Through a Glass, Darkly

For Thanksgiving, I tried a couple of new recipes. One of the nice things about having a large family is that none of us has to make very many things. We each just bring a couple of things and then we have a massive feast. This year I contributed Brandi’s Green Bean Bundles, Smitten Kitchen’s Bourbon Pumpkin Cheesecake, and Smitten Kitchen’s Cranberry, Caramel and Almond Tart (I used this crust recipe, which I found difficult to work with, but it tasted good, so I guess that’s all right).

First up! Green Bean Bundles. Brandi has been swearing by the Green Bean Bundles for years, and I finally decided to pull rank on Mike (who loves his green bean casserole) and make them. Here is the recipe:

Green Bean Bundles
1 pkg hickory bacon
1 bag frozen whole green beans (not cut into pieces)
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/8 tsp garlic powder
2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
3/4 stick melted butter
salt & pepper to taste

Cut bacon in half across the width (not lengthwise). Wrap 8 green beans in a piece of bacon, secure with toothpick. Lay bundles in 9×13 baking dish. Combine all other ingredients and pour over beans. Cover and bake 45 minutes @ 375.

I used two bags of beans and a pack and a half of bacon, so I tried to adjust the butter/sugar combo as necessary. I personally do not like the sweet/salty combination, so I would cut back on the sugar a tad, but other than that I thought they were great. I really liked it. And, more importantly, so did Mike. So we can switch over from the green bean casserole to this. (I like green bean casserole okay, but it’s not my favorite.) And my family liked them as well. Other cooking notes from me: We baked them for 45 minutes and then uncovered them and turned on the broiler for about 5 minutes to brown the bacon just a little bit more. Also, Brandi says you don’t need the toothpicks, but they were nice for serving, so if you are making it for a pot luck, the toothpicks are a nice option. I don’t have any pictures, but they were very good, and you should make them. The end.

Second! I made Smitten Kitchen’s Bourbon Pumpkin Cheesecake. Note to my family: I only used the bourbon in the cheesecake itself, so that baked out. I did not use bourbon in the topping. You’re safe.

You know what I like about cheesecakes? They seem hard, but they aren’t, really. I didn’t put a whole lot of effort into this compared to the compliments I got about the flavor. I had made a pumpkin cheesecake last month for our Great Pumpkin Party, using a different recipe, and it was okay but it tasted kind of like pumpkin pie. So Mike didn’t really want me making another pumpkin cheesecake, but I talked him into letting me try this one. And he was so glad I did, because this one is really really great. I will probably be making it for family gatherings from now on, because my family really enjoyed it. I highly recommend this recipe. (I have a bunch of friends who tried Pioneer Woman’s Pumpkin Gingersnap Cheesecake, and I will be interested to hear how it turns out, but we will be sticking with this recipe.)

Special cooking notes: My brother really really liked the pecans in the crust. (I think PW did this for her cheesecake, too.) Mine isn’t as flat as hers on the top, but I think mine really could have gone longer in the oven, not that I heard any complaints. I was ready to take it out because Mike and I wanted to go buy a rug for our front room.

And, finally, I made Smitten Kitchen’s Cranberry Caramel and Almond Tart. I made it last year and it looked better, but I had a lot (LOT) of trouble with the caramel last year. This year I had more caramel, so I had more filling, and it overflowed a bit. I think I almost had too much caramel, so it didn’t look quite as pretty this year, but I thought the taste was a little more balanced. (Since I had so much filling, I might also have cooked it a little too long. Either way, it looks okay, but it tasted awesome.)

Alternate view from Mike’s phone:

That’s my grandma’s back porch, where all the desserts are kept. Mmmmmmmmm.

I used her great unshrinkable tart crust recipe as well, and it didn’t shrink, that’s true, but I was worried about it when I put it in the oven, because I couldn’t get it to hold together very well when I was putting it in the pan. However, it baked up just fine and tasted great. I am thinking that maybe I just didn’t work with it enough. It’s hard when recipes call for a food processor and yours isn’t large enough (HINT HINT) and they don’t give alternate instructions. I will say this - it did not shrink. It’s my own fault for putting too much filling in. (The recipe also calls for a nine-inch tart pan, and ours is bigger than that. So I kind of guess on the amount of filling anyway. I’m lucky this tart wasn’t an utter failure, is what I’m saying, because I was totally winging it.)

Last year when I made the caramel, there was a Great Caramel Disaster, but I managed it a lot better this time, which I am very proud of. I used my Martha Stewart cast iron pot, and that worked pretty well. Mike had bought a back-up jar of caramel just in case (at my request), but I didn’t have to use it.

So those were our Thanksgiving contributions. This year Mike didn’t make anything, because I am tired of him making things and upstaging me. He took Wednesday off and relaxed while I worked in the kitchen. And maybe this is a little late, but I am thankful for all sorts of things this year, including the following: political signs to count, goldfish crackers, 6th graders with sweet smiles, road trips, Trader Joe’s, Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat, Big Bunny, 5K races, Johnson’s cheeseburgers, Chuck Bass, new houses with new kitchens, summers off, New York City, novels that can’t be put down, my Roomba, hula hoops, college basketball, Triad Stage, board games, Eef Barzelay, hammocks, farm fresh vegetables, and, of course, my wonderful friends and family. Especially Mike, my mom, and my brother. (Hey, Mike, how do you feel about being on the same list as Chuck Bass? Pretty awesome, I hope.) I hope you and your family had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We’re still eating leftovers here, so I’m pretty sure it’s okay to say that. (Even though it’s the first day of Advent.)

(Mike tried to play Christmas music on Thanksgiving, but I nixed it. But he started the Christmas music first thing Friday morning.)

Mike and I noticed today that Sonic had a sign that said, “Open on Thanksgiving!” Now, it’s hard to get me to go to Sonic under any circumstances, but I can’t imagine what would drive someone to be at Sonic on Thanksgiving. Let’s say our car broke down. And no one could repair it. And there were no rental cars available anywhere. And all of our friends were out of town. And my wife had just left me and my dog had died. And all the restaurants I called were booked. And I was riding my bicycle around town. And it was snowing. Even then, I think I would not go to Sonic.

Besides, what would you order at Sonic on Thanksgiving? Do they have turkey burgers? Can you get their tots with a side of gravy? Would you be able to order a pumpkin milkshake? And if you did all those things, would it be the saddest Thanksgiving meal ever? Signs point to yes.

As I mentioned a few months ago, my high school librarian will be on Jeopardy! tonight. Please watch and cheer Mrs. Pate on. Maybe we will see her next week on the show as well!

(I’m so excited! And nervous! Yay, Mrs. Pate!)

When I was starting high school, I kind of wanted to be on the cross-country team, but it didn’t work out for a variety of reasons. When my brother started high school, he joined the team, and I was too proud to join at the same time he did. I did not want to be second best. I do not like to lose. Also, I like to know the ropes. So I didn’t join. The closest I came to the team was driving my brother home from practices.

I wonder sometimes if I could have been a runner back then. I wonder if I would have been able to be more disciplined about it, if I would have had more drive. I wonder if I could have been better, if a more athletic version of me could have existed. I wouldn’t call it regret, exactly, but sometimes you look back and you wonder how things would be different if you had made a different choice.

When my brother was a junior in high school, his cross country team ran in the state finals. It ended up being one of those really cinematic sports moments, at least for me. We weren’t exactly sure what the score was, but we knew that it was really close. And the 6th runner on our team, a friend of ours who was the year between me and Joseph, he insisted that our team was going to win because he knew he had passed their runner near the end. There was some kind of delay in the scoring, and when they finally started announcing the results, they had to stop because something had been miscalculated. In the end, our friend was right - it came down to a tie, and my brother’s team won the state championship because our 6th man outpaced their 6th man. I could have told this story better ten years ago. I can’t remember all the details, but I remember the feeling of it, how proud I was (and still am), the team celebrating together, the images of them smiling with their really short hair (they had all made some kind of pact to cut their hair a few weeks before the finals).

This year, I have run in 4 5K races. Four! Three of them have been with friends. The last one was just a few weeks ago, and Mike, my brother, and I all ran in it together. They were really nice about it, too. Joseph can obviously run a whole lot longer than I can, and Mike’s legs are longer than mine. But they very kindly waited for me. It was special to be running with the two of them.

Sometimes when I am running, I think of my brother’s state championship race. It’s one of the only races of his that I saw, for all kinds of reasons. I was busy, and it was his thing, and I stayed away. I do that too much, staying away when I am intimidated or insecure. But now I am a runner, too. Sort of. And I am glad that my brother and I can run together. It’s something we should have done a long time ago.

Things I did not do this weekend:

-Homework

Things I did this weekend:

-Cleaned out Big Bunny’s cage. She now hates me more than ever. Because I ran both the Roomba and the vacuum cleaner in close proximity to her.

-Saw Twilight. It was Really Terrible. I was hoping it would be terrible in a fun and guilty pleasure sort of way, but instead it was just Really Terrible. I would feel bad for wasting my time, but I went with a group of other teachers and Andrea, and we had massive amounts of snacks, so it was a fun time despite the movie. I brought Scooby Snacks because of my love for Jacob. We also had Cherry Hershey’s Kisses, Oreos with red filling, and cherry gumdrops. Note the red theme. VAMPIRES LIKE BLOOD. I don’t know if you’ve heard. In solidarity with me, Andrea brought puppy chow. (Mike would like me to tell you that those Scooby Snacks are awesome. He and Big Bunny have finished off the box.)

-I folded all the laundry. I like doing laundry, but sometimes I don’t get it folded right away. This is a huge accomplishment.

-I made French Onion Soup. It was quite delicious, if I say so myself. And I do. Because it was delicious.

-I read four books: The World According to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith (I loved it, of course, so why would I bore you with my review?), Death’s Half Acre by Margaret Maron (I waited for this one since August, and I am not all that happy with the public library for making me wait. Good book, though), Here if You Need Me by Kate Braestrup (pretty good), and 3 Willows by Ann Brashares (I will tell you about this one closer to publication. But you should plan on reading it, because it’s good).

-We also have clean sheets and I organized my closet.

In summation: I am boringly domestic. But at least I didn’t do any homework. I have some dignity left.

As I got out of the shower this morning, Mike’s phone rang. I thought, “Is it possible we have a two-hour delay? Maybe it’s so cold the buses can’t start?”

Actually, we had a two-hour delay because . . . wait for it . . . it snowed! It snowed! And this is the south. It doesn’t snow here. So we have no idea what to do. This is something I really like about the south. I like to be home when it’s cold and snowy. I like to drink warm beverages and snuggle under blankets. So I was very pleased with this turn of events. Except for the part where each of our phones rang three times with a different two-hour delay message. Six phone calls! Six! To tell us about a two-hour delay!

However, the snow did cause us to have the following conversation:

MIKE: I can’t believe it snowed!

KARI: It’s so pretty!

MIKE: Last night we went to see The Santaland Diaries. And now it’s snowing.

KARI: No.

MIKE: Yes! It’s like Christmas!

KARI: No.

MIKE: Yes! It’s time for you to be in a Christmas spirit!

KARI: No.

MIKE: You won those tickets and now it snowed. I think God is trying to tell you something.

KARI: I don’t think that’s how it works.

MIKE: Merry Christmas! Let’s play some Christmas music!

He’s been singing Christmas songs ever since he got up. Help, help, I’m being repressed!

I entered a contest on WFDD’s website to win two tickets to see The Santaland Diaries at Triad Stage on opening night. Which is tonight. And I won! Yay! Mike is not the only winner in our family! (I entered him, too, but I am the one who won! And I will take him with me if he’s nice. Now get in the kitchen and make me some dinner, Mike. Snap, snap!)

But we have a problem. Because it’s a little early for Christmas. So now I am a total hypocrite. I must find ways to make this acceptable, such as, “I objected to Christmas music, but maybe there won’t be any music in the play,” and, “The Santaland Diaries isn’t really about Jesus, it’s about humor, which is appropriate ALL YEAR ROUND.”

Ah, sweet justification. How I love you so. Almost as much as free tickets to opening night.

If you look at some of my book lists, you can see that I have read a little bit of Frederick Buechner here and there. Telling the Truth and Wishful Thinking were helpful books for me at a difficult time, but I haven’t read some of his most famous books. Godric, for example, has been sitting on my Amazon wishlist forever. (How’s that for a shameless plug?) The library where I used to work didn’t have it. GPL has it, though! So maybe I’ll just put a hold on it.

So when my book club suggested The Yellow Leaves, I was happy to check it out. The Yellow Leaves is a small book of works left over that never turned into anything larger. In the preface, Buechner likens them to leaves left on the trees after most everything else has fallen. I happen to like the leftover leaves, myself.

Most of the stories/vignettes are about family, but one stuck out to me in particular, when he discussed what was on his bulletin board from pictures of John Irving to pictures of Princess Diana. I love snapshots of life like that. What would my bulletin board say about me with its old Calvin and Hobbes cartoons, its PEI bookmark, its Luke and Lorelai clipping from TV Guide? What does my office say about me, with its family photos, its librarian action figures (yes, figures. More than one), and its general disarray? Another favorite was the small bit on Maya Angelou and a discussion of some of his boarding school teachers. In the section on his teachers, I was especially moved by the discussion of one in particular. Buechner has the gift of summing up a person in one sentence and doing so with great compassion.

This is a slim book, but I lingered over it. Since the snatches aren’t completely developed, this reader felt as if she was jumping in the middle. That was enjoyable, but it took a little bit of time to reorient when a new section started. Mostly what this book did is remind me that I want to read some more Buechner. Definitely one of my goals for 2009.

I listed Looking for Alaska as one of my favorite books of last year, and I enjoyed An Abundance of Katherines quite a lot, too. So I was pretty excited about the arrival of Paper Towns on my front step.

Paper Towns is the story of Q and his next-door-neighbor, Margo Roth Spiegelman. After she takes him on a late-night adventure that includes breaking into Sea World, she disappears. Q believes she has left him the clues to find her, but has Margo disappeared, or was she so fed up with her life that she committed suicide?

The phrase “paper towns” refers to copyright traps on maps and unfinished subdivisions, some of which are in the clues that Margo has left behind. I thought the mystery would be the center of the book, but in the end, though the character of Margo is central to the story, Margo herself is an afterthought. Q loves the idea of Margo, Margo’s friends love her spontaneity, and Margo’s parents are fed up with their daughter’s behavior. But nobody knows Margo as a person. The story is about finding Margo and the process of looking at another person for who they really are, not looking at them and seeing what you want to see or seeing some reflection of yourself.

This week’s sermon was on self-control, and the text was from Galatians 5, as read from The Message:

My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God’s Spirit. Then you won’t feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways of life are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day. Why don’t you choose to be led by the Spirit and so escape the erratic compulsions of a law-dominated existence?

It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on.

This isn’t the first time I have warned you, you know. If you use your freedom this way, you will not inherit God’s kingdom.

But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

What an excellent question, and how pertinent to this book (and to the high school experience and beyond). Why don’t I choose to live that way instead of the paranoid loneliness that often surrounds me? Why do I depersonalize people I disagree with? How do I get to that other part, the part with the loyal commitments and the compassion?

I have thought a fair amount recently about knowing and being known. On Friday night I was at a birthday gathering for a coworker, and during the course of the evening, I was invited to two other birthday parties, adopted as a daughter-in-law (I have a mom but not a mother-in-law), and exchanged phone numbers with several new friends. I do not have the gift of being easy and open when it comes to friendships, even if I desperately want to be known. At the same time, I worry that these people will find me a disappointment, that I won’t live up to what they want from me, the reflection of themselves that they think they might see in me (because they couldn’t possibly looking past that and be interested in me as a person).

I have a friend at church who is so open and welcoming. She is one of those people who seems to have a lot of balance in her life, and always remembers to include other people in her plans. I admire her for that, and can see very clearly how she made us feel welcome when we started at our church. For a long time I worried that I wasn’t what she wanted in a friend, because I wasn’t sure how I felt about things she feels passionately about. It took me several years to realize that she didn’t care about those things. She just wanted to be friends. She just wanted me to accept who she was, and she was glad to accept who I was, who I am.

That was a big reason that I enjoyed Paper Towns. This is something teens need to think about. It’s difficult to see other people honestly, and it’s difficult to let yourself be seen honestly. It’s impossible to completely understand someone’s motivations, no matter how well you know someone. I still surprise Mike from time to time, and he still surprises me. We grow and change and need to reassess our views of each other. And that’s what Q needed to realize about Margo. To him, she was an exciting ideal, not a person with thoughts and dreams and hurts and joys. Q’s journey to this realization in Paper Towns is well worth the ride.

Mike has “gone into the front room” to “read” and “drink tea.”

To translate, this means that he has gone into the front room to listen to Christmas music. He thinks that because I am in the back of the house and the dryer is running that I cannot hear him.

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING, MIKE! AND I STRONGLY DISAPPROVE!

(Though the Pierce Pettis version of “It Came to Pass” just came on. I do like that. BUT I WILL NOT BE SWAYED! IT’S TOO EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS!)

If I have to follow his arbitrary No Soup Until October 1 rule, he should have to follow my arbitrary No Christmas Music Until The Day After Thanksgiving rule. It only seems fair. Who is with me?

I have already mentioned that taking two graduate classes this semester was too much for me. I won’t be doing that again. October was brutal with work and school, and I did not hold up well. To cope, I have taken the past couple of weeks off from homework, a decision that might not have been the wisest as far as spreading out the load, but which has helped my life and my relationships immensely. This morning, though, I realized that after next week, one of my classes will be done, and I’ll only have one assignment left in the other class.

So here’s to the light at the end of the tunnel. Here’s to taking time with family and friends rather than working on that (asinine) assignment. Here’s to road trips to Chapel Hill, trips to the zoo, and going to plays on school nights. And here’s to getting my homework done at a reasonable hour tonight. (I sure hope that last one takes place, but if it doesn’t, I have only myself to blame. And I don’t regret it a bit.)

The picture is from a trip Mike and I took to Chapel Hill this weekend to spend time with my oldest friend, the one who got married this summer. We had lunch at the Carolina Brewery and then walked around UNC’s campus. No homework was done whatsoever. It was lovely.

The first time I saw Over the Rhine sing “If a Song Could Be President,” the crowd got pretty rowdy, especially around the lines: “Break out of this minor key / Half-truths and hypocrisy / We wouldn’t need an Underachiever-in-Chief / If a song could be president.” When I got a copy of the song, I was surprised to hear that it’s actually not that in-your-face about politics. Just that one bit. The rowdy crowd made the song seem more angry than it really was. Mike, as a good Barack Obama supporter, played the song on his radio show over the summer, but I told him he hadn’t really experienced it until he’d heard it with a live audience.

Which is why I was so excited when they started playing it on Friday night at their concert at Guilford College. Guilford College is a Quaker school about five minutes from my house. If there was ever a place that would have an angry liberal anti-Bush crowd, it’s Guilford College. Mike was going to get his real experience after all!

But that’s not what happened. When they said “Underachiever-in-Chief,” one guy kind of woo-hooed. That was it. And I realized . . . things are different now. These people are trying out being mellow for a while instead of being angry. Their candidate won. I am sure that the song got crazy response just a week earlier, but not on Friday. It was kind of nice to see. It was that way at school, too. There were people who were excited about the election results, and there were a lot of people who said things like, “I didn’t vote for him, but I think he will be a good president.” In the midst of all this economic mess, it was good to see some optimism and positivity.

Before I finish all of my election talk, I would just like to say two things about the Over the Rhine concert. First, they played some songs from Films for Radio, which I really enjoyed. I made Mike listen to that album when we drove to Chapel Hill on Sunday, because I hadn’t listened to it in so long. Second, I have seen them THREE TIMES and NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES have they played “Latter Days.” Everyone makes it sound like it’s so overplayed at their shows. So, what, am I never going to get to hear it now? BOOOOOO. (I am going to add a third thing: I really wanted them to play “Long Lost Brother” as well. But other than that, I enjoyed the setlist a lot.)

When history is made, we all have our stories about where we were and what we were doing. I know the people who took to the streets for Election Night wouldn’t trade their experiences for the world, but I am the kind of girl who would rather sit in her pajamas and watch Brian Williams and the map at Rockefeller Center while endlessly refreshing my computer for news and updates on the election. We rejected offers to watch the returns with friends in order to stay home and veg out, just as we always do. I actually went to bed at 10:30 - the past two elections have soured me on staying up so late. I still remember Mike waking me up to tell me that they had “un-called” the 2000 election. That was the very first presidential election I voted in, the one with the hanging chads and the popular vote vs. the electoral college. And 2004 was a little bit crazy, too, with that whole Ohio thing. This time, I decided early on that we weren’t going to actually know the results of North Carolina on Tuesday night. And the way North Carolina was going, it kind of made me think we wouldn’t know much of anything for sure on Tuesday night. And then that whole Pennsylvania and Ohio thing happened, and I thought that was pretty much the end of it, but I still kind of thought that we might not have official results at a reasonable hour. So I went to bed. I am lame. I learned on Wednesday that my students all stayed up later than I did. (Which explained some of their short tempers.)

So my story is that I found out that Barack Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States when Mike came and woke me up just after 11:00. He said, “They’ve called it for Barack Obama.” I said, “North Carolina?” and he said, “THE WHOLE THING.” He looked so happy, and maybe even a little teary eyed. I smiled at him. And then I went back to sleep. I watched everything on the TiVo on Wednesday night, and that was good enough for me.

If we have kids, I won’t have some big dramatic story to tell them about how I experienced this election. But that’s okay, because what is really important is that if we have kids, they won’t ever grow up with the idea that only white men can be president. Just as it is difficult for me to imagine a world in which different races use different water fountains, now we can hope that future generations will find it difficult to imagine a world in which the idea of an African-American president seemed like a distant possibility. That’s something to be proud of, America. And I am proud to have witnessed such a thing, even if all I have to say about it is that I was in my pajamas, sleeping peacefully (being mellow) when Mike brought me the news.

Growing up, I remember seeing pictures in textbooks of people in other countries waiting in line to vote. There would always be a caption saying something about how this was the first election in that country, and that people waited in these huge long lines for hours in order to be part of that process, to change their government.

And then I would hear news reports about the low numbers of people in our country who vote. It has always made me a little bit sad and ashamed. We have this right, but we don’t understand how much it means, how much people in other parts of the world would give to be able to cast a ballot in their country. (And I understand not liking any of the candidates. My dad was an avid non-voter. The last few elections, he only voted “so that no one else would use his ballot.” You don’t have to vote in all of the races! I never do.) Which is, of course, why this video made me cry. [ETA: There was a CNN video of people waiting 8-10 hours to vote in Atlanta, but it has disappeared.] This is America! We hate to wait for a webpage to open! How could we possibly be waiting 8-10 hours to vote?! However you feel about this election and these candidates, it seems to me that you have to be inspired by the fact that so many more people are voting and so many more people feel involved in the political process. This can only be good for our country. At some point last week, I resolved that if I had to wait in a line on Election Day, I was going to be proud to do so. Not to be holier-than-thou (or anybody), but because I need that reminder from time to time, that what we have going here is pretty good, and it means something.

(Full disclosure: I also cried a little bit last night when I heard Obama’s grandmother had died. How sad for him, to lose the only parent he had left on the evening before the election. I clearly need to stop watching the news.)

I have been keeping the sign count on our calendar, even though I haven’t reported it to you. There was a week or so that Obama seemed to be gaining momentum in North Carolina, and that played out in our neighborhood, too. Then it seemed to level out a bit. And I was having a kind of a hard week, so I didn’t really run, so I am not sure what to tell you about that. hehe. And in the past week or so, I have heard that McCain has gained one or two of those percentage points back. And, indeed, there have been new signs in the past week for McCain. There has also, unfortunately, been an outbreak of sign stealing. And from what I can tell (and I think this is accurate, because I have been watching these signs for many weeks now, and they have been giving my life meaning and purpose), there are signs from both parties missing, but more Obama signs missing than McCain signs. (I reject the theory that these are people who have changed their minds. Sorry, but if those people are passionate enough to put up a sign, they aren’t going to change their minds. I think it’s just mean-spirited sign stealing.) In the past few days, I have seen both Obama and McCain signs that said something along the lines of, “Don’t steal our sign,” or, “Original sign stolen.” Stop stealing signs, hooligans! I need an accurate count!

Now, before I give you the final Election Day sign count (this is allowed, right? It’s totally different than exit polls, hee hee), I want to update you on my favorite house on the planet. The Sarah Palin sign (A woman belongs in the house . . . THE WHITE HOUSE) came back! My theory is that either they went out of town and kept their flags and signs down for safety reasons or they took it to the Sarah Palin rally that was at Elon College. (And I don’t know where they got that sign, but my carpool buddy and I spotted a giant bumper sticker with the exact same wording, picture, and layout when we were driving home one day. They didn’t drive to our neighborhood, but we do wonder if it’s them.) The real thing I have to report about that house is that the neighbors finally snapped and put up a “Carolina is Obama Country” sign. You should have heard me on the phone reporting it to Mike. It basically went like this:

KARI: Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh.

MIKE: What is happening at the house today?

KARI: Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh.

MIKE: What is it?

KARI: OH MY GOSH! The neighbors!

MIKE: The neighbors?

KARI: Not our neighbors!

MIKE: I know whose neighbors. I know where you are. It’s that time of day when you pass that house with the signs. TELL ME WHAT HAS HAPPENED.

KARI: The neighbors! They put up an Obama sign!

MIKE: That. Is. Awesome.

KARI: *cackle*

And then I cackled for about 30 more minutes. I love reading the neighborhood dynamics through the observation of political signs. When neighbors face the signs across the street at each other rather than the traditional “sideways” position, I always wonder if there’s actual tension there. Will those neighbors be exchanging Christmas cards this year? Too bad there’s not a way for me to count that.

Sign count!

10/23
Obama signs: 15
McCain signs: 7

What the heck, y’all? That was off the charts!

10/30
Obama signs: 12 (Same route, see? Some are gone!)
McCain signs: 10

11/1
I was a little worried that there would be no signs whatsoever. Because our Obama pumpkin and our Palin pumpkin got stolen and smashed. Who knew if any of the neighborhood’s signs survived? And, in fact, some signs were missing. Some were even missing between Thursday and Saturday! I ran a long time in order to get a good final count for y’all. Ready?
Obama signs: 17
McCain signs: 16

I will miss the sign count. It’s been a lot of fun, and I loved it when people would report to me what the sign count was in their own neighborhoods. Good times. Thanks for participating.

This morning Mike and I got up, put on our red, white, and blue (no, really, we’re both wearing red, white, and blue because we are nerds and Election Day is a holiday for nerds), and showed up at the polls about 10 minutes before they opened. We had coffee and books and we were prepared to wait a while. It took about an hour, which is the longest I have ever waited to vote. Everyone was quiet and serious, but the mood was good as we waited in line. We didn’t overhear many conversations because it was so early and most people were there alone rather than in groups or pairs. (In fact, we were probably the ones that people were listening to.) As soon as we were done, we went to Starbucks and got our free coffee. I was possibly a little bit overexcited at that point, gesturing wildly to my sticker and proclaiming that we had voted. See? Holiday for nerds.

I said all along that I wanted to vote on Election Day because I love to get my sticker. My coworkers have been teasing me about this, saying that my sticker wasn’t going to be worth it. BOY, WERE THEY WRONG.

CHECK IT! My sticker is THE PRESIDENTIAL SEAL. BOO-YA!

At this point, Mike and I had had two cups of coffee each and no food. Can you tell?

Happy Election Day, America!

The title of this post comes from a fun song by Over the Rhine entitled “If a Song Could Be President.” (Scroll down to the bottom of that page for the lyrics.) Triad people! OtR will be at Guilford College on Friday evening! We’ll be there!

I am not one to write down quotes or mark in books, but this book is something pretty special. There was something beautiful or thought-provoking on almost every page.

Acedia & Me is Kathleen Norris’ account of her experiences with acedia. Acedia, as I mentioned last week, is a listlessness or despair that is different than depression. It was one of the “eight bad thoughts” that desert monks used to define how we should and should not think. That list eventually evolved into the “seven deadly sins” and acedia was left off the list. It seems like it was left off the list for a number of reasons - it is similar to sloth, for one thing, and it doesn’t involve an action like the other “deadly sins” do. Acedia is, in fact, mostly about inaction.

Merton comments that the “sadness caused by adversity and trial in social life” generally comes from “a lack of peace with others.” But acedia is far more insidious: it is “the sadness, the disgust with life, which comes from a much deeper source–our inability to get along with ourselves, our disunion with God.”

One thing I find so interesting about this is the idea that our thoughts are what is important, not our actions. I think we send the opposite message to our youth today. Everything seems to be about actions. We talk a lot more about not having sex than we do about lust. We talk a lot more about giving to the needy than greed in our own hearts. I know that in high school I had quite a bit of pride about how much I was not sinning compared to my classmates. Which is pretty sick and twisted, if you think about it.

Now, I think that depression is real and serious and that it’s something that needs to be treated seriously. I think that I have suffered in the past from depression, and I think that talking to a counselor was helpful. But I also think that I have suffered from acedia - a sense of despair and a lack of motivation on a more spiritual level that has nothing to do with outward circumstances.

And that’s why I enjoyed this book so much. It was very specific in its discussions of how consistent prayer, fighting for her marriage, and the discipline of writing help her fight off the tendency toward acedia. It’s also, like all of her work, beautiful. I will need to read it again to really take it in, but I highly highly recommend it. One of the best books I’ve read this year, without question.

We all know how much I love and obsess over my birthday. I did not get that from my mom. In fact, I have no idea where it came from. Probably my own selfishness and self-centeredness. Since I love my birthday so much, I can’t help but be jealous that my mom gets an extra hour today for her birthday. Her birthday is 25 hours instead of a measly 24. God (and the US Government) gave my mom an extra hour for her birthday! There are not words to express how jealous I am. Sure, my birthday eve is celebrated with a national holiday and fireworks and flag cake. But I will never get an extra hour. And my mom has made sure that we all know it. (One thing I maybe did get from my mom is the gloating.)

Happy birthday to the greatest mom in the world! You totally deserve your extra hour on your special day.

In honor of both Halloween and 30 Rock being back (yay!), I present you with this clip:

And I present the full song for your listening pleasure:

Once a year, I have to go to the eye doctor to see how my eyes are doing. The doctor has a really bad habit of saying that everything is perfect. Multiple times. So, I am happy to report to you that my eyes are, well, perfect. Perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect.

I had my eye surgery at the Duke Eye Center. There are always eye doctors in training who would like to take a look at the lenses. The doctors-in-training at Duke are always a certain type. They are slim. Cute. With dark hair. Not especially tall. Think Chris Collins.

Monday’s Chris Collins was very nice. We made small talk, he checked the pressure in my eyes. And then. Then he strapped on this giant weird headlamp thing in order to “look at the back of [my] eyes.”

Okay. I am, unfortunately, the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral. So when the eye doctor randomly and without warning straps on a giant headlamp and is looking directly at my face, I. Have. A. Problem. A serious problem. I cannot look away. I cannot hide my face. I cannot do anything except giggle uncontrollably. Which makes me giggle more uncontrollably. This is just a guess, but I think that Chris Collins is maybe not the hugest fan of me. I did not respect the headlamp.

So, it’s a good thing that I don’t have to go back for a year. At which time there will be a new Chris Collins for me to get to know. Perhaps I will be better behaved. At least I will be better prepared.

(You can’t just grab a giant headlamp out of the corner, strap it on your head, and pretend that is normal. Okay? I would think that was a basic rule. Of etiquette. Check with Emily Post, I am sure she agrees.)

(I really really wanted to say, “Are we going on The Amazing Race?” I hope you are impressed with my self-control.)

Nan wrote yesterday about passion and how she has a hard time knowing what she is passionate about. I know the feeling, because the things I get excited about don’t necessarily seem interesting to other people. I geek out about good literature, I find politics fascinating, I am an economist. I also really like food.

Which brings us to today’s post. Food! Yay! Yesterday I came home and, with Mike’s help, I created this Butternut Squash and Caramelized Onion Galette. Remember when I didn’t even know what a galette was? Those days are over!

The thing you need to know is that it was freaking amazing. (Chef’s note: We used Gouda because that was what was available to us. It was great. I am sure it’s good with Fontina, too.) No kidding. I had the rest of it for lunch today and sent Mike an email that said, essentially, “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.” (He sent me one back that said, “Braggart.”) Don’t be intimidated by the idea of a galette. It took time to get it all together, but it was really not very hard! The dough was delicious and tender and flaky and the filling was awesome. We declared this recipe to be a keeper. And we’re on the hunt for more excellent galette recipes. If you’ve got one, hook us up. We are ready. Except that the crust is kind of fattening, so hold off until we can work off these calories first.

When I put it all together and slid it in the oven, I was like, “Wow, I made that!” That is why I like cooking. I made that! It looked pretty good! And tasted awesome! I have said this before, but for me, food is really a part of my love language. In a healthy way, I think - not that I use food to fill my needs, but that I like cooking for people and I like it when people cook for me (or give me fresh vegetables). When I make something, it comes from my heart. It’s probably not the prettiest, but I have done my best to make sure it tastes good. And I have said this before, too, but I am thankful that Mike loves food the same way I do. Because if I made a galette and he was like, “Eh,” then we would have to RUMBLE, is what I am saying.

Speaking of Smitten Kitchen recipes, I made these Pumpkin Swirl Brownies on Saturday afternoon, and they were awesome, too! I doubled the recipe and put it in a 9×13 pan, which was not quite big enough. The middle bits didn’t quite get done. I ate them anyway, but I did not serve them to my guests. (Note to guests: I was trying to save you from salmonella. Also, the mushy middle parts were awesome. You’re welcome.)

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins are still my favorite fall treat. Because they are slightly easier to make. And also they are perfect in every way. These brownies aren’t too hard, though, and you should totally make them. And bring me one.

(Thank you for your kind words about the emotional processing I did on Monday. I promise not to blog about blogging for at least another year or so.)

I’ve been reading Acedia & Me by Kathleen Norris, which is very good. Acedia is a sort of listlessness and despair. It was originally one of the “eight bad thoughts” but never made it onto the list of “seven deadly sins.” One of the points that she makes that I need to ponder is that we as a society have bought into the idea that in order to make good art, it ought to come out of some kind of melancholy. We talk about tortured artists, and I have heard people say that the best art comes from some kind of depression. It’s part of a much larger problem that I will talk about when I write about the book, but I will just say now that it is certainly an enlightening read. I know that I buy into that idea at least a little bit. Maybe even more than a little bit. I tend to think that the things I write here are better when I am melancholy. It’s hard work to be down all the time. It’s not healthy, and sometimes I feel as if I have to create drama in order to create better art or to be more interesting, as if that makes sense at all.

Lately I haven’t felt very creative or interesting. I see people around me who are “light and bright and sparkling,” and I don’t feel anything but flat. I have met some new people lately, and I felt as if I made a horrible first impression. Why should anyone be attracted to someone as blah as I am feeling? I have been so busy that I barely have time for my friends. I have been sick twice this school year, so I’m feeling pretty run down as it is. And taking two graduate level classes on top of working is, honestly, a little bit too much. We did fun things this weekend: a cooking class, The Great Pumpkin Party, The Duchess. But I still don’t feel like myself. I felt a bit as if I was watching everyone else have fun from the outside. I took the weekend off from homework, and it was the right thing to do. But it wasn’t enough.

Last week, Emily asked why it is that people write online. I don’t want this to turn into blogging about blogging, but I write because I think the discipline of crafting something is important. Not that I always take the time to craft something, but when I do, it feels good. One paragraph leading into another until I have said what it is that I wanted to say. Pushing the “post” button makes me feel as if I have accomplished something, and that’s why I have continued. When Emily was at my house on Saturday, we talked briefly about a conversation that was an offshoot of that one, a conversation in which I had offered some advice but then said, “Of course, you probably shouldn’t take my advice since I only have about 12 readers.” I like all 12 of you a whole lot, and I am thankful and humbled that you care about what I have to say. At the same time, I struggle a lot with wanting to be liked. So it’s hard not to feel as if it would be nice to be liked and understood by lots of people. I don’t see that happening any time soon, so it’s not something I worry about a whole lot. I don’t have the time or the energy (especially right now) to do anything about it. At the same time, it seems a symptom of a larger problem – my flatness, my inability to commit to my friends, my escapism and despair. Perhaps you could call it acedia. Whatever it is, I am not sure that I would hang around me, either.

I think, though, that worrying so much about approval is not being faithful to the writing itself. Mike keeps trying to tell me this, but I can be a little hardheaded about this sort of thing. I might never write a great novel, or even a mediocre novel. But I still learn through what I write, even if it’s just throwing it up on the internet and seeing if anything comes out of it. Writing things in a funny way has taught me to laugh at myself. Taking the time to think through my indignation sometimes gives me more compassion. And writing through melancholy has shown me that I want more than hollow introspection for myself. Even if I don’t write for connection, I worry that stopping would leave me even more disconnected than I already feel. I don’t have time for my friends as it is. At least this way they know if I saw a funny yard sign while I was out. (Today I saw a sign that said “Tina Fey 2008.” LOVE.)

I don’t know what I have to offer the world, especially the internet world. I am not a mom, and I don’t make crafts. I’m not into decorating my house, and I don’t even own a hot glue gun. (God help Mike if I did – I would undoubtedly hurt both myself and our house.) I’m not into fashion or art or photography. I don’t really like to shop. I’m a reader, and that’s not exactly the most dynamic hobby that there is. But as part of my battle against my own acedia, I am trying to reclaim a bit of who I am rather than trying to be something I am not. Kathleen Norris would say that choosing faith and life are the keys to fighting acedia. Engagement, then, is the key to fighting my listlessness. This is also at the heart of what Mike keeps trying to tell me when he tells me he wants me to keep writing. Sometimes I think that keeping my body healthy is enough – exercising, eating vegetables, taking vitamins – when it’s my soul that needs the cure. My soul feels a little battered this fall. Work has been hard. Things have happened at church that have left me in tears and needing a little time to recover. I haven’t figured out how to carve out time for my soul. I haven’t made time for my friends or read very many books or talked to my mom very much on the phone. The book I am reading, the conversations I am having, and the weekend I just had are good steps in that direction. Those small graces aren’t melancholy at all. The key is processing them in ways that I haven’t necessarily done before.

If acedia is a “bad thought,” then I suppose the key to overcoming it is “good thoughts.” Melissa tells me this a lot - it’s about believing truth rather than believing lies. I have never been very good at fighting lies with facts. Those lists of who God says that I am never seem to make a dent in the wrong things that I believe. Facts don’t really do it for me, because there’s a difference between facts and knowledge, much like the difference between facts and truth. I don’t know that I know what it looks like to be more engaged at this point, what it means to embrace truth and pursue good. But like Sara Zarr said, it’s so helpful to know that some of the ways that I have felt for years are real and have a name and that people have been writing about them for centuries.

(I still have more about the actual book, believe it or not, but I have to finish it first.)

Actually, Mike saw it, and he backed it up so I could see it because he was laughing so hard.

Go ahead and watch it before you read the rest of this post. I’ll wait.

Done? Okay.

“Sales . . . Income . . . Cars . . . Death . . . CANDY!”

I have watched it four additional times, and it’s still making me laugh. I can’t help it. Who puts candy after death? Who thought this was a good idea? NOT THE CANDY! DON’T TAX THE CANDY! How does candy fit into that list?

(Actually, it’s probably targeting issues people most care about. Give me candy or give me death!)

My grandmother had Alzheimer’s. I can’t find evidence that I have ever talked about it here, so you may or may not know that about me. She was a big part of my life when I was very small, but when she was getting sick, she cut our family off. That was very hard for me - I was around 10 or 11, and my grandmother suddenly didn’t want to see me, and I couldn’t understand why. Later on, when I was in high school, when she didn’t know who we were anymore, we were able to go and visit her. But I never knew what to say. I must confess that in some ways I still felt her rejection keenly. I knew in my head that it hadn’t been my grandmother who rejected me, that it was her disease, but at the same time I didn’t know my grandmother anymore. That person on the couch had her body but not her mind, and I wasn’t the same little girl she had known. When her body began to fail, I prayed that she would die, not because I didn’t care for her, but because she was just a shell of the person I had known, the good and the bad. Because no one ought to have to live like that.

My grandmother died while I was home for Thanksgiving weekend during my freshman year of college. I think the rest of my family went to the hospital on Thanksgiving Eve and said their goodbyes. She either passed away while they were there or early the next morning. I can’t remember right now exactly how it was. I just know that I wasn’t there. I don’t know why I didn’t go. I don’t think we knew that it was the final goodbye, for one thing. And, in many ways, I felt as if I had already said my goodbyes many years before when I dealt with her rejection of us. I have wondered if it hurt my dad’s feelings that I acted the way that I did. I just didn’t know how to deal with the situation. If you think I am a black-and-white person now, well, you should have known me when I was 18. I had decided that I was going to move on from the situation with my grandmother. Her mind had moved on, and I felt that I should move on as well. I had two grandparents who knew who I was, who had loved me through that hurt, and that was where I wanted to focus. I couldn’t handle looking back like that after I had dealt with the loss and rejection that I had felt previously.

And those experiences have a lot to do with why this book was not a home run for me. Alzheimer’s changed my grandmother, turned her into the kind of person who would cut off her grandchildren. My grandmother was eccentric, to be sure, but she loved me and my brother. I have so many memories from when we would stay at her house - the macaroni and tomatoes she would make, the way she would cut our ham into little squares, the records she had, her china, the games she kept for us, the books I read at her house, the way she would take us to Wendy’s to get frosties. Alzheimer’s took all of that away. It’s a black smear on top of those images. It took me many years to be able to separate the images from the blackness and the hurt.

The Pleasure Was Mine is the story of Alzheimer’s slowly chipping away at a long, loving relationship. The book does a lot of things very well. The character’s voice is strong and sympathetic, the question of putting a family member in a nursing home is dealt with honestly, and the family dynamics are realistic. The main character, Prate, has a dry, wry sense of humor that I appreciated. It was a sad, sweet, predictable book, but my own experiences with Alzheimer’s were so much less peaceful that I found it hard to relate. My book club read it as part of Greensboro’s One City, One Book project, a project that will always hold a special place in my heart because of the start it gave me in the library world. It’s moving and well-written, and I can see why it was chosen and why it has been so well reviewed. But I was hoping, as I read it, to see more of my own experiences in its pages, to see someone who understood what I had gone through. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but for me, I must confess, it was a bit of a letdown.

Mike and I just got back from a weekend away with some of our church friends. Four couples, two children, plenty of food, and one Wii Fit equal a fantastic time with what we like to call “our village.” On the way there, the ladies’ car (women in one car, men in the other - it was kind of like a college road trip) talked about how we do not take this for granted, these friendships, this camaraderie. This ability to be myself and have fun with these people.

But because of that, I don’t really have anything interesting to say to you. I ate a lot of food this weekend. And lounged around a whole lot. It would be very boring to go into more detail.

Instead, I would like to remind you that Kari and Mike’s Golden New York Weekend of Meeting J.K. Rowling at Carnegie Hall and Having an Awesome Time in Central Park and Brooklyn was one year ago. Can you believe it? Several times this year, Mike and I have looked at each other and said, “Can you believe we went to New York and saw J.K. Rowling? Remember what a great time we had?” It was so fun. I am going to cry right now just thinking about how awesome it all was.

This weekend was awesome, too, for very different reasons and in very different ways. I guess that’s what this particular weekend in October is reserved for. Maybe I should start planning for next year. (You can’t plan awesome weekends, though. I know that. The thing about awesome weekends is that they just seem to happen to you.)

Mike has decided to get healthy, so he’s been running. You would think I would be happy about this, right? Yay for healthy hearts and living longer! And I do like those things. But his legs are longer than mine. And thus, he is faster than me. After being a runner for approximately 27 seconds. (Or two weeks.) This is deeply deeply discouraging. I know, I shouldn’t make everything about me. I shouldn’t take everything so personally. But, dangit! I can’t keep up with him and his longer legs. It makes me feel kind of like a failure.

The thing about me and running is that I never really seem to get any better. I can’t find the motivation to push myself any faster. I feel like, you know, getting out there and running is good enough. I don’t have to push myself all that much. In other words: I am lazy. Can you exercise regularly and still be lazy? It kind of sounds like an oxymoron. But I think that describes me.

All right, sign counts! Mike’s faster running may drive me crazy, but I have ammunition! The sign count drives him crazy. This does not mean I stop the sign count. No, indeed. The sign count gives meaning and purpose to my running. And maybe even my life. As I told Andrea today, I am in total despair about my favorite house. The giant “Free Speech” sign is no longer there. The giant “A woman belongs in the house . . . THE WHITE HOUSE!” sign is no longer there. The “Another Family for McCain” sign is gone. They don’t even have a regular McCain/Palin sign anymore. And I noticed yesterday that the flags are gone! The flags! They are gone! (Well, actually, the flags are sitting in sad little piles by the front steps, which is WORSE!) What does this mean? Have they given up? Was it a bet or a dare? Did the neighbors turn on them? Someone tell me what this means!?! One of the best parts of my day is now missing. My life now seems void of purpose.

(In case you were wondering, the giant sign thanking our troops? Is still up. So I guess there is something.)

Sorry to get so worked up about that. I am just really disappointed. I was really hoping that house was going to bring some more awesome over the next two and a half weeks.

On Monday, Mike and I went running for about 2 miles. Here were the totals:

McCain: 5
Obama: 8

Tonight, we ran a different two miles:

McCain: 7
Obama: 6

I don’t know how to interpret these numbers. Tonight was the first night that McCain has been ahead since the first time I reported the sign count. Interesting, right?

North Carolinians: Early voting has begun! You can get your vote on! (I am going to wait until election day, myself.)

You know how sometimes there are people who are sarcastic and also kind of mean? And they don’t ever let up or give you a break? What are you supposed to do with those people? Especially when you have had a rough week and didn’t sleep well and came into work and cried a little bit? When it’s been a difficult fall?

I do not know what to do with those people. I don’t know if you have noticed, but I myself am a tiny bit sarcastic. But I do try to let people know that I am kidding and I try to let them off the hook when it’s getting out of hand. Sometimes I fail. But some people are mean all the time, and I hope no one would say that about me.

It boils down to this: Could my questions be answered directly? Could they be considered valid rather than mocked? I do not know if it is possible. But I am tired of it being this other way. I am weary in ways I haven’t felt in a long time. And I wish I wasn’t being metaphorically patted on the head and told to go away and be a good little girl. I might be short, but I am still a force to be reckoned with. And I will definitely reckon with you after I go have a good cry. Definitely. I’m fierce like that.

On a completely different note, I cackled when I saw this website with Obama-themed pumpkins. Please oh please, someone make this happen in my neighborhood. I would give a whole lot of money to see a McCain pumpkin and an Obama pumpkin facing off. It would be both awesome and creepy at once. MAKE IT SO.

Mike and I finally managed to find a Wii Fit. I spent one evening laughing hysterically as he tried skiing and hula hooping, and then on Sunday night it was my turn to be humiliated.

So here’s the thing about hula hooping on the Wii Fit. As we all know, I am excellent at hula hooping. But hula hooping on the Wii is a totally different story. I could not get the hang of it. To prove to Mike that I was not doing it wrong, I got out my actual hula hoop, stood on the balance beam, and used my actual hula hooping skills, which the Wii Fit did not recognize. And so I had to continue flailing about on the balance beam until I figured out what the motion was that they wanted.

Here were some helpful comments that Mike made:

“Why . . . are your arms flailing about? Put them down!”

“Why . . . are you moving like that? Move in a circle!”

“You look ridiculous.”

And also he cackled a lot. (Which is fine. I cackled when he was hula hooping, too.)

I am happy to report to you that I started with a Wii Fit age of 30, which is only one year more than my actual age. Yay!

We are also happy to report that we had blinds installed in our house last night, so the neighbors can no longer point and laugh as we perfect our hula hooping skills. (I still say my hula hooping skills were plenty good enough to begin with. But, you know, whatever.)

This year, the deacons all had to read Prayer by Philip Yancey. I read it early last year and really enjoyed it, but was happy to revisit it. We had a good discussion about prayer, what stuck out to us in the book, and how we experience prayer.

These days I do find it difficult to know what to pray. Things in our lives are good - we have jobs and a nice house and our health. We’re busy but happy. We have great friends and a good support system. We are active at our church and learn a lot from our participation there. All of that is true. But I also struggle with feeling overwhelmed, feeling like I don’t have time for my friends and family. There are a lot of problems in the world and in our country. I pray The Divine Hours, and I pray for people who have asked me for prayer, but I do not know what to pray for myself. I believe that prayer makes a difference. At least 80% of me believes that. Most of the time. I believe that the process of taking something to God, the creator of the universe, changes things, though I can’t tell you exactly what that looks like. I think he cares, and I think that the process of prayer can give me compassion and spur me to action, take me out of my feelings of being overwhelmed and my selfishness. I think that being in communication with God is important.

But I can’t say that I always believe that praying for myself makes any difference. I still struggle with bitterness and resentment, just like I did in high school. I still try to please people too much, just like I did in college. I am still too impatient, just like I was in the early days of our marriage. I think I am a little bit softer than I was in high school or college. But it doesn’t seem like quite enough.

Lately I haven’t had words to tell my friends and family about my life. I don’t want to always be griping about the classes that I am taking, so I don’t say anything, and the frustration builds up. There has been some extra stress in one particular area the past few weeks, and I haven’t been able to talk about it or explain myself. We’ve been especially busy, with Mike getting the hang of teaching this first year. I don’t know how to carve out time to do the things that help me feel better, like spending time with my friends and baking. And I haven’t known what to say to God, either. I know he’s there, but I still have so many questions about prayer and faith that I haven’t been able to figure out what to say.

Part of it is that I miss my dad. I understand, on one hand, that we live in a broken world and that we have poisoned our bodies with many of the wrong things. And I don’t blame God for that. But I also really feel like, you know, I wish my daddy was still here. I think all of us are more used to how things are now, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. It also doesn’t mean that I don’t have questions about why God tells us we ought to pray for physical healing when it so rarely happens.

Philip Yancey devotes a chapter to the idea of physical healing, and he emphasizes the importance of a humble, expectant faith mingled with the possibility/probability that healing may not take place. He also reminds us that God is “the God of all comfort.” But he admits that he himself struggles with the dilemma of prayer and physical healing. One of the reasons I appreciate Philip Yancey so much is that he doesn’t offer pat answers to these questions. He points out what the Bible says and offers his own beliefs and opinions, but he also allows space for the tension of struggle that exists on these sorts of issues. Reading that chapter, I was reminded that the healing that God offers is for more than just our physical selves. As much as I wished that my dad could be healed from pancreatic cancer, I am thankful that he has now experienced a greater sort of healing and completeness.

Perhaps what I should be praying for is for my own healing from this pain. I don’t know what that would mean, exactly, because I know I am going to keep on missing my dad and being sad that he’s not here. I am going to keep on having questions. If there is one main point to this book, it’s that it’s important to keep talking with God about the things in your life, even the things you have questions about. God desires a relationship with us, and we can believe that even if we don’t get our answers. We can also believe that one day understanding will come. Yancey sums all of that up in the book’s final paragraph:

Sometimes I think about my first face-to-face conversation with God. I have so many unresolved questions, so many laments and regrets. Where should I begin? Various openings play out in my mind, until I remember with a start whom in fact I will be talking to, the One who spun out galaxies and created all that exists. Objections fade away, doubts dissolve, and I imagine myself falling back on words akin to Job’s: “Oh, now I get it.” And then the conversation resumes.

My dad did not want to leave us. But I believe he has already had the chance to take the question of why he cannot be here directly to his creator. And I trust that now he gets it, even if I do not.

On Saturday I went running, and I don’t know exactly how far I went, because I ran all through the interior of our neighborhood looking for signs to report to you all. There are definitely more signs than there were a couple of weeks ago. And we all know how I feel about that.

Have I mentioned to you how I keep the sign count when I am running? I don’t think I have, because I didn’t tell Mike until Saturday afternoon. I keep the Obama count on my left hand and the McCain count on my right hand. Also, I find myself hilarious and laugh at all my own jokes. Let me pause right now to laugh at that. Okay, I’m back. I didn’t plan on doing it that way, but the first time I started counting signs, my first sighting was McCain, and I’m right handed. And then I realized how appropriate it was, so I have kept it that way ever since.

Saturday’s run yielded the following results:

Obama signs: 9
McCain signs: 7

Interesting to note: There was one house that had both an Obama sign and a McCain sign. Which is awesome. I really liked that house.

Now, I should say that when I was doing some walking, there was a lady who came out of the park and ended up walking close to me. We made a little conversation, and I told her that I was counting signs. She asked me what the tally for the neighborhood was, and I told her that at that point it was 3-2 in favor of Obama. When we got to her house, she said goodbye, and as she was heading up the driveway she said, “You can count this house for Obama.” But she didn’t have a sign, so it’s not included in the official tally. The unofficial tally would then be:

Obama signs: 9
Obama supporters without signs: 1
McCain signs: 7

(Of course this ruins my whole theory that people without signs are undecided voters. WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO? PUT UP SIGNS, PEOPLE! I NEED SIGNS TO COUNT! And if you’re going to tell a complete stranger who you’re voting for, you might as well put up a sign, I think.)

(Not that I have a sign. I just want other people to have signs.)

Anyway, on Saturday there were 16 signs! I can’t wait to see how many there are in the next few weeks!

I’m not even a dog person, but this had me tearing up. It’s a video of a soldier seeing his dogs after returning from being in Iraq for 14 months. (He notes that it was prearranged . . . which is kind of obvious, because it’s not like the dogs were running the camera. hehe.)

I have to admit, this is an area where dogs beat Big Bunny. She’s only excited to see me when I am eating crackers or popcorn. Because she wants me to share.

HT: The Daily Dish

Everyone at my school is reading Twilight. Students, of course. Middle school students were born to read this series. And the teachers? Many teachers have found that, like me, they cannot turn away from the drama. And the principal? Is also addicted. You guys, I am so sad about this. Because everyone is reading them now. A