THE BIG BEHIND

LASDI© (photo by The DAUGHTS, Chelsea Erickson of The Untidy Tribe)

“Happy New Year!”  It’s what everyone says at midnight.  Or the entire next day.  They even say it for about a week afterwards without a second thought.  There is something about that 11:59 pm landmark and the 10-second countdown that arouses excitement and promise and  enthusiasm.  And hope.  Hope for something new and better; a better future because the past wasn’t good enough.

We contemplate the last 365 days with disdain and disgust.  We blame the year behind us for our weight gain, or not having lost the weight from the year prior.  We blame the year behind us for losing our jobs or not being financially stable.  We blame the year behind us for the losses we suffered or for the illnesses that we or loved ones experienced.  We blame the year behind us for any relationship problems we had or toxic situations we may have been in.  We blame the year behind us for all things terrible in our lives.

And we all think that this new number – this new magical date in time – will bring about the glory we’ve been searching for all our lives.  We somehow think that it will flip a switch in us or in our environment or even in the world that will make everything better.

That’s why we make resolutions and set goals.  We turn around and look behind us and don’t like what we see.  We do a mirror check and think of all the ways we can improve.  We consider all the things we want and draw up a plan on how to obtain them.  There are even some of us that think it’s cooler not to set the resolutions, or that say we don’t believe in them.  I don’t blame that group.  Why bother anyhow when television gives us the statistics about how our resolutions fail by February or how many of us in percentage terms simply throw them out the window the next day. 

Somehow our fate lies in the countdown.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am a flawed human and I fall into every category I just described in one way or another.  This New Year was a strange time of processing for me.  I kept telling The Hubster the entire week leading up to it that I wasn’t going to fall into this 2020: The Year of Perfection idea.  It was, after all, just another day with a new number attached to it.  None of us can predict the future.  Though we had quite a rough-and-tumble year in 2019, who is to say 2020 wouldn’t be the very same?  Who is say there won’t be loss or illness or hard times?  I, in fact, found myself annoyed at the thought of the New Year meaning new life.  We were outside watching the fireworks when the countdown began.  I joined in on the fun because, well, that’s what we’re ‘supposed to do’, right?  Midnight!  I turn to kiss Adrian.  (Somewhat for traditions’ sake, but mostly because I love to kiss My Husband.)  I felt hot tears streaming down my face out of nowhere.  I was still pressing my lips on his, but felt my body silently sobbing.  I heard the people around me joyously shouting the New Year salutations and hugging and kissing and whooping.  And I was eyes closed, weeping, being held in My Life Partner’s arms and being allowed to do so.  And then I finally realized why: though I wasn’t giving the New Year any magical life powers, I was relieved to feel the melt-away of the Old Year’s power of hardships to our life. 

But for us, it always comes down to faith.  That’s where our hope lies.  At the risk of sounding like one of Scrooge’s ghosts, faith is past, present, future.  Faith that the past was necessary to make you stronger, draw you closer to it; faith that whatever is happening presently is enough and to see exactly where the blessings are.  Faith that the future holds real life, and whatever that looks like, we can get through it, whether bad or good – but never perfect and we accept that.  It’s the only life we have.   The one life we’ve been given. 

Do we spend it pining after things we want as opposed to being content with that we have?  That isn’t to say goals aren’t good; there’s growth in improvement.  Remember that when we are also told to go easy on ourselves and give ourselves some grace when we don’t achieve the resolutions or goals.  Why do we need a New Year for that?

Each DAY is new.  Be careful when you say things like, “I can’t wait until …” or “I wish this day would be over” – good times or bad, happy or sad, let’s not wish our life away.  It is but a vapor and will be gone before you know it, whether we live to be 1 or 100.  None of us are promised tomorrow.  And thank goodness for yesterday.  And this present moment is HERE. Find joy in it. Let’s spend it in balance looking forward to the big future, but grateful for the big behind. 

NO THANKS NECESSARY

LASDI© (photo by The Hubster, Adrian Garcia)

Thanksgiving has become a sacred holiday for my family.  More and more every year, it grows into something that means more and more to us every year.

We are careful not to let it be the focus, though.  What I mean is, we don't make it our golden calf.  We don't worship the holiday itself.  But as we get older and become wiser through life experiences, we definitely don't take lightly a day set aside for family, peace, comfort, love, and giving thanks.  

It's been quite a year.  It's been filled with losses and heartaches, struggles and valleys with (seemingly) no visible end in sight.  So what in the world would we be giving thanks for?  Well I know this is going to sound strange, but we will be giving thanks for the losses, the heartaches, the struggles, and the valleys.  Because those are the things that make us value what we have right in front of us that we may often take for granted.

Thanksgiving is such a lovely day, filled with family, friends, decorations, lights, incredible smells, and of course, a cornucopia of delicious food.  But more than that to us, it means loved ones, community, vivid color, illumination, a delight to the dulled senses, and provision.  We are surrounded by reminders of what otherwise might be forgotten: that we have so much to be thankful for.

Some of the more sensible and practical people reading this may be a tad bit cynical, finding it hard to believe that we give thanks for hard times, or dark circumstances.  I don't blame you.  I question it myself sometimes, as I am only human, after all.  I mean, how could a weary soul on it's knees be brought to sturdy feet when there are so many things trying to hold it down?  How can a person not just survive, but even thrive through relentless battles?  How can a heart that aches from breaking continue to beat so strongly, even though more pieces of it fall away?  

With the faith that there is more to this one life we've been given, and the knowledge that the best is yet to come.  With the fortitude of growth through each event or occurrence.  With the magnitude of knowing there is joy to be found, even in the worst places. I've been proclaiming all year that happiness is fleeting; that it all depends on the circumstances.  If then, that is the case, I am NOT a happy camper.  But joy comes when you make peace with who you are and why you are; it is an attitude of the heart. 

In which case, I AM JOYFUL.

Does it make life harmonious and easy to get through?  Absolutely not.  It's not realistic to think so.  Should it give us great pause, though, to realize that even in the worst things we should give thanks?  You'd better believe it.  And I have hope you’ll receive it.

This Thanksgiving in particular, I will be taking mental notes of my surroundings. I will hug the people I love a little tighter, and I will breathe them in a little deeper.  I will chew a little slower and truly savor every delectable flavor. I will move with intention and show an abundance of love shamelessly.  And though I know what a hard year it's been, and that other hard times lie before me, I will seek and find the joy more than ever, and let it resonate with me the other 364 days of the year.  

I will do my very best to give thanks in all circumstances.  And I will pray for You Lovelies to be able to do the same.  No thanks necessary.

DANCE, AUNT FRANNIE PANTS

LASDI©

There is such a free feeling that dancing brings about.  It’s the closest thing to magic, really.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re a skilled ballerina or an “Elaine” from Seinfeld, there is something about dancing that makes the suppressed insecurities come out and fly away; it makes you gain a liberty and brings about a confidence you didn’t know you had.  It happens in an even stronger way when you look around the dance floor and see so many others riding that very same crazy dance train you’re on.

Maybe that’s why some people refuse to do it no matter what.  They are afraid people will see them unbutton their spirit and let go of their inhibitions, and that’s a very vulnerable place to be.

Aunt Frannie was a dancer.  I don’t mean she was some professional reality dance show contestant, or that she went around the house with her tap shoes on.  I mean she rode a crazy dance train in life that when she felt vulnerable or insecure about things, she would look around the floor and see the other dancers in her circle and make some pretty unique moves in order to feel stronger.

When we spin, we tend to get dizzy.  But there’s something about dancing so that when you twirl around and around, you’re living your truth.  Aunt Frannie could twirl like nobody’s business.  There was much twirl in that girl.

When we are furious about hard times, it can make us feel unglued or out of control.  Fury is an emotion that can make us shut down and give up.  Not Aunt Frannie.  Those things made her dance even harder until sweat was upon her brow.  You know why?  Because she knew that hard times require furious dancing.

“Wave your hands in the air, like you just don’t care.”  I love those lines of the song that seem to make everyone’s arms go up and their hands shimmy-and-shake.  You can almost see it in their eyes and smiles as their delight seems to increase while they do.  I’ve seen Aunt Frannie do it.  And it was extraordinary.

Trust me – that lady could do the Hokey Pokey and turn herself around, because to her, that’s what it was all about.

All of us know that life is unchoreographed.  It brings the unexpected.  That’s how Aunt Frannie danced, though each step she took gave the impression that they were carefully composed.  That’s because she was her own choreographer, and not one single wiggle was created without intention.

When we leap, we feel joy.  Aunt Frannie knew exactly where her heart leapt.  No bones about it, her family was her joy.  Her utterly devoted husband of 53 years; the children she raised with a truly organic love; the grandkids that had limitless affection from her; and the great grandchildren that made her dance leaps go as high as the stars.  Cousins, nieces, nephews and friends made her love leap outside the regular boundaries of  the dance floor.  She was very well aware of the joy siblings can bring about, though that never made her dance just like them.  Oh, no.  Aunt Frannie danced to her own tune. 

When she met The Hubster, Adrian, he asked what he should call her.  (The ‘Get Jiggy With It’ dance begins.)  She replied, “You can call me Aunt Frannie.” (a bit of a ‘Two-Step’ thrown in for fun)  After replying with a nodding understanding, (an old ‘Head Banger’ move from the way-back), Aunt Frannie looked up at Adrian and into his eyes (a deep expression of ‘The Tango’) and jokingly said, “Or call me whatever you want, as long as you know I wear the pants in this relationship.” (Dance Off Challenge!!), to which he answered, “Okay!  Aunt Frannie Pants it is!!” (Challenge. ACCEPTED!)

And then there was me.  I have always been honored to partner up with her in the dance of love and life, and ever-grateful that she made room on the dance floor for me when our song came on.  I learned quite a few moves from her, in fact.  Have you heard of Inspirational Dance?  She invented it just for me.

A real dancer has to fill their space with their own personality.  And that is just what Aunt Frannie did.  Much like music, she had the joy of movement and the heart of life.  So, make sure to dance and sing to the music in your own heart, and don’t let one note go without a little sway or one beat-of-the-drum go without dancing.  Let the rhythm help you find your joy, and leap!  Accept the challenge and DANCE.  Just like Aunt Frannie Pants.

Dance with the angels, Aunt Frannie Pants.  And one day, I hope to share the same dance floor again.

MOMMY MEMORIES

LASDI©

They’re everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. In a container under my bed. In a shoe box on a shelf in the closet. Hanging in various places all over the house. On the fridge. In the attic. In my jewelry box. In guestroom closets. In blanket boxes and hope chests all around the house. On my night stand. IN my night stand. In a basket NEXT to my night stand. And for the sake of this blog post and your sanity, I won’t name the many other places they are.

I know this makes me sound like a hoarder, no matter what it is I am talking about. But these particular things I have found are my pleasure to hoard – all the things The Kiddos have made for me, written for me, drawn for me, or given to me that have managed or stay intact.

Each one has efficacy in its own way; value and worth beyond all measure. They stem from the crayon kindergarten scribble to letters in their own adult penmanship. I have a wire cross that looks like lace that was purchased for me at Summer Church Camp. I have a red teddy bear with a heart on one foot and on the other foot is embroidered the year 2003, even though it was given to me in 2004. I have a heart-shaped ceramic box that was painted for me that I’ve dropped, broken, and super-glued back together four times. I have about a thousand construction paper cards and poems. Could be more.

I even have things I’ve saved from their childhood that weren’t given to me, but at some point belonged to them, like one baby shoe. Or their teeth. All their baby teeth. ALL OF THEM. They’re in a tooth-shaped box in the bottom drawer of my jewelry box. Don’t judge me.

I can’t say I was the best mom that ever was. I mean, at the end of each day – even in their adulthood – I ask myself before I pray for them if I’ve done the very best I could, even if I fell short. The answer has always emphatically been yes. Some days were a home run, and some days I should have stayed in the dugout. But I was always a team mom.

Somehow, I knew that part of my living legacy – and the one I leave behind – would have a more profound effect on both them and me by having these things to look upon. It could be the future: “I’m going to have these twenty years from now to look at and show them and we can smile and laugh about it together.” It could be the present: “Let’s take a selfie and post it to my social media scrapbook.” Or it could be the past: “I can’t believe you drew this for me when you were five!”

Oh I know they probably won’t keep all this stuff after I’m gone. But when they’re going through this landfill time capsule, they WILL smile. They WILL know how much they meant to me. They WILL know I was crazy kookamunga, but all in the name of love.

When they were small, I didn’t understand pursuing them. I just knew I loved them, and that their health and well-being depended on me. I knew I wanted them to be grounded, well-rounded, kind, successful humans. But looking back, I think keeping these things was a subconscious pursuit. As they are adulting so hard now, I know being a mom doesn’t ever stop, but it changes as they do. I mega-pursue them now and try to insert myself into their lives in such a way that isn’t obnoxious (I said I TRY) and that lets them know how much they mean to me, too.

I love waking up every morning and seeing the folded note on my night stand marked “mom” that The DAUGHTS gave me the day The GRAND Daughts was born. I love opening my jewelry box and seeing the tiny pink plastic ring Schmooly-Wooly found in the grass one day that he decided he would hand over to me to have as though he were little, even though he was grown and already a part of this family. I love walking by the lopsided hand-sewn pillow in my room that The Sonster made when he was small and away at camp. I love the delicate string tied around my master-bathroom closet door that The Daughts-In-Law tied a Christmas gift up with. I love the patch from The Kid’s Army uniform he gave to me one day at lunch. I love all of it – and I love all of THEM. And they are amazing humans that love me right back.

Yes, I know we can’t take “things” with us when we die. I know that items of value won’t go to the grave with us. But the things I’m talking about are daily PRICELESS reminders of how hard I work to find joy in the hard times life can bring us; pictures of the blessings that are directly in front of us; reminders of how hard I’ve worked to be the best mom I can be, even when I fall short.

I don’t get mad if I don’t get expensive gifts on Mother’s Day. I don’t get upset if every single thing doesn’t go just perfectly. I don’t even get sad if I have work I have to get done that day. I try to turn that day into a reminder to look for even better ways to show my gratefulness and adoration for the blessings that are The Kiddos; ways to ensure we stand united; ways to leave a legacy of faith, hope, and LOVE.

And I also look for more places to hoard all the Mommy Memories that will be coming my way……

NEW YEAR'S PRESENT

LASDI©

Happy New Year! What a wonderful celebration of life we have in each New Year. We put so much stock into it being a chance to make peace with the year of old and look forward with hope to the year to come. That’s why we make resolutions. We resolve to do things better; to make things right.

For some of us, that means removing the toxic things from our life. Those toxic things could be anything from food to our relationships with certain people. I have done this very thing in my own life; in both areas, in fact. I often wonder about that, though. In looking back, I don’t think I waited until the New Year to do so. Can you imagine if I had? If there is something toxic presently in your life, do you say to yourself, “I know New Year’s is six months away, but I think I’ll wait to remove it until then!” If it is toxic, that means it is somehow making you sick. If you have the power to remove what is making you sick immediately, why would you wait?

Most of us use the New Year to eat healthier and / or work out. Right on! If waiting until then is what drives you to be successful at it, then that’s what you should do, as long as it works! But statistics say that 80% of New Year’s resolutions fail by February. 80%?!?

That is not to say I have not done the very same thing myself, of course. In fact, this last January 2nd, I re-started SHEsTox – The Inside-Out Detox & Cleanse. I am the creator, and I have many clients that do it and that also have re-started it, or new clients for the New Year starting it for the first time. I try very hard to live well and eat right during the year. If I didn’t, I am one of those people that would weigh 300 pounds! (It’s happened before!) But like most people, I tend to indulge during the holidays. My week to do so in particular is the week between Christmas and New Year’s. We have so many traditions that are wrapped around food! Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve, Pajamas and PannyCakes on Christmas morning, a smoked goose and brisket with potato kugel for Christmas dinner, any leftover cookies or bread from the neighbors’ Christmas baskets we make (can’t let any go to waste, of course!), traditional vera bizzi (pronounce ‘vedda-beet-see’), full of pasta, for New Year’s Eve, and a greasy, cheesy, double burger with fries on New Year’s Day! Yes. Every single one of those things is tradition. So, given that week of my life, I have no choice but to re-start healthy living!

But that does not mean I don’t try really hard the rest of my year challenging myself to be healthy from the inside-out – in mind, body, and spirit. I don’t wait until each New Year to make a conscious decision to live well. It’s not easy, but absolutely NOTHING good comes easy.

I reflect on the past. If I didn’t, I would have nothing to learn from and no growth in my life. And I always look toward the future. If I didn’t, I would not have goals to meet or success to focus on. But more than either of those things, I try very hard to live in the present. The present is the truth of where we are. And if you cannot find the truth where you are, where else can you expect to find it?

In my experience, I have learned that the continuous search for happiness will cause you to be unhappy, and that the greater part of happiness depends on our outlook and not our circumstances. If you train yourself to live in the present moment and see the blessings for what they are, the things that make you unhappy will be seen as an opportunity for growth. This is not to say bad things don’t or won’t happen, or that we won’t make decisions that aren’t the best, but it is to say there will always be joy to be had if we will only see it and receive it. And that doesn’t have to be set aside for one day of the year! Life’s far too short for that!

So I say again to you, Happy New Year! I pray that every day within it, you try really hard to detoxify yourself from the inside-out in mind, body, and spirit, and look toward your future of success with determination. But mostly, I pray you are able to unwrap the present blessings that surround you!

For the purpose of New Year’s present, I am adding some of my traditions from the week I spoke of above, but with a healthier twist! Enjoy them. They’re my New Year’s present to YOU!

TRADITIONAL NEW YEAR’S VERA BIZZI:

Farfalle Pasta – Farfalle means ‘butterfly’ in Italian, which represents transformation for the New Year

(For healthier version, you can use organic whole grain pasta, or substitute tofu shirataki noodles of any shape)

Kielbasa Sausage – Represents hearty provision for the New Year

(For healthier version, you can use turkey or chicken, or leave it out for Meatless Monday!)

Cabbage – The vegetable leaves represent good health and nutrition for the New Year

Black-Eyed Peas – This lowly pea represents humility throughout the New Year (I use dried, but feel welcome to use two cans, drained, instead)

Onions – Represents the sprouting of growth and rebirth in your New Year

Garlic – This odorous bulb represents continued breath of life throughout the New Year

Carrots – Represents great vision in your life for the New Year

(additional ingredients for this recipe: extra virgin olive oil (evoo), sea salt & black pepper to taste, 1 tbs garlic powder, chicken, beef, or vegetable stock)

If using dried beans, clean and cook according to instructions, sprinkling with sea salt and pepper to taste as you go. Remember, when it comes to salt, you can always add but you can’t take away, so be careful!

Cook pasta according to instructions but using stock of your choice in place of water. Drain and pour into a large bowl. Add cooked or canned black-eyed peas and stir.

Heat a large pan, dry, on medium-high heat for two minutes, then add enough evoo to barely cover the bottom and let heat for another two minutes. Add one small chopped onion and four finely chopped cloves of garlic and stir. Peel and chop three carrots and add to the pan. Cook until barely caramelized, about five minutes, stirring only once in between.

While this is cooking, slice your kielbasa sausage. Add to the pan and cook another ten minutes, stirring only once or twice in between. While the pan mixture cooks, rough chop half a head of cabbage. Toss with ¼ cup evoo, sea salt and pepper to taste, and garlic powder. Broil for ten-to-fifteen minutes, until desired consistency, stirring about twice in between cooking time.

Add sausage mixture and cooked cabbage to your beans and pasta and toss well. Good luck! (Get it??)

BUTTERNUT SQUASH PANNY-CAKES

(this recipe can also be found on my SHE Sure Can Cook Blog HERE!)

2 cups butternut squash

extra virgin olive oil

1 cup almond flour

4 eggs

sea salt, to taste

pepper, to taste

1/2 tsp baking soda

coconut oil

For my butternut squash, I bought pre-peeled and cubed at the grocery store. It’s just easier and faster. I tossed them with a little bit of evoo and placed them on a baking sheet. I broiled them for about ten minutes until they were cooked through, and then put them into a standing mixer bowl. If you don’t have a standing mixer, a hand mixer will do just fine! Place all other ingredients up to coconut oil into mixing bowl and mix until blended into a loose batter consistency.

Heat heavy pan (I use my cast-iron griddle, flat side!) without oil for about two minutes. Add about a tablespoon of coconut oil before each panny-cake prior to cooking and adjust heat with each one accordingly. Ladle or pour desired amount onto pan and cook over medium heat until browned. Just like a regular panny-cake, when you see the bubbles on the upside, flip it carefully and cook the other side until brown.

NOTES: This is a great low-carb substitute for bread, which is what I intended for a breakfast sandwich for The Hubster; however, if you would like a sweeter panny-cake, add 1 teaspoon of (organic) sugar to the batter and add your favorite (organic or fully natural) syrup after cooking and prior to eating! I just squashed the bacon, egg, and cheese right between two huge pieces and watched it disappear with a smile on The Hubster’s face!

BUTTERNUT SQUASH KUGEL

2 16-oz store-prepped butternut squash cubes

1 small onion, chopped finely

½ cup shredded cheddar cheese

1 egg

1 cup heavy cream

½ tsp salt

1 tsp pepper

½ tsp nutmeg

½ tsp garlic powder

Toss butternut squash, onion, and cheddar cheese together in a greased 9 x 13 casserole dish. Beat together egg and heavy cream and pour over the squash / onion / cheese mixture. Add seasonings and carefully fold together until well mixed. Pat down a bit so that it’s a somewhat flat on top. Bake in preheated oven at 350 for 45 minutes. Let sit for a minimum of five minutes before serving!

NOTES: This is FANTASTIC for all you low-carbers like me! (Year-round!)

SEASONS CHANGE

LASDI©

For the sake of this blog post, I did a quick (un-sanctioned, non-governmental) poll.  The poll consisted of fifty people.  Some I knew, some I did not.  Some lived in my region and some lived in other parts of the country.

I simply asked them what their favorite time of year (or season) was.  Out of fifty people, they all had the same answer: Autumn!  So, fifty-out-of-fifty people all prefer this time of year! That’s some reputation for a season!

I am among those people.  This is the time of year for The Fam when we have our Annual Fall Family Day (NOT Family Fall Day, which means something different entirely!), my birthday, and two of The Kiddo’s birthdays are celebrated, and of course, the holy grail of holidays for my family comes into the Autumnal category: THANKSGIVING!

Some people like it because the leaves turn jewel-tone colors; others simply love the cooler weather.  The pumpkin spice smells, and the chili cooking in everyone’s biggest pot in the kitchen doesn’t hurt, either!  Is it the overcast, melancholy days that make us want to curl up in the quiet with a good book?  There is something special about the energy in the air, regardless of the reason so many people choose it as their favorite.

So why did I want to know in the first place, you ask?  Well, it seems that the energy in people changes a bit as well.  Though it starts to be a very busy season for all, people somehow seem more nostalgic and even a bit more subdued to me.  I notice more grace; more ‘warm fuzzies’.  What is it about a season that can make this change in us?

When I think about that question, I think about seasons in our life.  Not the kind that comes with a solstice, but rather the seasons that come with growth.  I think I can explain it better by sharing an excerpt out of my eBook, ‘Extra Ingredients to A Life of Flavor’:

 **********

The seasons of people that have affected me negatively have engrained in me to be positive.

The seasons of people that have affected me positively have instilled a sense of community and love within me.

We have all had the relationship or relationships that have placed fear or mistrust in us at least once. We have seen seasons of loss and of life. Such is this broken-but-beautiful world.

But the main point from all of it that I have learned and desire to pass on is that every single one of them are valuable and crucial to who we allow ourselves to become.

There are many different circumstances that cause season changes – some of them good and tasty; some of them not-so-good that leave a sour taste in our mouth. Either way, seasons come and go, and they consistently change us.

I have had so many seasonings sprinkled throughout my time here that have shaped me and helped create both my living legacy and the one I leave behind. I can tell you that not all of those seasonings have been ones that I care to recall, though it’s important to my heart and as part of my faith that I do, so that they don’t steal my joy.

Is there a friendship you used to count on daily that has fizzled out and you’re not sure why?

Or perhaps there is a family member you confided in that shared your vulnerability with someone else. Maybe it’s just as simple as someone you love and admire moving to a different place.

And then there’s the accountability factor: what if you are the person that doesn’t feel the same toward a friend, or who abandoned a trust somehow – whether knowingly or not – or had to move away from a loved-one? These seasonings of life happen to all of us – no one is immune.

What do we do with that? We cannot allow these times to make us bitter, but rather to make us better. Making our tiny life mighty depends on that.

Whenever I refer to certain people or times or memories from my own past, I almost always call those seasons ‘seasonings’ because they craft the life of flavor we choose to live. Whether it’s salty or sweet, they’re important to the recipe that creates you.

 **********

So, whether you’re one of the fifty-out-of-fifty people that loves Autumn as your favorite season, or you happen to be a beach lover in the hottest months of the year, know that what you do with the seasons of life that come your way is the most important way to grow.  Make your tiny life mighty – with every single season.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill {defend}, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; ...” ~Ecclesiastes 3:1-22

“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” ~Genesis 8:22

“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cézanne

WHEN THE KUCHEN HITS THE FAN

SHE2016

I was thumbing through my favorite spice magazine.  Okay.  Let's get this out of the way - some people read gossip mags, some like the cerebral-sciency type of mags.  If you're like The Hubster, perhaps you like fishing magazines.  Personally, I find it extremely provocative to carefully peruse the free quarterly magazine sent to our home that houses all the gorgeous spices and seasonings, and all the published recipes sent in by "others" like me.  

So I was thumbing through my favorite spice magazine, and I came across a picture that stopped me in my tracks.  It was a warm photo showing layers of sliced apple, caramelized and formed into some sort of delicacy unlike any I had ever seen.  I did one of those things we do to get an even closer look - you know, like when you fold the magazine in half and then hold it right up to your face, or tilt it from side-to-side as if to see around the item in the picture?  I looked to the left of the photo and saw the title of the recipe: "Grandma's Apple Kuchen".  (pronounced koo-ken)

I knew this recipe was meant for me and I knew I had to conquer it.  I wasn't sure why, but I just knew.  I made my shopping list right away.  There were a few obstacles to overcome in order to make this happen.  Hey, nothing good comes easy, right?  It called for a very specific-sized glass pan I didn't have, nor had I ever heard of, and a few ingredients that were not easily found in a regular grocery store.

As fate would have it, I was in my local Goodwill spot and heard something calling my name.  "I'm over here, She!"  There, with what seemed to be a rainbow with confetti streaming down over it, was the odd-sized glass pan.  $2.99??  I think I can handle that.  Check.  I perused Amazon to find the specific ingredients needed and found them.  CHECK!!  Sunday Supper was looking like the perfect time to make Grandma's Kuchen.  In my mind, I could see the proud faces of my family and hear all the accolades I would be receiving.  Oh yea.  Meant to be.  This was going to be PERFECT.

I carefully did exactly as the recipe said.  I painstakingly sliced the apples so that they were uniform and lovely.  I whisked with fury, and stirred with passion.  I slowly placed each apple slice in layers to be ever-so-exact.  And into the oven it went.  And THE AROMA!!  The smell of the vanilla, the cinnamon, the apples!!  I cleaned the mess that is usually left on the path behind you when you work so hard to achieve greatness.  The kitchen.  But I wasn't bitter.  Oh, no.  Not with what was waiting on the other side of that oven door.

The timer went off.  The potholders came out.  The oven door was opened.  And there, Ladies and Gentlemen, was THE KUCHEN.

I took it out of the oven with tears in my eyes.  I breathed in the hard work I had seen come to fruition, and set it down on my granite counter.  I stepped to the doorway and proudly announced, "The kuchen ...... is cooling."  And the smiles of anticipation spread across the faces of The ManChild and The Hubster.  I was in the clear.  My artwork was complete.  Now all we need do was eat it.

I walked back over to it to rest on my laurels.  Of course I did.  I couldn't help but stare at this incredible beauty as it cooled and brought us all closer to being one with its tasty morsels.  And then, BOOM!

You may find what I'm about to say hard to believe.  But every word is true.  Out of nowhere, the kuchen exploded.  I mean EX.  PLO.  DED.  Glass hit my arms, my neck, my face, luckily missing my eyes.  Kuchen hit the walls, the floor, the ceiling.  The sound of it was deafening.  Cameron and Adrian came running into the kitchen, only to see me standing there, eyes wide with shock and arms out in the air to my sides, as if I were attempting to fly.  "WHAT HAPPENED?!?"  I just stared at them.  "WHAT HAPPENED, She?!?"  And the tears began to flow.  "Are you okay??  What happened?"  I looked up at them, giant tears streaming now, and screamed at the top of my lungs (get ready for it)" "MY KUCHEN EXPLODED!!"  

I wish you could have seen the pity-slash-comical-slash-confused looks on their faces.  The "awwwwwwww"s coming out of their mouths, rolling from deep inside their souls for me as they both put their arms around me to console my broken spirit were so sincere.  All that hard work.  All that mountain climbing to get to the top, only to slide back down.  Everything I had worked SO HARD FOR.  Ruined.

Or was it?  Those two went into action.  They cautiously cleaned me up, and led me to the couch with a tall glass of wine.  They cleaned up the kitchen.  They loved on me.  They offered me kuchen condolences all night.  And I was reminded that life was good, even and especially in the moments we think it isn't.

I changed that recipe to morph it into my own and chose simple ingredients and more practical tools to do so.  I make it often and think of that day every single time I do.  I know it grew me and helped me stretch and climb.  I know it taught me that there is almost always a mess left behind you when you work hard, not to rest on my laurels, and to understand that in all toil there is profit.  I know it helped me see what's really important.  All that because the kuchen hit the fan.

Sometimes the most beautiful things can explode in your face, even if you think you've conquered something after a long, arduous process, and it turns out incredible ...... you feel proud and think you're in the clear.  And then, BOOM.  What was once lovely artwork is in pieces everywhere, reminding you how truly delicate life can be.

Be careful and practical as you stretch and climb, but climb just the same.  Know that when something goes wrong  after you've worked so hard, it is only to show you what's really important so that you don't lose sight of it.  And NEVER put a hot kuchen in a glass pan on a granite counter. 

SHE'S CONDOLENCE KUCHEN

Kuchen:
1 1/4 cups  flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 stick butter, cold and cut up
2 egg yolks
2 tsp milk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3 medium-sized green apples, peeled, cored, and sliced thin
 
Streusel:
3/4 cup sugar
3 tbs flour
1 tsp cinnamon
3 tbs butter, cold and cut
 
Combine all streusel ingredients into small mixing bowl and blend with your fingers until the mixture resembles small crumbs. Set aside.

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, and butter. Use your fingers to blend all the kuchen ingredients to large-crumb consistency. In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks then add the vanilla extract and milk. Pour milk mixture into the crumbled dry ingredients and mix until it is just blended. Press this dough into the bottom and up the sides of a prepared baking dish.

Arrange the apple slices in three lengthwise rows on top of the crust. Sprinkle the streusel mixture over the apples. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the crust is golden brown and the apples look glazed and caramelized.

EAT SLOWLY.

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PRICELESS

SHE2016©

Have you ever thought about the birth process, and how priceless it is?  A lot of people think of the blood, sweat, and tears as gory and the thought may even make them nauseous, and I totally get that.  But the process itself – gory or not – well, it’s what got us all here, right?
 

I am, of course, writing this because very recently I became (dare I say it?) a GRANDMOTHER.  It’s not the precious little bundle of joy that makes me cringe when I hear that name.  It’s the name itself.  I have always pictured a sweet little old blue-haired lady with a cane and thick glasses who says things like, “Wait for Granny, Dears!  You know my dentures fall out when I try to keep up with you whipper-snappers!”  And let me tell you, Folks, if you don’t know already:  That is NOT me.  Well, sometimes I have blue hair, but it is often in streaks and under some kind of turbi, hat, or ‘do-rag, and accompanied by a new Jesus tattoo and cute-but-crazy-accessories.  GRANNY SHE IS NOT FOR ME.  Nope.  My name is She.  So The Daughts decided SheShe would be appropriate and quite suiting.  And I agree with her. 
 

But I digress.  Back to birthing.  I sat in a different place altogether when Sage Ellie was born a little under a month ago as opposed to when my own children were born: not only a place where I could see the brilliance of a baby being born, but a different perspective.  My baby was having a baby.  And she had fought a long, hard battle of the game called life to get where she landed, and I knew she was going to make a wonderful mommy.  
 

But what about me as a mommy; as a parent to my own children?  Had I done enough?  Did I show enough love?  Did I discipline enough?  Was there a balance?  Had I given it my best shot?  I knew I had made my fair share of mistakes, but were they mistakes that could not be undone or even forgiven?  Would they scar my children enough to sully the joy of being a parent themselves?  Believe it or not, as she labored, I saw my life with them flash before my eyes and was truly pondering those thoughts and at least a thousand more.
 

And then came a different moment.  The moment The Daughts handed me comfort and hope that I had done well thus far: she gave me a hand-written letter from-her-to-me.  The nurse had asked us all to step out – “all” meaning The Son-In-Law, The Hubster (now referred to as PoPo by The Grand Daughts), and me.  Just before piling out of the room for a few minutes, she handed one to each of us.  It helped me to muster up an ounce of faith even before I looked at it. We sat in silence in the waiting area, privately reading the words she had thoughtfully penned.  
 

As I read through my tears, in the back of my memory bank, thoughts of hand-made helicopter-sized hair bows in her fine, wavy locks as a two-year-old came to mind.  I thought of laying her little head down in my lap when she was five after her bath to floss her teeth for her and how absolutely sweet and lavender-like she smelled.  I thought of the time she had chicken pox and I put mittens on her hands so she wouldn’t scratch.  The thoughts of singing together each and every Thanksgiving in front of friends and family and hearing her sweet, natural harmonies pierced my heart with joy.  Standing outside the kindergarten door the entire day where she couldn’t see me but I could see her to make sure she was all right on the first day of school reached out to me.  I remembered her telling me she wanted Jesus in her heart.
 

But coupled with those thoughts were the times I cried myself to sleep because we had screamed at each other for an entire afternoon.  I felt a strong hurt at remembering the time I lost my temper to a sincere breaking point, and thought if I could go back how differently I would handle that moment.  I was brought back to a time of desperation because I could not connect with my teenage daughter, no matter how hard I tried, and thinking what a failure I was as a parent.  It shattered me, as I was almost positive it had her, as well.
 

And then this (don’t worry, Readers.  I checked with her first to make sure she didn’t mind if I share):
 

“Mom, you have always been there for me and through the years have become my best friend.  I’m so excited to make you a SheShe today!  
 

You have taught me to love without ceasing and without fear.  My whole life you have been preparing me for motherhood by the example you have set for my life.  I just didn’t know it until I started thinking about the mom I wanted to be to Sage.  
 

Thank you for loving me like you do.  I cannot wait to watch your relationship with Sage grow through the years.  I am so thankful to know that I will lean on you as I set my own examples for Sage.  <3
 

I love you, Mom, and I’m so thankful for you.
 

XOXO – Chelsea”
 

That, to me……was PRICELESS.
 

So perhaps at the end of the day, you are second-guessing if your best is even good enough.  Or maybe you feel like a failure at something and that shatters you.  In this one life we have been given, nestled amongst the good will always be the bad.  Without those times, we will not grow; we will not learn to love without ceasing and without fear.  So we MUST value those times as well and know that life is good, even when it isn’t.  If we have truly given it our best and have had even an ounce of faith, the reward will be the way you see it returned to you…..and that – IS PRICELESS.