The Unexpected Life

The other day, I made apple butter in my Crock Pot.  Those unfamiliar with the gloriousness that is apple butter, think apple pie on a spoon.  Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and apples in a thick brown concoction that bursts warm Autumn sunshine on your tongue.  It’s that good, but then I’m a long-term devotee.  I guess you’d have to taste it to be convinced.

Anyway, I peeled the apples then cut them into chunks.  I dropped the apples into the ceramic bowl of the slow cooker then added the apple juice, sugar and spices, just as I always do.  I set the cooker’s timer on low for many, many hours and waited.  Soon I was tantalized by the delicious scent of cooking apples wafting through the rooms of my home, and I could picture the apple butter on my spoon making its way to my mouth. But, alas, it would be several hours before I could enjoy the fruits of my labor; I had to wait.  So, I did – wait and wait and wait and wait.  After eight hours, I poured the whole hot, steaming lot into my blender and whirred it down to the consistency of applesauce then back into my Crock Pot it sloshed to cook off more liquid.  Finally, ten hours after I had begun the process, my apple butter was ready.  And was I ready to try it!

I scooped up a bite and joyfully brought it to my mouth.  As I sipped at the flavors, I patted myself on the back.  I had hit just the right notes of spice and sweet.  A thrill jolted through me – until , disaster! There was a slight crunch.  In case you’re wondering, there should be no crunch.  It’s “butter” – crunchy “butter” is never a good thing. Continue reading →

Last week Despair roared in and didn’t leave.  No, instead it sat hulking over me dripping and shedding little bits of grim and gloom throughout the long, long, long 7 days.  No matter what I did, no matter how I tried to pep-talk myself out of my blue funk, my unwanted visitor refused to by pried loose.  Nope, Despair laughed its mirthless, foul taunt and remained.  FAB-U-LOUS.

So, what was so bad about last week?  Nothing huge, just lots of little things, and when you look at the whole it felt overwhelming.  (I’m sort of a “big picture” gal anyway, and perhaps that’s  the problem.)  So, to start, it was the anniversary of the pin pulling on my marriage.  Yep, that house of cards fell a year ago (I am aware that I am mixing my metaphors.  Let’s pretend that it works.).  I didn’t think it would get to me as much as it did, but, even though I know it was the absolute right decision, my heart breaks just a bit.  Then, there was the anniversary of the Sandy Hook tragedy that we all share.  Also, health stuff that you just can’t run from – and boy do I keep trying.  And heartaches of friends that I wish so desperately to heal for them, but, of course, cannot.  Add on that everything in the house seems to be breaking at once, and there is no money to replace it – not big stuff, just lots of little things that I use every day – UGH!!!  (Insert Deep Sigh Here.) Am I whining? Don’t answer that. Continue reading →

My brother, M, built a beautiful fire pit in his back yard.  If you do not live in the desert you may not understand an arid climate dweller’s fascination with the fire pit.  How to explain?

You see, in the summer, when it seems that the temperatures will never again fall into the double digits, and that I will never again be able to touch the car steering wheel without oven mitts, my heart longs for cold – anything cold.  Ice, lemonade, freezer burn – it doesn’t matter.  Then comes the third week of October, (Yes, feel free to be appropriately horrified.  Summer extends May through October in Arizona.)  and you hear a collective sigh of relief from Bisbee clear up to Camp Verde.  The daytime temperatures become livable, and the night stars emerge gorgeous.  I believe we enter into an agreed upon collective amnesia about those triple digits we suffered May through, oh, Halloween, and delight in the beautiful weather we are now experiencing.  Now for the fire pit stuff.

Arizonans spend 6 months in their homes trying to out wait the heat.  So, the rest of the year, we are tenacious about being outside.  If you go to a restaurant on a damp, chilly  January evening the patio will be still be open, and we will still be gathered on it.  Heaters may be scattered around in a feeble attempt to bring the air temp up a bit, and people may be huddled in their coats, teeth chattering between bites, but darn it, we’ll be outside.  To be fair, you often find “snowbirds” out on the patios, as well, and they don’t notice our “cold” at all because they’re from places like Saskatoon or Yellow Knife.  They laugh at us, see our piddly little 50° and offer to raise us a -30°.  No thank you; I’ll huddle in my coat beside the heater and stop complaining – maybe even remember to wear gloves next time. Continue reading →

I love working with children, especially the ones under six years old.  They come up with some of the funniest things, some of which I wish I could “un-hear,” some of which I’m sure their parents would hide under the nearest table out of utter mortification if I repeated.

Today we held the annual Angel Breakfast at my church, where the children 5-years old and under came dressed in their pajamas bringing any pancake toppings they like and an incidental parent.  The kids made a craft, sang Christmas songs, listened to a Christmas story, and ate as many pancakes covered in things like whipped cream, chocolate chips, candy sprinkles, blueberries, and syrup as they could before we released them back out into the cool desert sunshine to run off all that sugar.  I looked forward to Angel Breakfast all year.  In fact, I could safely say it was my favorite Kids Ministry event even beating out Vacation Bible School.mm Continue reading →

Thanksgiving turkey stupors have passed; Black Friday madness has found its way onto YouTube, and I have still not had green bean casserole.  The casserole will have to wait because it is now time – the month I wait 11 others for has now arrived.  (If you lived in my head you, too, would hear the trumpets heralding.) December – time to decorate for the arrival of the King (not Elvis).

I am one of those people who steadfastly refuses to hang even so much as a strand of tinsel prior to Thanksgiving’s close no matter how many retailers try to springboard off the Halloween candy bowl right over the turkey onto the waiting boughs of the Christmas tree.  Nope – I want three distinct holidays.  Actually, I want two distinct holidays; I could completely skip Halloween as I am a complete and total wimp; I, in fact, embrace my wimpiness.  But Thanksgiving and Christmas – those I adore.

Decking the halls requires a certain ambiance – Christmas music, soft lighting, hot tea, flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers.  Even if the thermometer outside reads 70, I’m still wearing the flannel and drinking the hot tea.  It’s a matter of principle.  It’s a matter of tradition. Continue reading →

This is a Thanksgiving message – really.   Please, keep reading.  Oh, and in case I don’t say it enough, I am thankful for you.

My brother fried the turkey for Thanksgiving this year.  When he dropped it into the peanut oil that bird made an awful stench.  But over the next hour the stinkiness dissipated to be replaced by a more pleasing odor, something that a reasonable person would actually want to eat.

My year has kind of been like that deep-fried turkey.  January plunged me into a world of hurt – admittedly some of which I kind of chose for myself – depends on your perspective, I guess.  February through April didn’t bring much reprieve, but then came May, and bits of the searing pain simmered down.  By October I felt like there may be a chance that someday I could breathe again.  It’s the end of November now, and the fry basket in which I have been living might just be lifting out of that oil sludge.  Maybe – hopefully. Continue reading →

I am the girl on the plane bundled into the sweater and blue fuzzy blanket barricaded behind the big book and the even bigger “DO NOT TALK TO ME” sign flashing overhead because I really, really, (I cannot say this enough.) really do not like talking to the complete stranger who is shoe-horned into the itty-bitty, ever-shrinking seat between the aisle-hugger and me, the blonde huddled against the window.  This time though, as I sat turning the pages of my novel, something felt a little bit different, the slightest bit strange as if Tinkerbell had dusted the smiling guy next to me with her fairy dust as he walked down the jetway.  And no, he didn’t smell like, uhm, “fairy dust” from a pre-flight sprinkle (sip) or two. Continue reading →

I love the scent of Gain laundry detergent.  Give me a sock fresh out of the dryer, and I’ll practically clothes-pin it to my nose.  I can’t identify it, but whatever it is I can’t get enough.  I’d surgically implant it into my nasal passages if I could, but, there are some people who actually prefer other detergents.  What is wrong with these misguided folks?  Do they not have senses (or sense)?  I cringe for these nasally challenged individuals.  But really, it’s a matter of perspective; sometimes what floats my boat scuttles yours.

Perspective: it determines how we brush our teeth, comb our hair, pay our bills.  Our perspective is a product of our culture, and what we view as the norm changes as our experiences changes.

When I first moved back to Arizona as an adult, I took a job as an  inner-city high school nurse.  Now, I, too, went to a large Arizona high school, but it was in a much different neighborhood in Tempe.  It was 35 minutes and a world away from the job I had signed on for.  I was tough, though; I had been an Air Force nurse; nothing was going to come at me that I couldn’t handle.  Uh, yep, sure.  Keep thinking that. Continue reading →

Years ago there was a fantasy film, The Never Ending Story, that my sister loved.  She’d watch it over and over and over again until she practically knew the entire script by heart – it was astoundingly annoying.  The plot of the film follows a  boy reading a book in which a world is destroyed bit by bit until the boy becomes part of the world.  Confused?  That’s ok, because that isn’t the important part.  This is:  when all that is left is a single grain of sand the beautiful, young princess says to the boy: “Say my name.” He whispers a name, and the world is instantly restored.  Behold – the power of a name.

And, you of course, know the whole Romeo and Juliet “A rose by any other name…blah, blah,blah.”  (Can you “blah,blah,blah” Shakespeare?)

When I was in school, every year the first week or two began with at least one teacher calling me “Heather.”  Now, I don’t think I look like a Heather, but, apparently, many, many middle-aged women think I should have been named “Heather.” My paternal grandmother, who was a little, uhm. . . dotty, would often call me by my sister’s name, but as she also didn’t remember my sister’s name, I just answered to “Layla” which, of course, was not my sister’s name.  For several years I also   retained my second husband’s last name, which he was chomping at the bit for me to change back, but it was my name;  I could do whatever I wanted with it. (I realize this makes me sound a bit petulant, but darn it, it was my name, and more importantly, my maiden name is realllly…uhm, harsh sounding.  You probably wouldn’t have changeed it back until you were ready either.) Continue reading →

Where have you been?

More than a decade ago, I almost adopted a little boy.  He was six at the time, and his mother was dying.  I’ll call him “Evan,” though that’s not his real name.  I had never met Evan, nor had I met his mother, but she had no one, and her end was imminently near. Evan’s mother lived in my parents’ community 2800 miles from mine, but when she reached out to the pastor at my parents’ church, one thing led to another, and somehow she called me.  At the time I chose to see it as Providence.  Over the course of several weeks we decided that I would adopt Evan, become the new mother to her soon-to-be orphaned little boy.

While my heart broke for this dying mother and her son, I was excited for myself.  You see, I cannot have children, and in the tiny crevices of my heart, where I have tucked away this truth so that it’s ever-present being cannot consume my consciousness,  I had never ceased praying for a child of my own.  Evan, I was positive, was the answer to this prayer, and I breathed a sigh of grateful relief as I let go the string of that balloon. Continue reading →