The Coffee Connoisseur

I think I'll have a Vanilla hazelnut mocha with a dip of espesso a shot of amaretto and white chocolate flavoring with whole milk. That cinnamon roll looks really good. Can you put that in the coffee too?   Don't forget it must be fair trade. 

--God

He's got the tastebuds to know each flavor. I wonder what e=he would really get in a coffee shop?

Black no cream, is this from the the southern border of sumatra or the south eastern region?

No maybe he'd say something more like this. 

Wow.    

That smells really good.

I think I'll have some of that.  

Ooooo, and are these chocolate covered espresso beans?

Hmmm......4 no, 7, no, I'll keep a running tab on those.  

Espresso beans on me!

Do you think there's a coffee shop in heaven?  I'd love to have Coffee with God.  

Stop and Smell the Flowers

Walmart has a coffee aisle. It is practically a coffee lover's paradise in the middle of the grocery store.  Every once in awhile you would see random people bend over to smell the individual aromas. Awkward, right?   I'm one of them.  I love the coffee aisle. The smells, the robust aroma's of whole bean coffee: it's all so wonderful.   

I found that I became true coffee lover when I took a whiff of a bean called foglifter.   No. It wasn't delicious.   In fact it smelled just like it sounded.   It smelled like a dank northern fog at 8:30 in the morning.  It would not find itself in my cup of coffee.  In fact that day I proceeded to smell up close and personal each coffee bean that was availible there.  To my surprise out of eight I only liked two.   Vanilla and A Hazelnut blend.   I've never been a picky person, up until now.   My guess is that it happens when you find the one flavorful good thing that just changes your world.   I don't know what it was for me.  I know it was just things that I would not eat. Those things that did not smell quite good.   

It has everything to do with your senses.   Not too long ago I read a book called "The Shack"   It was very good.  A friend in Bible college recommended it.  He said it made him look closer at the things in christianity that we take for granted.  The biggest thing I got out of it was creation.   By creation I mean full force creation starting at your senses.   

I am a preschool teacher at our church.   Just recently we finished a section on God created me. My favorite lesson was the one about senses.   We played with it all, touch, sight, sound, smell, and taste.   We felt ridges on rocks and the smooth underside of a leaf we used sound to recognize the voices of our friends and smell to sniff candles and scents.   And taste....well, taste was snack time and I can't be sure if the children actually tasted their food as it skipped their tongue to plop into their hungry bellies. 

Taste is my favorite sense. Taste is the pinnacle of all the other senses because it involves the other senses.   You smell it and touch it( Especially if it's spaghetti!) You see it  and if your momma cooked it, you hear it crackling and spiffing on the stove.   Then finally, lastly, comes the taste.  It's a culmination of all the other senses.   Try eating food when your nose is stuffed. Everything is bland and lacks color so to speak.   There was one week that I became very sick in college.  My mother came up to see me.  She also brought a whole chicken and broth and vegetables to make chicken soup.   My nose was stuffed and I had that sickly feeling in the back of my throat.  So eating the chicken soup was not the best experience.  I was grateful for Mother's love and kindness but I just could not bring myself to eat it. It stayed in my fridge for the next month until I finally tossed with the garbage.  I won't eat chicken soup now, all because I was sick when I ate it and all I can remember is that sickly feeling in the back of my throat.   Mother's cooking is great, there's flavor and balance and it's just wonderful, even her chickens soup.  But I can't eat it.

 In the shack, the author portrayed the Holy Spirit as a seemingly sporadic happy being that loved to grow her garden in fractals.  A fractal is a complex design that makes no sense at all but stepping back it makes perfect sense.  Chris told me that I am, act like and would love fractals.  I agreed with him. The book led me to think that God's creation is a fractal...I mean do yo know how messy the rainforest looks when you're on the ground? All those vines random spots for trees, even our forest here.   Oh, and the ultimate example ... us.   Women seem to be notorious for being a fractal.  Men are just as fractal as we women are.   And it's beautiful.   Senses are fractal on a small scale.   

 I went to a candle party last weekend. The hostess had a basket of candles on the middle of the floor.  My friends and I smelled each scent at least five times.  It was crazy fun. But all those smells together were overwhelming.  When we left I felt that my nose was intoxicated from so many smells, like it was hyped on caffeine. Each smell was unique and lovely.  Some were down right awkward, but I still loved to smell them.    

God gave us senses to enjoy his world.   Like enjoying a cup of coffee takes at the very least a good 45 minutes ( 30 in the winter) Enjoying God's creation takes one moment of every chance you get. Slow and steady, don't rush by it, don't ignore it, or don't bypass it with an unseeing eye.  Stop and look.  It makes me smile, just like a big hug from the Father himself. There's a reason why God gave us senses. 

A Cat Indiana Jones

    My cat, Callie decided to go on an adventure this afternoon.  Is it some innate conspiracy within a cat's mind that drives it to curiosity? 

 Or is it just with my cat.   We had just come home from lessons that morning and everything was perfect.   The perfect mess on the coffee table and the perfect mess of computer cords next to the window.  My husband sat there moseying online and getting the latest update from our circle of friends on Twitter. Just a typical Saturday afternoon.  

A few minutes later the sound of cupboards slamming and nudging of tile caught my attention. Callie.   If it's not one thing, it's another.  So I hurry to the kitchen and she's not there.   Callie had jumped from the kitchen counter to the fridge and climbed into our ceiling.   We live in a loft apartment connected to another loft apartment and there's an opening behind the ceiling tiles into our neighbor's kitchen. Chris assured me that she would be alright, that she would come out when she wanted.  That was before both of us heard the ruckus next door. Apparently Callie had climbed through the open braces in between the apartments and fell through our neighbor's ceiling. She cried and cried and we couldn't get to her.   

Now I love this cat.  She's sort of been my baby ever since we adopted her last December.   AND I COULDN"T DO ANYtHING. It's a horrible feeling to fear and wonder about the welfare of your loved ones. I know Callie's just a cat but she's our cat and that makes all the difference in the world.   Our neighbor's not home, she hasn't been all afternoon.  I'm grateful the dog is locked up and I pray to God she is alive and well.   The dog didn't bark when Callie fell through the ceiling so I ask myself if she is even alive.   The fear is an unfounded one, but honestly I don't know what I would do if she were.  What if our neighbor washed dishes before she left and left knives in the sink, oh gosh, I hope she's okay.   She's stopped crying, she doesn't even meow. I hope she's alright. If she is, I hope she has sense enough not to use the bathroom without a litter box or break anything or make a mess and when we get her back she's going to get the biggest lesson ever or maybe just lots of loving.   I miss her. The house is so empty without her. We've been waiting for hours for our neighbor to return home.   She couldn't have gone far her dog is still there and he needs to get out too. I find myself jumping to look out the window every time a car drives by.   So far I've cut out construction paper shapes for preschool at church tomorrow and watched CSI and sat in silence.  Chris assures me that she's okay but how does he know?  I think I heard her meow a little while ago. 

After waiting 4 hours or so our neighbor shows up and we meet her at the door with our wild tale.   Imagine coming home to that! After much searching we find her cowering in my neighbor's box spring mattress.   All's well that ends well.  Of course being a cat she's perfectly fine.  It's kind of nice though. She's been really attached to us ever since that happened!

:D

Pita Day 2

I made Pita Bread the other night.   My next agenda is to figure out how to cut the opening in it without tearing the bread to peices................

Passion. Love

I'm baking bread.

I love baking bread.  Not from the betty crocker box, but starting with the flour.  I make it from scratch.  Nothing can replace the fine grainy feel between  my creases or the stickiness that plasters itself inside my fingers.   The warm wafts of rising yeast beneath my hands energizes my soul. The smell reminds of the one time that I had walked through a beer brewery.  The smell of fermented yeast lingered strongly in my nasal cavity. It's strength broke me.  I passed the walk without breath and was relieved when my lungs coughed up the last of the brewery. I didn't know that years later my kitchen would have the same smell.   It's not strong, not like the brewery smelled.  But it's definitely there; that splendid delicious smell. 

Mother made bread making sound long and tedious. Above all it was painful.   I believed her until a day of boredom met my own curiosity. It became just the opposite.  The mixing and kneading became signs of nurtured love. I watched with learned patience as cornflakes of dough molded together to form the perfect consistency. Gently and firmly my wrist would raise and fall as I pushed  the heel of my hand into the growing elasticity. It became pure splendidness as the stickiness fell away to smoothness. 

Dough is unlike play dough.   As a young girl play dough was the activity I only got to play outside of my home.  I could spend hours molding it's smoothness into little figurines and shapes of my imagination. I was careful. Any sudden jerk would tear the play dough pieces.   Dough wasn't like that. It was one mass, completely one, inside and out.  Dough is one like my husband and I are one and like the trinity is one.   I marvel at its material and think, "There is nothing else like this." The recipe called for ten minutes of kneading but I made it into fifteen minutes.   No matter.   Now we wait.   Half hour after half hour I take turns letting the bread rise and then knead then rise and knead. I've discovered this to be a delicate process.  There can not be too much of one step or else the bread won't bake right. 

I wonder if God had made us the same way.  Really, he makes us that way.   We are born, we grow, we learn, we grow and so on and so on.    The bread will be done in just a few minutes.  For us it takes a lifetime.  A lifetime?   Is a lifetime possibly enough?   Could we ever stop learning and growing?   I imagine that we never do.  I imagine that the process of discovering is an unending wonder for us.   Is it possible for our great creator to do the same?   He is the beginning of all things; does he wonder? I can't find answer to that question.  Maybe he finds it hard to wonder at things like stars and changing seasons, just because he orchestrates every movement.   Does he wonder at us;  The one being on earth that holds free will from day to day? I am blessed and pleased at the actions and thoughts of the people in my life.  Perhaps God is the same.   It's nice to think that we make him smile and even laugh. 

So it's been awhile and what has started out a way to begin my freelancing career has turned into a major flop.    It's funny how certain things just happen.   Like I just happen to get writer's block once I decide that I want to write for a living.  I write in my journal and that's about it.   Honestly, it's really easy to write in a journal that you know is for your eyes only.   But writing for an audience? What part of my life would someone want to know about or what part of my life would I feel comfortable sharing with the whole of God's earth.    

Yeah, that's not going very well. 

But drawing is. Can't say much for painting. I drew this great picture of a silhouette playing the upright bass.  I was proud of it, you could really feel the movement in the picture, it's great.    

I'm not writing and i'm not drawing much... my life consists mainly of preschool, and piano lessons.  I love to teach children, absolutely.  It's the best thing in the world. I've got a theory book to write for my students....it's so hard to write instructional books, especially on things that seem so obvious to the seasoned musician.   

Yesterday Chris and I went to Montgomery.  He's on his 2 wk vacation and that was our mini vacation.   It was so much fun, seriously, I don't remember the last time we had this much fun.   We didn't plan anything besides where we were going and how much to spend.   It was great.  We ice skated for the first time and I discovered that I have  muscles in my feet that really really ache!   We shopped in randomn funny stores and our favorites and we ate a cookie while watching the zambooni clean the ice!   The rest of the day was spent walking at east chase mall and exploring the local craft store. We watched a movie in the Rave ( Yes, Man--I wouldn't recommend it) and had dinner at a gas station.  All the while we freezed!   Both of us bought extra sweaters to keep us warm! It was so much fun!  

From now on, all vacation are to be planned as little as possible!!!

Stuck in a pothole and I can't get up. Or may be it is that I don't want to get up. I've had such a horrible day thus far, that being stuck in a pothole is not the worst thing in the world. It seems that I can not go anywhere, or do anything right.

This morning was a beautiful morning; fresh out of a fairy tale.
I awoke in blue polka dotted covers and rolled to the side to bury my nose in Kitty's feathered furr. From her a soft purr greeted me with her sleepy good morning.

How I could not help but smile! Oh, today was a good day I could feel it in my toes! They tingled and wriggled with anticipation. Today would definitely be a good day.

I jumped from the bed and landed with a thump in front of my black and green chest of drawers. My red dress, that would be perfect for a wonderful day!

But standing in the mirror there was something missing. A coat or a hat or a scarf! A scarf! that's what I need! From the mirror I plucked a bright striped scarf and notted it loosely around my neck. Kitty meowed her own approval and followed me down the wooden stairs, hop by hop.

Breakfast was grand I must say, (as i cooked it myself). The eggs were runny, but not too runny; just enough to slide down my throat. The butter was golden on a loaf of my favorite italian bread. And the grits were cheesy. It's the only way to eat them like a proper individual, as my grandmother told me. Kitty and I shared the bacon. I hoarded the greasy bits while she knawed on the raw left overs. After a glass of orange juice, I slipped on my shoes and went for a walk down the street.

Mrs. Leptin was there at her mailbox. Good morning," I said. "Good Morning," She said, " What a lovely morning! The roses are blooming so vibrantly!" They're Gorgeous," i replied coddling the buds and flowers. " I'm off into town and maybe the fair, would you come along?" Iasked my neighbor. " Oh know, such a lovely day, I must spend with my flowers!"

My invitation declined I have to admit I was a little disheartened. Nontheless, it would still be a lovely day. I gathered Kitty into her basket and together we went into town.

The shops were just opening. The atmosphere had an excited air. Some shopowners sniffed the air for possible customers while others looked about cheerily and waved Good Mornings toward Kitty and I.

Straight to the Fountain then walk to the left, you'll end up standing in my store window. It's not much to look at. There's paint on the walls, an old piano and a few art canvases, but it has always been a favorite hang out of mine. Once inside, Kitty jumped out and began her habitual patrol for unwanted pests. I hung up my scarf and set the basket behind the counter. It was time to teach piano.

My first student was always late, so I sat at the piano and played some of Hanon. Then came some Mozart and Beethoven and finally Brahms. Oops, I thought, I let the time pass without any thought. But an hour and a half after opening the store, no one walked in, or rung my bell. Kitty was content to watch at the window as passerbyers walked to and fro. An hour and a half! I should have had three students by now! I stood next to Kitty and watched as she did. Until I noticed that the passerbys supposedly walking to and fro were actually just walking to. "Meow" Kitty cried looking at me and then the door. " Yes I agree." So I grabbed my scarf and then the basket and in jumped Kitty. I locked the door and followed the people down the road.