Sitting on the dock of the bay… July 31, 2008

Or something like that. 🙂

I’m outta here for my weekend–no men, no kids. How is that I love my family to distraction, can’t imagine my life without them, long for them when I’m apart from them, but still get a little shivery thrill at the idea of a weekend without them?

I’m bringing Tylenol PM. NOTHING is keeping me awake this weekend. 🙂 I’ve picked up some gourmet chocolate so we can have an impromptu chocolate tasting. I’ve got chocolate with peppers and cinnamon in it; chocolate with espresso, chicory, and something else in it; chocolate with black sesame seeds, ginger, and wasabi in it; and chocolate with bacon in it.

I could SERIOUSLY be testing my “bacon makes everything taste better” motto. I roll those flavors around on my tongue, and I just can’t figure out a way to make them go together in a way that makes me think, “Oh, yes. GOOD.” So: we’ll see. I’ll bring back a full report.

I pick up my rental car tomorrow (I can’t even tell you how hard it was to not rent a convertible!), my “pastor paycheck” so I’ve got some moolah, wine so I can be pleasantly buzzed without worrying about who’s keeping tabs on my chirrens, and then I hit the open road.

Peace be with y’all! I’ll be back in a few days! ;D

Please think of some witty, interesting title, and insert it here July 29, 2008

I’m just feeling sort of blah.

I’ve been doing a TON of pulpit supply at a church that has a vacancy. Like every Saturday and Sunday since mid-June, I’ve been there (with the exception of our vacation) preaching and leading worship. The people LOVE me. And I have to think that the senior pastor, who’s absence I’ve been helping to fill, would know that with a vacancy and an entire summer of face-time with the congregation, I’d be the front runner for the associate pastor position he’s got open. I’d love the call, and I miss pastoring so much it’s nearly painful to admit it. These weeks in the pulpit have been like heaven. But, naturally, because this is life, there are snags.

1. This is actually the church that M and I joined in January. So if they ask me to submit my name for the position, and I do, and they decide they don’t want me, I’d probably have to leave the congregation. It would be too weird to have put myself out there that far, and then be rejected. And it would be awkward for whoever DID get the job, knowing that most of the congregation wanted me for it–and I’m sitting there every Sunday morning with my gorgeous babies.
2. I’ve had the total honeymoon pastoring experience. I’ve gotten to preach and lead worship. Because of my crazy-ass work schedule, the pastoral care piece has fallen to others. Which means I haven’t gotten any of the middle of the night phone calls from people who want to kill themselves, I haven’t had to sit at a deathbed, I’ve not had to do any funerals. I also didn’t have to go to any of the council meetings, deal with any of the politics, or wonder about who’s gunning for me. I basically got to do the two things I love most about being a pastor, and none of the stuff I loathe about being a pastor. Why is this a snag? Because I miss it, but I also know that this was NOT a realistic picture of what a pastor does.
3. It’s made me REALLY dissatisfied with my job at Fashion Emporium. Really. Reallyreallyreallyreallyreally dissatisfied. I’m bored, I’m not particularly interested in persuing any training that would make me eligible for a promotion because I don’t WANT a promotion within this company–but how do you tell your boss that, who is grooming you for the next step? You can’t. Because then you don’t look like a team player, and if the church doesn’t pan out, I’m stuck here, still selling pants, trying to help support my family.

I’ve got my girls weekend coming up this weekend (if Clover ever emails me directions ;)). I’m excited, but M will be home alone with the girls, we’ve had some big bills come due so we aren’t exactly rolling in the extra income right now, and I’m wondering if this is really a good time for me to take off and have a weekend (not that the weekend is going to be horribly expensive…but still more expensive than staying home). M told me that he’s not giving me a choice. I’m going, and I’m using the extra $$ we made doing the pulpit supply to finance the venture–since that wasn’t money we’d planned on or budgeted for. He’s a good man, and loves me more than I deserve.

I don’t know. I’m in a weird mood. Not a bad one. Not a complainy one. Maybe cautious? Don’t know. I think maybe I need a weekend away. 🙂

This story broke my heart July 21, 2008

In regards to my previous post.

Act 3.

Yeah…keeping this war going? REALLY helps support our troops. Bringing them home would certainly be a bad idea. Much better to keep them over there where where they can witness things that make them do this.

Riiiiiiiiight.

I fucking hate this war. July 20, 2008

The other night, I had a customer come into the store. It was quiet…I’d sent my closing associate on her break, so it was just me and this customer.

She shared that she was looking for things to wear on vacation, so I asked her where she was going, and she shared, “Oahu.” After letting her browse for a few moments, I chattily asked her, “How long will you be on Oahu?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

“Wow! That’s fabulous!”

She sort of made a noncommittal noise in her throat, and I let her be, figuring if she wanted to share whatever was going on in her life: she would.

(That’s that funny thing about my job. Sometimes people open up in the strangest ways–you’ll be helping them find a good fit in a pair of pants, and suddenly: they’re telling you all about how they’ve been diagnosed with cancer and they’re not sure they can go on, and you’re sharing this fitting room with a half naked stranger, and the only thing you know how to do is put your arms around them and let them cry it out.)

She cleared her throat, “My son is in the Marines. He’s stationed in Oahu, and he leaves in four weeks for Iraq.”

My hands stilled in their shirt folding, “I’m sorry. That’s got to be hard for you.”

“It is. I mean, it’s his choice–when he told us when he was eighteen that he was going to join the Marines, I was furious. I screamed at him. He asked me to have his recruiter over for dinner, and I told him I’d die before I’d let that man in our house. In my mind, that recruiter was the biggest schiester–stealing our babies to fight in a war I didn’t believe we should be in. But over time: I accepted his decision.”

“It can’t have been easy, and it can’t be easy now though. I’ve got two little ones, and I’m scared to death for the day to come that I have to support them in something that could take them away from me forever. I know it will come. And I’m not sure I’ll be strong enough.”

She shrugged, “It’s his life. And the military is a good life–we were Navy for fifteen years, and it was the best life we could have had. They will have a good life. But his wife is having their first baby, a month after he leaves. As a parent I can’t even imagine not holding your baby for the first time until it six or seven months old! It breaks my heart. And the other thing that breaks my heart is the people that tell me, ‘Oh, this war is horrible–it’s just another Vietnam, and we shouldn’t be in it and we need to get out, and if the soldiers would just stop fighting it would all be over.’ It’s his job! How can they ask him not to do his job! Do they not realize that perhaps the soldiers that are being sent over don’t support the war either–but they go because it’s what they do?”

She was getting pretty distraught, so I moved closer to her, “Of course he’s doing his job–he’s fulfilling his calling. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that.”

She nodded, sighed, straightened her shoulders and said, “You’re right. I wish more people understood that. We’ll go to Oahu, and have our time with him, and then we’ll let him go. We have to.”

I nodded in sympathy, “Tell him we say ‘thank you’ for me, will you?”

At this point, she started to cry, and sort of fell into my arms. “The only thing that makes this bearable is people like you, who understand how hard this is, and how none of us have any choice in it. We just have to do what we can to get through.”

Already sort of pushed to my emotional edge by this mother’s pain, her tears moved me to tears as well. So we stood there in the store, held each other, and cried for a moment. Then she stood up, thanked me, said, “Now I have to go over to Starbucks and get a drink. I’m sorry. I’m not usually like that.”

I told her not to apologize, that I didn’t mind a bit. She turned and left the store. I don’t know who she was. She wasn’t a “regular”. But just the fact that I got to have this moment with a stranger, who was a sister in motherhood, makes me fucking hate this war.

I hope her boy gets to hold his baby. And I hope that when the time comes, she finds the strength to send her baby to war with a smile and a wave. And I hope that when he’s out of sight: she has someone to hold her while she falls apart.

Trying to get something started… July 18, 2008

So, Mojavi had an idea to generate traffic to our blogs. Me? I don’t really pay attention much to how many comments I get, although I certainly appreciate it when people come by, read, comment, and occasionally deepen the discussion/brain fart/whatever that I’ve posted. I blog because I have to, because even if no one in the world read a single word that I’ve written, I’d still be here: writing Mairsy Dotes, because it keeps me sane.

But Mojavi is preggers, and you know: humor the preggo lady. 😉 Plus, maybe it will cause us to find some new people to connect with–and sweet merciful Jesus knows: I couldn’t survive without my “blog buddies”. I love you guys. 🙂

So….a blog that I especially enjoy. Well, I read Mojavi every day (or just about) but she picked me as her choice, so I’ll pick someone different from my blogroll. I love Garish and Tweed. I don’t take the time to comment as often as I should, but I adore Jessmonster’s writing style, her way with words, her deep affection for books, her love of cooking, and her photography skills. I’ve written before about her fabulous red couch, and everytime I read her blog, I feel like I’m snuggled into her couch, with a blankie and a mug of tea, and a fabulous book–it feels just cozy. Some of the best things I cook, I got the recipe for off her blog. Plus, she’s Orthodox Christian–a tradition that I find fascinating and beautiful, and a little alien. So go check out Jessmonster. Maybe, if you’re lucky, she’ll whip up some Lipstick Granolacruncher cookies while you’re there. 😉

I clicked on Bread and Jam for Frances because I loved that book when I was a little girl. I like the rhythm of them, and the illustrations were just so cunning that I instinctively loved them. When I clicked on it, I found out it belongs to a lovely young woman named Bronwyn–I think I’ve read her blog before, but I could be wrong–who has a sense of humor I appreciate (I loved the private investigator photos!). She seems like someone who gets to go on adventures, and collect people named “Jess” while she’s at it. Not a bad collection to have, I shouldn’t think. 🙂

So now, if you want to keep the momentum going, go visit mojavi, and link to her site; then write about your favorite blogger (or one of your faves…for me, it was hard to choose!) and link to them; then link to someone on their blogroll, and that someone needs to be new for you. Got that? I think I do! 🙂

A Great Night July 16, 2008

Last night was a gorgeous night. The beauty of a high desert night is (for me, anyway) well worth the scorching temperatures of a high desert day. Once the sun goes down, the temperature drops…frequently, a cool breeze will spring up. You can smell the russian olive trees, and sagebrush on the wind. It’s heaven.

My folks went outside to do some yardwork after dinner last night. After they were done, they sat on their deck chairs and visited. I joined them after the girls were in bed. We ended up sitting out there, chatting, until nearly midnight. We chatted the sun down and the moon up. We laughed. We planned. We talked about things that had happened years ago. Dad kept bringing out beer, and when my baby brother got home from work last night: he joined us.

It was just one of those nights that don’t come along very often. You can’t plan them, or plan for them. You can’t try for them, or expect them. They just fall into your lap like a gift. 

The sound of the neighbors sprinklers fizzing…our soft laughter floating over the fences…the soggy “thwock” of our dog’s drool soaked tennis ball hitting the patio when we threw it for her…the scent of my mother’s roses surrounding us, with the occasional wafting addition of the lavender that grows under my bedroom window…a sky full of stars and a full moon.

Perfect.

An update on the Little Monsters July 11, 2008

And by “little monsters” I mean all y’all.

You have your own personal monster icons. Granted, I don’t have tons of you commenting (I’ve got a small but loyal following, for which I’m grateful), but none of you have shared the same lil monster, and you’re always the same one.

Which, I think, is rather cool. 🙂

Especially for Julia

So, my friend Julia loves bacon. So do I. I’m pretty sure bacon is one of the things that makes me believe in God, so I guess it’s a good thing I’m not Jewish–because that would be awkward. Anyhow, not only does Julia love bacon, she knows a guy who loves bacon so much he got a bacon tattoo.

Because of this, I’m sharing the following recipe:

Pig Candy

Ingredients:
Bacon
          Dark Brown Sugar

Directions: Dredge bacon slices in dark brown sugar and place slices on baking rack in a jelly roll pan. Bake about 20 minutes at 350. Enjoy sweet, crunchy, carmelized bacon-y goodness.

(Trust me. It’s good. ;))

Cool!

So, I found this publishing site that has a program that will automatically format your blog into a book that you can then order–sort of like a photobook, but for your blog.

I think this is fantastic, because I frequently worry about what will happen to my 3+ years of blog entry brilliance if Y2K shows up a decade late. I’d hate to lose all that–well, not all of it. To be perfectly honest, there’s quite a lot of dreck on this old blog. But there’s more on this blog that I want to keep–especially for the girls.

So, I converted my first year of blogging (2005) into book form. It’s FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY PAGES LONG. And that’s JUST 2005. That’s WITHOUT also publishing comments (which I kind of want to publish, since sometimes the comments continue thoughts explored in the original entry). Crazy. Granted, 2005 was our last six months in Kansas, and our slow spiral into the fun that is financial implosion, so I had a lot to blog about, but still: that’s bigger than Gone With the Wind!

I’m still probably going to do it, though. I just have to figure out a way to condense stuff…go through and read every blog entry and judge is publication worthiness, etc.

Beege’s Most Excellent Vacation Recap July 10, 2008

• Left Tuesday morning, stopped at a rest area and realized: my period had started with a vengance. It’s the sort of period that screams to you, “Don’t worry! You’re SO not pregnant! Would I be like this if you were? Hell no! You’re TOTALLY not knocked up!” which is reassuring when you’re worried that you are pregnant. However, I was not at all concerned about being pregnant. Not one jot or tittle of worry about that. So a period that enthusiastic was just a horrendous pain–particularly because I had brought NOTHING with which to deal with my enthusiastic monthly visitor. My brother’s girlfriend said, “Oh, don’t worry! I’ve got a tampon!” and pulled something out of her purse that I mistook initially for a little pink pencil. I handed it back, “Sweetie. I’ve had two babies. This ain’t doing shit for what I’ve got going on.”
• After lunch, we pawned Nea off on brother and his girlfriend, who thought it would be fun to roadtrip with a tired and cranky four-year-old. I couldn’t get her little booster seat out of the van fast enough. I’m pretty sure I left skid marks in the parking lot as I peeled out of there before they could change their minds and give her back. The little chit was an angel for them. Girlfriend shared, “She was so quiet the whole time that I actually fell asleep!” Nea added, ‘Yeah, Mama! I was sooooooo quiet! I was like a little mouse!” Great. How nice for Girlfriend.
• Found a Target. Got Flo taken care of.
• Got to the beach house. Ahhhhhhhhhhh….bliss! This is the third year we’ve gone to the same house, so it’s a little like coming home. Every bedroom has a beach view (in theory. Our bedroom beach view is blocked by the deck stairs and the hottub.). Girls went apeshit crazy to go out on the beach. Because M had to stay home for a couple of days, brother and girlfriend went out on the beach with the girls and I.
• And am I ever glad they did, because the Boogster? NO FEAR. She ran into the ocean as fast as her 12-inch thighs could carry her. Wave hit her in the face? No problem! She just laughs it off, and meets the next one with a roar of challenge.  Wave knock her down? She gets back up again. I had to beg my brother to keep an eye on my wee daredevil, so I could search the sand to find the heart that had exploded out of my chest in fear the first time she went down.
• Finally coaxed Sarah away from the water, and watched them play in the sand. Much fun was had by both the girls–when we went back to the beach house, they looked like walking churros.
• There is a spigot and hose on the deck for hosing off sand post-beach walk. Sarah stripped down and let herself be hosed off. She totally dug it. The water was cold, but she’d stand there and roar and laugh as the water hit her chest, legs, and bahookie. We’d stop hosing her off to hose Nea off, and she’d push Linnea out of the way in order to do it again. My little Viking girl, with her yawp of joy in life and all it has to offer. Even, it would appear, possible death.
• That night, coming home from a grocery run, Mom put a dent in the side panel of our rental van. The story I got was she was driving along, and asked Dad, “What’s that sound? It sounds like something scraping against metal.” And Dad replied, “It’s the retaining wall you’re scraping against.” Mom didn’t get to drive the rental van anymore that trip. She was 100% OK with that.
• Wednesday, we went shopping at some factory outlets. We were in a Christian outlet (they sell Christians for cheap–granted, they’re irregular, but with some of them you can’t even tell), and I was buying Linnea a Larry Boy cup and Sarah a Larry Boy toy. The woman behind me asked the woman working there if they had any plastic St. Joseph statues. The clerk replied that no they did not, and asked if she could ask the customer a question. The customer said, “Of course.” The clerk proceeded to tear into this woman, accusing her of worshipping false idols, breaking scripture, not trusting God, etc. The woman was completely taken aback, and stammered that she just wanted a St. Joseph statue to bury in her  yard to sell her house, and that she of COURSE loved God very much. The clerk started to lambast her about how Christians don’t need insurance, that they should trust in God to take care of them and fulfill their every need, and that she’d been in real estate for 20 years and never resorted to idolitry to sell a house, etc, etc, etc. Dude. NOT cool. Women like that give Christians a bad name. And if I hadn’t had both girls with me, I totally would have waded into the fray. Because I’d like to know how she justifies her homeowner’s insurance, or her health insurance? Her car insurance? If God will take care of everything, and Christians don’t need to worry or plan for the future, why is she even working? Doesn’t God say to consider the lilies of the field? They neither toil nor spin, but God cares for them. Why the hell isn’t this clerk sitting on the beach, waiting for God to drop heaven in her most-deserving lap? I was furious. Linnea’s eyes were the size of beachballs, and she pressed close against me and murmured, “Mama? Why did that woman go crazy?” I said, “She thinks it’s her job to hold onto Jesus–not the other way around, Baby. Let’s go.” I refused to go back into the store, I was so put off by that woman, and if the girls hadn’t been so in love with their respective Larry Boy items, I’d have returned them and gotten my money back.
• Wednesday night/Thursday morning, M arrived at the beach house, and there was much collective rejoicing from his girl gang.
• Thursday, Familia Beege went and spent some serious time on the beach. We played in the surf, the sand, made sand castles, went beachcombing, etc.
• Friday we drove down to Florence, Oregon for the best freaking chowder ever. We discovered, after sitting down and ordering, that the ownership had changed hands since the last time we’d eaten there (I suspected so. The decor had changed a bit–lots of animal prints, which is a little weird for a beach town restaurant). We also discovered that they had changed the chowder recipe. I didn’t think it was too bad–it was more of a seafood chowder, with clams, fish, shrimp, and salmon in it, and some sort of tang in the cream–but I was the only one who felt that way about it. It was generally decided that we wouldn’t be returning to Florence. Everyone but I felt deeply betrayed at the chowder switch.
• We take our chowder seriously. You might be picking up on that.
• Friday night was the 4th of July, so we spent the evening out on our deck, watching people all up and down the beach set off fireworks. It was GORGEOUS. As far as the eye could see, there were campfires dotting the beach, with people setting off their individual fireworks displays. Fantastic. I’ll post pictures, later.
• I honestly can’t remember what we did Saturday and Sunday…it involved walking on the beach, getting sandy, drinking wine, soaking in a hottub, and having fun. Oh! One of those nights the girls went skinny dipping in the hottub. Linnea was quite impressed with herself, doing a little “I’m going on the hottub nekkid” dance–to the great amusement of our neighbors.
• Monday we went to another little town to do some shopping. I bought Linnea a little ring that had a mermaid on it. EVERYONE thought that she’d lifted it. I kept saying, “No, it’s OK. I bought it for her. It’s fine. She didn’t steal it.” At that point, M motioned me over, and opened the front pocket of his windbreaker and asked, “Did you know anything about this?” (Yeah, I went naughty for a moment, too, but it was just a pocket). Inside his coat was this…thing. Some sort of squishy toy with googly eyes and other little rubber animals floating around inside it. It was disgusting. “Where in the hell did you get that?” I asked. He said, “Sarah had it.” (He was carrying Sarah on his back in a baby backpack.) I said, “Well, she didn’t get it from me.” Turns out, our fearless Ocean Viking Baby? Yeah, she’s also a klepto. We had NO idea what store she’d grabbed it from, so my brother took it. I don’t know if he knew where it was from, or if he just wanted to take the evidence in case the local police force suddenly surrounded us and demanded an end to the Familia Beege crime spree.
• We tried a new restaurant that day. Now this little town has, what I consider, the best chowder. But the best chowder is NOT at the restaurant we ate lunch at. In order to be a good sport, I went into the new restaurant, and ordered the chowder. I swear to God: it was some of the worst chowder I’d ever had. Progresso Chowder in a can is better than this stuff was. And it was our last day on vacation! We were leaving the next morning! And our two chowder experiences had been distinctly lackluster and unstatisfying! I was so disappointed!
• We’re serious about our chowder. If you couldn’t tell.
• That afternoon, M and I managed to finagle some alone time, and we went to some shops that we first discovered on our honeymoon. They’re trendy and expensive, and we can afford almost nothing in them, but they a lot of fun to poke around in, so: that’s what we did. And when we were done, I drove us back to that little town, and I bought seven bowls of the good chowder, and brought it back to the beach house, because I refused to let the lunch chowder be the final word on chowder for this vacation. It was generally agreed that my chowder was the best chowder, and that next year we wouldn’t think of missing it.
• We take our chowder pretty seriously, if you couldn’t tell.
• Tuesday, it was time to come home again. Nea and I went out for one last beach walk…found a jellyfish. Found some agates, sprinkled like pearls all in a row (I told Linnea that was the beach’s goodbye gift to us. You almost never find agates all lined up in a row). Linnea cried a little bit, because she didn’t want to go, and I cried a little bit, because I didn’t want to go either. Then we hopped in the van and began the long, long drive back up the Columbia Gorge, home.
• We went out for Mexican food. Because really, the best way to deal with the “I don’t wanna go home” blues is a margarita and spicey salsa. Linnea nursed her wounds with strawberry lemonade. Whatever gets you through the night. 🙂