Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Senses Inventory: Coffee Shop

   Late this morning I had the sort of rare opportunity to spend time 
on a leisurely brunch all by myself in an unusual setting. 
It seemed like a perfect opportunity for a Senses Inventory.
See:  I see sanded and waxed hardwood floors, brick wall painted red, blue icicle lights hanging from a soffet, multiple chalkboard menus, and a wild collection of original artwork all over the walls. I see a menagerie of interesting characters floating through the shop, some professionals, some bicyclists, and others bent on personal expression. I also see my own collection of odd things… My second hand green leather purse with a long black scarf tied on, my trusty notebook, cell phone, a paperback C.S. Lewis book, a giant cup of cream colored dark roast coffee, and a square of cellophane squeezed into a crumpled heap and filled with crumbs from my breakfast. I look up and see sunlight blasting through the tall, arched windows.
Smell:  Rich, stimulating, glorious coffee and a tiny whiff of my own perfume. Or maybe that’s actually scented deodorant. It smells like spring break.
Hear:  The hissing and gulping espresso machines and some upbeat, wordless jazz music. The music has a monotonous beat that could lull me into a trance if I let it. I hear the hum of the air conditioner, too, and now the music has changed to a Beatles song, heavy on the tambourine please.
Taste: The remnants of a thick, tender, decadent scone that was my breakfast. I am guessing it was made with real butter and definitely boasted dried cranberries, almonds, and white chocolate chips. Delicious.
Touch:  Hard wooden arm chair holding me and the strings of my threadbare denim jacket pulling against my pointy elbow. (Still haven’t mended that.)
Think:  …About the relationships between Hinduism, Christianity and a newer expression of natural law marketed as “The Secret.” Thinking of C.S. Lewis and his particular brand of philosophy that seems to defy strict churchiness.
Feel:  Peaceful. Adventurous. Homesick for my children (that never really goes away) but also deeply grateful for them and for the conviction that all is not last. Romantic. Happy that Handsome and I have such incredible friends.
“If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, 
you only think what everyone else is thinking.”
~Haruki Murakami 
xoxoxoxo

Impromptu Stuffed Mushrooms

   Two special circumstances have intersected to bring about a new recipe at the Lazy W tonight:

  1. Handsome and I have been trying to eat a little less of the sweet, fluffy, carb-laden foods we so adore, because we might want to buy skinny jeans.
  2. Mushrooms were on sale at the grocery store yesterday. Firm, plump, unblemished, clean, earthy smelling mushrooms.
   I started dinner preparations super  late tonight. Hungry but also sleepy from a really fun and busy week, I tried to think of something to cook that would warm up my tired bones but also not undo all the healthy habits we’ve formed lately. Handsome had already declined a baked potato. So while three thick, boneless pork chops were rotating seductively in the counter top rotisserie oven, I chopped up a green salad and decided to see how hard it would be to make stuffed mushrooms. You know what? Not hard at all. The finished product is not only delicious but also as filling as a baked potato and way more satisfying because it doesn’t  give you that sugar-tummy feeling afterwards.
   Pretty much, this is all it entails:
  1. Remove the stems from a package of fresh mushrooms and chop em up.
  2. Dry roast the plain mushroom caps in your oven for a few minutes. They will go into the oven dry and emerge about ten minutes later with little oily puddles of moisture in the center of each. Like pools of collected tears. Or dew drops from the garden of good and evil. Or the sweat of unfulfilled longings. Or… mushroom water. Whatever.
  3. Saute in butter and olive oil those chopped up mushroom stems along with some minced garlic and whatever spices you want. I let it all cook until the butter browned and foamed and the earthy mushroom fragrance filled the downstairs of our house. More autumnal smelling than apples and cinnamon!
  4. Combine the cooked garlic-mushroom mix with some grated Parmesan cheese, Panko crumbs (or I suppose bread crumbs, Panko is just what I had), and more spices if you want. How much? Not really sure. I just poured things into my favorite pink bowl until it seemed like enough. And it was way too much.
  5. Spoon this crumbly, fragrant, slightly moist stuffing into each of the roasted mushroom caps, accepting emotionally that you do not understand the law of displacement since obviously the void left by the stems could not possibly be so great as the mass of said stems combined with several other bulky ingredients.
  6. Bake these stuffed mushroom caps and goof around for a while. Pretend like you’re writing a novel in thirty days. Eat some of the cherry tomatoes you had thrown lazily on the salads. Curse forever the bane of houseflies. Try to remember without aid of a search engine the name of the guy who is credited for the law of displacement.
  7. Decide that if you ever have a turtle you shall name him Archimedes.
   These stuffed mushrooms are pretty darn delish, you guys. Firm, flavorful, almost meaty in your mouth, and technically a vegetable, right? They come out of the oven unreasonably hot, though, so do contain your curiosity for a while in favor of an un-scorched tongue.



   I was way too sleepy tonight to stage the food for a nice photo, so above you see, instead of a garlic-mushroom-stuffed mushroom, a kitten-stuffed pumpkin with a side of happy little girl. It’s pretty much the same thing.
   Cheers, friends! And happy culinary experimenting to you!! See you soon for a return to Proverbs 31, some nephew stories, and much more!
Actually, Happy Little Girls are Way Better than Stuffed Mushrooms.
If You Have One, Hug Her!
xoxoxoxo

Nevermore


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
   As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
  "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
                Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
  And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
  For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
                Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
  Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
  Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
                This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
  "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
  That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
                Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
        fearing,
  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
  This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
                Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
   Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
  Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
                'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
        flutter,
  In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
        he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
  Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
                Perched, and sat, and nothing more.










   Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
  By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
   "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
        craven,
   Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
  Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
  Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
  Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
                With such name as "Nevermore."

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
  That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
        before-
  On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
                Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

     Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
  "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
     Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
     Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
  Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
                Of 'Never- nevermore'."

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
  Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
        door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
  What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
                Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
  To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
  But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
                She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
  Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
        hath sent thee
    Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
  Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
        devil!-
  Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
    On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
  Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
        devil!
  By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
  Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
        upstarting-
  "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
  Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
        door!"
               Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
  On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
        floor;
  And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                Shall be lifted- nevermore!

A Book Club Event and Book Review: Run With Me

   Hey there fine citizen! This past Thursday evening our famous little Oklahoma book club, known far and wide as Dinner Club With a Reading Problem, enjoyed an especially wonderful discussion dinner. Our selection this go-round was Run With Me: An Accidental Runner and the Power of Poo, by Jennifer Luitwieler. Have you read it? Also, do you read Jen’s blog? It is a refreshing balance of philosophy, inspiration, culture, and family. Check her out at jenniferluitwieler.com

   This book was recommended to us by Margi, author of that cool, smart blog called The M Half. Y’all know her as the chick who tried to get me killed in the Pine Forest. Margi reviewed Jen’s luscious little piece of non-fiction way back in March of last year, and you can read that right here.

   Okay. Thursday night’s event was much more than another pot-luck-and-gab session. We were honored to welcome the author herself into the cramped but cozy living room here at the farm! We circled around her with plates made heavy from comfort foods and desserts, and of course there was plenty of sweet tea and butter. We had a blast and also managed to mostly behave ourselves.

Except for Steph. She is one of our oldest common friends, 
and I am sorry to say that she rarely behaves herself.
Which is mainly why we love her so much.

   Jen indulged us with answers to our questions about her faith, her journey through different churches and role as middle child/ Pastor’s daughter, running as a sport, and depression. Depression, so you know, is an important theme in her book, and our little group learned a lot that night. We learned more about this illness and about each other. Some of us shared about personal struggles with depression, and others of us admitted to needing to know how to help loved ones who suffer from it.

Kudos to our guest for maintaining her focus and composure 
while I tried repeatedly to get a focused photo of her pretty face. 
Over anxious hostesses with cameras can be annoying.

   We shared varying perspectives on life and family, family patterns, marriage, the hurt and healing of church and coming of age, and so much more. Six hours of fantastic socializing flew by in a minute, it seemed, and we all agreed that it was the best book club event to date. (We actually say that every single time we meet, but truly, it’s gonna be difficult to top an author visiting us in the flesh!)

   My guess is that if we asked each of the ten women who attended Thursday night, “What was the discussion about?” We would hear ten different answers. Because while we probably spent most of our time exploring Depression and its attendant* complications, every varying slice of conversation was meaningful to different women in different ways. For example, I was highly motivated by Jen’s chapter on Grace and some of the spiritual observations she made in her book and in our visit. Another couple of our members seemed to be most interested in hearing more about running (me too, by the way… Jen just ran 18 miles on Saturday and is training for another half marathon!). Still more book-clubbers were thirsty for Jen’s’ guidance in writing and publishing original work. Had we been successful in convincing our guest to stay overnight, we would surely have kept her awake until dawn with the brain-picking. Small wonder, then, that she opted to drive home at night.

This mantra, this slice of her benediction, applies to anything you choose.

   Whatever our specific takeaways, though, one strong theme runs all throughout. And it is actually what Jen uses to end her book, the encouragement to find your thing, whatever it is, and do it well.

“Run far. Run short.
Run north and south, east and west.
Run with me.
Run to everything you were ever meant to be.
Run with me.
Run hard. Run easy. 
Run with me. Run with me. Run with me.”
~Jennifer Luitwieler

   I do hope you find or download a copy of this book and read Run With Me. It is a comfortable, smart, witty, conversational offering of one woman’s imperfect and nourishing life experiences and how she has profited in surprising ways by lacing up and hitting the pavement.

   You stand to gain so much by reading this book. But the fact remains that we are the lucky ones who got to chat her up and share roasted chicken, cheesy grits, and coconut cake. She shared even more generously in our suppertime conversation. So…Just for fun, how about a list of special facts we learned about this lovely woman during our hours together? This was such fun!

  • She also has a book club. And she belongs to various writers groups and leads a weekly writers’ discussion on Twitter. All of this, on top of being active in her church and running marathons and mothering three children and homeschooling two of them, AND she perfectly put together and polished. I am in awe.
  • She wrote this book in less than a year, originally as a series of blog posts, and revised it over and over.
  • Her husband still hasn’t read it. tsk-tsk… But we all surmised he was there for most of her stories. He knows what happens, right?
  • All of her family’s pets are rescues.
  • Jen has done several telephone and Skype interviews, but Thursday night at the Lazy W was her first in-person appearance!
  • She places high value on small but daily doses of solitude.
  • Her unique take on modern Christianity is fascinating. Her remark, “We go to a really weird little church,” garnered lots of belly laughs. Then, her descriptions of its uniqueness and community ministries brought smiles to all ten of our faces.
  • She just finished her first novel, YAY JEN!!! She wrote Seven Days in May, a volume of historical fiction set right here in Oklahoma, as a participant in NaNoWriMo. This means that she fleshed it out in one month, folks. She is currently shopping agents for its publication and promised us a return visit after its release. We are so excited!!
  • Jen is actually a fellow fan of Aimee Bender, author of our group’s much-debated read of 2010 The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake (my review here), a fact which when revealed sent peals of laughter through the high-carb room. I do not mind admitting a feeling of vindication. Aaaannnddd… Now I’m craving lemon cake again. As I sit here writing, I may settle for a slice of leftover coconut-lime cake!
  • Her running playlist is so rad, ranging from Eminem (yep) to Mumford and Sons (double yep). And I suspect that a few of our ladies will be dipping their polished toes into Couch-to-5K after hearing from her. 
  • Jen Luitwieler is one of those women who, though fascinating on paper and perfectly lovely in photos, makes an even more profound impact in person. She is glowy in every sense of that expression: She has the sheen of good health, certainly, but she also emits a lot of love and peace. Wisdom beyond her forty-one years. I am so happy to have made her acquaintance, and I know that all of Dinner Club With a Reading Problem feels the same way.
   Many thanks to Margi for not only selecting this title, but also for inviting our esteemed guest and coordinating this event. Of course, too, many thanks M for running around town with me on Thursday and then letting me boss you around in the final hours before our shin dig. She even dusted artwork and cut flowers for us, ladies!

Part of our Book Club, from left to right: 
Amber, Stephanie, Desiree, Kerri, DeLana, me, Tracy, Margi, Misti, and Melissa. 
And of course our lovely guest Jen in front. 
While snapping photos for us, my husband suggested 
she lay sideways and let us hold her up, cheer-leader style, and she said no.
   Thanks to Kerri for taking charge of our group’s token of appreciation. Thanks to Melissa for the thoughtful party favors, the delish cake, and time spent neatening up our brainstorm of questions. Stephanie, Tracy, Amber, DeLana, Misti, and Desiree, thanks for helping to supply such a gorgeous spread of comfort food, including roasted lemon chicken, rolls, sweet corn casserole, garlic-cheddar grits, chocolate cheesecake, fresh salad, and too many beverages! Seri, thanks for bringing your appetizer early even though you couldn’t attend! Too sweet. We are the world’s best book club for a lot of reasons, and team work is one of them.

“Run to Everything You Were Ever Meant to Be.”
~Jennifer Luitwieler
xoxoxoxo

*Jen’s artful use of this word in this way has me hooked. I must credit her influence.

 

Proverbs 31: Guest Post by Amber, Happiest Color of Crazy

   This morning I would like to introduce you to another lovely and generous guest poster, Amber. She is a stay-at-home Mommy to three beautiful and precocious little girls,and in a thousand ways she radiates the spirit of a young, traditional Proverbs 31 woman.

   I asked her to contribute because while so many women spend precious energy complaining about the drudgery of  domestic life, she celebrates every detail and magnifies God in fun, believable ways. I can feel her joy through her Facebook posts and original poetry, which is what she chose to share with us today…

   Enjoy…

The Happiest Color of Crazy
When I was young I had big dreams
romantic visions of all life could be.
I wanted to fall in love, be swept off my feet
have a beautiful home and a loving family.
God sees the desires of my heart
hearing the prayers my fears won’t let me speak.
He knows just how to fill my lack
becoming my strong knowing my weak.
My picture of happy has changed over time.
Things aren’t always what they might seem.
I do have love, a home and three kids
but life is all but serene….
We find ourselves always behind
trying to do all that’s needing done.
The kids are loud making a mess
keeping us on the run…
The bills keep coming but sleep rarely does
Life’s demands pile up like the dishes.
No time for dates, or leisurely mornings.
An endless list of empty wishes…
That’s when I can tell my heart has turned
and I must humbly repent.
Losing my joy by forgetting my thanks
is the surest road to discontent.
I must forget about what I want
and seek Him first in ALL things.
Looking around for His gifts of grace
in the simplest moments that each day brings.
My days are painted the happiest color of crazy.
My God supplies my every need.
I have everything I never knew I wanted
and my heart is full indeed!
    I especially love this line toward the end, “Losing my joy by forgetting my thanks is the surest road to discontent.“

   Thank you, Amber! Thanks for this poetry, and thanks for sharing on Facebook the delicious minutiae of daily life with your young family. You make me homesick for those days and grateful for my memories more than you can imagine. When people tell you it goes by quickly, they are speaking the truth. Soak up this happy color of crazy. May all of your dreams come true, if even in wildly unexpected ways!

“My heart is full indeed.”
xoxoxoxo