(I totally posted this unfinished! Yikes! Me and my haste. Here's the full version.)
There are few emotions in this world that I love more than excitement. When I was younger and we were going on a trip, or I was headed to camp, I would pack a month before we left, only to need everything in my suitcase and have to re-pack 3 or 4 times before actually departing. Sometimes, the thrill of planning to go is better than the actual going, but who cares. It's a glorious, deep-down-in-the-very-soul feeling. So here are some things I'm excited about.
1. Christmas in South Dakota. Oh my!!! On December 19 I fly to my home state, into the airport with 10 gates, with the hour drive to the town with no fast food, no big grocery stores, safe streets, and more love than one should deserve. We will celebrate in the new home of my brother and his family, I will have coffee with my mom and dad while Sophie explores their house, I will cook meals, and beat my brother DOWN in wii golf (Sorry J-man, couldn't let that one slide). I can't remember the last time I spent so many days - 9! - in the home of my birth.
2. Pork loin with Greek Potatoes. Katie posted a recipe for Greek Potatoes on our new family recipe blog and I have been daydreaming about them all week. I pulled a Pork Loin from our freezer and sometime this weekend, my house will smell of garlic, lemons, and roasted pork.. in short, a little bit of heaven.
3. The Cornett Family Christmas. Roy has a big, white-headed, opinionated family whom I love dearly. And they are lucky to all get together twice a year. I've only seen everyone together once, and that was last year when we took the family picture, and even then, Aunt Vicki's daughter couldn't make it. The Cornett Family Christmas is a little bit different than my family's where you take turns opening gifts and ooh and aah and tell stories over why you bought it. It is understandable. If this approach were taken, we wouldn't be done for days! But this all-day event is filled with laughter, subtle (and not so subtle) jabs from the uncles, wine and bourbon, and finally, a big, adults-only family dinner.
4. Thursday night Television. Okay, I love TV. I have something of an addiction so I try to monitor what I watch. I can admit to my guilty pleasures (Project Runway) and feel that I am redeeming myself with wholesome shows (How it's Made). But no night of TV is more enjoyable for me than Thursdays. We watch Survivor and DVR "My Name is Earl", "The Office", and "30 Rock", 3 of THE BEST shows on television right now. Sophie goes to bed, we pop some pop corn, and snuggle in for a night of mind-numbing entertainment. Now "Earl" has some redeeming values so does that counteract my watching Survivor? I'll say yes.
5. The Bixel Family Reunion. It has been far too long since I've seen many members of my extended family. 10 years too long. So family reunion organizing has begun. It has been difficult to decide a lot of things when there are upwards of 80 people to plan for, but the thrill and excitement of being able to see my cousins and their children surpasses it all. We can have it in the parking lot of McDonalds for all I care if I get to see these beautiful people. This invades my thoughts on a regular basis and it's one of my favorite things to think about.
6. Bed. Is anyone else with me on this? When the clock hits 8:30 and I start to yawn and think, "ooh, 8:30 is a little early..." I get excited. I can usually hold out until 10:00 to crawl into my soft sheets, pull my quilt up to my chin and my book of the night stand. I can sometimes get as much as a chapter in, but usually it's not more than a page or two, before I click off my light and drift off.
I could go on and on I think. With everything that is going on in this world - Darfur, Iraq, just to name the most obvious - I think it is important to recognize our good fortune and honor it with some good old-fashioned joy.
Sharing a little bit of me with a little bit of you
Friday, November 30, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wisdom
This was a conversation we had with Riley last night.
"I like that man. He looks like someone who doesn't hide his happiness."
"Do you know people who hide their happiness, Riley?"
"No, but I know people who do. If I did know people like that, I don't think I'd know them very well."
I'm comforted to know that he will surround himself with good, happy people.
"I like that man. He looks like someone who doesn't hide his happiness."
"Do you know people who hide their happiness, Riley?"
"No, but I know people who do. If I did know people like that, I don't think I'd know them very well."
I'm comforted to know that he will surround himself with good, happy people.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Riley
As I type this post, The Simpsons play in the background. It is 8:45am. It MUST be a Riley weekend. Riley, my 9-year old step-son, spends every other weekend with us. It's not enough, but with all of his activities and friends in his home town (an hour away) it's what we can do. It's hard to balance letting him enjoy his weekends as a kid, with his friends, and our desire to have him all to our own.
Riley is really an amazing kid. Sophie is so very lucky to have a kind big brother. I have no doubt that he will be a great asset to her as she gets older, and he's smart enough not to buy her beer when he is 21 and she's only 13. He is SO smart; amazing at math and he reads at a 6th grade level (he's in 4th). He loves video games and dungeons and dragons, pizza, cheeseburgers, and bacon. His hair is thick and unweildly and it's nearly impossible to get a picture of him without him sticking his tongue out or rolling his eyes. One rare example is this one, taken on Thanksgiving:
It's a little dark, but it's a smile. He put Sophie on the horse and crawled on behind her. She had such a good time.
I first met Riley when he was almost 2 and I fall into a rare, fortunate group of step-mom's; he's never known his dad without me as his partner. He was 4 when we started keeping him, and then it was only 1 night a month. As our time with him has increased (a week during the summer, 4-5 days when he's on break from school) we have marvelled at how he has grown - this past years especially.
The other night he was hungry and asked for some cereal. I told him we had some honey nut cheerios in the basement pantry and he could get them. He went downstairs and Roy and I discussed whether or not he'd be able to reach the box, waaaay in the back. I said no. Roy said yes. Riley came running up the stairs, box in hand, got down a bowl, poured the milk, and set up a TV tray in the living room where we were watching a movie. Roy gave me an "I told you so" look and I smiled. So old. Later that night, as I was making myself a cup of tea, I found the box of cereal he opened.
Ah yes, how he has grown. But a 9 year old boy he still is.
Riley is really an amazing kid. Sophie is so very lucky to have a kind big brother. I have no doubt that he will be a great asset to her as she gets older, and he's smart enough not to buy her beer when he is 21 and she's only 13. He is SO smart; amazing at math and he reads at a 6th grade level (he's in 4th). He loves video games and dungeons and dragons, pizza, cheeseburgers, and bacon. His hair is thick and unweildly and it's nearly impossible to get a picture of him without him sticking his tongue out or rolling his eyes. One rare example is this one, taken on Thanksgiving:
It's a little dark, but it's a smile. He put Sophie on the horse and crawled on behind her. She had such a good time.I first met Riley when he was almost 2 and I fall into a rare, fortunate group of step-mom's; he's never known his dad without me as his partner. He was 4 when we started keeping him, and then it was only 1 night a month. As our time with him has increased (a week during the summer, 4-5 days when he's on break from school) we have marvelled at how he has grown - this past years especially.
The other night he was hungry and asked for some cereal. I told him we had some honey nut cheerios in the basement pantry and he could get them. He went downstairs and Roy and I discussed whether or not he'd be able to reach the box, waaaay in the back. I said no. Roy said yes. Riley came running up the stairs, box in hand, got down a bowl, poured the milk, and set up a TV tray in the living room where we were watching a movie. Roy gave me an "I told you so" look and I smiled. So old. Later that night, as I was making myself a cup of tea, I found the box of cereal he opened.
Ah yes, how he has grown. But a 9 year old boy he still is.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
cold i love fall sock post
It's a COLD Saturday morning and I'm lamenting the fact that Wendy ate my slippers last winter. Every morning I crawl out of my warm bed into my cold room to get Sophie and pull on my bathrobe, cursing my cold, cold feet. We snuggle on the couch, each of us with our morning habits (her bottle of milk, my steaming cup of coffee and milk) and watch the morning news. Eventually she goes off to explore and I find, somewhere, deep inside, the ability to walk to my room to find a pair of socks. I invariably choose the ones that lie on the floor next to my bed; the ones I took off just before snuggling in for the night. Those socks are colorful, imperfect, and so, so joyful; I am now the proud owner of 3 pairs of handmade socks.
The first I got a year or two ago and they were made by Ruby Waltner, the organist in my church, the neighbor of my parents, and my mom's knitting mentor. The second I finished a week or two ago and, while I really screwed up the toe, are warm and lovely. The third came in a yellow and red envelop last week from my mom and they're dilectable in their heft. I fear that the frequency in which I wear them will result in my walking right out the bottoms of them sooner than their lives deserve.
I finished a much too big pair for Sophie last night and I'm excited for her to have similar moments of sock comfort and love.
I guarantee that come spring I will have another post of how much I love bare feet, dirty and calloused, rough, "hippie feet" as I lovingly know them. But for now, you get my cold-I-love-fall-sock-post.
(and Katie, thanks for providing a soundtrack for this post! What a muse!)
The first I got a year or two ago and they were made by Ruby Waltner, the organist in my church, the neighbor of my parents, and my mom's knitting mentor. The second I finished a week or two ago and, while I really screwed up the toe, are warm and lovely. The third came in a yellow and red envelop last week from my mom and they're dilectable in their heft. I fear that the frequency in which I wear them will result in my walking right out the bottoms of them sooner than their lives deserve.
I finished a much too big pair for Sophie last night and I'm excited for her to have similar moments of sock comfort and love.
I guarantee that come spring I will have another post of how much I love bare feet, dirty and calloused, rough, "hippie feet" as I lovingly know them. But for now, you get my cold-I-love-fall-sock-post.
(and Katie, thanks for providing a soundtrack for this post! What a muse!)
action
I've been up for a few hours now, enjoying one of my favorite times of day. Snuggling with Sophie while she enjoys one of her few, precious bottles. She crawled off my lap and found the remote to the TV. She ate some cheerios and raisins. And just now she crawled to me, trying to keep a block between her feet the whole way. I love her. Oh how I love her. And that is why this video scares me so much. Please, please watch. I have never made this statement with such truth: our lives might depend on it.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Carla's Soup
I stayed home with little Sophie today and she mostly slept. Cried some. And we played and read and snuggled. And I made soup.
What I was at the Catholic Worker, I lived with Carla Dawson, a beautiful woman and mother of 3 who could make anything she cooked the most delicious thing in the world. Every holiday, we would be inundated with turkeys and, as is the nature of things, leftovers. She would cook the turkey carcus all day while the rest of us peeled and chopped potatoes, carrots, and anything else that was lying around. Then, we would pick the meat off the hot bones. I would be repremanded by pretty much everyone for throwing out the skin. Man alive, the people would FIGHT over that stuff! We would feed up to 100 people a day, plus there would need to be leftovers for subsequent meals, so we're talking lots of potatoes. Lots of carrots. Big, huge cans of corn and green beans would be dumped in and this soup would cook and cook all day long, giving off the most heavenly aroma. Everyone would burn their mouths on the first bite. We had it often enough that you would think we'd learn, but we never did. The leftovers were kept in ice cream buckets in the fridge and late at night we would scoop out bowlfulls, add a little water, and heat it up on the stove.
So today, I made Carla's soup. I cooked a chicken and made broth. Took the meat off the bones. Peeled and chopped potatoes. Added corn and green beans. And burned my mouth on the first bite. It's not as good as Carla's, but it's enough to make me remember.
What I was at the Catholic Worker, I lived with Carla Dawson, a beautiful woman and mother of 3 who could make anything she cooked the most delicious thing in the world. Every holiday, we would be inundated with turkeys and, as is the nature of things, leftovers. She would cook the turkey carcus all day while the rest of us peeled and chopped potatoes, carrots, and anything else that was lying around. Then, we would pick the meat off the hot bones. I would be repremanded by pretty much everyone for throwing out the skin. Man alive, the people would FIGHT over that stuff! We would feed up to 100 people a day, plus there would need to be leftovers for subsequent meals, so we're talking lots of potatoes. Lots of carrots. Big, huge cans of corn and green beans would be dumped in and this soup would cook and cook all day long, giving off the most heavenly aroma. Everyone would burn their mouths on the first bite. We had it often enough that you would think we'd learn, but we never did. The leftovers were kept in ice cream buckets in the fridge and late at night we would scoop out bowlfulls, add a little water, and heat it up on the stove.
So today, I made Carla's soup. I cooked a chicken and made broth. Took the meat off the bones. Peeled and chopped potatoes. Added corn and green beans. And burned my mouth on the first bite. It's not as good as Carla's, but it's enough to make me remember.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
soooo pitiful - UPDATE
As I type, Sophie is laying on the floor on two big pillows, covered by a blanket. Sophie is not a "laying on the floor" type kid and we know something is wrong.
We took her to the doctor Thursday morning for a follow-up ear check and Dr. Warner expressed concern over the sound of her chest ("not quite bronchitis") and that the infection had spread to both ears. She was put on an antibiotic and we hoped she would improve. Friday evening was spent cleaning puke off both parents and exchanging worried looks. All day Saturday was spent taking her temperature (consistently 101.4), filling her with pedialyte and encouraging her to eat. Today the fever is gone and she's not puking, but she is soooo lethargic. I'm sure she's weak, but she won't eat anything. She ate some yogurt this morning (c'mon good bacteria!!) and a little banana this afternoon, but otherwise I can't get anything into her little body.
Tomorrow we'll go back to the doctor. I've already called my boss and she's shared reassuring, mom words. I'm expecting he'll switch antibiotics and we'll be on the road to a healthy little bird. I sure hope so. I just hate seeing her like this.
UPDATE: Sophie woke up this morning and seemed to be feeling much better. She's eaten some yogurt and is now taking her morning nap. I called the doctor, just to be safe, and they said they've been seeing a lot of stomach bugs and it sounds like the worst is over. Whew!! Thanks, blog moms, for the sympathy and reassurance when I'm panicky and irrational!!
We took her to the doctor Thursday morning for a follow-up ear check and Dr. Warner expressed concern over the sound of her chest ("not quite bronchitis") and that the infection had spread to both ears. She was put on an antibiotic and we hoped she would improve. Friday evening was spent cleaning puke off both parents and exchanging worried looks. All day Saturday was spent taking her temperature (consistently 101.4), filling her with pedialyte and encouraging her to eat. Today the fever is gone and she's not puking, but she is soooo lethargic. I'm sure she's weak, but she won't eat anything. She ate some yogurt this morning (c'mon good bacteria!!) and a little banana this afternoon, but otherwise I can't get anything into her little body.
Tomorrow we'll go back to the doctor. I've already called my boss and she's shared reassuring, mom words. I'm expecting he'll switch antibiotics and we'll be on the road to a healthy little bird. I sure hope so. I just hate seeing her like this.
UPDATE: Sophie woke up this morning and seemed to be feeling much better. She's eaten some yogurt and is now taking her morning nap. I called the doctor, just to be safe, and they said they've been seeing a lot of stomach bugs and it sounds like the worst is over. Whew!! Thanks, blog moms, for the sympathy and reassurance when I'm panicky and irrational!!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
church
My relationship with church has always been a source of conflict for me. When I was 16 or so, I started reading Zen Buddhism, Jack Kerouac, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. The Mennonite Church in which I was raised suddenly seemed confining. I didn't see how one religion had all the answers, condemning multitudes of devout believers to eternal damnation. (I must interject here and say that Salem-Zion was a wonderful church to grow up in. These are the thoughts of a rebelous 16 year old) After I left home, I stopped going to church. When I moved to the Des Moines Catholic Worker House in 1998, I was introduced to the radical thinking of Catholics' Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin, while putting these notions in to practice with priests Frank Cordaro and other Christians. Mass was held at the house every Friday evening and you never knew who would be there. Would it be the quiet mass of friends, or the exciting mass of neighborhood hooligans needing shelter? While I didn't participate in communion, I enjoyed the liturgical call and response and the way the Catholics knew when to touch their heads, lips, and hearts and when to answer "and also with you."
After I left the Worker, I continued to evade the church while recognizing God's presence in my life. I am very comfortable in my faith and my belief system, but something has changed. I have a little girl who needs for me to provide a religious foundation for her to define and question.
So now here I sit, without a church. About a year ago Roy and I attended service at the local Mennonite Church and I was so disappointed. The congregation, about 40 people, met in a school gymnasium, and there were no hymnals on the chairs. No choir warming up in the fellowship hall. No organ or piano, only guitars and drums. This is fine for some people and I'm glad it fills a spiritual need. But if I was going to commit my Sunday mornings to church, I needed my traditions.
I have lately been inspired by my blogging community posting their children's artwork and definitions of God, so I went to the website of one of Lexington's oldest churches, Christ Church Cathedral. This Episcopal Church was founded in 1796 and has a plaque over the pew where Henry Clay sat. They have a soup kitchen and a commitment to peace and justice that I need as part of my spiritual life.
This morning, we packed up the family, and went. My boss attends this church and we happened to cross paths about a block from the entrance. She was a gracious host, taking us to the nursery and introducing us to prodigious members of the Lexington community. I'm not used to "box seats" with little doors, or the kneeling benches at my feet, but it was familial and warm. The program gave me a guide as to when to "amen" and "and also with you" and "it is right to give him thanks and praise." The scripture was the Beatitudes, the sermon on how we are all saints, even though we are flawed. There was a baptism which I, in my anabaptist ways, found fascinating, and a men and boys choir that was simply beautiful. Sure, Roy and I scrambled from hymnal to hymnal and it was about half way through the service before we got our legs under us, but it felt right.
As the service ended, we were welcomed by those around us and the lady sitting behind informed us that there are Spauldings Donuts Sunday mornings... if you arrive early enough. I introduced myself to Audrey, the Reverend Canon with whom I had been corresponding. She was a beautiful presence and made it known that she was raised Baptist. This made me feel much less silly about asking some of my questions. She passed us on to a couple who had been at the church about a year. They said that they loved this church because it provided for them both spiritually and intellectually. They attend a Sunday School class that is currently discussing the Iran/Iraq war debaucle and Audrey is very involved with the crisis in Darfur. The walls to the garden entrance are decorated with local artwork, as the Church participates in the LexArts, Gallery Hop.
This afternoon, I feel so good about our morning at church. I confess that I love my pajama clad, coffee drinking Sunday mornings, but this provided me so much more. Do I have to go every week? Nah. Will I? Surely not. But I have found something, I think, that my family needs. Community.
After I left the Worker, I continued to evade the church while recognizing God's presence in my life. I am very comfortable in my faith and my belief system, but something has changed. I have a little girl who needs for me to provide a religious foundation for her to define and question.
So now here I sit, without a church. About a year ago Roy and I attended service at the local Mennonite Church and I was so disappointed. The congregation, about 40 people, met in a school gymnasium, and there were no hymnals on the chairs. No choir warming up in the fellowship hall. No organ or piano, only guitars and drums. This is fine for some people and I'm glad it fills a spiritual need. But if I was going to commit my Sunday mornings to church, I needed my traditions.
I have lately been inspired by my blogging community posting their children's artwork and definitions of God, so I went to the website of one of Lexington's oldest churches, Christ Church Cathedral. This Episcopal Church was founded in 1796 and has a plaque over the pew where Henry Clay sat. They have a soup kitchen and a commitment to peace and justice that I need as part of my spiritual life.
This morning, we packed up the family, and went. My boss attends this church and we happened to cross paths about a block from the entrance. She was a gracious host, taking us to the nursery and introducing us to prodigious members of the Lexington community. I'm not used to "box seats" with little doors, or the kneeling benches at my feet, but it was familial and warm. The program gave me a guide as to when to "amen" and "and also with you" and "it is right to give him thanks and praise." The scripture was the Beatitudes, the sermon on how we are all saints, even though we are flawed. There was a baptism which I, in my anabaptist ways, found fascinating, and a men and boys choir that was simply beautiful. Sure, Roy and I scrambled from hymnal to hymnal and it was about half way through the service before we got our legs under us, but it felt right.
As the service ended, we were welcomed by those around us and the lady sitting behind informed us that there are Spauldings Donuts Sunday mornings... if you arrive early enough. I introduced myself to Audrey, the Reverend Canon with whom I had been corresponding. She was a beautiful presence and made it known that she was raised Baptist. This made me feel much less silly about asking some of my questions. She passed us on to a couple who had been at the church about a year. They said that they loved this church because it provided for them both spiritually and intellectually. They attend a Sunday School class that is currently discussing the Iran/Iraq war debaucle and Audrey is very involved with the crisis in Darfur. The walls to the garden entrance are decorated with local artwork, as the Church participates in the LexArts, Gallery Hop.
This afternoon, I feel so good about our morning at church. I confess that I love my pajama clad, coffee drinking Sunday mornings, but this provided me so much more. Do I have to go every week? Nah. Will I? Surely not. But I have found something, I think, that my family needs. Community.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
halloween and socks
Yesterday was Halloween and we celebrated by handing out a bowl full of candy, staying warm on the front porch with coffee and Baileys, catching up with our dear friend, Josh, and dressing Sophie up as a lion. Here she is trying to get into a Bit O Honey. She refused to wear the head, so I suppose she really was a half human/half lion crossbreed.
Today, I finished my first sock. The toe is a little off and my heel decreases don't match for some reason, but it LOOKS like a sock, it fits, and the yard is cozy and warm. Sock #2, here I come!
Today, I finished my first sock. The toe is a little off and my heel decreases don't match for some reason, but it LOOKS like a sock, it fits, and the yard is cozy and warm. Sock #2, here I come!
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