Tripe, Sweetbreads, Tomato Soup

It is starting to be one of those days. I decided I wanted some mango with breakfast. All four of the mangoes I purchased were beautiful on the outside and brown on the inside. Next I thought a mushroom and spinach omelet would be nice and it probably would be if I had remembered to purchase mushrooms or spinach. They were on the list that I left on the island in my kitchen when I went to the store.  I never used to need lists so it's no wonder I forgot it. I am having to teach myself to write them. We'll work on taking them with me next.  I do have an app for that and it works great if I remember to use it. Maybe I just need a good cup of coffee?

I have a K-cup holder next to my Kreurig, it's pretty handy when you remember to fill it. I went to the pantry,  opened a new box of K-cups and promptly returned it to the cupboard only I'd really opened the fridge and stood there for a moment thinking, "What's wrong with this picture?" I did a fairly good job of covering by grabbing the cream while was in there.  It actually took me a second to figure out what possible reason I could come up with for opening the fridge instead of the pantry.  Maybe it was because I was distracted by the sounds of Mali Meep Cat hacking up a hair ball for me. What a delightful kitty she can be.

As I stood at the kitchen sink washing my hands thoughts of the new Dunkin' Donuts that's gone in downtown entered my head. Oh sure, they probably don't have any gluten and calorie free donuts but at this point, who cares?  It's only been a few days since I announced to you seven readers that I need to lose weight and am desperate to find a way to get healthy. I have been doing some preliminary research on what foods my body can tolerate. The pseudo-scientist in me is fascinated. The fat 55 year old is discouraged.

I tried a few days of the slow carb diet a friend suggested. I thought it was going to be great. My gastrointestinal tract is a mess but it loves the type of fiber in legumes; my pancreas has other ideas. While most folks see a nice stable blood sugar result from eating beans and lentils my blood sugar has spiked huge each time I eat them. On the other hand my blood sugar stays really low when I eat a tiny bit of protein with lots of leafy greens and fresh veggies but my guts wage war on me.  It's like making a political decision for my body, which is the lesser of the two evils?

Going paleo seems to be a compromise worth trying.  Meanwhile I will continue to prick my finger on the spindle of life as a diabetic and experiment with what foods work for me. It will probably be something like tripe and sweetbreads or tomato soup which is probably more disgusting than the aforementioned items.

The good news is I am still working at it.

Proverbs 16:3  Commit to the LORD whatever you do,  and he will establish your plans.

Let the Battle Begin!

I haven't written in quite some time and I have missed it. Writing is therapeutic for me. It's a chance to give voice to the random inner monologue that swirls around in my head. Writing is safe. Safer than sitting down with a live body and having a chat at any rate. There's generally instant feedback and vulnerability when in person communication occurs. Yuck.  I have anxiety at the very thought. Relationships that matter scare me silly.  I can hold my own in conversation but to actually share the oddities that make me the woman that I am seems far too risky. If you really knew what craziness resides in me, you'd run for the hills. Well, maybe not run but you'd likely wonder if I had a few kinks in my slinky.

I am good-natured about some of my quirks, even though they have been exploited by friends and family as a source of amusement.  Take my inability to drink the entire contents of a glass.  I used to drive my mother crazy because I would have an inch of milk in my glass and I would add another inch to it then drink it back down to the inch mark- throwing what remained in the glass away.  She would get furious with me. Of course my explanation was logical to me. I was afraid to see what might be in the bottom of the glass.  What if I could see where the bottom hadn't been properly cleaned? What if remnants of some food were down there?  I could probably die if my throat expected milk and got something semi-solid or crumbly!  My sister, Linda, was the one most likely to sneak something into my glass in the hopes of provoking a reaction. Slices of cucumber, pieces of iceberg lettuce, a hunk of banana.... anything she could casually slip into the glass. I freaked out and gagged on multiple occasions to the amusement of my sister or friends. I get that it's funny. It didn't make me feel picked on but I suppose that had a lot to do with the innocuous nature of what was slipped into my glass.

I've had to put my big girl pants on and deal with a lot of my quirks and anxieties. For instance, I am afraid of  mail. I don't know why and I know it's not reasonable so I make myself deal with it.  I freak out at bugs and snakes. Once my ability to think returns after happening upon either of those creepy things, I can appreciate the way they are made and how they look but initially I scream like the dumb girl that's about to be eaten by the shark or killed by the monster in some low budget horror flick. The older I get the more anxious I become. I used to love to explore caves and crawl into tight places. Now? I am claustrophobic to the point of full blown panic attacks. A while back I had to beg my way out of an MRI (Make Rosemarie Insane). I was in the machine for perhaps 30 seconds.

My current anxiety is the surgery I need on my neck and my back.  First they want to do injections between my vertebrae. They really expect me to be OK with them sticking a needle and administering some sort of therapeutic chemicals between my vertebrae and right next to my spinal cord. Oh heck no! I'll let them amputate at the neck for my pain reduction before I will let them do that!

If I am to be honest, the majority of my problem with having surgery or injections stems from my being overweight. My body has broken down to the point that I can no longer ignore the extra poundage. I can't afford to play ignorant nor pretend that I am OK with myself at whatever size.  I have developed type two diabetes and high blood pressure. My back, neck and knees are shot.  I really need to get about the business of shedding pounds. Even if the degenerative disc disease won't be altered at least if I have to be dependent on others they will be able to move me about with more ease.

So, my faithful 7 readers,  I will be getting honest in my blog about what I am doing to get healthier.  It will require being more honest about, dare I say it, the emotions that drive me to eat things I know I shouldn't and / or more than I need.   It may mean that I lose all 7 of you and that will be sad, but if writing my way through this helps me lose the weight and shake free of the things that drive me to eat more than my body needs, it's a price I am willing to pay. I am waging war on myself. I could use some allies.

Prayers and encouragement appreciated.


 

Ignorance Lost

I sat in front of my television horror struck by what I was seeing and hearing; someone had gone to a rural elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut and opened fire on children and staff. My heart sank. A total of 17 years in public safety and it's hard to imagine things I haven't seen or heard about.  I used to be pretty stoic when reports like this came in, but I am not anymore. Watching this  one play out left me feeling like I had been struck by lightning and then tossed into a black hole. My thoughts reeled.  I began to consider the correlation between how far our culture has tried to remove itself from God and how many of these unthinkable incidents occur. It seems they are on the increase.   Coincidence? I think not. 

A reporter was interviewing a father who had received a reverse 911 call and had responded as directed in the text message he received. As much as we'd all like to avoid having to call 911, no one wants to receive a reverse 911 call.  That's when the authorities call you to tell you that while you were minding your own business thinking everything was OK in your world, a catastrophe has occurred that is going to change your perceptions of your safety.  The man being interviewed spoke of picking up his son, knowing something happened but was obviously unaware of what.  He assumed everyone was going home with their child and it would all be sorted out later.  That's when the journalist interviewing him decided to tell him at least 27 people, both children and adults, were dead as a result of the shooting.  Reality left the father speechless and instinctively reaching for his son. 

You cannot un-ring a bell.  Information like that leaves you gasping for breath and begging for a different outcome or hoping you made a mistake in processing what you've heard, even if your child is OK.  Ignorance was bliss for that Dad... ignorance lost was shattering. 

There was a time when the worst thing a child worried about when going to school was the status of their homework or an upcoming test.  There was a time when journalists would consider the damage they were doing before shattering an innocent person's world.   How I long for the good old days. 

My prayers are with the families of all involved; children, faculty and staff, first responders, neighbors, friends. 

2 Chronicles 7:14 

If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.- ESV

  

Rain and Revelation

There is something that is completely satisfying for me to be in my home on a gray day with the rain coming down. I like the ebb and flow of the sounds; the rise and fall of rhythms syncopated by God. I like watching the rivulets of water flowing from the downspouts and dispersing on the lawn and hearing the gurgling noise of air and water working out their gravitational ballet.

From my bedroom I can hear the wind occasionally lifting a loose piece of vinyl siding. I kid myself and think that one day I will go out and identify the offending piece and have it properly secured.  Truth is, I like it.  I had my landscaper trim the crepe myrtle bush outside my office because it was scraping against the window and threatening to lift the gutters off the west side of house with its unruly branches. I miss their song. It's like I removed the string section of the orchestra during the sonata or the sopranos from the cantata.

I actually enjoy cleaning my house during a good rain.  Not a lot motivates me to do chores.  Normally I would rather do anything else and I am pretty accomplished at formulating excuses.  Before too long I should go out and harvest the last of the chard from my garden. It's the lone survivor from the few cold snaps we have had and the weatherman says we're going from 70 to 28 degrees tonight.  I suspect we may get a clap or two of thunder with a drop like that. I am looking forward to it. I hope I am not disappointed.  I am doing laundry and putting some split pea soup together in anticipation of the colder weather.  What better food is there on a cold rainy day than a thick hot soup? Maybe I will put some cornbread together to go with it.

I've had a rough couple of days.  November is difficult for me as it marks the anniversary of the passing of several loved ones. It also ushers in the holiday season.  I loathe the holiday season.  My disappointment with my life is never so painfully clear to me than during the holidays. I have certainly made a mess of things. If I could I would warn you to avoid the pitfalls that got me, but they were custom made for me. You have your very own. I wish you the wisdom I lacked and a faith stronger than mine so that you can avoid the pitfalls that come addressed to you. Remember though, making good decisions doesn't necessarily mean you'll have a comfortable life.  It just means you won't have as many regrets.

I love the rain. It's cleansing. It reminds me that God reigns. It causes me to be thankful for the shelter He provides during life's storms. It motivates me to get clean and nudges me toward hope. Even my regrets were redeemed at the cross.


Revelation 19:6  
Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out,
“Hallelujah!
For the Lord our God
the Almighty reigns." ESV

It's Been A While

I come to blog and the nice folks at Blogger have changed the look of everything. Don't they know I am getting older and don't cope with changes as well as I used to?  What's up with that?

I will return to blogging, Lord willing, not that anyone is missing me. I miss having a chance to process things while writing. I think with my fingertips fumbling on a keyboard.  Speaking of thinking, I am thinking of changing things here.  Instead of a random ramblings I am thinking of a more focused blog, mostly because I have some specific things I need to work through.  

Until then.....

Total Eclipse at the Start

I've spent a good deal of my life thinking that morning people were just a little daft. Why would anyone enjoy getting up early? Certainly sleep was more desirable than any sunrise or quiet moment in a still home. Now I would have to concede that with a little maturity and gray hair comes a different perspective. Mornings are where it all happens.

We've had some unusual autumn-like weather here in the Blue Grass and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Autumn is my favorite season for many reasons. One prominent enjoyment; cool, crisp air. Fall is when I open every door and window, even if doing so invites gale force winds to blow through my home. My dog hides under her sheepskin and the cat anchors herself inside the carpeted tunnel of her cat condo while I walk around barefoot and clothed for the beach.

Last night temperatures dropped into the 50s. Ahh, bliss! I woke to the sound of baby birds singing and cool tranquility to greet me. It makes me happy. Instead of stumbling out to the kitchen and impatiently waiting for the first cup of caffeine to issue from the Keurig,, I excite my dog with, "Wanna go outside?" She starts spinning circles and can barely contain herself while I put her collar on and open the door. It's even more glorious than I had hoped. It rained last night. We are greeted with a heavy mist and the sunrise making the grass glisten like faceted glass. She runs out to inspect the perimeter of the property. I watch the sun peeking through the trees turning on the colors of red, orange, blue, periwinkle and gray in the sky as it does. This is perfection.

I make a quick dash to the kitchen for that cup of coffee and return to watch the familiar transitions of light on my favorite oak trees across the meadow from my home. They are my favorite part of living on my property. I hope no one buys the lot across the street and builds on it. I don't know how I would manage knowing they were there but I was unable see them. For me it would be like being separated from loved ones I could never see again. Shaking that thought from my head I take it all in. The dahlias and perennial sunflowers growing tall by the mailbox, the chrysanthemums growing below them promising to burst open with fall colors a month too soon and the mist on the meadows. The dahlias and sunflowers stand out like Masai warriors hovering over the mums. Somewhere I hear a humming bird.

Days like this begin with promise. They infuse me with hope and remind me to take time to put all the things I wrestle with aside for a moment. Doubts about my faith and doctrine pale in comparison to the splendor of God's creation. Worry about the kids and family legacy subside as I am reminded that God holds the sun in its place in the universe and knows when a sparrow falls, several of which are at the bird feeder chiding me for allowing it go empty. It occurs to me that birdsong should be a reminder of His sovereignty. The cares and concerns I have are still there but for a brief moment I am where I should be and they are totally eclipsed by the magnitude of God. If only I would take time to let every day begin with an eclipse like this one.

O LORD, our Lord,

how majestic is your name in all the earth!

You have set your glory above the heavens.

Out of the mouth of babies and infants,

you have established strength because of your foes,

to still the enemy and the avenger.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him,

and the son of man that you care for him?

Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings

and crowned him with glory and honor.

You have given him dominion over the works of your hands;

you have put all things under his feet,

all sheep and oxen,

and also the beasts of the field,

the birds of the heavens, and the fish of the sea,

whatever passes along the paths of the seas.

O LORD, our Lord,

how majestic is your name in all the earth!

(Psalm 8 ESV)

San Francisco and Genuine Hippies

This morning I learned that Scott McKenzie died. I had no idea who Scott McKenzie was until the news played a sound bite from the song, "San Francisco." Suddenly I was in mourning for someone I cared so little about I never knew his name but I knew the song. That song was the anthem of my childhood. I grew up listening to it. I grew up believing that being a part of the "Generation of Love" meant I could change the world.

San Francisco was that time period's Mecca for all things weird. Every self-gratifying desire was pronounced good. Self-restraint and conventional morals were an "Establishment idea to keep you down, man." I longed for the freedom they promised but I was too young to run away and join them. I had brief moments of freedom in San Francisco. I remember being on a field trip in Golden Gate park and a group of us making a chain of flowers out of the chamomile growing there. We placed it around the neck of a horse being ridden by a officer. I thought we were being extremely symbolic and profound. I was wearing a floppy leather hat and a poncho. It was my best attempt at being a hippie. Japanese tourists took our pictures and gave us each a Japanese coin. I thought it was evidence that freedom to be and do what you want really was going to change the world. By the time I was a few years older I began to see freedom like that wasn't all it portended.

My father had a truck driving business in "The City" and took my older sister, Linda, her boyfriend, Tom, and me to see the "Haight" better known as Haight-Ashbury District in its hey-dey. We drove from the East Bay across the Bay Bridge and into The City riding in the bed of his 1964 Chevy four wheel drive. We saw lots of San Francisco sights and then cruised the Haight. It was everything television news showed us. Lots of people dressed in outlandish attire all hanging out and/or hanging all over one another. I thought it was cool. I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to be one with them. That's when something happened that I will never forget.

My sister's boyfriend, Tom, was a clean cut All-American young man. He was respectful to my father and step-mom. He was respectful and protective of my sister. He was kind and inclusive toward me, the little sister. He was so happy to be with us. My sister had that uncomfortable look you see on the faces of people who are being adored by someone they want to break up with and never see again. She longed for freedom too and the first chain she intended to break was connected to Tom's heart. I could tell it was coming and I didn't want to hear it. I liked the guy and wanted to give him the freedom to react with tears no one would see if my sister dumped him. They sat leaning on the cab of the truck and so took my place leaning on the tailgate. The wind battered me and kept me from hearing anything. Occasionally I would steal a glace at Tom to see if he was OK. I could tell he hadn't been dumped yet. He didn't appear to get that he was going to be. When we started our scenic hippie tour I could also tell he didn't get what was going on in the Haight. We were at a stoplight with what seemed like hundreds of hippies buzzing around when suddenly one of them put his German Shepherd in the bed of our truck.

My father saw an opportunity; a genuine hippie hitchhiking, a hippie with his dog no less, and told him he would give him a lift and to get into the back of the truck. None of us in there were aware the invitation had been issued. The hitchhiker was overjoyed to have a ride and put his dog into the back of the truck while issuing salutations to us. Tom jumped up, scooped the dog up and placed him right back into the confused man's hands. It seemed Tom's worst fears were real and he was prepared to stop the hippie invasion at any cost. Words were exchanged using two disparate vocabularies; hippie and protective conservative nice guy. Then my father added his voice.

"Tom! It's OK! I told him we'd give him a ride!" With that Tom had an incredulous look on his face and this conversation followed, the conversation with my dad that I will never forget:

"Dominic??!! You're going to let a strange man get in the back of your truck? With two young girls back here?! Your two young girls??!!"

He was truly astonished. My father assured him it would be OK. Tom respectfully disagreed with my father and then helped the man put his dog back into the truck. Tom gave him a hand into the bed of the truck as well. Once the man and his dog were in, Tom grabbed my hand and quietly escorted me to where he and my sister were sitting. He put an arm around both of us. He never said a word but we in the bed of the truck knew the man and his dog could occupy the space by the tailgate and that was it. That is the one and only time in my childhood I felt truly protected by a man.

I have no idea where Tom is now. I never saw him again and the only time he was mentioned was in association with that day and comments of what a nice guy he was and too bad Linda had dumped him. I hope he grew up to be an adult version of the young man I saw that day. I hope he's happy. I hope he found someone who appreciated the type of man I imagine he became. I owe him a debt of gratitude because from that day forward I had reservations about my beloved "Generation of Love" and all its ideals. I was young but had an internal war going on with my own worldview, one that would last for years.

It's easy to look back and see God's providence. It's uncomfortable to listen to the lyrics of "San Francisco" now. I still sing along with the song but get stopped if I really listen to the lyrics. Decades of experience and settling into the only thing that makes sense to me, a biblical worldview, make that time in my life seem unreal and shameful. From this vantage point I see the fruit of the Generation of Love. The Generation of Free Love and "finding yourself" begat the Generation of Entitlement. It reminds me of "Everyone did what was right in their own eyes." It's a familiar theme throughout history and it always begets something more sinister than good. Always.

The fear of the LORD prolongs life,

but the years of the wicked will be short.

The hope of the righteous brings joy,

but the expectation of the wicked will perish.

The way of the LORD is a stronghold to the blameless,

but destruction to evildoers.

The righteous will never be removed,

but the wicked will not dwell in the land.

(Proverbs 10:27-30 ESV)