Lazy W Marie

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

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The Neglected Chef Foibles: Part One

Easy Read Slant Sided Measuring Bowls
   If not for her chiropractor appointment today, she might be outside gardening.  The day is perfect for it.  The sun is bright but not hot.  The breeze is gentle.  Last night’s rain has already loosened the weeds and eliminated the need to irrigate.  I could get straight to grooming the tomato plants and harvesting some basil.

   But no.  She had been to a Pampered Chef party earlier in the month and unwittingly altered her immediate future.  She enjoyed the socializing of course but resisted sales pitch after sales pitch, inwardly congratulating herself for her sustained frugality.

   Among other things, she declined purchasing the easy read measuring cups.  She just had to insist that her regular glass measuring bowls, the traditional upright Pyrex kind with red measurement lines on the side, were all she needed for measuring liquids.

  Today she regrets that pridefulness.  

  Last Wednesday was her sister’s birthday, and per tradition she had determined to bake a short cake and deliver it with fresh strawberries.  Premeasured dry ingredients sat in an orderly row across her smooth, clean countertop.    A cake pan was buttered and dusted with flour, awaiting the lumpy, delicious batter.  The oven dial had been twisted to preheat to 350 degrees.  Her apron was tied neatly around her ample middle.  John Phillip Sousa was playing in the living room.

   She had positioned her very old and well used two-cup Pyrex glass measuring bowl on the kitchen counter to pour in buttermilk.  She took one step back and leaned forward to get a close up view of the fluid level (the buttermilk should be measured precisely, after all).  The red lines had faded over the years, and the glass was a bit clouded by time and heavy use, so she had to step back further still and lean in even more closely to focus on the 1 ½ cup mark.  This put her in an unnatural position with her rump more in the air than it usually is, and without warning she felt something catch in her lower back.
   A knifing sensation on either side of her spine, a shooting numbness up her back, and then sudden and extreme immobility brought the cake baking to a complete halt.  Buttermilk exploded all over the kitchen while she crumpled gracelessly and face first to the floor.

   As she surprised herself with cursing and writhed in pain on the kitchen floor now slick with buttermilk, the oven beeped its cheerful arrival at the needed baking temperature of 350 degrees.  It would sit, preheated but empty, oblivious to the drama, for the rest of the evening until her husband would exhaustedly stumble in for a midnight snack and notice the lone red light signaling readiness.  He would twist the dial back to “off.”  Mission aborted.  Oven unfulfilled.

   It had been a humiliating phone call to make, reporting that she had fallen and may have broken her back while measuring buttermilk.  But her dutiful husband had of course rushed home from work and taken her immediately to the emergency room.  There, she had to reexperience the accident nine or ten more times to different nurses and physicians with clipboards.  More than one younger, slightly more elastic woman had to restrain smiles of either pity or unfeeling laughter, it was hard to tell.

   Her back was not broken, but she was seriously injured.  Her jaw bone and right shoulder were bruised, too.

   If only she had shelled out the money at that Pampered Chef party for the slanted-sides measuring bowls!  The extra expense seemed too large at the time, wasteful even considering her arsenal of Pyrex sitting at home.  But now, seeing the hundreds of dollars being paid to the chiropractor’s office for back adjustments, to the pharmacy for muscle creams, and to fast food restaurants for take out dinner because she is in too much pain to cook for her husband, a trip back in time to buy those Pampered Chef mixing bowls would fix everything and save a small fortune.

   But to the injury tending she returns, and her garden sits, unattended, becoming slowly reclaimed by the wild.  The tomatoes will rot on the vine, she thinks.
   Across the street her neighbor is drinking iced tea on her own front porch, enjoying a perfectly manicured lawn and a thoroughly weeded flower bed.  I bet she ordered the easy read measuring cups.

Dive Right In

Not too awful much to say right this minute.
Just a little encouragement to enjoy your life.
Whatever your task, whatever your burden, 
whatever meal you find on your table,
even if it is just good, sweet hay,
and even you find it on your head, not the table…
Enjoy it to the best of your ability.
Life is good, and is passes by too quickly 
when we wish away the difficult days or the mundane moments.
Soak it up.  Get messy.  Be happy.  Count your blessings.
Pass it on.

Tutu for a Desert Gypsy Princess

  Once upon a time, there was a rare little girl born to a family who had been wishing and waiting for her for a long time.

   Her parents were madly in love with each other and anxious to have a sweet, pink little baby girl on which to shower their frills and kisses.  They yearned for a daughter who would need the rivers of love and attention they had to offer.

   This little girl was born into the protection and adoration of three wonderful big brothers and many far-flung grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who were over the moon excited to see her for the first time.

   She entered the world with eyes that would soon turn the color of Caribbean shallows, but she lived in the desert.  Already evincing miracles.  She was a delicate, whispery thread of loveliness spun from the heart of her unusually beautiful mother.  And she was destined for grand adventures.

   Clearly on a path to uniqueness, this little speck of a girl delighted her family by preferring edgy rock music to nursery rhymes.

  She made a point to wear her Gypsy Princess tiara in reverse
 to remind her loved ones to switch perspectives now and then.
Every story has more than one side.

   She started off life as a good eater, nursing and bonding and cooing throughout the day, every day.  All day long, even at parties.  Never stopping except to breathe.  Even at The Lazy W.  She was hungry because she had a lot of growing to do.  She knew deep inside her wordless but thriving mind that she would be needing the energy.

   

On certain days, when the breeze was just right, 
 this little Gypsy Princess would wear her tutu.

   Every strand of her gypsy tutu represented a wish bestowed on her life.  Cheetah print for speed and agility when she might need it, red lace for romance when the time is right, gingham for wholesomeness.  Graphics for sharp thinking.  Blue seersucker for extensive daydreaming beneath the clouds, paisley for growing things, denim for hard work

   Now the whole world, and not just the desert, is waiting to see what this special little girl does with her life.  Which paths she might follow, what webs she might weave.  How the blue of her eyes might change when she falls in love, and how she uses the magic in her tutu.

   Whatever happens to her, whatever surprises she finds,
she will be wrapped in love till the end of time!
We are so pleased to know Princess Riley.
xoxoxoxo

 

Joy Pockets Cuatro



This week has felt almost like autumn in Oklahoma, 
which has been more than a welcome meteorological change;
the cooler temps have refreshed our minds and bodies, 
inspiring all kinds of productivity and joy-grabbing.  
I am so happy share a handful of stories  
from our week at the farm:

   

   On Tuesday, after several days of partying, laughing, making memories, and indulging in good food and great company, Handsome and I returned to our weekday routines.   I spread clean, smooth sheets on our bed, straightened up the outdoors, scrubbed the kitchen, and opened the windows while doing housework.  This last detail is powerful.  Open windows might mean a little bit more dust flying around, but it also means that we trade stale summer-conditioned air for mother nature’s freshest breath.  And the quiet that comes from the absence of an air conditioner that has been running almost non-stop all summer, that is golden.  I could actually hear birds again, and seeing the curtains billow inward from the cool breeze is so pretty.
   Cleaning the rooms one by one, burning a soy candle gifted to me by the M Half, and gradually refilling our bathroom cabinets with clean, fluffy towels, these are simple, pure pleasures.  It felt as good and healthy as removing three days’ worth of waterproof mascara and exfoliating my face.  The only consolation to seeing your house emptied out and quiet after that much fun is seeing it sparkling clean the next day.
   On Wednesday, I was very blessed to spend a few hours with my firstborn, my baby, my distant daughter who lives in my heart every hour of every day.  We shared a late breakfast, talked about a thousand wonderful things, laughed, and shopped.
   While looking at different running shoes (she is a cross-country runner, I am so proud) I noticed that she still ties her laces the same way she did in Kindergarten.  Her hands are grown now, leaner and stronger, and now her wrists are lined with dozens of friendship bracelets.  But seeing those familiar movements in that familiar flesh almost brought me to tears in the runners’ shop.
   Thursday was her birthday.  Sweet Sixteen.  There are almost no words for this, but of course there really are always words.  I can say that I always expected this to be a terribly painful time, especially considering the circumstances in which we now find our family, but mercifully the occasion turned out to be a lighthearted one.  I am so happy for her for a million solid reasons, and I still feel so incredibly lucky to have given birth to this beautiful creature.
   Chanta, the same horse who awakened me from last week’s sunny nap with his foot nuzzling, switched things up by falling asleep on my shoulder last night.  I had been brushing his wild blonde mane and whispering to him, telling him about Einstein wisdom and Pampered Chef parties, when he stepped in really close to me, exhaled a big, sweet breath of air, and closed his sleepy eyes.  His giant head just fell on my left shoulder, so I did my best to hold it with both arms.  His ears were loose, and I could see from my position at his driver’s side that his rear ankle was cocked up, both sure signs of relaxation.  As if the snoring horse wasn’t clue enough.  
   It was blissful.  We stood together like that for several minutes, and I had the sensation of having lulled a baby to sleep and not wanting to wake it.  So I continued in the Einstein/Chef speech, mixed in some singing, and just inhaled that wonderful, grassy, warm horse fragrance.  
   When the spell finally broke and he stepped back to look at me,  I figured our special time would be over with.  But wherever I tried to walk Chanta would criss-cross my path and intercept me.  He’s not small.  And he can get kind of bossy, so I suffered through his affection and spent probably half an hour just nuzzling  
   The extra joy here is that the quiet peacefulness attracted Daphne, our moody mare.  She became either jealous or just plain curious and ended up accepting some attention herself, which is unusual when other horses are nearby.  It was a wonderful string of moments in the middle field.
   I caught a nasty cold and was down and out for a few days this week, running a low fever, etc, and Handsome took really good care of me.  He grained and hayed the animals on my worst day, did the weekly grocery shopping after a long day at the office, and brought me comforting things to eat.  He constantly made sure I was resting.  It bored me almost to tears to sit still that long, but thanks to his TLC I am feeling healthy and energetic, sans medicine, just in time for another fun weekend!
   Life is so good.  
It is unpredictable and mysterious 
and sometimes painful, 
but still so brimming with good, 
healthy, nourishing joy.  
Very happy weekend to everyone!
xoxoxo


joy pockets

Dragonfly Summer

   We have some dragonflies at the farm.  I mean, we have a couple of hundred dragonflies at the farm.  At any given moment, but especially around sunrise and again at dusk, I can walk around and be buzzed and surrounded by every size and color of this fascinating, elusive little flying creature.

   Thousands of cobalt blue, red, emerald green, gold, black and white, you name it.  They are plentiful and graceful.

   In fact, just now I walked inside from counting three million dragonflies hovering over the middle field fences, and they were each a different color.  They were back-lit by the warm Oklahoma sunset, and they shrouded everything in effervescence.

   This many dragonflies is a big deal.

  Years ago Handsome and I spent a little energy immersing ourselves in Native American culture, and a lot of it has stayed with with me.  The traditions and folklore are just so beautiful and so respectful of nature.  I have found very little that conflicts with the Bible path.  In fact, what I have learned just reinforces everything I believe about God.

   Why do I feel such a need to justify my explorations?  Huh.

   Included in Native American culture is the tradition of observing your personal totems.  Curious?  Totems are animal identities that are supposed to be able to tell you about your personal strengths and weaknesses, your path in life, and your magic.

   Yeah, I said magic.  But don’t worry.  I’m not gonna cast a dragonfly spell or anything.  It’s fine.

   More than fortune telling, although I definitely see the parallel, animal totems offer us two-legged creatures a really interesting kinship with the animal in question.  We get to learn about that animal’s character and how it interacts with its environment and the universe at large.  If we’re sensitive and pliable enough, we can gradually learn how to apply that wisdom to our own lives.  God, the Creator, Jesus, however you identify Him if you do, created everything we’re discussing here, and I believe He has volumes of love and lessons to share in the relationships we forge with animals.

  Note:  Ideally, a person seeking his totem observes what animals are drawn to him, not just the animals to which he is drawn.  Otherwise my totem C-O-U-L-D be a monkey.  Which W-O-U-L-D be awesome.

  Also, a totem is not the group of animals that is captured and dependent on the human..  For people like Handsome and me who have purposefully acquired a variety of pets, deciphering between a possible totem and, like, normal daily animal traffic can be tricky.  I mean, we can’t really claim that our totem is a blue and gold Macaw when said bird is kept on a perch in the living room and is not exactly free to leave and return.

   Although I do think Pacino loves us enough to fly home should something terrible ever cause him to be lost.

   All of this is much different than the Chinese Zodiac, which installs into a person’s life the supposed and abbreviated traits of just one animal based on just the year the person is born.  I cannot get a groove on that at all.  Human beings are wonderfully complex, and my personal slant is that one animal could never fully illustrate one person.  But a collection of animals might make a dent, and so we have the Totem Pole.

   Anyway, the purpose of totem exploration is more of a self-discovery exercise, coupled with a deepening of your reverence for the animal kingdom.  The point is not to take another person’s declaration over your spirit as fact; the point is to sense for yourself what you believe to be true and what you can learn from the raw nature of another living creature.  Dive greedily into the many layers of all of God’s wonderful creation, all of these reflections of Him and His love and power.

   When I noticed that I could walk around the farm, all alone, and be surrounded on every side by dragonflies, I did a little reading.  Turns out its extreme sensitivity to subtle changes in the wind makes it more able to avoid storms and survive.    I cannot predict the future but have always had a good sense of brewing trouble or of difficult to describe danger.  The dragonfly is drawn to the water and mates there.  Ahem.  Let’s just say I love the water.   The image of the dragonfly is generally known to evoke dreaminess and imagination.  It is an emotional totem.  No mystery there, that I live in a bit of a dream world most of the time and am extremely emotional  Guess who will verify that for you.  His name rhymes with ransom.  

    In taking this deeper look, I remember times when I did not listen to that silent warning voice and suffered for it.  Or my loved ones suffered for it when I leaned on reason more than instinct.  So I shake off the weight of logic and process and instead try to hone that needed ear.

  Watching the path and pattern of the dragonfly, I realize that its lilting unpredictability is what makes it so  mesmerizing and effective.  It surely has purposes to fill and needs to meet but does so without rigidity.  It manages to trade a bit of structure for spontaneous movement and thereby accomplishes more than just living; it dances.  It glides around breezes and knows when to escape.

   A good warning is that dragonflies tend to drown in the water, the same element that gives them life.

   The incredible spectrum seen in these dragonfly swarms brings to mind a word close my heart:  Diversity.  I am reminded in them that beauty and vitality come in many forms and that they do not have to compete.  Instead, they complement each other.  They build a dazzling view and seem to rarely repeat.  This is my circle of friends.  This is the perfect aesthetic for life, allowing for color, texture, sensual living, and adventure.

   If wild monkeys start showing up at the farm, I’ll be sure to let you know what I am learning from them.  For now, this is a belly full of wisdom to digest.  What animals are drawn to you?  What can you learn from them?

xoxoxo