Her Thoughts

She mulled over her thoughts on the porch.

A sparrow alighted on the lawn. Her eyes followed its movement. If only food and shelter were all she had to think of. Life was always so complicated. She reached for her mug of green tea. The gentle aroma levitated just beneath her nose. Its calming affect took hold of her senses. Just for a moment she was lost within it.

A pencil rolled to the floor with a clink.

Writing had always helped her in the past. It had always brought insight and satisfaction to her situation, no matter what it was. Her page was blank. Faded blue lines riveted on the white page bore a likeness to the stain on her life. It wasn't wrong: at least by society's standard. Her friends still thought of her highly, but that's what friends do today. Still, there it was that nagging feeling. Something is wrong.

Strong winds blew across the front porch.

She fingered the green pillow beside her, traced the green cushions. She loved sitting here. Her favorite seat amongst the whole house was an old black bench adorned in green cushions and pillows. Beside her, her seedlings popped beneath the soil, small tributes to life. Green cushions, green pillows, green tea, green seedlings. She loved the color green. She had put it together. It was her forte. She loved to decorate houses, rearrange everything . Oftentimes she would be teased about every new set up that she made. It occurred at least once every month if not more.

A sparrow returned to its nest unsuccessful in its hunt.

In fact, the only thing she could not rearrange was her life. She wanted something more. The fullness of life seemed to be just out of reach. Yet it remained unmoved. Was she afraid? Was she afraid to leave her present state? Or was it that she was afraid to arrive in a new state? She reflected on her past. She had the chance so many times. Yet every time, she passed by; a failure.

The wind rustled with the page in her hand.

Write? Write what? Write of failures and regrets? Write a memory of what could have been or will be? How unlike her to be mulling her thoughts in self pity and depression. The page remained blank. Perhaps it will for another week or so. The dishes need cleaning. Her husband will be home for lunch soon.

The screen door snapped behind her.

The Finer Things in Life.

We want the finer things in life. An elegant dress, the fancy restaurant, polished manners, the perfect date. There's nothing wrong with it. It is wonderful in fact. I spent this evening in a coffee shop. As I sipped my ice coffee and enjoyed myself for once this week, I picked up a a copy of Life: The classic collaboration. A compendium of photographs from the entirety of the company's existence were found between the leaves of pages. The best photos and photographers who had caught life at it's hardest, simplest and most beautiful moments. I lingered on the black and white photos from the mid 1940's Pictures of famous actresses between scenes; artists, unsuspected in the lures of life; and the poverty stricken scenes from a war ravaged country.

The mid 1900's would be the perfect place to live. I imagined myself in flouncy dresses and coifs, in an old ford on the way to be beach, or adorned with floor length elegance and tight up-does, enjoying a glass of chardonnay. What could have been! It would be wonderful: dance clubs and Jazz music, and propriety and manners! All of which I find lacking the the technology age I find myself in. Gladly would I change this laptop for a round of musical chairs and friends.

I imagine the elegance and simplicity of an age now only written about in books and wish I was there. I'll say goodbye to all 4 jobs and embrace the simple life of housewife, or maybe have one modeling job. Things were simple, and they seemed exactly as they were.

Glamour and elegance, simplistic and proper but turning the page brought a dark side, every era, every country faces. The ravages of war, poverty the slums. Sadly I mourned inside myself, page after page. Before me laid pictures of the poor, their lack of basic necessity. Even murder and death scenes all immortalized in a black and white photo. The occupants wore tear stained faces, the signs of depression and the utter lack of hope. They were at the bottom of life.

Some found joy, the relished in what they did have, and you could see it in their faces; The way they lit up for the camera. The 106 year confederate soldier was captured in the thralls of laughter a girl playing mother to her doll. The era was no different than my own. The emotions are the same. The problems are the same.

I admire that despite not having the finer things in life. People have found a way to hope, to live and to love, because that is what we are. It is a glorious creator to have made a most resilient people. I might fancy the look, but I rejoice in that everyday the Lord shows what this life is really about.

Garden breakfast sandwich

I love extremely simple things! And, contrary to my childhood, vegetables!!

Garden breakfast sandwich

2 English muffins

Slice cheese (optional)

sausage patty (optional)

4 eggs

1/4 c bell peppers

3 tblsp green onion

dash salt and pepper

1. Dice vegetables

2. Scramble eggs in bowl w/ wire whisk or fork

3. Pour in vegetables

4. Add salt and pepper

5. Scramble mixture over medium high heat; set aside

6. Cook sausage patty according to package instructions

7. Toast English muffin slices

Assemble ingredients in sandwich form and in 5 minutes you have a great breakfast!!

(disclaimer: Once finished the dish looks delic! But does not look like the picture above! My husband and I ate our sandwiches before I thought to take a picture, it was good!!)

Have a great day!

New year's Dilemma #1

Here is my dilemma: I love food.

Couple that with my favorite hobby, which happens to be food, and there you find a bad combination for a famous new year’s resolution.

I can’t help it and refuse to decline from it. I love food. I love cooking it, I love eating it, and I ‘ve recently rediscovered my love of baking! So how do I lose 50 pounds and still eat like the food junkie I am?

Just a second, to get things clear, let me explain my self. I love to taste. Taste is, I must say one of my favorite senses. Its that explosion of taste in my mouth that gives me pure glee. For example, I made fresh tomato pasta one night. You wouldn’t believe how simple it is. I mean the ingredients are quite literally tomato and herb! Even with simplicity, there is so much taste. Savour it with me. The tomato is juicy and slightly tangy. Your tongue plays with hints of parsley and thyme, and oregano! The herb is so fragrant, you can smell it from inside the cavities of your mouth.

You see, with such a delectable dish how could I, how could anyone torture themselves with a month long commitment to canned soup?

That’s just part of it. What of the cooking? I love cooking. Its wonderful to smell each ingredient as it is chopped on the cutting board and placed in a pot or pan. The crisp sizzle of olive oil and vegetables is delightful. The sound holds delectable notes of tasty things to come. The smells are wonderful, my kitchen erupts with aromas. After the preparation, the house smells of warm delicacies long after the meal has ended.

Then there’s baking....I could go on and on about this subject.... Food is not something to gourge on, that’s not what I’m trying to convey at all, but it is meant to be enjoyed. My favorite quote about food comes form the movie Kate & Leopold.

Leopold says that food is art. It is brought to the table and displayed for all to see and to taste. Because the art does not stop at sight, but becomes art for the tongue.

There is the underlying reason of why I love food, because it is art that touches so many senses. It practically becomes absorbed in your whole being. Sight, smell, taste, touch, even the sense of hearing, well, that is if the chef allows you in the kitchen. And no one can appreciate it most than it’s maker, the cook.

With a love affair like mine, how, why do I put mysef through torture? The why is easy. I need to lose 50 pounds for my self esteem. But how? I’ll let you know as soon as I clear out my pantry of soups.

Dirt

I associate dirt with the early childhood of young boys. Boys, Dirt, it just goes together. I am like my mother in that I am a clean freak. It's really not hard to believe. My motto is,"Everything has its place and should be put back when not used!" Dirt just belongs outside on the ground, underneath my shoes. It should not be on me, my pants or on top of my shoes and heaven forbid if I find more than necessary inside my home!

I found an article about research a group of scientists have discovered about our germ-i-o- phobe society. Children should play in the dirt. Lay off on the germ-x and go for the mud. Scientists discovered that the bacteria in dirt builds up a child's immunity. A number one reason, I think why we have allergies and annoying skin conditions like eczema. I myself am victim to both, and yet try to live in a blissful ignorance of the fact.

The medication makes my skin age faster than normal, bleh! and if it doesn't, it just does not work! Now I find that the solution is simple, to just play in the dirt! Well, I wish it was that simple. The thought of building mud pies is great when one you're five. But not at 21! I wonder if mud masque facials count?

visit: Children Should be Allowed to Play in the Dirt

Sized for Deception

 Here is my idea figure. Ridiculous, isn't it.   I'm not kidding.  I don't know any woman who is ever "kidding" about her outer appearance.   We may pretend to kid, but deep down there is always some unsettling feeling that makes our unsatisfaction quicken.   

My husband and I, for the past week and a half, have gone to the gym everyday.   Here is the part where the fitness experts shake their heads and sternly say, "...three times a week... you'll hurt yourself like that!" There is a brand new gym in our small town.  Both Chris and I were adamant about getting a gym membership after looking down at the growing pudges beneath our chests. We had tried the free way.   We went to the park for three days (these were spaced over a week) and then, well, we didn't go again.   Chris and I were too easily succumbed to the excuses we made for ourselves.  

There is something about a new facility that screams, "Use me!"  At least, it screamed that to me.  So began our week long (and hopefully much longer) love affair with the gym.  This gym had everything, not to mention the technological gadgets.   There was absolutely no excuse not to work out now. And it was 24/7!   We are late night people, and I really like the idea of going to the gym at 11 pm!  (Insomniac)

Last night as I stepped from the elliptical machine, I wondered, "Why?"   Why?  Because I want to look like that! (Picture)  Why is it that I am never satisfied with myself.  God gave me this body there's no reason I shouldn't be satisfied with it.   I have not taken good care of it as of late, but that's why I'm trying to reverse the effects I've achieved.   Once that is done, will I be happy with it, or will I find something else wrong with it?  My friends and I talk about this often, how we feel the need to be skinny and look good.  It's media pressure, but we can't get away from it, even if we turn off the cable. Our biggest topic is how we lament over what we looked like five years ago.  Isn't that true.  Don't we all do that.  So, why, again, can we not be happy with ourselves the way we are?  

Deception, lies, trickery.   It's all from that infamous angel we call Devil.  I imagine,  him in an overworked musky factory with lies at one end of the belt and then a pretty little package with our favorite color on the end.  (With our names on it, of course.) We see images of gorgeous women and hope, secretly, that one we will look like that. The truth of the matter is that that woman wasn't even a real picture, but a compilation or maybe a photo shopped image of the near perfect model.   Then we get pictures of the woman above in our minds and become so distressed when the results are not the same.  If you are anything like me, you proceed to gorge yourself on all the food that you denied yourself one month earlier.   

Years from now, I wonder if I will be doing the same thing to myself as now.   I might be sitting at a table, drinking coffee with friends and lamenting over how we looked those first years of marriage and wishing we were happy.  I won't be that person anymore. I'll be happy with what I have, and take care of it.   Life will be so much simpler!

Coming to Terms With Self

Looking out my back door window, I couldn't help but feel how perfect this morning is. It isn't your typical sunny morning. No. The sky is grey as gosling down feather. Clouds roll inconspicuously by in a flat painted finish. If the world was just as surreal, it would make one wonder about reality. In starking contrast trees and grass added the excitement in view. It is a hopeful, silent excitement. It's hard to describe. It's a feeling so rare, that I wonder if I am the only one to experience it. It has been raining, off and on. The recent tropical storms far south in the gulf are to be thanked for that. Most definitely, my newly budding flowers thank God for that. I haven't been the responsible gardener that I hoped to be when I planted their seeds. Staring at the scenery. A line from Howl's Moving Castles floats in among my fleeting thoughts. "Somehow, when you're old, all you want to do is stare at the scenery."

Old, no, I'm not old, but I've grown. It's been one year and a month since Chris and I were married. It was a happy year, full of change, excitement, even tears and sadness. It's enligtening, I find, to be thinking of the years in review. Thinking about what I once was as compared to now. I'm sure my friends see it. I'm not the shy young girl hiding behind books but a fully realized woman. I'm more apt to talk for one, I have more opinnions and don't fail share them with anyone around me. It was happiness that changed me. I find confidence in myself that I never knew was there. I find that I'm an actual person. It's strange how love changes things. Love and happiness, that Is.

A year ago, I had an agenda. I was to finish college, become an emerging artist, and be halfway, if not through a whole novel. I'm totally different. I've only finished my AA and oddly enough, I'm okay with that. Where once I thought that a degree means everything in this world including personal standing, now I think of moral standings and everything but intellect. I've finished a total of 3 canvases in the past year, not quite enough to make a name for myself. Those 3 canvases now hang on various walls in my house, or in my lesson area, all for my benefit. How selfish is that! And that novel, has about 4 pages to it, where in the last paragraph I lost my whole reason for writing.

I'm not the same person. I've changed more over the last few years than I've ever done in my whole life. For once in my life, I am certain about my future. I found that I love teaching. Perhaps that was the very gift that God gave me, but for all my selfish motives desired to cover it up, with so called, "declarations of independence." Contrary to what my mother told me, I love being the housewife. Here's the part where all the housewives tell me, "Just you wait another couple years!" But really, I love making the home, pleasing and comfortable. My motive, my husband. With all the stress he has had (good stress) he deserves to come home and unwind in a clean and uncluttered home. We have no worries about finances, a huge blessing! We are even looking to buy our first home in one year! The rest of my college career is planned out and waiting to happen. I have no complaints. I can't even complain about the weather.
I know, it will happen. All those not so wonderful moments in life, but maybe I'll remember that life's really not that bad in a larger view. In fact, It's pretty amazing.