Oatmeal, revisited

Tonight, I needed to mix up another batch of my “oatmeal” – really, my breakfast cereal.  I’ve blogged about my oatmeal before, but I like it so much that I thought I’d do it again.  This time with pictures.

Here are my ingredients.  Aren’t they pretty?

Left to right, top to bottom: flax seeds, barley grits, flax meal, bulgur wheat cereal; nine grain mix (cracked), unsweetened flake coconut, quinoa, wheat germ; pearl barley, oat bran, seven grain mix (rolled), corn grits.

And here is the nearly finished product.  Nearly finished, because we pause first to appreciate the artistic presentation:

Yum!

(Ok – I’m done gushing about my oatmeal now.  You all have permission to roll your eyes and regard me as crazy.)

Five for Friday… pie

I really do have some more thoughtful stuff to post on my blog, but doing so would require… well… thought.  And I don’t particularly feel like thinking right now.  I feel like pie.  Or talking about it, at least.

My taste in pie is strongly influenced by three sources:

• Yoder’s Country Market (Grantsville, MD) – Otherwise known as ‘The Locker’, the market began as a butcher shop and expanded to become a grocery store (with a really great bakery).  Alas, I believe that they’ve closed now (although the meat operations may still be going – my ordinary parents will know).  Every time I’d visit my grandparents when I was a child, I’d ask grandma to buy me some of their raisin cookies.  They were moist – any time you tried to get one, you automatically got another one sticking to it.  Later on, I began to appreciate their pie, as well.
• My father – we have pretty much the same taste in food, as long as the food isn’t called ‘endive’, ‘kohlrabi’, or ‘dandelion’.  We’ll see how much overlap there is in this pie list.
• My Eastern Pennsylvania heritage – see shoofly.

And now, let the mouth-watering commence!

1) Mincemeat

2) Pecan

3) Shoofly

4) Apricot (with a little bit of tapioca as a thickener!)

5) Rhubarb (ditto on the tapioca)

Black Friday, Amish style

While the rest of the world was trampling over each other at Walmart this morning, my family went to the Amish bulk food store in Shipshewana.

As we neared the store, we saw a buggy cruising through an intersection a bit late, giving us this quote of the day: “Did that buggy just trot the red light?”

Once we got to the store it was surprisingly empty.  We stocked up on the usual items: flour, cocoa, spices, quinoa.

Some big guy with a NASCAR jacket took a big handful of cheese samples.  Just reached into the cup and grabbed them.  No toothpicks involved.  Youngest Daughter: “Can I have cheese?”  Me: “No.”

As we were leaving, we observed a lineup of around twenty buggies along the side of the building.  Gives new meaning to Black Friday.

Over the river and through the woods…

Well, here we are at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.  We traveled early this morning, instead of trying to fight Thanksgiving Eve traffic last night.  And just what does a three hour trip from the Chicago ‘burbs to north-central Indiana look like?  Here’s my view from the driver’s seat…

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“Who wants to see my proboscis?”  (Oldest Daughter, just out of the driveway)

“I’m sure glad we’re travelling this morning instead of last night.”  (Me to Ordinary Spouse, as we made two effortless left turns  where I’d normally encounter great volumes of traffic during my morning commute)

Six minutes into the trip, we get on the “fast road” (the general nickname for limited access road, which in this case is I-55).  This is the signal for the girls to request a DVD.  In goes Fraggle Rock.

About fifteen minutes later, we’re onto I-355 and crossing the “blue light bridge” over the Des Plaines River.  McMansions overlook the valley on the south side.  I spout opinions… “If I had half a million dollars to buy a house, I’d get something with more character than these boxes.”

Shortly thereafter, I remember my blog… “If I could live blog this trip, I would.” Instead, I ask ordinary spouse if she has paper and pencil.  She anticipates my next request and writes, “My ordinary assistant will hand write the whole thing.”  I comment that “ordinary assistant” will probably get replaced by “smart-alecky assistant” when the notes make it into print.

“Could you give me blana?”  (Youngest Daughter woke up five minutes before we left and didn’t have breakfast.  Now she wants a banana.)

All along, I’m sipping coffee.  I’ve got a great thermos.  Too great.  The coffee is scalding hot nearly all the way.

Ordinary Spouse is cleaning out her purse.  She finds a diaper.

From I-355 to I-80.  The opening bars of U2’s “Zoo Station” (from the album, “Achtung Baby”) are playing as we’re exiting from one to the other.  Makes for a nice transition.

We see a white flag with a red border and a blue star.  Ordinary Spouse speculates that it’s a Czech flag.  Turns out that it’s a flag displayed by the family of a member of the armed services serving in a dangerous location.  We learned something new.

Shortly after getting on I-80, an alert Ordinary Spouse kept me from rear-ending another car.  The road was nearly empty and there was no one in my lane, so I reached for my coffee.  At the same moment, a car in the left lane braked and pulled into my lane.  Then they proceeded to the right lane and accelerated again.  Not sure what that was about.

We cruise through the IPASS lane when I-294 merges with I-80.  It occurs to us that we have no idea how much toll we’re actually paying.

The billboards along the interstate near the Illinois-Indiana border are really classy.  (“Gamble 30 minutes and get a free buffet” or “All of the liquor; none of the clothes”.)  Ordinary Spouse comments on the first one. “Sounds like  a gamble to me.”

We’ve removed Fraggle Rock, which didn’t seem to be a big hit.  It’s been replaced by the Laurie Birkner Band. “This is like a rock star for kids,” says Middle Daughter.

Rain, rain, rain.

Onto the Indiana Turnpike (I-80/I-90).  We immediately stop at a rest area.  Coffee’s coming through.

We debate the spelling of “niece”.  I comment on the weird spelling of “weird”.

We see a flock sheep walking in formation.  Then we see a sheep dog calmly standing and calling to them.  No running involved.  Impressive.

We reached the end of “Achtung Baby”.  I spout more opinions: what makes an album more than the sum of the parts, and why “Achtung Baby” is one of those albums.

We pass the pond with the big musical instruments.  Time to exit the Turnpike.  On to the bypass around South Bend.  Ordinary Spouse phones her parents and tries to make them believe we still have two hours to go.  Actually, we only have about 45 minutes – we’ll be just in time for Thanksgiving dinner.

Michael Card’s “Starkindler”  is now playing.

Ordinary Spouse and I discuss Richard Rohr and right brain/left brain duality.

Off of the bypass and on to US-33 toward Goshen.

In Goshen, we spot a couple running from their house to their car, carrying a turkey.  They didn’t cover the bird.  It’s raining.

And then, 150 miles and two and a half hours later, we’ve made it.

Thanks to God for every blessing in our lives.  May the thanks we give today continue throughout the year.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Staying fit

(Sigh.)

I wish I were more disciplined about staying fit.  I’ve always struggled a bit with weight.  I don’t think I’ve ever hit “obese”, but I’ve certainly been overweight.  (Or, I may be in denial.)

Back in high school choir, the choir members had outfits that required fitting.  I distinctly remember going to the store that was doing this and being told by one of the employees, “You’re a bit chubby here!”  I considered that to be insulting and rude, and I never went back to that store.

But he was right.

During my undergraduate time at Goshen College, I spent one semester in Costa Rica.  During that time, my eating habits were excellent and the food was healthy.  I lost quite a bit of weight – don’t really know how much, but while I was there I had to put new holes in my belt to get it to fit my waist.  When I came home, I took up biking during the summer.  That was a good time for me.

When I started grad school, I had just gotten married.  I also purchased a bread machine about that time.  Not good.  Well – the bread was good, but its effects, combined with my lack of self-control and my wife’s great cooking, made for a steady weight gain.  Midway through grad school, I was about 45 pounds over my target weight, and I determined that I was going to do something about it.

And I did.

I ate less, I ate healthier, and I started exercising.  I biked to work, went swimming in the mornings, and took up jogging.  I actually got to the point where I was losing half a pound per day, and it was healthy weight loss.  I wasn’t starving myself or anything unhealthy like that.  I just did a major re-adjustment of my eating and exercise habits.  And I got down to a healthy weight.

Then my first daughter was born, and my discipline disappeared.

About five years later, I had put nearly all of the weight back on.  At this point, we had moved on and I had a postdoctoral research job.  Happily, there was an Olympic-sized swimming pool at the lab where I worked, and I got myself back into some healthier habits, and got my weight back to a healthier level.

And then my second daughter was born and we moved to our current house, and after about five years my weight was going way up again.

Which brings us to this year.  I determined that I needed to get my life under control again.  I had used some gift money toward starting a YMCA membership, and once again I began a diet and exercise plan.  It worked – I lost 35 pounds earlier this year.  Really – I should have lost more, but I became a bit comfortable with my success.  Then summer started, and I started spending time blogging, and…

Well, I’ve put back on most of the weight I’ve lost.  Really – it’s one of the biggest challenges to self-esteem that I face*, so I’m working at self-control again.  I need to reduce the food that I’m eating, and I need to get back into the swimming pool.  (I love swimming, although I wish the water at the ‘Y’ were a bit warmer.)  Staying in control of my diet and activity level is such a weakness for me.  But I thought that if I shared here, it might provide a bit of incentive to keep working, especially with the upcoming holiday season.

* I realize that we could discuss self-esteem and self-worth, and where those feelings come from, and what they should be based on, and so forth.  But it doesn’t change the fact that I need to modify my lifestyle.  Which is to say – I guess I don’t particularly care to discuss those thing right now.

So – watch this space for updates.  Perhaps I’ll reflect on other aspects of this journey that I haven’t mentioned here, such as the quality of food that we eat or the issue of justice and global nutrition.  And I’ll appreciate any prayers for discipline and gentle accountability nudges.

Here goes…

Turning the soil

We’ve had some really nice weather in the Chicago ‘burbs throughout this week and continuing today.  Although I had to put in a Saturday morning at work, I got home by early afternoon and (thanks to some prodding by Ordinary Spouse) was able to get out and enjoy it.

In our back yard, we have a small garden that OS tends.  There’s not much space, but I’m thankful for her efforts because the fruits of her labor add to our meals throughout the summer.  My favorite staples are probably tomatoes, cucumbers (which also show up as pickles), and arugula, but we get other things depending on which seeds in the catalog caught her fancy in January.  Turns out that this year we are still enjoying leeks and cilantro into mid-November.

Today, she wanted me to get the plot ready for winter (well – all except the patches of leek and cilantro) which consisted of taking down some rabbit fence, pulling some stakes, spreading some rich soil from our compost pile, and turning everything over just a bit.  I grumbled a bit as I was motivating my body out the door, but once outside the weather was so nice, and the work so rewarding, that I was thankful to be there.

Thanks to an Andrew Kreider song in my head, I got to thinking about the curse of the garden in Genesis.  Here are some excerpts from the song…

The soil in the garden, voluptuous and new
Bursting with promise and moist with the dew
Awakens in me the desire for you
To make me the work of your hand

We feasted that day without a care
Using spoonfuls of pepper that would singe your hair
A worm in my apple, breaking the curse
Renewing my love for the earth

“Our Souls Are Soil”
(from “Firebrands and Golden Strands)
by Andrew Kreider

Have you ever noticed in Genesis 3 that the curse is directed at the ground, and not at Adam?  And how in Romans, Paul says that “creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God”?  As my spade was breaking the ground, I was contemplating that line, “…breaking the curse, renewing my love for the earth”, and praying that God’s children would be a blessing to the ground.

In the chorus, Andrew’s song compares our own lives to the ground.  It’s rather profound:

Oh, our souls are soil.
Won’t you turn them gently?
Our souls are soil.
Won’t you turn them again?

If God the gardener is tending to the soil of my life, I hope there are some hot peppers planted.

Jack in his new home

Well, we’ve brought Jack home.  We made the trip to pick him up tonight, and he immediately figured out that something was up.  Half an hour later, we found him.  After his person caught up with him, we did introductions, gave Jack a little time to calm down, and then convinced him to come home with us.  We had  to trade kitty carriers, though, because Jack didn’t care for ours.

So we got home, and Ordinary Spouse gave Jack some TLC to soothe him after the trip.  Then we introduced Jack to his litter box^* – need to take care of the important stuff first!  Then we gave him some space.  After a while, Youngest Daughter squealed that he had taken cover under our futon.  And  now, two hours later, he is still there, defining his new kingdom.

* And what a litter box it is!  It is stocked with “World’s Best Cat Litter” which, according to the package is “safe, natural, clumpable scoopable, and flushable”.  However, the package also notes that “the state of California encourages the disposal of cat feces in trash and discourages flushing cat feces in toilets or disposing of them in drains.”  Who knows – maybe that’s what got California into the shape it’s in now.  Good thing we don’t live there.

I decided to celebrate the occassion with some Trader Joe’s Cat Cookies and some blogging.  Jack wasn’t impressed.

When did I see you hungry?

Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.

(Matthew 25.34-36, NRSV)

It is possible that there isn’t any passage in the Bible that makes me more uncomfortable than Matthew 25.31-46.  On a typical work day, I begin my morning in my house in suburbia, safely isolated from the world’s pains.  At the appropriate time, my garage door goes up, I pull out in my car, close the door remotely, and drive to work.  Once at work, I show my ID to a guard at the guardhouse, and drive through the gate and into a fenced-off research campus.  I carry out this process in reverse when it is time to go home, and I tuck myself safely into the garage once more.  Everything is clean and sterile.  Not once do I have to deal with anyone else’s reality.  For all I know, the whole world is middle class.

To be honest, I don’t know how to live with this.

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Four years ago, the biennial Mennonite convention was in Charlotte.  One evening, my family and my in-laws were walking back from supper, when we were approached by a man named Ronnie asking for money.  I excused myself from my family and spent some time talking with him.  Ronnie was intoxicated at the time, and freely admitted that he wanted money for another drink.  I told him that I wasn’t willing to get that for him, but that I’d buy him a meal.  After about a half hour, I guess he figured he wasn’t going to get money, so he took me up on the offer of a meal and told me that he’d really like some fried oysters.  Since I didn’t know the city well enough, he showed me where to buy some.  I got him some cole slaw and OJ, as well.  He also said that if I could find him additional help, he’d be willing to receive it.

After a few conversations with local people, I got in touch with Paul Hanneman at the Urban Ministry Center.  Yes – he knew Ronnie, and yes – they’d be pleased to work with him if he made his way to their center.  He also invited me to stop by for a visit.

I never was able to find Ronnie again, and when I visited later with Paul, he wasn’t particularly surprised.  “This story,” he said, “may be more about what God is doing in your life than in his.”

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This year in Columbus, I was again approached by someone on the street, and I immediately offered a meal again.  The gentleman accepted, and I decided that I needed to include something special.  We were right beside the North Market, so I dashed inside and bought a sandwich, chips, and a drink.  For dessert, I got a little box of truffles from Pure Imagination Choclatier.  I guess I took too long.  When I tried to find the man again, he had moved on.  So I did a bit more searching and was able to share with another brother with a warm smile.

Again, I think that this story probably has more to do with God working in my heart, than with any good that I’ve done.

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I was inspired to share my stories, because Cindy Miller is also sharing hers.  In the current issue of The Mennonite, she talks about a reunion that she recently had with a man named Ken, who she had met two years ago during the Mennonite Convention in San Jose.  I was glad to see that others have some of the same struggles and questions that I have.  I’ll conclude this blog with some of her thoughts…

What would Jesus do? Would he just give them money? Though it is much easier to just hand them a dollar bill and walk past, I instead take the time to go find food with and for them.

Two things happen when I do this. One, I don’t feel used when I wonder if my money is going to a chemical addiction. Two, I spend a moment of quality time with a person who may well be starved for respect from society. That’s what I believe Jesus would do.

Chocolate cupcakes

Here’s a little exchange from our house today:

Oldest Daughter:  Can I have a 4th cupcake? You can say no if you want to.

Ordinary Mommy:  If you are really hungry you can have another one. If you’re not really hungry, you should stop.

OD:  I think I will stop.

Middle Daughter:  My monkey wants to stop, but I want one more!

I guess the monkey can’t speak for itself.

(By the way, if you’re wondering what kind of mother would allow her daughter to eat four cupcakes, it’s the kind of mother who has a secret recipe that includes red beets and applesauce.  Never let ‘em know that it’s healthy.)

Small joys… pecans

When I was young, my paternal grandparents lived about twenty minutes from my house.  My parents would frequently take my sister and me to their place on Friday night and then pick us up again the next day.  They had shagbark hickory trees on their property and grandpa kept a can of nuts in the basement.  My recollection is that it was a milk can from their days as farmers.  I’d take nuts into his wood shop, crack the shells, and eat the fruit.

Recently, I was eating a pecan and wondering why it tasted familiar and in some ways comforting.  Upon consulting wikipedia, I discovered that pecans are hickory nuts.  Don’t know why I never put two and two together.  Now, whenever I eat one of those, I’m immediately back in the shop.

You see, this really isn’t about food.  It’s about memory; it’s about heritage; it’s about love.