Monthly Archives: February 2010

Italian Proverb


Between saying and doing many a pair of shoes is worn out. ~Italian Proverb

I found this on a missionaries website and it just spoke to me. I love it!




This year is all about being disciplined and finishing things that I start. Well, I’ve got too many things to finish. I’m feeling a little scattered.

 I’m battling what feels like pneumonia and have had difficulty sleeping which caused me to miss my first sunrise of the year and meditation yesterday. Ugh! That bites, it’s only February! I thought I was golden until at least April! Physical therapy is killing my workout schedule and I’m thinking my 40 x 40 goal will need to be seriously altered or there will be certain failure. This was going to be the year of sleeveless tops and cute skirts, not the same old cover ups from years gone by! The kids schedule and Kurtiss’ appointments have taken over my ‘free’ time and my projects are sitting, gathering dust, until I can get to them. Did I mention I’m tired? We are fasting fast food this month so I have been in charge of creating every meal with no back up of ordering pizza if it’s getting too late. Ha! Let’s just say the kids are thrilled that they have been able to have cereal for dinner three nights in a row! And to top it off, the Olympics are on. I love the Olympics! I’ve had to start recording them because they are on so stinking late. I’m never going to be able to watch them – when will I have the time to do that?

When I do get a moment, it is filled with the desire to just do nothing. There isn’t enough time for a project or a meaningful nap and I don’t have the energy to workout….

I am done venting now. Off to meditate and watch the sunrise (yes, all my ‘morning people’ are already awake so I’m sure it will be a nice, quiet experience).


The rain is beginning;

A memory, a brief encounter,

A tear to start the process.

The pain. 

Drops pounding on the window.

An invitation to join as the rain continues.

Pounding rain. Harder and harder. Hitting with force in the gut.

Everything is drenched now.

Take me away on the rivers flowing, drown me in a puddle.

It’s OK to cry for this one, for all of them.

Cry, cry, cry.  Let your heart feel the pain.

Then sit and listen, love.

Listen. These are my tears…

Ode to my personal chef


     If there is one thing I could have outright in this world, it would be a personal chef. Forget housekeepers, lawn maintenance or handymen. A personal chef would truly improve my existence. I enjoy good, flavorful food. I just hate having to be responsible for making it.

     I do not enjoy cooking. I do it because I have to. Back when I got married, I brought with me some tried and true recipes that had served my family for years and I would make them on occassion. Mostly, Stouffer’s put dinner on my table. Anything frozen, canned, pre-cooked or already prepared at the store – convenient was all it had to be. I served my family for years with this simple requirement, mostly because I just didn’t have the time to learn how to prepare meals. When I quit my job I realized that I had no more excuses. Ugh! I did not relish the idea of learning to cook, but I did. Kicking and screaming the whole way.  I researched recipes and added a few new staples to our menu but mostly stuck to the basics.  

     There was a time, not too long ago, when I was blessed by a friend who absolutely loved to cook and would cook anything. Nothing scared her: homemade honey wheat bread, whole wheat pumpkin pie, raspberry oatmeal tarts. I don’t even have names for most of the dishes that were brought to my house. She would simply come in and say, “Here, try this.” Most were concoctions she dreamt up to fit into our changing lifestyle. We both had dedicated our year to eating healthier and all of our current recipes were, let’s just say, not so healthy. We wanted only whole wheat or whole grain breads and only natural sweeteners (honey, maple syrup, blue agave). We (by we, I mean she) had to test recipe after recipe to get the flavor just right. She was an artist. Recipes were for amatuers, she would look at them and then take the creation to the next level, adding a little bit of this and a handful of that. I loved to watch as she scoured her cabinets and drawers, working in different mediums to create a masterpiece. I was stuck in finger painting, she was Michaelangelo. She was a true artist in that nothing was ever quite right. “Next time I’ll add a little more of this or substitute this for that.” she would say. It was all a foreign language to me but I just nodded and shoveled the yummy morsels into my mouth. It tasted divine to me. 

          Unfortunately, I knew it had to come to an end. My husband got orders to move on and I savored the last meals that my friend and I shared. Bittersweet. I remember her fondly, especially when I am cutting into my sixth onion and I can’t help but cry. I now prepare everything for the week on one day, spending hours in what used to be my least favorite room in the house. Although I acted aloof, I really did learn a lot from her. I’m continuing to prepare many of our healthy favorites and, on occassion, I may actually enjoy it. I am no Michaelangelo, but I learned from one of the greatest.

     Thank you for all your wonderful creations, my sweet personal chef…