the green-eyed monster

If I ever check out this one friend's wall on facebook I can't help but feel jealous and insecure. She's beautiful, successful, has way fewer kids than me (so her life is obviously easier than mine (that was sarcasm, if you didn't know)), is skinnier than me, has more money than me...I'm sure I can come up with more.

It's ridiculous, I know. It's juvenile, I know. It's like she makes me feel like I'm back in high school again with all those "Am I good/cool/skinny enough?" thoughts. I hate it. I have actually outgrown those insecurities. (Thank you, God!) But for some reason this one person drags it all back up again. The crazy part is that I'm completely aware of how skewed online personas can be, since most people only report the rosy everything's-going-good stuff. I know that everyone has crap they have to deal with and everyone has different strengths. We really can't compare ourselves since God made us all with unique purposes. That knowledge is all up in my head, but when she's on the screen, I can't feel it in my heart. So what to do?

Right now it's blaringly obvious to me that I need to get some Divine help. If anyone can get this ridiculousness sorted, it's Him.

And why did I even post this for the world to see? Ummm...the good answer is "If it just helps one person, it's worth it." Yeah, right. But the real answer is, "I just had to get off facebook because of her and I'm tired and should be in bed and felt like posting some honest/transparent stuff."

Nitey nite.

anonymity.

I flirt with the idea of doing a completely anonymous blog. (My friend said she was toying with the idea and that got me started thinking about it.) A blog that is linked to an unknown email and which has no outward connection to me at all. It would be a faceless voice in the blogo-void. I could say anything I wanted about anyone and no one would know.

In having a known blog I have to use restraint in posting. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I think twice before blabbing all about this funny thing to happened to the people near and dear to my heart. But an anonymous blog? No such restraint would be necessary. No one would know who was typing, nor would they know who it was about. Ah, the bliss.

But that got me thinking more. What good would this do me? And the more I thought, the more I realized that it would be more harmful than anything, at least for me. It might be freeing to type whatever I want, but self-control and restraint are two virtues that most people, especially me, need to exercise. And if I'm spilling my guts to the interwebs that can do nothing to help me, will I really want to repeat the whole thing to God who can actually do something about it? 

So my answer is no. No anonymous blogging for me. But it was a nice thought while it lasted.

india...could we meet in the near future?

I've been enamored with India lately. The food, the cinema, the culture...it's fascinating.

I've been cooking out of Madhur Jaffrey's cookbooks and my only complaint is that my husband doesn't like curry. *heavy sigh* Fortunately he's a non-complaining, adventurous sort, so I can overlook his curry-hating shortcoming. (For the record, Madhur's Moghlai Eggs from either Quick & Easy Indian Cooking or Simple Indian Cookery (I can't remember which) are amazing!!)

And while they are cheesier than all get out, I have fallen for Bollywood and Hindi cinema. For one thing, I love learning about the culture. Sure they're not entirely accurate, they are movies after all, but I have been able to glean certain cultural aspects. For instance, it is a sign of respect to an elder to touch their foot with your hand.

I also love how clean the movies are. The conclusion of the movie, the resolution to the romantic turmoil that we have witnessed for the last three hours (that's usually how long they are) is that the lovers embrace with a very emotional, intense...hug. The first time this happened I felt a little ripped off. I mean, they should kiss, right? Then it happened again. And again...and again. I realized this is just how it is and now I'm used to it. The newest movies aren't as conservative, but when compared to what Hollywood has become...it's a nice change.

Two of my favorites: Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (this is the longest running movie in history, over 15 years in the theatre. First half is pretty cheesy but if you can survive it, the 2nd half is good.)  and  Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (If you read the Netflix description it will give you the wrong impression (like most Netflix descriptions). This is a beauty-and-the-nerd story and has nothing to do with age.)

I just finished watching the PBS mini-series, The Story of India, and realized that in all of my 16 years of formal education the only things I learned of India's history concerned the British Raj and Gandhi. Those events are such a tiny fragment of what has happened in that region and I find it sad that the only things I know are those that are connected with the West. Well, it won't happen to my kids. They aren't only going to learn about one half of the globe for two reasons: 1) I want them to be knowledgeable about all of God's people, all of Earth's citizens, not just those from the West and 2) I want to learn it, too.

One more thing...Did I mention the colors? How can you not love a culture that embraces red, fuschia, turquoise, orange, and yellow? And the spices...have you smelled cardamom and cinnamon? Oh! and the masala chai? How can anyone not love a cup of that brewed deliciousness? (For the record, 'chai' means 'tea', so saying, "chai tea" is like saying, "tea tea." Pretty silly, right? Technically you should say "masala chai" which means 'spiced tea.' But of course, Americans don't know that and if you said, "Can I have a Masala Chai?" you'd probably just get a silent, I-Don't-Know-What-You-Are-Talking-About stare.) (Great recipe right here.)

I've also have been reading travel websites (good one here) about all sorts of things like the realities of seeing India's poverty as well as how to ease yourself into Indian food. Now if I only had multiple thousands of extra dollars to get there...

I guess that's why we have the internet, right?

surprse! we didn't die!

We went to a small, local, organic dairy (small = only 11 of the 23 Jersey's being milked when we were there) a few days ago and bought our first raw milk. It was a bit jaw-droppingly spendy at $10/gallon but we were willing to try it out after reading all the nasty crap about today's milk industry of pasteurization and homogenization. Also, my husband can't drink milk or eat too much cheese or ice cream. He can eat things baked with milk like muffins or cake, but he can't have milk-based soups or gravies. We had heard that people who have milk issues can dink raw milk so we thought we'd give it a try.

The verdict? Oh, dear Heavenly God. Raw milk is so much better than you can imagine. (That might be a tinge overexagerrated.) It smells better and tastes better. At first we couldn't quite figure out what was so different, taste- and smell-wise, but then it dawned on us: pasteurization! Pasteurization is cooking the milk and while we've never noticed it before (since we had nothing with which to compare it) it is an obvious flavor when it is absent. Store-bought milk tastes like cooked milk.

Perty lil' Jersey

The kids all thought the raw milk was much better and kept asking us, "Can I have a bowl of cereal with the real milk?" (We still had a little store-bought milk leftover, which we were making them use up first.)


The best part of all was that my husband can drink it and it doesn't upset his stomach at all. We did a little research and found out why. When milk is pasteurized it kills all the bad jumk but it also kills the good stuff. One of the "good guys" that are killed are enzymes that help your body digest the milk itself. So when my husband was drinking store-bought milk, he was getting the milk but without the enzymes to digest it. (Apparently some people just don't have them. Sorry, Hubby.) Raw milk has the enzymes so he can drink it just fine.



Overall we are so pleased that we will be making budget adjustments in order to accomodate this new expsense because we think the benefits of raw milk so outweigh the cheapness of that pasteurized store-bought stuff that used to be milk. It's still hard to swallow the $10 price tag, but hey! as soon as the cows come off their winter feed the price drops to $8! Which, although still expensive, isn't too much of a jump from organic milk...

chop chop choppy time

I'm going to be getting my hair chopped off. 

I have it narrowed down to three choices. 

Unfortunately, I think my hair is thicker than both Michelle's and Shannyn's.
But gosh darn it, that's what I want!

ta da!!

Now this accomplishment may not be a big deal to some, but to me it's huge. I finished a project that ended up taking two years, ten months and 24 days. I finished it. FINISHED IT! Do you understand?

I started this babette blanket in February 2008 with a bag of yarn and a dream. A thought. An aspiration to make something substantial. And though it has been taken up and put down more times than I can count, by gum, I've shown this Babette who it was dealing with.

The weather conspired. (Have you ever tried to crochet a nice heavy afghan in the middle of a humid Houston summer?) So I had to take multiple months-long breaks. And then tragedy struck more than once. For example, with only two more yarn ends to sew in before the triumph of completion I realized that at some point I had snipped a strand in the middle of one of the squares and it was trying its best to covertly unravel itself. No need to fear, I knotted that traitor back up. But it was similar circumstances that tried to hold me back. I was not held down for ever, though. Not this time, baby. Oh no. You are the beginning of a new trend. Oh yes. I've got plans:

Nothing will ever go undone again. Ever. I will finish it ALL.

Okay, I might be getting swept up in the superlative moment, but I'm so proud of myself for actually finishing this thing that it's downright shameful. Sorry. But if you really know me, you understand and will even forgive me. I've got to revel in it while it lasts. Who knows when the next triumph of self-discipline and pure unadulterated will power will rear its glorious head?

So you might be asking, "What lesson can I glean from this tale of overcoming triumph?" Only this: If I can finish an entire afghan and have it not end up wadded into a ball in the back of some forgotten cupboard only to be found 50 years later when relatives are cleaning out the estate of their dearly departed Tricia, anyone can finish anything. And that's the God-honest truth.

nanowrimoing gopher

I'm right in the middle of NaNoWriMo, (National Novel Writing Month) and am exactly where I'm supposed to be. (finished day 12, yesterday, with 20,000 words) In order to get 50,000 words by the end of the month I use all my free time at night to write. Crazy thing is that I really like it. I don't think I've exposed myself to an obsession, but it's definitely something I might look forward to every year.

But, I'm procrastinating right now. I really need to be moving my plot along but my head is doing that deep-in-the-background pounding created by a migraine of insane proportions that can only be dulled, not eradicated, by a higher-than-recommended dosage of Advil floating though my veins. At this moment, the idea of creating a literary something from nothing creates a smidgen of apprehension which causes a slight increase in blood pressure resulting in an immediate increase in tempo of the drum corp in my head. I'm just waiting for the two cups of coffee to increase the size of my brain veins and hopefully in concert with that Advil, the magic will be wrought, bringing peace by firing said snare drums. Unfortunately, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is one of those headaches that will only be satisfied by my sacrifice of complete sensory deprivation via a night of sleep. Dang it!

I don't really have anything important to say, just wanted to stick my head out and holler, "Hey there!" I dream that one day I'll be this disciplined, enlightened blogger with a huge following, but then I remember that blogging isn't my hobby, it's just something I do. I've recently realized that to be great at something you really need to dedicate a significant portion of your free time to it. (I know, seems obvious. But I find that most things I don't actively think about, when I actually take the time to apply thought, I'm surprised by what pops out. For instance, my dad used to say "'Tough titty,' said the kitty when the milk went dry." instead of saying "Tough luck, buddy." I always knew it meant "That's just too bad" but I had heard it so much I never really thought about the exact words he used. When I was in college, yes college!, I actually thought about that little saying and realized that poor little kitten's mommy had a hardened up teat. I was flabbergasted! And of course my dad laughed his head off when I told him "I got it." But that's my point. I could have figured it out years ago, but I never actively applied thought. I just accepted it and moved on. I hope you understand now because I'm not going to explain it anymore for this might be my record for a parenthesized explanation.)

I am not a monogamous hobbier. There are too many fish in the sea, as it were. I barely have time for crocheting, bike riding, garden planning (I'm hoping to move into the execution phase of the plans any day now. Yep, any day), video gaming, movie watching, laborious recipe cooking, baking, internet puttering, reading. And I haven't even tried all the things I'm interested in yet. There's still belly-dancing, knitting, cheese-making, soap-making, sailing,  motorcycle camping...the list keeps growing the longer I'm alive. And so I need to resign myself to the fact that I am, in reality, a gopher blogger. I pop up every once in a while and then go back to the other stuff I'm filling my life with.

It would be awesome to be one of those obsessive single-activity people, but alas! not me.

Okay, enough procrastinating. Back to my novel...

PS - I finally got to watch Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland...Loved it! The absolute randomness of Lewis Carroll married to the crazy, albeit oftentimes a little too dark for me, imagination of Burton worked perfectly.