A Road Less Travelled

Hi, remember me? The other person who’s supposed to be writing blog posts? Well, I’m still here and I will try to actually write posts from now on. You have to admit I’ve had some really, really good excuses for not writing many blog posts over the past month or so. Having no Internet access for a week was probably my best excuse, but packing, moving, and traveling aren’t bad excuses. Even now that we’ve returned from the trip to SC, life is just insanely busy. For instance, as I write this blog post I am waiting for the potatos to finish cooking so we can mash them so I can transport them to a funeral dinner–picking up food from two other people on the way–and be there to help out for an indetermined amount of time. I hope to be back fairly soon because Theresa and the children might have some sort of mild stomach bug. I also hope that the lightheadedness I’m currently feeling comes from the fact that I haven’t eaten enough food today, and doesn’t mean that I’m also coming down with a stomach bug. That said, I have a ‘real’ blog post that I’m working on, and probably other potential blog posts that will come to mind when I’m feeling less fuzzy. Hopefully they will be coming soon.

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Okay, there is a fact about me that I have kept from most of you. I am a role-player. Yes, that’s right, I am one of those people who sit down with obscure books and then sit around with other people pretending to be people who aren’t real. It’s like make-believe, but for grownups. Think about it as interactive radio drama and you’ll get it. No, it’s not Dungeons and Dragons. I have played D&D and I don’t like it, though not for the reasons you’ve probably heard. So, we’ve been playing this game called Polaris which is just wicked awesome. My brother, Seth, posted an Actual Play report about the last couple of sessions and it spurred me to be completely honest with y’all. (sigh) Now you will all know how strange I am. I suppose I wasn’t really hiding it all that well. Chapter One Chapters Two and Three

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“Food should made with love and lots of butter.” -A Swedish saying I think I just mutilated. Yesterday was Thanksgiving. My brother Jonathan came over and we all stood in the kitchen getting in each other’s way as we worked together to make Thanksgiving dinner. We probably spent more time in the kitchen cooking the food than we did around the table eating it. There was a lot of food to make and it was fun. At times everyone would be busy doing something and at other times my brothers and I stood and watched Crystal work. The food was all delicious and the meal was enjoyed by all. Earlier this week Crystal told us about a deal she saw at the store. If you placed an order ahead of time you could go to the store on Thanksgiving morning and pick up a Thanksgiving kit. There would be a small turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, potatoes, the whole nine yards. Everything was cooked and ready to go. You just had to take this kit home and set the table. This troubled me. I was already thinking things like “Is this how far we’ve gone?” before I could put words to what was bothering me. Seth was the one who found the words. He said, “Especially at a special meal like Thanksgiving, food is love.” Food is love. Even at ordinary meals the quality of the food sets the tone of the meal. I am not saying that every meal has to be gourmet quality, but even if the food is simple if it is made with love the meal is more wholesome. Mass produced food is soulless. You go to a busy restaurant and maybe the food is really tasty, but you know that the people there don’t really care about you. You go to a small, family restaurant where the recipes were handed down from somebody’s grandmother and the tone of the meal is different, but still doesn’t compare to the food cooked up in your kitchen by someone who loves you. We recently had one of those days where, around four o’clock, we suddenly realized that all the food we had in the house either needed to cook for hours or needed to be defrosted. So we made mashed potatoes and a vegetable and then picked up some cooked chicken from a store. I ate the chicken and enjoyed it, but I found myself wishing that Crystal had been able to make dinner. The people who made the chicken didn’t care one way or the other if we ate it or not. Crystal crafts meals for her family and she puts all of her love into them. The meal is more enjoyable because the food was made with love. So it was Thanksgiving and we spent most of the day cooking. It was fun. And when we sat down to eat the food was excellent. I knew it was made with love and lots of butter.

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Have you ever thought about laughter? about what laughter is? You smile, open your mouth and exhale forcefully. A sound comes out that people find amusing though if you asked most people if you have a funny laugh they will likely say no. The answer really is yes, but your laugh is no funnier than anyone else’s so it doesn’t really count. Have you ever watched someone laugh really hard? It is hysterical to watch. And if you’re not careful you will start laughing simply because someone else thinks something is funny. Have you ever wondered why? Why did God make us with laughter? Why is this such a good thing? I wonder if anyone could really say though we all agree that it is. Laughter is one of those things that no one really understands. It’s like eating. Eating is weird. You put food in your mouth, grind it into bits and swallow it only to have your stomach do unspeakable things to it. Somewhere in there your mouth noticed whether it was enjoying the experience of the food and your body figured out how it could use what you just put into it. Eating is really strange, but when you sit down and enjoy a good meal with someone you are somehow closer to him than you were before you started. I think I notice friendships starting when I and someone else laugh at the same time about the same thing. It’s a bond that is formed between us. What lengths would you go to to make someone laugh? What would you do to make a child laugh? I am here to tell you that normally dignified people will act ludicrously just to make a child laugh. Normally diligent churchmen who are eanestly listening to an excellent sermon will get easily distracted by the baby in front of them giggling. I know, I’ve seen it. So, if this is how we are with our children how is our Father with His? I can tell you how He is- He does the exact same things we do. Have you ever thought about giraffes? Giraffes make me laugh every time I think about them. They don’t make a noise. You’re going through an animal book with a child and there’re horses and elephants and cats and dogs and you’re making all the noises and trying to get the kid to mimic you and suddenly you come upon a giraffe. You stutter for a moment because giraffes don’t make a noise. The best you can come up with is a comment about how the giraffe’s neck is sooo long, but isn’t that funny looking, too? Have you ever watched a penguin waddle? Have you ever looked closely at your nose? Have you ever watched a cow run or a bird fly into a window? These things are funny (though someone might disagree with me on that last one). Could it be that God put them here for no other reason than to make us laugh? I am perfectly willing to say that the duckbilled platypus was put upon this earth to make me chuckle ever time I think about it. Kangaroos were, too. I can say this because God says He’s my Father and He has given me the gift of laughter. So, please don’t mind me if I walk up to you and ask if you’ve ever seriously contemplated your nose. I’m just trying to pass on the gift.

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I have always had trouble making biscuits. I had no idea what I was doing wrong, but ever since I started making biscuits I was only able to turn out these hard, tasteless shells of what a true biscuit is like. Then, the other day, I had a breakthrough. I actually read my recipe and noticed that when it said “Knead 12-15″ it meant times and not minutes. Now, I have never actually kneaded biscuit dough for 15 minutes; I don’t have enough patience for that. But when I noticed this little gem of information I followed it and, presto, I made biscuits that Seth and Crystal are still talking about. They still talk about them mostly because I won’t let them forget I made good biscuits, but they do say they were very good. But wait, that’s not all. I don’t think I have ever made a pie crust. I might have had a hand in a pie crust once, but I’m not sure if I actually did anything to the crust itself or if I was stuck cutting the apples. Whichever, tonight Crystal made quiche (key-sh Yes, I know there is no good reason ‘quiche’ should be pronounced this way, but that’s what I’m told. I called it quwicha.) and in an effort to be helpful I made the crust. Crystal had spent most of today reformatting the computer and experts say that if someone spent most of the day reformatting a computer there is no reason they should be expected to make pie crust, too. So I made the crust and I followed the principle of touch it as little as possible and, presto, the crust was good! I now know the secret to biscuits and pie crusts! Yay for me!

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It is really loud around here. Justice will be crying about the horrible things we’re doing to him like changing his diaper. Noah will be crying because he just discovered the world doesn’t revolve around him. The two crys sort of wrap around each other and each makes the other louder. One of the older children will want to tell me something and so he will just shout over the wails and another child wants to tell Crystal something so that child shouts over the wails and the shouting. Arianna has been known to cup her hands around her mouth to ask me a question about breakfast. Yep, it’s really loud around here. Crystal asked me what I want for Christmas and my first thought was “Ear plugs.” I’m not sure I was completely joking.

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Children are special. We seem to have lost that in our culture. We warehouse our children until the point we consider them humans, but by that point they don’t actually know us so we have angry teens and disgruntled parents. But children are special and we need to remember that. The Bible talks about children as being blessings from Yaweh. They are spoken of as arrows in the hands of an archer. That doesn’t mean they are blessings when they grow up. It means they are blessings, period. It means that no matter how young they are there is something a child cangive. I know that children are difficult. I know this because I live with five of them and that fact is a leeettle hard to miss. But when you start treating your children like they are special and treating them like they had something to give they will respond. I’ve seen parents who think very highly of their children and treat them like little people. The children then respond by acting more like little people. It’s cool to watch. Theresa was telling us about something that happened on their previous trip. She couldn’t remember which state it happened so she asked Moriah. Moriah said it happened in Missouri and we believed her. If someone was going to know it would be Moriah. I have called Samuel over to climb up something and reach something for me. I’ve asked Isaac to fix things and Arianna has watched Justice for me. Even Noah and Justice has something to offer us in their smiles and their laughter. The conversations I have been having with the older three children have gotten more involved and more interesting the longer I have been here. These children are special and when we treat them like they are special they only get more special to us. Our culture has lost many things and it is suffering because of it. Parents are losing the specialness of their children and they are missing out on so much because of it. Children are special. Your children are special. They are precious gifts from the Father and His gifts will never depreciate.

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I was recently talking to someone I don’t know that well for very long and I found myself having to say something once and then explain what I just said. I was a little puzzled, but the puzzlement didn’t last long because I have been becoming aware of the fact that I speak in shorthand. Even the statement “I speak in shorthand” is shorthand. I don’t always say everything that should go into a sentence. Or sometimes I make an intuitive jump and don’t explain it to anyone. I find it very nifty that I am just now realizing this fact. This is nifty because it means I normally interact with people who have made the effort to know me and understand me because they love me. They put in the effort and now we don’t have to say everything that gets said. I know our conversations sometimes look odd from the outside. I was having a conversation with Raquel and Moriah was watching us talk. She suddenly said in a frustrated voice, “Titi Gaby, I don’t understand what you two are talking about!” I explained to her that her Aunt Raquel and I were only saying about half of what was being communicated. I tried to explain that she wouldn’t understand because there was history that went into this conversation that she hadn’t been in on. Every now and then I remember to thank God for the group of friends He has given me. Getting weird looks from people who didn’t follow me where I went has been a good reminder. My friends love me and so they try to understand me. We are around each other enough and we actually listen to each other enough that I often find myself imitating someone. I’ll say something and Raquel will tell me that I sounded like Seth or James. It isn’t that I said something that they would have said; it’s that I said something they would say in the way they would have said it. There are nuances of the people we love that we pick up on if we actually pay enough attention to them to notice. There are conversations carrying history that get picked up as if we had never stopped. I don’t think most of the world has this joy. I don’t think the world sits still long enough to develop these relationships. I think there are people out there who speak in shorthand, but they don’t have anyone to interpret. I really feel for those people cause it can be a very lonely place to live. Maybe I’ll find them and interpret for them until we all get to the point of understanding them. I have been so blessed in my friends I want to give that joy to someone else. Though if I actually express this desire to God I will probably be suddenly swamped with lonely people. Well, that’s life I guess.

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I once described my mother to Gabrielle as being “Like me, only more so”. I suppose that’s really backwards–I’m like my mother, only somewhat less so–but I’ve been amused at the accuracy this description. A couple of days ago my father was trying to ask her how her headache was and she said, “It’s okay”. No, this didn’t mean her headache was gone or even receding. It just meant that her headache was “okay”. For anyone who has ever tried to dig for the real answer when they ask me a question, now you ‘know who to blame’ (as my father would say). An even better example of my mother came when my father told her to take the electric heater in the kitchen so she wouldn’t be cold. “No, no, you guys keep it here. I’m fine, it’s not cold in there and it’s harder to keep that room warm anyway, so you should keep in here where it will do more good. Besides, I’m doing laundry so the window’s open, and I don’t want to heat the whole outdoors.” I could tell the most logical connection in this speech was that the window had to be open because she was doing laundry. (It turned out I was right; the washer has to drain out the window because there’s a broken pipe.) Still, I could see myself saying exactly the same thing. This is why my mother and I argue over money–we both have a list of reasons why the other person shouldn’t have to pay for whatever it is. “No, no, I can pay for it.” “No, you don’t have to pay for that!” I can’t tell you who wins these arguements, because I’m not sure that either of us have ever really given in. Sometimes they trail off because we eventually forget about the discussion, or end with words such as, “Well, fine then, I’ll sneak the money into your purse when you’re not looking.” or “If I let you pay for this will you at least let me pay for______”. Here’s a suggestion: If you’re ever in a room with my mother and me when we start a niceness fight–hide. But hide someplace comfortable; you might be there a while.

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For Adiel, and any other potential marshmallow (or even sticky puff) chefs in the readership, here is a marshmallow recipe. This has some quite helpful and detailed information on the making of marshmallows, however it is not the marshmallow recipe I used because it calls for corn syrup. This recipe does not call for corn syrup, but it isn’t exactly the recipe I used either. I link to the above recipes for the sake of people who need more detail that I can give you. What I did was this–following the basic guidlines of the first recipe, I dissolved three packets of gelatin in a little maple syrup. Then I added it two cups of maple syrup and cooked it on the stove until I was pretty sure it was hot enough and cooked it some more just to make sure. Not having a mixer I poured it in the blender and mixed it until I was pretty sure it was fluffy and mixed it some more just to be sure. I poured it in my rectangular pan and let it set. (I messed up a little here–I should have greased the pan first, but I just dusted it with cocoa powder.) At about eleven o’ clock that night when I should have been in bed, I scored them with knife, pried them out of the pan with a fork, and doused them in cocoa powder. If you can make these without making your entire kitchen sticky I will be impressed, but they are much quicker and easier than I thought they would be before I made them. If you make marshmallows let me know how they turn out–and if you make stickypuffs I’d like to hear about that too. Edit 12/7/05– Marshmallow Addendum here

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