tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82549573136629636202024-02-18T20:51:29.881-06:00thankful housewe have a lot going on around here - food, education, parenting, worship -and throughout it all, we hope to give thanksAnn Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.comBlogger294125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-72817608273336672662022-11-21T10:59:00.001-06:002022-11-21T10:59:39.672-06:00The Lives of Great Men <p><i> Earlier this month, a dear man in my life unexpectedly died. His wife, Ellen, asked me to speak at his funeral. It was an honor and a privilege. I have re-created below, to the best of my ability, my remarks. As Ellen said afterwards, "As John would have wanted, you didn't read from a transcript, but do the best you can to transcribe it for me." </i></p><p><i>The funeral order of service called my remarks "A Word of Witness" - how perfectly appropriate. My Methodist brothers and sisters will teach me new things when I least expect it. </i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL1tn5jULo48zg9__radQUeKwde3EttiEmoVU_z-OSmkF18YjbgqkmY2l6Syqbyg0JtkJa9ECf6ipIFYsmiTcQqHWzDIbyKq0RTSKLq-RDZg9B3UNrzd9-PPaZvqlhS0MoJ_vHK8b66kVmE8Psk8bgmjbSfhDi-f18lg1m42pshMJDvj7oWUuGa7C/s4032/IMG_7183.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL1tn5jULo48zg9__radQUeKwde3EttiEmoVU_z-OSmkF18YjbgqkmY2l6Syqbyg0JtkJa9ECf6ipIFYsmiTcQqHWzDIbyKq0RTSKLq-RDZg9B3UNrzd9-PPaZvqlhS0MoJ_vHK8b66kVmE8Psk8bgmjbSfhDi-f18lg1m42pshMJDvj7oWUuGa7C/s320/IMG_7183.heic" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><u>A Word of Witness at the Funeral Service for John Wilson Winkle </u></p><p>When Ellen was in touch this past weekend to let me know that we would too soon lose John, <i> </i>I was untethered. I went into a Faulnerian, southern gothic wailing and mourning. I took to the bed. In the early part of the week, after John had died, I would tell friends when they asked about my puffy face, "Dr. Winkle, a beloved professor of mine, died unexpectedly." And it seemed odd to me that I was wracked with sobs for a man I kept referring to by his surname.</p><p>When Ellen was in touch to ask if I would represent John's students here today, I realized why I was untethered. It was because of that exact tension. For hundreds, if not thousands, John Winkle was that beautiful harmony of authority and friend. </p><p>And in that, he imaged his Creator. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>In 2002, I matriculated at Ole Miss, at John's beloved Honors College. He was an idea guy, and Dr. Sullivan-Gonzales, Dr. Sammonds, and others had taken that idea and were running with it. I was an early recipient of theirs - and others' - determination to serve the students of Mississippi. When I was registering for classes, John Winkle's name popped up as having an Honors 101 section. My father suggested I take it - because he had had Dr. Winkle at Ole Miss 25 years before and declared him one of the best teachers of his life. I didn't like the time the class was and, at 18, didn't think my daddy really knew much. </p><p>But, in the spring of my freshman year, I was longing for Mock Trial. I had competed and loved it in high school and learned that there was a national collegiate competition, but that Ole Miss didn't have a program. Daddy suggested I email John Winkle to help me get one started. And this time I listened. </p><p>And so, John and I began together. He didn't really know a lot about Mock Trial, but he just did the thing - because he had a student who was interested in doing it. And he loved it with me. </p><p>We formed a team. And in that, John taught me the beginnings of how to lead. </p><p>In the fall of my sophomore year, I did two things that changed my life forever. I got pregnant (accidentally - being nineteen and unmarried) with my first chid and I enrolled in Dr. Winkle's Con Law class. In that, I had the best teacher I've ever had - and became a permanent teacher to my daughter. </p><p>For three years, John and I led the Mock Trial program together. He laughed and served - and stayed in awful hotels with us. He let us be young - but he occasionally had one beer with us, and took joy in that moment where we let him into our youth. </p><p>John was not one to blur boundaries - always holding that godly tension of authority and friend. He managed to let us in without letting down the waterline of his own household. But being a single Mama gave me an "in" if you will, and Ellen entered my life. </p><p>John and Ellen nurtured and loved - and yet respected and never interfered. They recognized that I was a child and yet a mother, and they quietly expected me to grow up. </p><p>And when John expected something of you, you wanted to do it. So, I set about becoming an adult. And adults have people for supper. When my husband and I became engaged, we invited the Meacham Winkles for supper. I made this old chicken pasta dish of my mother's, which is very good. When it is served hot. Unfortunately, with all my swirling around trying to make my little apartment hospitable and grown-up, I put supper on the table quite cold. He saw that I was trying to do what he expected of me and that I needed encouragement to keep at it. He could have criticized or advised - instead he grinned and ate every bite and lied and told me it was so good. </p><p>During my wedding preparations, we decided we would have only family. I had one of the larger wedding arguments with my mother about John and Ellen. I said, "Only family sounds good - except the Winkle Meachams." Mama said, "No. It will open up a can of worms." I said, "John and Ellen will be there." I got my way very little during wedding planning with my mother, but that was one I won. </p><p>John was my advisor for my honors college thesis, and after I graduated, he became a consistent life advisor as well. I would write long emails processing through my various quarter-life crises. These were mostly self-indulgent, but he would always respond with the advice I was asking for. At one particular time, he responded with a long, exhortative and encouraging message. In it, he said: </p><blockquote><p>We, you and I, love to read and to think and to study and to read and to think some more. We are perennial students. We embrace the intellectual enterprise. I did not change who I am to become a college professor. I became a college professor because of who I am. </p></blockquote><p>John Winkle was willing to exhort, and yet was always for me. Ellen remarked in his obituary that John had always lamented losing out the title of <i>wittiest</i> in high school. But I know why he lost. Though he was a man of a quick and rapier wit, he was too earnest for <i>witty</i> to characterize him fully. </p><p>It was very difficult to disappoint John Winkle. Not because he was a relativist, but because he was humble. It simply wasn't about him. It was about service to others - to the world he was given to serve. In this, John imaged his God yet again - and this time his Savior. </p><p>I am a committed Presbyterian, so I know that one cannot work his way to heaven. But if one could, John would be a candidate. </p><p>Longfellow wrote a great poem called Psalm of Life, and the last three stanzas represents what John Winkle was to his hundreds of students. </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">Lives of great men all remind us </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"> We can make our lives sublime, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">And, departing, leave behind us </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"> Footprints on the sands of time; </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">Footprints, that perhaps another, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"> Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"> Seeing, shall take heart again. </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">Let us, then, be up and doing, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"> With a heart for any fate; </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">Still achieving, still pursuing, <span style="text-indent: -1em;"> </span> </div></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="text-indent: -1em;"> Learn to labor and to wait.</span> </div></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><p>Why is John so great in the memories of his students who still remember him as <i>Dr. Winkle</i>? Why do we, when shipwrecked, look back and take heart? Why does his mere memory make me want to be up and doing for any fate? He was delightful and witty and bright and kind. But there was that something extra. <br /><br />In that letter in which John was exhorting me, he ended with a sentence which I believe encapsulates what he gave each of us. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_Glfv3Fd0n6xk95ogMTfuEZWRA-RQs16VGQX2sKpq-06rwPBDAQ5czC9jK2Tmv-WkASbDwvKpOCxXbrmgofqQdKYUyftbk118wTkFvFS5yti3zvUWbYWmsVmalNIGwRx_mYbGutDP3bEziFgzh-VBveDMn_hZRbjqxx2qBb2M-fQF6RhiINo5r6A/s4032/IMG_7184.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_Glfv3Fd0n6xk95ogMTfuEZWRA-RQs16VGQX2sKpq-06rwPBDAQ5czC9jK2Tmv-WkASbDwvKpOCxXbrmgofqQdKYUyftbk118wTkFvFS5yti3zvUWbYWmsVmalNIGwRx_mYbGutDP3bEziFgzh-VBveDMn_hZRbjqxx2qBb2M-fQF6RhiINo5r6A/s320/IMG_7184.heic" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><i>"Ann Lowrey - I have the utmost confidence in you. I always have. John." </i></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><p></p><blockquote><p> </p></blockquote><blockquote><p> </p></blockquote>Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-70529760060787999132021-11-22T08:39:00.000-06:002021-11-22T08:39:01.557-06:00Gobbling - and Hobbling (with Ina's help) - to Gratitude <p><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcE2a6S_GxCwfjU5OLRHXihGbRkBX9HlZB2Apztz09qObDWqSwi6F-CJzishglvQTWYHJq_JE8GoZ1rSeQYvruUGp7u9KgmoYgLIGa_AUhSSdNURbnT0VUw8hXg66vinC99q1wudLyPU8/s2048/6743113A-7843-4180-9582-77A90DED33BB.heic" imageanchor="1" style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcE2a6S_GxCwfjU5OLRHXihGbRkBX9HlZB2Apztz09qObDWqSwi6F-CJzishglvQTWYHJq_JE8GoZ1rSeQYvruUGp7u9KgmoYgLIGa_AUhSSdNURbnT0VUw8hXg66vinC99q1wudLyPU8/w631-h474/6743113A-7843-4180-9582-77A90DED33BB.heic" width="631" /></a></p><p>It's that time of the year! Only ten days until Thanksgiving, so it's time to actually put together a menu. And now this drafting of the menu has been begun and rebegun and finally dragged to four days before the big day. Which is pretty typical of life right now. We are hobbling. </p><p>This will be the sixteenth Thanksgiving since we've been married, and I've loved hosting a gathering each year. I cannot believed I deigned to hostess thanksgiving when I was 22, but I did. I wonder at all the family - and friends - who came over those first years. But then again I don't. I mean - why not go to the idealists house with dust bunnies in the corner and fancy china on the table. It has to at least be amusing. </p><p>We love having thanksgiving. We love going all out - beyond all that is reasonable - and without any distractions. Christmas is the best, but it is so big. Thanksgiving is about one thing - relishing in that over which we get to give thanks to God. </p><p>I have new china I bought for a steal from a family friend this summer. A whole big set with lots of pieces. I have fancy linen, embroidered napkins I brought home from Greve, Italy, the most charming town in the history of christendom, nestled in the midst of Tuscany. I have a brand new niece who is coming to sit in the infant seat in the corner. Despite the hobbling, we are going all out. Because we worship a God who went all out. We bear his image, and we get to create and celebrate and give thanks. </p><p>Also connected to our excess is that Thanksgiving is very much my service to the extended family, at least in the celebratory category. At Christmas, I have too many children to be of much use to the rest of the world. I'm not big on birthdays. This is my yearly magnum opus. And so, it is excessive by design. </p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>Here are the menus from previous years: <p></p><div><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com" target="_blank">2020</a></div><div><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2017/11/">2017<br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2016/11/">2016<br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2015/11/gobbling-up-gratitude.html">2015<br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2014/11/the-ole-miss-rebel-blackbear-landshark.html">2014 <br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html">2013</a><br /><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2012/11/gobblin-up-storm.html">2012 </a></div><div><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2011/11/sufficiency.html">2011</a><br /><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/11/gobble.html">2010</a><br /><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2009/11/this-is-not-my-turkey.html">2009</a></div><div><br /></div><div>We're feeding 14 (but one of them will be ten days old), so we're preparing for 42 or so. We like a good 3 to 1 ratio on turkey day. Everyone gets a tray of leftovers to go home with, and we Forsters have a weekend full of them, and we will spread them around to others a bit. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Pick Up Food:</u></div><div>I'll make Spicy Rosemary Cashews and Kristi's Spiced Pecans, which are our two favorite nut recipes. I'll also probably have out some meats and cheeses and fruits. Carrie, my stepmother, is bringing something to add to the spread. I want it all to be decent and room temp and graze-able. I'm making a fall/spiced sangria and then will have out other fixings for grown ups. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Soup: </u></div><div>We love soup at Thanksgiving. Gives us a moment to pause together. I'm writing a little liturgy for our family for this year, and I'm excited to use the soup moment to do some reflecting together - and then let everyone sort of leisurely make plates. I'll hop up as everyone's finishing soup and yank all the things from the "keep warm" oven and throw them on my bar. It sounds frantic, but it's not - it's much less frantic than doing that with 12 people standing around me asking if they can help. They cannot help. (I'm a notoriously bad in-the-moment delegator). But thank you. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, this year, I'm using an old favorite of mine. It's an asparagus soup with herbed goat cheese. It's really good jazz. And it's light - which is the only real challenge. You need to find a fall-appropriate soup that is not at all approaching an entree soup. I thought long and hard about french onion, but I didn't want to be fooling with toasting the bread at the sit down moment. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>The Bird:</u></div><div>This is so exciting! Collins's buddy Levi (who is also the son of dear friends) has been farming turkeys! They are being harvested today and tomorrow. I will put one in the brine on Tuesday night, and then Paul will grill it on Thursday. We've gone to grilling the turkey. This tradition developed due to the idiocy of my then 20-something baby brother, who is now much more a grown up and so we can laugh and love him for his causing us to grill a turkey last minute. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeHFJDlPae5fDPc8ohCMTufEuRq6ktjBUyZjP9x28c8PdNJq_D4DNXendfWJPox8dEOh47c2XeUFOnVYrxK6qrW3ef9oLTLD72USYkjxLVJ-0SZPm_6v9UFIlQvl3oHuvE9uRzPUypD0/s2048/C5653C84-E0BA-4302-801F-86A699F7CB1A.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeHFJDlPae5fDPc8ohCMTufEuRq6ktjBUyZjP9x28c8PdNJq_D4DNXendfWJPox8dEOh47c2XeUFOnVYrxK6qrW3ef9oLTLD72USYkjxLVJ-0SZPm_6v9UFIlQvl3oHuvE9uRzPUypD0/s320/C5653C84-E0BA-4302-801F-86A699F7CB1A.heic" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><u>Sides</u>: </div><div><br /></div><div>Southern Cornbread Dressing - Mama is making my grandmother's recipe that we use every year. Usually I do it. Frankly, I'm thankful she volunteered. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet Potato Casserole: Again, Mama! Her two jobs are the two sides we cannot do without. I'm so grateful, too, because I still do both of them exactly the way she did them when I was growing up. So, I know she's bringing what I like. ;) </div><div><br /></div><div>All of the other sides this year are Ina Garten. Look - she's just good at her job, and I think she's particularly adept at sides. Most are from Modern Comfort Food, her latest book that my cooking club has been going through, thus making me want to make it all for thanksgiving. </div><div><br /></div><div>Celery Root & Cauliflower Puree: Y'all. My friend Jessica did this at my cooking club recently. Y'all. I think it may be the best savory side I've ever tasted. Like ever. It is dairy-rich and has a crunchy brussels sprouts topping. Y'all. </div><div><br /></div><div>Roasted Broccolini with Cheddar: This is just roasted broccolini, sprinkled with good cheddar cheese at the end. This will be our healthiest side, I imagine. Except maybe the carrots? </div><div><br /></div><div>Charred Carrots: also Modern Comfort Food. Cooked under a broiler and dressed with a little balsamic and orange. Should be yummy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Roasted Butternut Squash with Brown Butter & Sage: You guessed it. Ina from MCF. My friend Lauren made this recently, and we were licking the pan. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheddar and Scallion Creamed Corn: We had it last year. We loved it. How could you not. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ina's Spinach Gratin. Not from Modern Comfort Food! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxpxmbFLCKxDxu99OPfm73nUSNN0vwa7-Wu1-Q90dGioG3nLvra7MndKvPWTlanYGQuYOTDpjl7fYLXcrzM5pivGRj1DW2sJx2TnqIdMvGjr6Zr0MuiiP08tgAz6VQ8ZvrrrW7a3DVXc/s2048/B17F1DB8-60BF-4810-B5B0-12492059D3C1.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxpxmbFLCKxDxu99OPfm73nUSNN0vwa7-Wu1-Q90dGioG3nLvra7MndKvPWTlanYGQuYOTDpjl7fYLXcrzM5pivGRj1DW2sJx2TnqIdMvGjr6Zr0MuiiP08tgAz6VQ8ZvrrrW7a3DVXc/s320/B17F1DB8-60BF-4810-B5B0-12492059D3C1.heic" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><u>On the Table: </u></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;">Gravy: Another Ina. <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/make-ahead-turkey-gravy-with-onions-and-sage-5486134" style="text-decoration: none;">Recipe here. </a></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;"><a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/make-ahead-turkey-gravy-with-onions-and-sage-5486134" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></a></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;">Cranberry Sauce: Theme, much? <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/make-ahead-turkey-gravy-with-onions-and-sage-5486134" style="text-decoration: none;">Recipe here.</a></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;">Molded Honey Butter & Salted Butter. My dog ate my butter mold this fall. Paul bought me two new ones. So, I'm going to let the dog eat these two and see if I get four in return. <br /><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;">Eason Family Pickles </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;">Breadbasket: I put my stepmother in charge this year. She's so good at bread, and whatever she brings will be perfection. And also done in excess. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn;">Amish Jarred Spiced Peaches: (We like these tacky canned peaches from the 50s and we just can't stop liking them. And by we, I mean me. And the urchins, who have bad taste. So, basically, the story is that we're tacky and we don't care. We used to just buy the cans of spiced peaches from Kroger. But, they became hard to find. Simultaneously, our little local grocery store started carrying these amish, small batch ones. Now it feels a little less tacky. But not much.) </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9ncG-HYYgReVR-Iqnf-BG-GJvTFKpB2ExZLkA07MB3IJQS1IOT6ihoeZU6Q1_WyFZqEOFKgOf7JCOiRIcPRUHrCt8dyTZKXdkR5HePhE-_JLsqC4_jrjoFA2X-Mio0Y1AQi7xJqn3JE/s2048/B6D018F7-A4EC-4D15-B975-0AB092AD1535.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9ncG-HYYgReVR-Iqnf-BG-GJvTFKpB2ExZLkA07MB3IJQS1IOT6ihoeZU6Q1_WyFZqEOFKgOf7JCOiRIcPRUHrCt8dyTZKXdkR5HePhE-_JLsqC4_jrjoFA2X-Mio0Y1AQi7xJqn3JE/s320/B6D018F7-A4EC-4D15-B975-0AB092AD1535.heic" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxM54pyuC44egRQgw7YcnLPwTfkJEQBNqzDXhqDjT3kUJ97d-gLGc6oAd1DUqoC6qR77sbqlowL7kODwWyVbOH2GNvfGzeCT11Kl6ioP3_ov5gPcvDrsosEnqr7k0M16RcUUBIT2-iF1o/s1800/8142F8E4-A906-4D17-A99A-D534C5B32F69.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxM54pyuC44egRQgw7YcnLPwTfkJEQBNqzDXhqDjT3kUJ97d-gLGc6oAd1DUqoC6qR77sbqlowL7kODwWyVbOH2GNvfGzeCT11Kl6ioP3_ov5gPcvDrsosEnqr7k0M16RcUUBIT2-iF1o/s320/8142F8E4-A906-4D17-A99A-D534C5B32F69.jpeg" width="256" /><br /></a><u><br /></u><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(42, 68, 85); font-family: Vollkorn; text-align: left;"><u>Dessert Cart<i>:</i></u></div></div><div><u><i><br /></i></u></div><div>Pecan Pie: Ada Bee </div><div><br /></div><div>Something yummy from stepmother. If I know her, a cheesecake. </div><div><br /></div><div>Applesauce Cake with Bourbon Cream Cheese Frosting </div><div><br /></div><div>Flourless Chocolate Torte with Amaretto Cream (not Ina!) </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>----</div><div>I don't feel well. Due to this forsaken arthritis, my daily pain level ranges from a 3 to an 8. I am actually limping on some days. There is languishing and real suffering. </div><div><br /></div><div>But really who gives a flip. </div><div><br /></div><div>We are abundantly blessed. We have so much thanking God to do. Always. I am grateful for a week that I can focus on raining down absurdity on my people - with my people - and turning our faces to the absurdly generous Creator. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-41980277630724455492020-11-26T13:49:00.000-06:002020-11-26T13:49:06.106-06:00Gobbling through 2020<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqvAHW4x6dZP4S6RZvHzsssfIYtP1VIzAR9O1qvqLkFWZCdiqjVaLh5_8A1QEX98J9ZVCbv5xrrVgK7gFdF_uH_ZDslpbqzBVMSahMLIpYslukZ0c4b6UT_rROYhYT2EQiNhgDwTsKEM/s1440/B5CE09C6-4B7D-41FD-BBE8-BA9C23A30C45.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqvAHW4x6dZP4S6RZvHzsssfIYtP1VIzAR9O1qvqLkFWZCdiqjVaLh5_8A1QEX98J9ZVCbv5xrrVgK7gFdF_uH_ZDslpbqzBVMSahMLIpYslukZ0c4b6UT_rROYhYT2EQiNhgDwTsKEM/s320/B5CE09C6-4B7D-41FD-BBE8-BA9C23A30C45.jpeg" /></a></div><br />It's been a while! I used to put my weekly menus on this blog, and even long after I quit that, I would put my Thanksgiving menus on here. But, I skipped that in 2018 and 2019. But, in the spirit of redeeming 2020, I thought I would get back to it. <p></p><p>Here are the menus from previous years: </p><div><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2017/11/">2017<br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2016/11/">2016<br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2015/11/gobbling-up-gratitude.html">2015<br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2014/11/the-ole-miss-rebel-blackbear-landshark.html">2014 <br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html">2013</a><br /><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2012/11/gobblin-up-storm.html">2012 </a></div><div><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2011/11/sufficiency.html">2011</a><br /><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/11/gobble.html">2010</a><br /><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2009/11/this-is-not-my-turkey.html">2009</a></div><div><br /></div><div>This year: </div><div><br /></div><div>We're in the midst of pandemic. Some are choosing not to celebrate Thanksgiving outside of their homes and some are living it up. Some folks are still sheltering in place and some are doing life as normal. These are all difficult decisions. The body has needs and so does the soul. My mama told me back in April, when lock down was at its tightest, that she'd rather die of covid than of loneliness. I think that's the feeling of a lot of folks, but it's all so difficult to navigate. We are making decisions for ourselves but they also affect others. There are better and worse decisions, but there isn't one right path. We’re big time missing Paul’s parents, who are thanksgiving staples as important as the turkey. Our gathering is pretty limited this year, but we are still gathering with my parents (mama, daddy, stepmama) and siblings (brother and sister-in-law). So, we're feeding 11. But we'll have food for forty, of course. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><u>Pick Up Food: </u></div><div>My step mother is bringing a caesar dip with crudités, and I am doing a giant charcuterie. It's just so pretty and happy and everyone can find something he or she loves. I'll also make a festive cocktail - an herby french 75, I think. My family loves a beverage, and so I'll also have the basics of a bar set up and they can help themselves. We'll do appetizers and beverages in our family room rather than at my kitchen bar so that everyone will be able to relax and have space while supper gets finished. It's nice to separate appetizers from the food-prep spaces. It makes everyone feel more cared for and less rushed. Plus, at Thanksgiving you never really know how long everything will take to get done (though, you better believe I have a spreadsheet), and so spending a little extra effort on appetizers takes the pressure off of getting food in the bellies of hungry people. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Soup</u>: </div><div>Using an old standby favorite roasted red bell pepper that I've been making for at least a decade for special occasions. It's so yummy. I always swirl creme fraiche on top - sometimes in a shape or a monogram if I'm fancing. I'll serve it in my grandmother's china coffee cups. I love to have soup at Thanksgiving, because it gives us all something with which to sit down at the table all at the same time. We can pray together, and then we can go through the line and everyone just eats whenever they make it back to the table. Consider soup - it's an added touch that makes turkey day a little more special. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Main:</u></div><div>Grilled Turkey. A few years ago a certain favorite little brother of mine told me he was going to cook the turkey, and then he may or may not have had too many adult beverages the night before and called and said, "I just can't make it." I cussed and then put hubby to work, who googled and learned how to use the green egg to make a turkey. It was so good. He's going to be back at it this year, and I'm going to brine the turkey first. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Sideboard:</u></div><div>The folks who are coming are largely helping with sides this year. I just tell everyone "tell me what you're bringing and I'll build around it." </div><div><br /></div><div>Cornbread dressing: My grandmother's recipe. We never vary it, and there are quite a lot of folks who would boycott if we do. It's not especially creative or special, but it's very good, in a 1950s kind of way. Which I feel like we need a little bit of. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet Potato Casserole: Mama is bringing this. </div><div><br /></div><div>Modern Green Bean Casserole: Sister in law </div><div><br /></div><div>Pommes Aligot: Brother (Google if you're curious. I.cannot.wait.) </div><div><br /></div><div>Wild Rice Salad: Step Mother</div><div><br /></div><div>Balsamic Brussels Sprouts: Mama </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheddar & Scallion Creamed Corn: in Ina Garten's new cookbook that I ordered for myself. I love scallions. And corn. And cheese. So, this particularly spoke to my heart. Or my stomach. Whatever. </div><div><br /></div><div>Spinach Gratin: Also an Ina, but not in this particular cookbook. <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/spinach-gratin-recipe-1940406">Recipe here. </a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><u>On the Table</u>: </div><div><br /></div><div>Gravy: Another Ina. <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/make-ahead-turkey-gravy-with-onions-and-sage-5486134">Recipe here. </a></div><div>Cranberry Sauce: Theme, much? <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/make-ahead-turkey-gravy-with-onions-and-sage-5486134">Recipe here.</a></div><div>Eason Family Pickles </div><div>Breadbasket: Yeast rolls (a favorite recipe of mine from Stop and Smell the Rosemary, a favorite cookbook of mine) and biscuit bread muffins (an old family-friend recipe that we love, turned into muffins) and maybe some beer bread muffins (same story as the biscuit bread muffins). </div><div>Amish Jarred Spiced Peaches: (It's a long story. Not really. We like these tacky canned peaches from the 50s and we just can't stop liking them. And by we, I mean me. And the urchins, who have bad taste. So, basically, the story is that we're tacky and we don't care.) </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Dessert Cart:</u></div><div><br /></div><div>Pear Gallette: I'm looking at recipes and will make up my own. I love pears and I love galletes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Pecan Pie: Ada Bee </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheesecake: Stepmother </div><div><br /></div><div>Bittersweet chocolate cake with Amaretto Creme: Another from Ina's new book. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html"><br /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-76937146062154665992020-11-02T15:12:00.008-06:002020-11-02T18:21:24.944-06:00A Call To Charity and Clarity <p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am compelled to put down my thoughts before tomorrow, when the country will finish voting in the 2020 Presidential election. This election has been different than the other 9 through which I’ve lived. Admittedly, I do not remember the elections of ’84 (at all) or ’88 (very well), but I do remember ’92 and forward. Never before have I experienced such vitriol, such noise, such division, such an undignified public square. I am told that there were elections back in the day that courted this same type of abysmal behavior in which we’re currently immersed. I don’t really believe it (not because people were better, but because manners were), but even if I granted that there have been times in our country like this, you must grant that the information age and the technological revolution have conspired to ensure that we are much more bombarded with all the nastiness than any Americans before us. Because of that – and because I promised a room full of students that I would give them my thoughts – I am required by my conscience to put my fingers to the keys. Forgive the additional noise, though I certainly hope I will not here fall prey to the peculiar sins of the day. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9uucZf2Iq9vljusUl228IKMz60QcQYfs8OwrCBIi9FloopDQX11OQG3NFTtHzJigYbdYU3VGhQtgQ0ElNl5A1fyGNQsPD_upf2lfY1FhKT1JvgLrYsDu04LBGlPzmHESyXHk7DOXp9A/s2048/AF42CB3D-F2EE-4A45-9D17-145BCD0FB361.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9uucZf2Iq9vljusUl228IKMz60QcQYfs8OwrCBIi9FloopDQX11OQG3NFTtHzJigYbdYU3VGhQtgQ0ElNl5A1fyGNQsPD_upf2lfY1FhKT1JvgLrYsDu04LBGlPzmHESyXHk7DOXp9A/s320/AF42CB3D-F2EE-4A45-9D17-145BCD0FB361.jpeg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I want to make a few points about freedoms. First, I want us all to remember how many freedoms we truly do enjoy. Secondly, I want to talk about a freedom we’ve recently lost. Third, I want to discuss a freedom we’ve unfortunately invented. I’ll end with what I think is the most strategic vote I can make tomorrow, and then I’ll retire from political commentary for a bit. I have some ideas about else how we can all fill the time. They involve dinner parties and fall cocktails, service to the community and reading Wendell Berry. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Give Thanks for American Freedom </b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We are the country of many freedoms. Probably the first country to be as free as we are – or at least the first country to <i>mean to be </i>as free as we have meant to be. We have freedom of religion – really, we do. Yes, there are some governors who have acted bad in the past few months, but all in all, we worship as we please. Go read the Act of Uniformity of 1662 passed by the English parliament. Since you won’t (It’s long and tedious – I don’t blame you one bit – I only made it 1/3 of the way through), I’ll tell you a tidbit. The act disallowed college attendance for those who didn’t agree to receive the sacraments from the church of England proper – and required said church to administer said sacraments using certain wording. Isaac Watts, one of the most brilliant men to ever call England home, couldn’t go to college. Why? Because he was convinced of a less Anglican ecclesiology and given the damning label of “Nonconformist”, forever impeding all aspects of his life. Our freedom of religion is actually quite remarkable. Yes – we’re dealing with challenges to it these days. I am the Provost of an avowedly bible-believing Christian school – you better believe I’m aware of the potential for the erosion of this right. But, friends, we do enjoy true religious freedom. You can cry out to Allah or bow down before the god of Self. There is not even – nor has there ever been – an established American Christianity. Some who claim Christ wear holy underwear; some practice baptism by proxy; some deny the trinity. Our churches do not pay taxes, and no one tells us what to preach. We are religiously free. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We have true freedom of speech. While all the lovely giants of the social media industry may interfere with this freedom and while cancel culture brings with it many concerns and while the American University has not seen such absurd lack of academic freedom at least since McCarthyism and maybe ever, it is the case that our <i>government </i>does very little interfering with our speech. This is evidenced by the idiotic and even hateful things all manner of people in America say every day. And by <i>all manner of people</i>, I mean our President. But not just President Trump – members of Congress in both parties all the way down to citizens of every neighborhood in our country are permitted to announce, quite publicly, all sorts of offensive and absurd things. And that freedom is a treasure indeed. And, yes, it needs protection even now. But when we are honest with ourselves, we will admit that we do indeed possess a remarkable freedom to type, yell, whisper, chant even the ugliest and dumbest of the words that come into our hearts and minds. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We still do very much benefit from the entire list of precious truths enshrined in the Bill of Rights. Yes, there are errors. Yes, there are patterns to keep our eyes on. Yes, some do not treasure these rights enough. Yes, some groups in America enjoy these rights more fully than other groups. But, friends, I submit to you that we still live in the America about which so many of our founding documents so eloquently speak. I would even say, with much thanksgiving, that we are significantly closer to that espoused ideal than we were at the time those documents were drafted. The Bill of Rights is grand, but we’ve improved upon it greatly, especially with the 13<sup>th</sup>, 14<sup>th</sup>, 15<sup>th</sup>, and 19<sup>th</sup> amendments. We began with a remarkable and truly good end in mind, and though we’ve yet to achieve it fully and never will, we are closer than we were when we started. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Pause this week and give thanks for the country in which you live. We all enjoy different privileges, but if you don’t acknowledge that being an American is one of them, you are missing a grand opportunity for gratitude. If you do not acknowledge American privilege, you are in danger of taking it for granted. When freedoms are taken for granted, they are in most danger of being lost. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Freedom to Know <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While we enjoy many rights and freedoms, there are some things to worry about in America. A privilege that has been quite eroded in my lifetime is the ability to have access to unbiased information. I can remember thinking it was nuts that the English government funds the BBC – sounds like a recipe for control of what information the citizenry consumes. And I still do think it’s a recipe for that. But, friends, now we all know that government-sponsored media is not the only recipe for control of information. I believe in a media that isn’t controlled by the government, but gosh I now long for a media that does not rely on clicks for its funding. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have so many privileges – I have reliable internet and a decent college education. I am the child, the wife, and the mother of readers, analyzers, thinkers. I have always shared my home with people who make me smarter. At my church, I sit under preachers and teachers who are relentless about their categories, and I worship with people who take thought seriously. I work with men and women who are so very committed to and capable of truth. Even with all of these privileges, I am unable to locate clear information about what is going on in our country. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The freedom to know is not a right in the constitution – not even Justice Kennedy can find it. But, a lack of ability to know is a serious detriment to our country, and I would call on anyone in power to relentlessly restore truth-telling to every office in the land and to increase the clarity of all policies and laws. We as citizens must quit voting for and subscribing to people and organizations who lie to us. We must call out all falsehood, especially on the part of those “on our team.” So many of us apparently like being lied to, and we need to repent. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Politicians should not be permitted to lie – either through blatant falsehood or through the hyperbole and truth shading that are now thought of as a regular day’s business. I cannot find truth – not through either of the major political parties in our country, not through most of our government officials, not through the vast majority of our media outlets. I just don’t believe any of it anymore. Why? Because when a source proves unreliable over and over again, it is not smart to rely on the source anymore. When something happens in America, I literally do not know to whom to turn for mere accuracy, much less all the other desirable attributes of rhetoric in the public square. This lack of ability to know has pervaded our non-political entities as well – I cannot ask a hospital how much a surgery will cost, and itemized bills are just pre-written SNL skits. My students ask me about tax codes, and I throw up my hands in despair. Who can know? I feel like I have as much access to accurate information as Job’s friends had to the mind of God. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">People, companies, corporations, journalists, and government officials lie all the time, and we’ve all gone to excusing it like they can’t help it or something. “Well, that’s politics.” “Well, that’s the FDA for you.” “Well, it’s a hospital, so you’ll never be able to find out.” “Well, that’s Fox News/CNN/the New York Times for you… they lie.” It doesn’t have to be like this, friends. If we all quit buying, they’ll quit selling. Come on - we’re capitalists after all. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This freedom to know isn’t in the constitution, but its lack threatens to destroy all the freedoms that are actually enshrined there. We won’t be able to exercise our freedoms if we are entirely uninformed. We must reinstate a general demand for accuracy and clarity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Freedom to Flee Morality <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There is another freedom that isn’t found in the constitution, but we are apparently wanting to put it there very badly. We do not actually enjoy, as Americans, the freedom to be a terrible person, but we have gone to assuming that we do. When I have articulated my nausea at either of the major party candidates, people say to me, “All men are sinners.” Yes. They are. I actually believe what the Bible tells me – that all men are created with intrinsic worth and dignity and that all are fallen into terrible unrighteousness. I actually believe that we are reprobates incapable of redeeming ourselves. I have children, for goodness sakes. I know the black hearts of men – my own and everyone else’s. All have fallen short of the glory of God. No one is good – no, not one. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But no one is <i>free</i> to be so awful. We have no freedom to be terrible. We’ve never had that freedom. And I’m not talking at all about being of a certain faith or belief. Yes, I believe what you believe matters, certainly for eternity’s sake. But, put that aside. How you behave matters – and has always mattered – in America. Men who cheat on their wives are not respected. But wait – how many of our presidents have been adulterers? How many people do I personally respect who have committed adultery. A lot, actually. But, and here is the key, I respect absolutely no one who thinks he had a right to cheat on his wife. Everyone I respect is a sinner. I respect no one who does not believe himself to be a sinner – who thinks that bad behavior is either not bad or bad-but-also-fine. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I’ve sinned 17 times today – at least. But, I shall not claim that I haven’t. Or that my sin doesn’t matter. I have no freedom to be terrible. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I believe in the <i>Tao</i> (read Lewis in <i>Abolition of Man</i>). I believe that we all know, somewhere, the basic tenets of a moral life. We know that it is honorable to pay your employees and that it is dishonorable to exploit them. We know that it is good to tell the truth and bad to lie. Granted, we are all terrible at all of it, but we know that we have no freedom to be terrible at it. Until now. We’ve descended, as of late, into this “Who are you to judge?” or “It’s part of life.” or “You do you.” or “Everyone is bad…” Everyone <i>is </i>bad. I not only grant it, I preach it. My students buy me mugs that say, “Everyone is on Santa’s naughty list.” That’s how much I preach it. We’re all depraved, but, and read closely, we’re not allowed to be. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Listen to the Hamilton soundtrack. The morality of a person was relevant to his ability to hold office then and it is relevant now. If we’re all so terrible, how can we ever determine whether a man is good or bad? Are there even bad guys and good guys? If Stalin’s party had the right policies, would it be okay to vote for him? What about Charles Manson? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We have established a new freedom in America – we’ve all put on our Justice Kennedy robes – and decided that we’re permitted to be awful and that awfulness should not have consequences. That’s insanity, and I beg of you all to see it and identify it out loud and refuse to be a party to the finding of this supposed right in the penumbra of our amoral, self-as-god culture. When the Israelites did what was right in their own eyes, there was no peace in the land. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">What to do now? <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are bad guys in the world, and, incidentally, we’ve nominated two of them to the highest office in the land. All men are sinners, but there are actual real bad guys. We see a great example in scripture (or <i>traditional Hebrew literature</i> if you’re a secular progressive and that wording makes you feel better about learning from something). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Israel has a host of kings. Some are bad guys and some are good guys. God calls some bad and some good. So, we know that kings can be bad and they can be good. God rarely lists their policies; He talks about their hearts, their worship, and their character. And He talks a lot about their effect on the people. Let’s zoom in a bit more. We have King Saul, Israel’s first king and a bad guy, and King David, Israel’s second king and a good guy. We know intimately of David’s sin – he’s a really big sinner. Adultery, murder, abuse of power. But, it is made clear that he is a good guy. Is God arbitrary or capricious or immoral? Is He just closing his eyes and throwing out labels or ignoring the gross violation of The Good? No, the difference between Saul and David is how each is oriented to his sin. David’s a sinner who knows his need and turns for help. Psalms 51 and 130 are particularly moving poems of repentance. The difference between David and Saul is who is on the thrones of their hearts. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am not calling for only electing men and women who have enthroned Christ. I mean – that would be lovely (assuming they were also competent and had their head screwed on straight – plenty of nutso Christians out there) but I don’t think it’s at all required. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">What I do think is required is that we not enthrone those who have enthroned evil in their own lives. It is detrimental to our country to elect bad guys – and my definition of a bad guy is simply a man who doesn’t believe he is bad, who shows no signs of wanting to be better. Bad guys are not guys that fail at being good – bad guys are guys who wallow in their awfulness, justifying it and flaunting it. Our President sins but the kicker for me is that he is indignant that anyone would call him a sinner. He loves his sin. He hardens his own heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am personally convicted that I cannot vote for Donald Trump – even if I did love his policies, because he is a bad guy. I honestly don’t know as much about Joe Biden. But, I do know he’s a liar, seemingly a racist, and I do know that he supports the murder of American citizens being legal (and, yes, I’m one of those people who thinks that people of a different size and location than me are still people who have a right to life.) And, since he puts murder of the unborn in his platform, we certainly don’t see repentance there. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This has nothing to do with personality. Yes, I find Trump’s personality distasteful, undignified, and unpresidential. But I’d happily elect a good man with a terrible personality. And that is why Biden’s personality is also irrelevant. Who cares if he’s jolly and not difficult to spend time with – he’s not a good man. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And, I start to sound like the annoying Sicilian in my favorite movie. I cannot choose the cup in front of myself or the cup in front of my enemy. There is no good choice. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But wait! I’m a logician! I believe in fallacies, and we’ve been all eaten up with one for centuries. It is the fallacy of the false dichotomy. It is not true that I must vote Trump or Biden. In fact, I’d argue that it is true that I can vote for neither. So, I’ll be voting third party this year. I will actually cast my vote for Brian Carroll, the candidate from the American Solidarity Party. You can look them up if you’re curious. From all I can tell, Carroll is a good guy. Among the good guys running (he’s not alone), he has the policies I most (though not without exception of course) agree with. Therefore, he’s my choice. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I admit that I do not live in a swing state and this makes this calculus a bit easier. Mississippi will go for Trump. I wish it wouldn’t, but I don’t wish it would go for Biden. I wish it would go for a good guy. And so, I will vote for a good guy. But the electoral college does make voting on principle an easier choice for me than for a woman in Wisconsin, for example. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">However, I actually reject the idea that pragmatism demands that we vote with someone who has a chance. I don’t even understand that, actually. And I’ve tried really hard and will continue to listen to anyone who wants to try to explain it to me. In my view, the best and most pragmatic thing that could happen to America is for these two major parties to realize that we will not tolerate these offerings. Yes, either Trump or Biden will win. But, if we could strike a blow for reason – for truth – for goodness – if we could have even 10% of the country vote some other direction, we would get someone to pay attention, and thus we would make a pragmatic step in the direction of the good. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I also reject that voting one way or another is going to make much of a difference on the ground in our country. America is her people – we need to win the hearts and minds of one another over to the good and the true and the beautiful. A president will never save us. Policies will never save us. Jesus will save us in eternity, and we will save each other here on earth through relationships and education and every day kindnesses. I just don’t think America will look very different in four years no matter who is elected tomorrow. It doesn’t look that different than it did when I was born, despite the lighting of our hair on fire that happened when Clinton was elected and when Bush was elected and when Obama was elected and when Trump was elected. The republicans have been pro-life since abortion was made legal – and it’s been legal for 50 years. Not making much progress, are you, guys? That’s because they have used it as a bargaining chip for Christians to allow them to act bad – if we actually made progress on abortion policy, what would they threaten us with? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The respective policies of the parties are just not that different. Yes, Trump is (in espoused policy, if not personally) pro-life, but is he efficacious in those policies at all? Yes, I love Amy Coney Barrett – I think she’s truly a God-send. Yes, I think abortion should be illegal unless the life of the mother is threatened, and I do think doctors are the best ones to decide when life is threatened. I hope and pray and believe that Barrett will be Trump’s best move. A broken clock is right twice a day. [Especially a broken clock who traded judicial appointment decisions to the more experienced in his party in exchange for the turning of a blind eye to his narcissism, so he’s not making the decisions about who to nominate anyway.] If the courts are going to legislate (and they are), pack them with as many sane, good jurists as we can find. But, judges are not salvific anymore than presidents are. And they’re certainly not worth putting my name beside Saul’s name. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">A Final Word – and the Most Important <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have written all of these words with very few caveats and very little quarter given to what I believe to be bad reasoning. However, let me be clear that I am very aware that I am but a woman. A frail human beset by many sins. My mind is fallen and my heart is deceptive above all else. At my best thinking and reasoning and at my most moral living, I am finite, broken beyond repair. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Men and women I respect will make a different decision in tomorrow’s election. People I love, people I think highly of, people I choose to do life with, people I’m related to, people I look to for wise counsel will vote for Trump tomorrow. People I love, people I think highly of, people I choose to do life with, people I’m related to, people I look to for wise counsel will vote for Biden tomorrow. People who are more morally upright and who are more intellectually capable than I am are making different decisions tomorrow than I am. They are also making different decisions from one another. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is my civic duty to vote. It is my Christian duty to vote my conscience. It is my human duty to love those who think differently. And, friends, I don’t find it hard – because I love people who think differently than I do all day every day. I mean loving people is always hard.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But disagreement isn’t a new obstacle to love. Some of my best friends are prochoice and we’ve managed to be friends for decades. Don’t elevate this election to a category that doesn’t exist: things about which we cannot disagree. It is the calling on all of us to love the </span><i style="font-family: georgia;">other</i><span style="font-family: georgia;">. If our neighbor was just like us, we wouldn’t need to be commanded to love him. We must love our neighbors, or we will only have ourselves left to love. And what a sad – and ineffective – life that will be. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So, above all else, please walk through your halls, wherever those halls are, with a spirit of charity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Be grateful for the great privilege of being an American. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Demand truth and access to information. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Reject the belief that awfulness is permissible. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Fight back against the broken two-party system and the bad guys they’ve offered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But, above all else, love one another. Clarity is so valuable, but charity is a virtue. </span></p>Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-86621740178398751892018-09-25T21:35:00.000-05:002018-09-25T23:20:08.498-05:00Our Call in the Midst of Kavanaugh <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-eLexVbN_uLEW0eQ8dKgKbNZ8fZu_sylmIjnt52Uw4TAkOlrwu93UWqQTFI4uApPFF_ApXI1txBWS7zQLxz8l0Lw7Utkc2p9Q1JLGXRsAs4zJLlpQ_P_mdkg3OXK-XRInh4URJXse44/s1600/Kavanaugh-Christine-Blasey-Ford-hs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-eLexVbN_uLEW0eQ8dKgKbNZ8fZu_sylmIjnt52Uw4TAkOlrwu93UWqQTFI4uApPFF_ApXI1txBWS7zQLxz8l0Lw7Utkc2p9Q1JLGXRsAs4zJLlpQ_P_mdkg3OXK-XRInh4URJXse44/s400/Kavanaugh-Christine-Blasey-Ford-hs.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Christine Blasey Ford says that Brett Kavanaugh, current nominee to the Supreme Court, sexually assaulted her in the early 1980s. And it's loud enough out there in the public square that I find myself needing to clarify my own thoughts. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />I offer them here, open to genuine engagement with whomever might come along. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span><b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Some Category Organization:</span></b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">One: Women have historically been in an economically and politically weaker position in the public spheres of the West.</span></b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">This remains true today, though the disparity is less than it has been at other times in recent history. </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">I have had, throughout my teen and adult years, negative experiences connected with my gender. I know of few women who will not articulate the same. These experiences include a wide range of things - from those rightly criminalized by our penal code and which deserve a treatment by Dante - to the things that fall under what are now called <i>microagressions </i>by some, but which I'd call <i>tacky </i>or about which my Mama would smile and say, "Aww. Poor thing. I don't think he's been <i>taught</i>." </span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Parsing these experiences is helpful and necessary, but denying their existence is absurd. Failure to admit that women have historically been and still remain in a weaker position in public spheres is naive and patronizing. The question is not whether women have been and are in that position - the question is what to do with that fact. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The particular suffering of women at the hands of men is real. </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Men have often abused and still often do abuse their power, in ways big and small. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span><b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Two: Humans of both genders are liars.</span></b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />My theology tells me that there has only been one exception, and He's seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. Science agrees with my Bible - people lie. And, anecdotally, we all know this to be true. Ask any parent in the world.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">So, when Human A accuses Human B of an action, and Human B denies it, it is entirely possible that either Human A or Human B could be lying. Because any Human could be lying. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span><b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Three: Humans of both genders misremember.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The science on this is fascinating and unsettling, but it is clear that even without any mal-intention of any kind, our memories are fallible. They are regularly incomplete and often incorrect. Again, my theology tells me the heart is deceptive - we deceive not only knowingly, but we unknowingly deceive ourselves. And, again, anecdotally, we know this to be the case. The experience within a marriage of one person remembering that we have said nothing of Friday evening plans and the other remembering that we clearly discussed going to the Joneses' for supper is not unique to my own marriage. I know, see, because it is the theme of many a standup routine - and everyone always laughs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />So, when Human A accuses Human B of an action, and Human B denies it, it is entirely possible that Human A or Human B is unintentionally misremembering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /><b>Four: Discerning truth when humans disagree can be quite difficult.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">When we are presented with situations with Human A and Human B accusing/denying, each person, being created equal and so being equally in nature likely to lie or misremember, deserves to be viewed with equal weights and balances, until such time as things are added to the equation that give us an ability to believe that one person is lying or misremembering and the other is accurately relaying facts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />Complicating this further - it is possible for two parties to be lying, misremembering, or even accurately relaying different pieces and parts of a story - and it is even possible for no one person to be capable of full accuracy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /><b>Five: There are some instances about which we may never know truth. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Really smart, honest scholars regularly disagree over all sorts of historical <i>facts</i>, and I still don't know for sure which one of my children originated the idea to tattoo our yard's many lizards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /><b>Six: We are often bad truth-finders.</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The difficulties articulated in numbers four and five do not get at the most significant difficulty of all. The very humans who are tasked (or task themselves...) with finding the truth are affected by being fallen themselves.</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">We invariably want one person to be accurate and the other to be wrong about the facts. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Americans want our SCOTUS nominee or his accuser to be correct. We want Kavanaugh to win or lose, be confirmed or rejected, and that affects our desires about the situation's facts. We desire facts. Let that roll over in your brain. A desire for certain facts is dangerous if our task is truth-finding. There are impressive volumes of judicial rules about finding dispassionate jurors. Because it's very difficult. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">We are never disinterested, nor are we without flaw. There is one just judge of the universe. And not one of us is He. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Thoughts about our current situation: </span></b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">One: I have no idea what happened at a party in the 1980s. </span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Neither does anyone reading this.</span><br />
<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Two: We should not automatically #believesurvivors. </span></b><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The logic that says those victimized must be automatically believed says that having something done to you makes you more reliable than you were before something was done to you. It's simply not the case. Being raped, assaulted, victimized in any way does not change a person's reliability. Human suffering demands all available charity and provision, but it does not change a person's nature as it pertains to reliability, for good or ill. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">A victimized person is a person deserving every single manner of care and respect, a person bearing the image of God, and a person who yet suffers the effects of a fallen human nature. Some have conflated <i>charity, respect, and care </i>with <i>belief</i>, and with that confusion, we do a great disservice to truth and to people.</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Three: We should take very seriously what women have to say, because women are humans, and our job as humans is to care for humans. </span></b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"> <b>Moreover, we currently share a special burden to be watchful against the sins of our culture. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Women have been dismissed in far too many cases, and women deserve the protection and respect of their society. We have corporately failed to protect women from men. We have protected abusers from justice rightfully demanded by their victims, especially when those abusers have been powerful, prosperous, and privileged white men. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The record reflects that I am a pretty bad driver - therefore, it is incumbent upon me to be especially vigilant on the interstate. We post-modern westerners are bad women-protectors; it is incumbent upon us to be especially vigilant when given an opportunity to defend a woman. This is not because she is <i>more reliable</i>. This is because we should know ourselves, and we should be repenting of our failures and seeking to crucify our individual and corporate sins. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /><b>Four: Kindness to fellow humans is always merited - whether toward accused or accuser.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">No one has ever stumbled because he offered peaceful and careful words. Speaking truth never requires being ugly. We are not required to rain down fire and brimstone, nor are we are required to be unpleasant. Thanks be to God. </span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Five: This is all annoying, because it doesn't land me on a specific team. </span></b><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">But that's an indictment of us and our desire to be on a team at the expense of truth and virtue. And it's an indictment of the current culture in which we live that we have not available to us a team that prioritizes virtue and truth above all else. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">But, both indictments are old news. People are terrible. Politics is worse. Come on in - the water is far from fine, but it's the water we have here within the now and the not yet. I'll pour you glass of Perrier or Cabernet - your choice. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">----</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b>What is our call? </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span></b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">We are called to be quick to listen, to admit our own fallibility, to examine our own individual biases and their effect on our interpretations of facts, and to keep a good humor about us. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />We are called to remember that this will be a blip on the timeline of history. Our grandchildren may never know the name of Brett Kavanaugh, and certainly their grandchildren will not. But, our children and friends will know what wisdom and temperance look like. (Or what they do not look like.) We will pass down our mode of being to our children, and them to theirs; and lo and behold, how we live our lives <i>will </i>matter to our grandchildren's grandchildren. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />We are called to fight for the weak and to fight for the truth whenever we are given an opportunity. We are called to remember that though there may appear to be a tension, standing for the weak and standing for truth are never in actual conflict. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />We are called to flee tribalism and run to the cross. We are called to remember that there is a just judge on the throne, He is the final arbiter of truth, and He will neither abandon us nor forsake us. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />We are called to have our dinner parties, watch our Parks and Rec, read our novels, pray our confessions and shout our thanksgivings, and remember that the future of America's High Court is not our job, and even if it were, it's ever so self-important to think we can scream into the noise and change the course of history. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />But, we can change the spirit of our social media interactions, debates with spouses, lunches with colleagues, mutterings at the radio. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br />We can, by the grace of God, affect the spirit of our homes, and that is exactly what we are called so to do. </span></div>
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Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-34778481956288076542017-12-18T11:10:00.000-06:002017-12-18T11:10:04.797-06:00Our Great Rescuer <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8H3TU5CO8jnLRsw4dWICLTVzYfhzYQQ1SmsIMnl6671PmvP_MnVwywGh1ftSGY01zts-yrbF0EaK_a3lejOTRAVgXfweZlU_k6T8HaaNGrVdS6f3CWg6dfbmAxwe3shVCOFqDyW2LrIo/s1600/Mary+and+Eve.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8H3TU5CO8jnLRsw4dWICLTVzYfhzYQQ1SmsIMnl6671PmvP_MnVwywGh1ftSGY01zts-yrbF0EaK_a3lejOTRAVgXfweZlU_k6T8HaaNGrVdS6f3CWg6dfbmAxwe3shVCOFqDyW2LrIo/s320/Mary+and+Eve.jpeg" width="252" /></a></div>
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As a part of our sort of Christmas theme, I was recently asked to tell our church a story of how God has rescued me. My first thought was, "Me? rescued? I feel like I'm a complete mess at every moment," and my second thought was, "Which story of rescue? There are thousands." <br />
<br />
But, I gave it a moment, and God was faithful to walk me through. The process was humbling and exhausting and simply beautiful. <br />
A few people have asked for the text, so I thought I'd put it here.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">God rescues his people from all kinds of
heinous sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my life is a story of
redemption from sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In scripture, we
also see God comfort his people through all kinds of griefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Job's utter devastation to Ruth's
poverty, we see God rescue our souls from all our sins and sorrows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my life - and I know many of yours - are
stories of those rescues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">But he is also rescuing me from a sneakier
devil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I have two little brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My middle brother, Cliff, is thirty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has for most of his life suffered with
mental illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has since he was a
teenager struggled with the abuse of drugs. He has spent many months in rehab,
in inpatient mental health treatment, in jail, and homeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is an endless cycle of now let's try
this - whether it be healthcare or tough love or some sort of program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents are chief warriors in this battle,
and my step-parents have graciously shared in this burden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">And I'm the bossy big sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, my try-to-fix-it level has always been
astronomical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I married a
self-sacrificing civil engineer who is also an oldest child, so you should see him try to fix it. And no
one has yet done so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through Cliff, God
is rescuing me from the lurking evil of self-reliance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">You know those people in tv shows who get
called in in the midst of a sticky situation to fix all the things?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They act as though nothing can shock them and
they know the exact steps to take.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s
me- I’m a fixer. David Strain recently told us that in the prodigal son, we’re all <b>both</b>
brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my younger-brother résumé has
not prevented me from wallowing in an impressive amount of elder-brother pride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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The thing from which I need daily rescue is this self-reliance. It is a root
sin for God’s people –we think we’ve got this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>From Sarah making a plan with Hagar to the Pharisees’ corrupt hearts to
my control of every detail, we are believers in ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, in Cliff's story, I am regularly shown
the failure of competence to save - not the best doctors, therapists, unending
love of parents, the fussing of a big sister - none of it saves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this great grief is a blessing from
above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because there is no rescuer but
that tiny baby boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even a freezer
full of meals and Christmas cards in the mail by the first of December<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I rely pretty heavily on things working the way
they're supposed to work. And I train my children in cause and effect –
predictable consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I teach part-time,
and my subject is logic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But God doesn't
promise salvation through Logic.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He promises salvation from human logic
and salvation unto holy logic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Competence, logic, and hard work are supposed
to be our great saviors -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>we're
capitalists after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">But, our works, alas! Are all in vain; In much
the <b>best</b> life faileth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Through Cliff, I have a front row seat to the
utter failure of competence, logic, and hard work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God never promises - and neither does First
Presbyterian Church - to save us from our circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He promises to save us from our sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have not given up hope that God will work a
miracle in Cliff's life - and I hope and pray that I never will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I am daily begging the Lord to help me
quit looking for an earthly solution as t<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">he
</b>solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because God is rescuing
me, daily, not f<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">rom</b> having a little
brother like Cliff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in and through
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">There have been days and weeks when we didn't
know where Cliff was, and that is only the beginning of the emotional toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The faithful have prayed for us, we have been
endlessly pastored and loved so well, even in a situation that seems like the
worst kind of broken record.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God rescues
our spirits in the midst of great grief. As precious as that is, Cliff is still
not well. It doesn't seem like there is a rescue plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But I don't know that. But I do know that. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">But that's not how I feel most days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know that Jesus is my only rescuer, but I am still making a
self-rescue plan at every turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lord, I believe; Help thou by unbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so
I have to, like Martin Lloyd Jones teaches us, preach to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women are allowed to preach to themselves,
after all. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">;) </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">God rescues me through giving me the grace to
take control of the pulpit of my mind. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he rescues me by putting me in a church full
of saints who preach – and even sing – truth to me all the time. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what scripture says but I don't believe
it in my heart; my heart requires constant reminding. God has been abundantly generous
in giving me the grace to flee to and sit under truths I know but don't
feel.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">
And, He knew before the foundation of the world that I would be especially tempted
to rely on myself. And so, I burn bread and have far-from-perfect children and children
who all came without being planned.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, God allowed an even more wonderful protection from that temptation to rely on
self.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cliff. As Spurgeon says, “I have
learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.” Because of Jesus these waves are instruments of rescue instead of destruction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Because of Jesus, there is the thrill of hope, and this weary big sister
rejoices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Because of Jesus, we can go tell it on the mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-42486262244927810662017-11-20T11:25:00.002-06:002017-11-20T11:25:14.485-06:00On Not Holding Too Tightly: Turkey Day 2017<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0gozWcBBafX8ptHA6K0w3OMQXYUmiegAijV0ahGQdj70ywfGcb7i6kNW8ffLWWVVBohB4X8d9EmIpOzvW4iPDf1vo17_rzM_hrr_PJv29brStmXbgYuN17hgSrrJ5w4ctreZM3z00ww/s1600/IMG_3905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0gozWcBBafX8ptHA6K0w3OMQXYUmiegAijV0ahGQdj70ywfGcb7i6kNW8ffLWWVVBohB4X8d9EmIpOzvW4iPDf1vo17_rzM_hrr_PJv29brStmXbgYuN17hgSrrJ5w4ctreZM3z00ww/s400/IMG_3905.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An F for Forster Buttermold. We won't be using them this year. And that's okay. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When Paul and I married in 2006, we were twenty-one and courageous young idiots. In the spirit of that, I decided that seven months after said marriage, while 5 months pregnant, I would host Thanksgiving at our house. And we've done so ever since. <br />
<br />
But, this year, my Mama asked if we could move the celebration to her house. She doesn't ask for much, really. And she wasn't asking that I not play hostess - just that I play hostess with her at her house. But, I struggled. And that's when you know you're holding a tradition too tightly. Families are not made for traditions, but traditions for families. If I can't move Thanksgiving up the road 15 miles and joyfully give thanks, well, I may need a talking to. <br />
<br />
And if you know you may need a talking to, you should probably swerve to avoid. <br />
<br />
So, north to Mama's we're headed. <br />
<br />
If you love Thanksgiving menus and the evolution of tradition, here are the last eight. I didn't record the first three. I grieve. But, see, I let go, because I've just learned about not holding too tightly, right? Oh, we need more than one lesson in the same thing? What is this? <br />
<br />
I digress. Here are the menus:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2016/11/">2016</a><br />
<div>
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2015/11/gobbling-up-gratitude.html">2015</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2014/11/the-ole-miss-rebel-blackbear-landshark.html">2014 </a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html">2013</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2012/11/gobblin-up-storm.html">2012 </a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html"><br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2011/11/sufficiency.html">2011</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/11/gobble.html">2010</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2009/11/this-is-not-my-turkey.html">2009</a><br />
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To Twenty Seventeen: <br />
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<b><u>Pick Up Food </u></b><br />
All me, because I'm a pick up food enthusiast: <br />
Sweet & Spicy Pecans<br />
Goat cheese, Honey, Rosemary, Bacon with pears to dip. <br />
Hot Almond Swiss Dip<br />
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<u><b>Main Dish</b></u><br />
Turkey - I'm brining it and baby brother is smoking it on The Green Egg. I'm thrilled with this arrangement. <br />
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<b><u>The Side Board</u></b><br />
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The two standards return and the six in rotation continue...<br />
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Cornbread Dressing - Mama is doing her dressing. Which is also my dressing. As I've said before, this is *the* dressing, and we won't ever do anything else, I don't imagine. Celery, Onion, Two different cornbreads, pepper for days. <br />
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Sweet Potato Casserole - Mama is also doing this. And she'll never tolerate a pecan, so it will be covered in all the sticky marshmallows she can muster. <br />
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1) Scalloped Potato Gratin - I try to vary these sides. We did this last year, but I asked Ada if she had any requests and this was the only thing she said, and I'm trying oh so hard to remember that she's not a little kid anymore and if I asked an adult what he or she wanted, I wouldn't then trample the request in the quest for the tradition of variety. Not holding too tight. <br />
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2) Big Beautiful Salad - our dear friends the Sinclairs are coming, and Petula makes a delightful green salad and she's bringing that and I will say thank you. <br />
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3) Butternut Squash Gratin - I sent Paul to the store for squash the other day. He came back with enough to feed two armies. So, I'm wasting not and putting it to use. <br />
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4) Carrots - Mama is roasting carrots for us. I imagine they will involve butter and honey.<br />
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5) Brussels Sprouts - Our friends the Kelleys are coming and offered these. They are my favorite vegetable, so that works out very, very much.<br />
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6) Creamed Corn. I just love corn, and I love cream. I usually spice it up a bit. <br />
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<u><b>On The Table</b></u><br />
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Gravy - My dear stepmother Carrie is just better at it. And so this year I just asked her to make it. <br />
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Cranberry Sauce - Mama is making cranberry sauce. I'm asking her to triple it so I can take it to the school thanksgiving feast as well. Because my husband finds efficiency the most attractive quality in a person, and I like to get him all doe-eyed because I'm only boiling cranberries once.<br />
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Eason Family Homemade Pickles - Sweet, Spicy, All The Time<br />
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Canned Spiced Peaches - Every year. And every year I think I might stop, but I'm not going to. Though, last year they were out of spiced peaches at the store and so I had to make some. I was quite popular. <br />
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Bread Basket - Mama is making butter biscuit rolls. I'm making sour dough, buttered and toasted. <br />
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<b><u>Dessert Cart</u></b><br />
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Cheesecake - Carrie. Second year in a row. I. Can't. Wait. <br />
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Pecan Pie - I just love it. As long as the pecans are chopped so tiny. I'm going to make two - one in a gf pie crust. <br />
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Chocolate Chess Pie - AB and I accidentally made an improvement on this recently. We were out of baker's chocolate. We tasted the finished product and both though it was better than the original. Which I didn't think possible. We're going to do the same thing, but with a couple of festive tweaks - amaretto may be involved. Also one gf option. <br />
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Apple Cake - Mama. So good. <br />
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Gluten Free Dessert Surprise - Petula. I know it will be excellent. <br />
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We're so excited - the folks around here are so ready to chop and stir, though they're happy playing donkey kong right now. Plenty of cooking to be done over the next 72 hours. And now, I'll type out the schedule. ;) <br />
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Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-34955454220373976272017-01-25T08:57:00.000-06:002017-01-26T00:46:47.337-06:00Why I Didn't March <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnZ7uUmpf5UkTOGWxNh37PERemXELpvfP5ExlA4rdFzkTlh5XVgtKUQl_vJIU3GWXJkffu-mZfolbXqKmpXGnSChKfpJ3zpf3YE22rkPshNcnVJsHpZr1D_0XH97vSlul__v8SP8pUXI/s1600/Women%2527s_March_on_Versailles01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnZ7uUmpf5UkTOGWxNh37PERemXELpvfP5ExlA4rdFzkTlh5XVgtKUQl_vJIU3GWXJkffu-mZfolbXqKmpXGnSChKfpJ3zpf3YE22rkPshNcnVJsHpZr1D_0XH97vSlul__v8SP8pUXI/s400/Women%2527s_March_on_Versailles01.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last weekend, there was this march. Don't know if you heard. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">More than half a million women and their supporters marched in Washington, and probably a million others marched around the country and the world. Maybe more, depending on which alternative of the facts you support. Regardless, it was a lot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These citizens largely marched in protest of our recently elected and now inaugurated President Trump. They also marched for women's rights and a slew of other progressive causes. If you want to read the official platform, you can find it <a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/584086c7be6594762f5ec56e/t/587ffb20579fb3554668c111/1484782369253/WMW+Guiding+Vision+%26+Definition+of+Principles.pdf">here. </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I didn't join these women. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am compelled to speak into the noise because of the misunderstandings I've seen throughout media, social and otherwise. If one tried to respond to each position, well, whack-a-mole city. But, I will endeavor to try to articulate a few. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are some popular reasons that women didn't march - reasons that don't apply to me and that I don't find compelling. I will deal with a few: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Approval or endorsement of President Trump. </i>My opinion of President Trump as man, politician, candidate, leader is pretty strong, and it's not positive. He's definitely a misogynist, no matter how many of his daughters or female employees he trots out to attempt to prove otherwise. People who speak of women the way he has don't respect women. (I'll not provide examples - if you can't think of three off the top of your head, feel free to shoot me an email. They are myriad.) He's not a good guy, I'm not happy he was elected, and he's certainly not a victory for women. I did not stay home because I'm happy with the Donald. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>We don't have any gender problems in modern America. </i> False. Of course we do. We have a pay gap, domestic abuse, sexual assault, and a growing, awful sex trafficking scourge. On a less dramatic level, in my every day life I often hear men speak down to or ill about women (their wives and others) in a way that betrays a lack of a respect. This week, I saw a popular conservative blogger ask the question, "What rights do men have that women do not?" The answer is none, but the idea that legally-granted rights eliminates a lack of equality is naive at best. Think about poll taxes and literacy tests after the right to vote was granted to African Americans. "Look how far we've come" isn't a justification for not wanting to get better. We're supposed to be getting better until they lay us in the ground. If there was a march to protest the pornography industry, I'd be there with bells on. (Bells, I said, not a p**sy hat, but more on that later). If there was a march to raise awareness of domestic abuse or sexual assault, I would link arms with anyone I could find. If I could march to help the real and present race problem we have in America, particularly in my South, I'd be first in line to make posters. We do have problems in America, and they do deserve political attention. So, I didn't stay home because I think all is hunky dory. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>*I* don't need the march. </i>Well, pardon my french, but that's kind of an asshole thing to say. There are a lot of things that I don't need. Just because these issues don't affect me directly doesn't mean I am excused from my civic responsibility to deal with them. Do unto others and all that jazz. (Which isn't jazz, but is, in fact, Scripture.) I happen to be married to the most feminist man I know - he respects my opinions, intellect, skills, and contributions. He thinks his two daughters conspired together to hang the moon. I work for and with men and women who respect what I do and view my gender as an asset or an irrelevance, but never anything else. I am a member of a church where women are treasured, and I count among close friends men who treasure their own wives (if they're married) and also treasure me. But, just because I am currently in a situation in which I don't feel my gender causes problems doesn't mean I shouldn't stand in solidarity with my sisters who are abused, unloved, unappreciated, underpaid, and otherwise suffer because of the body parts with which they were born. And, to be honest, there have certainly been times in my life where I have been mistreated because I am a woman. In fact, there have been many times. How shortsighted it would be of me to sit at home because, right this second, life is peachy. So, my staying home was not because I believe that these issues don't apply to me or because I don't care about the issues. I very much see the problems, and I very much give a damn. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, those are three reasons I've seen articulated that I don't buy as legitimate reasons to stay home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>So, why didn't I make a sign and get out there? </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>I couldn't find a goal</i>. One cannot just march against something; one has to march for something too. I'm a J on the Meyer's Briggs, and my vocations of mother, teacher, school administrator mean that I am goal-oriented. We don't just study - we study for mastery. We don't just buy food - we plan meals first. And we think about who we're going to feed - just my people? Other people too? People with allergies? What is the <i>goal</i>? Also, I spend a lot of my days explaining to my children - and the children I teach - the lack of virtue in complaint for complaint's sake. "You are not a victim" is uttered often. Fussing isn't helpful. Justified complaint must be done with respect, and alongside encouragement, but most importantly, there must be a reason to complain - a change sought. Maybe it's my lawyer father coming out in me, but before you file a complaint, you must have a remedy you're seeking. I couldn't figure out what these marchers wanted. To be heard - yes. But, to what end? What is the teleology of the fussing? It needs one other than volume. I stayed home because I didn't understand what we were after. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Violence, lewdness, and crudeness are neither effective nor moral tools. </i>It was unfortunate for these women that they marched less than a week after Martin Luther King, jr. Day, because the comparisons between this march and the march at which Dr. King gave the <i>I Have a Dream</i> speech do not cast our recent march in great light. MLK's speech is set apart from any others in modern history because of his composure, his weaving in of biblical allusions, the perfectly crafted diction, and, most importantly, his respectful treatment of people who had legitimately wronged him - and all people of color. And the contrast couldn't have been stronger. It reminded me of a comedic juxtaposition of complete opposites. But it wasn't funny. Though I am riddled with faults, I am a stronger woman and a better person than to scream the word <i>pussy</i> at people to get their attention. In fact, I am not a nasty woman. I don't want to be, and the problems with misogyny in America are not solved by women embracing some kind of nasty narrative. They are solved by women who are composed - because in composure we find power. In self-control, there is strength. The country was forced to listen to Dr. King - he gave them no choice - because he stood, clear and strong, without sullying his stance with words meant to horrify or injure. Dr. King famously said, "<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-size: 18px;">Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that." </span>In the same way, "my p***y grabs back" is a nonsensical response to Trump's famous lines about his own sexual assault of women. It doesn't work. I'm not talking about a southern lady decorum issue (though that too, yes). I'm talking about a moral and effectual issue. We are called to love our enemies - we don't get to retreat to screaming at them. Screaming is the posture of the weak. Come to my house - people yell, but no one yells when he or she is empowered, strong, in control. An empowered woman states her case firmly, calmly, and with grace. This is not defeat - it is the path to victory. Read some of the early feminists. I stayed home because the tone of the project was not admirable, and I am modeling for my daughters that their strength is found in light and love, not vulgarity and anger. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The right to kill babies is not a feminist ideal</i>. This is the kicker, of course. The organizers of the march were unable to divorce abortion on demand from their platform, and in that, they lost me as a supporter. I won't march for the right to murder children; in fact, if I were in Washington this week, I'd be marching where I've marched before - the annual March for Life. I am pro-life, but I'd love to stand with pro-choice women on other women's issues. However, when we conflate them all, we undermine the half of American women who are pro life. And we are told that makes us anti-feminist. It doesn't, and just ask Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton about it. Abortion is anti-woman because it kills unborn women, and it is anti woman because it once again puts forth violence against women to deal with a "problem" that a man fully participated in bringing about. When I was a pregnant teenager, the father of that sweet baby put forth abortion as the solution so as to avoid any disruption to his life. I am a cliche, because for thousands of years men have been asking women to kill their unborn children so that they, the men, don't have to deal with the results of their own actions. The idea that abortion is a fight against men is comical, actually. It is the very thing that men want. Ironically, the modern feminist movement in America continues to play right into the hands of the enemy. I did not march, because the organizers of the march made it clear that abortion was at the top of the agenda. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In conclusion, there were bad reasons to stay home last Saturday, but I think there were good ones too. My dear friends - and there were many - who marched have not lost my respect or my love, and I'd hope for the same in return. I don't think marching was the right decision, and they obviously don't think I made the right decision. And - and I know this is mind-blowing - <i>that's okay.</i> Disagreement neither threatens my position nor my relationships. We can disagree and then eat and drink together. I eat food every single day of the year with people with whom I disagree - and I even regularly make out with one such person. I hope we all can become better believers in that model; challenging our positions, especially the tightly held ones, is the only path to growth and peace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Blessings upon all of you. </span></div>
Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-46504502246434352032016-12-29T19:08:00.000-06:002017-12-18T14:27:02.603-06:002016 Christmas Year In Review <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjsVpUSRZCwHJucRzeX0FtSa7rl1YEvKZRQ5e9MuUtNfnO-o63mirXzerbCCLjs0nz5MDlhpXkl-mgi1pqiPLZ15w1nbq7p3WeHv38E5HMNW-YwjvQXIBtsVIkiKYNpo0Ls-prrkUUWQA/s1600/IMG_1020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjsVpUSRZCwHJucRzeX0FtSa7rl1YEvKZRQ5e9MuUtNfnO-o63mirXzerbCCLjs0nz5MDlhpXkl-mgi1pqiPLZ15w1nbq7p3WeHv38E5HMNW-YwjvQXIBtsVIkiKYNpo0Ls-prrkUUWQA/s640/IMG_1020.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter Sunday </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It is the fifth day of Christmas, and it's time for the annual year in review. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge2qOAIp5y-mhQIS6gREJW4uWlheu4ZjqrJEPnInd5-oxNyu6pWnIArVYR0OHzYqpOmHPbXvMksuZp_vmSoqNXwARLva7KzbQEvx9Z5JVDIyb52DvsjpJYdXnFV7xCgvSxLExPjqZ5tRM/s1600/ForsterFamily2016_54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge2qOAIp5y-mhQIS6gREJW4uWlheu4ZjqrJEPnInd5-oxNyu6pWnIArVYR0OHzYqpOmHPbXvMksuZp_vmSoqNXwARLva7KzbQEvx9Z5JVDIyb52DvsjpJYdXnFV7xCgvSxLExPjqZ5tRM/s200/ForsterFamily2016_54.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Family Photo Shoot by Ashleigh Coleman Photographer</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIm5ZUvyYfmJpjTKssCtEwTki5o9HfkVqQq0FIYqpcTYEW32NRUGxstsqYc9Nq7nJJSPcAOZi9kLHxFnYspgx3gQm8z-AZEbdAIR1BLHL4LSIdfAzy2rfd7pJhHMOn0-4CEDW89219iA/s1600/ForsterFamily2016_61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIm5ZUvyYfmJpjTKssCtEwTki5o9HfkVqQq0FIYqpcTYEW32NRUGxstsqYc9Nq7nJJSPcAOZi9kLHxFnYspgx3gQm8z-AZEbdAIR1BLHL4LSIdfAzy2rfd7pJhHMOn0-4CEDW89219iA/s200/ForsterFamily2016_61.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hhCk7iR5tJ7hjI8-2BlV34RYvBqNqzp7hlu9UttSJudAxwQe8gxQD_BrSbbOEech4I84Dx-E-lNVD5Dp2Tfbjz6EaRCqJCoNVqH5WgJpB6XpyQh47JMm-l1Uv1rhJ9-6uJ9ODaK_9UQ/s1600/ForsterFamily2016_37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hhCk7iR5tJ7hjI8-2BlV34RYvBqNqzp7hlu9UttSJudAxwQe8gxQD_BrSbbOEech4I84Dx-E-lNVD5Dp2Tfbjz6EaRCqJCoNVqH5WgJpB6XpyQh47JMm-l1Uv1rhJ9-6uJ9ODaK_9UQ/s200/ForsterFamily2016_37.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My babies don't have baby books, I've never owned a scrapbook, and so I blog. Or, I used to. At least I can keep this one tradition going: the year in review. ;) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">2016 has been a less-than-awesome year for famous-in-the-80s celebrities, and it was pretty unpleasant for establishment Democrats. But, we're neither of those things, so we're doing okay. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We are still loving our house in Sherwood Forest (actually so named), which backs up to the undeveloped flood plain, the Hundred Acre Wood (my name for it I made up). The boys (and some girls too) are out there a lot, tromping around, dragging dead wood into various arrangements that for them have meaning. We've moved the dining room table once per year since we moved in, and we think we've found its permanent home, so that's big news and good news too. We hope to stay in this house until the children have to go through our things here. We did join a new church this year - First Presbyterian Jackson - and that has been a great blessing for our family. We do miss our sweet people at Immanuel Pres, our old church, but God has been good in his transition, as He is all the time. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJETaf4o7G-ZTyBStYfvtlzRRknZR8Jn-9bE_DU83toP71eDzf7mmdtnXagX0y6qLoIanrQ_BGMsWuVSYhV1p0iwk0iL1j2u_HG8ViEqKbaj1EO6S8rbb4aJ5ZMirtPC3O5_FvPQaRbIQ/s1600/IMG_3199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJETaf4o7G-ZTyBStYfvtlzRRknZR8Jn-9bE_DU83toP71eDzf7mmdtnXagX0y6qLoIanrQ_BGMsWuVSYhV1p0iwk0iL1j2u_HG8ViEqKbaj1EO6S8rbb4aJ5ZMirtPC3O5_FvPQaRbIQ/s200/IMG_3199.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Rehearsal Dinner in NOLA for the wedding of our dear friends, Rachel and James. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Paul's job as Director of Engineering for Flowood is really good to him. It keeps him outside about half the time, and it never bores him. This is mostly because there is always another problem to fix, and fixing problems is Paul's favorite hobby. He also enjoys tutoring - high school science, math, and standardized test preparation. Of course, I guess that's still just problem solving. I can say this about him because he's mine - Paul is a model patriarch. As I type, he's playing mario kart with the children and showing them no mercy. Paul reads aloud to the people, wakes up in the middle of the night with the still-once-a-week-up toddler, and dances with me in the kitchen. That's usually my idea though. Paul has taken back up the flute of late, and we were comforted to know that the thousands of dollars and hours spent in his youth did not go wasted. He recently fixed a lawn mower engine and is very proud. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">Favorites</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";"> </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Book</span><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">:</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";"> The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs (for whom he might leave me if she was still with us...) </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">TV Show</span><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">:</b><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";"> Stranger Things </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Music: Abigail Washburn (I don't know who that is)</span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Movie: La Grande Bellezza </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">New Skill: Spoke Shaving </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">School Subject: Physics (still) </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Thing to Wear: Underwear (he's so funny). </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Food: Anything Ann Lowrey cooks (isn't he just charming). </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Color: Green </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Activity: Small Engine Repair </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">House Concert at Brooks's and Carrie's House. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My plate remains full, though it does feel like I have a bit more margin than I did a few years ago. Margin is my favorite buzzword this year for sure. I am serving as the Academic Counselor at St. Augustine School (come to an information meeting!), and teaching Logic, Latin, and some English Grammar. Diagramming sentences is the bomb, parsing makes me happy, and determining the validity of syllogisms is just delightful. More importantly, introducing all those to middle school students makes my heart sing. Being the Academic Counselor means I work with our administration to pick curriculum, I work with teachers to implement curriculum and determine what we're aiming for our students to master, how to get there, and how to measure it. It's challenging work, and though I didn't predict it would be my path, I am ever so glad it has been. I get to be at home on M/W/F, which is a great balance for me personally and for our family. I did get to have one fancy dinner party (I love a menu card) and a lot more non-fancy suppers this year than I have the previous three years while the school was getting on its feet, which was a huge win. My goals for 2017 include writing more and engaging more fully with our city. <span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /></span><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;"><br /></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";"></span><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">Favorites </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Book: A book of Amy Hempel short stories </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">TV Show: The Crown, for sure</span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Movie: Lala Land</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Music: Clay Parker and Jodi James</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">New Skill: Tuning out political insanity</span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">School Subject: Logic</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Thing to Wear: a smile</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Food: Apple Walnut Dressing (I tried it for a dinner party, and I can't stop making it). </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Color: Light Blue </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Activity: Watching The West Wing with Paul William Forster. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TGCs16XPSa7Uwjvu2_YmrFJC8kgTvVdFOlz1vbkdQCB2956DwHQuszG7Xq9p79mR020whfMK5PISyLLwZIR_t0xAhSLVucX9cpJ5cQBNNOzce6vg_-NUzo_NIak4oroem6UdhtSLPa0/s1600/ForsterFamily2016_69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TGCs16XPSa7Uwjvu2_YmrFJC8kgTvVdFOlz1vbkdQCB2956DwHQuszG7Xq9p79mR020whfMK5PISyLLwZIR_t0xAhSLVucX9cpJ5cQBNNOzce6vg_-NUzo_NIak4oroem6UdhtSLPa0/s200/ForsterFamily2016_69.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ggSU0UHFUSERbhfv6Sfl3rluKJ-Ci6oq__8_ScNe9aMcTAy_BcpVCvGPz4psCvCQ0aKvfTU7ZWJnrsvcOF5O45_ee_sz4hFg0s1zTq_AIO20wNIq6NZZypdzn75pqy10vJ2OUbHI71w/s1600/IMG_1090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ggSU0UHFUSERbhfv6Sfl3rluKJ-Ci6oq__8_ScNe9aMcTAy_BcpVCvGPz4psCvCQ0aKvfTU7ZWJnrsvcOF5O45_ee_sz4hFg0s1zTq_AIO20wNIq6NZZypdzn75pqy10vJ2OUbHI71w/s200/IMG_1090.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";"><span style="background-color: white;">Ada Brooks is 12.5 and five foot three and really excited to eventually be taller than I am, which is not going to happen on my watch - heavens. Ada loves her friends at school and church, and she loves baking - for anyone who will let her. She's in the school's running club this year, which is not her favorite, but it's good for her. In school, she's taking Latin 2, Logic (from her mean mother), and Medieval History, which is pretty fun, as well as Algebra I, English, and Art. She knows way more about the Popes than I do, for sure. Ada has become quite the competent babysitter for my people and a few other adorable folks. She blesses her family and all those who know her, and she's rapidly approaching the level of my best friend. </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;"><br /></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";"></span><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">Favorites</b><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Book: The Book Thief </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">TV Show: Psych </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Movie: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Music: All sorts. (she's figuring out her groove) </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">New Skill: Calligraphy</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">School Subject: Logic (be still my heart). </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Thing to Wear: Blue Jeans</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Career Aspiration: Architect</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Food: Pizza </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Color: Gray</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Activity: Baking </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPzjLVXSb6ME5srR2yzo0242HDqgi1jkAifH6yINYq6AoVDBAov7BnlX4Y83paQYxW4EuQyyBdwCkd8oIQZxMIopQwzJpffzy2eid4y0nSDs6KSZe51HN2Cuy9pqXXKsDSAly1ecJlKI/s1600/IMG_1415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPzjLVXSb6ME5srR2yzo0242HDqgi1jkAifH6yINYq6AoVDBAov7BnlX4Y83paQYxW4EuQyyBdwCkd8oIQZxMIopQwzJpffzy2eid4y0nSDs6KSZe51HN2Cuy9pqXXKsDSAly1ecJlKI/s200/IMG_1415.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5DMNBVYeNHgT1UCNr-IBpiOBI6WeOBXQscFeeil42JHXEQxcAgXg-zQ6UxTZmFGk8-V_tbuivRzljMu6Na7ttVCCPapiw8iFE_m7NDsS4G-u6D0NeaesoTPsH-uTu6i3E3rq8NZTixY/s1600/IMG_1490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5DMNBVYeNHgT1UCNr-IBpiOBI6WeOBXQscFeeil42JHXEQxcAgXg-zQ6UxTZmFGk8-V_tbuivRzljMu6Na7ttVCCPapiw8iFE_m7NDsS4G-u6D0NeaesoTPsH-uTu6i3E3rq8NZTixY/s200/IMG_1490.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Eason is in the fourth grade at St. Augustine School, which has been fun transition for him into bigger work load and harder things. He's in his first year of Latin study, and I'm not teaching him, which has been so fun to be uninvolved and watch his Latin grow. Eas is very athletic, but not in a sports-y way - more in a scaling the nearest smooth boulder kind of way. Good thing we're low on boulders in Mississippi. He loves the woods and asked for (and received) camping gear for his birthday. Eason's level of extroversion can't be quantified (he'd break the Meyers Briggs; I'm positive). He reads aloud interesting or funny passages to us so often - just so we can be in on the book he's reading. When this isn't making us tired, it is endearing him to us even further. </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">Favorites </b><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Book: The Ranger's Apprentice (boo) </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Movie: Rogue One </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">TV Show: Kicking It (it's awful. I'm showing restraint by even allowing it to be chosen as a favorite, but, then again, it's not my favorites list... keep telling myself that). </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Music: Cello Wars by The Piano Guys </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">New Skill: Ripsticking </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">School Subject: History </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Thing to Wear: Blankets (it's a problem. Underwear and blankets- his uniform). </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Food: Homemade Bean Burritos </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Career Aspiration: Pediatrician. </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Color: Green</span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Activity: Play in the creek with his friend Truman. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpRdO4oI1e8kyituaU71MLWDn-XiTVscVjJ0SGdhz-z8u78xGKzdaR-jgXhVTT40vEV7cZ_07usPcKLuyyRIePjUgekal57Fo-CL8L4fBdZadtF2rfjSCbo__kI-P9J7eNIXQ54PB_Ro/s1600/ForsterFamily2016_41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpRdO4oI1e8kyituaU71MLWDn-XiTVscVjJ0SGdhz-z8u78xGKzdaR-jgXhVTT40vEV7cZ_07usPcKLuyyRIePjUgekal57Fo-CL8L4fBdZadtF2rfjSCbo__kI-P9J7eNIXQ54PB_Ro/s200/ForsterFamily2016_41.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyCRC3wQaM5Brrpqa-JhO2ktMViRLPi89vC1ca0q_x119m4Vsm1at9yd_OQN2ZLdqO46ZbUYYcCbTj654ud-X5Bq_6NNiq9ciS7q-i5PapQtkIsefZ9nTltGqqrvHCjaq9W63_Tp9lcY/s1600/IMG_1483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyCRC3wQaM5Brrpqa-JhO2ktMViRLPi89vC1ca0q_x119m4Vsm1at9yd_OQN2ZLdqO46ZbUYYcCbTj654ud-X5Bq_6NNiq9ciS7q-i5PapQtkIsefZ9nTltGqqrvHCjaq9W63_Tp9lcY/s200/IMG_1483.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRuIi8oBlhkE1_egAIhD9csC-SwxATtBhjfpJBI7dTTe3tz1ctZt8EQm-dsYh5Z231IQG5yQKr8WM0jDT3CPdSIpVVp-KFeZ2Vi0Sedh4oWu_amgRxkaVpMDnORsl4hz8d0cpObp76r0/s1600/IMG_1604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRuIi8oBlhkE1_egAIhD9csC-SwxATtBhjfpJBI7dTTe3tz1ctZt8EQm-dsYh5Z231IQG5yQKr8WM0jDT3CPdSIpVVp-KFeZ2Vi0Sedh4oWu_amgRxkaVpMDnORsl4hz8d0cpObp76r0/s200/IMG_1604.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-Dfe8b95gO5bXKSlOVe4-jBdiwG2ExHrDLEPJRNNYUzanhtyY2TMgnprEdp9wRYbIUFHAx4ReHA5iY9wKd5MBFsdzkmg04xsihZmU9v1DBw_HB1uyGUy0G1xOYGJRHwprHKIZGrSL1s/s1600/IMG_1492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-Dfe8b95gO5bXKSlOVe4-jBdiwG2ExHrDLEPJRNNYUzanhtyY2TMgnprEdp9wRYbIUFHAx4ReHA5iY9wKd5MBFsdzkmg04xsihZmU9v1DBw_HB1uyGUy0G1xOYGJRHwprHKIZGrSL1s/s200/IMG_1492.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Collins is seven and a half, and he's such a funny little guy. He is as introverted as Eason is extroverted, and it makes him tired to live at our house. Poor thing. Collins is in second grade, and especially loves the science and history projects his teacher expertly arranges for him. He played soccer this fall and loved the defensive side of things, but isn't on his way to the world cup anytime soon. He picks his friends carefully and does not suffer from a fear of missing out. Collins is witty and he's a phenomenal sous chef. I wouldn't trade him for the world. </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;">Favorites</b><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Book: Harry Potter (began this year - it's been fun to add him). </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">TV Show: Kicking It </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Movie: Captain America Civil War </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Music: The Piano Guys </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">New Skill: Calligraphy (his sister has been teaching him - pretty sweet) </span></span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">School Subject: Science </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Thing to Wear: Ole Miss </span></span><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Sweatshirt</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small; text-align: center;">Food: Chocolate Pie </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Color: Light Blue </span><br style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Activity: Airsoft with Seth. </span></span></span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0QT87tdH_KczXb5lBR2q_oQUv9LlQaMj_wfKO1i9cMt45MZkFp1pL5Iiu8HvAVxl-ruJJpjxO4zZ8OQz8aFNaXhRnCbBCONquFspg8SN0xa4mbLrvgIh0-ejTgih05ri1O8HCUEWO0g/s1600/IMG_2558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0QT87tdH_KczXb5lBR2q_oQUv9LlQaMj_wfKO1i9cMt45MZkFp1pL5Iiu8HvAVxl-ruJJpjxO4zZ8OQz8aFNaXhRnCbBCONquFspg8SN0xa4mbLrvgIh0-ejTgih05ri1O8HCUEWO0g/s200/IMG_2558.JPG" width="193" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8SQCvFTn04IWDgCPObeND7vRgUXghZ-66RY01vgnwrjfMMQsEF3N4Z8G3WtSLVpJKHUqiyXLkbcbtZduISG0aosF2-BUOzDjxgH_r77jvZWrQKavtsbz8h9_fE-GBTkHikrurmyzPe8/s1600/IMG_1232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8SQCvFTn04IWDgCPObeND7vRgUXghZ-66RY01vgnwrjfMMQsEF3N4Z8G3WtSLVpJKHUqiyXLkbcbtZduISG0aosF2-BUOzDjxgH_r77jvZWrQKavtsbz8h9_fE-GBTkHikrurmyzPe8/s200/IMG_1232.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcElKQOaw4JEyUHGSaPc9NONluVyblc-i13WzJ1sARGYfvnF3jfyUxDg28ONJiZEnUa4S0gVQbm-pd39nmC3ieLfKnZ4SFwsTwwqT6SlDmhenSTADcSMsXaBwvJb4Bq-pmpGs6TXFzLFg/s1600/IMG_4052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcElKQOaw4JEyUHGSaPc9NONluVyblc-i13WzJ1sARGYfvnF3jfyUxDg28ONJiZEnUa4S0gVQbm-pd39nmC3ieLfKnZ4SFwsTwwqT6SlDmhenSTADcSMsXaBwvJb4Bq-pmpGs6TXFzLFg/s200/IMG_4052.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdMXEZW7nw931iR4R6j2-EDefFsMyB18f4lJY1QtJ0_cB1DXWR8lIzmuii6zbzku20ihyphenhyphenGpExHjgZXS1oey1mkMmnuUKnl-kQFeQRejlGGthLFmOeNJuWSb98B9BGXXUPo7fK-FlUnlU/s1600/IMG_1455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdMXEZW7nw931iR4R6j2-EDefFsMyB18f4lJY1QtJ0_cB1DXWR8lIzmuii6zbzku20ihyphenhyphenGpExHjgZXS1oey1mkMmnuUKnl-kQFeQRejlGGthLFmOeNJuWSb98B9BGXXUPo7fK-FlUnlU/s200/IMG_1455.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Elsa Gray is a mess, a pistol, a character, delightful and spoiled. She is the fanciest of all the Forsters, and she makes us look like poor little Nancy's boring family in those books. She adores dress up and pretend play, and we could all listen to her for hours. Until we can't, and then it's time for bed. She says hysterical things all </span></span><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">the days, and her hair is always ragamuffin looking in her face (due mostly to the constant donning of and removing of hats, crowns, etc.). She stole our hearts upon arrival, and she keeps them hidden somewhere very smart, because not one of us has gotten ours back. </span><br />
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<b style="color: #2a4455; font-family: Vollkorn; font-size: small;">Favorites</b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">Book: The Bible (She gets me all to herself for Bible and Catechism at night, and she loves it - be still my heart). </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">TV Show: Little Bear or Daniel Tiger</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Movie: Frosty the Snowman and The Grinch. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Music: Five Fat Turkeys Are We from school. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn";">New Skill: Independent Pottying. (she couldn't come up with a new skill.... But I sure have a favorite). </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">School Subject: Nap time. (Weirdo). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Thing to Wear: My pink Christmas Tree dress. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Food: beans. All the beans. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Color: Pink and Purple. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a4455; font-family: "vollkorn"; font-size: x-small;">Activity: play with Polly the doll, play memory with Mama</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWcwUy_XWDHf2TEnxCZ-jSf6sfqq7rsjnHezCHr_CVIU8bVIlUtwzp2Ow7sd-u2wWPOxh0x-0O7wLF6rMdZa_dCB4GlYT7fGsXt8V2poPEBleb3K93qVffnZH6EHHvNThHhxrI5iZUtc/s1600/IMG_3718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWcwUy_XWDHf2TEnxCZ-jSf6sfqq7rsjnHezCHr_CVIU8bVIlUtwzp2Ow7sd-u2wWPOxh0x-0O7wLF6rMdZa_dCB4GlYT7fGsXt8V2poPEBleb3K93qVffnZH6EHHvNThHhxrI5iZUtc/s200/IMG_3718.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween - A shadow, Merlin, Indiana Jones, and a Ballerina</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvJ6Dplu8Vl_p5o_n72esj8SUJZyBgZAeOtMR2lAZ9bMWnA0CmUOzXGPUdxSFo0MpaL1SIxfYEB-JmdexU1nHPUONbKjj-Qx2S_sdJurbvrsFyGl3x9Is5DQe2Uky7OkVyKBYrw1S9_Q/s1600/IMG_4016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvJ6Dplu8Vl_p5o_n72esj8SUJZyBgZAeOtMR2lAZ9bMWnA0CmUOzXGPUdxSFo0MpaL1SIxfYEB-JmdexU1nHPUONbKjj-Qx2S_sdJurbvrsFyGl3x9Is5DQe2Uky7OkVyKBYrw1S9_Q/s200/IMG_4016.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the Nutcracker at Thalia Mara. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXJO5yl4YLbEhwFvOjjTSx8nyxsufqz45x9t1VEfkSDVSe17kkXME1huigjt9CiOHl6B09jL1Dej1OmogR4Fla3QzSGFS5dl9hLwkKEVLXLFxfKDzArYnjf0Y8HNTZIZCKo7_KdFdtiI/s1600/IMG_3769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXJO5yl4YLbEhwFvOjjTSx8nyxsufqz45x9t1VEfkSDVSe17kkXME1huigjt9CiOHl6B09jL1Dej1OmogR4Fla3QzSGFS5dl9hLwkKEVLXLFxfKDzArYnjf0Y8HNTZIZCKo7_KdFdtiI/s200/IMG_3769.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mama took the kiddos to watch the rebels. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTDQWgO-R-uT9YnmhBaV88P47oCmy8yLd70ZlPHhWs1qMTcATW7P9HnNGcPUFrQQ-AXa3QDcasaDg6m_RrOOWciP_pb66tIfp2xbjIQ2gbbaYri34sbCh6XYdwC4aEGMhpnzhrTlCOWM/s1600/IMG_1284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTDQWgO-R-uT9YnmhBaV88P47oCmy8yLd70ZlPHhWs1qMTcATW7P9HnNGcPUFrQQ-AXa3QDcasaDg6m_RrOOWciP_pb66tIfp2xbjIQ2gbbaYri34sbCh6XYdwC4aEGMhpnzhrTlCOWM/s200/IMG_1284.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Gryphon Games at School! Go Owls! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3LZUoyjnlbZUoh5Ai9P-pN-SYbFFSY2fRMhXm7SLPcxurIBsrDp-G7DVQoDOFD8QG2YXHOWtDLtFbWSQ_raVNPER3jIwspN_Ioun8UDmllIrklFCZfWH5RaLCfaEd5pDz5lx0qZLyPPU/s1600/IMG_2811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3LZUoyjnlbZUoh5Ai9P-pN-SYbFFSY2fRMhXm7SLPcxurIBsrDp-G7DVQoDOFD8QG2YXHOWtDLtFbWSQ_raVNPER3jIwspN_Ioun8UDmllIrklFCZfWH5RaLCfaEd5pDz5lx0qZLyPPU/s200/IMG_2811.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Day of School. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwUjLvbOWaiXskBQknK4kwKYsG7L8_S0U2bZRJ5dAFP4WNiqolBJKiGqUQSexvis0rAHIL7V7zdN5JwUZPv2LOl9cp2CQgEZ0hCJKhmb8CqBypXqHa_75GrqLjEGv-0INddO5k8zAKuk/s1600/IMG_2490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwUjLvbOWaiXskBQknK4kwKYsG7L8_S0U2bZRJ5dAFP4WNiqolBJKiGqUQSexvis0rAHIL7V7zdN5JwUZPv2LOl9cp2CQgEZ0hCJKhmb8CqBypXqHa_75GrqLjEGv-0INddO5k8zAKuk/s200/IMG_2490.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fourth of July. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKIMNZMrlMCrhhIIbRz3APKqepEQFfvzJuM42bUX7_zLgfZdRSMDQ2schxWZlutA1SgWVxRKkh7j8AVmL6Stn9dsTBbNKygvcLl3L49Dxj96MO0UJZRqVLavH8EN-OfPqCRticHk34Q0/s1600/IMG_1794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKIMNZMrlMCrhhIIbRz3APKqepEQFfvzJuM42bUX7_zLgfZdRSMDQ2schxWZlutA1SgWVxRKkh7j8AVmL6Stn9dsTBbNKygvcLl3L49Dxj96MO0UJZRqVLavH8EN-OfPqCRticHk34Q0/s200/IMG_1794.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar Bowl Watch Party </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzGlS4BN-x1Wir6gXU134H_WlPE6mzKGN_ZwNTWF-upeq-mq4dZy5Lc2NiBxQ74IWaVucjnGTk5OZje49SWpbd72VZK1k0FNu49EIrf4lJYaZd_wujlMOji9ecqfhyNIiasvvKWkTzoY/s1600/IMG_3678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzGlS4BN-x1Wir6gXU134H_WlPE6mzKGN_ZwNTWF-upeq-mq4dZy5Lc2NiBxQ74IWaVucjnGTk5OZje49SWpbd72VZK1k0FNu49EIrf4lJYaZd_wujlMOji9ecqfhyNIiasvvKWkTzoY/s200/IMG_3678.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ballerina and Her Shadow. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7qFG6AXKVWlV0X1jywD89pk181TSDdM61UEUuLUPjsDdht0N1bpNFLVoF4HqqcKA-rWSqiNfnXDgK8pH8bDCWMlZ-McitfcOuWkM58jc7La2lA07R8uImOk6VHPypw7zXvLIWz5m6z7o/s1600/IMG_1707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7qFG6AXKVWlV0X1jywD89pk181TSDdM61UEUuLUPjsDdht0N1bpNFLVoF4HqqcKA-rWSqiNfnXDgK8pH8bDCWMlZ-McitfcOuWkM58jc7La2lA07R8uImOk6VHPypw7zXvLIWz5m6z7o/s200/IMG_1707.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father's Day. Best Daddy. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXePBEgE6TjENiuE0n75rJ2mUAHFI-JZPQyRdCaP91on94f6uyNYuBsB7YVCmNFK0EmSJIDKKM7YWoQIm5Chf_IGv7xB8wOSokYyxlHLxb5g-HXcUPXyY6aT3XdRUrgQSGhDmyTckLWk8/s1600/IMG_1471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXePBEgE6TjENiuE0n75rJ2mUAHFI-JZPQyRdCaP91on94f6uyNYuBsB7YVCmNFK0EmSJIDKKM7YWoQIm5Chf_IGv7xB8wOSokYyxlHLxb5g-HXcUPXyY6aT3XdRUrgQSGhDmyTckLWk8/s200/IMG_1471.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ono Island with our dear friends the Tysons. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span>Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-89473121066079708102016-11-16T22:25:00.001-06:002016-11-16T22:25:13.639-06:00You Can't Fuss With Your Mouth Full <span id="goog_2026725103"></span><span id="goog_2026725104"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl6k-20z2v8KId3tr3nmPU69JErLChjWTwXx1b76nnRcN9yfmie4-req13lcS-E42qgQLYBzKuMeanYMfVmcHl48bt8QXdvr6rpuP2wppFiKtZuZxhN7BMufyBwaNSIb6yyPqR4XsGiI/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl6k-20z2v8KId3tr3nmPU69JErLChjWTwXx1b76nnRcN9yfmie4-req13lcS-E42qgQLYBzKuMeanYMfVmcHl48bt8QXdvr6rpuP2wppFiKtZuZxhN7BMufyBwaNSIb6yyPqR4XsGiI/s320/IMG_0001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AB's Sweet Potatoes from a couple of years ago. We'll see how the rebels do this weekend before we decide if we want to repeat this design.. ;) </td></tr>
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<br />
This year is mine and Paul's eleventh Thanksgiving to be married and the eleventh year we'll gather around our dinner table for a meal full of good things with people who make our hearts sing. Paul is not a cook, but he's a smashing good conversationalist, and I'm proud to play cohost with him year after year, weekend after weekend, moment after moment. <br />
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In the midst of the insanity that has been public American life for 2016, I think it's especially important that we pause and give thanks. That we make a pretty table, and prepare enough food to feed an army, and then gather the army, and then laugh. We should remember that thanks is nonsensical without an object - and that object is the Creator God of the universe. We can all sit around and lament America, but, friends, I live in a world in which the question, "Which Microplane makes the most sense to grate the fresh nutmeg?" is actually being pondered. There are a multitude of cheeses, fresh fruits, meats, and chocolate. And did I mention the cheese? It is all ridiculous, prodigal, absurd. And when we let it pass by, or sully it with a lack of gratitude, well, we've entered absurdity from a whole different angle. We've problems a plenty, but last I checked, our blessings outweighed our problems. And that's not the case for many in the world today. So, eat. You can't fuss with your mouth full. <br />
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We're traveling to visit dear friends for Turkey Day proper, but we'd not feel we'd done our filial duty if we didn't host a spread here, so a bunch of extended family are all coming on Sunday Afternoon for a 4:00 meal of epic proportions.<br />
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Last year, I ruffled everyone's feathers by having no turkey and none of the traditional sides. There was some embracing, but mostly the people were displeased. The men especially fussed - you don't realize how a man likes his traditions until you alter things. And, then the, "But where are the sweet potatoes?" will cut you to the quick. </div>
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You can view last year's menu, as well as back to 2009, if you, you know, you are in desperate need of Thanksgiving inspiration and have a bunch of time on your hands. </div>
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<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2015/11/gobbling-up-gratitude.html">2015</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2014/11/the-ole-miss-rebel-blackbear-landshark.html">2014 </a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html">2013</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2012/11/gobblin-up-storm.html">2012 </a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html"><br /></a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2011/11/sufficiency.html">2011</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/11/gobble.html">2010</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2009/11/this-is-not-my-turkey.html">2009</a><br />
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To Twenty Sixteen: <br />
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<b><u>Pick Up Food </u></b><br />
Prosciutto Cups with Ricotta and Fig filling<br />
Roasted Spiced Pecans<br />
Crostini with Caramelized Onions, Braised Pears, and Whipped Blue Cheese<br />
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<u><b>Soup</b></u><br />
Cauliflower and Roasted Garlic<br />
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<u><b></b></u><br />
<u><b>Main Dish</b></u><br />
Turkey... ;) I'm still debating what to do. We've done grilled and liked it. We've done slow roasted over night in the oven and liked it. We've done traditional in the oven and liked it. We've done fried and loved it but hated the mess. <br />
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<u><b></b></u><br />
<b><u>The Side Board</u></b><br />
<br />
The two standards return and the six in rotation continue... <br />
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Cornbread Dressing - My Mama is bringing the dressing. Thank heavens. This is *the* dressing, and we won't ever do anything else, I don't imagine. It came, I believe, from my paternal grandmother - neither of my grandmothers was a very good cook (funny isn't it?), though I think both of their mothers were great, and they taught their daughters some things. Including this dressing. I think Mama messed with it some when I was growing up, but, it hasn't changed much for sure. Celery, Onion, Two different cornbreads, pepper out the wazoo, as they say. Or at least as Mama says. <br />
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Sweet Potato Casserole - I'm bringing it back. Sticking with the half marshmallow, half pecan topping. It reconciles all different view points, and goodness knows we can use some reconciliation. <br />
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1) Scalloped Swiss Potato Gratin - I still can't spell it right. How many p's? How many l's? One never knows. This recipe is a standard in the rotation (not every year but most), and it is one of Paul's and Ma's favorites. <br />
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2) Spinach Gratin - My Stepmother is bringing this, and she's simply thrilling in the kitchen, so go team. <br />
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3) Salad - Arugula, pears, candied walnuts, goat cheese. Yes, we're repeating a featured ingredient from an appetizer - pears - but, today in the mail came eight picture perfect Harry and David Pears... and who doesn't obey Harry and David? If they're still firm on Saturday evening, I"ll poach them a bit. I did a cider vinaigrette recently for a dinner party that was one of my favorite dressings I've ever made... and I'm certainly using it again. <br />
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4) Glazed Carrots - Honey, Butter, Simple Goodness<br />
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5) Proper Corn Pudding - The nytimes doesn't win some journalistic prizes, but it does have a great article on Thanksgiving food from each state from a couple of years ago. I wasn't excited about the Mississippi recipe, but I've never done a proper corn pudding, and the one they published as the recipe from Virginia looks like the real deal. So, I'm trying it - water bath and all. <br />
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6) Butternut, Burrata, Hazelnut Orzo - I'm making this up. As I go. But, what the hey - if it flops, we won't be low on food. And we need a little adventure. And how cold it flop? And on and on I go - where I stop, nobody knows. <br />
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<br />
<br />
<u><b>On The Table</b></u><br />
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Gravy - Every year, I ask my stepmother for her gravy recipe. And every year, she dutifully sends it to me. And every year, hers is better than mine. I'm plotting -I'm going to have all the ingredients ready and require her to make it when she walks in. Don't tell. <br />
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Cranberry Sauce - You know - I've messed with it over the years - ginger, cayenne, kumquats - and its never been bad. But, I've never thought, "Oh my! We must never go back to regular ol' cranberry sauce again!" So, this year, we're doing regular ol' cranberry sauce. Cranberries, sugar, water, maybe some salt and pepper? <br />
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Eason Homemade Pickles - Sweet, Spicy, All The Time<br />
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Canned Spiced Peaches - I dare you to make me stop. Double dog dare you. I open one can all week... and it will remain this one. <br />
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Bread Basket - Rosemary Biscuit Muffins (me) and Sourdough Bread (Stepmother)<br />
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<br />
<b><u>Dessert Cart</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
Honeyed, Salted Chocolate Pie - I saw it somewhere and decided it needed a try. I'll let you know. <br />
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Cheesecake - Stepmother. Can't wait. <br />
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Apple Pie - I've never made an apple pie in my life. Horrors. Or, as we Southern women say, Horrahs. I think it's likely time. If anyone has a must do, send it on! <br />
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Plum Spice Cake - An old family favorite. I haven't made it in years and years. <br />
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It should be a sufficiency, as my dear grandfather used to say. And hopefully larrupin, as he also used to say. Regardless, it will be a blessing. <br />
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Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-65962514087146167802016-08-24T13:48:00.000-05:002016-08-24T13:48:24.282-05:002015: Christmas Time Review <br />
<br />
Ada Brooks<br />
Favorites <br />
Book: Goose Girl by Shannon Hale <br />
TV Show: Fetch with Ruff Ruffman<br />
Movie: Inside Out <br />
Music: The General by Dispatch <br />
New Skill: Baking <br />
School Subject: Math<br />
Thing to Wear: jeans and a tshirt <br />
Food: Flourless Chocolate Torte <br />
Color: Pink<br />
Activity: working in the kitchen<br />
Memory: Seeing the Lion King on Broadway with Ba and D and all the food on the trip. <br />
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Eason<br />
Book: E. Aster Bunnymund by William Joyce<br />
TV Show: Ultimate Spiderman<br />
Movie: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone <br />
Music: Elvira (by the Oakridge Boys) or O Come O Come Emmanuel or anything by Pentatonix<br />
New Skill: Pole Vaulting with a stick he found in the woods called his staff. <br />
School Subject: Math<br />
Thing to Wear: Sumo footy pajamas<br />
Food: Good Beef in General, especially that steak we had in August. <br />
Color: Blue<br />
Activity: Climbing<br />
Memory: Watching the Rebels beat Mississippi State and just knowing we beat Alabama and LSU. <br />
<br />
Collins<br />
Book: "All the Magic Treehouses" by Mary Pope Osborne<br />
TV Show: Odd Squad<br />
Movie: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone <br />
Music: Christmas Hymns<br />
New Skill: Reading real live chapter books all by himself<br />
School Subject: Math<br />
Thing to Wear: Sweatpants and an ole miss shirt<br />
Food: Cheese Ravioli <br />
Color: Blue<br />
Activity: Playing with Seth (his bestie who moved away this year)<br />
Memory: Going to the Beans' new house all by myself and building forts. <br />
<br />
Elsa Gray:<br />
Book: But Not the Hippopotamus <br />
TV Show: Sesame Street (Particularly Elmo) <br />
Movie: The Adventure's of Winnie the Pooh (The only movie she'll sit and watch). <br />
Music: Elmo's World Theme Song<br />
New Skill: Talking <br />
School Subject: Colors<br />
Thing to Wear: Dresses<br />
Food: Yumby Chocket Tandy <br />
Color: Pink<br />
Activity: Dancing. Definitely. Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-9549151006429401392016-08-24T13:47:00.002-05:002016-08-24T13:47:42.979-05:00a tiny tidbit An old family friend of ours just wrote a book, which was based on a compilation of letters her mother wrote while enrolled at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Mountain_College">Blue Mountain College</a> in the mid 20th century. <br />
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My family founded Blue Mountain in the late nineteenth century, and she thought it would be fun for me to write something for the book's dust jacket. <br />
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I had a bit of fun with it. I am thankful for my strong mother and grandmothers, for my strong daughters, and for many southern sisters who have taught me, through many hard lessons, that strength is not about being the loudest or being perceived as important or right. Strength is wisdom and joy, despite your external circumstances. It says so right there in the Proverbs, and it says so right there in our lives. <br />
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It comes with opening your arms and home and welcoming people into your life - not with building walls to keep them out. <br />
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And, it comes with the carrying on of our traditions and our people and passing that on to the next generation. We are not immortal. But our names and our recipes and our traditions and our kindnesses will live on long after we are gone. <br />
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And that is strength. <br />
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Here is what will be on the book: <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<div class="" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
Southern women are a particular breed. They smile and pour you something cold, but never let that fool you. We know our strength, and we wield it expertly and often subversively. This can be done both for good and for ill, but never underestimate a woman from the land of cotton; do not mistake our gentility for weakness. There is a quiet, cultural matriarchy in the south, and while much could be said about it, the place to find it first is in the naming of our children. Mothers in the deep south are committed to what we call a <i class="">family name</i>. Rare is the southern woman who continues to use her maiden name as her surname, especially socially. Many have made the mistake of seeing this as a surrender. But, the southern woman knows that she has strategies beyond what is encouraged in the New York Times editorial pages. Enter the family name. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Our sons in the south are often given their mother’s or grandmother’s maiden name as a first name. And since those names are often masculine, we have created a phenomenon for our daughters known as the “double name.” A double name in the south usually consists of a first, simple, and feminine name followed often by a family surname that is more masculine. Come to Mississippi or Alabama and meet a <i class="">Jane Bradley</i> or a <i class="">Mary Mims</i> or a <i class="">Stella Gray</i>. And those women continue to go by both names - often into adulthood. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Before she married, my grandmother was a Lowrey. After serving as a general in the civil war, her grandfather, Mark Perrin Lowrey, founded a college for women in north Mississippi called Blue Mountain College. His daughter, Modena Lowrey Berry, continued on as the vice president of the college until after her ninetieth birthday. Both of their portraits hang in the state capitol building, as they are lauded for their contributions to women’s educational opportunities. As you can imagine, with this heritage, the Lowrey name is precious to my mother. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In the early 1980s there were a couple of young, southern women, living next door to each other in Jackson, Mississippi. One was Kay Walker, whose book you have picked up. The other was my mother. They were both pregnant (Perhaps even barefoot. It’s hot. We’re resourceful). But, though they could make you a sweet tea or a mint julep, and they were staying at home raising their young broods, they knew their strength. They laughed together, shared meals, eventually had these babies, and they gave them family names. Kay named her son Russell, using her maiden name as his first name. My mother named me Ann Lowrey, a double name I continue to carry. </div>
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Ann Lowrey Eason Forster </div>
Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-1707114055536089732015-11-20T16:59:00.003-06:002015-11-20T16:59:42.929-06:00Gobbling up the Gratitude <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ten years of Thanksgiving at the Forster home. My Forster home. Oh, how my heart swells with gratitude for the man who made me a Forster and for all the blessings God has seen fit to dole out upon us along the way. <br />
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This is our tenth year of marriage and our tenth Thanksgiving meal to host together. I didn't write down the first three, but here are the most recent six, if you're curious and you have 42 minutes to read them (though, I can't imagine that's what you want to do with your 42 minutes). <br />
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<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2014/11/the-ole-miss-rebel-blackbear-landshark.html">2014 </a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html">2013</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2012/11/gobblin-up-storm.html">2012 </a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html"><br />
</a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2011/11/sufficiency.html">2011</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/11/gobble.html">2010</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2009/11/this-is-not-my-turkey.html">2009</a><br />
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It is so very nice to look back and see what we did when -when I had energy and when I was tired; when we were traditional and when we were edgy; when I had lots of help and when I went it alone. <br />
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This year is different - they all are - but this one feels more different. We very recently lost a dear, godly man, my step father, and so we are giving thanks in the midst of grief. Even before this loss, we had decided to be a bit non traditional in menu this year, and now it seems even more fitting. We will raise a glass to D, and eat good things as we give thanks to our Creator. <br />
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To the menu: <br />
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<u><b>Appetizers</b></u><br />
The stepmother, Carrie, is in charge, and that's so freeing. No idea what she's bringing. Hostess Protip (one that's taking me an embarrassingly long time to come upon): Always delegate appetizers - that way, you aren't trying to get them out while people arrive and also tend to the rest of the meal. <br />
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<u><b>Soup</b></u><br />
Ada Brooks has found a roasted garlic and red pepper soup that she wants to try. Frankly, looking at the recipe, I cannot imagine it will be anything less than perfect. So, she's going for it, bite untasted. Side note - add soup to your Thanksgiving table. It gives you all something to gather 'round while the buffet gets final arrangements, gives you an excuse to use another piece of the china, and all sorts of other grand benefits. <br />
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<u><b> Main Dish</b></u><br />
Porchetta. My baby brother mentioned it to my eldest child, and a cry went up for skipping the turkey this year. So, I told them I was all in, but they needed to do it. So, Pablo and Ada Bee are googling and planning and we'll see. I am glad to let them take it on. <br />
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<u><b>Sides</b></u><br />
We really are going non-traditional. Most of the way. As in, we're not having dressing. I know - but why have dressing without turkey? And we always have dressing at Christmas, so we'll get there <br />
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Glazed Carrots - Ada Bee said so. She's doing them with brown sugar and nutmeg. I'm all like "Fine. You do you." <br /><br />
Tomato Tart - Told you we weren't traditional. Baby Brother request. He's making the main dish; he gets to put in a request. <br />
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Spinach and Artichoke Salad - good jazz. <br />
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Twice Baked New Potatoes - a favorite<br />
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Creamed Corn - all of the pepper in the world. <br />
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Poached Pears with cranberries and goat cheese -Why not? <br /><br />Garlic stuffed shrimp - who objects? No one - that's who. <br />
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<u><b>On The Table</b></u><br />
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Gravy from porchetta drippings. I'm thinking about just covering my whole plate in it.<br />
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Eason Family Hot Pickles<br />
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Canned Spiced Peaches. I've quit apologizing; I might start evangelizing. <br />
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Herbed butter. In my monogrammed butter molds. That Paul put in my stocking last year. Booyah. <br />
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Bread Basket - Sweet potato biscuits and homemade buttery yeast rolls. We are the lovers of the gluten (and very thankful we have that option). <br />
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<u><b>Sweets</b></u><br />
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My Caramel Apple Cheesecake - Every other year, forever, I think. <br />
Chocolate Pie - From Carrie, my sweet stepmother.<br />
Ronnie Bean's Pumpkin Pie with Nutmeg Cream<br />
Mama's Apple Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting<br />
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May we all be filled with gratitude, spreading it thicker even than our butter. <br />
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Cheers. Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-83220232478308693382015-07-30T12:43:00.000-05:002017-01-26T17:03:32.933-06:00To my friends who have had abortions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dearest friends, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I love you. God loves you. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You feel judged right now, during this flurry about abortion. I get it. Completely. When the world is up in arms about something, and you see it in your past, it hurts. It stings like lemon juice in a paper cut. And naturally so. I'm sure all the big game trophy hunters feel judged right now too. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You are not being judged. You are not being judged by me, for sure, but are you are also not being judged by the larger pro-life movement. This movement and this moment are not about judging you. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It feels that way, for sure. And I'm not trying to take that away from you, but I want you to grant the benefit of the doubt here and trust that I'm genuine when I say that for the vast majority of "us", you are not being judged. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is what is being judged: The practice and practitioners of abortion. Is it rare? (No). Is it legal (Apparently not, even with our embracing of it through our laws; even they are too stringent to be followed). Is it safe (for whom?). And, yes, is it moral? (No. Value attaches to human life at its beginning.) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I sin most every day. So does everyone around us. God is not pleased with that sin. I am not pleased with it in myself, my children, or anyone I know. And likely, neither are you. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am puffed up with pride, I am unkind to my husband, I am impatient with my children, I am uncharitable to a myriad of folks, I fall into gossip, I am a glutton, I am lazy. And if I list all my past and "bigger" sins, well, it wouldn't be ladylike. But, if you want to have coffee and believe I am a real-live sinner, I'll be glad to give you a clear picture. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But, in the end, I am forgiven. And I am better than I was. And so can you be. As soon as it is asked, forgiveness is granted. This is the gospel, friends. Jesus Christ came to die for sinners, and through Him the Father forgives all. And abortion is no different. It is not a good thing. It is a baby in there, a fact admitted by even the most callous of the Planned Parenthood doctors. "It's another boy," one practitioner said in the most recent of videos released this morning. And killing babies is bad. But it is far from unforgivable. All is forgivable. Go, find Jesus, and be free and forgiven. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But, please hear me. I am not angry at you for having an abortion. I have been in a situation to contemplate it myself, and I understand the darkness and fear that puts you in that position. I have loved and respected many women who have had abortions. I am not angry at you. And you need not confess to me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am, however, angry at the folks who have lied to many women and told them that this was good. I am angry that they are tearing apart little people and selling their pieces and parts. I am angry that our lawmakers are chickendung and won't deal with this. I am angry at myself for not being outspoken. I am angry at people in the prolife camp for at times acting ridiculous and sullying the name of the position. I am angry at the Church and many myriad of institutions for failing to support women, for employing shame and judgment and apathy, rather than justice and mercy and grace and support. I am angry at men for failing to be fathers. So, if you hear anger from me, know where it is directed. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is red-hot anger at times. But, I am not angry at you. I promise. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anne Lamott, who has a way with words, tweeted today that she stands with women, with the born, with Planned Parenthood. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well, Anne and I have a few things in common, though I can't get my hair to do quite like that and I'll never be that cool and she keeps misspelling her first name. But, she's got it wrong here. Love is not avoidance of truth; and, the gospel requirements of mercy and justice don't begin with children who are wanted or who are twenty-nine weeks gestation or who have taken their first breath. The gospel requirements of justice and mercy extend to all those created <i>imago dei</i>, and that means the poor, the orphan, and the person who is so small he is still living inside someone else's body. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I stand with women. I stand with the born. I stand with the unborn. I stand with those who have left the life of abortion-provider. I stand with you.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />I do not stand with Planned Parenthood, and neither should you, friend. A mistake doesn't forever tie you to a monster. A brief moment of culpability does not shackle you for life. There is not scarlet letter upon your chest. And if you feel as though there is, come visit me. I'll be glad to make a batch of something ice cold and tell you about how wonderful it is to burn that red A in the comfort of a Savior's redemption. <br /><br />It's over. Be free. Rest. And, above all, be thankful. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">all my love, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ann Lowrey</span></span><br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-33730876788548807092015-04-22T08:58:00.001-05:002015-04-22T08:58:16.540-05:00Nine Years<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_yC0DQEZ8fzvcL4oYJtBs6w4M67UZo0ivfnKa1AJ3bFE433Wr_BAOjMsbdie03jzXR5z3YrYgpOlUYbGRijIILUL15scEkjp59Fu1UGxukvzqfSKcAuhjS9wcboYN5h4se-VOFVuxC4/s1600/64175_10100686233504416_935180318_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_yC0DQEZ8fzvcL4oYJtBs6w4M67UZo0ivfnKa1AJ3bFE433Wr_BAOjMsbdie03jzXR5z3YrYgpOlUYbGRijIILUL15scEkjp59Fu1UGxukvzqfSKcAuhjS9wcboYN5h4se-VOFVuxC4/s1600/64175_10100686233504416_935180318_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wonderful people surrounded us then and surround us now, rooting us on. </td></tr>
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<i>Mawiage. Mawaige is what brings us togever today. Mawiage - that blessed awangement, that dweam within a dweam. </i><br />
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A few years ago, I wrote a letter to the children about marriage; I posted it <a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/09/blog-post.html">here. </a>I'd still say all of it, though, with four and half more years has come four and a half more measures of wisdom. Just eleventy thousand measures left to gain. <br />
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Paul and I have been married nine years today, and we are learning, daily, what it is to be married. I imagine we'll be learning that until sixty-six years from now, when we've reached our diamond anniversary. And then we'll die happy and not care anymore about learning how to be married. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaVlkjzf3WF_YPnreOj-YfnrTpXv0KSQOjYvzxqJejl6njNh0BTLoMs_XYd2veKYon1kOL4ufwGQwrVx-TGUPUcltaH2_lR-t1DXFIGEJVG4SSGxCxmV0qOyCfrsWuYJ_1hiMqqc6lJ4/s1600/ANN+LOWREY+AND+PAUL+CUTTING+THE+CAKE_2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaVlkjzf3WF_YPnreOj-YfnrTpXv0KSQOjYvzxqJejl6njNh0BTLoMs_XYd2veKYon1kOL4ufwGQwrVx-TGUPUcltaH2_lR-t1DXFIGEJVG4SSGxCxmV0qOyCfrsWuYJ_1hiMqqc6lJ4/s1600/ANN+LOWREY+AND+PAUL+CUTTING+THE+CAKE_2.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's been making that face at things I've asked him to do for nine whole years now. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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One principle about marriage that has struck me recently is the bravery it requires. Father Ollie Rencher, who married us those many moons ago, preached our wedding homily on courage and bravery. Because we were twenty-one years old and courage is an acceptable homily topic, while the stupidity of youth is not. We were so stupid, though Ollie didn't say it or mean it. <br />
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Marriage is bravery, though. It is courage. It is not the bravery and courage of knights or generals. It is the bravery of the martyrs. <br />
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The courage of marriage is a willingness to die daily. I married a good man - like a shockingly good man - much better than I, and he dies to self every day. He loves his church, his children, his cities (both the one we live in and the one for which he works), his friends, his house. He loves me more though. And the bravery comes when we'd rather have a different order of priorities. <br /><br />I love my children, St. Augustine School, my friends, my church, but I love Paul Forster more. Or at least I'm called to love him more. <br />
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Bravery is daily arranging the priorities correctly. Why is this courageous? Because sometimes we don't deserve that love. We aren't loveable. And to love someone is to be vulnerable to him. And so, every day, whether Paul is awesome or not, loving him is putting him above all else and therefore making myself vulnerable to his non-awesomeness. And doing that with the joy required, well, makes the knights and generals look a little bit pale and pitiful. <br /><br />We said marriage vows nine years ago today, and we meant them. You know, like children mean promises around Christmas. But, every day since then, we've had to mean them again. It is only through an undeserved measure of God's grace that we can enter into the terrifying gap of the permanent reordering of our priorities. But, it must be done. <br /><br />There have been many days in which one or both of us have chickened out. Many, many days. But, by and large, we have miraculously, <br />
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bravely gone where many men and women have gone before. New every morning. And this brave entering has returned to us a measure of happiness that no one deserves. <br />
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Today I give thanks for a homily that rings in my ears, for a husband who looks at me as a partner in all things, and most for a Lord who has chosen to bless the idiocy of a couple of kids. <br /><br />Cheers to Paul William, the best husband in the galaxy. <br />
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Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-27311622017723376572015-04-18T19:40:00.002-05:002015-04-18T19:40:56.775-05:00Battle Picking As a young(er) mother, I often heard the chorus, "You have to pick your battles." I still hear it all the time. I say it pretty regularly as well. I read it on many a facebook status and as the moral of the story in quite a few essays - both in the parenting world and elsewhere. And, I've been noticing something... and thought, why not add to the conversation. ;)<br />
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I have done some etymology hunting, and it's not really clear, but the phrase means what you'd think it means. To do an effective job, you cannot be stretched too thin. You have to choose which places to put up a fight, because if you choose them all, you will exhaust your resources and lose the war. In actual warcraft, these resources are men, weapons, money, food. In parenting, the resources are primarily emotional. <br />
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If we fight every battle at the same time all day, we will exhaust ourselves emotionally. We will strain our relationships with our children, and we won't have enough left in us to smile, or love our spouses, or fight the next day's battles. <br />
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I actually think, rather than cliched cop-out, battle picking is excellent strategy. Just not how most folks mean it when they say it. <br />
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I have heard "Pick your Battles" chanted in only one circumstance. It doesn't actually get used to encourage parents to wisely choose their areas of focus. It gets used to encourage us, like another familiar chorus, to "Let It Go." <br />
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No one has ever looked at me *not* choosing a battle and instructed me to pick my battles. No one has ever explained her hard work on one particular issue as battle-picking. Rather it is usually: "I hate that outfit, but you know, gotta pick your battles." "I really want her to say yes ma'am all the time, but, I'm picking my battles." "Oh, that is a good goal, but you gotta pick your battles." In each of its thousands of uses, it seems it means precisely to let something go. <br />
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In my capacity as school teacher and administrator, I get to see a great cross section of families and what is working for them and not working for them. I am so privileged to be surrounded by wise parents who take their job very seriously. And don't take themselves too seriously. What a beautiful combination. After watching these superstar folks successfully navigate the murky waters of parenting in the twenty first century, I have noticed some patterns. <br />
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Letting things go isn't a great parenting strategy, but battle picking sure is. <br />
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The wisest folks I see have a general strategy of battle picking, and when they pick a battle, they fight it well. How do I mean? Well, if you have a child struggling in an area, and you purpose to deal with that area, you deal with it whole-heartedly, and in so doing, you often do let other things go. But, you have actually picked a battle and devoted your resources, and strategized about success. <br />
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I have one student who, at the beginning of the year, could not remember his head, much less his coat, backpack, lunch box, water bottle, etc. Or to ever turn in his homework. Ever. His parents decided they were picking that battle, and they started instituting specific consequences for each item forgotten. During this time, I watched as they did let some things go, but they actually fought the absent-mindedness battle. At every turn. They were often parked in the parking lot after school, going through bags and not leaving until the student had located each and every item. They marshaled other resources and asked for help from his teachers - asked me *not* to remind him of things, so that he would begin to learn to remind himself. And they have been successful. And now they've repositioned the troops and moved to a new front. <br />
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Battle picking is just another term for intentionality and follow through. As parents, we often - or at least I often - feel like we're playing whack-a-mole. Bad manners - whack! Doesn't understand fractions - whack! Snipping at siblings - Whack! Talking back, making and leaving all the messes, struggling in friendships, needing emotional comfort... round and round it goes; where it stops, nobody knows. And the fact is their needs aren't going to end in this life time, and will only cease to be our responsibilities when they establish themselves in the world as adults. And even then we'll be on call, right? And because of this insanity, we cannot even keep up with our priorities and keep our head clear. We begin to feel overwhelmed. <br />
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Battle picking really is a solution here. Sit down, talk with someone who knows your children well - their other parent or a grandparent/godparent/teacher/counselor - and make a list of priorities. What are Sally's three biggest needs right now? Write them down if it helps you. <br />
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Don't let it all go, but don't fight them all. Be good stewards of your emotional resources.<br />
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Pick your battles. See - it's a great concept. <br />
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Some battles we've not picked....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watch TV in whatever you want. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saturday all day pajamas. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_hYV_R84jaElzVbroJ8E2uIE1YobzJajQOFAIF2jdde14VGHLTwAJx9rO_eZOB9EZhOsK9d7WvaZWcDH26AfwPVrR-bUzQSS6kQNSr-LSZOdURVt2AZ0_zY6llvPI1XpKtKGAZ2LdqE/s1600/IMG_5351.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_hYV_R84jaElzVbroJ8E2uIE1YobzJajQOFAIF2jdde14VGHLTwAJx9rO_eZOB9EZhOsK9d7WvaZWcDH26AfwPVrR-bUzQSS6kQNSr-LSZOdURVt2AZ0_zY6llvPI1XpKtKGAZ2LdqE/s1600/IMG_5351.JPG" height="320" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haven't turned 3? Nekkid all you want. </td></tr>
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-10431525570693065532015-02-19T16:18:00.001-06:002015-02-19T16:18:45.354-06:00promises<span style="font-size: large;">The scene is 2008. It is fall time, and Ada Brooks is four years old and in a sweet little K4 class at St. Luke's, the sweetest preschool ever there was. I am a young mother with an old soul. Paul and Eason are also around. Collins is an embryo. This is a picture from that time. She is *little*. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Ada Bee gets in the car one day with me and says, "May I go to a Hannah Montana concert?" <br /><br />"Probably not." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why not? Kate Donahoe is going to a Hannah Montana concert." <br />"Well, I don't know who Hannah Montana is, and if you're going to a concert, it will likely be someone I've heard of, and remember, we don't do everything everyone else does."<br />"Okay, but Kate Donahoe is cool." <br />"I'm glad Kate is cool." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two weeks later, she got in the car again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"May I have my ears pierced?" <br />"No." <br />"Why not? Kate Donahoe has her ears pierced." <br />"No. Hush about Kate Donahoe." <br />"But Kate Donahoe is cool." <br />"I'm sure she is. No earrings till you're older." <br />"How old?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And here, friends, was the fatal mistake. <br /><br />"You can get them pierced six weeks before Easter of sixth grade. That way you can take out your piercing studs and wear pretty, new earrings on Easter morning. I got mine pierced six weeks before Sixth Grade graduation, but who knows if you'll have sixth grade graduation, so we'll go with Easter." <br /><br />"Okay, great. I'll tell Kate Donahoe." <br /><br />"Okay. Great. Tell Kate." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that was the end of the Kate Donahoe coolness and of the Ears Piercing conversation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fast Forward until 2013. <br /><br />"Mama - can I have my ears pierced for my tenth birthday? Sarah's having hers pierced for her tenth birthday." <br /><br />"No. Not yet, sweetie." <br /><br />"Okay, I guess I'll wait another year and a half. <br /><br />"Wait wait - what?" <br /><br />"Next spring, I'll be in sixth grade and so I'll have my ears pierced on February 18, 2015."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What now?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />"Remember, Mama. You said, when I was four, that I could have them pierced on Ash Wednesday of Sixth Grade. That's February 18, 2015." <br /><br />And, so I did. I blame Kate Donahoe's coolness. I blame my impulsive </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span data-dobid="hdw">naiveté</span>. I blame Ada Brooks's elephant-never-forgets brain. But, most of all, I blame reality. They're going to get big and leave at some point, and apparently, with pierced ears along the way. There is an artist I like, named Shannon Curfman. She sings a song called, 'I don't make promises I can't break.' It's an inappropriate for this situation broken hearted love balad, but... the sentiment rings true. I should quit making promises I have to keep. Lordy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />(If you enjoy raspy, bluesy rock, you should take a listen anyway. Shannon probably had her ears pierced when she was very young. No way she could sing like this if she hadn't.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />So, yesterday we all five (no Paul) traipsed out to Merle Norman (where I got my ears pierced some number of years ago). There she sat, on February 18, 2015, and had little holes punched in her little girl earl lobes. Except they're big girl ear lobes. <br />I didn't cry. <br />I actually feel myself letting go. <br /><br />Now she is this big. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />I'm glad God sent me a baby girl to ease the transition for me. <br /><br />In 2026, when Elsa Gray will be in sixth grade, Easter will again be on April 5th. Ash Wednesday will again be on February 18th. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />And then, I might not be so stoic. </span> <br />
<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-62262580358250921162014-12-26T11:32:00.002-06:002014-12-26T13:03:35.273-06:002014 Christmas Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Two thousand fourteen has been an excellent year for the Forsters, though definitely the most hectic we've had as a family.<br />
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We are so tired and so full of God's bountiful blessings.<br />
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Our biggest change this year was that we moved. We are still in Jackson, and our new house is just what we've wanted for the children to spend their main growing up years in. We have space, but we're cozy, and the kids have an upstairs all to themselves (and, yes, away from us...). We back up to a slew of undeveloped forest, which I call the Hundred Acre Wood, which satisfies my craving for daily literary allusions. Delightfully, the name of our little neighborhood is actually Sherwood Forest. I know I'm mixing genres and time periods, but at least they're both British? Lord willing, we'll be here for the duration. <br />
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Paul is continuing to enjoy his work as the Engineer for the City of Flowood. The City is a great place to work - kind to its employees and holds efficiency, not bureaucracy, as its highest (work-place) value. He continues tutoring some local high school students in science, math, and some standardized test work. He loves it. Paul leads our family with a sacrificial spirit that I wish I could bottle - for me, mainly. Whether it be laundry, budgets, or nightly hymn-instruction and novel-reading with the children, he has us at the forefront, and there is no stopping him. He was ordained this year to the Diaconate at our church, Immanuel Presbyterian, and he enjoys that work as well. He continues to love to brew his own beer, build things that need building, semi-keep up the yard, and sing, sing , sing.<br />
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<b>Favorites</b> <br />
Book<b>:</b> (A reread of) The Screwtape Letters (Any year he reads it, it will be his favorite he says...) <br />
TV Show<b>:</b> Black Mirror (British Sci Fi Nerdiness)<br />
Music: All (No, really... you name it. He can find a way to love it). <br />
Movie: Gravity<br />
New Skill: Eason taught him how to tie a square knot.<br />
School Subject: Physics<br />
Thing to Wear: Work Boots<br />
Food: A sandwich<br />
Color: Blue<br />
Activity: Read Science Fiction <br />
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My plate is fairly full, and that may be a slight understatement. I have been continuing serving on the Board of Directors of St. Augustine School. I highly encourage you to visit our website (if you're curious): <a href="http://www.augustinems.com/">www.augustinems.com </a> I am also the Grammar School Dean there, which means I'm responsible for the teachers, parents, and students in 3rd-6th grades. It is very rewarding, and I am very tired. I also get to teach Latin and Bible to the 4th grade and Latin, Bible, and Grammar to the 6th grade. I love teaching and visiting with students and parents and helping plan their successes. It is so kind of God to put me in a place where I can live into a vocation of teaching and academic counseling while still being home with my people much of the time. I miss having dinner parties and getting lost in cookbooks, and I'm committed to doing more of that in 2015. <br />
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<b>Favorites </b>Book: (A reread of ) Bed and Board (Any year I read it, it will be my favorite).<br />
TV Show: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (Australian feminine mystery nerdiness)<br />
Movie: I cannot remember one...<br />
Music: Larkin Poe<br />
New Skill: Cooking on an Electric Stove (I HATE THIS, but as I'm currently stuck with one, it is my favorite new skill...)<br />
School Subject: Sixth Grade English Grammar<br />
Thing to Wear: Gold Cross Necklace Paul gave me for Christmas last year. <br />
Food: Soup. All Kinds. <br />
Color: I think I'm shifting from green.. gasp. Red? <br />
Activity: Rooting on the Rebels, teaching, visiting, cooking supper. <br />
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Ada Brooks is ten and a half and in sixth grade at St. Augustine. She loves her friends - truly loves them. She's studied the civil war and WWI this fall, and I've relearned so much through that. She loves to craft and to visit, and she's just delightful. She's so old! She has learned to stay home by herself and frequently surprises me with cleaning things while she's here and I'm gone. She longs to babysit, but she's not there yet. She is competent in the kitchen, but doesn't joy in it, and I've learned to settle for competence. She does joy in much, though, and especially anything artistic. <br />
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<b>Favorites</b><br />
Book: The Gift Moves by Steve Lyon<br />
TV Show: I Love Lucy<br />
Movie: Lord of the Rings <br />
Music: Terrible Contemporary Country. It's just awful. <br />
New Skill: Text Messaging (I feel the need to say that she doesn't have a phone proper, but an old phone of ours that allows her to text when she's at home in range of wifi)<br />
School Subject: Math<br />
Thing to Wear: Boots<br />
Food: Chocolate Pudding<br />
Color: Pink<br />
Activity: Designing clothes<br />
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Eason is in the second grade at St. Augustine this year. He's seven, turning eight in March. He's a social butterfly to the nth degree. Eason keeps us all laughing, and he never stops moving, except when he curls up under a blanket to watch a movie. And maybe not even then. He is a man of much energy, and we continue to see him as a replica of his father. He's bouncy and loving and exhausting and on and on it goes.<br />
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<b>Favorites </b><br />
Book: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, followed closely by The Enormous Egg<br />
Movie: The second Hobbit <br />
TV Show - Fetch with Ruff Ruffman <br />
Music: Jamie Soles<br />
New Skill: How to tie a square knot<br />
School Subject: History (Particularly enjoyed the Vikings)<br />
Thing to Wear: Footie Pajamas Stuffed With Blankets<br />
Food: Ice Cream<br />
Thing to Dream of Doing as an Adult: Being a professional spy. <br />
Color: Blue<br />
Activity: Play Ember Dragon Club with his siblings behind the house in the woods and playing with his friend Casen.<br />
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Collins is five and a half and just funny. He's very quiet sometimes and won't stop yapping at others. He dreads being put on the spot, and our motto for the year has been "Always Respond." It's some better, but he's still that kid that makes it hard for you to have a conversation with him, at least on your terms. Collins is so nifty for our family - he keeps us all slower and more grounded and more orderly. He puts his shoes back in his closet. He's excellent in the kitchen because of this, and his great talent that contributes to the household is that he knows where everything is. I cannot find my keys: "They're beside your earrings on your bedside table." It's some weird pictoral brain or something. He really wants to be one of the big kids, and that's hard sometimes when he's just not. But, he's getting there. He's learned to read (you know..sort of) and write and do arithmetic in 2014, and I imagine 2015 will see much more mastery there, which is fun in our nerdy household. He loves the Ole Miss Rebels an odd amount considering our level of involvement there. <br />
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<b>Favorites</b><br />
Book: City of Ember (read aloud to him by his father) <br />
TV Show: Garfield<br />
Movie: Declines to Answer Due To Distraction.. <br />
Music: Jamie Soles<br />
New Skill: Cursive Writing (writing in general...but he's very proud of the fact that it's cursive)<br />
School Subject: Math<br />
Thing to Wear: Shorts ;)<br />
Food: Ice Cream<br />
Color: Blue<br />
Activity: Painting (news to me....), playing Ember Dragon Club with his siblings, and playing with his best friend Seth<br />
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Elsa Gray is just wonderful. I never thought I'd have a baby girl who is so loved and adored and not simply by her father and siblings (though very very much there), but also by me. I don't typically fawn over babies, and I don't go in for bows and bonnets, and I'm head over heels in love. I think it's because she's my last baby to birth (unless God chooses a different plan than we have chosen... a necessary caveat at our house), and because I'm just getting older and more sentimental. EG is opinionated and vocal and we all wonder where in the world she got that. She is a mess, a pistol, sassy, all those things that people say about little girls who are not scared to let the world know that they're here and large and in charge. She has very little hair and is round-face and bright-eyed like the rest of us. She has not walked yet, though she is on the precipice and we expect it any second. It will be when she decides it will be. <br />
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<b>Favorites</b><br />
Book: Goodnight Moon<br />
TV Show: Yeah, right. <br />
Movie: The constant movie that is her siblings<br />
Music: Being sung to<br />
New Skill: Stair Climbing<br />
School Subject: Being Confined to a Bouncer we call 'baby jail' while we try to get school work done. <br />
Thing to Wear: Her bonnet. Okay, not her favorite... <br />
Food: All of the things. Chocolate Covered Pretzels? Seriously... all of the things. <br />
Color: White<br />
Activity: Snuggling her blanket, climbing the stairs, yelling at us, throwing her head back when she's mad, dancing. <br />
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The Forster Family wishes you all an excellent Christmas and a perfectly wonderful New Year. We encourage you to stop and be thankful. If you're reading this, you have much for which to give thanks, and this trying to remember that we deserve little and have much is the thing that ever saves us. We are thankful to Christ, our Lord and Savior, to each other, and to each one of you. <br />
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Happy Christmas! <br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-53901816872223383582014-11-06T21:48:00.003-06:002014-11-07T08:16:55.999-06:00The Hidden Emotions<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A photographer friend, LauraJanePhotography, was over for supper and snapped this of the fearless wonder. </td></tr>
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<br />
Eason (and his siblings) have been lately playing in a large, empty culvert/drain pipe that empties/opens by our house. There is a club with some name I cannot remember. There are flashlights. They've been reading City of Ember with their father, and there are purposeful parallels being drawn. <br />
<br />
I told him (and them) that that was fine as long as they always let me know where they are (just like the woods behind our house), but that if it ever starts raining they have to get out immediately. It's bone dry 90% of the time, but when it rains, the neighborhood's storm water will come through it, and it won't be safe for playing. <br />
<br />
They all buck us. They're just not yes men. That's an understatement. But, we don't want unquestioning obedience. We want obedience, respect, and trust, but we've never shut down questions about our reasons (though we try to require a certain tone). But, though they all buck us, they buck us on different things.<br />
<br />
Ada Brooks has always been suspicious about whether we (or anyone can....) actually *know* more than she does. One famous quote from years back was "Of course God can make a square circle. That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. I mean.. I can make a square circle..." All of those philosophical problems are just idiotic and shortsighted, and if they would ask her, she'd straighten them out. But, if I tell her to hold a knife a certain way or wear her seatbelt, she's like "okay. Sure. I don't want to die." <br />
<br />
And Collins has always been emotionally freakin' determined. For example, if he's sad, you can kiss his behind before he magically becomes cheerful. If he's mad, he's mad and you might as well sit on a tack before trying to change his mind. If he's happy, all is well no matter what you say. I always talk about controlling one's emotions. Well, I cannot control Collins's, but it seems he can. Just only in the way he sees fit. But, like his sister, if i tell him "Hey - that will kill you." He's like "Oh. Sure. Well, then I'll stay away."<br />
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Eason... not so much.<br />
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If you said, "who is your least strong-willed?" I wouldn't hesitate. Definitely Eason. He can be talked into most things. He wants to please. He wants to conform his behavior to the right, and he wants to find the right in what his betters say is right. But his stubborn Achilles heel is that he believes himself to be entirely invincible.<br />
And, problematically, his experience continues to affirm this delusion. As many times as we've run him to the emergency room, he's never had a serious injury - no surgeries, no casts, no overnight stays in the hospital. Staple his scalp back together, and off he goes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, I told him, "You can play in the culvert, but you must be careful. If there is water, immediately return."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He was all, "I am invincible. You are crazy to ever be cautionary." <br />
I was all, "People drown. I want you to have fun and be adventurous. I also want you to be alive." <br />
He was all, "Whatever. I am still invincible. You are still a worrier."<br />
I was all, "Promise you hear me and will obey. Now. Say yes ma'am."<br />
He was all, "Yes ma'am............" <br />
<br />
Complete flippancy. His siblings nodded and promised and earnestly submitted. He submitted in word, but you could tell he was patronizingly patting me on the head.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And yet... <br />
<br />
<br />
Last night, he started wailing from upstairs 45 minutes after being tucked in. He had worked himself into a complete state over the possibility of being swept away into drowning in the drain pipe. From a conversation we had three days ago. <br />
<br />
His (worry-wort engineer) father was like "My heavens child... that's not going to happen." <br />
<br />
"But Mama said..." <br />
<br />
"And she was right to say that. But you're fine. Just use your head. Just mind the rules. Just don't hang out twenty feet into the culvert when it starts raining. Seriously. Also, if you're scared, feel free to not go in there. Lordy." <br />
<br />
His latent, genetic anxiety is so great that despite having had no scary experience, he cannot sleep. <br />
<br />
The other two... entirely unaffected. Entirely confident. <br />
<br />
<br />
The energy it takes to truly know an adult is infinite. It is the same for children. And we have four (!) of them. <br />
<br />
If someone could figure out how to motivate him toward safety without giving him panic attacks, I'd be forever grateful. <br />
<br />
The distance from flippant to anxious for my second child is mystifyingly short. In fact, he seems to be able to be both at the same time. <br />
<br />
I am tired. <br />
He is wonderful.<br />
I thank God for protecting him day in and day out. <br />
<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-82882628200417780582014-11-02T21:56:00.002-06:002014-11-03T07:07:21.109-06:00The Ole Miss Rebel Blackbear Landshark Turkeys? <br />
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<br />
Last night, my dear and wonderful Ole Miss Rebels suffered a devastating loss.<br />
<br />
Losing is nothing new - we've been losing all my life. But, some are harder than others. And this year we've been good. Actually good and also sort of psychically good. And, apparently, defeats are harder when you're good.<br />
<br />
And we played our hearts out. And so did they. And everyone did well. And rah rah rah. And at the end of the game, it was close. And one of our guys had his ankle snapped in half while trying to score the go-ahead touch down. And he fumbled. And we lost. And it was awful.<br />
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<br />
So...all that to say, I needed solace.<br />
<br />
I poured myself a glass of port and I got in my bed and I found solace in the easiest, most controlled thing I know to find (fairly superficial) solace in. I menu planned.<br />
<br />
I menu plan every week, but this called for something more stringent. Something dramatic. Something about which I could feel accomplished.<br />
<br />
I planned Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
I do love a Thanksgiving menu plan.<br />
<br />
Boy howdy.<br />
See:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html">2013</a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2012/11/gobblin-up-storm.html">2012 </a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2013/11/how-often-do-infant-turkeys-eat.html"><br />
</a><a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2011/11/sufficiency.html">2011</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2010/11/gobble.html">2010</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thankfulhouse.com/2009/11/this-is-not-my-turkey.html">2009</a><br />
<br />
This will be our 9th annual Thanksgiving to host and our 6th to post the menu in advance. It's like a tradition or something. ;)<br />
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Actually, this year, we are going to the beach for Thanksgiving, but the various people involved demanded (me included) that we not forgo the tradition. So, we're having Turkey Day a bit early - the Saturday before Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
Which is in less than three weeks! So, it's almost a good thing that the Rebels lost and I needed therapy. <br />
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<u>The Before </u><br />
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Tomato Feta Crustini - Contributed by my Step Mother. She's awesome, and so is this. <br />
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Cream of Carrot Soup - We've become soup people, and Carrots didn't make the sides this year, so I thought I'd put it here. <br />
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<br />
<u>The Standards </u><br />
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Turkey: I cannot decide. So, I guess I"m not quite finished planning. But, we will have a Turkey. I'm thinking of trying it in the oven overnight again. I did that two years ago and ended up with a Christmas Vacation Hissing Turkey, but I did it for the first 2-3 years we did Turkey Day, and I had excellent results. I'll either do that or continue with the Spatchcocking and Grilling tradition we've got going.<br />
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Dressing - Grandmother's. Cornbread. Onions. Celery. Perfection. <br />
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Sweet Potatoes - Traditional. Hotty Toddy written in Marshmallows. Surrounded by Pecans. Maybe. We'll see.<br />
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<u>The Six Selected Sides </u><br />
<br />
So, Dressing and Sweet Potatoes are sides, yes, but they're non-negotiable sides. The rest are up for debate, and I love rotating and playing with it. Six is the number I've settled upon. Six Forsters. Six Sides. We're going with it. <br />
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Salad - Crunchy Romaine Toss. It's a family favorite of ours. Paul loves it. We all love it. It's crunchy and buttery and sweet. <br />
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Potato Chive Casserole - This one is new. We shall see. It doesn't seem, from its ingredient list and method, that it could possibly be bad.<br />
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English Peas Au Gratin - There was this restaurant in Oxford when we were there - called Boure. It was perfect. My twenty-first birthday was celebrated there. I'll mention no more about it, but I will include a picture... Wait... no... But, anyway, they had one of those great lists-of-sides - you know, you could order an entre and it came with two sides. Most places that have that are kind of mediocre, but not Boure. Oh no. It was *perfect*. And my favorite side of theirs was English Peas Au Gratin. I still love it. And it's time again to have it. <br />
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Roasted Winter Squash - Plain Jane. Maybe I'll mix Butternut and Acorn? Just salt, olive oil, maybe some Thyme or Cayenne or Both? <br />
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Corn Souffle with Creamed Onion Sauce - It's in a favorite cookbook - Come On In - and I've been eying it for years. It's time.<br />
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Wild Rice with Roasted Grapes - What? I saw it. I thought "Why not?" It's the exotic option for the year. Also, my mother in law told me she likes Wild Rice. <br />
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<u>The On-the-Tables</u><br />
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Red Pepper Cranberry Sauce - I've been wanting a bit more nip, and I saw a recipe in the NYTimes, so I'm trying it. <br />
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Gravy - Of course. My Stepmother's recipe. For which I must remember to buy brandy. Must.<br />
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Canned Spiced Peaches. It was a tradition of mine growing up, and now my children ask after them at the first gobble. This year, Eason saw a pumpkin in Kroger in September and said, "Oh, it's almost Thanksgiving! That means Canned Spiced Peaches!" <br />
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Homemade Sweet Hot Pickles - Always<br />
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Bread - Stepmonster in charge. She's good. Really good.<br />
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<u><br />Desserts</u><br />
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Char's Pecan Pie - There is this restaurant in Jackson. Its pecan pie deserves its own holiday. I discovered a recipe purporting to be their recipe. I tried it. It's pretty darn close. It's so good.<br />
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Pear Pie - Pears are my favorite fruit. Pie is my favorite dessert. See? <br />
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Blueberry Pound Cake - My friend has this pound cake. I always think "nah - I'm not a huge cake person. And I don't want blueberries in mine." And then I taste it. And every.single.time, I think "Damn, Gina, that is good." (My friend's name is not Gina. That's what Martin Lawrence's girlfriend's name was on his show Martin from the 90s that was highly inappropriate but sometimes I watched it late at night when Mama was snoring on the couch and I was drowsy and Ted Koppel had ended... and Martin said "Daaaaaammmmmmmnnnnnnn Gina" every time he was enthused...) <br />
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Chocolate Pie - Stepmonster again. It's her signature. <br />
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It should be a good year. <br />
<br />
And the Rebels are playing that day. <br />
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I trust that we won't experience the kind of tragedy that we did this weekend. But, if we do, we'll have available the only therapy that trumps menu planning therapy.<br />
<br />
<br />
Cooking and eating therapy.<br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-64257606142001807522014-11-02T16:29:00.005-06:002014-11-03T07:02:19.893-06:00Food Policy and Giving Thanks<br />
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Food is near and dear to my heart. It is a hobby of creativity for me, as well as one of the primary areas of service in my life. I feed my family regularly, but I also have been blessed to be able to feed others. Friends, church-members, strangers. <br />
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I read about food, food policy, cooking, growing, etc. I (try to) keep up. I've been aware, for a long time, that we have a problem here in America. We are overfed and undernourished. We have a growing population of hungry people. <br />
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I've been becoming more and more aware of the reality of food for a good portion of our citizens. Our family's experience - and that of our good friends - is not the experience of many Americans. <br />
<a href="http://www.nationalgeographic.com/foodfeatures/hunger/"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.nationalgeographic.com/foodfeatures/hunger/">Please read this article. </a><br />
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<br />
People are hungry in our country. A non-living wage very much contributes to this problem. Another contributing factor is that our government subsidizes foods that are calorie-dense and nutrition-sparse. This makes us not only hungry but fat. <br />
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I know what our monthly food budget is compared to average family food budgets (quite small), but I also know what I'm able to do with it (fairly big). The reason is not because I'm somehow awesome. It is because my mother served me natural foods cooked at home, and it's because I've read many books and articles on food preparation, planning, etc. I was both childhood-educated and self-educated. <br />
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This is not an education that a government or an institution is going to be good at providing. I read an article recently about having a stay-at-home parent being a new sign of privilege. I am privileged in a very real way; my family's food dollars go significantly further because my mother was at home cooking. And now, basically, my middle-class-income family eats like an upper-class family because of the way I was raised. <br />
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So, we educated people tend to look down upon the homeless-shelter mother buying fried fast food gizzards for her children (as in the above article). The left will say that she needs more food money and that we need early childhood education. The right will say that she should know better and that it's her own damn fault.<br />
They're both missing the mark. <br />
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<br />
What we need is wholesome, grassroots, community-based, local education. It is not something that can be institutionalized. It's too slow. It's too personal. Learning to feed people takes years of calm, daily, regular ritual. We need families. The reason that a stay at home parent is a privilege is because she (or he) provides an education not attainable in a classroom. <br />
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Should we throw up our hands, then? Say "Teach your own people to feed themselves and their future families - nothing we can do for anyone else." <br /><br />No. <br />
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But, increased food stamp benefits are never going to solve the problem when the lobby of agribusiness has made sure that the cheapest calories in the grocery store are also the ones most likely to leave you fat and undernourished. A living wage is a big step, but it won't solve the problem either because we are now operating on a paucity of knowledge, understanding, and ability.<br />
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Right now, the best thing I can do is to work with my four people - to bring them into the kitchen, to teach them what they're doing with food and what they're putting into their bodies. Regularly, slowly, without ceremony, but with liturgy. <br />
<br />
Michael Pollan tells us to only eat food our great-grandparents would recognize as food, rather than the food-like substances on the shelves these days. I think it's a great place to start. <br />
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We can also take every opportunity to support service organizations that are locally minded and have long-term relationships as part of their strategy of support. Find your local food pantry, and ask if they ever do cooking classes or seminars. If you're capable of teaching one, offer. If not, offer to fund one. As with all poverty assistance, relationships are exhausting and are time-intensive. But, that's what it takes; relationships are key. <br />
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Tell your Congresspeople that Food Policy in America must change. Read Pollan and Joel Salatin for sane looks at food. I have no idea what the solution is, but the USDA and the FDA and Michelle Obama are all failing us miserably. <br />
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Try to eat only whole foods for a month. Try not to ingest anything that has any ingredient that isn't a whole food in it. For a whole month.<br />
Or just 3.5 weeks. <br />
From now until Thanksgiving. <br />
I dare you. <br />
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Above all else, though, please give thanks. Please don't make the mistake of being ungrateful for anything put in front of you. When you have control, do the best you can. But don't let chicken nuggets steal your joy. And certainly don't let powdered cheese make you ungrateful. Processed food is nutritionally of the devil, yes; but it is also of heaven in a very real sense, because it is food, and for it we should give thanks always. <br />
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Wanting better - whether it be food, theology, or education - for ourselves and our people should never make us feel like we are better people. We are all dependent on our Creator for everything under the sun, and each of us is created<i> imago dei</i>, and we are each equally worthwhile and worthless.<br />
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And so, while bell peppers are better than canned condensed soup, you are not better for being able to choose them. <br />
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Go, eat, and prepare for Thanksgiving, the ultimate food-and-gratitude holiday. Receive your gifts with open arms, and give your gifts with glad hands.<br />
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And remember that Thanksgiving must (grammatically and logically) have an object to whom it is offered.<br />
<br />
Give Thanks? Give to whom? <br />
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Thanks be to God. <br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-77488055916045211522014-07-08T21:23:00.003-05:002014-07-08T21:24:10.748-05:00Tomato Transitions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reason Number Eleven I'm Never Allowed To Leave the House. </td></tr>
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Most people have, I think, thematic objects in their lives. Things become representative of experiences and emotions. A dog leash recalls all of those morning walks; a certain apron reminds us of burning the bread every single Sunday night for years; an outfit on a child brings up visits to a favorite restaurant.<br />
<br />
I have this certain relationship with cans of tomatoes.<br />
<br />
I cook a lot. Canned tomatoes are a frequent ingredient - sauces, etc. Since they are used a lot, I don't always just buy one. You know the type of thing - right? Might as well grab two, because you know you're going to need more. Especially if they're a bit on sale.<br />
<br />
With these cans of tomatoes, there is a patterin. I buy two one week, three the next, and the pantry is over-full, and I become annoyed because why in the world did I think I needed all these tomatoes. And then, for the next four weeks, I buy none, cleverly remembering my stockpile. And then one Tuesday at 4:45 pm, I get all my stuff out for spaghetti, run to grab one of my ubiquitous tomato cans, and, in fact, they are all gone. And I practice restraint and only say medium-level bad words and only to myself and the aquatic frogs which live on my counter.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
This of course happens with other items (paper towels, ketchup, angel hair pasta, bar soap), but the Cans of Tomatoes have become the item. They represent the theme of poor planning and humorous besetting habits.<br />
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Why does it matter that I don't have the tomatoes? Because, at 4:45 on Tuesday, usually some small child is sleeping and none of the children are at their best, and neither am I, and loading everyone up to go to the grocery store for one bloody can of tomatoes will just peeve one to no end. Seriously. It takes like 23 minutes, round trip, because of all the "get your shoes on, strap in, be nice, heavens, sit still, no not that radio station, shhhhh, shoes ON, rrraaahhhh" reality that it is getting four children in the car to go do something that they don't care a hill of beans about doing.<br />
<br />
And, frankly, I understand. I'm not interested in riding in a hot (or cold) car for no good reason and you just interrupted my nap or my latest chapter of Harry Potter and I don't want to get my shoes on and why don't you just remember the freakin' tomatoes for once? (They don't say any of this, but it's written all over their little cherubic faces).<br />
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One of the hardest things for me about parenthood has been the limits on freedoms to simply bop places and run in the post office and grab a bottle of wine and run by to drop something off. Everything is an ordeal. An adventure, yes. But, all adventures are ordeals. <br />
<br />
And sometimes, neither (adventure nor ordeal) is preferable to both (adventure and ordeal.) <br />
<br />
I have longed for the mundane to become mundane again. For the shoe-getting-on to be irrelevant. I love my people, and when folks tell me to treasure these young years, I've finally quit wanting to punch them in the face. But, the dear ones do cramp my style. Not so much my style- but just my ease of errands. It's just true. It's beyond worth it, but there is no avoiding the reality that children make life more complicated and at times less pleasant.<br />
<br />
So, the Cans of Tomatoes represent more than just my absent-minded-professorial inability to keep up with what food I've bought and used. No, they've represented, for a long time, the stifling complications of having young children.<br />
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<br />
Over the last twelve months, we have gradually moved into a different phase of family life. About a year ago, I looked up and my nine year old was able to clean a room without assistance. She puts her little headphones in, picks up the stuff, wipes down the surfaces, and vacuums the floor. It's an amazing change. And both the boys dress themselves with little to no input. And all of a sudden they match like 80% of the time. And I realize I can send them to take the garbage down to the street without worrying about them being hit by a car. And they can turn the oven on and off. And the shower. <br />
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And then, I started doing something. I started experimenting with leaving them.<br />
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First, I hid in my bathroom and listened to what happened if I wasn't around to say or do anything for fifteen minutes. Not much occurred.<br />
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Then, I didn't tell them what I was doing, and I went and got in the car and listened to NPR for ten minutes and then came back in. Nothing had changed. They were playing, reading, etc.<br />
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Next, I did tell them, and we did Home Alone Without An Adult training. We talked about never opening a door for any reason, never doing any cooking, no showers, reviewed fire safety, etc. And I ran to the post office and back. Six minutes round trip and my heart was pounding the whole time. And nothing. There they sat. Entirely unaffected by my absence.<br />
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Rinse and repeat. No change. <br />
<br />
All this time, I floated my plan to people. I got a bizarrely wide spectrum of reactions: "Seriously? They're fine. I've been leaving mine since (oldest one) was seven." to "Oh my gosh; I am so jealous." to "Are you sure that's okay? Is it Legal?" to "That sounds like more trouble than it's worth" to "What in the world did you think was going to happen while you were gone for 20 minutes?"<br />
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The world was going to end. That's what. <br />
<br />
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And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a ten year old. And I just holler, "I forgot a can of tomatoes. Baby's asleep. Y'all may watch a Pink Panther. I'll be back in fifteen."<br />
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We aren't ready for dinners out yet. But, by darn, they're growing up, and it is grand. I feel the weight being lifted. I know it's going to be replaced by hormonal teenagers, and, heavens, one day they'll want drivers' licenses and I'll never sleep again. <br />
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But, the can of tomatoes theme has changed. Now, the diced-in-their-own-juice don't represent my trapped-ness, but my freedom. I don't want freedom for longer than fifteen minutes or so, but there isn't a mother I've ever known who doesn't long to be able to run an errand without shoe-finding. And now the little buggers can just say barefooted. <br />
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My next step is morning walks. <br />
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So, for those of you out there who are all seven and under - It will come. It will arrive. You'll look up and all will be different.<br />
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For those who are way beyond and laughing at me, well, try to remember the trapped-ness, and call your friends with only young ones and take them out for a glass of wine.<br />
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<br />
Transitions are magical.<br />
It is always good to know things change. <br />
Why? So we'll remember to pause and enjoy. <br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-79990754680568140272014-04-14T19:59:00.001-05:002014-04-14T19:59:27.387-05:00are coaches ever jealous? <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61NIy7w5CcR9gJIg_lFoxEZEbx6VqpFwZ771XB_c1L8RinKNbTkGjjiDb6k0MBefDCW2DbbuwHnL5glGXkRBC60KDimOsrmkeJ4CLSwdUt1q8sU5NgCHn0ZV0fmAP7Q00fodU6KQJZXw/s1600/IMG_0701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61NIy7w5CcR9gJIg_lFoxEZEbx6VqpFwZ771XB_c1L8RinKNbTkGjjiDb6k0MBefDCW2DbbuwHnL5glGXkRBC60KDimOsrmkeJ4CLSwdUt1q8sU5NgCHn0ZV0fmAP7Q00fodU6KQJZXw/s1600/IMG_0701.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoky Mountains, September 2013, "Let's all tie our jackets around our waists." </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I'm not the athlete type.<br />
<br />
I'm woeful in the physicality department. I don't like to be out of breath; I'm decidedly not talented. The best I can do is swim fairly quickly. And by fairly quickly, I mean probably faster than the average adult. Certainly never was fast enough to swim against people who, you know, swim. <br />
<br />
But, I do like sports a lot. I like watching them, screaming loudly (shocker), and keeping up with what's going on. I kept stats at the local little league fields as my favorite high school job, and I briefly managed the basketball team at my high school. I was - and am - an avid football fan. I do know what a cornerback is. <br />
<br />
Lately, a telling sports analogy has been in the penumbra of the Forster household:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, sometimes I'm talking to a grown-up, and I spell something, so that my third child won't know what I'm talking about. <br /><br />And sometimes, my first and second child just interpret for him. <br />
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<br />
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<br />Great. Thanks. Love that. <br />
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This week, for example, we're dealing with Collins's broken arm. <br />
<br />
We've been talking to him about the possibilities - surgery to add a wire or pins to help it heal- cast for 4-6 weeks, etc. So, he knows. We're not (and <i>generally</i> are against) keeping any truths from him. <br />
<br />
But, I try to not bring up trauma-causing things at inopportune times. We try, as a rule, to discuss serious topics when it's appropriate. But, grandmothers and friends have called over the last few days to check on him. And, in the course of the conversations, a few times I've said, "well, on Tuesday, we'll find out if we need to have s-u-r-g-e-r-y." Again, we're not trying to keep it from him. I'm just not interested in stressing him out constantly. <br />
<br />
<br />
This afternoon, I said the same thing, on the phone, to my mother. As I said it, I was walking through the dining room, where all three kiddos were visiting at the table. <br />
<br />
Collins looked at his siblings. They looked at him. Without missing a beat, they, in unison, said, "Surgery. She spelled surgery." <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />It is not meant as a betrayal of me (as of course is my first instinct), but, rather, it signifies their loyalty to <i><u>The Team </u></i>first. <br />
<br />
They are a team. We are the coaches. They love us, respect us, (imperfectly) follow our lead, but, when it comes down to it, they're protecting <i>their</i> quarterback, setting a pick for <i>their</i> forward, handing the baton off to <i>their</i> relay team members. <br />
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<br />
<br />This first either makes me mad or makes me sad. But, it should do neither. It should make me happy, proud, satisfied, calm.<br />
<br />
Why? <br />
<br />
<i>They can - and naturally do - operate outside of me. </i><br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong - They are with me always. They inadvertently follow me to the restroom for goodness sake. <br /><br />But, they know what it is to be vested in someone else's interests first. Their identities are independent of mine. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
When it comes down to it, they'd never<i> obey</i> one another first. They obey me first. It doesn't occur to them to mind one another. (In fact, it is anathema). <br /><br />However, it is natural to work for one another, protect one another, fight with and for one another, criticize, help, love one another. <br />
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They are each other's teammates. <br />
<br />
I do wonder. Are coaches ever jealous? <br />
<br />
One day, these dear ones will have another team. It could be a team of one or a team of seven. But, it will be separate, distinct, apart. <br />
<br />
And then Paul and I will not even be coaches - but just enthusiastic fans. <br />
<br />
Box seats, Monday morning tape reviewing, griping and/or rejoicing over a beer, three-term Presidents of the damn booster club. <br />All of those things. And more. <br />
<br /><br />But, I'm never going to be a teammate.<br />
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And it is so very good for us - and for them - to learn it now. <br />
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(Also, we've now had a talk about when I spell something, I meant it to be in code, dadgumit.)Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-46064587946589811952014-03-28T14:16:00.002-05:002014-03-28T14:18:14.102-05:00Two November Babies<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrV5t-EgzSZ0mMw4UiPWT5qabZFW7KRDKmeHEz3iICuG6MB0ssHyR7XgOyI0S96X3GIZiFjtqZCGjU4bk1nDumrA9yqI1JBkIIl1ONNcpsuciPfOZPdewKY9_8fvXgcZJwpnMcswONtE/s1600/996950_10100941965046356_703755497_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrV5t-EgzSZ0mMw4UiPWT5qabZFW7KRDKmeHEz3iICuG6MB0ssHyR7XgOyI0S96X3GIZiFjtqZCGjU4bk1nDumrA9yqI1JBkIIl1ONNcpsuciPfOZPdewKY9_8fvXgcZJwpnMcswONtE/s1600/996950_10100941965046356_703755497_n.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My November Baby. To see beautiful John Pearson, head over to his parents' blog at chroniclesofclay. </td></tr>
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There is this wonderful little family, the Clays. I don't know personally know them - but we have a slew of friends in common. They have a baby. He was born on November 6, 2013. His name is John Pearson. He came here with a poorly formed heart. <br />
<br />
Here is this other little family.
We have a baby. She was born on November 6, 2013. Her name is Elsa
Gray. Her pediatrician describes her as in perfect health. <br />
<br />
Because of the world of the internet, I've been watching John Pearson and praying for him. I suspect he's been even dearer to me because of their shared birthday. The mutual friend network of Facebook allows for much connectivity, and I've gotten to watch his parents do amazing things by sharing their journey. They are those people who just ooze grace - who are a testimony to the good. They are kind, calm, joyful, peaceful, humble and loving. Most of all, they are grateful to God. <br />
And this morning, their baby died.<br />
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I have been crying a lot this morning - since learning of John Pearson's passing. See - it's not fair. Of course it's not fair. The world is broken. Broken, indeed. But, we never remember that. It's too hard to remember that there is tragedy - always - around every corner. That every person we meet has something over which their heart is truly grieved. <br />
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And so, we focus on our petty grievances. They are, see, more tolerable to our hearts. But, in the end, more erosive. Because, no one thanks God for broken wine glasses or the (third) cup of knocked over milk. <br />
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I have not just one, but four children without any whiff of a health problem. Our biggest issue is the occasional seasonal allergy and the inclination towards (self-inflicted) concussions.<br />
And, let me tell you, I have a list of complaints a mile long. If you spend any time with me, I'll list them for you. They fuss, they whine, they just won't be quiet. They are so messy. The baby won't sleep all night. And on and on I go. Round and round - I never stop. <br />
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I've known for a while that gratitude is the only worldly solution for confronting brokenness with any amount of health or honesty. But, of course, to know something is not to practice it. Knowing you should give thanks is like knowing how to drive a stick shift. You can know it all the day long, and you'll still stall at the first stop sign.<br />
<br />
First, give thanks. Because, see, as broken as it all is, it's wonderful. The Clays this morning started there and ended there. And I'm sure they'll be lots of other places along the way as well. But, first they are grateful for the five months that they had with their son, and then they are grateful that God has healed him and taken him home to heaven. With shattered hearts, they give thanks. <br />
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To some, this may sound trite. To others, nonsensical.<br />
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But, see, it's the only way. And if we aren't motivated toward gratitude by people like the Clays, we're missing the point. If they can start and end with gratitude in the hours following their son's death, we can certainly give thanks amongst the piles of dirty laundry. <br />
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I've heard from many that John Pearson's life has touched them. He has touched the Forsters. I only hope the lessons that the Clays have reminded us of will last - that we'll do what we know we need to do: start and end with the acknowledgement that we are all interminably blessed.<br />
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I highly encourage any and all to read about the Clays here: <a href="http://chroniclesofclay.com/">chroniclesofclay.com</a>. <br />
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Kiss your children, thank your Creator, and pray for this sweet family. <br />
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At the end of the Eucharist service in the Book of Common Prayer, the celebrant says, 'Go in Peace to Love and Serve the Lord.'<br />
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And the congregation responds, "Thanks be to God." <br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8254957313662963620.post-25940658463021444792013-12-30T14:05:00.001-06:002013-12-30T14:05:34.768-06:00Finding your Clean Sink<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I've turned into an old woman (which I clearly am), I've discovered patterins (not a typo, just quoting my child) in my world and in the world of those around me. One of the ones I continue to see is that when life is insane, the way out of that external insanity and the way to hold on to some inner peace - is to find your regulating activity that makes it all better. <br />
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For some, this is exercise. The world may be falling down around a person, but if he can get in his morning run, he can begin to regain control or, at the least, not lose his mind to the crumbling columns. For some, this is folded laundry. For some, a regular reading quiet time. For some, it is prayer and meditation. <br /><br />There is a woman on the internet - the fly lady, I believe - who says that if you'll just go to bed every night with a clean sink, you'll be able to begin to form new habits that will save you from chaos. There is something to that - there has to be an external reality to make us all feel better. <br />
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There are three things I do when I need to regain control:<br />
<br />
1) Pray a rosary.<br />
2) Purge / fill my calendar.<br />
3) Plan my meals. <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
When I was pregnant with Ada Brooks, I took on praying an Anglican rosary based on the work of Julian of Norwich. It was a great spiritual discipline and still is my go-to (the Anglican rosary, not necessarily the one based on Julian) when I don't know where to turn. You can pray anything in rosary format - the Psalms are especially wonderful for this. It's repetitive and structured and God has faithfully used it to restore my soul. <br />
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When the calendar has wrong events on it or is missing right ones, I feel out of control. So, when I feel out of control, after I've prayed, I sit down and make sure the next week is correct. It makes everything go so much more smoothly - both internally and externally - when the calendar is right. My friends poke fun at me about this (I do take it a bit too far...), but with four (!) little ones and a busy husband and many a project going, it is important for us to all be able to see a schedule. <br />
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And, then, finally, and that is the point of this post - when meals are planned in advance, everyone is happier. We eat more healthfully, we spend less money, and, and this is the point, we begin to restore order. Again, both internal and external order. If a menu is posted - somewhere - somehow - we will do better. It is an inescapable reality of the Forster home. And I'd venture we aren't alone. Americans are undernourished and overfed and always running and never being still. Eating at home is the solution to so much of this. And, it doesn't have to be fayncee. In fact, it's best not, right? Foodies don't make great family feeders. They often make great entertainers, but when I begin to foodie it up, my family doesn't benefit. I regularly ask them what they'd like and all four of the ones who can talk request the basics. Bean Burritos, Spaghetti, Grilled Chicken. <br />
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So, it is important to figure out what your Clean Sink is exactly - is it some piece of devotional life? Is it reading the paper? Is it making sure at least the math homework gets done? <br />
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Is it meal planning? <br />
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If so, join me as we get back to responsible lives of one-trip-to-the-grocery-per-week, a budget - both in calories and in cash, and discipline. <br />
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Over the next four weeks, I'm challenging myself to a menu planning discipline. I'd love for anyone to join me. If you want to join, just send me an email - ann dot lowrey at gmail dot com. <br />
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Each Wednesday evening - 01/01, 01/08, 01/15, 01/22, you'll send a menu plan to me via email. It will include the plan for your family to eat supper - even if one of those says "Thursday - pizza from Papa Johns" -<br />
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Just looks like this: <br />
<br />
<br />Thursday - Spaghetti<br />
Friday - Gumbo, french bread, green salad, chocolate pie (company)<br />
Saturday - Cheese Soup and big green salad<br />
Sunday - Pick up Chinese for adults / mac and cheese for kids<br />
Monday - Bean Burritos<br />
Tuesday - Grilled Chicken Salad<br />
Wednesday - Pizza at Church <br />
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My goals for myself are going to be healthier, quicker, cheaper. You might have different ones. But, the real goal is just to get it done. <br />
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I'll compile them, anonymously, and we can all benefit the following week from our friends' work the week before. I'll also try to work on some tips that have helped me and send them out as well. I'll also send an email to all the participants saying who all managed to get theirs done on time... ;) <br />
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My thought is that if you commit to do it, it will be like having a workout buddy - you'll feel worse if you fail to show up than if you just fail to do it for your own household. <br />
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Let me know by Wednesday! <br />
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Cheers to a productive new year! <br />
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(Now...who is going to do this for exercise regimen?) <br />
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<br />Ann Lowreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413014984252623202noreply@blogger.com0