Another kitchen disaster

 A few months ago, a good friend told me that his favorite pie when he was growing up in Hawaii was lilikoi chiffon.  I made a mental note.  About a month before his birthday, I started researching recipes and I ordered the passionfruit juice from Kauai. I studied the recipe and practiced it in my head several times, because it's complicated.  I decided to make the crust that went with the recipe, even though I have my own preferred crust that I've been making since I was a kid.  That was the first of many mistakes.  

After I made the filling, I decided I couldn't put it into that ugly crust, so I went to Kroger at 9 p.m. last night and just bought a crust like a loser who can't make her own pie crust.  Baked it, cooled it, filled it, put it in the fridge to set, went to bed around 10:30.  

At 11:15, Sarah crashed into my room and announced, "Mom. Your pie fell."  I was sound asleep, but her words made me leap out of bed and rush to the kitchen, where a terrible sight greeted me.  

So here you go, Doug. Happy birthday.  I hope it's the thought that counts, because this pie sure doesn't.

What's my gift?

My parents made me take piano lessons when I was a kid, which I pretty much hated, but now am very grateful.  I am not a gifted pianist, but I very much enjoy playing and get great satisfaction from it.  After my parents let me quit taking lessons, I didn't play the piano at all for several years.  But in college, I lived close to the music hall with its practice rooms, and I found myself playing the pianos in there for fun and relaxation.  When I moved into my first house, the piano went with me, and every time I've moved since then, it has moved with me.  As I got busy with life and kids, my piano playing went mostly dormant for many years, but this year, the music director at our church (who has also become a close friend) showed me how to play without the chore of having to read notes, but just by reading chords. It was like being freed from prison.  Now I play freely whenever I have time, and it is pure fun.  If I hear a song on the radio that I like, I can look up the chord charts and play it myself.  

With this newfound ability to play, I want to sing too, which I do when I'm home alone, but I don't have the kind of voice that people want to hear.  I told my worship director friend Doug that I want to be able to play and sing like Andrea (a worship leader at church who plays effortlessly and has the most beautiful voice) and that I asked God for it and He said no.  And Doug said if I had phrased it differently, maybe He would have said yes. I asked him to rephrase it for me, and he said, "I’ve come to realize that if God wanted me to sing and play like Bruno Mars … he would have made me Bruno Mars … so now I pray like this: Jesus would you increase the anointing on my musical gifts that you have given me so that I can put your glory on display by 

1. Better technique 

2. More creative ways to interact with the musicians around me 

3. And better understanding on the songs 

And to make my voice better in intonation, pitch and tone so that people will want to listen to the lyrics you would like them to hear. Amen."

That left me speechless and pondering for a long time.  What really is my motivation?  Doug's motivation  is clearly to glorify God.  I think mine might be more selfish, and maybe that's why my answer was no. Singing is not my gift.  But maybe it can just be something that I enjoy doing alone with God. Like speaking in tongues.

What then is my gift?  A prophetic man from church just recently prophesied over me that he saw me with golden pen in my hand and that there are things I either do write down or need to be writing down. He said God wants to speak through me through writing. He said God wants to give me heavenly revelations to write down and share. This guy doesn't know that I have a degree in English and have always loved to write. So the question is, how do I use that gift for God's purposes?  I'm on the lookout for ways to do that. Singing in front of people terrifies me, but writing doesn't.

Why do I work at Costco?

I've been working at Costco for about five months now, and it's about time I blogged about how and why I took this job.  Back in March, I was walking down an aisle at Costco, minding my own business, shopping, not looking for a job. There was a woman standing by her food demo cart, talking about granola bars.  I didn't care about her granola bars, but I stopped to listen just to be polite. I had a bag of dried jackfruit in my cart, and she asked me if it was good.  I ripped open the bag and gave her a piece to try.  She said I was just the kind of person they were looking to hire and that I should apply.  She gave me the application info, and I said I would think about it and pray about it and talk to my husband.

I thought about it on the way home.  I prayed about it and got a clear yes from God.  I discussed it with Mike, and he wasn't against it.  So I applied, got an interview, passed a drug test, completed all the forms, and was working within a week.

A little background information.  All my life, I've loved animals more than people, and I've always felt guilty about it and asked God to help me love people.  For some reason, when I woke up on January 1, 2021, my heart was stuffed full of love for a person I had barely known previously, and from there I started being more able to love other people with God's love too.  So as the people are walking by my cart at Costco, I'm praying for them and interacting with them with genuine love. Sometimes it goes way beyond handing them a food sample.  I've had deep conversations with many people and had lots of opportunities to minister to them in various ways.  When I first started, we weren't handing out samples because of covid, so there was a lot of downtime that I filled with prayer and memorizing Bible verses. 

Overall, I love this job, and some days I actually can't wait to get there and see what opportunities God has for me.  On most days, there's at least one thing that happens, or one person I encounter that makes it clear to me that this was my purpose for being there that day.  Some days there are multiple of those.  Once in awhile, there are none.  There have also been difficult situations/people I've had to deal with, and some days I dread going in to work.  At those times, I've asked God if this is still my mission, and He always says definitely yes.  Knowing that I'm where I'm supposed to be, doing what He wants me to do makes it easy and a joy most of the time.  The promotion, raises and bonuses help too. Sometimes I can't believe they're paying me to do this. 

Yesterday I was handing out samples of ridiculously overpriced shampoo and conditioner.  I prayed, "Lord, people are suffering in Afghanistan and dying of a global pandemic.  Why do you have me here hawking hoity toity hair products?" and He said, "I have you there to pray about all those things and to love people."

Why do I take pictures?

 

Yesterday I was looking out the window and I saw a breathtaking dragonfly with his wings spread in the sun, perched on a dewy plant.  My first thought was, "I must take a picture of that."  But I stopped and thought before I acted (which is still rare, but becoming more common as I get older).  And this was my thought.  I could go get dressed, get my camera, hope the battery is charged, rush out there and line up a  good shot without scaring him, and hope to get all that done before he moves or the light changes... OR ...I could just stand here and admire him from the window. I could just look at him with my own eyes instead of through the lens of a camera.  I could appreciate the beauty of this moment without attempting to capture it (and a picture never fully captures the moment anyway, does it?). 

Then I thought to myself, I remember taking pictures of dragonflies before, so I probably already have this shot anyway, and what did I ever do with it?  Nothing.  I didn't enlarge it, frame it, print it, or ever even look at it again.  I started questioning, why do I even take pictures?  I'm thankful that I have thousands of pictures of my kids growing up, but why do I take pictures of beautiful things in nature?  Am I trying to capture something I know I can't hold onto?  Am I afraid I won't remember what it looks like?  Trying to recreate the feeling of awe I had when I saw the thing I photographed?  That never works.  Maybe I take pictures to satisfy the urge I have when I see something beautiful to photograph it and share it with others. So the act of taking the picture is in itself enough.  It doesn't matter if I ever print the picture or even look at it again.  I just like taking pictures.

But sometimes, I'm just going to marinate in the moment, appreciate the glory that's right in front of me, and let go of my urge to capture it.

Red tape, confusion and praise

 When you adopt a child, there's an unbelievable mountain of paperwork that has to be completed.  I remember being overwhelmed by it all with our first adoption, and even more so with the second, because I was sleep deprived and distracted by parenting Noah while trying to adopt Sarah. 

Even after the adoption is finalized, there are still forms to fill out and hoops to jump through, including obtaining a social security card in the child's new name.  I clearly remember the day I hauled 2-year-old Noah and baby Sarah to the social security office in Pekin to get Sarah's card.  It stands out as the day that my usually well-behaved Noah was a horrible brat.  He was wild and climbing all over the place, not listening, screaming and crying, refusing to be placated with snacks, toys, or books. He had never behaved that way before or since.  I remember propping Sarah up on a chair with my foot while I was trying to deal with Noah and fill out paperwork.  So...mistakes may have been made.  Her social security card arrived with her Korean name on it. I was too busy to do anything about it, so I just filed it away and got on with raising kids.  

Fast forward 17 years, and Sarah is trying to get a job, and nobody will accept her social security card with a different name on it.  I have spent HOURS in the last few days trying to figure out how to get this corrected.  Normally, I would just take my 2-foot-tall pile of adoption documentation to the social security office, but they closed for the pandemic and still haven't reopened.  I wasted lots of time wading through the website and filling out online forms. They wanted me to send in original documents through the mail, and I wanted to make sure I sent only the necessary ones. I called the local office, but their number is disconnected, so I had to call the national number, where I spoke with a very unhelpful person who couldn't or wouldn't (but certainly didn't) answer my questions. 

I have most of the documents in binders on the bookshelf, but some of the most important and/or odd-sized ones are in a lockbox downstairs, so I went to the basement to dig through it. I was looking for a naturalization document or something that shows the legal name change. I started praying and took everything out of the lockbox, and at the very bottom of it was....a social security card in Sarah's American name.  I stared at it in disbelief.  I have no idea how it got there.  I had a little praise party right there in the basement. 

Track and chiggers and pervs,...oh my!

We went to Sarah's track meet tonight and watched her do the high jump, 4x100 relay and 200 dash. I'm a little in awe of people who do those kinds of things for fun.

My mom came too. I haven't seen her in way too long.  I love her.

I noticed Mike and I were standing in a huge herd of chiggers, so we moved.  Long after we moved, I could still feel them crawling on me and biting me.  I told Mike I wasn't sure it was actual bugs or if my mind was playing tricks on me with ghost chiggers.  He said, "Ghost chiggers....that would make a good username."  He said he could tell by the look in their eyes that they wanted to bite him.  I said you can tell a lot by looking into the eyes of a chigger, and he said we should put that on a t-shirt.

When we got home, Sarah and Shiloh and I were sitting in the living room and this happened:

Me: Do you want me to groom you?
Sarah: Me?
Me: No, Sarah. I was talking to the cat, unless your winter fur needs brushed?
Sarah: I thought you meant a different kind of grooming.
Me: What kind?
Sarah: Like what child molesters do.
Me: What???? I don't even know what you're talking about, but I'm not a child molester.
Sarah: Grooming is when they try to get close to you to get you to...
Me: I don't wanna know. Don't ruin grooming for me.
Sarah: You should educate yourself.
Me: I'm impervious to your pervy words. I'm going to brush Shiloh now.

More pandemic weirdness

Tonight we're going to a Good Friday service at New Life Christian Church.  I had to make a reservation, because they have a limit on how many people can be in the building.  They sent me an email to confirm my reservation, and I have to print that out and bring it to the door as my ticket to enter.  There are two services: one at 5:30 where masks are required, and one at 7:00 where masks are recommended.  I get it, but it's really, really strange. I wonder if we'll ever go back to the way things used to be.

Update: I don't like singing with a mask on.  Not one bit.  We sang songs about how we're free, and we have God's breath in our lungs, and how we're pouring out our praise,  all while wearing masks. It doesn't feel free and it doesn't feel like I'm pouring out praise.  I started making up my own lyrics.  After "This is the air I breathe", I added, "It is corona-free."

Union tour

 Noah has been at the union, taking welding classes this week.  He was supposed to bring Mike home after work because his union is very close to Mike's work.  Noah's tire went flat and his spare needs fixed, so I ended up picking up Mike from work and then we both went to the union to pick up Noah and wait with him for the tow truck.  His welding instructor and a head honcho were waiting with Noah when we got there, so we got to meet them, and his teacher told us how well Noah's doing and that he'll probably be one of their certified welders.  Then they offered to give us a tour of the whole place.   

Noah's welding booth.  #10.

His welding instructor.  

Classroom

Blueprint room

Math

Noah's tool box.

I'm back!

8 days ago, a bad thing happened and I ended up in the ER getting staples in my head and a tetanus shot in my arm.  The next day, everything hurt, and I barely got out of bed.  In fact, all of last week, I pretty much stayed in bed and felt weak and defeated and unreasonably scared to do anything.  By the end of the week, I was out of bed and doing a few things, but not much.

Today I'm getting the staples removed, and I'm full of confidence and ready to get back to living again.  I did my 15 sets of stairs for the first time in a week, as I listened to my friend's theme song, which is so inspiring if you really listen and think about it and believe it.  I'm heading back to the gym on Wednesday after the doctor clears me today.  Going to tackle some body clutter while tackling the cluttered school room in our house.  Time to get rid of the school supplies and extra stuff we don't use anymore and get these poor abused walls painted.  

Here's the song.  It's called "Champion":

I’ve tried so hard to see it Took me so long to believe it That You’d choose someone like me To carry Your victory Perfection could never earn it You give what we don’t deserve And You take the broken things And raise them to glory You are my Champion Giants fall when You stand Undefeated, every battle You’ve won I am who You say I am You crown me with confidence I am seated in the heavenly place Undefeated with the One who has conquered it all Now I can finally see it You’re teaching me how to receive it So let all the striving cease This is my victory When I lift my voice and shout Every wall comes crashing down I have the authority Jesus has given me When I open up my mouth Miracles start breaking out I have the authority Jesus has given me You are my Champion Giants fall when You stand Undefeated, every battle You’ve won I am who You say I am You crown me with confidence I am seated in the heavenly place Undefeated by the power of Your name I am seated in the heavenly place Undefeated with the One who has conquered it all

It's tough out there!

I knew there was supposed to be wind, rain, sleet, and snow today, but I had errands to do.  This morning I was watching the weather and trying to decide if I was going to do my small essentials run involving one stop in Morton or my bigger run involving 4 stops in East Peoria.  The sky was looking bright at 9 a.m., so I decided to go for the big run.  I would have left earlier, but my last stop was Costco, which inconveniently doesn't open until 10:00.  I was almost to my first stop when the rain started, just a sprinkle.  As I was about to pull into a decent parking spot, an old man cut me off and stole it.   By the time I came out 15 minutes later, it was a steady rain, and my car was way out there.

My next stop was gas, but the only available pump was on the end, and the rain was horizontal by that time, so I got drenched.  Next stop: Aldi.  For some reason, I usually lose my head at Aldi.  I've locked my keys in my car there several times.  Maybe it's that extra step of having to remember to bring a quarter for the cart that overloads my brain.  So today, I actually said out loud to myself, "Do not lock the keys in your car. Don't even lock the car.  No thieves are out in this weather."  Credit card? Check. Quarter for the cart? Check. Bags for the groceries? Check.  I felt like I was forgetting something, but my mind had shifted focus to not locking the car.  

By the time I got inside, the wind had plastered my wet hair to my face so hard that I actually had to pry it away so I could see.  The first thing I saw was a fellow shopper glaring at me with apparent hatred.  I smiled at her and carried on, thinking she must be mad about the weather.  Not my fault and nothing I can do about it. In the next aisle, another shopper stared and glared.  I started wondering why everybody was directing their anger towards me.  Then a guy pulled down his mask to yell at me about not wearing a mask.  Ah yes, that was the thing I forgot when I was doing my checklist in the car.  Fortunately, I always have a mask in my pocket...except this time, because I had decided at the last minute to break out my warm coat for this trip, and it's the first time I've worn it since the pandemic, so no mask in my pocket.  I should have left my plastered hair mask on.  I got out of there as quickly as I could, after a couple more mean encounters.

On the way to Costco, something unbloggable happened that would necessitate going straight home for a shower and load of laundry. When I got home, I was lugging the groceries in, which were all as soaked as I was, and there was Marty, standing in the way, asking to go outside.  I explained to her about the weather, but she still insisted, so I spelled it out for her.  I said, "You are N-O-T, not, going outside today." Apparently, she's not a phonetic learner, because she proceeded to dart between my legs and charge outside.  Two seconds later, she wanted in.  

I could have just done my one Morton stop earlier in the morning and avoided the whole fiasco, since I didn't even end up getting to go to Costco. I have to go back out there again when Mike gets home, because I have to take him to pick up his parents' car.  

I did a weird thing, or two

Last summer when I was working for the Census Bureau, one of my favorite stops was at an apartment in Hopedale.  The resident was beautiful, inside and out, and invited me in on one of the hottest days of the year.  I gratefully sat on her apartment floor, sucking up her air conditioning and playing with her cat, while trying to force myself to do my job and get out of there.  

The cat repeatedly threw itself against a brushy-looking thing on the floor, and I asked the friendly owner what it was doing.  She explained that the brush used to be part of a toy but that the cat rubbed itself so violently against it that it broke, but the cat still likes to rub on it.  Eventually, the cat (Lily) stopped flopping and settled itself in my lap, making it that much harder to do my job and leave.  I stayed there at least three times longer than it took me to do a good, thorough job, but the woman and the cat were both so hospitable and sweet, unlike the majority of my cases.  

The next day, I searched online for cat toys with that kind of brush.  I found a nice, sturdy one at a store in Iowa, and it just so happened that Mike and I were headed west for a road trip and would be going right by this store.  On our way home from our trip, I was driving and Mike was sleeping when I spotted the sign for this store and pulled off the interstate to go in there and get this cat toy for Lily.  

Fast forward six months.  I'm not sure why it took me so long to deliver this thing, but here it is, still sitting around here.  I think I was putting it off because I thought it would be weird and awkward for the census worker to show up with a cat toy, and because I didn't remember exactly where her apartment was.  I guess I thought it would be somehow less weird, awkward, and uncertain six months later?

So today's the day.  The sun is shining. It seems like a nice day for a drive, so I load up the toy (which is more of a grooming tool and play tunnel)

and head for Hopedale with only a vague idea where she lives, no recollection of her name, no clue what I'm going to do if she's not home, no plan of what I'm going to say, and an unreasonable feeling of nervousness.  I'm rewarded with this view as I get on the interstate:  

I arrive in the thriving metropolis of Hopedale, and only make one wrong turn before I find what I'm 99% sure is her apartment building.  But there are several apartments in a row, and I'm not at all sure which one is hers.  So I park and study each one, looking for clues.  The one that I have a good feeling about also happens to have a cat suncatcher stuck to the window, so that's the one I'm choosing first. 

I knock on the door, holding the big brush tunnel and feeling ridiculous.  No answer.  I move to the next apartment and knock on that door, feeling more ridiculous by the moment. What am I going to say to the stranger who opens this door and sees me holding this monstrosity?  No answer at this door either, but suddenly a window opens at the last apartment, and in it appears a woman wearing nothing but a towel, but I'm pretty sure I recognize that beautiful smile and friendly tone as she says, "Hello?"

I say, "Um, hi" and hope that by some miracle she says, "Hey, aren't you that census worker who sweated on my floor six months ago?" but she shows no sign of recognition, so I'm going to have to speak again.  Timidly, I try this brilliant line: "Do you have a cat?"  She looks confused and says, "Yes, I have a cat....?"  I hold up the brown monstrosity and say, "Does it have a broken toy, kind of like this?"  She says, "Yes...." so I say, "I worked for the Census Bureau last summer and remembered your cat, and so I bought it a new one."  Her eyes (and her smile) widen, and she exclaims, "I'll be right out!"  

Moments later, she's dressed and at the door and ushering me in to see Lily.  I put myself and the thing on the floor in front of Lily and direct all my comments to her.  She sniffs it and rubs it and seems grateful.  I pet her for awhile, and her owner, whose name I still don't remember and stupidly forget to ask, expresses her gratitude and offers to pay me for the brushy thing.  That's how nice she is.  Obviously, I refuse her offer and stand up to go.  She asks me if I do hugs, which I most certainly do, so she squeezed me tight and thanked me again and I left.  She stood in the door waving at me as I drove away.

As long as I'm doing one weird thing, I figure I might as well do two, so I stop at a lovely cemetery on my way out of town.  I'm fascinated with cemeteries and could (and do) spend hours in them. 

So many sad things. 

This headstone is so old and weathered that nobody can even read what it says anymore. 
No record of who lived and died and was buried in this spot.

Sadder still are the ones that have crumbled away to barely a nub.
A person's body is buried under here, and this is all that's left to mark the spot.  

But the saddest ones for me are always the babies.
Their tiny little tombstones, some of them with only "infant" as the name. 
Charlene got her name on hers. She missed her first birthday by a day, maybe only a few hours?
"Budded on earth to bloom in heaven".  I like that, and I ponder it a long time. 
Charlene just had a birthday, and even though she died over 60 years ago,
I notice that someone has put new flowers on her grave.

Then there's this one.  I really like this one.  The woman buried under here died when she was only in her 20s.  I imagine someone sitting on this cold, hard, concrete chair for hours, grieving the loss of this young woman.  I sit on it as I ponder her.  It's surprisingly not as uncomfortable as it looks. 

I would like to stay longer, but the sun is going down and it's getting cold, and I'm not dressed for it.  Maybe I'll come back another time.

Perfect winter hike

Both of my conditions for a perfect winter hike were met today.

- Not windy or bitterly cold, but cold enough that I'm fairly sure to be the only human out there.

- Fresh snowfall so I can see the animal tracks and the trees are gorgeous and it's perfectly quiet and still.

I couldn't really find the trails that I usually hike.

So I made the questionable decision to follow a set of bunny tracks.

They led me over this bridge with a fallen branch,

and deep into the woods.

I found a cute squirrel, who chattered angrily at my intrusion into his woods.

There are my nice boots that I bought last year to hike in Yellowstone and Montana.  Today I tested their waterproofness. In this picture, they're trying to decide if they want to go down these slippery stairs with a layer of ice under the snow.

My boots and I decided to go down the stairs (carefully).

At the bottom of the stairs I saw this cut tree that I imagined was laughing at me.  Can you see it?

Something bad must have happened here.  I'm glad I don't know what.

More stairs.  I had to crawl through and over fallen limbs to get to them.

Made it.  These boots really are waterproof.

I watched a squirrel dig up a nut here.  After he scampered up a tree with it, I went over to investigate.  How did he know there was a nut under there?

Debating if this branch is going to fall on my head as I walk under it.  It didn't.

How spectacular to see bright red berries in a colorless landscape!

These are the kind of pictures that I will cherish all summer long. 

 They will sustain me until next winter.

A welcome sight after getting (slightly) lost in the woods.  I didn't pop out where I expected to, but I met my goal, which is always to arrive back at my car unharmed before dark.