Author: Maria Johnson

things that make me all smiley and stuff

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I’m over at CatholicMom.com today! That Lisa Hendey is the sweetest thing. Ever.

I’m grateful for her friendship, and her encouragement to post the random piece over there, so be nice and take your traffic over there — and don’t forget to check out the other contributors.

But first, won’t you read my little reflection on pretty flowers, sweet husbands, hope, and stuff?

My husband woke me up tenderly, excitement in his voice even though he was trying to be gentle and soft-spoken in the very early morning before leaving for work. He whispered that I should look along the fence for the gladiolas he had planted too late in the season. We thought they’d never bloom, but hadn’t quite given up hope that they would someday flower.

This morning, two beautiful blooms greeted him when he let out the dog. He was so pleased that he had to wake me to share. [read the rest here]

be kind

I write about this often even though I sometimes fail at following my own advice. I was talking about this theme of kindness (and suffering) with a dear friend today, in a serious conversation that seemed to cover a lot of ground but circled around this idea that we can never know what others are suffering.

We’ve all heard a variation of the quote often attributed to Plato, that we should be kind because everyone is fighting their own hard battle. True enough. It reminded me of this video I saw some time ago:

I wonder what a little bit of civility would do for people. A smile. A gentle word.

Listening.

The extraordinary act of making eye contact. I figure it can go a long way.

In which I set myself up to ride a horse

You might think there is nothing extraordinary in that title, except, I’m afraid of horses.

Really.

I know they can be very nice, very large, creatures. Back when I worked in the county mental health office, I used to take children to riding therapy. I saw children who, for reasons I won’t share, had withdrawn so deeply into themselves that they weren’t socially functional suddenly become animated…daring…courageous! In one session they went from barely staying seated to standing fearlessly on the horse’s back as it gently jogged around the ring.

I was still scared, even as I witnessed the transformation of those children as they piled back into the transport van, smelling horsey and sweaty and smiling, perhaps for the first time that week.

I’m still scared. Let me put it this way, a friend recently suggested we go give some treats to local horses and I think I went deaf for a few moments before I stumbled through finding enough words in English to politely decline.

For those of you who ride horses, I’m sure you think you could introduce me to your favorite horse and make me fall in love with him (or at least give him a carrot without breaking into a cold sweat). If you’re like me, afraid or maybe just ambivalent, I’m sure you’d agree that my life would be no less fulfilled if I never saw a horse again.

So why ride a horse? And why do it now?

I’ve been thinking about this fear thing for some time — years even. I fear growing old. I fear being alone. I fear failure. I fear success. I fear change, even though perhaps I fear a lack of change more.

I’m afraid I won’t get what I want. How about this? I’m afraid I will get what I want.

The thing is, those things are intangible. But horses are not. I can walk up to a horse and look it in the eye, feel the warmth of its body, wrestle with my anxieties and mount it. I should be able to do the same thing with my fears. I think that if I can drum up the courage to get on a horse, I can face down those other fears.

I get that I shouldn’t have to ride a horse to master my other fears, but I like the idea of doing something physical, tangible…courageous.

In the meantime, I am deeply consoled by this picture.

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It seems that once upon a time I wasn’t afraid. That’s my father in the picture, leading me on a little pony. I wasn’t afraid then, trusting my daddy implicitly, knowing he had the reins.

I can learn a lot from that little girl…I can put my trust in my Heavenly Father, knowing He has the reins. He always has.

feral chickens are a thing

feral

It’s birthday weekend around here. Actually, it’s birthday month (happy birthday Christy, Vicky, and my honey), but we are celebrating John’s weekend. That involves ice cream, marathon movies, tasty food, and this afternoon, a lovely drive through the countryside.

I usually bring my camera along on such adventures — you never know what’s gonna grab my fancy.

You know, you never know when you’re going to run across a colony of feral chickens and want a picture.

We passed them so quickly on the country road that John wouldn’t stop or turn around. Sadness. I bet he would have stopped if it was feral goats.

Or feral cows.

back at last!

smeaog precious

I’ve missed my laptop.

I know, such a pathetic thing to say, but there you have it.

I suppose there’s some redeeming thing to say about not being materialistic — you know, the importance of detachment and all that.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s true: the world got on just fine without my laptop distracting me. I wish I could have said that I went totally offline, but I had my phone and an iPad. And this antique HP pc that weighs about 20 pounds and works just fine. I was just spoiled by my light little macbook.

I missed changing the color of fonts. I missed the ease of posting here with access to my pictures. I missed the keypad for my biggish hands (no, I don’t have man -hands, thankyouverymuch).

This electronic object is more than a little toy for posting on Twitter and Facebook, though it does get a lot of action that way. It’s also a tool for communication and for work. If nothing else, this month long absence showed me how much I rely on it to do a multitude of things. I learned the limits of the other, smaller devices, but also discovered that they are, in some respects, more useful and practical than the big daddy for some things.

I think that I’ve picked up some new, hopefully better, habits by not having a laptop open all the time.

In the meantime, I’m going to love him, and squeeze him, and kiss him, and call him George.

 

Day 9 of the Great Bell Pepper Explosion

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I haven’t quite figured out what to do about this bumper crop of bell peppers.

Currently, my plan of action is to eat my way through it. Kind of what I did with the berries until it got so out of hand I actually tried my hand at canning.

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Not sure that’s what I want to do with peppers.

Thoughts?

I’m open to any suggestions.

In the meantime, as a Facebook friend suggested:

You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, saute it. Dey’s uh, pepper-kabobs, pepper creole, pepper gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There’s pineapple pepper , lemon pepper ,coconut pepper, pepper soup, pepper stew, pepper salad, pepper and potatoes, pepper burger, pepper sandwich. That- that’s about it.

Yep. That’s about it.

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Pass the Tums.

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Nostalgia: Astro Pops!

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This is my favorite candy from my childhood. The wrapper says Astro Pop, but I always knew it as a pirulí.

I think I loved it so much because it was a rare treat. My grandparents usually bought these for me when I visited with them, first in New Jersey when I was a very little girl, and then a little later, in Miami.

I don’t recall seeing them at the grocery store, where Hershey bars were front and center (and also a big time favorite of mine), but the pirulís seemed to be at every check out line in the little hispanic markets. In fact, it was the only place I ever saw them.

I guess that’s why they were so special. Because it was an occasion to get one.

Everything about the pops is unique. My favorite part, the first, yellow layer, was so tasty and sweet. I couldn’t quite place the flavor when I was a kid but grown-up me knows it’s supposed to be pineapple. It’s more like cream soda as far as I’m concerned, but I’ll let the manufacturers call it pineapple if they want. It’s followed by passion fruit, another flavor I couldn’t have identified as a child, but the bottom layer, the toxic cherry, was easy enough to name.

I usually lost interest in the candy once I had licked the yellow top into a fiercely dangerous point so sharp it could cut. I know this because I once drew blood testing the point. What’s not to love about a confection that doubles as a weapon? I wonder if the TSA confiscates it along with the nail clippers.

Another reason I rarely finished it was because the base was stuck to a chunk of hard wax. Who wants that crumbling in their mouth?

Still, every once in a while, I’ll smell some pineapple candy and it will remind me of the pirulís I enjoyed (or at least, half-enjoyed) when I was a kid, and it takes me back to those days. I see the same clear, shiny, toxic colors of today’s Jolly Ranchers and wonder why they don’t taste as good as those Astro Pops.

I know why I love pirulis, and it has nothing to do with stabbing my little brother with the sharp point, or even a highly tuned palate that appreciates pineapple and passion fruit. No, it’s because the sight, and the smell, and definitely the taste of this candy transports me to a time in my life when everything was perfect. When happiness wasn’t fleeting and order was the norm.

Perhaps that perception is as artificial as the colors and flavors in the candy, but one thing is for sure: it is reminiscent of a beautiful time in my life full of love and family. What could be sweeter than that?

sunshine, finally, and then it was gone

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It’s been a soggy week in many ways. I love the rain, and nothing is more exciting than a great lightning display. Better, even, than the fireworks shows that were going on across the country this week. Except here, of course, because it hasn’t stopped raining, and it shows little sign of a break.

Too much of a good thing is too much! I miss the sun!

There have been little pockets of sunshine here and there, kind of like a reminder that even though things are looking pretty dark and dismal, there’s a strong light burning bright behind the clouds. I took advantage of one of those moments earlier. The sun came out so brilliantly that I just stood on the porch soaking in it’s warmth.

And just as I was warming up, it started raining again.

It’s not getting me down, though. I know this will pass and soon, very soon, we’ll be back to the burning summer days around here. I’ll need to remind myself of how much I missed it when I’m given to complaining about the oppressive heat or the unrelenting sun.

In the meantime, I hold on to my memory of the sun’s rays on my face.

I’ve sometimes felt like my faith mimics some weather patterns. Sometimes an emotional or physical assault comes up out of nowhere, and like a thunderstorm, shakes me to my core, leaving me feeling broken. Other times, I’ve felt a slow drain, like the continuous rain this week, dripping on me in a constant steady way that depletes me and leaves me feeling melancholy and heavy- hearted.

In either case, it’s hope that I cling to, whether it’s the sunshine that I seek in my garden, or in more tangible ways, a visit to the Adoration chapel for some real Sonshine.