Day story

February 2019

Outside my window, our woodpile grows smaller. Snow drops sprout and blossom. Pine branches lie in the pachysandra from last week's wind. My March thoughts in my goal planner focus on garden and yard. 

Giving thanks for truth. Yay truth. Yay God.

 ⁶ Praise the Lord!
    For he has heard my cry for mercy.
⁷ The Lord is my strength and shield.
    I trust him with all my heart.
He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy.
    I burst out in songs of thanksgiving. (Psalm 28:6-7, NLT)

In the school room, a fire and work. A later start. Lots of books. A hot tea too.

From the kitchen, counters full of Trader Joe's, and their brand of tapenade--I snagged three jars of it. I made my favorite toast: a gf sandwich flat (toasted), a tablespoon of tapenade, sliced cheddar cheese, sliced avocado, Himalayan salt and red pepper flakes. And because it was our monthly shop at Trader Joe's, I stocked up on some favorites and new things too. So we each indulged in a full cupcake after lunch (at 360 calories!). Stuffed.

I am reading through a lot of books: The One Thing by Gary Keller; Home Coming by John Bradshaw; Mommy Needs a Raise by Sarah Perry; The Anger Trap by Les Carter. Getting ready for the Lenten season studies: The Armor of God by Priscilla Shirer; Forty Days of Increase by Joel Maust; Forty Days of Decrease by Alicia Britt Chole.

I am hearing the kids at the table. Erin and I are heading out to skate tonight. We used to go weekly once upon a time. Trying to live in purpose, on purpose as a mom.

Around the house, a ceiling repair and molding caulking. Trim and ceiling to paint. Considering outside projects soon--cleaning the patio and walkways. Prepping the gardens. Looking forward to getting my hands dirty.

 A view of my favorite things:

At the table, the four of us. We'll be here eight years this summer. So much has happened.

Every day

Every morning that I wake up and get ready to run, my mind tries to talk me out of it. Every day.

Today was no different.

"The dog is up at 1 a.m. for a potty. You're tired. You shouldn't run."

I take the dog out and settle in the living room until it's time to officially wake up.

Later, I hear Shane come downstairs and I walk into the kitchen to make his lunch. I am tired.

"You shouldn't even fix coffee. It's so early and you're tired. Oh, and you have to write today! You can't even go back to sleep. And you've got to get out to do that Trader Joe's grocery run for olive tapenade," my mind continues.

I fix coffee, my man's lunch, and settle down to write. I write. I publish. I change my clothes.

"You're so tight from everything yesterday. It's ok to take a day off. You don't need to do this every day. Seriously. Who does this every day?"

I glance at the weather to check the temperature, and see that snow is in the forecast tomorrow morning--making today's run even more important because I don't run in snow or ice.

I put my shoes on, my face mask, my hat, my gloves. I go out to the sunrise and stand in mountain pose and make my intentions. I start out.

"You're really slow today. I bet your time is going to be a 15-minute mile. Why do you think you can ever go faster? I bet that 11-min-mile was a fluke. You were 13 minutes yesterday. This isn't for you. Your legs are tight. You should stop."

I keep going.

"You should stop."

I count my breath with the footfalls. I keep going. I run my laps.

"You can still stop." 

I play the same word game with myself that I do every day to beat the heckler in my head, "You're almost done!" I try to convince myself from the very start. I count down the laps. I am my worst enemy. I am my own cheerleader. Why does the run matter? Who will I listen to? I make myself run in the rain. I make myself run in the wind.

Then I turn to a nearby community to finish with a long walk. I notice a friend's car in the driveway. It's been in the driveway early all week, which isn't like her. I keep thinking I should text her to see if she's ok. This morning, her husband was setting the trash out at the curb.

"Is (she) ok?" I ask. "I've noticed her car home all week."

"The flu," he says. "We've both got it."

I offer the anything I can do that no one ever wants to cash in. I determine to make a get-well grocery bag for them from Trader Joe's. I drop it off afterwards--soup, honey, tea, crackers, tissues, oranges, flowers. I leave it on their doorstep and send a text ... because INTROVERT. (And flu.)

She replies. A thanks. I offer anything, anytime. And she shares a hard week on top of flu and a heartbreak and heartache--I didn't know. (Now I wish I had done more.)

I'm so glad I never listen to the voice that tries to shut me up and stop me every day.

It tries to stop me every day.

A lifetime ago, I read Lance Armstrong's book called It's Not About the Bike. And it's not about running every day--even though I do. It's about running the race marked out for me. In purpose, on purpose.

(I actually don't hate running. I really rather enjoy it--especially after previous days of good stretches. On those days I feel like I'm in my 20s again. But there are days like today that parts feel cranky, and the halting voice seems louder. I never regret it when I finish. I'm thankful I can. I'm thankful I get to. Disease and disaster can halt anything. I'm not going to waste an opportunity I might never see again. On, on.)

And still counting (13,081-13,120)

mild temperatures
snow melt
running again after January snow and ice
coffee with cream and sugar
books in the mail

a blanket on my lap
a morning meet up with Kellie and Anna
read alouds with Erin
thoughts and wrestle on obedience
asparagus

peanut butter blossom cookies baked by Lanie
pictures with Ann on an overcast day
66 Books
good books
a night walk

gluten-free cookies baked by a neighbor--for us
snow covered fields crusted in ice, reflecting the sunrise
tears
encouragement
Marshall's Mom

Ann
a house on Flint Rock
springlike days
fleece-lined leggings
a pair of running shoes in the mail

books in the mailbox
a library run with Lanie
family game at the kitchen table
good sleep
surprise food gifts in the freezer and pantry from Denise

cardamom creme brulee on the way
friends over on a snowy day
two fires burning
coffee with a friend
sunrises through the woods

homeschooling
yoga blankets to cuddle under
good podcasts on walks
moments of quiet
Sunday naps

Southwestern beef and rice skillet

My dad got me a subscription to Taste of Home a number of years ago, and still, two years postmortem, I receive issues. (I think there are one or two issues remaining.) But this recipe I got off of Instagram, and made a few tweaks to make it more my own.

We had it for dinner tonight, and I had my reservations because of the instant rice part, but it was actually kinda tasty.

Southwestern Beef and Rice Skillet Meal

4 servings, 400 calories per serving

1 lb lean ground beef
1/2 onion, fine diced
1 bell pepper, chopped
a few rings of pickled jalapenos
2 cups uncooked instant rice
1 10-ounce can of diced tomatoes w/ green chilies
1.5 cups beef broth
1/4 salt
1/4 pepper
1 t cumin
shredded Mexican or cheddar cheese
sour cream (optional)

In a large skillet, cook beef, onion, bell pepper and jalapeno over medium heat until meat is no  longer pink. Add rice, tomatoes, broth and seasonings and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and cover for five minutes until liquid is absorbed. Serve. Top with cheese and sour cream as desired.

Makes four pretty generous servings. I could easily eat an eighth of this, but it was pretty yummy, so I went for the full serving with no regrets. 

Roasted (or grilled) asparagus soup

I've long wanted to try asparagus soup.

I'm one of the few soup eaters in this house.

And mostly the only who loves asparagus.

Last week, I bought two bundles of asparagus and roasted them with olive oil, salt and pepper. If it had been summer, or if the grill had been up at the patio, I would have preferred grilling them.

I eat it roasted or grilled. I eat it in salads. And today I had it in soup.

Roasted (or Grilled) Asparagus Soup

2 bundles of asparagus, roasted or grilled w/ olive oil, salt and pepper
3 T butter
1 onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, smashed
14 oz chicken stock
1 heaping T arrowroot powder
1 cup milk

1 heaping dollop of sour cream


salt and pepper as needed

Parmesan cheese 

Melt butter in a soup pan and add onions. Cook about 10 minutes. Add smashed garlic. Go about 5 minutes more and then add asparagus and chicken stock. In a small bowl, combine arrowroot powder and a ladle of hot chicken stock. Dissolve arrowroot powder and add to soup. Bring to a boil. Reduce.

Off burner, add milk and sour cream. Blend with an immersion blender. Add salt and pepper as needed. Ladle into bowls, and grate Parmesan cheese on top.

Delicious. I had two bowls for dinner tonight. No one else wanted any, and I didn't care. Though I thought of Linda the whole time I made it and wished she was here. She would have had it with me, and I know she would have liked it a lot.

Leaving Godot

I spent some time with Lanie. We took a nice long walk, bundled and scarved, on a dark road--I stumbled on a stick on the street I didn't see. I didn't fall.

We talked about a lot of things, and at some point we talked about when she and Erin were really little. In my mind, I remembered all the summer days picking blueberries and getting a cream soda at the barn. I loved their young childhood. We did everything together, went everywhere together. I talked about the mall and the Gymboree classes Lanie took, and how we'd get a chocolate from Godiva, or a smoothie or a chicken quesadilla. I talked about the carousel rides. Their childhood was full of carousel music and sweet treats and Gymboree bubbles. Lanie didn't remember much--saying she remembered chocolates and remembered the carousel and wanting to go on it (you did go on it!).

I remembered it all, and I remembered the last time we went and how I wondered about lasts. (I think that was the point of the conversation--about getting out and living life and doing all the things because time comes along and things happen, like accidents-illness-inability, and suddenly you are passed by the last day you could have done something. This is why I get up and run every day--ok, except in snow and ice. Because one day, I might wake up and not be able to. I don't want to miss the last opportunity to enjoy my life. Run. Run. Run.)

I remember dumping fresh laundry in a mountain on top of her head, warm from the dryer, ready to fold. Or when we played Play-doh on a picnic blanket in the living room. And pushing littles on a swing. I remember Erin and a stroller walk and she was half-asleep and exclaimed, "Mama! Birds!" when she saw the murmur overhead. My. Heart. Swelled.

Maybe Erin was two or three?

I loved it all

Lanie's little toes

All the love

Just last Tuesday, getting ready to pull up a chemistry form I downloaded, my computer was in disarray of downloads and I saw a mixed board of images of my kiddos when they were really little, and I admit--I loved it all. These are the best years of my life.

It is Valentine's Day, and I sprinkled the heart cutouts from their rooms, down the steps, to the table where I had little pink lights and chocolates to greet my loves. We've done this for years, in both houses. I wonder what will they ever remember? (Oh, does any of it matter when it is forgotten by heart? Does anything ever matter?)

Oh, Godot. You said you'd come. I watched as the men waited on that road to nowhere (or maybe the road went somewhere, but they just never did), their banal conversation torturous to time, I couldn't even endure to eavesdrop--and I wondered, what is the point? How many days more did you say you'd come? How many days did they wait for you? I don't know what promise you held to hold them captive--but the real life was happening offstage while they waited. What if they had taken that road instead of standing still? Would they have even recognized you if they passed you on the way?

(Is that what we're doing? Wasting days waiting on something or someone we wouldn't even recognize if it didn't show up where or in the way we expected? Days melt and blend together like a perpetual Groundhog's Day that seems strangely familiar?)

After coffee, I got up for the first yoga class in the dark. The sunrise was stunning when I left after class, reflecting off snow fields crusted in ice on the way home. I fought back emotion. I thought of my kids and the pancakes I'd make them for breakfast.

Heart-shaped waffle iron

happiness magnets on the fridge

We used to bake Valentine's Day cookies for the neighbors. Why am I so tired?

Self care on a Tuesday

Woke up and fixed a sandwich for my man's lunch. Took the dog out. Made coffee. Took vitamins (Omega-3, D3, B complex, C). Drank coffee. Read a book for my own benefit and enjoyment (How to Read Literature Like a Professor for Kids--great book, checked out for my youngest but I perused the first lines and immediately got hooked).

Lanie woke up and hung out with Ruth and me. Drank coffee. I sneaked in a few minutes' snooze on the couch, but got up because we were about to have warmer temps than we've had in a long while, and I hadn't been out running because of ice, snow and/or single digits. Laced up. Mountain posed. Set intentions. Paced breathing. Ran. Then I finished off with a walk and podcast. Total time, about one hour.

Went to the grocery store. Came home. Had lunch (lettuce, red onion, roasted asparagus, walnuts, feta, Persian cukes, peppers--a garden feast). Showered. Prayed at length before a phone conversation I always need supernatural strength to manage. Schooled with my kids.

Had hot tea. Snacked a little on granola. Fixed dinner (wild rice and roasted chicken). Served dinner and changed into yoga clothes. Went to Restorative class and fidgeted physically and mentally for an hour as I tried to reign in self--it's been a while since I've taken that class. Being still is new ground again.

Came home. Spent time with Shane. Went to sleep at a very decent hour under warm blankets and delightful darkness. Slept soundly until it was time to get up again and start all over.

Taking care of myself means: eating well. Sleeping well. Taking vitamins and drinking water (and tea and coffee too). It means taking time to strengthen body, mind and soul--through exercise, reading/listening, prayer, and stillness. It means taking care of my home too--laundry, shopping, meal preparation. It means stewarding what I have been given: education, my children, responsibilities. It means owning up to all the challenges, my own reluctance and resistance, and pressing on. It means loving my husband and kids well--realizing the treasure of family and relationships and this very brief time called life.

And then it was Wednesday, and I got up, made my man's lunch, fixed coffee, took vitamins, read, laced shoes, mountain posed, set intentions, ran, and, and, and.

I grabbed all the love notes the Lord sends me, and tucked them in my heart.