Real SPAM

Well, apparently there is a real need for male enhancement. After all the "warrior of love might lose the battle" you know. And everyone is eagerly looking for the best deal on Viag*a, See Alice and other stuff.

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, I got this one.

Header: Are we Justified by Faith (Rom.) or by Works (James)?
Body: "How were the Old Testament saints saved? Meds

Now, I recently was looking for an outline for a study of the book of Romans and apparently, that information was mined from Google.

But, dude, seriously. How funny is that!

To find salvation in meds.

Hmmm. Maybe it's not quite as funny as I originally thought.

Fighting Words

The other day G-d and I had words. Well, I had words and amidst all the shouting I'm sure He couldn't get a word in edgewise.

Life doesn't always go according to plan and there are moments when it all piles up to the point where only some really strong language and loud voices can express the incomprehensible nature of it all.

Do I think G-d was offended? Is it blasphemous to speak this way to the Almighty? Does this mean I don't honor and respect Him?

No. No. No.

I know G-d can handle the raw anger thrown His way a whole helluva a lot better than, say, my husband or my children. He never interrupts or brings up that one time in Mexicali when... or how His mother was so much more perfect than I could ever be.

He let me yell until I was done and then He whispered. His whisper rolled across my bitter little heart and slivers and sharp edges, thorns and barriers melted away.

Grace is like that.

No, the circumstances haven't changed and yes, I'm still pissed because life is just plain unfair.

As I sat in the weak light of a slivered moon and my voice finally died away to nothing, He whispered to me. He told me the darkness is just as much a beginning as the dawn and He told me I needed to hold on tight. He assured me He's not going anywhere.

I'm fighting mad. And broken and weak. My life didn't dramatically change. No knight in shining armor came to save the day.

See, apparently those words weren't about getting my way but about getting real with G-d. Down to the gooey center. Down to the ugly bits.

Was G-d ok with that?

When I was finally quiet, He showed me the stars.

I think we'll be ok.

For Pablo & Wonder Woman

FROM THE MANITOBA TIMES

The flood of American liberals sneaking
across the border into Canada has intensified in the past
week, sparking calls for increased patrols to stop the illegal immigration. The actions of President Bush are prompting the exodus among left-leaning citizens who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, and agree with Bill O'Reilly.

Canadian border farmers say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, animal-rights activists and Unitarians crossing their fields at night.

'I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a
Hollywood producer huddled in the barn,' said Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota . The producer was cold, exhausted and hungry. He asked me if I could spare a latte and some free-range chicken.' When I said I didn't have any, he left.

Didn't even get chance to show him my screenplay, eh?' In an effort to stop the illegal aliens, Greenfield erected higher fences, but the liberals scaled them. So he tried installing speakers that blare Rush Limbaugh across the fields. 'Not real effective,' he said. 'The liberals still got through, and Rush annoyed the cows so much they wouldn't give milk.'

Officials are particularly concerned about smugglers who meet
liberals near the Canadian border, pack them into Volvo station wagons, drive them across the border and leave them to fend for themselves. 'A lot of these people are not prepared for rugged conditions,' Ontario border patrolman said. 'I found one carload without a drop of drinking water.They did have a nice little
Napa Valley cabernet, though.' When liberals are caught, they're sent back across the border, often wailing loudly that they fear retribution from conservatives.

Rumors have been circulating about the Bush administration establishing re-education camps in which liberals will be forced to drink domestic beer and watch NASCAR races.

In recent days, liberals have turned to sometimes-ingenious ways of crossing the border. Some have taken to posing as senior citizens on bus trips to buy cheap Canadian prescription drugs. After catching a half-dozen young vegans disguised in powdered wigs, Canadian immigration authorities began stopping buses and quizzing the supposed senior-citizen passengers on Perry Como and Rosemary Clooney hits to prove they were alive in the '50s. 'If they can't identify the accordion player on The Lawrence Welk Show, we get suspicious about their age,' an
official said.

Canadian citizens have complained that the illegal immigrants are creating an organic-broccoli shortage and renting all the good Susan Sarandon movies. 'I feel sorry for American liberals, but the Canadian economy just can't support them,' Ottawa resident said. 'How many art-history majors & lawyers does one country need?'

Forgive me reader,

For I've been busy...

It's been 9 days since my last post.

I'll be back.

Eventually!

Ralphie

I never met Ralph. He was 5 when he died and yet his life has impacted so many. Particularly at this time of the year.

His parents when Christmas shopping that one day in December. It was the late 40's and Jimmy, Eva & L.A. were babysitting while they were gone. Jimmy was only 9 and thought he would impress his neighbor friend by showing off his daddy's gun.

The neighbor kid got excited, the gun went off and Ralphie died on his mommy's pillow. Jimmy, Eva and L.A. were left, all less than 12, to find out how to contact their parents, what do you do with a little one who doesn't have a head anymore and what to expect when daddy comes home. See, daddy "spanks" with chains. Yes, chains. There were no phones in their 3 room house and they lived out in the country. The neighbor boy ran home and that's the last I ever heard of him. Although he most definitely lived with that moment for the rest of his life. Where ever he may be.

The parents came home, the baby boy was buried and the pastor came to visit the grieving family. I use the term pastor loosely because the ill-intent and cruelty this man exhibited is beyond anything I can imagine.

He sat in their house and said their little blond boy died because they were Christmas shopping. He said Ralphie's death was G-d's judgment for their sin.

Now, in my opinion, that should have been when Daddy jumped up and kicked the shit out of Brother so and so, but well, he didn't. They didn't. They bought the lie and enforced it on all six of their remaining children. There would be no Christmas. No presents, no candy, no lights, no tree. Nothing. Christmas was evil. We would pretend it wasn't happening.

Five years ago Jimmy, Eva, Paul and Everett sat down by their mother's bedside and exchanged gifts for the first time in almost 60 years. Did it bring healing? Was it the moment they were all waiting for? Probably not. Their children grew up never celebrating the Christmas season with extended family and didn't get or expect gifts from the grandparents. Simply wasn't done.

How long does a mother hold on to grief? When Ralphie's mommy died this last September, Paul's wife found baby booties and a cap wrapped in tissue paper a nd tucked carefully away in the bottom of her dresser. It somehow didn't seem right to bury her without those small momentos she'd carried all those years.

That's when Eva found where Ralphie was buried and for the first time in over 60 years, sat at his little marker and thought about the little boy who wasn't ever growing older.

Christmas. It's a mish-mash of emotions for so many. A time of gimme and grabbing, of celebrating and too much champagne. A time of sharing and family. For many.

But for many, my family included, it has often been a time of shame and despair. A time where you struggle simply to go through the motions without ever having the hope of the elaborate celebrations we saw all around us.

We didn't spend lavishly on gifts. One singular year I got hairspray and a toothbrush. There wasn't a lot of money to go around. $5 max on gifts. The trees were leftover from after school broke for the holidays. And once we even decorated a gigantic sage brush. Have you ever seen a 8' flocked sage brush with Christmas lights on it? Yeah. Amazing.

Eva, my mom, never seemed quite comfortable with the whole Christmas thing and was especially anti-Santa. You do know Satan and Santa have the same letters, right? Perhaps she thought if we could just get it right G-d wouldn't be mad at us. Perhaps she was trying to regain something she'd lost so long ago.

When my boys were born we had the opportunity to make our own traditions. I still couldn't make Christmas be the Big Deal it seemed like it was supposed to be. Residual guilt from Grandma?

Perhaps that's why it has been such a relatively pain free decision to observe Hanukkah and let Christmas go. Don't get me wrong, we still remember the birth of our Messiah. We remember His advent around October during the Feast of Tabernacles. But now, when we celebrate the Feast of Dedication and as we give gifts and have family time, there is no taint of Christmas' past.

It's difficult to lay Ralphie to rest. But it is vital to see his death for what it truly was. A tragic accident. A horrible, incalculable loss. An unforgettable event for so many who have had to pay year after year. Over and over again.

We have all paid. All 100+ of us within the close family tree. And you will continue to pay until you learn to choose not to but to try to comprehend. We can't ever understand on this plane. But when we can comprehend what truly happened, then we can, soberly, move on.

What is Hanukkah anyway?

And why should anyone care about some old Jewish tradition from a few thousand years ago?

Well, the pastors of our congregation Beit Brit, House of Covenant, did an excellent job sharing the history, historical relevance and modern day application of this Feast of Dedication. I thought I might share it with you. If you have speakers on your computer and about 1 to 1 1/2 hours you might just enjoy what Adam & John have to say. And if you listen carefully you'll hear my dulcet tones making perceptive, discerning, insightful and sometimes ridiculous comments.

12-1-07 Hanukkah

Enjoy!

PS. If the link doesn't work, go to House of Covenant and follow the Messages link in the side bar. The Hanukkah message is the most recent message at the top of the page.

A Lovely Salad

I don't usually share recipes. Not because I hoard them but because I rarely measure and forget what I put in stuff.

But! Just so you can share this gastronomical moment with me? I offer

PBPG Salad

Diced Pears
Pomegranate seeds
Dried Blueberries
Crumbled Gorgonzola
Candied Walnuts
Chopped Romaine

Dressing:

2 parts rice wine vinegar & raspberry vinager
1 part canola oil
Just enough sugar to sweeten, could also use maple syrup if you want to.
Dash or two of salt.
Dash white pepper

Put in jar and shake it up around the kitchen.

Toss salad.

Enjoy with a lovely Syrah and multigrain bread

Ahhh! That was nice.

Reeeeaaallly!

Check out what I held today...

I have a really cool job. I have impressed my husband and my sons. This is not exceptionally hard to do, but I believe I also impressed my boss as I carefully examined the legs, wings and body of a stunned and loopy young owl. No, the thought of CPR didn't cross my mind. He'll hopefully be picked up by the bird of prey rehabilitator in our community. If he makes it through the night. He was surprisingly soft and obviously stunned. There was no external trauma so we just wait.

Seriously. How cool is that!!! Ya'll can call me Ace. Ventura that is.

Only without the bad hair, freaky clothes and skinny legs. I also have normal sized teeth.

Ok. Don't call me Ace Ventura.

Doolittle?

De ja vu`

I have dreams. Most of them are really stupid and not worth mentioning. But every once in a great while I will have a dream so tangible I walk up disoriented because I am in my own bed and not where I thought I should be.

I really should start paying more attention to those dreams. They come true.

The first one I had was of a 2 year old chubby little blond haired boy in a daddy's t-shirt on the beach.

5 years later, my first son lived that little snippet of time in front of us in Ventura, California.

This bit of deja vu is just a routine part of my life. It usually works with me getting up and talking to my husband about the wild dream I just had. Then we forget it.

Until it comes to pass.

It used to freak me out badly but now I just consider I must be on track with what G-d wants for my life. They merely reinforce I am where I am supposed to be.

I can't tell you what my latest vivid dream was. Rather, I won't. Suffice it to say I didn't think much of it until Sunday afternoon when I was walking Teddy back to his stall. As we passed the gates to the arena, I looked over at this big red gelding in his green and purple blanket and was so stunned I almost had to stop.

I dreamed this moment 2 years ago. At that point it seemed so far from reality I had to laugh when I told my husband. Because, truly, why on earth would I be taking this beautiful horse, in a premier facility and putting him away! I couldn't imagine I would ever be in that environment. How silly.

Indeed.

Yet, on Sunday, as I paused for a moment with Teddy in the dim light of a closed down barn I was struck, chillingly, with the thought of how many of these dreams have come true. These moments in time.

I don't want the last one to come true. Please, G_d. Not this one. It could be 2 years, 5 years or more. I don't know. I know how old some of the people are and that's enough to send me spinning. Let's just say I've been doing some prioritizing and I'm not real interested in non-essentials.

I didn't ask for this perspective, this vision, these peeks into the future. Maybe this time it was just funky pizza...

I can hope.

Can't I?

Thanksgiving

I do menus. Often several weeks in advance. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Every day. There are four people in my house for three meals, seven days a week. Two of them are "little people" who are never full and always asking "Mom, what's for ****?"

So, I do menus.

This is our Thanksgiving menu.

Appetizer:

Wild Salmon Pate on nine grain crackers, crudites and probably some kind of fruit. Pears lightly poached in Riesling and honey, if I'm feeling adventurous.

Dinner:

Turkey, glazed with orange juice, stuffed with apples and oranges. Basted compulsively until done perfectly.

Cornbread stuffing, green bean casserole, potato rolls, mashed potatoes, corn with herb butter, giblet gravy, and amaretto cranberry relish.

Served with a light and refreshing Gewurstraminer or sparkling cider.

Dessert:

Maple Pecan Pumpkin Cheesecake, Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie, maybe Apple Pie if I'm in the mood for it. French press organic shade grown espresso roast coffee with cream or mulled cider.

The only remotely "pre-made" item? The green bean casserole. Everything else is , as they say, "from scratch".

So, why do I tell you all this? Is it to brag? To boast of my culinary skill? Of course it isn't. I'd invite you all if you weren't all scary and stuff cuz you're on that there Internet. :)

You'll just have to understand I won't be around much until next week. First the cooking, then the feasting and then the repenting will just consume all my time!

I start cooking tonight and I will finish sometime around Thursday afternoon.

So, I'm off to make cranberry sauce.

And drink some vanilla cream liqueur. I think I need it after today.

Good Night

Goodnight.
What a day this has been
What a day tomorrow
Shall be

Goodnight.
For all the moments
Have taken their toll
On me.

Mon frere, mes amis
Au revoir, Adieu
Aufweidersehn
Buona notte

Bonne nuit.
Goodnight.

G-d grant you peace as you rest.

The Reality

I was only about 11. The holidays had come again. I stood along the wall and watched, always watching. Their smiles and laughter seemed a million miles away. Completely unattainable. Out of my reach. They were having such a great time. They sparkled with life and vivacity.

As I stood there a deeper realization began to dawn. I wasn't ever going to be a part of that. I wasn't invited. I wasn't welcome. I wasn't included. Hell, I wasn't even noticed.

Unless...

Unless I made myself integral to the process and valuable for the "event". Then I would be included. Well, not "me" necessarily. Not my thoughts, convictions or perspectives. Not my hopes and dreams. I could sacrifice being personally welcome if I could "work my way in".

At least I wouldn't be alone.

I learned early the value of being a commodity. Meeting the needs for everyone else was my ticket in. The knowledge and abilities about problem solving and organization I brought to the table were of far greater importance than any intrinsic value I might have simply because I was a member of the family, part of the church. Name the event. If I was willing to work twice as hard for half the result and be happy with it, I could move away from the wall and join the "party".

This makes me a great employee. I understand it's not "personal". I am paid to to a job according to the standards of my employer and to excel means doing what I'm told as perfectly as I am able.

This makes me extremely cynical about relationships. I understand the formula. I know my place. I call, make plans, serve well, entertain by tailoring an "event" to the personalities of the persons involved and I have become valuable. Well, not me really. See, I'd have to sit down long enough to talk and share my heart for me to show myself. Great food? I can do that. Hospitable environment? I can do that. Schmooze? Make you feel like a million bucks? Yep. Work hard to make your dream come true? Been there, done that.

I can watch a group of people and respond to them according to their obvious needs. Men and women have many obvious needs in common. Ask about life. Offer a sympathetic face. Compliment intelligence (when appropriate). Compliment spouses and children. Encourage their lives and reinforce their value and relevance to *name the situation/ environment/ circumstance.

1+1=2. Every time.

Be sincere. Don't flatter. If she's in sweats and her hair is up don't tell her she looks radiant. Rather, sympathize with how busy her life must be. If he's got a bright, crisp shirt on and his hairs combed? "My, aren't you all dashing today! Taking the wife out?"

Deflect. Deflect. Deflect. "How am I? G-d is good, isn't He? Don't you love...." Which leads to another conversation which will quickly revolve around the other person. And they will walk away feeling "heard" and "important" and "valued". Which causes them to develop/maintain a positive response to me. Without them knowing or even bothering to know a damn thing about me.

I've a couple of friends I can think of who are probably sick of hearing me talk about my life. I suppose it's because they are the only one's who will hear about my life from my perspective. They are the ones who have proven, through investment in me, that they actually don't give a rats ass about what I "do for them" and truly care about who I am. Whether I perform or not.

Even you, dear blog reader, would fade if I quit writing or posting. To engage you I must produce.

This is the legacy I live with. The legacy of the childhood victim who was never given the opportunity to develop her own personality but was traded as a cold-blooded "commodity". I am learning, as an adult, to stop and evaluate whether the person with whom I am interacting is actually interested in me or what I can provide for them.

I don't mind being consumable. I just don't offer much to be consumed to those who don't care. When I've spent all I can on them? The door closes.

That's when I find out if I'm right about them or not. It's tragic how often those who most loudly declare their undying affection and concern are the least likely to spend any of their own energy, resources or effort on the very thing they have shouted from the rooftops.

It's amazing how quickly the phone doesn't ring and how quietly those individuals fade away.

Unless I am willing to offer again a service which they find valuable and offer them the product for their consumption.

Cynical? Maybe.

Realist? Maybe.

Survivalist? I don't know how else to live.

Heidi's Quote of the Day

Liberal:

It's not about personally having a conscience, it's about being the conscience for everyone else.
Or at least talking about it a lot.

Conservative:

It's about having a conscience, listening to it and doing something with it, even if no one else is. Especially if no one else is.

If only this actually meant something...

Get a Cash Advance

Feeling as I do about the standardized and publically funded educational system in toto this is barely a compliment.

Got it from Doom

The Offense

Office Max, Staples, Office Depot... They all hate me. I can tell every time I walk into those stores. I can barely handle the blatant disregard for my identity and their complete lack of respect for my ethnic heritage.

Weathermen, hell the Weather Channel hates me and looks down upon me. As though I can help not having a different quantity of melanin in my epidermis. I wish they were more sensitive to my needs and weren't so damn offensive all the time.

What's this about?

I can barely speak the words.

White out.

Just reading the words is blatantly obvious to everyone that this product is a slap in the face to any melanin challenged person who dares to avoid a tanning booth.

Can't you just feel the disregard? Thousands of years of repressed aggression from my epidermically enhanced and superior melanin producing brothers and sisters have finally culminated in an insidious attack upon my very DNA.

White out.

How can I possibly overcome this insult to my person-hood? This riding roughshod over the right to genetic identity I carry deeply embedded within the very core of my soul.

How could you not know that such a phrase would be offensive? Duh! There are white folks everywhere who are being mocked by office assistants and data entry professionals all over the world.

We are being told to "get out". That we can't be "in" we are "out".

These are my feelings on the subject. And because they are my feelings you can't say a thing about it.

Because then we'll have to talk about how unfair and prejudicial not to mention down right arrogant it would be for you to devalue the enormity of my emotional response.

Then you might be intolerant.

There, I said it. Intolerant. If you dare to question me or my beliefs, you are intolerant.

Intolerant. Intolerant. Intolerant.

I think I need to go lie down. The stress of this entire conversation has just exhausted me.

Prayer Request

Please pray for Becky.

She's a young woman who attends our congregation. Last night she was hit by a car and is currently in the hospital. I don't know what the extent of her injuries are, but there has been bruising to the brain and blood loss.

Remember her mother, stepfather and her teenage autistic brother who, I'm sure, is going beserk right now.

Thanks.

Spun Sugar & Thunderstorms

Have you ever felt this fragile in a world that seems

more like this?

Another one of those darn quizzes

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Marriage Advice

Earl and Bubba are quietly sitting in a boat fishing, chewing and drinking beer when suddenly Bubba says, 'I think I'm gonna divorce my wife - she ain't spoke to me in over 2 months.'

Earl spits, sips his beer and says, 'Better think it over, women like that are hard to find.'

Marriage

J was sleeping with the karate teacher and A wondered why he wasn't getting any. T was sleeping with R and their spouses wondered what the hell happened. D liked to find satisfaction on the internet and A got angry. A found a bunch of guys at work and D felt justified by the decision to fly solo with copious quantities of visual aids. A was lonely while R was sleeping with the FOSTER BOYS!

What the hell, folks! What the hell! These people are REAL. Folks I have considered friends and all, every last freakin' one of them professing believers. Several in full-time ministry.

At different points in their marriages they all really liked each other. They all have children and attended church regularly. Volunteered above and beyond. Not just benchwarmer Christians but the kind you ask to be deacons. Most of them. Until... TSHTF

You know what this tells me? Marriage is a system where you never "arrive" but always, every day, evaluate and work your ass off to make today better than yesterday. Both of you. No one gets a pass.

I'm tired of the whiny wives who look like shit most days and wonder why their husbands aren't interested in pursuing them. I am sick of the Flannel Nazi men who treat their wives like crap and then wonder why the Mrs. isn't interested in him.

But you know what I am sick of the most? All this psychobabble bitching about "my needs". Felt needs, unconscious needs, intimacy needs and emotional needs and then the "obvious" but not really needs.

Let's talk about needs. You need to breathe, eat some protein, consume a variety of minerals and vitamins and drink water. You don't really "need" clothes but polite society demands it. You need shelter of some kind to survive but you don't need that big house. You don't need three vehicles and you really don't need someone to wait on you hand and foot.

My s-i-l has a new friend. He sounds like a nice guy, I guess. He made my m-i-l's happy list because he "takes care of her" and "makes sure she's happy all the time". Gag.

My husband's job isn't to make me happy. It's really nice when it happens, but not necessary. He works to provide for me and there have been been plenty of times in the last 13 years when he's pissed me off so bad I can't see straight while working diligently to take make sure my needs were taken care of. It's his job to be the objective voice of reason when I can't see the vision for our life together. It's my job to be his objective voice of reason when he's stuck in that same spot.

We are each other's biggest fan and the quickest way to get me to write you completely off? Treat him badly.

Marriage isn't a magic pill that throws us into a state of perpetual bliss and sexual nirvana. Marriage is the hardest and most amazing work I've ever done. Marriage is two completely different and complex individuals with their own baggage coming together and blending. Sort of like the San Andreas fault hitting its sides together on some days but the end result is one life out of two lives.

So, here's to marriage when he's an ass and she's a bitch and you still kiss each other goodnight. Here's to marriage when you take turns staying up with the offspring who has puked for 2 days straight. Here's to those who have been married long enough to experience "empty nest" and actually still have date night. Here's to the wife who doesn't encourage the guy who flirts with her in line at the bank or offers to buy her a drink on "girls night out". She's trustworthy. Here's to the husband who can treat women with politeness but doesn't cross the line into familiarity. He's trustworthy. Here's to holding hands when nothing else works and keeping alive the hope that tomorrow may bring a solution today simply isn't offering.

And to the newbies who don't have a clue and think it's all about how great they feel and how happy he makes her?

Good luck with that!