unwelcome, and that he should go step in front of a bus.

Then he started pounding at my door during the afternoon and tapping on my windows late at night. He would confront me while I walked from my house to my car. He was a real nag. But I kept my distance and played it cool. I was on to his tricks, my guard was up, and I was determined he would not wear me down and gain a foothold in my home.

Finally, one day, when I wasn't paying attention, he slipped inside while the door was swinging shut behind me. He settled in to stay. And he is a total jerk! Next he snuck in his punk kid-sister, Anxiety. She has no manners whatsoever and demands so much of my attention.

Eventually their cousins, Lethargy and Guilt moved in as well.

I am not happy with this hostile take-over. At all. I can’t get anything done with them running around. I’m miserable. All I want to do is sleep. It feels a little like I have to pretend to be myself right now.

But, I have talked to my doctor and hopefully my “houseguests” will be packing their bags and hitting the road soon.

While I debated sharing this on this blog, I decided it wasn’t healthy to portray myself only as a cheerful, energetic person with no cares in the world. And I thought some of you might like an explanation as to why I haven't really been myself. We all have our demons we battle and this just happens to be one of mine. So I haven’t felt like blogging. Nothing’s been fun or funny in months, it seems. But hopefully I’ll be back to myself before long…and you’ll be wishing I would lay off the blogging already!

I Quit, I Give Up

If you read my post on Friday, you are aware that it was a rough day. It continued to get worse (with one bright spot that I'm still trying to figure out how to write about here). But the whole week was a real downer, a bonafide bummer of a week.

To continue the horrible Friday. Before going to the grocery store, Brian and I stopped at the post office (to mail letters) and the pharmacy (to pick up my new stupid fluoride toothpaste prescription). We get to the pharmacy and we cannot find the script for the stupid toothpaste. Harsh looks and sighs were exchanged and Brian claimed he never saw the blue piece of paper that was clearly on the top of the stack that I handed him to be in charge of. (To be fair to Brian, it was a huge stack, including bank deposits, car payments, library books, mail, and a prescription script.) Turns out we threw the script in the post office box with the outgoing mail. (The post office called me which I find embarrassing because they now know all about my bad teeth.)

Then we head to the grocery store and they have rearranged the whole goodness-saken' store! The bread is on the opposite side of the store, I can't find the soy sauce, and our shopping cart veers to the left. And clearly the person who is in charge of this overhaul does not enjoy food or anything to do with eating because the store makes no sense whatsoever. It was the wrong day to do that crap to me. Poor Brian worked so hard to get my spirits up. And he was wonderful.

On Saturday, while getting ready to head to my knitting class, I turned on my Coffee House Blend of music to soothe me a little and this song came on. And when it reached the refrain I stood quietly and thought "EXACTLY." It spoke to how emotionally drained I felt, and how tired I can get of trying to get eveything in life right.

I couldn't find a great clip of this song...the video is from the end of a Cold Case Episode and the song is "Circle" by Edie Brickell. (And I know the song is technically about a circle of friends - but I still thought it fit my attitude fairly well.)


But this week I have vowed to turn things around. I have renewed my resolve to remain positive. (As long as the dentist doesn't call me about scheduling an appointment for my molar's coronation.)

Red or blue...or something in between

Well, it happened. I suspected it. I feared it. I wouldn't address it because I wanted to remain in denial. But then, my sister blurted it out in a conversation and my worst fears were realized.

My mother likes Sarah Palin.

My own dear, sweet, mother who is right under Jesus in the heavenly hierarchy. My own strong mother who planted tiny little mustard seeds of feminism within me. For the love of everything holy - WHY?!?

It's no secret to those that know me well that my political views are, well, quite liberal. (Brian was even called a socialist at work this week...imagine me giggling because that's what I'm doing.) But I try really hard to deal kindly and respectfully with those whose views oppose my own. I'm a big fan of dialogue. But I have a confession.

In private conversations with people who see politics like I do, I'm afraid I'm not very kind to the other viewpoint. (I never blast specific people, just the general masses.) And I'm probably even less kind in my own inner dialogue. (And wow, do I ramble on and on and on in my head sometimes!) I have a tremendously difficult time believing that a rational, thinking, intelligent human being could have anything but utter disdain for Sarah Palin. Really. And I don't like that part of me that so easily dismisses the good brains somebody was born with. So I've been grappling with this ever since my initial rage and indignation subsided just a tiny bit following McCain picking Palin as his running mate. I'm now really curious, and genuinely so, as to why someone would vote for McCain/Palin. And I've been looking for good reasons - not pat answers and not negatives about Obama or the Democrats.

And I've had a revelation this week. And it has cooled my jets, disarmed me, took much of the intensity out of my emotional reaction to the politics of this election season.

You see, I'm scared about the fate of this country. I'm scared of another administration like the Bush one. I'm frightened that we have become so self-obsessed and arrogant as a country that we will squander every bit of good-will we have remaining with foreign nations. I'm afraid that instead of dealing diplomatically with other governments, we will continue to engage in pre-emptive wars resulting in casualties and injury far surpassing simply those that are hurt in the direct line of battle fire. I'm afraid that as citizens, our rights will start to erode as the extreme religious right in this country pushes for a theocracy. I'm afraid that our environment will continue to suffer because, well, we're Americans and we shouldn't have to give up anything that we're used to, anything that makes our lives easy and comfortable. Our arrogance makes it okay for us to use the majority of the world's resources and energy while only accounting for between 5% to 8% of the world's population. I'm afraid for women's rights. I'm afraid about our escalating health care costs. I'm afraid about the economy. I could go on forever.

But, I'm realizing that my friends who see things from a McCain/Palin perspective are scared too. I don't know if I can accurately represent them, but I'll try to sum up what I've been gathering. They fear for our safety, that if we are soft on other nations or pull out of Iraq too quickly it will open us up to attack. They are afraid of not having the strongest military in the world because it would drastically alter the global scene. They are afraid that the government will try to take too much of their money or hurt small business. They are afraid about the economy. They are afraid about the escalating health care costs. They are afraid that morality in this country will erode, that the values they cherish will be considered antiquated and useless (especially regarding abortion and gay marriage). They are afraid that this nation could turn towards socialism. They are afraid that any quick moves, or drastic changes could damage or negatively alter the way of life that Americans hold so dear. They are afraid of things dissolving into chaos. I'm sure I'm leaving some out, but you get the idea.

Once I realized that both sides of the political landscape are afraid - I mean really, really frightened - it took away the "them and us" mentality I was carrying around. (And I'm referring here to friends and to average citizens like me - not corporate executives, politicians, journalists, etc...) And basically, other than on a few really pointed issues, we are scared of the same stuff. The solutions we believe in are not the same, but our desires for our families and for this country match up fairly closely.

When did we let ourselves get so consumed with "issues" - issues like abortion, homosexuality, gun-control, or stem-cell research, that we completely lost sight of the bigger picture? When did those become issues that we would stake EVERYTHING on? (Please do not hear me saying they aren't important because they are important issues...for instance, I would imagine if a loved one could be saved by furthering stem-cell research than it is probably the most important thing in your world. I'm only suggesting that during election time they can be used to distract Americans from working on "big picture" ideas for this nation. I would even suggest the government shouldn't be involved in all the "issues" that they are.) And when did we become so consumed with fear that we assumed complete annihilation of the United States of America and our way of life if the "other" party should be elected to office? When did we become such a nation divided, so focused on the negative that we stopped working together to build up the country?

I'll admit that I am still no fan of McCain/Palin, and frankly, the Bush administration is a scary one by a lot of standards. But I won't see the average citizens who support them as my "enemies" anymore. And on November 4, here's a wish for a prosperous journey, success, and good fortune - godspeed!

And for the Christians among us, who so closely try to link our voting with our commitment to following the way of Jesus, I offer this prayer:

In the weeks leading up to Election Day, pray that we as Christians would respect the integrity of our Christian brothers and sisters in their sincere efforts to apply Christian commitments to the important decisions of this election, knowing that people of faith and conscience will be voting both ways in this election year. (From an author at Sojourners)