tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9509113433615711802024-03-13T07:55:43.601-07:00This BackyardSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-63680649276058000612015-04-06T12:14:00.001-07:002015-04-06T12:14:25.340-07:00So Finished, It's Folded<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there,<b> </b>and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’<span class="footnote"> </span>head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. John 20:6—7</blockquote>
At first glance, it seems a funny detail to put into the resurrection account, that face cloth, folded up. But thinking about it, it really is a very good detail, and if I don't sound too irreverent saying so, gives us a glimpse into the supremacy of God's humor. Maybe humor isn't the right word? But something akin to it. When Jesus spoke the words, "It is finished," upon the cross, he drove the point home not only by raising from the dead, but going so far as to fold up that face cloth, the shroud that hid the exact representation of God, as if to tidy up every last loose end of salvation, and proclaim, "<i>So there.</i>"<br />
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-81282365178015970292013-11-12T20:49:00.000-08:002013-11-12T20:49:11.684-08:00Lucky Lu Ellen: A Poem<b>Lucky Lu Ellen </b><br />
<br />
Lucky Lu Ellen had a bowl full of money.<br />
She lost it all on a race horse named Honey.<br />
Honey was the name they called her in school<br />
'Cause she said her life's goal was to eat some in a pool.<br />
Lucky Lu Ellen didn't know how to swim<br />
So she stayed by the poolside hoping to get in,<br />
Until one day a pesky, mean bee<br />
Came and stuck Lu Ellen right on the knee.<br />
That knee did swell and she winked for the pain,<br />
But that wink hit a boy<span class="st">—he wasn't the same.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>March 14, 2007</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aXCcEsDiH-M/UoMEazItZyI/AAAAAAAAAY0/oEuV1q2UQgM/s1600/Lucky+Lu+Ellen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aXCcEsDiH-M/UoMEazItZyI/AAAAAAAAAY0/oEuV1q2UQgM/s400/Lucky+Lu+Ellen.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span class="st"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i> </i></span></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-40382711412214402842013-10-04T09:18:00.000-07:002013-10-04T09:18:26.933-07:00Myth Became Fact<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
This essay is from a collection of C. S. Lewis essays and letters found in the book "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/God-Dock-Essays-Theology-Ethics/dp/0802808689/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380903411&sr=8-1&keywords=god+in+the+dock+c+s+lewis" target="_blank">God in the Dock</a>".</div>
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<b>Myth Became Fact</b></div>
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<i>C. S. Lewis</i></div>
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My friend Corineus has advanced the charge that none of us
are in fact Christins at all. According to him historic Christianity is
something so barbarous that no modern man can really believe it: the moderns
who claim to do so are in fact believing a modern system of thought which
retains the vocabulary of Christianity and exploits the emotions inherited from
it while quietly dropping its essential doctrines. Corineus compared modern
Christianity with the modern English monarchy: the forms of kingship have been
retained, but the reality has been abandoned.</div>
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All this I believe to be false, except of a few ‘modernist’
theologians who, by God’s grace, become fewer every day. But for the moment let
us assume that Corineus is right. Let us pretend, for purposes of argument,
that <i>all</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> who now call themselves
Christians have abandoned the historic doctrines. Let us suppose that modern
‘Christianity’ reveals a system of names, ritual, formulae and metaphors which
persists although the thoughts behind it have changed. Corineus ought to be
able to </span><i>explain</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the persistence.</span></div>
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Why, on his view, do all these educated and enlightened
pseudo-Christians insist on expressing their deepest thoughts in terms of an
archaic mythology which must hamper and embarrass them at every turn? Why do
they refuse to cut the umbilical cord which binds the living and flourishing
child to its moribund mother? For, if Corineus is right, it should be a great
relief to them to do so. Yet the odd thing is that even those who seem most
embarrassed by the sediment of ‘barbaric’ Christianity in their thought become
suddenly obstinate when you ask them to get rid of it altogether. They will
strain the cord almost to breaking point, but they refuse to cut it. Sometimes
they will take every step except the last one.</div>
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If all who professed Christianity were clergymen, it would
be easy (though uncharitable) to reply that their livelihood depends on <i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> taking that last step. Yet even if this were the
true cause of their behaviour, even if all the clergymen are intellectual
prostitutes who preach for pay—and usually starvation pay—what they secretly
believe to be false, surely so widespread a darkening of the conscience among
thousands of men not otherwise known to be criminal, itself demands
explanation? And of course the profession of Christianity is not confined to
the clergy. It is professed by millions of women and laymen who earn thereby
contempt, unpopularity, suspicion, and the hostility of their own families. How
does that come to happen?</span></div>
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Obstinacies of this sort are interesting. ‘Why not cut the
cord?’ asks Corineus. ‘Everything would be much easier if you would free your
thought from this vestigial mythology.’ To be sure: far easier. Life would be
far easier for the mother of an invalid child if she put it into an Institution
and adopted someone’s healthy baby instead. Life would be far easier to many a
man if he abandoned the woman he has actually fallen in love with and married
someone else because she is more suitable. The only defect of a healthy baby
and the suitable woman is that they leave out the patient’s only reason for
bothering about a child or wife at all. ‘Would not conversation be much more
rational than dancing?’ said Jane Austen’s Miss Bingley. ‘Much more rational,’
replied Mr Bingley, ‘but much less like a ball.’<sup>1</sup></div>
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In the same way, it would be much more rational to abolish
the English monarchy. But how if, by doing so, you leave out the one element in
our State which matters most? How if the monarchy is the channel through which
all the <i>vital</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> elements of
citizenship—loyalty, the consecration of secular life, the hierarchical
principle, splendour, ceremony, continuity—still trickle down to irrigate the
dust-bowl of modern economic Statecraft?</span></div>
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The real answer of even the most ‘modernist Christianity to
Corineus is the same. Even assuming (which I most constantly deny) that the
doctrines of historic Christianity are merely mythical, it is the myth which is
the vital and nourishing element in the whole concern. Corineus wants us to
move with the times. Now, we know where the times move. They move <i>away</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. But in religion we find something that does not
move away. It is what Corineus calls the myth, that abides; it is what he calls
the modern and living thought that moves away. Not only the thought of
theologians, but the thought of anti-theologians. Where are the predecessors of
Corineus? Where is the Epicureanism of Lucretius,<sup>2</sup> the pagan revival
of Julian the Apostate?<sup>3 </sup>Where are the Gnostics, where is the monism
of Averoës,<sup>4</sup> the deism of Voltaire, the dogmatic materialism of the
great Victorians? They have moved with the times. But the thing they were all
attacking remains: Corineus finds it still there to attack. The myth (to speak
his language) has outlived the thoughts of all its defenders and of all its
adversaries. It is the myth that gives life. Those elements even in modernist
Christianity which Corineus regards as vestigial, are the substance: what he
takes for the ‘real modern belief’ is the shadow.</span></div>
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To explain this we must look a little closer at myth in
general, and at this myth in particular. Human intellect is incurably abstract.
Pure mathematics is the type of successful thought. Yet the only realities we
experience are concrete—this pain, this pleasure, this dog, this man. While we
are loving the man, bearing the pain, enjoying the pleasure we are not
intellectually apprehending Pleasure, Pain or Personality. When we begin to do
so, on the other hand, the concrete realities sink to the level of mere instances
or examples: we are no longer dealing with them, but with that which they
exemplify. This is our dilemma—either to taste and not to know or to know and
not to taste—or, more strictly, to lack one kind of knowledge because we are in
an experience or to lack another kind because we are outside it. As thinkers we
are cut off from what we think about; tasting, touching, willing, loving,
hating, we do not clearly understand. The more lucidly we think, the more we
are cut off: the more deeply we enter into reality, the less we can think. You
cannot <i>study</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Pleasure in the moment of
the nuptial embrace, nor repentance while repenting, nor analyse the nature of
humour while roaring with laughter. But when else can you really know these
things? ‘If only my toothache would stop, I could write another chapter on
Pain.’ But once it stops, what do I know about pain?</span></div>
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Of this tragic dilemma, myth is the partial solution. In the
enjoyment of a great myth, we come nearest to experiencing as a concrete what
can otherwise be understood only as an abstraction. At this moment, for
example, I am trying to understand something very abstract indeed—the fading,
vanishing of tasted reality as we try to grasp it with the discursive reason.
Probably I have made heavy weather of it. But if I remind you, instead of
Orpheus and Eurydice, how he was suffered to lead her by the hand but, when he
turned round to look at her, she disappeared, what was merely a principle
becomes imaginable. You may reply that you never at this moment attached that
‘meaning’ to that myth. Of course not. You are not looking for an abstract
‘meaning’ at all. If that was what you were doing the myth would be for you no
true myth but a mere allegory. You were not knowing, but tasting; but what you
were tasting turns out to be a universal principle. The moment we <i>state</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> this principle, we are admittedly back in the world
of abstraction. It is only while receiving the myth as a story that you
experience the principle concretely.</span></div>
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When we translate we get abstraction—or rather, dozens of
abstractions. What flows into you from the myth is not truth but reality (truth
is always <i>about</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> something, but reality
is that </span><i>about which</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> truth is),
and, therefore, every myth becomes the father of innumerable truths on the
abstract level. Myth is the mountain whence all the different streams arise
which become truths down here in the valley; </span><i>in hac valle
abstractionis</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.<sup>5</sup> Or, if you
prefer, myth is the isthmus which connects the peninsular world of thought with
that vast continent we really belong to. It is not, like truth, abstract; nor
is it, like direct experience, bound to the particular.</span></div>
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Now as myth transcends thought, Incarnation transcends myth.
The heart of Christianity is a myth which is also a fact. The old myth of the
Dying God, <i>without ceasing to be myth</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
comes down from the heaven of legend and imagination to the earth of history.
It </span><i>happens</i><span style="font-style: normal;">—at a particular date,
in a particular place, followed by definable historical consequences. We pass
from a Balder or an Osiris, dying nobody knows when or where, to a historical
Person crucified (it is all in order) under </span><i>Pontius Pilate</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. By becoming fact it does not cease to be myth: that
is the miracle. I suspect that men have sometimes derived more spiritual
sustenance from myths they did not believe that from the religion they
professed. To be truly Christian we must both assent to the historical fact and
also receive the myth (fact though it has become) with the same imaginative
embrace we accord to all myths. The one is hardly more necessary than the
other.</span></div>
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A man who disbelieved the Christian story as fact but
continually fed on it as myth would, perhaps, be more spiritually alive than
one who assented and did not think much about it. The modernist—the extreme
modernist, infidel in all but name—need not be called a fool or hypocrite
because he obstinately retains, even in the midst of his intellectual atheism,
the language, rites, sacraments, and story of the Christians. The poor man may
be clinging (with wisdom he himself by no means understands) to that which is
his life. It would have been better that Loisy<sup>6</sup> should have remained
a Christian: it would not necessarily have been better that he should have
purged his thought of vestigial Christianity.</div>
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Those who do not know that this great myth became fact when
the Virgin conceived are, indeed, to be pitied. But Christians also need to be
reminded—we may thank Corineus for reminding us—that what became Fact was a
Myth, that it carries with it into the world of Fact all the properties of a myth.
God is more than a god, not less; Christ is more than a Balder, not less. We
must not be ashamed of the mythical radiance resting on our theology. We must
not be nervous about ‘parallels’ and ‘Pagan Christs’: they <i>ought</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> to be there—it would be a stumbling block if they
weren’t. We must not, in false spirituality, withhold our imaginative welcome.
If God chooses to be mythopoeic—and is not the sky itself a myth—shall we
refuse to be </span><i>mythopathic</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? For
this is the marriage of heaven and earth: Perfect Myth and Perfect Fact:
claiming not only our love and our obedience, but also our wonder and delight,
addressed to the savage, the child, and the poet in each one of us no less than
to the moralist, the scholar, and the philosopher.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>1</sup> <i>Pride and
Prejudice</i></span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">, ch. xi.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>2</sup> Titus Lucretius
Carus (c. 99-55), the Roman poet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>3</sup> Roman emperor,
A.D. 361-3</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>4</sup> Averroës
(1126-98), of Cordova, believed that only one intellect exists for the whole
human race in which every individual participates, to the exclusion of personal
immortality.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>5</sup> ‘In this valley
of separation.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>6</sup> Alfred Loisy
(1857-1940), a French theologian and founder of the Modernist Movement.</span></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-28508169791528027582013-03-29T21:23:00.003-07:002013-04-11T21:24:58.732-07:00On Happiness, Marriage, and Drinking Wine<div id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_39">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/w/wg/wgroesel/943080_senior_with_redwine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/w/wg/wgroesel/943080_senior_with_redwine.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/profile/wgroesel">photo credit: wgroesel</a></span>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Recently, I have come to recognize a glaring fault in the first sentence of America's Declaration of Independence:</span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_69">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_74" /></span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_71" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."</span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_77" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_82" /></span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_63" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The
glaring fault being "the pursuit of Happiness". "Happiness", at the
time it was written, probably refers to something quite different than
nowadays. I'm sure the founding fathers meant well when they made such
sweeping and lofty sentiments, but I don't think they bargained on the
cushy American Dream we'd be so voraciously pursuing, even at the cost
of other peoples' "happiness." I am a Christian. There is a rumor going around that America was
founded on Judeo-Christian values, but I've never seen happiness
promised in the Bible. I've seen the promise that we will suffer
hardship as a result of our faith, as well as the promise of joy and
peace as a result of trusting Christ in the midst of that hardship. And such joy is quite different
than the visions of happiness most Americans cling to as an unalienable right. But with all
this yimmer yammer about marriage rights, I wanted to share with you a
quote by C. S. Lewis worth considering:<br /><br />"Before leaving the
question of divorce, I should like to distinguish two things which are
very often confused. The Christian conception of marriage is one: the
other is the quite different question-how far Christians, if they are
voters or Members of Parliament, ought to try to force their views of
marriage on the rest of the community by embodying them in the divorce
laws. A great many people seem to think that if you are a Christian
yourself you should try to make divorce difficult for every one. I do
not think that. At least I know I should be very angry if the
Mahommedans tried to prevent the rest of us from drinking wine. My own
view is that the Churches should frankly recognise that the majority of
the British people are not Christians and, therefore, cannot be expected
to live Christian lives. There ought to be two distinct kinds of
marriage: one governed by the State with rules enforced on all citizens,
the other governed by the Church with rules enforced by her on her own
members. The distinction ought to be quite sharp, so that a man knows
which couples are married in a Christian sense and which are not."<br /><br />I
believe that homosexuality is wrong and should not be condoned by the
Church through marriage. But the State is not a Christian entity. Should
I expect the State to enforce my morality, yet balk if they enforce
someone else's on me? It is a slippery question because while, at first
glance, I would say "no, they should not enforce morality, because they
are not a moral entity." Yet, I would also say "yes, they should, as far
as they protect society from man's passions like murder, stealing,
etc., and the State, by necessity, must take on a moral standard of some
sort in order to ensure my bodily safety." <br /><br />I would <i>love</i> to rail on the State. I mean, just look at how they <i>tax</i> me. They are so <i>easy</i> to pick on because they are so<i> secular</i>. But, my concern is not the State--not in the long run, anyway. Where my concern lies is with my family--the
Church. And because they're my family, I feel I can rightfully blow the whistle on them and still be loved by them at the end of the day. And I think I can humbly say that we have dropped the ball in many ways, and so things that should be championed by the Church (marriage, family, education; the care of the poor, the helpless, the
environment, the arts, science, etc.) have been ever so slightly...dumped on the State. And, as C. S. Lewis is implying, it's not as though the State <i>shouldn't</i> provide marriage for its people. I believe marriage was instituted by God to be enjoyed by all people, not just those who believe in Him. But I also believe He called His Church to exemplify marriage (see above statement about dropping the ball).</span><span style="font-size: small;"> With that said, the State not only has
to manage its primary role of keeping peace, but has to do double duty by providing some semblance of ethics on those issues its own people should be working out for themselves. So now, instead of doing a few things somewhat well, the State does many things
somewhat poorly. Is it any wonder that people are so passionate about its rulings when we have attributed to it God-sized authority?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_135" /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Advocates
for the Church's morality in the public sector will always be at odds with some aspect of the State's rulings on morality, especially when that State declares "happiness"(whatever that means) as a right. But <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the Church can take C. S. Lewis' words as a personal challenge: to make the distinction of State marriage and Church marriage "quite sharp".</span></span> And to do that, the Church must hunker down and do what it was
called to do in the first place. We are quite the distractable bunch, which is why I think Jesus gave us a simple to-do list: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">1. Make disciples of all nations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">2. Baptize them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">(<i>Note: You can even bunch it into one line item</i><i> if you have trouble remembering two</i>)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">And consider it a bonus when the
government under which we live promotes a peaceful environment in
which to do that.</span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_133" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_139" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.
Be
of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but
associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation. Never pay back evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men.
If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men. Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of<i id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_204"> </i>God<i id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_204">,</i> for it is written, “<span style="font-size: x-small;">V<span id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_209">ENGEANCE IS</span> MINE, I WILL REPAY</span>,” says the Lord.</span> “<span style="font-size: x-small;">BUT IF YOUR ENEMY IS HUNGRY, FEED HIM, AND IF HE IS THIRSTY, GIVE HIM A DRINK; FOR IN SO DOING YOU WILL HEAP BURNING COALS ON HIS HEAD.</span>”<b id="yui_3_7_2_17_1364525044740_193"> </b>Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." Romans 12:14-21</span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-35420966299870201242013-03-26T19:03:00.002-07:002013-03-26T19:03:45.717-07:00Friday a la Francais: Monday, June 9, 2003<i>(I know, it's only Tuesday, but it's my party and I'll break the rules if I want to)</i><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j_Xya1_I88Q/UVJTSeCd9OI/AAAAAAAAAXc/jZbfo-RWL2c/s1600/june9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j_Xya1_I88Q/UVJTSeCd9OI/AAAAAAAAAXc/jZbfo-RWL2c/s400/june9.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This evening Christina helped me with my French homework. I had to decipher between country and peoples' nationalities. I think she had fun helping me. We often sit around the T.V. at night. She likes to watch artsy films. They're rather bizarre, but I guess she's into them. Jean-Yves likes to watch the nature channel. Today was also a religious holiday, though I don't recall the name. It was interesting to see everyone out and about, hanging out with their friends and family. As I walked along side a grassy area by the port I saw a family having a nice picnic and just enjoying each others' company. I can't remember the last time I saw that. Sometimes it is hard to grasp this culture; not being able to see into the tiny cracks and crevices of the cumulative history of these people to make them what they are today. Part of me feels like this is who and where I am meant to be, living the way these people live, simplifying life. And yet another part of me is the go-get-em business woman who pushes herself to the limit to get what she wants. I have to remember that wherever I am, that I have brought God along with me. Who I really am is determined by Him.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-10904280863919700082013-02-18T14:43:00.003-08:002013-03-26T19:30:01.294-07:00...And I'm Undone<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: small;">"<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We must not, in false
spirituality, withhold our imaginative welcome. If God chooses to be
mythopoeic—and is not the sky itself a myth—shall we refuse to be <i>mythopathic</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">? For this is the marriage of heaven and earth:
Perfect Myth and Perfect Fact: claiming not only our love and our obedience,
but also our wonder and delight, addressed to the savage, the child, and the
poet in each one of us no less than to the moralist, the scholar, and the
philosopher."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: xx-small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">--C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kP0Jqw7O_CA/USKuhFedqsI/AAAAAAAAAXM/BPvG2UinFZg/s1600/CS+Lewis+-+Smoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kP0Jqw7O_CA/USKuhFedqsI/AAAAAAAAAXM/BPvG2UinFZg/s1600/CS+Lewis+-+Smoking.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-30185500142129334292012-12-07T23:24:00.000-08:002012-12-08T22:41:14.799-08:00Butter Rum Cake Recipe. It's here.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl5t42zWSdw/UMLqzaM8v8I/AAAAAAAAAW4/k-qKRrUec6M/s1600/myerss+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl5t42zWSdw/UMLqzaM8v8I/AAAAAAAAAW4/k-qKRrUec6M/s1600/myerss+girl.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've been debating whether or not I should disperse this recipe into the universe because #1 it's not my original recipe, and #2 <span style="font-size: small;">I had to beg, plead, blackmail, enforce silent treatment, <span style="font-size: small;">do an interpretive<span style="font-size: small;"> dance, </span>juggle fir<span style="font-size: small;">ey batons, </span>a<span style="font-size: small;">nd eventu<span style="font-size: small;">ally, exhaustedly... politely ask for it. And I've been hording it in my little Better Homes & Gardens recipe bo<span style="font-size: small;">x for years, <span style="font-size: small;">just as I'm sure the person<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I got it from ha<span style="font-size: small;">s been doing bef<span style="font-size: small;">ore <span style="font-size: small;">me. But I've come to the conclusion that a great recipe isn't great if it isn't shared. So this is my early Christmas gift to you. Make, bake, eat, and let that cake work it<span style="font-size: small;">s warm, <span style="font-size: small;">happy magic on you</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><b><br /></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><b>Butter Rum Cake</b></span><br />
<div class="Section1">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Prep Time: 15
minutes</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Bake Time: 1 hour</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Serves 12</i></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i><br clear="ALL" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: auto;" />
</i></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Topping Ingredients</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; text-indent: -.75in;">
1 ½ C Chopped Pecans or Walnuts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Batter Ingredients</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; text-indent: -.75in;">
1 Duncan Hines Yellow Cake Mix</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 Small package (1 oz) French vanilla or</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>chocolate instant pudding</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
4 eggs</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; text-indent: -.75in;">
½ C Cold water</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; text-indent: -.75in;">
½ C Oil</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; text-indent: -.75in;">
½ C Myers’s Dark Rum</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>Glaze Ingredients</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
1 Stick Butter (½ C)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
1 C Sugar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
¼ C Water</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
½ C Myers’s Dark Rum</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; text-indent: -.75in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Directions</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. Preheat oven to 325˚F.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. Sprinkle nuts evenly over bottom of greased and floured
funnel/angel food cake pan or bundt pan. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. Combine batter ingredients and mix on medium-high 5
minutes. Pour batter into pan, bake 1 hour. Test with skewer until it comes out
clean.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4. Place on wire rack 5 minutes while cake is still in the
pan. Then turn out on plate and let cool slightly. Poke a lot of holes with
skewer all the way through from top to bottom to allow glaze to soak through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Glaze:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While cake is baking, prepare glaze so it will only be warm
when applied. Melt 1 stick of butter in saucepan. Add the water and sugar.
Bring to boil for 5 minutes, stirring constantly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remove from heat and cool. Add ½ C rum. Dribble evenly over
cake at intervals so it all soaks in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b>Enjoy!</b></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-45453993747011770782012-12-04T23:45:00.000-08:002012-12-04T23:57:18.987-08:00An Open Letter to Baz Luhrmann<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDXZ8UxmgTc/UL2QU_k2HBI/AAAAAAAAAWo/3hZOWwZiAgg/s1600/curtain+nebula-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDXZ8UxmgTc/UL2QU_k2HBI/AAAAAAAAAWo/3hZOWwZiAgg/s400/curtain+nebula-sm.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will
ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without
caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times
out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">―
C.S. Lewis,
<i>
Mere Christianity</i></span></span></div>
<h1 class="quoteText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
<h1 class="quoteText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Was there anything sane or normal at <span style="font-size: small;">all, or was everything just magic and ghost stories?"</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">―Stephanie Meyer, <i>New Moon</i></span></span></span></h1>
<h1 class="quoteText">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></span></h1>
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Mr. Baz,</span></i><br />
<br />
I regret to say that I am not your biggest fan. I wish I could claim that title but, the truth is, I'm a fairly mediocre fan. I only own one of your movies (<i>Moulin Rouge!</i>) which I bought almost purely for its eye candy factor back before I cared about who actually made the movie or why. Even though I considered the movie my standing favorite, I didn't really like the ending when I first saw it, and I even forgot to take it with me when I moved out of my parents' house five years ago. I haven't seen <i>Romeo+Juliet</i> since my last babysitting gig in 1999 (and there's a good possibility I wasn't hired back because of the fact). I haven't even seen <i>Australia,</i> and I've only read a smattering of your quotes and interviews. (And I'm not Catholic, but I'm pretty sure this is what the confession box feels like.)<br />
<br />
Wait. Don't go. This really is fan mail.<br />
<br />
All that to say that I recently saw <i>Strictly Ballroom</i> on a whim and a half-remembered recommendation while perusing Netflix, and now sheepishly admit to abusing my subscription from watching it so many times. I fully intend to pony up and buy the DVD. And I exhorted my parents to return my <i>Moulin Rouge!</i>, which I got back promptly.<br />
<br />
Let me just say thank you. Thank you for what you are trying to accomplish through the media of film. You'll never fully realize your vision, mind you, but you've gone further than the rest, and I'm glad for it.<br />
<br />
Now, I know I'm being incredibly presumptuous in saying that, and run the risk of being just another boorish member of the peanut gallery, but I'll say it anyway, because I think I'm on to you. I think I know what you're trying to convey (at least in your Red Curtain Trilogy). With all the eccentric, vibrant, brassy, and beautiful elements you utilize to produce that heightened sense of reality in your films, it seems to me that you're trying to create something that's larger than life, because you know that the essence of life is larger than life. But, at the end of the day, something that is made from something is way less impressive than something that is made from nothing. And as the glories of Heaven and Earth were made out of nothing, your films are going to have to settle there in the backseat. But really, that's not a bad place to be when you look at it that way.<br />
<br />
What I did read about you was that you said you were tired of making boy-meets-girl movies and wanted to move on to bigger projects, but can I just say that you are <u>so</u> good at making good old love stories? And if one compliment from yours truly isn't enough to turn your cinematic boat around, may I also suggest that the Love Story is so epically huge, not in a box office sort of way, but in its very nature; that you'll never be able to tap the depths of its source, therefore supplying an endless, happy spring of creativity? And along the lines of what C. S. Lewis said, however you slice and dice your movies, when you tell the truth, you'll most likely be completely brilliant. Which you are.<br />
<br />
Thank you for these little jewels of cinematic joy that you've created. They put a spring in my step and a smile on my face when I think about them. Thank you for the slogan on your Bazmark Inq coat-of-arms. Most of all, thank you for telling the truth...whilst utilizing unholy amounts of sequins, feathers and inappropriate burstings-out of song and dance.<br />
<br />
God bless you!<br />
<i>~Sarah Vaughan</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear..."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">―1 John 4:18</span></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-24324504552554296732012-11-24T11:03:00.003-08:002012-11-26T13:16:19.400-08:00Giveaway!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Celeste-Lewis-Pottery/197446146969917" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://ny-image1.etsy.com/000/0/6379981/il_570xN.261235257.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slither Bowl No.1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
"LIKE" <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Celeste-Lewis-Pottery/197446146969917">Celeste Lewis Pottery</a> on Facebook and be entered to win "Slither Bowl No.1"!<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Celeste-Lewis-Pottery/197446146969917<br />
<br />
Enter by 10pm PST, Thursday, November 29, 2012. Winner will be announced Friday, November 30, 10am PST!<br />
<br />
That's it--so easy! Good luck!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-12j-u5Mf9kQ/ULPcAk6yyzI/AAAAAAAAAWY/WzIx0_AtzAc/s1600/BetterMondaysLinkup.jpg" /></a></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-76625484099813295482012-11-20T21:20:00.000-08:002012-11-26T13:09:24.976-08:00Won't You Be My Neighbor?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">photomatt7.wordpress.com</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I've said it once (or twice) and I'll say it again:<br />
<br />
Facebook is weird.<br />
<br />
Blogging is weird. The internet is very weird and borderline magical. Over the past few years I've been pondering to lesser and greater degrees (depending on what size headache I would prefer) the social implications and dynamics of the world wide web, specifically as it manifests itself through Facebook and other cyber venues of the like. But I think it comes down to being just a sign of the times. Not crazy Armageddon times, just the social evolution of humanity.<br />
<br />
Ok, that still sounds pretty serious. And maybe it is. Just think of how infinitely smaller our world has become over the past fifteen years, even. 15--That's nothing! My three-year-old can count to 15. We rub elbows with friends and strangers half way around the world on a daily basis, but most of the time we're so desensitized to the miracle of it that we don't even bat an eye (which is probably a good thing--wouldn't want worldwide fainting spells and apoplectic fits happening. Think of the traffic jams <i>that</i> would cause...).<br />
<br />
And while it would seem that our now-miniscule world would virtually eliminate man's disease of loneliness, it's widespread now more than ever; and not even I, the first to question the lasting benefits of social media, am immune.<br />
<br />
I'm sucked in, too. Neo took the red pill, and I took the leftover blue one. Well, maybe I nibbled on the corner of it, just enough to keep me updating my Facebook status. And writing this blog. But not enough to Tweet. I used to Tweet, but when I did, my kids would poke and prod me with sticks to make sure I hadn't stopped breathing, or at least that I was intaking more oxygen than was needed to operate my index finger for scrolling. But I digress.<br />
<br />
I hop on Facebook and see peoples' life stories unfolding before my very eyes, their daily struggles, accomplishments, frustrations, and what they ate for dinner. Really. I hardly remember what <i>I</i> had for dinner, but I know it wasn't good enough to take a picture of and brag about to my 252 friends. Unless it was our anniversary dinner. I did post that bad boy. I still remember the gazpacho. But I digress. Again. Because that's what navigating the internet conditions our minds to do, reconnecting those neurons just so that our cognitive processes can cope with the insane amount of information we subject ourselves to in front of that cool, inviting glow of the computer screen. But that's a whole other blog.<br />
<br />
Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Loneliness. Now, one could easily enough diagnose the disease and simply prescribe the antidote:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hang out with real people that you know and like, in front of their faces, a lot.</span><br />
<br />
But I think to simply dismiss the epidemic with a wave of the hand would be to miss an opportunity to gain understanding of who we are as human beings.<br />
<br />
We are social creatures. It's in our spiritual and physical DNA. We're designed to commune; to know and to be known. And even though we know more now than ever (e.g. omniscience of what the online community had for dinner), I think the lack of being known plays a key part in our seclusion. Because while technology has made information insanely more accessible, it has given us the excuse to drastically decrease the amount of face-time interaction. Even a good old fashioned phone call has been reduced to a text message or email; and, heck, a good old fashioned email is being reduced to not even bothering with it, because everyone knows everything about everybody on the social network, anyway.<br />
<br />
I said that I wasn't immune to this phenomenon. It's a mind-boggling thing to be a stay-at-home mom with two energetic toddlers and a work-from-home husband, attend church on a bi-weekly basis, go to a <a href="http://www.mops.org/">Mothers of Preschoolers</a> meeting once a week, throw in the occasional children's play-date, have friends over on a fairly regular basis, and yet still feel that keen sense of longing for more substantial communion at any given point in the day. Only after about three and a half years of what I'll call this "season" of loneliness on various levels and degrees, I am only now starting to see a glimmer of hope, in part due to changes in circumstances, but mostly, I think, because of what God is teaching me.<br />
<br />
For those who really know me (which might be two or three?), they would assume that I'm usually--if not almost always--looking to see how God is working in my life, because He's promised that He uses <i>all</i> things to work good in his children (I think He takes special pleasure in using the bad just to sock it to the Devil, but that's only a theory). In fact, my spiritual antennae is up so high, I can watch the movie Strictly Ballroom and find just as many points of theology in it as I would reading C. S. Lewis's Mere Christianity. But, up until recently, I couldn't for the life of me see where God was going with this solitude thing.<br />
<br />
No, that's not really true.<br />
<br />
Thinking about it just now, I remember a while back musing to one of those two or three people that God was probably using this time to teach me how to rely on Him to fulfill that relational want. I just didn't like it. Which is probably why this season has stretched into years instead of only months. I am the nicest, kindest, most stubborn person I know, after all.<br />
<br />
But I think I'm finally getting it. While I have been <strike>wasting</strike> spending time on Facebook to catch up on friends (<i>on</i>, mind you, not <i>with</i>), I've really only been distracting myself and putting off investing in the most important relationship of my life: with the One who made me, for goodness' sake. Why? Because relationships take work and I'm lazy. Relationships are hard, especially with those you can't see or touch or hear. Like God, for instance.<br />
<br />
But the nice thing about God is that He loves perfectly and pursues us relentlessly.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="block-indent"><span class="line">The voice of my beloved!</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="ln-indent">Behold, he comes,</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="line">leaping over the mountains,</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="ln-indent">bounding over the hills.</span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="block-indent"><span class="ln-indent">Song of Solomon 2:8 </span></span> </span></div>
<br />
In all my live-long Christian life, I've never been much for reading the Song of Solomon, but recently it's dawned on me. There is God, leaping over every new social technological advancement and bounding over every distraction to reach us.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="line">Behold, there he stands</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="ln-indent">behind our wall,</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="line">gazing through the windows,</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="ln-indent">looking through the lattice.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent">
<span class="line">My beloved speaks and says to me:</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="line">“Arise, my love, my beautiful one,</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="block-indent"> <span class="ln-indent">and come away..."</span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="block-indent"><span class="ln-indent">Song of Solomon 2:9b-10 </span></span></span><i><span class="block-indent"><span class="ln-indent"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<br />
If you read that passage carefully, you'll notice the beloved had to call out to her to get her to <i>wake up</i>. Yep, that's me. Asleep. Counting sheep as I scroll and scroll and scroll.<br />
<br />
Are you getting it?<br />
<br />
<br />
I don't think I'm the only one with this problem of prioritizing relationships, especially regarding the one that matters most...but God knows. He knows each of us to our status-update-loving core. God will go so far to be first in our lives that He will let us feel alone in this tiny, elbow-rubbing, interconnected world; and not only that, but even to allow us to feel a shadow of want for deeper connection among our most cherished real-life relationships; all to draw us into that red-pill, deeper-than-marriage, wider-than-friendships, larger-than-life relationship with Himself.<br />
<br />
So, neighbor, does this mean I'm going to ditch my Facebook account or stop blogging? Nah, I still <i>have</i> to tell you about the shenanigans my children pull when I'm away in the bathroom. But it is a wake-up call to spend my time wisely as to who I will seek to know best, and realizing who has been seeking out me more than all the internet search fields combined.<br />
<br />
Mmm...red pill.<br />
<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-85747928989457681082012-09-02T14:37:00.000-07:002012-11-20T21:24:30.761-08:00I'm not really political...But if I were, I'd be posting stuff like this on Facebook all the time.<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-67357612526882074422011-09-19T15:09:00.000-07:002012-11-16T11:58:54.780-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-75463375404852898482011-09-06T10:47:00.000-07:002012-11-20T21:29:17.684-08:00Humor Your Kid<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">wikimedia.org</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
It finally happened.<br />
<br />
I found a black widow spider in the house.<br />
<br />
Mere inches from a daily-used toy box in the living room.<br />
<br />
! ! ! ! ! ! !<br />
<br />
For all the widow infestations we've been having outside during the summers since we've lived here, I've always been looking out for telltale signs of that spider breed's existence in the house. But I must have thought we had been keeping them out alright since I hadn't spotted any. Up until this point, that is.<br />
<br />
This morning, Caden was jumping happily in his jumper and Gwen was looking for toys to play with in the living room. Ah, now was my chance to finally get my breakfast and coffee and get my day started.<br />
<br />
"Pchzz ... Pchzz ... Pchzz ..." Went Gwen, in what I couldn't tell was a request for cheese or a "please" asking me for something else. Now, Gwen? But my coffee is done brewing! She kept Pchzz-ing, so I figured I would delay my caffeine intake to see what she wanted. She was asking nicely, after all, so I ought to at least humor her and help her with what was likely a toy request.<br />
<br />
She led me to the bookshelf right next to the toy box and pointed vaguely and kept pchzz-ing. "Cheese?" I asked her, wondering if she had thrown her plastic toy cheese into the back of the bookshelf, when I then saw the dastardly spider hanging out in his well-established not-so-little web in the enclave of the bookshelf, stereo and wall. I simultaneously swore and thanked God at the same time (is that possible?) ushered Gwen to her high chair without trying to let her to pick up on my slight panic, and went back with a can of bug spray and a fly swatter to make history.<br />
<br />
The moral of the story is this: humor your kid. Engage with them even if it means putting off your cuppa for another minute. It may only be a matter of plastic cheese, or of practicing non-specific pleases; but it could be a heaven-sent appointment to bring to your attention a danger in your home to deal with.<br />
<br />
The other moral of the story is this: If you live in an area where bad bugs live, grab a flashlight and go hunting in your home on a regular basis to keep you and your family safe.<br />
<br />
Thus concludes this public service announcement. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.<br />
<br />
<i>Since the above...</i><br />
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">And
I would like to add that because of this morning's discovery, I went
hunting and found more webs and 3 black widows in my kitchen. Have you
peeked under the edges of your kitchen cabinets lately?</span></h6>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-4490185106421990562011-07-21T16:28:00.000-07:002012-11-16T14:06:00.664-08:00Ding-Dong!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For all you family out there, more is to come...enjoy!</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-6470963183973485952011-06-13T23:50:00.000-07:002011-06-14T00:19:23.653-07:00Monday, MondayWhat's up with Mondays? It's like the day that auditioned to be part of the weekend but didn't make the cut, so it got booted to waiting tables at the first day of the McWork Week. I'm finding a trend with Mondays. For as detailed or generalized as I plan my Monday, the plans never happen. Take today--please. 'Cause it's Monday. But really, take today. I planned to get all the laundry washed and folded. That's it. I even wrote it down on a pad of paper with a portrait of the Schlossers on it. They sell real estate. I drew a pointy mustache and goatee on Mrs. Schlosser. But I digress. I washed one, maybe two, dishes, but only because I had to use them. I didn't even go outside. Not even a foot out of the door. The entirety of my day was spent corralling, soothing, juggling, containing, and not flipping out over my two-year-old and her two-ness, and my four-month-old and his--what I am sure is his bowel-function-related--inconsolable-ness. I just put him to bed 10 minutes ago. I wiped up chicken juice off of the counter 5 minutes ago, because I've really been <i>that</i> occupied for the past 6 hours. Actually, I did play about 20 minutes of Dominion with Aaron around 8pm, because when he asked if I wanted to play it, I lamented how I didn't get anything done today, so he told me to forget about the housework and spend time with him instead. So I did.<br />
<br />
So what was good about today, other than 20 minutes of spending time with Aaron? I got my computer back from the doctor's today. It had a near-death experience. Again. I did not lose my antiquated version of Photoshop, which I desperately need. I fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans for the first time <i>and</i> was able to button it <i>and</i> not hinder my mobility <i>or</i> nettle the laws of physics. I also ate approximately 15 chocolate covered almonds. This may turn out to be a dark, bloated rain cloud on my jean felicity come morning, but they did taste good.<br />
<br />
So, Monday, I bid you farewell. Your hour is almost up. Like hornets, I'm not exactly sure why God created you, but there you are. Perhaps one day we will learn to get along, but for now, I will appreciate you as the day that makes me appreciate all the more the other six days of the week.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-27539601183012795992011-04-17T22:50:00.000-07:002011-04-17T22:50:02.790-07:00The Great Experiment, In ProgressPart of what I've learned so far in this personal experiment I've been conducting on my priorities is that balance is an art to be finessed and refined. And so I've been contemplating the balance of rest on the Sabbath and productivity during the week; work during the day and winding down at night, when to do the dishes, and when to let the dishes do themselves (no, wait--that's my dream fantasy). And on this Sunday evening as I ponder the things I have learned over the past week or so, and how to muse about it here, I also notice that my eyelids are heavy from a day of robust worship, sadness from loss, joy in fellowship, mothering my children--and no blessed Sunday afternoon nap. Heck, the blog can come when I'm feeling spendy with the hours my house is asleep, but tonight Slumber is tipping the scales over Dear-Diary-ing. Until then (and then will probably involve a large cup of Pike's Place...)!<br />
<br />
<i>~Sarah</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-36057197240006118122011-04-16T11:40:00.000-07:002011-04-16T13:36:35.806-07:00The Full Armor of God<i><br />
"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."</i><br />
<i>--Ephesians 6:10-17</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I've been reading Ephesians this week and was mulling over the "Armor of God" passage yesterday and today, and it's occurred to me that all of the armor of God is defensive except for one piece--the sword of the Spirit--which is a weapon. The Word of God is our one weapon. It is the only thing we are given to fight back against Satan.<br />
<br />
Then I had an image of a person with all of the Armor of God <i>except</i> the sword of the Spirit, and it was a little comical! Imagine some stalwart soldier decked out in battle raiment with no weapon, sprinting and ducking hither and thither on the battlefield, or scrunched up behind a rock to hide because he cannot fight. Not only that, but he cannot even come to the aid of his comrades when they are in need. And when they see him in that state, how can they be anything but disheartened by his inability to help?<br />
<br />
Or worse yet, picture this same soldier <i>with</i> the sword...on the ground. Or hanging limply in his hand. Lame! And yet how many of us, myself included, so often find ourselves without our only means to charge through and make progress in the battles within our hearts and in the lives of our brothers and sisters, simply because we won't take the Word of God purposefully into our hands? It's much easier to pick up a self-help book, or the TV remote, or the mouse, and put off the battle or go about the battle our own way, because there are so many other desirable things to do than pick up that heavy, inconvenient, time-consuming sword that will never fail to reflect back to us within the gleaming expanse between its razor-sharp edges, the all-too-often-less-desirable condition of our hearts.<br />
<br />
The good news is that God is faithful even when we are not. We may have our times of fruitless scurrying on the battlefield, but the same Spirit from which we draw our sword will not abandon us to ourselves, as I am living proof. When God calls us into his family, he calls us into war. He has given us everything we need to fight, and fight well.<br />
<br />
Blessings and comfort be on the families and friends of Chris Gordon and Betty Champaign, who this week completed their battles here on earth. We will miss their fighting by our side, but are confident that we will join them in the victory song as God enables us to stand firm until the end.<br />
<br />
<i><br />
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for His appearing." </i><br />
<i>--2 Timothy 4:7-8</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,<br />
With the cross of Jesus going on before.<br />
Christ, the royal Master, leads against the foe;<br />
Forward into battle see His banners go!</div><div></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;">Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,<br />
With the cross of Jesus going on before.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">At the sign of triumph Satan’s host doth flee;<br />
On then, Christian soldiers, on to victory!<br />
Hell’s foundations quiver at the shout of praise;<br />
Brothers lift your voices, loud your anthems raise.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like a mighty army moves the church of God;<br />
Brothers, we are treading where the saints have trod.<br />
We are not divided, all one body we,<br />
One in hope and doctrine, one in charity.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">What the saints established that I hold for true.<br />
What the saints believèd, that I believe too.<br />
Long as earth endureth, men the faith will hold,<br />
Kingdoms, nations, empires, in destruction rolled.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Crowns and thrones may perish, kingdoms rise and wane,<br />
But the church of Jesus constant will remain.<br />
Gates of hell can never gainst that church prevail;<br />
We have Christ’s own promise, and that cannot fail.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Onward then, ye people, join our happy throng,<br />
Blend with ours your voices in the triumph song.<br />
Glory, laud and honor unto Christ the King,<br />
This through countless ages men and angels sing.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<i>--Sabine Baring-Gould</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-11137893687464649832011-04-08T22:52:00.000-07:002011-04-08T22:53:22.205-07:00Fridays a la Francais: Saturday, June 8, 2003<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EHrGmYGyM0M/TZ_0DXmC2cI/AAAAAAAAAPY/TY-ex0c3jXM/s1600/June8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EHrGmYGyM0M/TZ_0DXmC2cI/AAAAAAAAAPY/TY-ex0c3jXM/s400/June8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The best thing about today was that I got my camera back.<br />
<br />
It's been a very long day. Today was La Fete de la Cabannes (Festival of the Cabanas), a gathering of local farmers, artists (both professional and amateur), and people from the town for the sake of getting together to have a good time under the pretext of making art by constructing creative looking "cabannes". There were probably 250 people there at any given time.<br />
<br />
With vague and different versions of directions floating in my head, two and a half hours later I made it to the location. Unfortunately by the time I got there I only had a couple hours before a van came to pick us up, and I used that time to sketch the 30 heads assigned for my class, so I think I saw a couple of cabanas from afar. To top off the long walk, after I walked all the way up the steep dirt trail that accessed the festival, I realized I didn't have my camera with me! I prayed to God that it would be safe and promised I would put my info with it. So I ran back down to check the spots where I was sitting, and thanks be to God, a young man had picked it up for safe keeping and gave it to me! Oh the relief!<br />
<br />
Up the hill I walked and eventually made it back home despite the fact that we had a flat tire and had to change it with funky European tools. On top of everything, to start the day as I was walking back home from the Echomarché, I dropped one of my bags, the only bag with a glass jar in it, and made a mess of my other groceries. When I got home, I realized that I had left my house keys in the bag I was going to take to the festival. To pass the time, I decided to pet the cat, which then decided to bite and scratch my hand. Oh la la, as the French would say. A nice lady from the flower shop offered me a bag to carry my soggy groceries and a rag to wipe my hands which was nice. It's just one of those Shel Silverstein days. Perhaps tonight I'll sit in the tub.<br />
<br />
It was interesting watching people at the Fete. It was like I stepped back into the middle ages. The first sound I heard as I entered the grounds was a hand accordion being played. It was a very simple song but reminded me of those movies portraying those old European festivals that the poor townspeople had. There was a table that sold a variety of drinks. I got a great big bottle of water for only one euro! People were enjoying visiting one another. Couples were very lovey dovey. There is no myth or stereotype that the French are lovers. Children played half-naked in the stream, and it's sad to think that that would be an issue in America. People milled around the cabanas looking and enjoying a product of what it means to be French: to live well and full; full of love, family, art, good food and drink and the company of others to enjoy those things with. They also had barbecue pits and food stands, and dogs a-runnin' rampant and free to bark at whatever.<br />
<br />
On my way back, I rode with a nice girl named Yelena who is from a country that used to be the former Yugoslavia. She is one of the Pont-Aven School of Art interns and is here for one year on a grant that lets her make art and have her own studio to paint. I wonder what it would be like to live a whole year in Pont-Aven?Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-66674545082306652562011-04-05T00:27:00.000-07:002011-04-07T09:38:58.743-07:00The Great Experiment, Day 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nt1ShT1uCfY/TZrEQQbBpjI/AAAAAAAAAPU/VZJJCBJSULE/s1600/574983_science.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nt1ShT1uCfY/TZrEQQbBpjI/AAAAAAAAAPU/VZJJCBJSULE/s1600/574983_science.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I love a clean kitchen. Which is why I'm very scared for mine. You see, I've been suspecting for some time that I've been tending to it too much, and one may not guess that for at least a couple days out of the week when my constant vigilance isn't exactly apparent, but for having two kids under the age of 2, it may as well be presented on a silver platter to the Queen of England. But it's occurred to me that I just care too much about it, which has bumped down the importance of other things more worthy of my attention, like kids. Oh, not that I don't spend ample time with them, but that my attitude while with them is house-bent instead of home-bent.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to The Great Experiment that I have begun today. I have been in burn-out mode for who knows how long, partly because the Lord's Day has not been a day of rest for me. Rather, it's been a catch-up for whatever I couldn't get to during the week, with my motivation being that I want everything "ready to go" by Monday morning. But now that I have children (I still can't believe I can use the plural word), I'm especially aware that I am teaching them how to live by my example, which is enough to scare me into better habits, and quick, God help me. Which led me to consider my priorities, or rather, led me to consider what I would want their priorities to be, not only to keep the Sabbath holy, but to go about the other six days of the week so that the Sabbath <i>remains</i> holy.<br />
<br />
Well, the diagnostic was painful, the diagnosis isn't pretty, and the treatment is downright frightening, because it involves the possibility that my kitchen, and the rest of my house, may burst into flames for neglect, and requires me putting more faith in God that He will bless my mindset more than my elbow grease.<br />
<br />
So like I said, today was Day One of this experiment in faith. That is, To not only shuffle my priorities into something that looks different than a Molly Maid employee's, but to have it be altogether disposable when that is what's needed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u><b>Today's Highlights</b></u></div><br />
<ul><li>I read a Bible verse this morning and even remembered the gist of it later in the day (Found in Ephesians 5, about making the most of your time and making a point to understanding the Lord's will--very apropos).</li>
</ul> <br />
<ul><li>I got my toddler, Gwen, up from her nap time only to find her covered in poo. I wasn't planning on disinfecting her and her room today, so it was a good thing I had already allowed my schedule to let s*** happen.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>So because of the above highlight, instead of reacting to my disobedient (how many times do I have to tell her not to put her hand down her diaper?!), trouble-making child, I reacted to my poor hasn't-had-a-nap-in-two-days baby girl. And my two-month-old, Caden, took an extra long nap, allowing me to take care of business. God must have known.<br />
</li>
</ul> <br />
<ul><li>My poor hasn't-had-a-nap-in-two-days baby girl had been on the verge of meltdown since breakfast, but instead of extra punishments, there were extra hugs and extra time outside. Instead of me cleaning up the living room in 3 minutes flat, we spent 20 minutes together while we found things to put away and made it peaceful to be in once more. We lit a yummy smelling cinnamon candle, and after dinner we danced to some happy rock music. Right before I put her to bed an hour early.<br />
</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li> I got half of a thank-you note written.</li>
</ul> <br />
<ul><li>I watched an episode of The Office with Caden and laughed.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>I did not clean the kitchen. It is starting to smolder. And I think I'm ok with that.<br />
</li>
</ul>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-29109054596438609482010-10-31T16:08:00.000-07:002010-10-31T16:08:09.428-07:00Work for the WearyI wrote this stream-of-conscious musing about Heaven a few months ago and just found it again while doing some much needed cleaning in my office. I re-read it and decided I liked it, so I'm posting it here to paper into the universe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>It will be a delightful surprise, a welcome relief, the fulfillment of our heart's quest for purpose, when the Lord sets us to work in Heaven. In it, we will be perfecting upon perfection yet ever learning; constantly amazed and tickled about our daily discoveries and accomplishments; baffled at how much more we resemble Christ than the day before. Yet the bafflements of yesterday are resolved in the understanding gained today. Thus continues the blessed cycle of ever-comprehending, ever-wondering, ever-perfecting and aspiring to God's unattainable glory; ever-joyful in the work set out for us. Our faith will be sight, yet contained in a single mustard seed within the heart of a wide-eyed, trusting child. True faith need not a larger accommodation. True faith is that simple and pure.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"...God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, and the base things of the world and the despised God has chosen..." 1 Corinthians 1:27-28</i><br />
<br />
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Thinking more about it, especially as I re-write this here on Sunday, i.e. the Sabbath, i.e. the "day of rest", which is only a foreshadow of the rest we'll enter into in Heaven, I thought it ironic how we'll be anything but resting "up there." No, the rest will be from our fallen, sinful selves in a fallen, sinful world. Ahh, now <i>that</i> I wouldn't mind kicking my feet up from for all eternity.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-77366544974530177052010-10-30T15:35:00.000-07:002010-10-30T15:38:58.807-07:00Mason Jar Vintage Bonus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l066ANToGC0/TMycfAWTUzI/AAAAAAAAAPI/TLKvMhZmmhA/s1600/blue+mason.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l066ANToGC0/TMycfAWTUzI/AAAAAAAAAPI/TLKvMhZmmhA/s400/blue+mason.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
So, it turns out the tall mason jar of <a href="http://thisbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/10/today-was-day-of-great-importance.html">concord wine</a> was made out of blue glass, which is now "vintage" and collectible. I did some eBay research and found this bad boy fetches for 3-6 dollars. The other smaller jar, which I was finally able to open, turned out to be a vintage....<br />
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mayonnaise jar.<br />
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Which may fetch five cents at a recycling center. Did I mention Grandma C. was also frugal?<br />
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Cheers!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-12760863773482880652010-10-27T00:10:00.000-07:002012-11-17T00:10:19.347-08:00Mason Jar VintageToday was a day of great importance. Today was unforgettable. Today was a day of history remembered and made. Yes--today I drank 50 year-old grape juice.<br />
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It began when I drove up to Pasadena today to visit my aunt Celeste. She lives in a cozy yet beautiful craftsman style bungalow which she and my dad inherited from their parents. We were having a really nice time chatting away over Connal's grinders on the front porch which sported a vast array of succulents, while watching hummingbirds dive-bomb each other for territorial dominance of the bird feeder. The conversation turned to food and growing food; and then to drink and making drink, as I mentioned to her that we had recently juiced five gallons worth of apples from a friend's apple trees to make apple cider; which reminded her of the concord grape "wine" her mom--my grandma--used to make when my aunt was a little girl.<br />
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She explained to me that Grandma C. (as we grandkids always call her) would fill the jar half full of grapes, along with sugar and water, and preserved it using the jar method. To drink it, they filled their glasses with one part wine, one part water and a generous amount of ice. It sounded delicious. And oh by the way, my aunt added, she found several mason jars full of the stuff from fifty years ago that had been sitting forgotten on a shelf in the garage and would I like to take some home?<br />
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Now one may be considering at this point the wisdom--or sanity--in imbibing in the aforementioned drink. But the sentimental adventurer inside me couldn't resist the offer. I remembered times at my grandparents' house, eating those dark blue grapes from the same vine Grandma C. had made her concord wine out of so many years before. Plus, I reasoned I had already had a similar wine tasting adventure in trying a bottle of rosé from the 80s that had been sitting in my parents' basement (which turned out to be corked vinegar). I figured the worst thing that could happen is that it would smell bad and I wouldn't drink it.<br />
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At the end of our visit, my aunt gave me two generous, dusty, rusted-top mason jars blanketed lovingly in bubble wrap, and I headed home with my new treasure. "My husband is gonna flip when he sees this!" I thought happily, recalling the fun rosé misadventure we shared a few years ago.<br />
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"Do I wanna know what's inside those jars?" Aaron asked as he helped bring them in the house. I gleefully told the story of the concord wine, which was met with raised eyebrows and less-than enthusiasm. My microbiologist/scared-for-my-pregnant-health husband tried to reason me into <i>not</i> drinking it, but my stubborn heart was set on its mission. I had even planned out the pictures I would take of the wine as I drove home. He finally gave up trying to persuade me out of it and I was left to my own devices.<br />
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After taking glamor shots of my dusty relics, I fetched a glass and proceeded to open the smaller jar which stubbornly stayed shut. I hadn't considered that dilemma. If jar #2 didn't open I didn't throw out the possibility of cracking those suckers with a hammer. Actually, when I saw it playing out in my mind, I <i>did</i> throw out that possibility. I'm not crazy, after all. Well, not <i>that</i> crazy, at least.<br />
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I went for the second jar. the outer mason jar ring opened as smoothly as if it were jarred last week. I eagerly tried prying the top seal off with my fingernails, but no luck. I went and got a steak knife and wedged the point between it and the glass jar. *Ssssssip* it went as the air lock broke, as if to say, "ssssip me!" Yes, this was a positive sign. I removed the seal and timidly hovered my nose over the brown liquid. I sniffed.<br />
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It didn't smell like puke. Another positive sign. It smelled like sherry. I smiled. Three positive signs in a row. I picked up the cumbersome jar with both hands and poured some into a glass. The liquid was amber. With hundreds of little particles swirling around. Screw the particles. I've drunk particles before. I lifted the glass and took a sip.<br />
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It was sweet! Good grief it was sweet. It had survived fifty years of forgotten storage, three or four major earthquakes, fifty sweltering summers without air conditioning, and the Carter administration. It was untouched and aloof to the harsh world outside.<br />
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But I didn't take another sip.<br />
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I admit, the particles were kinda wigging me out, and those grapes sitting in the bottom of the jar looked too gnarly to tempt prevailing goodness. But I did take another sniff. Ahh, sherry.<br />
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Raising my glass of 1960 vintage concord grape "wine," here's to aunt Celeste, for giving me a little gastronomic and historical adventure; and to Grandma C., now 92 years old, who knew heck-yeah how to jar.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-18008831980860037482010-09-10T22:08:00.000-07:002012-11-16T14:15:04.830-08:00F a la F: Friday, June 7, 2003<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today our school went to Carnac and visited a chateau called Domaine de Kerguéhennec.<br />
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Carnac was a very interesting place. Apparently there are stones erected all over Brittany from the Paleolithic to Neolithic periods, about 7,000 years ago. Druids somehow used them as burial sites or something. First we went to one small site. The stones ranged from 4 feet to 20 feet high. Most stood on their points. One stone that I saw there was said to weigh 300 tons!<br />
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Just like Stonehenge (which was raised after Carnac), no one knows how they moved them to their spot, how they got them out of the ground without leaving a mark and how, once they got them to their place, found the center of gravity to keep them standing. It was pretty weird and amazing to see. I also heard that these were put up before the invention of the wheel.<br />
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The larger site at Carnac was pretty impressive. About a mile's worth of stones stood row after row, thousands of huge oblong boulders. This site had been gated off because throughout the years as more people came to visit this site, the walking around the stones loosened them from the ground causing them to topple.<br />
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Carnac is definitely a mystery.<br />
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keepin' 'er steady...</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-85534076938238961052010-09-10T21:27:00.000-07:002010-09-10T21:27:30.859-07:00Oh Yeah...My BlogDear Blog,<br />
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I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. It looks like my last post was in May, right before I found out I was pregnant, and thus, the long absence. Well, now that I've gotten a little semblance of sanity back after a little over one trimester's worth of barfing, fatigue, and barfing, I feel I need to get back to writing on you. I hope you're not mad at me, and that we're still friends.<br />
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Love,<br />
SarahSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-950911343361571180.post-56785388237217657432010-05-28T23:39:00.000-07:002010-05-28T23:39:50.438-07:00F a la F: Friday, June 6, 2003<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27711528@N03/4649487148/" title="le-moo by artbysarah, on Flickr"><img alt="le-moo" height="376" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/4649487148_d6dac9a30d_b.jpg" width="565" /></a><br />
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Today my illustration class went out to draw cows. Since the pasture was right next to a beach, I decided to walk down to it. It was very different from the beaches I'm accustomed to. As I eased my way down the steep path, flowers and shrubbery surrounded me on both sides and made the air smell like honey. The greenery was beautiful there. Bright red poppies just like in the Monet painting popped up here and there. Tons of tiny wild flowers, mustard flowers, and tiny white and pink honeysuckles crowded the ground. The landscape was beautiful. In one area there were rolling pastures and planted fields, and in other areas there were dark but bright green magnificent trees that piled themselves to the edge of the rocky cliffs that looked over the ocean.<br />
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It was exciting for me as it was my first time seeing the Atlantic ocean. It was cloudy weather and the ocean was grey, as I somehow pictured it would be. But then for about 20 minutes, the sun came out and revealed a refreshingly blue sea with aquamarine turf--not at all what I was expecting.<br />
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The tide pools were different as well. Below the pools themselves were mostly just sandy bottoms. The rocks were jagged and oddly shaped. Hundreds of thousands of minuscule mussels covered the rocks. There were also large barnacles and weird bulbous things that clung to the rocks. I thought they were a type of keyhole limpet that I had once seen at Little Corona del Mar, but when I touched it, it felt like a slimy water balloon. Then on the wet sand I saw the bell of a jellyfish. It was dead but perfectly intact--about the size of my palm. The sound of the waves was never ceasing but a continuous drone. I took a nice nap on the beach.<br />
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It was interesting, or at least different, drawing cows. After crawling under the electric fence and dodging hundreds of meadow muffins, we got up close and personal to about 15-20 cows. Some were Jerseys but others were the black and white mottled Angus cows. When they weren't standing and eating grass, they were sitting and chewing cud. I drew a couple cows that turned out fairly well, but overall it was an okay experience. I think I enjoyed the fact more that I was in a French cow pasture by the Atlantic ocean than just drawing cows.<br />
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I came home afterward and had dinner with my host family. We had a menagerie of items: hard boiled eggs, salami, potatoes (pomme de terre), steak (boef) and salad. It was all pretty good despite the hastiness of it. The beef was cooked in a cream sauce which actually tasted good. In fact, the beef was the neighbor's cow. I've never had a neighbor's cow before. At the table we talked about the difference between American food and French food. John was saying how bad American food was because it was full of hormones and antibiotics, but I said that we were so much bigger than the French are, and pointed out the heavy smoking allowed in Europe as opposed to the States. Ah well.<br />
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In the evening I sat with Christine and drew her portrait which she was very pleased to have me do. We tried conversing and made progress overall, though we did hit a dead end here and there. All in all it was pretty amusing.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27711528@N03/4649487144/" title="Christine by artbysarah, on Flickr"><img alt="Christine" height="376" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3399/4649487144_20cc2d7074_b.jpg" width="565" /></a>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04690423837348869603noreply@blogger.com0