a little happy hour — join me?

wineI just finished checking off one more odious project that is in the way of my being able to sit down and play with my toys.

It’s like those Saturday mornings of rushed chores around the house because I had a date that night. Each completed task brings me closer to my goal.

Unfortunately, in my adult life, every time I cross off something from my to-do list, I need to pencil in two more tasks. It never ends.

Consequently, I’ve decided to settle into the evening with a very nice Rioja. And Bugles.

Don’t knock it ’til you try it. In the absence of a nice goat cheese, the Bugles will have to do.

Who will join me?

 

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Shadow Syllabus

Maria Johnson:

I’ve never reblogged anything…but I found something I wish I’d had the courage to write myself.

Originally posted on Sonya Huber:

  1. IMG_3738I’ll tell you exactly how to get an A, but you’ll have a hard time hearing me. 
  2. I could hardly hear my own professors when I was in college over the din and roar of my own fear.
  3. Those who aim for A’s don’t get as many A’s as those who abandon the quest for A’s and seek knowledge or at least curiosity. 
  4. I had bookmarked a citation for that fact, and now I can’t find it anywhere. 
  5. The only way to seek knowledge is to open your hands and let your opinions drop, but that requires even more fear.
  6. The goals and outcomes I am required to put on my syllabus make me depressed; they are the illusion of controlling what cannot be controlled. 
  7. I end up changing everything halfway through the semester anyway because the plan on paper is never what the living class ends up being about. 

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the ice-bucket challenge, a little grace, and maybe, a beer

My husband actually has ALS. This disease is not an abstraction for us. It’s something that we live with daily.

Every minute that ticks by can be a minute in which we blessedly forget that the disease is causing some undisclosed indignity; it’s like a hum in the background that we learn to tune out.

Too often every minute has each and every second marked with debilitating pain or some other uncontrollable manifestation of the disease.

In other words, it’s not so much that our days are a crapshoot as the fact that at any given moment in that day we could be looking at lucky sevens or snake eyes.

It’s been a blessing, this awful situation. We appreciate life in a way that we never comprehended before. We appreciate every moment, together, and apart. Because sometimes we have to be apart, and I have to let go and let the man be, you know? It doesn’t do us any good for me to hover. Too much, anyway. I still hover. It’s what wives do.

So we live. We can’t be defined by this disease, and if we do let it define us, him, really — then we’ve let it beat us.

I’ll say this, if I could trade places with my husband, I would. But of course, I can’t, so I live my part in this little dance, and do what I need to do, just as he does what he needs to do. This is where those graces of a Sacramental Marriage come in — the whole in sickness and in health thing — it’s a cliché, right up until it isn’t.

But there are blessings to be found in this. A slower pace, focus on what’s important, an awakened faith. Because let me tell you, we can’t do this alone. God is present to us in every moment, in every breath. Prayer, ours, and the multitude of prayers that we know, just know, are sustaining us — that’s amazing to experience.

And it isn’t just the consolation of feeling God’s love. There’s also the love we have for each other that has been given an opportunity to bloom in a different way — in a place of suffering, which to me, is the most startling. Every sacrifice is an opportunity to love more — whether it’s my husband working with and through his pain to continue to support a household, or the added chores I have that I can do, or not do very well. It’s the moment of humbling reality to ask for help. These are moments when grace slips in. Oftentimes, caught up in our need, we are oblivious to its presence.

Then, there’s another source of love that oftentimes overwhelms us — it comes from our friends — those good people who are praying, who ask what they can do for us. This love is just as necessary for us. It plays out in other ways, through our children, through friends of friends. To my surprise, in places in social media where to be honest, the likelihood of ever meeting these people in person is…well…just unlikely.

These good people are appreciated in ways that perhaps they don’t know.

This Ice-Bucket challenge for ALS awareness is one of those things. We’ve been tagged in more than a few moving tributes, where sincerity and love got punctuated with a hilariously uncomfortable dousing with ice water. I appreciate everyone going through such a freezing experience to declare their love for us. In fact, I’m saving some of those videos because a few of you — I’ll keep your names safe — have some epic reactions.

The challenge, of course, is not really to take the ice shower, but to actually follow through and donate to ALS research.

It’s too bad that’s turned out to be a vehicle for unkind comments fueled, no doubt, by passion. Some folks have pointed out some of that research uses embryonic lines. That certainly brings a little bug into the conversation, especially for those of us who are morally opposed to embryonic lines, no matter how isolated, no matter how old. Other folks have pointed out that there are researchers who use only adult stem lines. In the end, we all must surely heed our consciences. An excellent observation of this dilemma is at Fr. Kyle Sander’s blog, where he comments quite eloquently on his position.

At any rate, I thank those of you who’ve taken the challenge because you want to bring attention to the need for more ALS research. I thank those of you who’ve taken the challenge because you love us and wanted to demonstrate that in a public, fun, and insane manner. I also thank those of you who did it to be trendy and participate in a ridiculous meme (this is me, mocking you. thanks for the laughs).

And if you happen to be our friends, fear frostbite, but feel compelled to show the love, just come over for a beer instead. If you really want to show your love, you could bring the beer.

And donate anyway.

Update: Here’s a link to the John Paul II Medical Research Institute. Read about what they are doing as they seek “a new paradigm in research to address deficiencies in medical research and unmet medical needs.” There’s more to a disease than the physical ailments of the patient. 

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dirty dishes and happy tummies

china

I forgot to turn on the dishwasher.

Twice.

So tonight we used the good dishes. The Wedgewood set we bought as newlyweds when my husband was stationed abroad about a million years ago.

It’s a pretty set, with delicate blue flowers and a platinum rim. It doesn’t go in the dishwasher. I’m the dishwasher.

Anyway, these dishes have gotten a fair amount of use in the past 28 or so years that we’ve been married. When we bought them, John warned me that we’d worked too hard for the money to put the set on display behind glass and only take them out once a year. None of this saving for a special event nonsense.

I beg to differ on the “special event.” Any chance to eat with loved ones is a special event. Every night. Even when it’s just him and me. Especially if it’s just him and me.

We ate on them when they were delivered, and through the years for lots of special meals at Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, and other milestones with family and friends.

Those dishes have also seen a fair share of homemade beanie weenies and delivery pizza.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.