Bite Size

Just a taste of what I'm thinking about.

It's the Little Things

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This morning was much like any other morning. I made coffee, grabbed milk some milk from the fridge, read for a while with my little dog Ginger in my lap.
As the sun came up, I bundled up to take her outside on this characteristically brisk January morning. I listened to the hum of the heat pump. I took a long, hot shower and contemplated all these ordinary, mundane rituals.
Tomorrow morning I will wake up on a bench in the Brussels airport,half way to the other side of the world. I'll be away from my bed, my husband, my children, my dog, refrigeration, hot water and cold weather.
My last thing I did before I left, my parting act of love for my family, was to clean the toilet. Really, is there any greater act of love?

Picture This

Again, I’ve been challenged by my friend Jen. She has been waving the banner of self-love and self-acceptance, especially as it relates to body image.

 

It’s not unusual for we women to become the family photographer for the express purpose of staying behind the camera. Sure, we might come to enjoy taking photos of our ever photogenic children, and we might develop some real skill – but we’re still hiding. I knew this about myself, and somewhere deep inside I started feeling a little guilty about it. My children might never have photographic evidence of a mother. I figured even if the pictures were bad, at least there would be family pictures – and they might be very important someday.

In the age of Facebook, I don’t have the same level of control over my image. Other people can take pictures and post them and tag me for all the world to see. This has been a real exercise in humility. (I have only untagged myself once.) I had a friend tell me one time after some party pictures of us got posted that I did not photograph well. You might think this was an insult, but I was delighted! I thought it was one of the kindest things ever said to me. I’ve always thought I was better than pictures revealed, so I was thrilled that someone else thought the same thing. Big relief.

Anyway, per Jen’s request, I am posting some recent photos. I almost never ask someone to take a picture (unless it is an event, like a race), but I took one with my mother at the beach, I got another with my husband (again, not nealy enough of those), and the last is on Christmas morning with my “baby”, Ginger (in her new Christmas hoodie!). Funny, I like the Christmas morning picture best – and that’s no make-up, bed-head, and PJs. I should look pretty jacked up, but it’s not so bad.

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Tis the season…for restocking.

I went out yesterday to run a couple of errands which included a trip to the grocery store and the mall – two of my least favorite destinations. Everywhere I went, there were employees restocking shelves or doing some sort of inventory in every department I wanted to shop. This seemed especially so in JCPenney. I swear there were not that many employees during peak holiday shopping season.

This made me grouchier than usual. I understand that things have slowed down, and these retail tasks need to be done, but rounding every corner to find a pair of retail associates chatting and leisurely tagging/shelving/rearranging merchandise with the same sort of insouciance you might find on a southern front porch on an afternoon shelling beans was really too much for me.

I don’t especially enjoy shopping cheek-by-jowl in a crowd, but there’s a certain anonymity you can only find in a crowd. Having a store all to myself is my idea of at least the fourth circle of hell. I feel watched, scrutinized, judged. I was so undone, I left without buying anything.

I regrouped and went back out today – this time I had to stop at a big box store which will remain unnamed. I managed to do what I need to do, but as I struggled with my own feelings of overwhelm, I was reminded of my friend from Liberia who came to visit Virginia. The first time he stepped into a Super Walmart he broke down in tears (yes, we’ve all done it), but not because he was joyfully overcome by abundance nor for  the reasons you and I might be driven to tears (People of Walmart comes to mind – oh, the humanity!), but because it struck him as sort of…grotesque, this pornographic monument to consumption. We thought he’d be impressed. He

 wasn’t.

In the months following my return last year, I would chat with friends in Liberia. I’d say I wish I could be there with them, and they would say they wished I could be there too. It struck me that never once did they express the desire to be here or somewhere other than in Liberia. What do we make of that?

Don’t get me wrong – I think I live in the greatest gosh-darned country on the planet, hands down – and yet we are so restless and insatiable. In the world’s poorest country, among the most brutally violated populations of people, in a seemingly bottomless pool of need, I found a lot of joy, and there was freedom in having less.

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 Going to the mall, Liberian style

Less than a week to go to #Liberia

It’s down to the wire as I make my final preparations for my trip.

It is so much easier this time because I know better what to expect and therefore what to pack. I made a list last year in my journal: Things to Remember for Next Time. That list included:

·         a bathing suit (There awesome beaches that I’m not supposed to talk about, lest you think we’re just on a really exotic holiday masquerading as a mission trip.)

·         a refillable water bottle (We send ahead cases of bottled water, but we have really great water filters so we can drink the local water. If I bring my own water bottle I’ll always know which one is mine, as well as reduce waste. Trash is an issue.)

·         my device chargers (I didn’t think I needed to bother before since there is no electricity widely available, but it turns out we get a few hours of current a day via generators and there are often compatible outlets available – although there isn’t any standard electrical code.)

·         more skirts ( I went with I thought were more utilitarian wardrobe choices that turned out to be less than ideal. Skirts are breezy and cool in a tropical climate, but the unreliability of finding a toilet when you need one – especially as we travel dirt roads through the interior - means finding relief in a bush is quite likely. I feel much more comfortable discretely hiking my skirts than I do dropping trou before God and Africa.)

·         my own small pillow (I don’t know what they stuff their pillows with – maybe some feathers, but they felt like there were probably bones and other body parts of the chicken as well.)

I pride myself on being a very light and efficient packer. I don’t want to carry around any more than I need to, but I felt like I was a little too spartan last time. I’ll bring a little more of myself this time – like cute shoes.

What I won’t bring this year are books – I have my Kindle, praise the lord! That means more room and less weight. Win-win. Nor will I bring food. Last time I packed a bunch of protein bars and granola bars for fear that as soon as I set foot on the dark continent, I too would risk starving to death. Not so. In fact, my fantasies of losing 30 lbs while doing God’s work was completely squashed. I may have even gained a pound or two while I was there. 

Today’s task is to take care of the money. I have scheduled payments for all my bills for the rest of the month. (Thank goodness for online bill pay and direct deposit!) The Liberian currency is wildly deflated Liberian dollars. A 20 dollar bill is worth about 67 cents in US dollars. Fortunately, US dollars are accepted pretty much everywhere, so no worries about converting money. The only thing is you can’t use a bill larger than a $20, and you can oly use the newer $20s with the “big heads”. So I’m taking a couple hundred dollars in tens, fives, and ones. My children graciously gave me money they had been saving in change jars, so we spent Saturday morning rolling change which I have to go cash in at the bank today. I was so moved and proud that the money that they save every year, throughout the year for spring break, they wanted to send to Africa with me.

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 Alright, now I gotta roll.

Remembering 2011

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Today is un-decorating day. I’d like to leave everything in tact until Epiphany, but if I’m honest, I know that today is the perfect day  - I have the time and none of the pressure that will start building from tomorrow forward as we dive back into the regular work/school routine.

There’s always a smidge of melancholy dismantling the sparkly, festive décor, but there is also something deeply satisfying about stripping everything bare. The house has a spare, clean quality it rarely has at any other time. I have a clean slate before me, and isn’t that the promise of the new year?

I’ve seen a lot of posts on Facebook and Twitter and various blogs bidding a hearty good riddance to 2011. For me, 2011 was just kind of, well, meh. It started out with a life-changing bang - my first trip to Liberia – but the rest of the year was 11 ½ months of anti-climax.

Since I always mark every moment in time by how much I weigh, I ended 2011 at about the same weight I started it. Glad it wasn’t worse, but it’s not what I would have hoped. I kept running, but it was a struggle. I ran the Women’s 4 Miler and the Richmond Half Marathon, but I suffered through every bit of training (this was mental suffering more than physical) and did the least I could reasonably get away with. I can’t say that I feel especially pleased with my accomplishments in that department, but I haven’t been able to let it go either. Running, I just can’t quit you. None of this would matter if I didn’t spend so much time feeling guilty or envious of the running accomplishments of others.

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I started teaching bible study classes to a recovery group of inmates at the local jail. This was the next best thing to being in Liberia for me. It satisfies that badass, edgy, risk-taking itch I have and combines it with my craving for a deep spiritual dive into the interior life. If I didn’t do this, I might be tempted to become a life coach just so I could talk to someone about intentional living, spiritual disciplines, and mindfulness. *shudder* I’m way too cool for that.

Financially, I was no better, no worse. I have the same debt, the same in savings, and the same yawning gap of “needs” and resources.

I was inconsistent in my writing. I had lots of ideas for things I wanted to sew, but didn’t. I had a couple of speaking gigs I enjoyed, but I had more opportunities that I let float by as I sat and moped on the riverbank of my life.

In fact, that’s exactly what 2011 was like - sitting by the river, staring at the current, occasionally examining a blade of grass or making a clover chain necklace. I kept lots of quiet space around me. As I look back I see that this space was necessary. One of my goals for the year was to pad my margin, to reduce hurry, to be more present every day at home and at work. I think I was able to do that to large extent, and it has been a sort of mental and spiritual rebuilding year. I have been waiting for something. I’m not sure what, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming this year. The waiting can be tedious, tiresome, and dull, but I just can’t walk out. I imagine it like waiting in a doctor’s office – nobody likes to do it, but you can’t walk out on the diagnosis/test results/treatment your life may depend upon.

As I think about the year to come, the word that has grabbed me isn’t “resolutions” or “renewal” or even “fresh start”, it’s “remember”. I think it will be a beautiful, purposeful, and productive year if I remember:

·         Who I am

·         What I’m good at

·         Where I am

·         Why I work

·         When to rest

·         What I love

·         Who I love

Remembering means being true to myself. Remembering means living confidently and authentically. Remembering means not allowing myself to be distracted by someone or something that doesn’t serve me, my goals or my purpose well. Remembering does NOT mean brooding over what’s past.

So what will you remember from 2011? What do you need to remember for 2012?

2 Weeks to #Liberia

Two weeks from now I’ll be flying across the Atlantic to Brussels – the first leg of nearly 24 hours of travel to get to Liberia. I’m thinking a lot now about how best to prepare my family for my absence. I need to get a little help with transporting kids to their assorted destinations, stock the fridge with some meals so my husband isn’t left with all the cooking and shopping, and try to leave the house in reasonably good shape and the laundry as close to caught up as it will ever be in this life.

Last year, the kids and my husband kept a little daily journal of what they were doing and when they were thinking of me while I was gone. It was a very sweet welcome home gift. This year I’d like to leave them some notes from me to read each day that I’m gone. Thinking about the things I’d like to say to them, what I’d like them to know while I’m away, makes me feel a little tender. I heard Paul Simon’s song Father and Daughter on the way into work yesterday, and I got pretty teary. I have been blessed with a great father and married a great father to my children. That alone makes my life pretty daggone charmed as I wade into a sea of fatherless (and motherless) children.

But I’m also looking forward to seeing some of the people I met in Liberia last year. At one orphanage we visited, there was little girl that I connected with. She trailed behind me, sat next to me, quietly keeping close. The only thing she said to me was to ask, “Are you a mama?” I wanted to be her mama. I wonder if she will still be there.

I’m thinking about Valerie, the woman that made the most awesome cinnamon rolls and cakes and muffins in an old refrigerator that had been converted to an oven with a propane tank and a little ingenuity. Her home was like most, rather ramshackle, but there was something quite vibrant and proud about it. She had a nice big yard with grass (not too common in the dry season). A boy kept the grass trimmed with what was essentially a blade on a stick. There were plenty of tropical trees and shrubs, bananas, coconuts, and large built in planters that ran around two sides of the house with beautiful flowers. The planters were full of discarded egg shells, good for the soil and evidence of the activity inside.

I’m thinking about Bea, my soul sister seamstress, who for $35 will custom make a dress from traditional lappa, the wax block print fabric native to Liberia. She is an elegant, beautiful woman with a house filled with fabric. She takes a few measurements, I point to a picture of something I like and days later I am outfitted in a new dress. It’s quite a treat to have someone sew for me. What really blew me away, though was her cutwork and embroidered designs done only with a machine zig-zag stitch. Inspired!

I’m thinking about Malcolmsen, former child soldier, war lord, drug addict, drug dealer, and all around bad dude. Now he’s clean, preaches the Gospel, and has turned his machete to plowshare with 2 acres of land he is turning into a farm to feed and support an entire community. He is a miracle. And when he sings, it is hard to doubt the inhabiting presence of the spirit of the living God.

There are many more. I’m thinking about these people I love so much both sides of the Atlantic who graciously allow me to come and go. I am deeply grateful for the extraordinary love they show me by sharing me and letting me share in their life and work. Anyone who thinks I am some kind of selfless do-gooder has got it all wrong. I am selfishly multiplying the love in my life.

Small Beginnings

I’ve been on a bit of a bender for the past week.

I know I’m not alone – the holidays, lots of feasting, extra goodies around the house, plenty of hospitable booze at the ready. Lots of shopping, cooking wrapping, and decorating gave way to a sense of entitlement to sleep and sloth and playing with our new toys (none of which included work out equipment).

It’s funny how desperately I long for rest, for unstructured downtime. I feel sure I won’t be able to get enough. But after two days of this, even the most basic tasks – like doing a load of laundry or buying toilet paper - become too hard.

Even my desire to be able to eat and drink as I please is revealed as a sham when I quickly become sluggish and ill feeling from too much wine and sugar and cheese. Maybe this is why I don’t allow myself much time like this. A little is good and restorative, but there is most definitely too much of a good thing.

It’s a good reminder that I prefer the feeling of busy. I like to feel energetic and healthy. I revel in being productive. So why is laziness and over indulgence so seductive?

So I start over again. I am comforted by the words of Zechariah 4:10: Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.

Beginning is the hardest part after all, but our acts of faith are always honored and rewarded. The faith required to go to the gym, to lace up the running shoes, to plan meals and make more disciplined choices, to believe I can unwind after a day of work (or with my family) without a glass or two or ten of wine.

I’m not talking about resolutions really, just getting back to work. What do you need to start?

Holiday House Tour 2011

My dear blogging friend over at Jen on the Edge is hosting a holiday house tour. I’ve always secretly wished I would be invited to participate in a house tour, but I suppose I don’t run in the right circles or file in the right tax bracket. I can, however, insert myself into a virtual house tour and show off my budget conscious festive flair. Come on in and let me show you around!

We don't do elaborate outside decorations. We have some icicle lights my husband puts up each year, but I limit myself to some front porch decorations. Since Christmas is still largely kid-oriented in my world, I have gone with a more whimsical entrance - Candy Cane Lane. I love my elves and our increasingly shabby little tree covered in candy themed decorations. 

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In the foyer, we have a few items we pull out each each year: a little Fulton snow family sign that was made for us, a tin full of candy canes to which guests may help themselves, and an advent tree. The advent tree was made by my mother in 1976. I used it as a child, as do my children, to mark off the days 'til Christmas by reading a daily bible verse that prepares the way for the arrival of the baby Jesus.

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Just past the foyer are the stairs leading downstairs. Here we've hung our stockings until Christmas eve, when they will be hung by the fireplace (with care!) We also have a great ledge around the stairway that is perfect for my little collection of light up houses. This year, Scott has added his own touch by adding some of his toy cars and a school bus (of course) to the tableau.
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You can see the Christmas tree here as well. The tree and the mantle are the anchors of my decorating. We always get a real tree, and I love to use fresh greens - holly, pine, juniper and nandina are included on the mantle garland. I love the more traditional look and the glorious smell this brings into the house. This is also where I include lots of lights and bling - shiny red and glittering gold.

 

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I always like to add a little something crafty and homespun to the decor. This year I made these snowflake garlands from paper doilies I sewed together. I have sliding glass doors on either side of the fireplace, so I hung strings of these doily snowflakes across each door and topped with an old school silver tinsel garland. I love the way they turned out!

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Another important focal point is the dining table. This year I have a couple of Santas, a gingerbread sleigh (that has been ravaged by certain members of the household who do not appreciate the sanctity of the centerpiece), candles and small gold birds. I have gold chargers with my favorite Christmas dishes - dessert plates featuring cocktail swilling Santas. I also have a couple of Santas standing guard on the buffet.
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One of my favorite Santas is my kitchen Santa. He keeps watch over all the holiday baking!
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Finally, let me show you our little Italian carved Nativity set. We still believe Jesus is the real focal point of Christmas, so we have given this a central place of honor. I love that my children, and many other children that come into my house, kneel before it to play with the figures. They can't help it - it is so charming and lovely and inviting - and we believe Christmas should be experienced by sight, sound, smell, taste and touch.  
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Well, that's it for now. Thanks for stopping by, and thanks to Jen for organizing this tour.

Merry Christmas, everyone! 

4 Weeks to #Liberia

The countdown is on.

All those details I need to work out to be gone for 16 days – and I mean gone, gone, totally checked out, across the ocean, no phone service or internet gone – it’s time to get all that business nailed down.

I have my plane tickets and my visa application taken care of. This week I went to the traveler’s clinic at UVA to get my prescription for malaria medicine and Cipro. I didn’t think I needed much in the way of vaccinations as I had all that done last year – yellow fever, typhoid, meningococcal something, flu, Hep A, polio and tetanus boosters, but I did get my flu vaccine and a Hep A booster.

Liberia is coded high risk on CDC world maps for just about every disease – AIDS, malaria, Hepatitis A/B/C, cholera, rabies, TB, worms and assorted other parasites and hemorrhagic viruses. I believe it was about at this point last year I had my first (and really only) bout of fear. Reading the descriptions of all the possible things that could go wrong and the grim assessment of the availability of any kind of health care is sobering. Fortunately, I am not easily freaked out or deterred.

Last year I fared well. I didn’t even get the traveler’s diarrhea that hits almost everyone. I pray that I can be so blessed again. I still have an unopened bottle if Immodium (not expired!) that I will take with me, as well as some Pepto and ipubrofen. I think just carrying it is some kind of insurance. I never used my Cipro last year – the super anti-biotic - so I left it behind. I’m quite sure someone was able to make good use of it.

We took lots of de-wormers, Tylenol, ibuprofen, vitamins and yeast meds everywhere we went. We handed them out as much as we could, and you would have thought we were tossing out gold coins. Such simple remedies can yield such powerful relief – especially to those for whom such things are completely unavailable.

For all the talk about the  state of the American health care system and how broken it is, let us be thankful for the access we have. Did you know there are only 3 surgeons in the whole country of Liberia? Seriously ill and injured wait (if they survive the wait) for mercy ships with doctors to make a stop off the shores of Liberia. Oh lord, have mercy!

Random thoughts for getting back on the wagon.

When I take a break from both running and (personal) blogging, my brain fills up like a trash can - eventually overflowing and making a pretty big mess. Don’t mind me while I start cleaning up a bit. I’ll start by picking up a few random thoughts I had today.

I’m wearing my new jeans from Old Navy today. Here’s what I love:

·         They are cheap, and I got them for extra cheap last night. Pretty soon they’ll be paying me to take clothes out of the store with all the sales and coupons swirling around this time of year. I prefer not to think of why they are so cheap. I make clothes, and it costs me more in materials than to buy them already made – not counting my labor. Yikes.

·         I love the super soft, lightweight denim fabric. It has a little bit of stretch and it is soft like flannel of chamois cloth. The dark rinse is just right.

·         Their sizing runs a little big, so I am able to buy a size that doesn’t make me want to weep with shame. They get extra super bonus points for this. I appreciate that all their styles come in a “short” (aka petite) version that is just the perfect length for me. I still have the same fit problems I have with pants globally-waist gaps in the back. Three kids and 47 years of hard livin’ later, I am thicker in the middle than I used to be, but still apparently too curvy to find pants that fit. Good thing I can do my own alterations.

Denial spoils my coffee drinking experience.

I was in Bodo’s getting a cup of coffee this morning. The woman ahead of me got her order, walked over to the “fixin’s” station – cream, sugar, napkins utensils, etc – then walked back to the counter and asked for a knife. The Bodo’s staffer pointed to the fixin’s station and very sweetly said, “They are right over there”, to which this woman responded, “Well they weren’t there before.”

Really? Just because you didn’t see them 3 seconds ago doesn’t mean they weren’t there. All of us within earshot were open mouthed, and I again wondered at the need for people to deny very simple obvious truth. How do you simply say, “That wasn’t there” or “I didn’t do that” in the face of overwhelming evidence and witnesses. Recent protestations by Jerry Sandusky and Herman Cain come to mind that made me spit my Bodo’s coffee in disbelief.

I amaze my own self sometimes.

One week ago today I was on my knees covered in shit, blood, and dog fur. My sweet old dog Max was convulsing with seizures. It was my son’s 8th birthday and I was catering the office Christmas party and expecting a house full of out-of-town guests that very evening in anticipation of a full weekend of birthday celebrating. It wasn’t until I called the vet to tell them I was bringing Max in that I lost my shit. Hearing the receptionist say, “Hello, Animal Medical Center” was the tug on the loose thread that quickly and completely unraveled me.

I had exactly the amount of time it took me to ride out one more seizure with him, bundle him up, drive him to the vet, and drive back home to wail and sob and howl with mascara all over my face like some bad B-movie actress. Then I had to pull it together, clean, cook, and be a delightful hostess and party guest while my husband attended the death of our beloved friend. I ground my way through it all. The office party was a success, the boy’s birthday party was 2 solid hours of high intensity, physicality and messy fun with a dozen rowdy children followed by a dinner party for 13 friends and family. I rocked it all, but it seems like a million years ago instead of a week. A dull throbbing sadness has replaced the white hot burst of hospitality. I wonder if I could ever reach the same level of intense productivity without being at battle stations?