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Show us a picture of you from your childhood.

Princess-art-journal

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What did you do in 2008 that you have never done before?

THE 99 THINGS MEME

Things you’ve already done: bold
Things you want to do: italicize
Things you haven’t done and don’t want to - leave in plain font

1. Started your own blog. Some would say too many blogs.
2. Slept under the stars.
3. Played in a band.
4. Visited Hawaii.
5. Watched a meteor shower.
6. Given more than you can afford to charity.
7. Been to Disneyland/world. I was just in Disneyworld last weekend, but have never been to Disneyland.
8. Climbed a mountain.
9. Held a praying mantis.
10. Sang a solo.
11. Bungee jumped.
12. Visited Paris.
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea.
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch.
15. Adopted a child. I'm not sure if this one counts, but close enough, I think.
16. Had food poisoning.
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty.
18. Grown your own vegetables.
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France. I spent all my time at d'Orsay and the Picasso Museums, never got to the Louvre.
20. Slept on an overnight train.
21. Had a pillow fight.
22. Hitch hiked.
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill.
24. Built a snow fort.
25. Held a lamb.
26. Gone skinny dipping.
27. Run a marathon. A 5k is a reasonable goal and one I'm working toward. I hope people would have an intervention before I even got to the point of considering a marathon.
28. Ridden a gondola in Venice.
29. Seen a total eclipse.
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset.
31. Hit a home run.
32. Been on a cruise.
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person.
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors. I've been to Germany and Ireland, but not Poland, and in none of these instances did I specifically seek out places that had to do with my heritage.
35. Seen an Amish community.
36. Taught yourself a new language. Does HTML or CSS count?
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied.
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person.
39. Gone rock climbing.
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David in person.
41. Sung Karaoke.
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt.
43. Bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant.
44. Visited Africa.
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight.
46. Been transported in an ambulance.
47. Had your portrait painted.
48. Gone deep sea fishing.
49. Seen the Sistine chapel in person.
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling.
52. Kissed in the rain.
53. Played in the mud.
54. Gone to a drive-in theater.
55. Been in a movie.
56. Visited the Great Wall of China.
57. Started a business.
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia.
60. Served at a soup kitchen.
61. Sold Girl Scout cookies.
62. Gone whale watching.
63. Gotten flowers for no reason.
64. Donated blood.
65. Gone sky diving.
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp.
67. Bounced a check.
68. Flown in a helicopter.
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy.
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial.
71. Eaten Caviar.
72. Pieced a quilt.
73. Stood in Times Square.
74. Toured the Everglades.
75. Been fired from a job.
76. Seen the Changing of the Guard in London.
77. Broken a bone.
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle.
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person.
80. Published a book.
81. Visited the Vatican.
82. Bought a brand new car.
83. Walked in Jerusalem.
84. Had your picture in the newspaper.
85. Read the entire Bible.
86. Visited the White House.
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating.
88. Had chickenpox.
89. Saved someone’s life.
90. Sat on a jury.
91. Met someone famous.
92. Joined a book club.
93. Lost a loved one.
94. Had a baby.
95. Seen the Alamo in person.
96. Swum in the Great Salt Lake.
97. Been involved in a law suit.
98. Owned a cell phone.
99. Been stung by a bee.

Originally published at file under "Miscellanea". You can comment here or there.

What a weighty title, no? But as I started to write in my new gratitude journal, I realized the end product would, indeed, be a compilation of the best moments of my life on a daily basis. I was inspired to start this journal by Michelle Ward’s tweet linking me to this post by Trent Hamm at The Simple Dollar.

I’m writing the entries in a small book made for me by a friend who was learning bookbinding, and it feels like the appropriate precious vessel for all these memories. Each evening or the following morning, I review my day and write/sketch something that records the best part of that day:  a conversation, something shared, an epiphany.

I started the journal yesterday, thinking that the winter solstice—when our days start to creep back toward the light—was an appropriate time to start paying attention to the light in my life.

December 21
Putting up the tree this year was victory enough, but I was surprised by the end of the night to also feel some ownership of the tree—not just that I had put up my mother’s Christmas tree. Sometimes, I think I’m going to be okay.

NB. I should probably explain the drawing, eh? It’s a small (like the size of my pinky finger) white plastic skeleton hanging on our Christmas tree. When I was a kid, he was revealed from behind a store-bought advent calendar—I have no other memories of that advent calendar, but surreal li’l Mr Skeleton has been part of my family’s Christmas tradition ever since. After each holiday, my mum took great care to make sure he was found on the tree and wrapped up in his own bag so he wouldn’t get lost amongst all the other ornaments. Coming home for the holidays whilst in college, I love searching the tree for his creepy bones. Now he hangs on my tree and is still my favorite ornament.

Originally published at file under "Miscellanea". You can comment here or there.

Photo by flamholz

i do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl
because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world
i do it because it's the least i can do
i do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to

Photos by (left to right) swperman and Old Shoe Woman

everything i do is judged
and they mostly get it wrong
but oh well
'cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged
and the woman who lives there can tell
the truth from the stuff that they say
and she looks me in the eye
and says would you prefer the easy way
no, well o.k. then
don't cry

Photos by (left to right) envagyokbenyus and karpov

i wonder if everything i do
i do instead
of something i want to do more
the question fills my head
i know there's no grand plan here
this is just the way it goes
when everything else seems unclear
i guess at least i know

Photos by (left to right) Robert Crum and ktpupp

i do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl
because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world
i do it because it's the least i can do
i do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to

Photo by Jill Greenseth

© 1996 ani difranco / righteous babe music

Inspired by LK Ludwig and Charlene Kingston. Interested to know more about A Day of Sharing Words? LK explains the idea and you can also see a list of participants on her blog.

No photos to go with this tasty meal as:

1. I took photos while it was still in the pot, but they were mostly obfuscated by steam and not delish looking. Which is an issue, because this is a seriously tasty and simple recipe.
2. By the time the soup and accompanying dumplings made it into my bowl at the table where the lighting was better, I did not have camera in hand and was too hungry to do anything about it. Plus, I think my family would think I was strange if I photographed my food. I mean, I know there's a whole diet culture built up around photographing your plate, but I don't do that. And I'm not really a food blogger (despite this recipe), so it's not like I could pull some "This. Is. Serious. Business." look to convince them not to mock me. And I just made them this ridiculously good soup, so I just didn't deserve the mockery.

• oil (I used olive oil)
• an onion, which you should chop (mince it if you have some extra time and don't like onion, otherwise normal chopping is just fine)
• 2 cloves of garlic, which you should crush (I hit mine with a piece of granite, but use whatever's handy for you)
• 2 tsp ground cumin
• 1 tsp ground coriander
• 1/4 tsp chili powder
• 20 oz can chickpeas
• 28 fl oz vegetable stock (chicken stock also works)
• 28 oz can chopped tomatoes (extra tasty if you get fire roasted tomatoes, but just normal will do, too)
  
• 1 c self-rising flour, sifted
  
• 3/4 oz butter, chopped (This is the only recipe I think I've ever chopped butter for. I just cut pats of butter, then cut the pats into smaller squares. It was strange, but it's important to just get over the oddness of making mini butter cubes and get on to the tastiness)
• 2 tbsp grated Parmesan (or Asiago or Romano or cheese of your choice. Also, grate a little more than 2 tbsp if you like cheese. I grated more.)
• 2 tbsp mixed fresh herbs, chopped (I did chives and Italian parsley, but the recipe also recommends coriander)
• 3-4 tbsp milk (the recipe calls for 3 tablespoons, but it's useful whilst getting the dumpling batter together to have a smidge more on hand)

1. Open all the canned items, drain and rinse the chickpeas, and chop and grate the items as above. Or, if you're really lucky, have your sous chef/husband/wife/kid do all that. Bonus points if you wear a funny hat while someone else does the grunt work.
2. Get a large saucepan with a lid (which you'll need later) and heat the oil in it. About 1 tbsp, but I just eyeball it. Add the onion and cook over medium heat until soft.
3. Add the garlic, ground coriander, cumin, and chili powder and cook until fragrant.
4. Add the chickpeas and stock.
5. Do you like chunks of tomato or not? If yes, just add the tomatoes into the pot. If tomato chunks aren't your thing, you could whiz them up in the blender. If you're noncommittal, you could blend half the tomatoes, but that seems like making an extra mess just because you couldn't choose one way or the other. So, decide, then add into the pot.
   
6. Bring the whole lot up to a boil. When you've reached a boil, grab the lid I mentioned in step 2. Plop that on, drop the heat, and simmer for ten minutes.
   
   Now you're on your way to soup. But what of the dumplings, you ask? Let's tackle those puppies. Remember, I said this was easy!
   
   
7. Put the flour in a bowl and add the chopped butter. Yes, we know it was strange, but just put it in there and prepare to work through your angst about chopping butter into itty bitty pieces. We're almost to the part where you put your hands all over your food, so take an opportunity to go wash your hands really well. Then dry them very well. Now stick 'em in the flour and use your fingers to mash the itty bitty pieces of butter up with the flour. My recipe book says to continue doing this "until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs." That didn't make sense when I read it the first time, but really, if you keep mushing together butter and flour, you'll know when it's right.
8. Stir the fresh herbs and grated cheese into the flour mixture.
9. Make a little well in your flour-cheese-butter-herb mixture and add 3 tablespoons of milk. Using a butter knife, mix together until just combined. If the dough is being difficult, you can add a smidge more of milk, but you definitely do not want to overdo the milk. Really. It's better to have a just barely combined dough than a wet one for this recipe.
10. When the dough has come together or seems to be almost to that point, make a ball out of it. A rough ball. You don't want to overhandle the dough or start beating on it or anything.
11. Cut your ball into eight pieces and then roll those pieces into balls. Again, don't go crazy making perfect orbs here. Mush gently until it's ball shaped and holding together, then call it done. Add the dumplings to your soup, recover, and leave it alone for 20 minutes. About halfway through, I check in and roll the dumplings over, but that's it. Recover, walk away.
12. After 20 minutes, pierce a dumpling with a skewer. If it comes out clean, they're done. If not, give it 3-5 more minutes and try again.
13. Serve! If you're feeling exuberant, drizzle with a little bit more chopped parsley and cheese. Enjoy!
    

Originally published at file under "Miscellanea". You can comment here or there.

2. As an undergraduate student, I had the opportunity to work with the art collection at our university museum, cataloging more than one hundred works by Milton Bancroft. It was such a major undertaking that I held onto my copy of the notes for years, just in case anything happened to the museum's records.

3. I'm named after a character from the soap opera Dark Shadows.

4a. I am terrified of bears.
4b. I think sharks are fascinating.
4c. This makes my husband think I'm loony.

5. My family used to raise, breed, show, and train Brittanys, a wonderful and very hyper type of hunting dog. During the late '80s and early '90s, we crisscrossed the Midwest going to various shows and trials, and, at one point, had as many as 13 dogs (including a litter of puppies).

6. Random wedding trivia: My husband and I will celebrate our 7th anniversary in five months. Barefoot, we exchanged titanium wedding bands (made by Arnell Workshop) on the Gulf of Mexico. I wore an indigo dress and had a veil made of chainmail (by Heidi at Silver Tiger Art).

7. Today, I had cookies for breakfast. My mother, obviously, didn't teach me a lot about nutrition and balanced diets, but she did teach me about simple pleasures. Mmmm, cookies.

Thanks to Susan Donley, who tagged me for this meme. In return, I tag Christiane, Diane, Cassidy, Kristi, Sarah, Heidi and Amy, all of whom I enjoy following on Twitter. Also, if you knew any of these tidbits about me already, also consider yourself tagged!

(Note:  I spoke at my local Unitarian Universalist chuch today as part of the "Personal Reflections" series where volunteers from the congregation are asked to speak for a few minutes on the question in this post's title. The following are the remarks I made.)

I’ve knelt in Catholic pews, lit candles in European cathedrals, danced barefoot in the moonlight with Starhawk—but none of these experiences ever led me to imagine standing in front of a congregation as I do here and now.

I originally let that lack of imagination, as well as my newcomer status, dissuade me from volunteering to speak. That didn’t stop me from thinking about what this church means to me, of course, as I’m sure many of you have found yourself reflecting after the answers previously shared by Kathy, Dan, Richard, Rose, and others. Eventually, my gratitude, along with some nudging from Reverend Garmon, has led me to hope that I can gain something from putting myself up here and that my relatively fresh perspective will be beneficial to us collectively.

The discussion at last month’s stewardship lunch reminded me that, during our first visit, a few members of the church apologized to Kristi and I for the fact that the majority of the congregation is older than us. I want to acknowledge that the combined age, wisdom, and experience of this church’s members is actually one of your gifts to me and not to be apologized for. Once a week, I get to sit down for coffee and discover the person next to me marched for civil rights, the woman across from me provided protection and comfort to women entering a planned parenthood clinic—I discover the stories of men and women who stood up when they or others were disenfranchised or discriminated against. This first-hand perspective is otherwise absent from my formal education and my life; I’ve encountered such stories only through the interviews of Studs Terkel or the songs of Utah Phillips. It is my great privilege to be part of and learn from this community. You provide me with wisdom, mentorship, and challenge me to live a life I can someday be proud to share with a younger generation. Thank you.

In 2006, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She was, quite simply, the most important person in my life and, after many struggles, was finally creating the life of her dreams when this diagnosis rocked us both to the core. I was so incredibly angry—I saw the cancer and its timing as a huge injustice—and, in my anger, I shut the door to my experience of the Divine. I didn’t know how to celebrate anything in light of her illness and her death at 49 years of age. I was 28 and my brother, who I now raise with my husband, was only 11. I showed up here nearly eight months ago trying, in part, to make sense of her death.

Today, I accept that her death is something I do and will continually struggle with. I don’t know what helps with that or what I thought I might find here to undo that pain.

What I have found is a community of compassion that tells us it matters that you were born, it matters what you do. (I love to hear Kathy Stevens say that; she does it in a way that just makes my heart feel huge with love and purpose.) That blessing—which is both little and all encompassing—along with your stories, the reflective space offered in these walls, the inspiring words and music that fill our worship, and the amazing mentors I have met as part of this community—instead of resolving the grief I experienced with my mother’s death, I am learning what to do with my life. Again, I say thank you.

Originally published at file under "Miscellanea". You can comment here or there.

I hope you did, too.