But Aunt Flo is visiting, if you’d like to talk with her.
I should have known…
My drug of choice
A few years ago, M and I totally got into teas. Not like English teas–which I always imagine to be formal and a bit fussy. No doubt my English friends will set me straight on this.
We really like the Japanese and Asian teas. Served out of a cast-iron tetsubin teapot, poured into simple cast-iron cups that fit into your hand as if they were created just to snuggle into your own particular palm.
Our current favorite is an herbal blend called simply, “Night Night” with various herbs to help a body relax and ease into a restful night’s sleep. It might sound silly, but I sleep better on the nights when we take time for our Night Night tea, than on nights when we don’t. I also like a tea called “Iron Goddess of Mercy” while M likes a tea called “Gunpowder”…sometimes the names of the tea are enough to intrigue. For example, the Christmas before Linnea was born, M bought me a tin of Gunpowder (signifying him); a tin of Peach Oolong (my favorite at the time); and a tin of “Monkey-picked Oolong” (signifying Linnea, who is our little monkey girl, and always has been). I realize that in December of 2003 I was swimming in the hormones of 8 months of pregnancy, but that one gift made me weep, and I STILL remember it as being one of the sweetest things he’s done. Plus, the Monkey-picked Oolong was DELICIOUS.
Our “tea parties” are a time for us to just stop whatever it is that has kept us so busy and so frantic all day, to sit, to enjoy the aroma and the flavors of the tea. To sit and read books, or talk, or listen to Bach or Willie Nelson. To connect with ourselves, to connect with one another, and to disconnect with other parts of our lives that have taken up enough of our time for that day.
I’d take tea over coffee any day, which is scandalous for a girl that grew up in Washington. Iced tea, black tea, green tea, white tea, herbal tea, bags, infusers–whatever you’ve got: I’ll take it. Except for those bags you buy in the grocery store. You’re not usually going to get a good cup of tea from Lipton…but if it’s all you have, then dunk me a bag, baby.
Any other tea-freaks out there?
A call for help
Some of you may or may not know a blogger by the name of Kara. She and I have “known” each other from another BB for years, and I was so excited that she might come to University of Kansas for grad school (she didn’t, and I was sad, but now neither one of us have to live in Kansas, and that’s a good thing).
Her mom is in a bad, bad way. Kara is absolutely amazing…a strong woman, but there’s still a little girl who might lose her mommy living inside that glorious strong woman. So if you could, say some prayers, light some candles, keep Kara and her dad in your thoughts?
Thanks.
I’m too cool for this…maybe August 29, 2005
Six years ago, one of the first things that M and I did together…well, not really officially “together together” but an event that we attended in the same group, traveling in the same car, and managing to spend the entire event in one another’s company, even though we were not as yet “together”…was go to the Minnesota Ren Fest.
I had never attended one of these things. When the subject came up amongst our group of friends that we should go, those who had gone to one before immediately started making arrangements. As a RenFest virgin, I was simply along for the ride.
It’s interesting, I’ll give them that. Sometimes even amusing. And it’s hard to beat a hot turkey leg and a cold beer on a sunny late-summer day. And it’s hard not to wander down the wide, stroller-choked byways and wonder, “I wonder if this is what it was REALLY like?” (Answer: No. Not really. Not at all.)
So, my main fondness for the RenFest comes from the fact that it was one of the first times M and I got to spend much time together. I drank too much beer (a whopping 2) and got a little tipsy, and he took care of me. We watched the jousts and something like “Plegm and Snot” or something like that. We came perilously close to holding hands…the slight brushing of fingers that you immediately act was accidental.
And, RenFests have also inspired an excellent episode of “King of the Hill”.
We’re thinking about going back this weekend. Taking Linnea with us, to see all the wonders–people who never ever got over having to leave their days in high school drama club behind, strong, beautiful horses, crude jokes, and big turkey legs. Along the way we’ll remember “the way we were”…how funny it is to remember that two people who are completely comfortable with all aspects on one anothers’ bodies and the functions thereof were once shy, uncertain, hesitant, and unknown by the other.
It’s good to take this sidetrips, I think. It reminds us of how far we’ve come. How hard-won the comfort has been. And how good it is to fall asleep everynight beside our best friend.
“The first time I kissed you, I lost my legs…” August 27, 2005
I’m in the process of organizing my prodigious collection of yarn. Whole skeins, bits and pieces left over from completed projects, tangles of circular knitting needles…in the packing, it all just got flung in a box, to emerge here in Minnesota as a tangled, jumbled, four-letter-word inducing mess.
You see, I’m a yarn snob. Some people may be perfectly content to knit with Red Heart, or Jiffey, or those enormous skeins that bill themselves simply as “One Pound of Yarn!”. Some people may knit perfectly lovely items with those yarns. But not Beege. Beege loves the expensive yarns. The yarns that turn knitting into a sensual experience as you feel the yarn slip through your fingers, and puddle in your lap…different yarns have different smells, different ways of catching the light, different ways of responding to the needles. And I love to watch how different yarns do that.
So, I kicked M and Linnea out of the house and went back into the bedroom to see what I could do about the mess my knitting collection had become. Along the way, I picked up the new Dave Matthews CD, Stand Up. I’d had it for awhile, but hadn’t listened to it–it was still in it’s shrink wrap. I have always been a fan of DMB. I love the texture of their sound, the way the instruments and voices weave in and out of the song–and in a way, the way the songs, instruments, and voices catch the light. As a writer, I adore DMB’s lyrics
“Oh, my love you came to me like wine comes to this mouth
grown tired of water all the time…”
As an amature wino, AND someone who drinks water I totally get this line. I get that after a life time of the same-old-same-old, someone comes into your life that wakes up parts of you that you never even knew were sleeping–or even existed and you are changed forever. You can never go back to just drinking water when you’ve had a really good wine. And I get that, and I’ve experienced it, but I would never ever think to express it this way. Which is why Dave Matthews is a god. It also makes him rather sexy.
Not like Matthew McCaunnahey, or Orlando Bloom, who are “M has totally said if I get the opportunity to sleep with you, I can” sexy. But sexy, nonetheless–in a sensitive musician sort of way.
Anyhow. I wander.
The lyric that stopped me cold this morning was “The first time I kissed you, I lost my legs…”
Not a perfect lyric, I don’t think, because the first thing it called to mind was someone actually losing his legs after he kissed someone…not romantic, no matter how you slice it. I certainly wouldn’t want to be the type of woman that caused someone to literally lose his legs after kissing me. Can you imagine the guilt you’d feel, you with your fleet of wheelchair-bound former lovers?
But to suspend literality (if that’s even a word) for just a moment…and remember the times when you kissed someone for the first time and felt the sudden and urgent need to sit down before your legs buckled under you…to thank God in his heaven that the guy was holding onto you, otherwise you’d be collapsed on his shoes, a hopeless puddle of romantic notions and hormones. That breathless moment when you can feel his breath whisper against your cheek and feel the warmth radiating from his body, and you only have time to think, “Please God, don’t let this suck!” before he’s kissing you and it doesn’t suck at all. Well, not in the sucky meaning of suck.
But even more than causing me to take up precious yarn-organizing time with a waltz down memory lane, it made me realize that one of the reasons I love DMB so much is that he writes songs that I wish people would write for me. Or, at least think of me when they hear them. I don’t think there’s a woman out there who wouldn’t love it if their lover thought of them when they heard Dave croon, “The first time I kissed I lost my legs” or “you come to me like wine comes to this mouth, grown tired of water all the time” or any of the other countless romantically sexy lyrics that DMB has written over the years.
Anyway. I’m not sure where this blog is going, or what the point of it was. But what I do know is that I’m totally going to make out with M when Linnea takes a nap this afternoon. And he can thank Dave Matthews for it. 😉
Becky Home Ec-y August 26, 2005
This is what my mother used to call me when I was a teenager and I’d get into these rare, but always sudden bursts of domesticity. She’d come home from work to a clean house, dinner in the oven, and a dessert cooling on the countertop. Usually, these dips into the area of Domestic Goddessness happened about three or four days before my period…so in exchange for putting up with my hormotional rollcoasterness, my family got a clean house and good food. They decided it was a fair exchange.
I find that I’m really enjoying being home with Linnea. All those little things that I used to hate to do because it was just one more thing to have to fit into an already long and busy workday–laundry, dusting, litterbox, making the beds, doing dishes–I now find myself enjoying, because they’ve become my job. I like dusting the house and picking up Linnea’s toys at the end of the day. Today I did laundry, and it’s all folded and waiting to be put away (in my previous life, laundry was known to sit, unfolded, in a chair in the living room and we’d just pick through the pile for our clean clothes until M folded it to have a place to sit and play XBox or until it was time to do laundry again). I like planning meals, and cooking them. I like making sure the house is running smoothly so that all M has to do at the end of HIS day is take Linnea for a few hours of Daddy-Daughter funtime so I can relax a bit.
It works REALLY well. But I don’t get paid for it. Heh.
I’m just sort of in awe of the domestic goddess that lives inside of me. I’ve never been a neat-nik, much to my mother’s dismay. I’m content with a house that looks “lived in”. I never knew that I would be the type of person I’ve been–ha! This week. For a whole seven days, I’ve been the Goddess of the House. Maybe I hadn’t better be celebrating this as a permanent change. I wonder when I’m supposed to get my period.
You Haven’t Really Lived… August 24, 2005
…until you see your child abandon new playmates and run across the playground crying, “Mommmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” until she can leap into your arms. There’s no way, no matter how crappy a day that you’re having, that something like that can’t make it immediately better.
And I would know. Today has been a bit crappy.
Now that we’re up in the Twin Cities, Church Hunt 2005 has begun in earnest, and I’m using all of my (limited) avenues of access to get in contact with congregations looking for a pastor. The problem being that I have to go through the bishops in order to do this, and they are under no obligation whatsoever to make sure churches that need a pastor know about me. It’s so freaking political, and the rules are always changing.
In April I was up here to meet face-to-face with the bishops. This was recommended to me by their offices, and I was happy to do so, believing that if they had a face and a voice and a personality to go along with the 30 pages of paperwork I was required to send them, it would make a more lasting impression. They assured me that while (out of 100 openings) they didn’t have anything for me at this time, BUT they would put my paperwork on file and keep me in mind. In the meantime, they suggested that I keep an eye on their syondical websites to request my paperwork be sent to any congregations that look particularly interesting to me. OK. No problem. Done and done.
Last night I was perusing the synodical website, checking out congregations in the call process, jotting down the names of ones that looked interesting or promising. I asked that my paperwork be sent to those congregations, only to be told this morning that none of them were receiving candidates anymore–which, OK. That happens. It’s good when that happens. It means they’ve found a pastor. In that same email I had also asked that they update my paperwork with my current and accurate contact information so that if a congregation WAS interested in talking with me, they wouldn’t be looking for me in Kansas. That was all I asked. A post-it with my new address and new phone number, slapped to the front of my paperwork. I was informed that I had to RESUBMIT my paperwork (the 30 pager) to them, but first I had to have my bishop (in Kansas) sign the NEW paperwork, and then they would put my paperwork on file once again. So I have to resubmit my paperwork to my bishop in Kansas, wait for him to sign it and send it back to the Twin Cities, and THEN they’ll put the paperwork with my new address and phone number in the file. Leaving me, for those of you who are still following along: right back to where I am today. No-freaking-where.
*sigh* I’m just about ready to tell the church to fuck it. I really am. It’s so not worth what it puts people through. People don’t like to read that about the church,but it’s true. It’s a horribly abusive institution, that puts on a pretty public face and gets nasty when people try and make its hidden sins public. I wouldn’t put up with this treatment from M, and I love him more than life! Why would I put up with it from people who don’t give a flying fuck about me, and who I am increasingly not giving one about either?
M thinks I should keep after it, but I (rather nastily, I must admit) told him that he HAS what he wants. He’s doing what he wants. He has no idea the pressure I’m putting on myself about this, and I flat out told him that I’m projecting so much of my own crap onto him that he doesn’t stand a chance in hell of getting out a discussion about this topic unscathed. Warrented or not. I’m just tired. Tired of fighting and harassing and wondering if I’m doing the right thing, and remembering about how much time pastoring takes–takes away from my family and myself. I’m starting to wonder if I’m really supposed to even be a pastor. M says yes. But I say if that was the case, I would have a church. All the bishops in the world aren’t more powerful than God, and if God wanted me in a church, I’d be in one. And I’m not. And I have to look at that pretty seriously.
*gulp* They’re going to take away my card… August 23, 2005
…my liberal card, that is.
So, we went back to Ikea on Sunday, as planned. Worshipping at our new Scandinavian Mecca. This time we dragged M’s reluctant azz along, and we shopped some more. We got a clock for ten bucks, a soap dish for two…you know the drill. We were home, and I was putting away my treasures when I realized that every single one of them had “Made in China” stamped on the bottom.
So. You lying Ikea people. It’s NOT simply because you buy massive amounts of your products that you can offer us such low prices. It’s NOT simply because you let us put together our own furniture. It’s because all your products are NOT made in snowy Scandinavia by happy little gnomes and trolls, but they are made in China, where people are forced to work for pennies an hour so that Americans can decorate their houses with super-cheap faux Scandinavian do-it-yourself furniture.
Beege: “No wonder this stuff is cheap! It’s all made in China, where people get paid two cents an hour!”
Beege’s Mom: “Good! They can work for pennies, and we can get cheap stuff!”
Beege (drily): “Spoken like a true Republican. I think I might have to take this stuff back, but I’m not sure I can let it go.”
Beege’s Mom (also drily): “Spoken like a true liberal.”
Beege’s Dad: “If you’re going to fight, keep it clean.”
I really am disappointed to learn that I fell for a slick advertising campaign. But: I’ll still go back. I know that I will. That’s what pisses me off about the whole thing.
My parents are gone, back to their house, leaving us in our house to get a better sense of what living in a two-bedroom apartment will be like. Now THAT’S parental love: spending tons of money on airfare to help your daughter and son-in-law move in hot, late-August weather. And our air conditioning isn’t working either. But Mom and Dad were both absolute troopers, and I’m SO glad they came to help. We couldn’t have done it without them–their helping load and unload the van; distracting Linnea so I could go to the bathroom; helping schlep stuff over to our storage unit. Anything we needed, we had only to ask. Yay for moms and dads!
Linnea decided she didn’t need to sleep last night. About one o’clock, she was just awake. So awake that I got confused and thought it was actually about six o’clock. M and I are both battling colds (and losing), so we’re sort of in “Need. Sleep. Now.” mode, plus M has one of his entrance exams today…so having Linnea between us, gleeful laughing and saying, “Mama nose!” while shoving her finger into my brain cavity was really not what we needed. We kept her with us as long as we could, but finally I put her in her room, closed the door, and let her cry. She was up for THREE FREAKING HOURS last night. I’m not sure what was going on (and I REFUSE to blame the Diet Coke my parents gave her yesterday at lunch. Actually “gave her” implies that they had some sort of control over the event. It was more like my thug daughter climbed on table, said, “Look over there!” and guzzled half their diet cokes while they were distracted.), but I sure as hell hope it’s not going on tonight.
Things still looking a bit glum on the job-front. I’ll turn up something, I know that I will, but the longer I’m just home with Linnea, the more I think, “I’d like to do this, instead.” Pastoring is just such a huge, time-consuming job…and now I get to clean up the house, play with my girl, plan for dinner…I’m sort of liking it. What I need to find is something that I can do from home…but I can’t think of anything that lets you work from home AND gives you benefits. So, I’m stuck. If anybody has any ideas, let me know.
Unrepentantly stolen from… August 20, 2005
…Cyn.
My parents took Linnea to the zoo. M is sleeping. I’m taking advantage of the first time alone I’ve had in WEEKS. Enjoy!
1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER: StarWars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith. I only went because I was hoping my date would put out if I did. He didn’t. 😉
2. BOOK ARE YOU READING? Memoirs of Cleopatra.
3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? Cribbage.
4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Cooking Light
5. FAVORITE SMELLS? Clean kid; rain on hot pavement; the spot between my kitties’ ears; sheets dried on the line.
6. FAVORITE FOODS? Chips and salsa (as long as the salsa is just the glue used to hold together the vast amounts of cilatro that I require); M’s spaghetti; smoked salmon; Tillamook Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese.
7. FAVORITE SOUND? Ocean.
8. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Thinking that something happened to Linnea.
9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP? “How late did she let us sleep this morning? 6:30? Sweet! We got to sleep in!”
10. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE? Not really into it. I suppose Sonic, but that was more for the drinks than for the food.
11. FUTURE CHILD’S NAME? We’re working on this. Strong contenders are “Ava Elisabeth” or “Zoe Elisabeth” for girls. “Samuel Joseph” or “Ethan Joseph” for boys. But I need to find out what their ranking is on the “Most Popular Names” list is, because I don’t want my kids to be one of three Avas or Ethans. (And it’s not looking good for “Ava”–she was the #2 name in 2004 according to iVillage.)
12. FINISH THIS STATEMENT. “IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I would pay off all our debt–cars, cards, student loans. I’d make sure Linnea could go to college where ever she wanted. And then I’d make M take me traveling.
13. DO YOU DRIVE FAST? Not anymore. Before Linnea, I would drive as fast as I could. Now I go about 5 over, tops.
14. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Yes. I sleep with a husband, a child, a stuffed monkey and two cats.
15. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY? SO freaking cool.
16. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? A 1984 Honda Accord hatchback. His name was Jorge.
17. FAVORITE DRINK ? Alcoholic: Tequila. Non-Alcoholic: Ice water with little crushed ice chips that’s so cold it makes my teeth hurt.
18. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, “IF I HAD THE TIME… I would write more.
19. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI? Ew. No.
20. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE? A nice, warm red.
21. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN: Let’s see…Spokane, WA (3 times); Billings, MT; Missoula, MT; Uniontown, WA; Kennewick, WA; Cheney, WA; St. Paul, MN; Williston, ND; Lauderdale, MN (twice); Axtell, KS.
22. NAME ALL THE STATES/COUNTRIES YOU HAVE VISITED: Washington, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, Oregon, California, Utah, Nebraska, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Texas.
23. GLASS – HALF EMPTY OR FULL? I would say that I’m a half full kind of girl–I always know that things could be worse. But the fact that I look at life like, “How could this be worse?” makes me wonder if I’m not in fact a half-empty kind of girl.
24. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Sweeming. Particularly if the event takes place in a 4 foot wading pool and the only competitor is a small blond girl in a tutu-swim suit shouting, “Mama! NayNay sweeeeem!”
25. WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED? Oh my God. We just had to put our bed on 6 inch risers so we could use the space for storage. We’ve got wrapping paper, candles, winter clothes, our luggage, photo albums…and tons of stuff I don’t want to even think about.
26. TOILET PAPER -OVER OR UNDER? Over
27. SEAT UP OR DOWN? Down. In nearly six years of marriage, I can count on one hand the time M has left the seat up. Can I pick ’em or what?
29. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL? Neither. More morning than anything else, though. Mainly because I’ve given birth to a FEROCIOUSLY ENTHUSIASTIC morning person. However, this gives me opportunities to witness things I’d miss otherwise. Like the sight of my small daughter, her hair all bed-crazy, sprawled across her sleeping father’s chest, her chin propped in her hands, just SMILING at him–just delighted to get to look at him.
30. OVER EASY OR SUNNY SIDE UP? Over medium. I like a little consistency…but not hard.
31. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX? A great big bathtub.
32. FAVORITE PIE? Hot apple. Or pecan. Or mud pie.
When I die, put my ass in a pine box and ship me off to Ikea
So, yesterday, in light of the fact that we’d made leaps and bounds of progress in the unpacking department, I decreed that we’d go to Mall of America to blow off steam. M elected not to go, having found out only the day before that he had his German comprehensive entrance exam on Tuesday and didn’t feel like doing anything other than studying Deutsch.
So, Linnea, Mom, Dad, and I went off on our grand adventure, just the four of us.
Now. I’m a BIT ashamed to admit this, but: I know where I am in Mall of America. You want to know where a store is? I can tell you. I can even take you there. To me, Mall of America isn’t that big (anymore). It’s just the mall I shop at whenever I want to/can. So I wasn’t all about spending the day there, particularly in light of 1) the fact that I can go there any time I want to now and 2) we have no money–and let’s be honest: how fun is a mall when you have no money?
We spent a few hours there. Mom hit the “QVC at the Mall” store pretty hard. But that was really about it. We ate lunch at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. and called it a day.
But on the way home, we realized that an Ikea had opened right across the street from Mall of America. So, on a whim (and because for whatever reason, whatever god directs the actions of toddlers, my napless girl was being sweet as sugar) we thought we’d go. It was amazing. I’d never been in one. Never seen a catalog. Never knew what cool Scandinavian shit was available for so little of my swiftly dwindling supply of cash. I got a HUGE sea grass mat for our kitchen (decorated in a Japanese/Zen theme) for $4.99. I got a cotton bathmat (to replace the one one of the cats peed on because he couldn’t find where we’d hidden the litterbox) for $1.99. We got an endtable for $14.99. It was freaking unreal. The prices. The selection. The quality. The prices.
We’re skipping church and going back tomorrow.
Mairsy Dotes 
