the queen of dumb injuries.

15 Jan
I once popped my knee cap by sitting down.
Have I told you that story?  I was in high school and still riding the bus home from school.  I got on the bus this particular fall day and just as I was somehow twisting my body to sit in the seat, the bus started to move, and that caused my knee cap to pop.  My knee cap was seriously sticking out where it should not have been sticking out.  
I tapped Matt on the shoulder.  Matt was, at the time, one of my friend’s boyfriend.  Look at my knee!  He looked, said, That’s not normal! and then sat back down.  The bus driver could see there was some kind of commotion in the back but I assured her it was fine.  The knee cap popped back into place without much prodding and, really, it did feel okay.  Not too much pain.
Until it was my turn to get off the bus and I could barely make it down the aisle and across the road.  I stayed at the end of the driveway while my dad backed the pickup to where I was and then took me to the emergency room.  I was on crutches and had a knee brace.
That was dumb injury number one.
Dumb injury number two?
I hurt my back.  I feel about 84 when I say that.  I’m on a steady diet of ibuprofen and watching me get out of bed to turn off my alarm is painful, both to do and to watch.  How did I hurt my back?
I was walking.
It was Sunday morning and I was walking to church.  I had my computer in my purse slung over my shoulder, as I always do, and I stopped at the mailbox to grab the church mail from the weekend.  As I walked across the parking lot, I could feel something beginning to happen in my back.  It started to spasm and, well, hurt.
Did you slip on ice? people ask me.  No.
Did you step funny?  Nope.
Did you twist weird?  Not that I recall.  
I was walking.  The queen of dumb injuries rests her case.

rollercoaster.

9 Jan
My work week has been a rollercoaster and, frankly, I’m not thrilled about it.
Sunday was fine.  Back from vacation.  Feeling fresh.  I think people learned a little about epiphany.  Linda, a member who wrote a book about her life with polio and keeps a blog, actually wrote about the service in a post.  Check it.
Monday sucked.  My to do list was long, I felt swamped, and found my list of to do filled with menial tasks that seemingly lacked ministry.  Figure out who needs keys for the church.  Buy a dvd player for the church.  Phone calls.  Newsletter.  I was just crabby and it made for a bad day.  [Then I kickboxed, made pad thai, and watched The Bachelor so there was improvement.]
Tuesday was good.  I had a productive office morning/ministerium meeting in Blooming and then was off to Austin for visits – some really profound, holy visits.  My first visit was to a man who is dying.  He was tired, laying down, and had “taken his ears out.”  The family said I could go in a say hi and to communicate they handed me a white board and a red dry-erase marker.  I would write on the board, show it to him, and he would nod or give me a hand gestures.  It went something like this: Hi.  It’s Pastor Lindsay. / Would you like communion today? [nods yes. give communion.] / The body and blood of Jesus given for you. [nod.] /  We are praying for you. [gestures to hold my hand.]  It was a pretty holy place.
Today was not horrible … but confirmation – my beloved confirmation – threw me for a loop tonight.  We hadn’t met for actual confirmation class since the end of November; maybe our rhythm was just off.  But between one of the kids making a gay joke [I might have jumped on that a little too harshly.], cell phones, secrets, and just gross disinterest [I may be slightly exaggerating.], it was so frustrating.  I made me completely question what the hell I’m doing for structure and how badly I’ve screwed it up.  [Of course I immediately blame myself.]  Shit.
But hey – if the course of the week continues, tomorrow will be awesome.  Here’s hoping.

a british sunday.

7 Jan
It was all scones and tea for us last night as we gathered to watch the two hour premiere of Downton Abbey last night.  As with most Sunday evenings, we – the pastors, Charlie cat, & Charlie person – joined forces and spoke in British accents.   On Sundays past, we have gathered to watch Once Upon a Time but so sorry, crazy fairy tale characters and crazy plots, Downton Abbey is a trump card.
Do you watch Downton?  Check out this fun summary of the first two seasons whether you’ve seen them or not.  It’s fun.
In other news, I was kickboxing in my living room tonight and accidentally side kicked Mabel in the side of the face. I apologized but I’m not sure she’s forgiven me yet.

my contribution.  i was just excited to use my two-tiered serving tray.

homemade christmas/epiphany crackers.

I cry.

5 Jan
I figured out a tear trigger for me.
I always cry at animal movies, but really can’t say I’m the biggest animal person in the world.  I mean, I like animals but don’t really care an extraordinary amount about the gorilla at the zoo.  I’ve always wondered why I cry so when the people are saving the whale or helping the dog get home.
I cry at underdog movies.  Movies where the baseball team comes from behind after working together.  Or the movies when the bigger and better team/person/etc. moves to help the smaller and horrible team/person/etc.  Or the movies where the townsfolk support the awkward guy who buys a life-size sex doll and pretends it’s his girlfriend.  [Okay.  That’s just one movie and it’s called Lars and the Real Girl.]  
Then, tonight, I cried at this.  This ten year old boy in Philadelphia saves up his allowance money to give to the local animal shelter because he loves cats so much and he wants them to find homes.  Seriously, Lindsay?
I think I’m a sucker for people who help.  I’m a sucker for the people who bond together for a common cause – whether to save a whale or change someone’s life or give someone another chance.   I even cried during the latest Spiderman movie when all the construction workers moved their cranes to help Spidey travel through the city.  
I wish I was joking but nope.  There were actual tears.
They bonded together to help Spiderman and I turned into a puddle.  
Geez.  

favorite things.

5 Jan
1. Downton Abbey premiere.  Season three.  Tomorrow night.  I printed off paper dolls.  Don’t judge.
2. Rice noodles.  I’m not much of a pasta person, but for this Asian food staple, I go a bit crazy.
3.  Ruzzle.  It’s a new word game my sister introduced me to – one you play on your phone.  Find me and let’s play; I can almost nearly certainly guarantee that you’ll win.  [I’m not very good.]
4.  The Bachelor begins on Monday night.  Again, please don’t judge.
5.  Dreaming up service projects for Lent.  Health kits, anyone?
6.  Haircuts.
7.  Clean sheets and a freshly-made bed.
8.  Epiphany crackers.  [I ordered cracker snaps to make Christmas crackers but they did not come in time.  Instead, I will make them to celebrate the visit of the magi.  Quite appropriate, actually, as they traditionally come with crowns.]
In addition, favorite things are not: organizing my bedroom closet, preparing the newsletter for church, laundry, feeling absolutely overwhelmed at work, Saturday sermon writing, how boring mail becomes after Christmas, and red delicious apples.
Image

a story.

2 Jan

adios, 2012.

1 Jan
If I told you that I ushered out 2012 with a bang, then my first post of 2013 would begin with a lie.  I spent New Year’s Eve with my sister and my aunt, eating dinner, drinking vodka slush, and watching Butter.  [It’s a satirical movie about butter carving competitions in Iowa.  I found it hilarious.]  I was in bed by 11.  Party on, Wayne.
But really, it was okay.  It had been a long week at home.  I began the week exhausted from three days of church services and exhaustion of all kinds [emotional, social, physical] continued with the service for Grandpa Sid on Saturday.  Between the visitation preceding and the service, it was estimated we greeted nearly 400 people.  No wonder this introvert was tired.  Throw in odd sleeping hours and eating, well, not well, and the whole week is almost a blur.  
I’m home in Austin, settling in for the night to prepare for a funeral that is tomorrow morning.  I felt before I could write that sermon, I must write to you.  It’s been sporadic of late, and I feel I owe you some sort of 2012 wrap up.  All the other bloggers are doing it.
2012 favorites:
1. Vacation on the north shore and sea kayaking.
2. Auditioning for MasterChef.  
3. Vacation with Kate to the woods.
5. National Youth Gathering in New Orleans.
6. I love composting and how it decreases my garbage. 
7. Perfecting iced coffee, raw oatmeal, and plain microwave popcorn.
8. Local family parties. [Oscar and lefse to name a few.]
9. Volunteering at school.
10. Many new babies!  [Below: the most recent Banana baby I met while home!]
Mason Miles.  He’s a cutie pie.
Certainly, it’s both a trivial and logical list.  
Certainly, there is much more that belongs on the list.  
Certainly, one can’t sum up a year in a single post.  
Any goals for 2013? you ask.  I’m refraining from setting actual goals or resolutions.  Sure, I want to exercise more, sleep more, try more new recipes, go on adventures to new places, create freely, and tackle those books on my ever-growing to-read list.  But instead of setting anything tangible to any of those, I think it can be summed up otherwise.  I look to 2013 with this –

Today is the first blank page of a 365 page book.  Write a good one.

merry christmas, mabel.

27 Dec
You know you’ve made it and you’ve been accepted into a congregation when your dog gets Christmas presents.
It was handed to me last Sunday morning.  The tag, right below the bow, said To: Mabel.  From: Shad and Gracie.
I let Mabel open it when I got home that morning.  She loved it.

Mabel is at the kennel now, while I’m home on vacation/for Geep’s funeral.  I dropped her off on Christmas Eve morning and I received a phone call Christmas Eve night.  Mabel had been in a fight.  A dog scuffle.  She tried to take a bone from another dog and got her hind quarters handed to her.  There was a nick out of her ear and a gash on her butt.  Poor Mabel.

bye for now.

22 Dec
My Grandpa Sid [affectionately Geeps, Gpa, Popsicle and many other terms of endearment] died last night.  He had been on hospice for many months and just in the last week moved into an assisted living facility.  He was 91 and pretty awesome.
I’ll always remember as a child, together with a brother or cousin or something, Grandpa pushing us down an icy hill as we sat cross-legged in a metal bushel basket.  He’d give it a good twist before letting us go too.  I know – it doesn’t sound safe and it likely wasn’t, but, boy, it was fun for a little kid.  Such is farm life.
I remember him always walking to the bookshelf to get the atlas whenever I was at his house visiting. We’d have to look up my flight pattern to Africa or find out exactly where Dawson is or discuss the route I was taking to Alaska.  He liked that atlas.
I remember him always leaving after communion during church if the sermon was too long.  Preachers – take note.  He didn’t understand why church should take longer than an hour and breached the topic with me many times once I was ordained.
I’ll remember the way his laugh was practically silent when you got him laughing really hard.  It was usually the boy brothers and boy cousins who could get him going.  Oh, and the way he always responded when you asked him how he was.  Pretty good, *insert name of person asking*, pretty good with a gentle head nod.  It’s become a bit of a catch phrase in the family; I remember even getting a little Logan to say it on repeat.
Oh, Grandpa, with your pinstripe overalls and tight script handwriting.  He was a pretty great penpal too.  He sent me a birthday letter just a few weeks ago with the latest happenings.  His closing is pretty perfect too.  Bye for now.  Sounds about right, Gpa.  Bye for now.

ps. here is a post I wrote in August about the cuteness of Gpa.

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an open letter to raspberries.

21 Dec
[Open letters are cool.  Everyone is writing them now.  I tend to address mine to food.  Check out my apology to hamballs here.]
Dear raspberries,

I’ll be honest.  You know me – I’m not afraid of honesty.
I used to not like you.
When someone offered me raspberries,  I would politely decline.  No thank you.  When raspberries were on a fruit platter, I would kindly pass over for the strawberries, the pineapple, the anything-but-you.  I don’t want your seeds in my teeth, raspberries, I would tell you.  Seeds.  Gross.  You’re gross.
It was this past summer I learned how … delicious you are.  I learned to live with your seeds, but yet, at the same time, avoid chomping and seed-in-teeth-severe-lodging.  You were my favorite fruit to mix in yogurt and oatmeal.  I would grab a handful of you to snack on.  I was constantly buying you at the store.
I found a new use for you this weekend.  I had some of your frozen friends in my freezer.  I had a bottle of clear soda left over from the confirmation party.  And then Marilyn gave me this for a Christmas present –

She knows me so well.  Wine and chocolate.  Throw one of those mini bottles in a glass with a touch of clear soda and some of you, dear raspberries, and it is utterly delicious.  You make my lame Friday night of the treadmill, laundry, and Lars and the Real Girl a little more exciting.  
And for that, raspberries, I thank you.  I take back anything I may have said ill of you in the past, and I profess my love for you, seeds and all.  That’s what love is, right?  Loving as the fruit is; faults, seeds, and all else.
Thanks for being there for me, raspberries.  Thanks for not giving up on me.  Because, as it turns out, you’re delightful.
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