Lente, Lente

Lent has been upon us since March 5th. The idea is sacrifice.. as in, if you choose to not eat sugar, or fatty food, don't do it for those hot jeans.

I tried- am trying to give up anger, to be more patient. Anger has both just and unjust reasons: is someone being hurt? That's just. Are you being hurt? Then you MUST say something. I like to use the wholly unholy phrase, "Grow some big, hairy balls of steel." How to reconcile that... well. It's a headscratcher, and I'm afraid I don't have the answer.

This is no time for a perfectionist streak.

Put away needs for perfection, from yourself, from others. It's not happening. And human perfection is an illusion, normal is an insult.

How to reconcile lean diets when you have health conditions? Well, if, for example, you have an illness, are elderly, a child, you might not have carte blanche to either gobble down any glutton-y amount you might like, but fish and veggies aren't a sticking point. What can you have, besides meat? Tomato soup and grilled cheese (Dairy, broths- the taste of meat, without the substance- A-OK.)  Pizza. Pasta with almost any sauce.
But with health conditions, you may have chicken, meat, with no shame. What would I consider not limiting diets for? Children, the elderly, those who are ill- they need energy, not restriction, those with trouble maintaining calories, those recovering from eating disorders.

You are asked to put self behind you. You are not asked to make a martyr of yourself.

Remember that temptation is normal- indeed, we derive Lent (Funny how in Latin, you get the word, "lente" for "slowly"- but keep going!) From Jesus being tempted by Satan for 40 days.
There's a test, and oh, goodness, I'm feeling it! Above all, be careful what you pray for!

May the Force Be With You

"...And also, with you".
(It's an automatic habit of mine, that makes Star Wars fan-friends chuckle. Some things just become habit, I guess.)

Courtesy of The Shirtlist Dot Com

It's that last week of Advent, the week of Peace.

What is peace? Is fighting for it a contradiction in terms? Do you work for it, or let it come, let it be?

Along with quiet, along with learning patience, with learning to handle things that don't feel very much like hope, love, joy, and peace. I will be human after all. Did things go as I planned, did I get huge insights? Not really. That I can rest, that while doing it, I can bring things together, that I'm tougher than I think, --were my insights. The whole point was lighting up the dark bit by bit, chasing darkness. That patience...oh, I hear how I'm  patient all the time, but I don't feel it. I guess we learn it as we grow.

I am learning to appreciate both light and dark, especially as the darkness comes so early- so I'm attempting to expose myself to as much light as possible, literally and figuratively.

I'm not sure some things are realized in this life time, but I'm growing, and that's what matters. Learning patience, learning to be still.

The only advice I have? Do what works for you. It's tough to wait, while still doing. It's tougher still to get into a waiting place.

Be joyful. Hopeful. Loved and loving. Peaceful, starting internally.

While this is an ancient tune, new words were added. Such is the way of changing climates, sadly. I'm still hunting down the original.

Books in the Running Brooks, Sermons in Stones, and Good in Every Thing

It can be easy to enjoy the silence, to work on goals, when things are easy. But what if the chaos gets too loud and, much like an experience I had listening to Beethoven in an MRI machine, the Fifth Symphony becomes distorted in your memory even as you listen to it... into "Thunk, thunk, thunk, whiiiiiiiiiiir..."

It's time to remember the sweet things, the small things. The way things are hushed on a winter's night. The smell of the cold air, sweet in your nostrils. 

Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; 
And this our life exempt from public haunt 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. 
I would not change it. - William Shakespeare, "As You Like It", Act II Scene I

Focus not on the huge things, the pressing things. It's not a good time, or a good idea, to attempt to change the huge things in a single gulp.
Go easy on yourself.

Not in Thunder, But in an April Breeze

"In this go-go culture, creating some space, some stillness, some silence, is a pretty radical thing to do."_Reverend Scott Gunn

"Come and go, not in thunder, but in an April breeze." (Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, Advent Meditations.)

Don't shout, whisper; you'll eventually be heard, be patient, and people might listen harder and more willingly.)

This isn't just a Waiting Time. And the Waiting Place sucks, don't get stuck there! It's a time to learn to enjoy silence, enjoy being a radical. Being the same as everyone, a people pleaser, keeping up with those Joneses, is chaotic, exhausting, and impossible. There is nothing wrong with the simple, the quiet. Learn to be kind, to you, first. (I do detest when people say, "To thine own self be true" to excuse selfishness. Don't do that!) Shrug off your burdens, Atlas. Learn to let anger go. To forgive, beginning with you, first.
Above all, have a blessed season!

A Dreadful Feast

"Good King Wencelas" is a favorite of mine, taught to me by my endearing but rather odd Czech pediatrician.

The sanitized story told to children is that a king saw a peasant struggling through the snow, gathering firewood (winter fuuuuuuuuu-ooh-el...) and saying to a page, "Boy, where does he live?" Upon being given an address, king and page walk ten miles through the snow, barefoot. The page shivers horribly, the king tells him to walk in his footprints. By strange miracle, the footprints elicit a beautiful heat and the barefoot boy walks behind his monarch in comfort.

Popes have repeated this walk, and it's beautiful to see. But the story is bunk. 

 

(Beautiful song, though!)

 The truth (in as short a time as I can): Wencelas I was Duke of Bohemia, paying homages not to the Holy Roman Empire, but to East Francia. He was a gentle man, too gentle... a scholar as opposed to leader. His reforms caused strife. Brother Boleslav (Great Glory, Bringer of glory... Slavic names are more abstract.) kills him on his way to Mass one fine winter's day. The page kills one of Boleslav's men, and goes into the woods. He too is found and murdered. Boleslav's wife has a child that day. In honor of the horrid deed of murder, and feeling sad and sick, Boleslav names the baby "Strachkvas"- A dreadful feast. (Such a marvelous name--- oops, sorry, kiddo, we committed murder, and now that I am feeling guilty, you are permanently named in honor of this act.)

Boleslav was called "The Cruel"... but he did great things for Bohemia (if not being someone I'd ever trust to write a book of Slavic Baby Names.)

The Purple Pumpkin Project

The Purple Pumpkin Project: 

With Halloween so near, let’s start “The Purple Pumpkin Project” to raise Epilepsy Awareness! How will you answer “Why are your pumpkins Purple?"
Description
All I am asking is to please color one of your Halloween Pumpkins Purple! Maybe have some "Seizure smart" info on hand and share your story with anyone that will listen!
Share your Purple Pumpkin Pictures, be creative!

Epilepsy affects over 3 million Americans of all ages – more than multiple sclerosis, cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, and Parkinson’s disease combined.

Almost 500 new cases of epilepsy are diagnosed every day in the United States. That means every 4 minutes someone is hearing "It's Epilepsy."

So... this Halloween, I will be working on some form of this, although we do not get trick or treaters here... perhaps purple pumpkin cupcakes or something.

One of the major sadnesses with epilepsy is that most of the treatments are medical--- that is, using medications that can be dangerous and cause many side effects. There are many issues that can come from seizures themselves, such as confusion, anxiety, fear, trouble answering questions, death... and many preventive measures are still too expensive for many patients and their families to afford. Along with that, there are still many attitudes that may keep patients from getting help, and this is why awareness is so important. So that families do not have attitudes and fears, and so that patients can get help. So far, epilepsy tends to be a diagnosis given as "You have seizures, why?" Some patients never find out why, and even doctors may not be adequately aware.

For more information, the Purple Pumpkin Project's Facebook Page is:

The Purple Pumpkin Project

 Additional links can be found at the American Epilepsy Society

and the Epilepsy Foundation of America and its regional chapters

In the UK, please contact, Epilepsy Action UK

In Canada, help can be found at Epilepsy Canada

Courtesy of eszter, Flickriver Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic License.

...And a Pickle In A Pine Tree

I don't know WHY this looks wrong to me.

Gather 'round, dear children, and I'll tell you a tale.
First things first: true celebrations should only begin with murderous intent in mind, not lead to it, but here we go.

German tradition is rife with tales of Bishop Nicholas, now Saint Nicolas. Also, tales that might make the Crypt Keeper's hair stand even more on end on Tales From The Crypt.
Three little boys leave home in the cold of winter, bringing with them gifts for the now-sainted Bishop, savior of would-be prostitutes and someone who still has me all these years later, still checking my shoes before I put them on.
They stay at an inn (All good Christmas tales start in that century's version of a Holiday Inn.)
The inn keeper is a nasty, greedy man and decides that he will keep the Sainted-Bishop's gifts for himself. So he murders our tiny travelers and pickles them in brine. (Another Christmas story with a bit of cannibalistic intent, check!) The Sainted-Bishop finds out and steaming, he goes to the Inn himself. Where he resurrects (with God's help & grace) the wee pickled tots. Now, many centuries later, fun-loving Germans remember the tale with the hiding of a glass (I hope) pickle hidden in their Christmas trees. (Which was another tradition we got from the Germans, courtesy of Queen Victoria, who surprise, was more German than she was English.)
The finder receives a gift, or a year of good luck.
Considering the shape of pickles, this one might be best for the Feast of the Circumcision ... of the Young Frankenstein.

A Very Special Thanksgiving Taste Test

She is a little beauty.

This week, not only am I taste-testing (remember: nothing gets served, to anyone, unless it passes MY inspection first) but I am breaking in a new crockpot that is not dollhouse sized! And I've craved turkey noodle soup for a while now!

• Ingredients: 
• First up: about a container and a half of turkey stock. Buy extra. 
• To this, add: 
• Baby carrots, 1/2 package to a package
• 3 celery stalks

• Pepper, salt, and oregano to taste. I am a "By feel" cook, but about 1/2 tsp of each ought to do it.
• 1/2 an onion
• A turkey breast. Whichever turkey sported this had about a D cup!
• 1 small onion
• Package of noodles...add last, about 3-4 hours in. 
• 
  
• Cut turkey into edible chunks.
• Chop onion and celery, just toss in baby carrots.
• Place all in crockpot. Except the noodles.
• Cook on low for 4 hours. 
• Add noodles
• Cook for half hour on high
• Or Until Noodles are Soft
• Eat!

Happy Father's Day, 2011

A very Happy Father's Day
To the men who stay, who try like hell through all kinds of craziness... to those with human babies, to those with little fuzzballs who meow or bark to get their attention.

I don't celebrate it much, haven't since 1995, but here's a special Father's Day gift, from me, to you.

And Dad, happy Father's Day, thanks for 12 years of love, patience and fighting for me...and making me learn to write, read, and tell time, and tie my shoes, with your own brand of teaching, acquired at camps for the disabled and in the Franciscan priesthood. I raise a glass of wine in your honor. Love you, miss you.

Christmas 1983, the only pic I have digitalized thus far. (Trying on the pic of him in monk's robes, which, with his bald spot, gave him a look reminiscent of Francis, and gave the nickname, the Capuchin Monk when he wore gray)  Yes, yes, that is me in a funny hat. He always yelled at me to wear one, so when I did and do, I like to wear one jauntily. This is the man who taught me to be a happy goofball. Even when sick, and in pain from numerous diabetic complications, you could always count on his weird sense of humor.
~Love, Beth