Grief

I've written a little bit about the miscarriage I had in the Fall, but recently I've been thinking about it, and there is more I want to say.


This week I have had the great privilege of celebrating with a friend on the upcoming birth of her first child, her first- who will arrive a week or so after the due date I was given by my doctor in September. A date, June 12, that will not pass easily.


I imagine what it would have been like to have babies days apart. Would they have grown up as friends? Sisters? Would they argue over who came first?


I have also had the great privilege of sharing the joy of a new pregnancy with a friend on Friday, only to learn that by Sunday, today, there had been a devastating loss, a miscarriage.


Miscarriage is a crappy word; it's the death of a loved one, the death of the promise of life. Nothing more nor less.


A few days after my surgery, it was a Saturday, I decided to take Sydney to the Mad Potter. We stopped in at Gap Kids and walked over to Starbucks for chocolate milk. I remember thinking how well I was doing, how I didn't even feel sad. The sun was shining, me and Sydney were together, I was going to be ok, I thought.


On the way home, as I turned from West Gray onto Montrose a song came on the radio. Here's what I heard:



I have died everyday waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid I have loved you for a Thousand years
I'll love you for a Thousand more


My stomach seized and grief flowed through me like hot blood.

I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll Love you for a thousand more


Mother and child share this sort of connection, and only mother and child. A child is literally "Flesh of my Flesh and Bone of my Bone."


That freckle, that laugh, that sound she makes when she's dreaming- these are all things buried deep in my DNA- things that only my child could share.


My DNA was present, in some form, a thousand years ago, and it will be a thousand years from now.And the child I carried for seven weeks, carried it too.


And then there's God, standing outside of all time,a thousand years in either direction with my child, the one I lost, waiting for me.


And tonight, I will choose to believe He holds the child my friend lost yesterday. As He holds me, and you.

Happy Place, or Off My Rocker?

My friend Anna Sneed took this picture of me last night, and more than possibly any photo of me ever taken- it perfectly captures my happy place. Maybe because in part I can't see my face- so I can't focus on all my perceived imperfections- or my hair (wow! I need to see Brandi for some color!) or whatever....

This is just me, thinking about something wonderful, art in this case, and taking a moment to let my frontal lobe do a little jig before I commit my observation to paper.

Thanks Anna. I love this.


So last night I went to see "Cold Storage"- a photo/ collage/ art exhibit at the Alzheimer's Association as a part of Fotofest.

The artist, Nan Dickson, chose Alzheimer's patients as her focus for the collection-- Patients who had gotten the rare, and perhaps more devastating early diagnosis, before age 60.

I am planning a photo essay on it for Culture Map so please check it out when it goes live.

It's a powerful beautiful, show and I can't say enough about it. Go see it.

So who is this new me?


I wish I could say it's an identity crisis- or a phase- or a hobby- the writing that is- but it feels like me. It feels like home.

Am I off my rocker? Or have I truly found my happy place?

Chicago

They sky is seamless gray,throngs of poets and novelists and essayist's are huddled under the awning heat lamps in the rain, smoking, someone is crying in the ladies room and it might be me.

It's AWP folks, the annual writer's conference - legendary writer's conference- that I am attending for the first time.

I'm in Chicago, and the first blast of frigid air that hit me sideways, on my way to Caribou Coffee, made me feel alive, alert and reminded me to breath, deeply. I can't remember the last time I was hit with a blast of frigid air, and I certainly don't remember it having the properties of resurrection when it did.

It feels like it's always 1997 in Chicago, and this conference, this brief visit to a city where so many of my long lost, indie rock college friends live, is a time warp for me. I spotted people from my days at Carnegie Mellon University the very moment I walked through the massive, gilded doors of the Hilton. I hadn't expected that.

My friend Tina was surprised when I gently laid my hand on the puffy coated arm of an old friend and said, "I'm a ....pastor, now. Don't freak out?" She experienced, and so did I, the gulley- the chasm- the Grand Canyon (!) between who I was, and who I am.

I'm not often reminded just exactly what I've been saved from, but I'm grateful for it when I am. I sort of wish I'd been able to keep in touch better with some of my old friends. That my old self, and my new self, had more in common. But I think that's an unrealistic expectation.

"I don't know if I'd be friends with the old you," Tina, said.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," I replied.

And I meant it, sort of.

I'm not sure I'd be friends with the old me, so unmitigatingly consumed with my own success in the world- who would I be? whom would I love? who would love me?

Would I be famous? Would my father apologize? Could I make my mother proud?

Before God happened to me, I had only myself. And focusing on, relying on, obsessing solely on oneself makes one an extremely uninteresting person.

I didn't expect to spend these few minutes writing, but I'm glad I did. In a sea of 10,000 writer's I am reminding myself here with these words, that every hair on my head is numbered, that I am seen, that I exist, that my story is a good one, and should be told.

Election

I find it so so sad that politics bring out the worst in us, especially Christians. I have always been a political bystander, I think it's an extension of my reluctance to join any one clique in high school. I prefer to float,spend time on my own, drawing circles in the dirt on the playground while others huddled and whispered. But don't get me wrong, I spent plenty of time in the huddle too, and I got burned. Maybe the pain of that keeps me club-free even now.

Many people think the Church is a club, especially in the American South. I've heard it described as a pay as you can country club- providing programming and support services to families who donate what and when they can to keep it running. But this is not at all what the Church is supposed to be.

Programs and support services are good and fine and necessary- sometimes- but it shouldn't be the whole picture. Church is not a slightly less worrisome place to drop off your teenager - than say- the mall. If the Church is doing it's job- the mall may well be a more innocuous alternative.

To follow Jesus is to be counter cultural, a revolutionary. The world we live in is about power and wealth, Jesus is about humility and poverty- afterall, during his years of ministry he was quite literally homeless. If this is true about Jesus, which scripture says it is (He says it himself) and we are commanded to be "imitators of Christ," shouldn't this fact influence us? Rather than striving to be the top of the heap, the one with the most friends, money, toys, votes, whatever- shouldn't we be downwardly mobile, humbling ourselves so that God is amplified? Jesus was not an elected official- nor did he advocate for the political system. In fact, he was tortured and murdered by the political system.

We have to look beyond the moment- the politics- the name calling- the sand throwing - and realize what a grand distraction it all is from what really matters.

If Christians believe that politics are going to save this nation, we are in deep trouble. Politics cannot save, politics cannot even transform- that is the myth of Progress which arose out of the Enlightenment- only God can do those things. He can, and He will- one by one- across dinner tables, in office cubicles, in coffee shops and under bridges,if we are willing to take his hand, partner with Him, and do the work. But when the Holy Spirit comes knocking, comes to tug at your heart and mind- are you too busy watching Fox News or CNN or TBN to notice, am I? The answer is yes, sometimes, maybe most of the time.

So put your banner down, I will too, no matter which side it's waving for, and pick up your cross.

Like "Memento," only with recipes

So I've hung the recipes I've used over the last week in various locations around my kitchen- kind of like that guy in Memento who has no short term memory and tattoos everything he needs to know on his body. I haven't gotten that crazy, yet, though I could certainly see the advantage of tattoing the recipe for say The Pioneer Woman's Pantry Pasta on my body. But I digress.

My computer happens to be living in the kitchen these days and it's been my secret weapon in this cooking blitzkreig. Having the computer, and a printer in the kitchen is a win win for the culinarily challenged like myself. I.e., not only a world of recipes at your fingertips but countless how to videos for the basics like how to truss a chicken. I'd only ever heard the word "truss" in relation to medieval torture methods (I think in a Ken Follett novel) so imagine my surprise that I learned (from a recipe I found online) that I would be expected to perform this cruelty on a chicken. In short, I did it, I amazed myself. Many thanks to chow.com- . And to the butcher at Kroger who gave me the free twine, thanks guys!

I thought I'd share the recipe's I used this week, a few thoughts on how it went, and the soundtrack I used with them, because these soundtracks are now integral to the recipes.

Here goes:
MONDAY

Home Style Roasted Chicken with Vegetables from Whole Foods Market

Aimee Mann, The Forgotten Arm

Ingredients

1 lemon
2 sprigs rosemary
1 (4- to 5-pound) whole chicken
10 small red potatoes, halved
3 large carrots, cut into large chunks
1 yellow onion, cut in 6 wedges
1 (1/2-pound) yam, peeled and cut into large chunks
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 cup white wine
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Method

Preheat oven to 425°F.

Pierce lemon all over with a fork. Place whole lemon and rosemary sprigs into cavity of chicken. Truss chicken with butchers' twine and place breast-side up in a large roasting pan. Arrange potatoes, carrots, onions, and yams around the chicken. Pour both and wine over chicken and vegetables, then drizzle chicken with oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cover chicken tightly with foil and roast chicken and vegetables for 30 minutes.

Reduce to 350°F. Remove foil and set aside for later use. Continue to roast chicken, basting periodically, for 1 1/2 hours more. Transfer chicken to a platter and set aside to let rest for 20 minutes. While chicken is resting, cover vegetables with reserved foil and continue to roast for 20 minutes more.

Carve chicken and serve alongside the roasted vegetables, drizzled with pan juices, if you like.
Nutrition

Per serving: 830 calories (350 from fat), 39g total fat, 10g saturated fat, 170mg cholesterol, 440mg sodium, 63g total carbohydrate (7g dietary fiber, 7g sugar), 48g protein

*********
Aimee Mann's irony went really well with the preparation of this dish. The record is a snapshot of America, but not the America of picture postcards- the gritty places. But the songs are so catchy- my favorite is "Goodbye Caroline,"- she sings, "Goodbye Caroline, you're my favorite faith healer..." The songs are tongue in cheek yet somehow, hopeful.

This dish was about trying to make a "home made" meal for my family, the kind I always imagined were being made in little houses behind white picket fences. I'm ironic, I think, so pairing Aimee Mann with my attempt at "picket fence cooking" felt, well, me.

Foodwise, the chicken was delicious (I used lemon slices and rosemary from our garden,) and it was great, though the veggies were a bit bland. I'd definitely make this again but maybe skip the veggies.
****************

I'll work on getting the rest of the week up...chicken soup, pasta, and chili....sounds by The Head and The Heart, Imogen Heap, and Brooke Fraser, stay tuned!

big reveal

(photo by Paula Hammon)


I've been simmering (no pun intended) on my domestic freak out yesterday. It turned out great, food wise, but I realized that when all the dishes were put away, I didn't necessarily feel better. I woke up feeling pretty down, honestly, and it drove me to accomplish something I didn't think I could. And I did accomplish it, and I had fun doing it, so problem, solved, right?

I realized something, I did it for Sydney, even though she didn't eat a bite of it. I loved rushing home with her from school, because I had pies in the oven. I loved seeing her eyes light up; frankly I love seeing her eyes light up and maybe I'll do almost anything to inspire them.

I have an amazing mother, she accomplished things I don't think I ever could, the least of which is supporting two well fed, well traveled, well educated children- and working unbelievably hard so we could be all those things. And she did this on her own. Even when my parents were married my father was emotionally absent, and eventually also financially absent- both those qualities define him still. She shouldered an unbelievable burden and she did it with grace. And we emerged pretty well balanced, and gratefully, thanks to her, we even made it out of college debt-free.

But she didn't make pies, or cookies, or big steaming casserole dishes. She didn't make soups from scratch or meatloaf. She didn't have time. And frankly, she probably didn't have interest. There were bigger fish to fry; making sure we were provided for, and we were.

When I pick up Sydney from school I try to pause, and remember, what a profound luxury this is. That at that very moment she comes bounding out of her classroom, full of stories to tell me about her day, I can be there. I can take her to the playground every single day if we want to and can help her traverse the microcosm of the world that it is, complete with hurt feelings and scraped knees.


I have an amazing husband. And that I have the great privilege to pick up my daughter from school, and struggle through homework with her myself, is due in no small part to his commitment to provide for us. That he isn't playing drums in a band in Europe, or Chicago, or where ever, is a choice he made for his life. To be here with us, to make a family here, together. And for that I am so grateful.

So I made him an apple pie, because it's his favorite. But making pie and roasting a chicken didn't make me a better mother, or wife. What it did was help me to show, in a small way, how grateful I am for the profound gifts I have. I have a husband who is present, and a willing and active participant in his family. He relishes being a father, he enjoys it and he's good at it. How did I get so lucky?

My sense of responsibility - not only to my family, but to the world we live in and the people in my life, I got from my mother. The belief I hold- that I could be or do anything- I got from her- I saw in her. These are two things I pray I will pass on to my daughter. But for myself, at this stage of my life, I am hoping to learn live into all these blessings with more appreciation that I have. And maybe to be a little kinder to myself, as I'm learning.


Next up, (leftovers) chicken soup and cornbread. Let you know how it goes:p

homemade

I decided against Whole Foods at the last minute, even though the recipe I was clutching like a passport in Eastern Europe was written by the megastore itself.

I figured I'd give my local Kroger a try, that place that is synonomous with sad, Sunday night trudges down the endless aisles looking for Lucky Charms.

This was a completely different experience.

With recipes and a detailed shopping list, Kroger was like the playing field in a high stakes treasure hunt. The clock was ticking, school pick up was less than 3 hours away and I had alot of work to do.

Gear: this is something I lack, and it even impedes me from trying recipes. Well, to be honest, it's an excuse I use with myself. So I decided to pick up a few things (bakers twine, carving board, pastry cutter) while I was at the store.

'Excuse me", I said gingerly in the general direction of a 50 something year old woman, wearing the Kroger company blue. "Do you know where I can find a pastry cutter." Was that a glimmer in her eye I saw or was it the blaring overhead florescent lights?

"Right here," she said, peering into my basket while reaching for the pastry cutter, "are you making something from scratch?"

Whoa. I had street cred. She was impressed.

"I'm trying to," I said, "apple pie." She smiled, "Good luck!"

I had just had a meaningful exchange with a Kroger employee wherein I admitted to making something from scratch. I was like an adventurer nearing the South Pole, getting a pat on the back from a fellow traveler.

I was energized, I sailed up and down the aisles, checking items off my list and resisting the temptation to linger too long. I repeated the list like a mantra "butter, vinegar, white wine, butter vinegar, white wine."

I left the chicken for last. I've never bought, let alone held a whole, raw chicken (would I be holding it?) I didn't know how to talk to a butcher. I was scared, a butcher would know I'm a fraud.


I was a vegetarian for seven years, I thought the chicken would be the hardest part. But suprisingly, it was easy. To buy at least. He even gave me a bunch of free butcher's twine.

I made the apple pie first and several times wondered out loud why I was attempting to make my own pie crust, from scratch. Couldn't I have eased into this cooking thing?


I rolled two pie crusts out at Thanksgiving, thanks to the steady cheerleading of my sweet mother-in-law, and they were great. So I decided to give it a go. I'd watched an episode of the Food Network's Pioneer Woman, and she kept saying it was easy (it wasn't), but I liked her cute poncho so I went for it. The pies are resting, and from the little bit I nibbled, maybe not pretty, but oh so good.

I'm not sure why I did this today, I was up for an adventure. And not cooking, or being able to cook feels like not being able to drive, it's just frustrating, it means I'm stuck. So I'm working on that. I'll let you know how it turns out!