Wonder Wednesday: Outsider Art

I noticed a fallen branch in my backyard. 

Heading outside, I realized it was a pine branch. Strange, given that no yard neighboring mine has pine trees.

Getting closer, I found this gorgeous sculpture.

So caught up in its beauty, it took me a minute to realize that I was looking at a squirrel's work.

The squirrel had brought this branch to my yard, found a quiet spot, and set to freeing pine nuts.

Valuable calories for the rodent.  Art for me.

These photos can't do the reality justice--stripped like this, the Fibonacci number pattern is clear, a shimmery silver on each edge.

I'll cherish this natural wonder for a while, then give it to an artisan I know. Perhaps she'll work it into one of her pieces, or simply enjoy it on its own merits.

Where have you been amazed lately? Any sweet surprises from critters?

In its absence

We have a pet turtle. Cute red-eared slider, swimming in his tank and crawling up on his rocks and log. A filter circulates the water, burbling all day long.

Usually the turtle lives in our downstairs bedroom, but while we had guests, the turtle tank came to the living room. Burble burble burble.

The noise was getting to me. One day I let the turtle wander the house for an hour so I could unplug the filter.

This afternoon the tank finally went back to the bedroom. My living room is blessedly quiet.

What I did not realize, though, is the white noise that filter provided. I startle with every rustle.

Mmmm Monday: Holiday Food

Most Mondays I'll post something about what we've been cooking. This is a monster entry, as we've had quite the adventures...

My work slows down a bit after Christmas Eve and we stayed home, so there was plenty of opportunity to cook, smoke, grill, and bake this holiday season. My parents visited, so more mouths to feed and more ideas to consider.

Here's a non-exhaustive (but somewhat exhausting) list:

Holiday cookies: My usual toffee bars, and a new chocolate cookie dough recipe, half with peanut butter chips and half with Andes candies

Hot cocoa mix, for gifting and home use

Christmas Eve: 
Tamales (traditional pork and king ranch chicken, prepared at our annual tamalada in November) with chili gravy, queso, and guacamole

Christmas Day breakfast (above): 
Panettone Strawberry-chocolate chip bread pudding
Eggs Benedict (which turned into queso eggs, as I made the hollandaise too soon, and it broke miserably)

Christmas Dinner: 
Ribeye roast (dry-brined forty-eight hours in advance, it was gloriously juicy and beefy. But that juiciness meant that there were very few drippings, so no au jus or Yorkshire puddings) 
with fluffy rolls, mashed potatoes, sherried mushrooms, roasted root vegetables, and roasted Brussels sprouts

Monday, December 28: Pork shoulder smoked on our gas grill - we did two of them--totally overkill. So much meat in my freezer...

Tuesday: Batch of charro beans, with some of the pulled pork

Wednesday, December 30: 12-hour brisket smoked on our gas grill - we took the advice to wrap it in a double layer of foil when it hit 150 degrees, pushing it through the "stall" that  can last for hours. Next time I'll mess with unwrapping it later, so we get the bark back. Math: a 14-lb brisket gave about six pounds of sliced meat, and we cooked down the fat cap for about a pound of "brisket bits" and a pint or so of brisket fat. The bits are a quick pop of flavor in just about anything, and a dab of the fat gives a deep base for soup, onions, etc.

Pies: I meant to make pie for Christmas, but it was eighty degrees here. So we had New Year's Eve pie. Pumpkin and cherry-blueberry. 
I made my first lard crusts from the lard I rendered for tamales--they came out flaky, but were a bit thick and needed more salt. (I tasted the porkiness, but no one else mentioned it...)

Chex Mix. Because holidays require Chex Mix.

New Year's Eve ended up being something of a repeat of Christmas Eve, menu-wise, with the addition of a cheese slate and the grape leaves a friend brought over. (Tamale course was beef tamales and roasted garlic&cheese tamales.)

New Year's Day I decided the charro beans were close enough to black-eyed peas, and the coleslaw would count for greens. So we just made a cornbread--spouse found the hidden penny.

Using up the pork was an adventure all its own, as I don't really eat non-bacon pork. So I became a pork pusher, setting out hashes, salsa-infused pork and rice (thank you, rice cooker), a penne with pork and red sauce, and a giant tray of pork nachos.



Since I'm always encouraging my sons to cook, I got them tools and kits for mushroom ravioli this year. Firstborn has oyster mushrooms growing upstairs, and secondborn opened his cheese-making kit yesterday. He made his first batch of mozzarella (yum!) and I used the whey to make a ridiculously small amount of ricotta. I think I'll go for whole milk ricotta next time. 


This morning's experiment was looking for a use for a package of bacon rind (not the fried stuff) a friend got with her half-hog purchase. I'd found this recipe online, and it seemed simple enough. In reality, I think it was meant for more delicate rind, if there is such a thing- ours turned into shards of pain. Breaking a tooth is never a good adventure, so the remainder of the rind was cut into squares for the stock pot. Spouse will have many flavorful pots of soup and beans over the winter.

A last experiment for the holiday was a batch of rolls, using some of the whey from yesterday's cheese as the liquid. YUM! I accidentally duplicated a taste from a long-closed restaurant nearby. (Good Eats at Wilcrest and Westheimer.) 

Tomorrow is back to a full work schedule and the kids are back to school. The good news is, the freezer is full of food for easy dinners in the month (or three) ahead.

Ritual for even the smallest fingers

The congregation I serve has an annual Turnings Service, recognizing the births, deaths, and other transitions in our community.  

This service is meaningful and emotional for many, and we encourage older children and youth to attend.

For our youngest children we have Turnings, Too- a parallel chapel service where we talk about the turning of the year and all that may have changed in our lives. For each sharing the children can drop a glass bead into this dish of water--light blue for the joys, and the darker colors for the struggles of life.

Every child has known joy and sadness. They welcome new cousins and aunts and cats and turtles into their lives. They feel the loss of death, of friends moving away, of changing family configurations. They recognize that some things are a mix of good and bad--a hospital stay and then recovering, missing loved ones while on a long but exciting trip.

And we build community in our sharing, knowing that church is a place where people want to celebrate our joys with us, support us through our struggles, and take interest in our hopes and dreams. 

If You Give A Katy A Cookie...

If you give me a cookie, I'll probably want a cup of coffee.

As I fix that cup of coffee, I might spill the half & half. In today's episode, I might drop the bottle, splashing half of it on the counter, down the cabinet doors, to pool on the anti-fatigue mat and floor.

I wiped up the kitchen mess and took the mat outside to spray clean. Only the garden hose was disconnected from the bib, so I had to figure that out.

Then I remembered that the new perennials needed watering.

Coming in the house, I discovered drips in the hallway. I handled that, too.

All said, it took twenty minutes to get back to my coffee. 

By then, I was ready for another cookie.

Inspiration, please?

Still life from backpack

My last post was July 22nd, in the midst of a month I took off from blogging as I concentrated on other projects.

And whoops, I did not pick the blog back up when August came around. 

A nonessential project buried under the stuff of life, deeper every day.

But I find that I miss it.

My most fluent times come when I am sticking to a Seinfeldian chain, writing every day. And indeed, I've stuck with my daily journaling throughout. Not much of it compelling, but the words were written.

The real question is what do I have to say that people actually want to read?

I welcome suggestions as I try to get myself back on something of a schedule.

A Blip in the Radio Silence

Poetry takes absolutely forever.

I finally passed the halfway point to the minimum (10000) word goal for Camp NaNoWriMo. It's July 22nd.

The good news is, I surpassed my personal 620 lines of poetry goal days ago.

98% of my writing is very very rough draft. Dreck.

At the same time, about half of it is personal, dealing with things I'm still processing. So I'm spending the time quietly, not publishing.

But here's a piece that's exceedingly meta, because that's what happens when you take on NaNo.

Heelsticks.
Drawing drops of blood
from the heel of a
shrieking newborn.
Writing a poem
feels like that.
Except when the muse of loquacious imagery
points the fire hose of words,
blasting straight at your face
in your mind
out your pen
please don't run out of ink!
The muse gives no guarantee
of quality or satisfaction-
often you wake hungover,
faced with pages upon pages
of utter crap.
Still better than the empty page,
the taunting blinking cursor.

Battery Life

My beloved netbook has passed its fifth birthday. Apparently computer years are sort of like dog years, but even more so--the netbook is now a dinosaur.

Sure, it shows its age in a few cosmetic and functional ways--my dog popped the down key off years ago and some of the keys are persnickety.

The big issue, though, is the battery. It looks like it is fine, fine, fine, and then the computer shuts down with no warning. As best as I can tell, it turns off when the charge goes below 76%. Or that calibration is a lie--so it's draining quickly and not showing it.

Confounding matters further, the charger cable hooks into the computer only loosely.

I'm a week from vacation. Hard to say how I'm calibrated.

Disoriented

I got lost today. 

I missed a turnoff because I didn't see the sign, and my phone couldn't find my location to holler at me that I'd left my chosen path.

I did not realize I was lost until I ran out of highway, twenty-four miles from where I needed to be.

There wasn't a great place to stop, but I was in the middle of somewhat nowhere... with half my sense of direction, I came up with a new path, started driving again and called my lunch date.

Then traffic had me at a standstill. When we finally got moving, I turned at the wrong exit. And went the wrong way.

Stuck at a red light, I took the time to restart my phone, so I could know both where I currently was and where I was going. 

Amazingly, the journey made more sense. No more detours, I was at my destination within minutes.

(I let my compatriot drive us to lunch.)

I could use a thousand spiders right now...

Wettest May on record...and June had its moments, too.

The mosquitos are carrying away newborns and making us all anemic.

Maybe not. But the bug bites may start a new fashion trend, or at least make us 3D connect-the-dots.

Put away your Sharpie, please.

Post #500!

I started this blog in August 2013. 

It went slowly at first, as I only posted when I felt like I really had something to say.

And then in late February 2014 I decided that I just needed to start saying. Every day. Sometimes it would be critically important and other times it would be just a bit above "I had a piece of toast."

For the most part I *have* posted every day. (Ok, I skipped two days last week. I was writing a sermon and preparing for a full day of LGBTQ weddings. Something had to give. And then I posted the sermon, so I think that gives me a bit of forgiveness, as it clocks in at a length about ten times my average post.)

I apologize for the toast posts. I offer you this rose as a small token of my appreciation for your gracious patience.

Camp NaNoWriMo 2015!

Every November I take part in National Novel Writing Month, writing a truly horrendous first draft of a novel.

The same group also sponsors a "Camp" writing month in July, a little less structured but another chance to set a goal and hopefully achieve it. I haven't done the July challenge for a few years, but with my partner taking it on, well... why not?

So my goal is to write twenty lines of poetry each day in the month of July. I do not yet consider myself a poet, though I can throw down some haiku...

Maybe some of it will be non-heinous enough to share it.
(Probably not.)

If you'd like to join the fun, check out http://campnanowrimo.org/ .

If My Dog Were In Charge...

If my dog were in charge (and she just might be)...

• Anything that smelled good to her would be hers. None of this waiting for someone to drop it.
• Speaking of smells, humans would have more appreciation for the unique cocktail of a dog's fur, and all that it takes to distill that fragrance.
• The entire world would be a dog park.
• Rainy days would be snuggle sleeping days. Required by law.
• Humans would have extra arms just for petting the dog. And use the other arms for petting, too.
• The vet would get down on the floor, instead of insisting on dogs coming up on the cold metal table.
• There would be a bed, couch, or fancy dog pillow in every sunbeam.
• Cheese and peanut butter would be available on their own, not just as pill camouflage.
• I would never blog sprawled across the bed. It takes up too much of her real estate.

I Can't Adult! Sermon 6/28/15

Given at Emerson Unitarian Universalist Church of Houston on June 28, 2015

Working from a place of playfulness, we had sermon bingo cards with fabulous prizes, choose your own adventure hymns, a time for all ages to share their childhood lovies, and our readings included Hyperbole and a Half's This Is Why I'll Never Be an Adult and Shel Silverstein's Listen to the Mustn'ts.

The aisle signs in grocery stores can be helpful--and existential. I saw one that said Adult Cereal.
I wondered --Is this cereal X-, or just R-rated? What shape are those puffs? Maybe it just has adult themes like… cannibalism or estate planning.

And yes, Kids Cereal was also an option. Careful investigation revealed that Kids Cereal means sugar and prizes and fun shapes and colors. Adult Cereal means… fiber.

Growing up is supposed to be Good For You. Make the sensible multigrain choice and don’t let it bother you that it’s beige and boring and an awful lot to chew.

Answer your email. Go to the bank and the grocery store. Clean all the things. Work. Pay the bills. Run the errands.
And do it all again tomorrow.

Above all, be mature. Mature is black slacks, polished shoes, matching socks. Mature is always on task, and serious all the time.

Who wants to sign up for all of that?? Truly, if it’s about drudgery and misery and never-ending responsibility, I Can’t Adult.

I am a proud member of Generation X. Born from the early 60s to the early 80s, we are stereotyped as disaffected slackers with a propensity toward flannel. Our generation came of age between wars and our parents were more likely to be dual income or even divorced. We were called the latch-key kids.

At this point, the youngest GenXers are in their thirties, and my oldest compatriots have hit their fifties. We’re old enough that our music shows up on Classic Rock stations. Heck, I am getting to the point where I’m looking forward to IHOP Senior Specials. And yet…

I used to think that I would wake up one morning and adulthood would make sense. Somehow I would have downloaded some sort of Competence program and instantly, I would be able to DEAL WITH IT.

In the meantime, a lot of us feel like we are faking it at being grown-ups. That at any second someone will discover us for the quivering frauds we are.


And here’s the secret—this isn’t just my generation. Many people older than I am have admitted to these same feelings…maybe not as loudly, and with a little less flannel.

Paul, in a letter to the Corinthians, says,

 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

Every time I read Paul’s letters, I find myself arguing with him. In this case, why is childish such a bad thing?

Let’s start with the childish things we shared at the beginning of the service—our comfort objects. The stuffed animals and favorite pillows and blankets—these things serve a real purpose when life is hard. When you are terrified by illness and chaos, mourning losses both personal and global, you need some comfort. Something soft is a sweet start.Our culture tells us to deny ourselves comfort—that’s ridiculous. The Inherent Worth of Oneself gets lost in the to-do lists, the laundry, the needs of the baby the job the bills the struggle.

Yes, we must be careful that our comfort does not abuse another or ourselves, but it is also abusive to stick to stoicism, and to a rugged individualism that says you must handle it all yourself.

What if what we set aside was the Mythology of Grown-up and instead embrace some of these childish things?

As we reflect, know that I’m do not mean Misplaced Nostalgia—we’re not going back to an ‘easier time’—life is always challenging at all ages and stages, and childhood is not always happy. But what do we abandon when we leave childhood? What is dismissed as unimportant that might actually be a strength?

Edwin Friedman, a rabbi and therapist, was a real expert on how people tick and the various illusions that many of us believe to be true. One of these myths is that seriousness is deeper than playfulness.

Being playful is important. It is creative and freeing and welcoming. And as Friedman puts it, “playfulness can get you out of a rut more successfully than seriousness.”

So we have this Sunday service with bingo cards. A webcomic as a reading. Heck- there’s a word scramble in your order of service, and coloring pages to take home.

Playfulness opens us to JOY. How often do we let ourselves be really and truly happy, even if in tiny doses. There should be no waiting for someday when it comes to joy. Celebrate whatever you can. Children celebrate their birthday, their half-birthday, new shoes, pancakes, puddles, caterpillars.


And joy often accompanies Wonder.

<excerpt from Clark Dewey Wells's You Be Glad At That Star>

Be curious.
Forever learning.

As Unitarian Universalists, we hold that revelation is ongoing—new truths are always being revealed. When we throw on blinders, when we declare ourselves to be done learning, we hold in our very humanity.

Ours is a faith of Lifespan Learning-book clubs and adult religious education, and so many of us are reading or taking classes or discovering a new hobby. Most of our Sunday school teachers tell me that they sign up not because they feel obligated, but because they always learn something from the experience—from the curriculum and from the children and youth in the room.

Life will always have uncertainty. A spirit of curiosity keeps us vibrant and gives us hope.

And boy howdy, but we need hope.

Our five-year old selves knew that we could sing and dance and paint and be astronaut cowboy doctor unicorn-riding rock stars.

Somehow, over the years, many of us give these things up—pared away by scarcity of time but also by criticism and self-doubt.

We are continuously chastised for being Too Much and Not Enough

Have you ever been told that you are too loud?
Not talented enough?
Too angry?
Not ambitious enough?
Too weird?
Not happy enough?
Too pushy?
Not attractive enough?
What else?

And the lower your prestige and privilege, the more you get these messages. Stay in your place. Keep your head down. Do not cause trouble.

Dear ones—you are not too much. You are you and that is good and that is more than enough. And yes, I will write you that as a note if you need it, for your mirror or your wallet or your Facebook wall.

In the 1976 film Network, newscaster Howard Beale delivers that iconic line-
“I’m as MAD AS HELL and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

That, my friends, is the default setting of a young child. As little ones, we throw tantrums when we are angry, we wail when we are sad or hurt or afraid.

Over the years, our culture socializes us to tone it down. Be polite. Keep the peace. Girls, especially, are told they cannot show anger...or people won't like you. Boys are told that tears are an unacceptable show of weakness—Man Up.

Oof.

Are any of us allowed an honest expression of our emotions? Can we say what we think, or must we carefully couch our terms and remain so reasonable? Be polite. It is a calmer existence, but it values the status quo over change, manners over justice.

Children are passionate beings and fairness is critically important to them. Yes, this starts with the personal—Mom, he got a bigger piece of cake than me! But they pay careful attention to wider issues—they notice how people are treated, and they are so very disturbed to see injustice. They do not minimize or reason it, pointing out the complexity of the situation. They see that it is wrong, and they want to know why, and how it might be fixed.

Using this passionate eye to justice, let’s return to that Network quote with a bit more context.




That’s a 1976 film. A whole lot of it still applies. What else comes to mind?

*Black Lives Matter – the extrajudicial executions of people of color by police, the burning of six African American churches in the past week, the assassination of an African American senator minister and eight other souls in an AME church in Charleston and still the Confederate Flag flies?

*While the Obergefell decision brings marriage equality across the land, many LGBTQ people are still denied basic rights of fair employment, life, and dignity. Trans folk, especially trans women, are being killed for who they are, then misgendered in police reports and the news. Nearly half of homeless teenagers are homeless because their parents kicked them out when they came out.

*Americans are increasingly financially insecure. Laid off when oil prices drop or industry moves elsewhere, buried in spiraling student debt, caught in stagnant wages. The minimum wage in 1976 went up to $2.30 …adjusted for inflation, that’s a little over $9/hr today. Better than our current $7.25.

When faced with the hurts and seemingly insurmountable problems of the world today, it is so very easy to flail, and to curl up in a ball in our safe living rooms. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I feel powerless and oh so small—I Can’t Adult! What can one person do?

This despair comes when I believe the lie of independence, a myth both pernicious and paralyzing. We all need help. We all need connection—to be part of an endeavor, to have friends, and to be held in circles of caring.

And big goals need many hands and many hearts and many minds. On the front of every order of service, on our website, our newsletter, you will find Emerson UU Church’s statement of identity— Our beloved community of faith, reason, and affection welcomes all to grow in mind and spirit as we build a better world.

Cindy Beal, one of my wise colleagues, reminds us that

The arc of the moral universe bends toward justice, and usually it's because we bend it….
The goal of justice has to be all of us, my people. And what if our goal was to create a society in which no one ever had to say "Stop killing us."
Every single person deserves dignity, respect, and physical, mental, and even emotional and spiritual safety and embodied joy. Yes, joy. We can set goals that are based on healthy embodied joy. That's what I'm aiming for.

Can you imagine a world where we set goals based on the healthy embodied joy of every person?

Embracing the strengths of childhood, of playfulness and joy, wonder, and authentic emotion, honoring our passion for justice, how might we build that better world? What do our five-year old selves call us to do?

Many things.

One, of course, is our upcoming LGBTQ Wedding Day—around the church you’ll find these gray panels of paper. Before you leave today, please draw a happy picture or write your congratulations to the couples who will be married here two weeks from yesterday. The papers will become the window coverings in rooms upstairs where these couples will make the final preparations for their long awaited ceremonies.

Out in the Gathering Place we’ve got a sign-up table for volunteers, with opportunities before and during the event, a chance to use your favorite or long-neglected talents and passions to bring joy to others.

And next Sunday, the Reverend Chuck Freeman will be in this pulpit, to share the uniquely Texan story of Mary and James Billings, Universalists who spread their message of justice over a hundred years ago, and more on our Texas Unitarian Universalist Justice Ministry, working with state legislators to bring about equality, peace, and compassion in this vast and complicated state.

In the meantime, dream big and talk with others here—what makes your heart sing with possibility? How will you share your joy and wonder with a world that needs it?

That Nauseating Time

Where every word you write
           every reading you choose
           every element you've placed

Seems horribly wrong 
                          and        absolutely
 none            of            it                           is 
         coming 
                         together.

Thankfully
           sermons don't need to be 'ready' 
           until Sunday.

You just hope that they come before


                                                    they're 

                                                                           overdue.

Oasis

A busy busy day today with many things accomplished.
Including driving the boys to their pool-sitting gig. (Yes, we are allowed to use the pool.)

Everyone can use an oasis of one sort or another, no?

Snark and Vacuum

From Dictionary.com

snark

verb (used without object)

1.

to be critical in a rude or sarcastic way:

to snark about the neighbors.

noun

2.

rude or sarcastic criticism.

The term originated, we're told, around 1910-1915, with roots in the Dutch or Low German for "to snore".

I am fluent in snark--it may be my native tongue. But I also work on being civilized and mature, so I try to limit my audible snark, and keep it from my writing as much as possible.  When I can, I translate the essential points into something more polite.

Sometimes it takes me a while to do the processing necessary for that moderation. In the meantime, I am quiet, or at least rambling on other topics.
But do I ever get back to the matter at hand? Or does my blunt truth get forgotten in the distractions of the day?

There's a trade-off there, to be certain. Manners maintain the status quo, which may truly need to be overturned. Change most often involves some amount of risk, conflict, and someone will most likely be discomfited, if not royally ticked.

Speaking the truth in love is a delicate act. Our choices are to err on the side of obscuring truth or imperfect love. Apologies may be necessary.

Lessons from Jaws

This week marks the fortieth anniversary of the theatrical release of Jaws. I'm happy to say that I've finally seen it on the big screen.

It's an awesome flick for a number of reasons, but what sticks with me is the unlikely hero. (Yes, I'm avoiding spoilers on a movie nearly as old as I am.)

It's a lesson for life. We tend to wait for the experts--those with the specialized knowledge and training to do the big and scary things. Failing experts, well... won't somebody else do it?

Ducking behind our fear and our obligations and our busyness, we can come up with seemingly rational ways to claim that the work is not ours to do.

But no matter how gory and terrifying (or endless and uncomfortable), we just might be the ones to blow it all open and find the way through.

Half The Year Gone

It is the solstice.
It's too hot in Houston for me to truly celebrate this turning and yet it is an occasion to mark, and to take note of where we are and what we've done.

A personal progress check feels a bit brutal right now. That feeling of nothing being accomplished. My reading list has barely budged, my professional goals more aspirational than achieved.

Goals get made in calm moments of life, not considering upheavals of illness and chaos. The year, thus far, has been a bit heavy on the heaves.

So I gave the weekend over to having a little fun and giving myself a break. Sometimes survival is 'progress' enough.

Not Heading to General Assembly

Next week several thousand Unitarian Universalists converge on Portland, Oregon for General Assembly, a five-day conference with worship, business meetings, workshops and much more.

I'll be holding down the fort in Houston, catching some of the sessions online. 

Perfectly rational reasons for not attending GA, with happy plans of my own to look forward to, but it does not stop a certain amount of ache.

I will miss the excitement of so many people coming together.
I will miss seeing beloved colleagues and friends.
I will miss the learning and the rich discussions.
I will miss some really fantastic lectures and milestone moments.

My sons and I are already discussing the possibility of doing GA 2016 together.