I love having Christmas on Sunday. I love going to church and singing carols and being hugged and kissed by Martha. And this year I find the Christmas story particularly touching. Each time I hear the words "her first born son," I get a little tear in my eye as I think about my wee boy.
Being pregnant makes me feel quite vulnerable, especially since Steve and I are far away from family and dead poor this year. I think that vulnerability, though, makes me even more touched by the incredible kindness we're being shown. Today we received our fourth offer of a pram. Women at church keep pulling me aside to ask what I need for the baby. A sling? A bath? Dummies? Our list of people willing to drive us to and from the hospital keeps growing and that puts a little tear in my eye as well.
This afternoon we're eating our Christmas dinner and then opening presents from my friend Moo. We weren't expecting to have any presents this year, but Moo sent a package full of wrapped gifts for me and Steve and Baby McBaby. Isn't that kind?
Other people's kindness makes me truly feel goodwill toward men this year.
Happy Christmas!
Showing posts with label Gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gratitude. Show all posts
25 December 2011
02 January 2009
I'm Back
I'm back. I flew to Charlotte Saturday and stayed overnight at my friend the Coordinatrix's house and then the two of us drove up to DC on Sunday. I made the Coordinatrix sing rounds with me through about half the state of Virginia on our drive, which I'm sure she thoroughly enjoyed, and if she didn't, it's still good for people to sing on car trips. I'm pretty sure it builds character. We stayed with our friends Ti-Cup and Excel and their toddler (who was my good friend for about an hour because I understood her request to be taken outside to wave to the recycling men and because she and I had some good times reading the AAA guide to DC together. When her mom came home, we became less good friends) for two nights and then with the JLB family for two nights. We had an excellent time and got to visit with several other friends while we were there as well. During the entire trip I was so impressed by how fortunate I am to have so many good friends who spend time with me and travel with me and feed me and extend hospitality to me in their homes and laugh at my stories and make time for me. I feel really grateful for all the people in my life today.
Me and Rebekah in the Metro
Me and Rebekah in the Metro19 November 2008
I'm Grateful Some More
I am grateful that I'm usually in excellent (smugly excellent) health. I'm especially grateful for my good health when I am not feeling well, as I have not been for a good solid week now. I found some keys to making it through my current illness in fairly good spirits, though.
1. Orange Juice - I love orange juice, but I never buy it, because I can put back an entire gallon in one sitting. When I used to buy it, I kept a close watch on sales and only bought it when the cans of concentrate fell below $0.90. Saturday I bought a carton of juice for $2.50, and I don't even care, because I'm sick and I DESERVE vitamin C in liquid gold form. (I only like to drink it out of a mug when I'm sick. It's more comforting that way.)
2. John Denver - He is the sick person's good and true friend. I have no idea what's happening in the world, because as soon as I got sick, I stopped listening to NPR in the car, and started listening to "Take Me Home, Country Roads," "Annie's Song," and "Matthew."
3. Flannel Sheets
1. Orange Juice - I love orange juice, but I never buy it, because I can put back an entire gallon in one sitting. When I used to buy it, I kept a close watch on sales and only bought it when the cans of concentrate fell below $0.90. Saturday I bought a carton of juice for $2.50, and I don't even care, because I'm sick and I DESERVE vitamin C in liquid gold form. (I only like to drink it out of a mug when I'm sick. It's more comforting that way.)
2. John Denver - He is the sick person's good and true friend. I have no idea what's happening in the world, because as soon as I got sick, I stopped listening to NPR in the car, and started listening to "Take Me Home, Country Roads," "Annie's Song," and "Matthew."
3. Flannel Sheets
16 November 2008
I am Grateful
It's the week before Thanksgiving, which means it's time for a little bit of gratitude.
I am grateful that I know how to cook (and to anyone about to leave a comment with the words rice pie in it, here's what I have to say: hush up your mouth). I'm grateful that I grew up in a home with a mother who cooks (very, very well) and that she taught me how to cook and was indulgent of my cooking experiments.
My personal favorite childhood cooking experiment was my little foray into cooked carrots, prepared in the following manner: locate one recycled whipped cream container, fill with hot water, add chopped carrots, carry downstairs to mostly unused small bathroom, fill sink with hot water, set whipped cream container in sink, leave carrots to soak for 4-5 hours. I anticipated that this would create cooked carrots similar to the ones my mom made by cooking carrots on the stovetop. Here's what it actually creates: wet, lukewarmish, crunchy carrots. My mom set them out on the dinner table for us to eat anyway.
When I was about 4, I had a favorite recipe called White M&Ms, prepared thus: take a plastic egg tray, fill all the indentations with water, set M&Ms in each indentation, leave until the M&Ms turn white but be sure to remove before they start to dissolve. I believe this delicacy was also generally prepared in a bathroom.
When I was in college, I cooked with uneven amounts of success. There were a number of very unfortunate meals, including an end of semester casserole that I used to make with rice, canned soup, green beans, and cheese. When I think about it now, it makes me feel a little queasy, and I'm glad my skills have improved, but I'm grateful that I've always been able to experiment and put meals together for myself that have saved me money and kept me entertained.
I like to cook. I like creating something; it's soothing. I like to cook for other people and to have dinner parties and to be able to offer pie or bread or something from my own kitchen to friends. I like to know what's in my food and to make things that are fresh and healthy. I like to try new foods and cook desserts that are so bad for you that your arteries will clog just looking at them.
I'm grateful I can cook.
I am grateful that I know how to cook (and to anyone about to leave a comment with the words rice pie in it, here's what I have to say: hush up your mouth). I'm grateful that I grew up in a home with a mother who cooks (very, very well) and that she taught me how to cook and was indulgent of my cooking experiments.
My personal favorite childhood cooking experiment was my little foray into cooked carrots, prepared in the following manner: locate one recycled whipped cream container, fill with hot water, add chopped carrots, carry downstairs to mostly unused small bathroom, fill sink with hot water, set whipped cream container in sink, leave carrots to soak for 4-5 hours. I anticipated that this would create cooked carrots similar to the ones my mom made by cooking carrots on the stovetop. Here's what it actually creates: wet, lukewarmish, crunchy carrots. My mom set them out on the dinner table for us to eat anyway.
When I was about 4, I had a favorite recipe called White M&Ms, prepared thus: take a plastic egg tray, fill all the indentations with water, set M&Ms in each indentation, leave until the M&Ms turn white but be sure to remove before they start to dissolve. I believe this delicacy was also generally prepared in a bathroom.
When I was in college, I cooked with uneven amounts of success. There were a number of very unfortunate meals, including an end of semester casserole that I used to make with rice, canned soup, green beans, and cheese. When I think about it now, it makes me feel a little queasy, and I'm glad my skills have improved, but I'm grateful that I've always been able to experiment and put meals together for myself that have saved me money and kept me entertained.
I like to cook. I like creating something; it's soothing. I like to cook for other people and to have dinner parties and to be able to offer pie or bread or something from my own kitchen to friends. I like to know what's in my food and to make things that are fresh and healthy. I like to try new foods and cook desserts that are so bad for you that your arteries will clog just looking at them.
I'm grateful I can cook.
15 November 2007
The Third Day of Thanksgiving, Part 1
Today: Gratitude for Brothers
I have two brothers: the James brother and PoliceBrother.
PoliceBrother is seven years older than I am. When I was about 10-years-old we were in Florida visiting our grandma for Christmas. My brother was going through a torn jeans and leather jacket look at the time, which I thought was very mature looking. He took me to the mall with him and I hoped that people would think I was his girlfriend. I felt extremely old and honored to be out with my 17-year-old brother. Especially when he asked my opinion of some black biker boots. I, of course, thought they were divine.
PoliceBrother is a protective kind of brother. When he hears that I've been sad or upset, he offers to come into town and break someone's knees for me. I, of course, never take him up on this offer or want anyone's knees to be broken, but it's still nice to know that someone would at least OFFER to inflict physical damage on my behalf. He'd probably hammer a telecommunications company for me.
My brother and his wife are both very generous. They sent boxes and boxes of clothes their twins had outgrown when my sister's kids were born. When you go to their house, they start rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for something they can feed you. People who are feeders of other people are the BEST. It shows they're the nice, nurturing kind of people, not the living in fortresses made of smuggled rubies and running over puppies with their recreational vehicles kind of people.
AND my brother is a good storyteller. There's a story about the prisoners and the chocolate cake. I never tell it to people, because I can't do it justice. You have to hear my brother tell it. So. Funny.
I have two brothers: the James brother and PoliceBrother.
PoliceBrother is seven years older than I am. When I was about 10-years-old we were in Florida visiting our grandma for Christmas. My brother was going through a torn jeans and leather jacket look at the time, which I thought was very mature looking. He took me to the mall with him and I hoped that people would think I was his girlfriend. I felt extremely old and honored to be out with my 17-year-old brother. Especially when he asked my opinion of some black biker boots. I, of course, thought they were divine.
PoliceBrother is a protective kind of brother. When he hears that I've been sad or upset, he offers to come into town and break someone's knees for me. I, of course, never take him up on this offer or want anyone's knees to be broken, but it's still nice to know that someone would at least OFFER to inflict physical damage on my behalf. He'd probably hammer a telecommunications company for me.
My brother and his wife are both very generous. They sent boxes and boxes of clothes their twins had outgrown when my sister's kids were born. When you go to their house, they start rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for something they can feed you. People who are feeders of other people are the BEST. It shows they're the nice, nurturing kind of people, not the living in fortresses made of smuggled rubies and running over puppies with their recreational vehicles kind of people.
AND my brother is a good storyteller. There's a story about the prisoners and the chocolate cake. I never tell it to people, because I can't do it justice. You have to hear my brother tell it. So. Funny.
The Third Day of Thanksgiving, Part 2
And now the James brother.
James has always been very good to me, starting when I was a baby and he sang me songs in the car to keep me from squawking. When I was a little girl and scared to go upstairs by myself (terrible creatures lived in my bedroom when no one was up there, even during the day, waiting to attack and drag me away), my brother armed me with blocks to defend myself. Apparently terrible creatures are no match for small, red, wooden blocks.
One day in high school, my brother came upon me walking down the hall between classes. He threw his arm around me and started singing a song that he made up on the spot. I don't remember the whole thing, but this is the end:
This is my sister and she wears glasses
So don't you boys be makin' passes
'Cause I'm her brother and I'm real big
And I'll hunt you down like a stinkin' pig.
Catchy, yes? My brother is FUNNY.
There's a post card on my refrigerator that my brother sent me YEARS ago. Partly it's on my refrigerator because it's a print of a cool pen and ink drawing of "The Temptation of Saint Anthony" from the 1600s, and partly it's on the refrigerator because my brother sent it to me when I was having a terrible year, and it reminds me that I have a really excellent family that takes care of me and sends me post cards when I'm feeling blue.
James and my sister-in-law are both super nice. If they lived in Utah, my position as favored aunt would be in serious jeopardy. The main things I have going for me now are proximity and the fact that my sister's kids can't differentiate between a present I give them myself and a present I deliver from my mom. At family gatherings, my brother and sister-in-law are still having sincere conversations with marmots and playing games long after I've tucked myself away in a corner with a book. Because they're nice.
So, I'm grateful for my whole family. And I'm feeling better today, so I'll save the rest of my thanksgiving for the actual holiday.
James has always been very good to me, starting when I was a baby and he sang me songs in the car to keep me from squawking. When I was a little girl and scared to go upstairs by myself (terrible creatures lived in my bedroom when no one was up there, even during the day, waiting to attack and drag me away), my brother armed me with blocks to defend myself. Apparently terrible creatures are no match for small, red, wooden blocks.
One day in high school, my brother came upon me walking down the hall between classes. He threw his arm around me and started singing a song that he made up on the spot. I don't remember the whole thing, but this is the end:
This is my sister and she wears glasses
So don't you boys be makin' passes
'Cause I'm her brother and I'm real big
And I'll hunt you down like a stinkin' pig.
Catchy, yes? My brother is FUNNY.
There's a post card on my refrigerator that my brother sent me YEARS ago. Partly it's on my refrigerator because it's a print of a cool pen and ink drawing of "The Temptation of Saint Anthony" from the 1600s, and partly it's on the refrigerator because my brother sent it to me when I was having a terrible year, and it reminds me that I have a really excellent family that takes care of me and sends me post cards when I'm feeling blue.
James and my sister-in-law are both super nice. If they lived in Utah, my position as favored aunt would be in serious jeopardy. The main things I have going for me now are proximity and the fact that my sister's kids can't differentiate between a present I give them myself and a present I deliver from my mom. At family gatherings, my brother and sister-in-law are still having sincere conversations with marmots and playing games long after I've tucked myself away in a corner with a book. Because they're nice.
So, I'm grateful for my whole family. And I'm feeling better today, so I'll save the rest of my thanksgiving for the actual holiday.
14 November 2007
The Second Day of Thanksgiving
So, I was saying how my family is nice. So, nice siblings.
I wanted to BE my sister when I was a little girl. I thought she was all things that were good and right with the world, because she took me on picnics and made me hammocks out of bath towels and gave me her chocolate Easter bunny when it was discovered that the ears on mine had snapped off in the box. She gave me her BUNNY. I had never seen such sacrifice.
When I was older, I sometimes stayed with her wherever she was living at the time. She taught me how to crash campus events where food was being served when I stayed with her at BYU. At Penn State, she made me a little bowl of broccoli that she put near my bed so that I wouldn't come home malnourished. In Saint Louis we visited the pot-bellied pigs at that one place that I can't remember the name of. (Did I mention how I'm sick and slow?)
And now, she and Marmot Dad regularly feed me and listen to my stories and take me places. Even when I'm ill and tell them I'm not coming over, they invite me to dinner and suggest that some soup and cake at their house would make me feel better, instead of saying, Yes, please keep your germ-ridden scourge of a self away from our delicate babies, which is what I would say to me.
In fact, I think on Sunday it was Marmot Dad who offered the extra invitation, which is saying something, because I'm sure it's not always the best time for him when my sister and I are together. Once, before Marmot Dad and my sister were married, we were all waiting at the airport for my mom. My sister and I were doing an our-mom-is-coming-to-see-us-and-she's-almost-here-hurray! dance in the terminal. Marmot Dad was not accustomed to such celebrations and told a little boy standing near him, "I'm so embarrassed for us." But he still invites me over and asks me questions about the kings and queens of Britain (King James had an enlarged tongue that caused him to drool), despite the possibility that dancing might break out.
Nice.
I'm getting to the brothers. Just you wait.
I wanted to BE my sister when I was a little girl. I thought she was all things that were good and right with the world, because she took me on picnics and made me hammocks out of bath towels and gave me her chocolate Easter bunny when it was discovered that the ears on mine had snapped off in the box. She gave me her BUNNY. I had never seen such sacrifice.
When I was older, I sometimes stayed with her wherever she was living at the time. She taught me how to crash campus events where food was being served when I stayed with her at BYU. At Penn State, she made me a little bowl of broccoli that she put near my bed so that I wouldn't come home malnourished. In Saint Louis we visited the pot-bellied pigs at that one place that I can't remember the name of. (Did I mention how I'm sick and slow?)
And now, she and Marmot Dad regularly feed me and listen to my stories and take me places. Even when I'm ill and tell them I'm not coming over, they invite me to dinner and suggest that some soup and cake at their house would make me feel better, instead of saying, Yes, please keep your germ-ridden scourge of a self away from our delicate babies, which is what I would say to me.
In fact, I think on Sunday it was Marmot Dad who offered the extra invitation, which is saying something, because I'm sure it's not always the best time for him when my sister and I are together. Once, before Marmot Dad and my sister were married, we were all waiting at the airport for my mom. My sister and I were doing an our-mom-is-coming-to-see-us-and-she's-almost-here-hurray! dance in the terminal. Marmot Dad was not accustomed to such celebrations and told a little boy standing near him, "I'm so embarrassed for us." But he still invites me over and asks me questions about the kings and queens of Britain (King James had an enlarged tongue that caused him to drool), despite the possibility that dancing might break out.
Nice.
I'm getting to the brothers. Just you wait.
13 November 2007
The First Day of Thanksgiving
I've been sick for almost a week, which makes me a little slow in the head. For example, Thursday I went to the Ceramic Genius' house to watch The Office. I came in, looked around, and demanded, "Why do all your clocks say that it's almost 8:15?"
Ceramic Genius: Um, because it is?
Ohhhh. See? Slow.
It's hard to blog when brain function is low. It's especially hard to blog and be amusing or clever. I think I can blog and be sincere even while sick and slow, though. Soooo, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm expounding on some of my blessings. Being sick is a good reason to do it early. So is the fact that on Thanksgiving I'll be on the beach eating hush puppies.
Okay, let's be grateful!
My family is really nice. Every member of my family. Nice.
My parents are two of the most service-oriented people I know. I was really devastated in my late teens/early twenties when I realized that I wasn't automatically going to become as good at nurturing other people as my mom is. You have to work hard to care for people that well. When I was growing up, there were always neighbor babies in our house and it seemed like we were always taking other people's children to church with us or that I was being taken along to visit someone who was sick or alone. In college, I would call my parents on Sundays and ask what they'd been doing and they would have just gotten back from visiting people in the hospital or taking meals to widows. Literally. Visiting the sick and widows. Both of my parents take their responsibilities to other people very seriously, and I admire that.
My parents are also fun. My mom got in trouble at a water park when I was about 10-years-old. She had taken me and my best friend there, and she would wait at the bottom of the slides and pop out and scare us. We thought it was hilarious. The lifeguards did not.
There's a famous story in my family about me and my dad. We were playing charades one night when I was a little girl. My dad was pretending to be a gorilla, and, apparently, he made quite a realistic one, because it scared me and I called out, "Be a butterfly, Daddy! Be a butterfly!" I would really love to see my dad's impression of a butterfly. Maybe we'll play that game at the beach.
So, I'm grateful for my parents.
Tomorrow, I'll be grateful for my siblings.
Ceramic Genius: Um, because it is?
Ohhhh. See? Slow.
It's hard to blog when brain function is low. It's especially hard to blog and be amusing or clever. I think I can blog and be sincere even while sick and slow, though. Soooo, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm expounding on some of my blessings. Being sick is a good reason to do it early. So is the fact that on Thanksgiving I'll be on the beach eating hush puppies.
Okay, let's be grateful!
My family is really nice. Every member of my family. Nice.
My parents are two of the most service-oriented people I know. I was really devastated in my late teens/early twenties when I realized that I wasn't automatically going to become as good at nurturing other people as my mom is. You have to work hard to care for people that well. When I was growing up, there were always neighbor babies in our house and it seemed like we were always taking other people's children to church with us or that I was being taken along to visit someone who was sick or alone. In college, I would call my parents on Sundays and ask what they'd been doing and they would have just gotten back from visiting people in the hospital or taking meals to widows. Literally. Visiting the sick and widows. Both of my parents take their responsibilities to other people very seriously, and I admire that.
My parents are also fun. My mom got in trouble at a water park when I was about 10-years-old. She had taken me and my best friend there, and she would wait at the bottom of the slides and pop out and scare us. We thought it was hilarious. The lifeguards did not.
There's a famous story in my family about me and my dad. We were playing charades one night when I was a little girl. My dad was pretending to be a gorilla, and, apparently, he made quite a realistic one, because it scared me and I called out, "Be a butterfly, Daddy! Be a butterfly!" I would really love to see my dad's impression of a butterfly. Maybe we'll play that game at the beach.
So, I'm grateful for my parents.
Tomorrow, I'll be grateful for my siblings.
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