I'm Just Saying.....

Take Joy

2012-01-03T12:20:00.002-06:00

Photo by @jbtaylor

A year and a day ago, I had just stepped into the fresh and unsullied landscape of 2011. Being an ardent supporter and lover of All Things New and Beginning-like, my heart swelled with excitement. And I had plans. PLANS, I tell you!

But January 3, 2011, brought the shocking news of my brother's unexpected death. The world suddenly went grey. My excitement and plans vanished in a wisp of smoke, and I was shoved unceremoniously onto the HMS Uncertainty for my cruise down the Grief Canal.

Exactly twelve months later, I'm standing on the banks again. My legs wobble beneath me; having traveled so long by ship, the memory of land is a distant one for them. What to do now?

When you spend a year keeping company with grief or with some other heavy burden, a dull emotional landscape seems quite normal. You forget what fun is---what it looks like and how it feels. Answering a simple question like "What would you like to do?" might feel like an enormous tax on your brain. Or, at the very least, like a trick. "What do you mean what would I like to do?" The problem doesn't lie in the fact that you have suddenly started keeping company with practical jokers. The problem is simply that you have been piled high with life-suckers such as worry, fear, sorrow, or even over-busyness and that you have become a stranger to your own heart.

If you find yourself in similar emotional circumstances, I urge you to try this remedy: Take joy. Just as you might take two aspirin for a headache or take a nap to revive your tired body, joy is something you must take. On occasion, it might be offered to you through the kindness of friends and strangers. At some point, however, you must learn to take it for yourself.

I learned this only recently for myself. In fact, I still don't have it all figured out, this taking joy business. But I'd like to share with you a few steps I've taken that have helped me. Try them yourself. You deserve to have your joy back.

Spend time every day soaking in some peace and quiet. Even if it's only five minutes. Your nerves might be shell-shocked, and your heart deserves the quiet to refresh itself. I spend my time intentionally focusing on God and reading the bible. I've found the book of Psalms most helpful.
Say no to things that suck the life out of you--even things you used to like very much. Maybe you used to enjoy a weekly book club, but now it feels like so much work to get out the door and go. Say no to it for now. And don't worry about disappointing people or leaving more work for someone else to do. If the people you are saying no to are your friends or if they are the least bit understanding, they will cheer you on your way to finding joy. If they don't, you don't need to spend time with them right now, anyway. And vacating your position gives others who have more enthusiasm and energy to join in and offer their gifts and talents. Tip: Spending time doing Step 1 will help you learn which things you need to say no to.
Bless your heart--take joy--every single day. Not sure what gives you joy? Go on frequent Joy Hunts. Pay attention to what, exactly, catches your interest. What textures, tastes, sounds, colors, or objects lighten your mood? I found out that I love red and purple, candles, hot tea, birds, skeleton keys, antique architectural details, and period movies (Pride and Prejudice, Downton Abbey, Cranford, and Return to Cranford, for example). If I am short on time, but I need to take a dose of joy, I might close my eyes and inhale the scent of a favorite candle. If I have more time, I might go to a yarn store and handle all the soft red and purple yarns. Whatever gives you joy, try to do some of it every day.

Proverbs 17:22 in the New American Standard Bible says this: "A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones."

In this new year of 2012--whatever 2011 brought your way--I urge you treat yourself well, my friend. Whatever your ailment, take your medicine. Take joy.

My Brother's Birthday

2011-05-11T10:07:00.006-05:00

May 11, 1958, fell on Mother's Day that year. And that's the day my brother showed up. Mom lost so much blood, the doctors thought they were going to lose her.

Mom always told us that Greg was 6 years, 7 months, and 11 days older than me. Even though he was so much older, he was a great brother. Not perfect, but perfect for me. Greg always took time to play with me, he was an amazing artist and taught me some of his secrets, and he always let me tag along with him and his friends. As adults, he always called me on my birthday, and he always ended our calls with, "I love you."

Happy Birthday, Greg. I love you and I miss you.

Grief Dreams

2011-04-25T09:36:00.005-05:00

Photo by marykbaird.

Last night I dreamed I was on a cruise ship, and we were sinking. I wasn't scared, though. Just trying to get to higher ground.

A Side Note

2011-04-21T14:49:00.003-05:00

Here I sit at my computer, reading your kind comments in response to my grief journey and posting my replies. I thought just this morning how I feel so much better and how writing about my loss helps me heal. Maybe even faster than normal. And maybe it helps you, too.

Then I opened my email. The Mail Delivery Subsystem wrote me to say, "Delivery to the following mail recipient has been delayed." You guessed it: my brother's email.

The lump is back again and the tear ducts are working just fine. I hate this.

As I Travel Down the Grief Canal (Part 1)

2011-04-20T13:20:00.001-05:00

Photo by hotblack.

Within five minutes of receiving the shocking news of my brother's sudden death, I found myself--without a suitcase or itinerary--standing on the deck of HMS Uncertainty, cruising through the waters of the Grief Canal.

Six minutes earlier, I had been talking to my visiting uncle, who sat just ten feet from me in our den. Immediately after The Call, I stood waving in confusion to my uncle, who now watched me from the banks of the Grief Canal.

Of course, I didn't know I was on the Grief Canal and that someone else had booked passage for me. I only knew I was alone, the skies were dark and threatening, and a painful lump had replaced my heart and was pressuring on my tear ducts.

Soon, someone--I don't know who--steered me to my room. People walked past and smiled, their faces fuzzy and out of focus. People I knew from home--my husband and children, friends, other family members--called to check on me. But their voices--though thick like peanut butter with concern and love for me--sounded distant, like I had slipped down a tin tunnel, far out of their reach. I slept. I cried. I felt the aching lump in my chest and wondered if my eyelids would ever return to their normal, smaller size.

Stewards left food for me. Sometimes I ate. Mostly, I pushed the food from one side of the plate to the other. I slept again. After several days, I opened my door and looked down the long hallway. There on the floor outside my door, was a pair of slippers in my size.

I slid my feet inside the slippers and stepped into the hallway. Stewards passed me, smiling and nodding. Can I get you anything? How are you doing today, Mrs. Beers? I don't need anything, but thank you. I think I'm doing better. Thank you for asking.

Shuffling down the hallway, the warm breezes beckoned from the deck. I breathed deeply. My shoulders relaxed, and I closed my eyes in the sunshine. When I returned to my room, I called my husband and said, "I feel better. I think I'm okay now!"

That's what I get for doing my own thinking.

Ignorance is Bliss

2011-03-10T13:33:00.005-06:00

Between January 2 and 3, there was a space of about 22 hours when I didn't know. I was blissfully unaware of the fact. But, being unaware, was I really in a state of bliss? If you'd asked me---in my pre-knowing state---"Are you blissful?" I would have snorted. "What? Are you trying to accuse me of ignorance?" You would have chuckled.

I would have served you coffee. We would have chatted, and I would have told you my grand plans for the coming New Year. Some of my hopes would have included him.

"I'm going to uncork my courage and talk to him about his drinking," I would have told you. "I want to prod him out of his apathy and get him drawing again." I would sip my coffee, thinking. "I want to have a deeper and more meaningful friendship with my brother."

"When will you do all this?" you would ask, adding two lumps and a splash of cream.

My heart would flutter; my palms would sweat. "Maybe this week."

Then we would drink our coffees, dreaming of our big plans in those last 45 seconds before my 22 hours were up. But the phone would ring. The news would be delivered: "Your brother died about this time yesterday."

Hindsight is 20/20: Ignorance was bliss.

All my future chances--my "next weeks"--to talk to my brother are gone. Forever.

But there are other beating hearts I love, other encouragement I can offer, and maybe even a lovingly applied kick-in-the-pants or two.

I should act now and be afraid later.

Is Your New Year Going to be New for You?

2011-01-01T15:18:00.012-06:00

Photo by circulating.

I love the New Year. If you don't believe me, click here.

The New Year gives society as a whole permission to say goodbye to what was--the good, the bad, and the ugly--and to welcome in the "what might be." I like to cooperate with the rest of the world's New Year celebration by dreaming about what could be new for me this coming year.

As I chatted with a long-distance friend this week about her New Year's plans and resolutions, she sighed. "I really want to start sculpting again." I'd heard this from her before. "I don't know," she said. "I guess I'll just wait and see what happens." She says this every time, and every time, I nod my head and say, "Uh-huh."

This time, though, I screwed up my courage and said, "You know, nothing changes if nothing changes. You want different this year? You have to do different." (Oprah would be proud of me.)

"Yeah, maybe," she said. Not what you'd call a valliant line-in-the-sand kind of action, but for her, it was a step.

The next morning, I turned that phrase over and over in my mind: Nothing changes if nothing changes. Last year, on the brink of 2010, I seriously considered joing a gym to get in a shape other than the one I was in. Nah, I decided. I'll save the money and work out at home instead.

Well, guess what? I didn't work out. And therefore, I didn't lose the weight I wanted to ditch, I didn't gain the energy I wanted to harness, and I didn't improve my cholesterol scores. (Although, I must admit I got pretty good at Spider Solitaire.) In contrast, I did lower my level of confidence and my ability to engage in Olympic shopping without needing an hour-long nap. Not super happy with those results. I'm going to change that this year. (Make sure you check back with me.)

What is it you want different for yourself this year? Less stress? Better relationships? More time to read or write or go caneoing? A cleaner house? More fun in your life? To stop smoking? To stop screaming at your kids? To dance more often and in cuter shoes?

In 2011, what are you willing to do different so you can have different? Once you make up your mind, don't reconsider when the going gets tough; recommit. (If you need help walking through the process of setting a goal you'll stick with, I recommend reading "Chapter 2: Embracing Change" in the book, Curves Fitness & Weight Management Plan, by Gary Heavin, Nadia Rodman, and Cassie Findley.)

I'm not your mother, and I'm not a travel agent for guilt trips. I'm just a friend who's making a change--for real this year--and I'm inviting you to come along. What's your New Year going to look like? My New Year is going to shape up nicely.

Language Lessons

2010-11-03T20:06:00.020-05:00

Wedding photo of Jacob (sitting) and Pauline (standing) Diel on November 22, 1925.

Language is an amazing thing, isn't it? Experts tell us that language learning begins in the womb, before our first coo or da-da is ever uttered. For some of us, learning to talk gives our parents joy, even as they beg the good Lord to "shut that kid up for just one second, will ya?"

I've been thinking lately how the language of people I love affects me even now as an adult, even though they are long gone from my life. I'm a native speaker of Amercian English, but thanks to my Grandma Diel---born in a German village near the Caspian Sea in Russia before the assassination of the czar---my everyday speech is peppered with several "low-German" words and phrases. In fact, certain words of Grandma's are so ingrained in me that my brain calls them up as the default setting, rather than their English counterparts. When I want to discuss things like cleaning spilled milk, ufeshlumba comes readily to mind. Or if I want to give directions to Mr. Johnson's house, I say that his house is easy to spot because it sits shraeks on the corner. These words are part of my DNA, and I love it when I see them seeping in to my kids' speech.

If your vocabulary could use a little freshening up, by all means, feel free to borrow from my grandma. Below are some of my favorites, creative spelling and pronunciation guide included.

ufeshlumba (OO-fesh-loemba)---literally, an "up-wipe rag"; great for cleaning up all kinds of liquid messes.

shraeks (shrakes)---this is what you say to describe anything off kilter; you position the lid shraeks on the pot so the steam can escape as the water boils.

bahzoof---the modern German equivalent would be pass auf (take care or look out), but Grandma pronounced it bah-ZOOF and always wagged her finger at you as she said it. Her meaning was clear: "You better watch out or......" (fill in the blank).

Haase kniddle---pronounced HA-zuh kuh-NID-dle; Haase, meaning rabbit, and kniddle, meaning, well...excrement; used (usually while giggling) to describe the shape of poo in the diaper of a grandchild experiencing constipation.

weisskopf---pronounced VICE-kopf; literally, "white head"; used to describe any person with lightning-blond hair. Marilyn Monroe was a weisskopf.

So there you have it: my trip down memory lane and how a little girl growing up along the Volga River in 1912 still leaves her mark in the life of a 45-year-old woman in 2010 America.

What about you? Do you have any language lessons you'd like to share with the class?

I'm Not a Doctor, Nor Do I Play One on TV...

2010-08-11T20:40:00.001-05:00

Photo by [lauren nelson].

...so I'm dispensing my medical advice for free and you don't have to foot the bill for an addition to my home.

This summer I developed--overnight, it seemed--horribly dry eyes. My eyes felt scratchy. Similar to the feeling you get when you wash your face with sandpaper in the desert at 120 degrees. Only in my eyes.

I'd never suffered with dry, scratchy eyes before, so I was stumped. I bought a popular brand of eye drops purported to "get the red out," but a friend insisted I stop using them immediately (per her eye doctor's instructions) and use a brand that sounds like the word "sustain." I did exactly what Wendy demanded, because she can be pretty scary when she's in "Mother Mode." And the drops did help. But still, I wondered, why was I having this problem in the first place?

Making an appointment with the eye doctor seemed the thing to do. Certainly he could/should/would help me, right? Yeah, not so much. He basically told me (this is my paraphrase), "Gee, that's too bad about your scratchy-as-the-desert kind of eye problem. Keep using those drops, though, okay?" I estimate my bill will be about the cost of one square foot of his new addition.

The next week when I went in to pick up my new eyeglasses, I complained to Debbie--the best Eyeglass Frame Picker Outer and Adjuster ever--that I had no answers to my dilemma. Debbie perked right up. "Let me get Dr. D and see if she has any ideas." Back came Debbie with Dr. D who listened to my complaints.

"Hmm," she said. "How old are you?"

"Forty-five."

Dr. D raised her eyebrows at me.

"And three quarters."

She nodded. "Could very well be hormonal fluctuations. Do you take fish oil?"

"Sure do. About 2,000 milligrams three times a week."

"Up your dosage and take 2,000 milligrams morning and night, every day. Do that, and I bet you'll see a difference soon."

I promised to follow her advice, and she gave me a prescription for a heavy-duty nighttime eye drop to use as needed. And she didn't charge me. Not for a room addition or a cup of coffee.

I never had to fill that prescription. Two days later, my eyes felt normal again, like I had gone from desert and sandpaper to tropical island and coconut oil.

Here's that free advice I promised you: if you're a 45-and-three-quarters-year-old woman with uncommonly dry eyes, and you take fish oil periodically, up your dosage and see if that helps.

Just remember: I'm not a doctor. So ask yours first before you try this.

After you ask him if he's adding a room or pool to his house.

Churn Some Butter!

2010-07-28T06:40:00.001-05:00

Photo by insane photoholic.

I recently signed up for a free, online community called SparkPeople.com. It’s chock-full of neat tools and gizmos, message boards and online support to help you meet your fitness goals. Problem is, I’m in no mood these days to be setting goals, fitness or otherwise. But it was free, so…

This morning I logged in and saw that I could earn three points just for reading this tiny article. (I might not be up for setting goals, but I’m always up for earning points.) The title, “Going Through the Emotions,” grabbed me because, although I am running low in the goal-setting department, I am spurting like a geyser in the emotions department these days.

Frog in a Bucket

The author, Mike Kramer, tells the story of the frog who falls into a pail of cream and can’t jump out. In his panic he kicks and squirms and kicks and squirms. Soon, his kicks and squirms turn that cream into a block of churned butter and he can hop right out of the pail. At the end of the story, Mike says, “Here’s how your story and his intersect. If he only saw the hopelessness of his situation and started feeling sorry for himself, he would have sunk to the bottom. But instead he kept kicking. He kicked not because he knew it would help him escape, but because he was compelled to, he had no choice. He kicked because the alternative was no alternative at all.”

I’ve been thinking about that; sinking to the bottom is not the fate I wish for me. So it looks like I’ve got to churn some butter. But how do I go about churning butter with all the required kicking and squirming if I don’t have the energy? Baby steps. And baby steps will work, too, because baby steps are the same as churning when you compare them to doing nothing.

My Baby Steps

Baby Step 1: I’m keeping a gratitude journal. Focusing on the good instead of the bad encourages me and reminds me that there is good in each day. I just have to look harder some days than others, but a little hard work might do me some good.

Baby Step 2: Reaching out to others. The quickest way for me to sink is to let go of the hands around me. So what if they’re not reaching out to me when I think they should? I bet if I reach out to them they will gladly clasp my hand and save me from another day at the bottom of the cream bucket. It’s worth a try.

Baby Step 3: Making time to laugh. I visit icanhascheezburger.com any time I want a good giggle.

Do you need to churn some butter in your life? Take a minute to list your own baby steps, then write me and tell me what you’re doing. That can count as your “Reaching Out to Others” baby step.

Slugs in Agony

2010-07-27T10:00:00.002-05:00

Photo by photogirl7.

After my recent post about assassin Ninja squirrels, I heard all about squirrels, moles, and slugs. Chikako, whom I know to be an avid gardener, wrote that her garden in the Pacific Northwest is overrun with slugs and could I please produce a picture of a slug in agony? Chikako, the photo on the left is at your request. Enjoy. I wish I could add a sound track of tiny slugs squealing in pain for you.

Why I Hate Squirrels

2010-07-17T10:57:00.007-05:00

I used to think squirrels were cute. That was before I landscaped my front yard and planted gorgeous things that make me happy. Now I have Ninja squirrels who apparently have decided to dig up (non-existent) treasure---at the roots of my previously mentioned gorgeous things!

I'm sprinkling cayenne pepper around the plants in an effort to keep the squirrels away. Or at least to cause them intense bowel pain.

Martin seems to have come up with a satisfactory resolution.

Photo by Martin Pettit t.

To Weed or Not to Weed

2010-04-18T07:55:00.010-05:00

Photo by ndrwfgg.

It's spring on this half of the world. One proof, in addition to the warmer weather, is the explosion of color springing from the grass, in gardens, in the trees, and even in my coworkers' wardrobes. Purple, new green, white, yellow, pink, red, and every color in between and beyond.

My own backyard is its own happy little party. I haven't planted any flowers yet, but I am pleased to report a gorgeous-green backyard with yellow polka dots. My husband intends to rid the yard of those polka dots. He says, "I have to spray those dandelions and get rid of them. They're weeds."

Of course, I know dandelions are classified as weeds. I, myself, have participated in their extermination before. But this spring, after such a long, cold, and maddeningly white winter, the friendly yellowness of the dandelions warms my heart. When I pull out of the garage in the morning to head to work--still half asleep--those little yellow faces have a way of welcoming me to the day. "Come on, Heather, it's spring! Wake up and have a great day!" That's what they say at my house anyway.

So who are these weed-labeling people, anyway? How do they decide these sorts of things, and who pays them to make sure we all believe them? How can a plant that is useful for eating (salad greens) and drinking (wine) be categorized as a weed?

I, for one, intend to hide my husband's newly bought herbicide. At least for one more week.

Parental Feelings

2010-04-09T14:57:00.005-05:00

Photo by fotographix.ca.

We have teenagers. That says a lot right there.
As I chatted with a friend last week, I told her when I'm 50 I think I might be ready to start having children.

I changed my mind. I'm thinking 60 now.
I'm just saying...

A Danny Gokey Sighting

2010-01-30T09:40:00.003-06:00

So here's how you know you need to get a life of your own instead of living vicariously through your coworkers:

Wednesday, Natalie came by my cubicle after lunch.

Natalie: I hear you're a secret American Idol fan.

Me: Honey, there is no secret about it!

Nat: Guess who I just had lunch with?

Me: Who?

Nat: Danny Gokey, from Season 8.

Me: You're kidding me! Where? How did you have lunch with him?

Nat: At KC Pita. Kristyn and I were eating there and saw Danny having lunch with someone--a radio DJ, I think.

Me: So you didn't actually eat with him, then?

Nat: Well, no. But we were in the same building and saw him.

Me: Did you at least go talk to him?

Nat: No.... But maybe I should have.

Me: Um, yeah! I would have said, "Hi, Danny. My whole family loved you last season. Enjoy your lunch."

Nat: Yeah. I should have said something.

She sighed and I nodded. Then Natalie went to the pop machine and I finished editing an environmental assessment.

I definitely need to get out for lunch more often.

Duck, duck, GOOSE!

2010-01-23T08:54:00.010-06:00

Photo by Daveness_98.

So here's what I found out this week about growing duck feathers: it ain't so easy!

There I was, minding my own business and growing duck down. Happy as you please. When someone did something normally irritating to me, or if they were living on the cranky side of life, I would think of my duck feathers and just let it slide by. I would think, "Oh, they must be having a bad day," or "I must be interpreting that wrong. I should ask questions for clarification." (Read my article about crazy communication problems.)

But one evening this week, after practicing and getting pretty good at this duck feather business, one of my nearest and dearest said something that sent me over the edge in one flying leap. Instead of responding with a kind and gentle, "Lord, love a duck!" and moving on with my day, I responded with a heartfelt, "I'm going to cook your goose!" (Not out loud, of course.)

When all was said and done (about three seconds), there I stood in the middle of a pile of duck feathers. My own. Plucked and scattered in one fell swoop.

What did I do next? I cried my eyes out and went to bed. Then I started all over the next morning.

How's your duck experiment going?

Growing Duck Feathers

2010-01-19T14:30:00.005-06:00

Photo by Niffty.

Yesterday I had two experiences with two different groups of people. In the first experience, I got my feelings hurt. In the second, it was like water off a duck's back--I wasn't affected at all. What was the difference? After talking with my hubby about it over coffee this morning, I decided that whether I'm hurt or not many times boils down to this one thing: my expectations.

1st - I was new in a group of eight women for the third week in a row. Although they were friendly, no one went out of her way to talk to me. I realized I had an unconscious expectation that new people in a group should be welcomed and assimilated by those who have been there longer. The reality is, however, that as a new person, I was actually crashing their party.

2nd - I visited a group of friends I'd known a couple of years. One started talking about an upcoming event that did not involve me and to which I had not been invited. I wasn't the least bit hurt or even miffed. I thought, "That's just the way that person is." Unconsciously, I had already worked through my expectations and had moved to acceptance of this person.

After thinking about my different responses to those two situations, I realized that I am sometimes hardnosed and inflexible (though I hate to admit that!) and I thinly veil my expectations of others as "hopes." The problem is that my lofty ideals cause me and others unnecessary pain.

I don't like living that way, though. I'd rather have the peace and joy that comes from acceptance in all my relationships. That's why this year I've decided to give my friends and family an unusual, but practical, gift--I'm going to grow a set of duck feathers. I'm going to take myself less seriously and love and accept my dear ones right where they are.

I "expect" I won't get it right straight away or very often at first, but I promise to try.

Care to join me? Come on in--the water is fine.

Three Lessons Learned

2009-12-09T22:48:00.002-06:00

Photo by LollyKnit.

When NaNoWriMo started on November 1, I had stars in my eyes. I had dreams of days and nights of literary abandon. Lofty ideas of ending the month with a beautiful 50,000-word story worthy of the Newbery Award.

That's not what I got, though.

On December 1, I woke up with crust in my eyes. The kind you get when you spend more time screaming at your computer than you do taking care of your body and getting the rest you need.

And those dreams of literary abandon? Forget it. What I got was several sessions of teeth gnashing smack in the middle of the month. I haunted the hallways of our house, moaning and groaning, questioning How did I end up with a village full of Mary Poppins wannabes in this book? Where is the conflict? How can I stand another minute of writing about these very nice characters with no life worth reading about? I came very close to quitting.

But I wanted the bragging rights that go along with posting 50,000 words on the NaNoWriMo site by November 30. I trudged on.

About two-thirds of the way into my literary desert, I woke up one day sick and tired of going nowhere fast. I started pounding away at the computer and threw my heroine, a 12-year old girl, in the dungeon and demanded she find her way out. The dungeon had nothing to do with my story, but by golly, that girl needed some conflict! Several days of conflict and clever dialogue followed, and my word count soared.

In the end, I submitted 50,028 words. (Notice I said words, not story or book.) I did not end up with a proper beginning, middle, and end to my story. I did, however, win the battle with myself. I dragged me--kicking and screaming, most days--to that hallowed NaNoWriMo finish line. And I won.

Thankfully, I also learned a few things along the way:

Before NaNoWriMo, the thought of writing one thousand words in one day used to scare the heebie-jeebies out of me. Now, though, pounding out one thousand words in one day strikes me as something I might choose to do on vacation. Are you kidding me? Give me a challenge!
Thanks to NaNoWriMo, my main character has a fascinating best friend who keeps my main character in line, provides comic relief, and well may be worthy of his own series and/or Newbery Award. Someday.
When stuff gets hard, when I get off track, when I wonder What the heck was I thinking anway?--whether it's writing a book, a new diet or exercise program, a decorating project, or a stab at NaNoWriMo 2010--I know I have what it takes to cross that finish line. Even if I have to drag me kicking and screaming.

NaNoWriMo and the Wisdom of Robert Frost

2009-11-10T08:54:00.001-06:00

I've found out some very interesting things about myself in the first eight days of the NaNoWriMo challenge. For instance, I believe I will be one of those authors you listen to on the Oprah show who says, "For my award-winning book, I had to throw out the first 45 pages." "Why?" Oprah would ask, obviously stunned.

And I'd have to tell her, "Because nothing happened until page 46."

It's true. Although I didn't set out to do it, I have inadvertently created a village composed entirely of direct descendants of Mary Poppins, "practically perfect in every way." You would love this place! I do. But guess what? No editor will love it. It's not fraught with enough peril and conflict. (Did I say enough? I meant any.)

So today after work, when I come home to add 2,000 words to my village and characters, it's no more Mr. Nice Guy. Now, it will be "Here comes the judge." (sigh) But I really like these guys, and I hate to be a meanie. I know, though, it will be a better story once I get in there and really mix it up. Hearts will pound. Tears will be shed. Victory cries will resound. Maybe even awards will be won.

Robert Frost and I are in the same boat (or is it snowy woods?). I have "miles to go before I sleep."

Newsflash: Hard Times Hit Toilet Paper Industry

2009-11-05T10:08:00.004-06:00

Photo by Est Bleu2007

First it was the hamburger: an almost imperceptible downgrade to a smaller bun and patty, all the while maintaining the price. Then it was yogurt: down from 8 ounces to 6. Same price. The toilet paper industry has evidently joined the bandwagon, so to speak. When replenishing the toilet paper in our bathroom and pitching the now-empty roll, I noticed the new roll (Quilted Northern, for those of you who wonder) is approximately one-quarter of an inch shorter than the old one. And you guessed it: same price. Pretty soon, they'll tell us a gallon (of whatever) is now a new, sleeker 125 ounces rather than the wasteful 128 ounces. And guess what? Same price.

NaNoWriMo--Day 2

2009-11-02T17:19:00.001-06:00

It happened. And only on Day 2! I got so involved in my story I almost forgot to pick up my daughter from school. Almost. Good news, though. My two-day total is 4,816 words. Yippee!!

NaNoWriMo, baby!

2009-11-01T18:20:00.006-06:00

Today's the first day of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)--the day when founder Chris Baty cajoles thousands of people across the globe to throw themselves unhindered into the world of literary abandon for the entire month of November. These people--myself included, this year--put aside laundry, eating, sleep, and possibly even personal hygiene to attain the all-important goal of producing a 50,000-word novel between November 1st and 30th. All for the title of "winner" and the bragging rights that come with it.

I'm writing a middle grade novel. To make the NaNoWriMo 50,000-word goal, I have to write an average of 1,667 words a day. I'm off to a good start on my first day--2,266 words! Are you intrigued? There's still time to join. Go to www.nanorwrimo.org to check it out. And check back here often. I'll let you know how I'm doing.

A Place to Land

2009-09-01T06:57:00.015-05:00

Photo by Joe (c)

I feel like I live in a wind tunnel. My eyes pop open every day, and I'm instantly swept up in the hurricane-force winds of To-Do Lists, my daughter's School-Piano-Volleyball-AndWhateverElse Schedule, and Other Responsibilities I have as a WifeParentFriendEmployee. I end many days exhausted, my hair a tangled mess.

My dear friend, Wendy Fields--who, lucky for me, is also my coworker--made a simple, but profound statement. Off the top of her head. Without a long period of rumination. As we talked together about workplace frustrations. She said, "We set goals to give ourselves a place to land."

A place to land. I like that.

After some consideration, I've decided my place to land doesn't have to be life-altering or memoir-worthy. Something simple will do. A goal that gives me a big red "X" on which to land before my head reaches the pillow and I check for light leaks each night. And it can be different every day. Today, I will eat simply and take a walk.

Gesundheit: The Power of Blessing

2009-07-30T14:32:00.005-05:00

Photo by etech.
If sneezing were an Olympic event, my mother would be a gold medalist. When she sneezes, she lets loose as if there is no more important work in the universe at that moment. No sneezing into a tissue, the crook of her elbow, or her hands. She just wrinkles up her face, tilts her head back in anticipation of the coming "big one," and lets it rip. No feminine, almost-inaudibly squeaked out "chew!" She rares back, screams out "A-HA!" as if she's having the most astounding gestalt of her entire existence, and finishes off with a deeply satisfying, belly-jiggling laugh.

I'm used to this event. In fact, after practicing Mom's technique for myself, I've taken the view there is no better way to spend my sneezing time. For the uninitiated, however, witnessing Mom's sneeze can be a bit disconcerting. After your initial astonishment, your eyes will grow wide as dinner plates, and you will pronounce the most sincere "Bless you!" you have ever in the past , or would hope to utter in the future. You will be pulled into her laughter, and when the giggling between the two of you has ceased, you can't help but feel that somehow you are the one who has been blessed.

Not so Fortunate

2009-05-05T06:33:00.006-05:00

Photo by dslrninja.

I needed white, Chinese take-out boxes for a project I'm doing for my daughter's school this week. I went to several stores, with no luck. I finally drove across town to a huge craft store. I thought Surely, my Chinese take-out boxes will be available there! I searched high and low, but this store was HUGE. I ran out of steam and finally asked a store associate, "Where do you keep your white, Chinese take-out boxes?" She went to ask a fellow associate, and when she got back she told me, "I'm sorry. We don't have them right now. Apparently, they are a seasonal item."

What I want to know is What season is appropriate for white, Chinese take-out boxes?

Parenting with Subtitles

2009-04-12T15:20:00.007-05:00

Photo by Gaetan Lee.

Our kids - our 12-year-old daughter especially - nagged us relentlessly to join the 21st Century.

"All the other parents have cell phones, " she reasoned. "Why can't we have cell phones, too?"

"We do have cell phones." I held up my pay-as-you-go phone to make my point.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest, and heaved a sigh. In our house, that translates to, "Pay-as-you-go phones don't count as real cell phones. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Although my initial reluctance was a financial one, we bit the bullet and got "real" cell phones when our son moved away to college and we spent his first semester dealing with dropped calls over a free internet service.

Two days after getting the phones, my husband and I went Christmas shopping. Soon, I heard what I can only describe as a bubbly, jingly sound coming from my coat pocket. I fished out my phone and pushed some buttons. My screen lit up, telling me I had a text message. My first one ever.

"Dennis, I got my first text!"

"Good for you, honey," he said as he looked over the kids' wish lists. "Who's it from?"

"It's Bekah. I wonder what she wants."

I pushed another button, and my incoming text appeared on the screen.

Hey, mom, since I have 12 dollars can I buy some songs on itunes?

I pulled my gloves off.

How many songs 43 you want to buy?

I saw my "43" mistake only as I pushed "send."

Lol. Still getting used to hitting the right buttons? XD lol anysho...Uh like
11...cuz that's how many 12$ can buy...so can I?

I sighed.

"What's wrong?" Dennis asked.

"This texting thing. I know LOL means Laugh out Loud, but what is this XD thing?"

Dennis took my phone and looked at the screen. "Maybe it's one of those sideways face things. Maybe with squinty eyes and laughing?" he guessed.

"Oh, I see it!" I entered my reply:

OK. Pay me when I get home.

I hit send, and Dennis and I continued our shopping. Two or three minutes later, I heard the now-familiar bubbly, jingle sound. "What does she want now?" I wondered out loud. "Unbelievable!" I said to Dennis.

"What now? Everything okay?" I showed him my phone screen:

Mom, any idea where my iPod is?

Dennis grinned.

"I can't even go shopping without having to stop what I'm doing to help someone look for something!" I punched my reply:

No.

Thirty seconds later:

No ideas at all?

NO.

Then,

hey mom can we go to target when u get home?

I took off my coat. We'd been at the bookstore half an hour, and the only thing I'd accomplished was give permission to buy songs and reveal my inability to find iPods from a distance of seven miles away. I whipped out my phone for what I hoped would be my final text during our time out.

Dad and I are TRYING to shop. Do you suppose we could talk about this
when I get home?

A minute passed. Then the bubbly jingle.

Lol. Sry bout that mom! C u l8r, k? :oD

Dennis walked up to me, his hands full of books and movies from the kids' wish list. "Hey, you look like you could use a date with your husband. Let's get some coffee, ok?"

"LOL. K. And how about some ear plugs?"

A Sure Sign of Spring

2009-03-24T06:37:00.006-05:00

Photo by joshua l.

My husband danced and rejoiced. My children whooped and hollered.

"Spring has surely sprung! Hallelujah!" they declared.

The source of all this glee? I, the wife and mother of the household, put away the space heater and allowed the use of portable room fans. My husband nearly wept for joy when I unplugged the heating pad, removed it from our bed, wrapped the cord up, and stored it in the linen closet.

I have not, however, conceded to using the central air conditioner.

I'm With Nehemiah

2009-03-06T09:17:00.016-06:00

Photo by crabchick.

Our pastor, Jim Bailey, is preaching an inspiring sermon series right now about restoration. Not the furniture kind. The soul kind. The life kind. The kind that makes life worth living. (You can listen to his sermons yourself by clicking here and listening to the February 22 and March 1 sermons. Enjoy!) Jim's sermons come out of the book of Nehemiah in the Old Testament of the Bible. I decided to start reading on my own at home, and I came across a funny little phrase I want to share with you. In Nehemiah chapter 1, Nehemiah has just gotten some bad news, and he starts to pray. Part of his prayer in verse 6 says, "let your ear be attentive and your eyes open to hear the prayer your servant is praying..."

Have you ever had a time in your life when you were so overwhelmed or flummoxed by your circumstances that you couldn't think of anything to say to anyone - let alone The Almighty God? So what do you do then? Like the character Sam Baldwin in the movie Sleepless in Seattle, maybe you just "get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long."

I think that's where our friend Nehemiah found himself. Flummoxed and overwhelmed. So when he prayed, "Let your ear be attentive and your eyes open to hear," I think he meant, "Yes, Lord. Hear our prayers, yes. But also look on our daily lives. When we can barely lift our hands and our hearts to You and we don't have the words to form eloquent prayers. Look with Your eyes on our lives - on our getting out of bed and breathing all day long - and see the prayers our lives have become before You. Let that count. Answer those prayers, too."

What do you think?

The Music of Marriage

2009-02-27T13:13:00.005-06:00

Photo by *spud*.

My friend Helen is doing one of the most difficult things I can imagine: she's saying goodbye to Luke, her husband of 25 years. He has cancer. With her permission, I've posted below what she has to say about her marriage.

It's Luke and my 25th wedding anniversary on July 14th. Will he make it?
I should qualify that question: Will he make it in the flesh? I have no doubt that his spirit will be with me.

I have been thinking about marriage. It's like playing a Mozart piano sonata. You have the left hand busy with the Alberti bass, regular, rhythmic and steady, with occasional runs. The bass part is the root of the harmony, it creates the richness and depth to the melody.
The right hand carries the melody. It's the bit in the public face, the part that people whistle, the part that carries the overt feelings. It's the extrovert side.
If you have two left hand parts your marriage is dull and plodding. Two right hands and it is two people competing for the limelight, - all froth no milkshake.

So 25 years ago Luke and I started our sonata together. For the first two years it sounded good. Then we started jarring each other. Sometimes we were playing different bars at the same time. The right hand got ahead of the left, or the left got over loud and drowned out the right. Between there were enough good bars to make it worth while.
We've had times when we thought it would never come right, and we should stop playing. But when we got it right it was so good it was worth playing through to the end.

Now we are almost at the end of the sonata. We are closing with a graceful ritenuto. Winding down our marriage, speaking it through, going back and talking out the difficult bars. Apologising for drowning the other out, dragging or rushing ahead. For jarring chords and banging down the piano lid on the other's fingers...

It's the most satisfying thing I have ever done. Finishing off beautifully something it has taken 25 years to create.

The Peanut Butter of Peanut Butters

2009-02-21T10:46:00.010-06:00

Photo by viZZZual.com

A few months ago, I browsed the aisles of the grocery section in Wal-mart. I looked up and saw Naturally More peanut butter on the top shelf. I liked the name, and when I saw on the front label that it was fortified with flaxseed and flaxseed oil, I decided it was in my best interest to try it.

Well, let me tell you. I will never willingly eat another peanut butter again! This peanut butter is far superior to any peanut butter I know of in all ways - nutrition, taste, and texture. The price is not so bad, either. (Just be sure to stir it well when you open it. Then store in the fridge. Easy.)

If you want to do something really nice for yourself for under $3, buy Naturally More! You'll never go back to what you currently refer to as peanut butter.

(By the way, Naturally More Peanut Butter is NOT involved with the current peanut butter recall. You can check out their website at www.peanutsnack.com.)

For All You Sticker Lovers

2009-02-06T16:23:00.006-06:00

Photo by justinlai.

Do you love stickers? I do. I decorate my journal with them every chance I get. They make my pages jump up and say, "Yes! I've got something cool to say on this page, and there's a sticker on me to prove it!" And - they make me happy.

So guess what? The friendly folks at Google are giving some cool stickers away (while supplies last) to anyone who sends them a self-addressed stamped envelope by February 14, 2009, to this address:

Send me some Gmail stickers already
P.O. Box 391420
Mountain View, CA 94039-1420

(Enclose an international reply coupon (IRC) for one ounce if you're outside of the U.S. One per person, please.)

Making Friends with Monotony

2009-02-03T09:25:00.003-06:00

Photo by KaCey97007.

I got laid off from my job a few weeks ago, and I find myself rattling around in the house like one lone marble trapped in a pickle jar. It's not like I have nothing to do - I have tons to do! But, being one lone marble who prefers the company of other marbles, I rattle around and flit from activity to activity, while accomplishing not so much.

The problem, I see now, is that I float mindlessly through my day until something outside myself (an email, a phone call, a meeting, an editing assignment) breaks the monotony for me. I check my email over and over, waiting to hear from an editor. I surf the web until a friend calls. I move from thing to thing and don't follow through unless the activity is nailed to a deadline. This leaves me with half-vacuumed carpets unless company is coming, half-read books unless it's for an assignment that's due, and half-written articles (lots of them!) unless an editor is knocking on my door. (It also leads to far too many trips to the refrigerator, which has led to larger numbers on my bathroom scale.) Something must be done about this!

The cure, I finally realized, is to make friends with monotony, the fabric of life. Monotony is the main stuff. The calls from editors, the vacations to Maui, and all the other fun things are the sparkles in my fabric. But it's mostly monotony. Or, the commonplace, if you prefer.

So my goal for February is to strengthen my endurance muscles in dealing with the ordinary. I will choose something mundane and plain like doing the laundry, and I will finish the task to the end. I will inhale the clean smell of the dryer sheets, I will savor the quiet of the house as I fold. In short, I will practice enjoying all the little bits that are "doing the laundry." And I will not be distracted until the task is done.

Soon, my everyday life - in all its glorious monotony - will be a thing of beauty in itself. With or without the sparkly calls from the editors.

Fat Cats are Fun

2009-01-27T10:44:00.002-06:00

We used to have a beautiful and dainty all-white cat who had just a smidgin of grey on her forehead, so we called her Smidgin. When we picked up Cat #2, my then 5-year old daughter thought we should call him Pepper since we had an all-white cat, and the new cat was white and grey.

Smidgin is gone now, but Pepper remains like a linebacker holding the line. At 24 pounds, he weighs more than some of my friends' children!

Soup Party

2009-01-14T11:41:00.009-06:00

Photo by superbez.

The last time I served food at my blog, we had that delicious "Banana Tres Leches" cake. It's been awhile since I had you all for over a bite to eat, so I want to serve you my favorite soup. Not only that, but I'm sharing the recipe with you, too, so you can enjoy all the benefits of being the Best Cook Ever.

Let's dig in!

This soup is so delicious, so easy, and so good for you - there must be a law against it somewhere. Thank the Lord we just can't find that law at this minute.

Heather's Yummy Delicious Soup She Stole from Her Mother-in-Law (thanks, Mom!):

2 cans of chicken broth
1 can water
1/2 - 1 pound smoked sausage, polish sausage, or kielbasa
1/2 box linguini, broken into 4-piece sections
1 can black-eyed peas, rinsed and drained
1/2 bag frozen leaf spinach

Cut up the sausage and brown in a little oil in the bottom of a soup pot. (We prefer canola or olive oil; do not use WD-40!) :) Add broth and water and bring to a boil. Add the noodles and cook until done. Add the beans and spinach. Simmer until heated through. Taste before giving into the temptation to season with salt or pepper. This soup is terrific all by its lonesome self!

No official thank-you notes are necessary, although comments are definitely appreciated. Enjoy!

New Year's Revolution - Climbing Out of Your New Year Box

2008-12-30T20:51:00.006-06:00

Photo by emdees.

I love welcoming the New Year.

All the craziness of my birthday, holiday shopping and traveling, Christmas, my husband's birthday, and getting the Christmas cards out on time is finished.

Then there's this week of hopeful expectancy. What will the New Year bring? It's like pausing at the top of the world's largest Ferris wheel as the bottom empties and a new group climbs on. The air is clear, the bright lights of the distant city sparkle against the black night sky. You can see for miles and miles. The view is amazing.

As 2007 ended, I struggled to start my New Year's Resolutions List. It seemed that my yearly resolution of losing weight had resulted in a steady weight gain since fourth grade! I knew that most New Year's resolutions revolve around the same ten things. I wanted my New Year to be different, but I didn't know what to do.

I shared my thoughts with my DH (dear husband), Dennis, over coffee one morning.

"What do you think?" I asked.
"I've been thinking about this," Dennis said. "I think we should have more fun in 2008."
I gasped. "But what about my goal of losing weight?"
"Was it on your list last year?" he asked.
"Of course." He knew it was on my list every year since fourth grade.
"Well, did you lose weight?"
I answered with my very best Evil Eye Stare.
"I'll take that as a No," he said with a grin. (Did I mention that my husband is very brave?)
"But I hate to give up my goal," I whined.
"You wouldn't be giving up your goal. You'll just make Having Fun more of a priority."

I finally agreed, and after talking it over, Dennis and I decided that our New Year's Resolution for 2008 would be to Eat at One New Restaurant Every Month. The results? I didn't lose a single pound, but I did have tons of fun, got to know my city better, tried lots of great food (The Blue Koi, Jazz - a Louisiana Kitchen, McCormick & Schmick's, A Touch of Asia Indian Cuisine, BD's Mongolian Bargeque, Spin Pizza, Granite City Food and Brewery, O'Dowd's Little Dublin, Mr. Gyros, Zarda's BBQ, Waldo Pizza, Bristol Seafood Grill, and the Webster House), and got to know my husband better as well.

As this New Year approaches, what will you do? Most people do one of two things:

They choose the lazy way out by planning to do nothing. I mean, it's just another string of 365 days, right?
They dust off last year's resolutions and determine, "OK, this year I really will do all the stuff on my list!" (You know the list I mean. It's the one that says Lose weight, exercise more, be nicer, quit smoking, yada yada yada.)

This year, I propose you trade in your resolutions for a revolution. What will it be for you? Dennis and I plan to find more of those restaurants in our city. I'm thinking about teaching my twelve-year old daughter one new thing every month. (How to Tie a Tie, How to Bake Sourdough Bread, How to Do Laundry, for example.)

What are your New Year's REVolutions? I'd love to hear from you!

An Experiment in Asking

2008-12-17T14:20:00.006-06:00

I heard a story about a man who needed a ridiculously (at least to me) large amount of money for a business venture or project he was working on. He had a chance to meet the billionaire Ross Pierot. On the day he met the billionaire, the man cinched up his courage, explained his project to Mr. Pierot, and boldly asked for half the amount he needed, which was a huge sum in itself. Mr. Pierot looked the man in the eyes, paused for a minute, took out his checkbook, and wrote a check for the full amount the man asked for. The man was stunned. Elated. Flabbergasted. He reached for the check, thanking Mr. Pierot profusely. As Mr. Pierot tucked his checkbook away in his coat pocket, he said, "If you'd asked for the full amount, I would have given it." Sometimes I get tunnel vision and asking for help never even occurs to me. In 2009, I want to pull my head out of the sand and ask for what I need. I'm going to:

remember that I can't have everything I want when I want it because it's not always my turn;
be pleasant so people are glad I asked - even when they can't fill my request;
say yes more often when people ask me for help. Because it's not all about me and what I need to get done. It's also about you and what you need to get done. (By they way, if you ask me for help and I can't help you myself, maybe I know someone who can. So ask!)
remember to ask God, too. He knows what I need even before I ask Him!

Have you been spinning your wheels all by your lonesome, when you could have been asking for help? Run an experiment in asking. You may be pleasantly surprised.

Psalm 23 for Travelers

2008-12-08T19:32:00.014-06:00

Photo by Maryam S.

My friend Isabel leaves in the morning for her flight home to Australia for the holidays. Then it's on to Taiwan, Thailand, South Africa, and who-knows-where-and-not-necessarily-in-that-order before she comes back here.

So in Isabel's honor and for all of you who'll travel this season or who travel on a regular basis, I've written Psalm 23 for Travelers. (Don't get too excited, though. It doesn't count as Scripture yet.)

* * * *

Because the Lord is my Travel Agent,
I have everything I need.
He makes me sit in vinyl airport chairs.
He leads me to the quietest spot in the airport coffee shop.
He helps me catch my breath and shake off my stress.
You're so good to me, Lord --
You help me find my departure gate,
and
You get me to my destination -
eventually.
You comfort me when I'm tired, stressed, or cranky.
Even though I must take the red-eye and show up for work the next day anyway,
I fear no jet lag because You are my
Constant Companion.
The pillow and blanket You provide keep me snug and warm.
You provide peanuts and soft drinks to sustain me -
right in front of my snoring travel companion.
(I'm thankful for the earplugs You provide.)
You are good,
and
I know that You love me,
therefore
I embrace the travel schedule You arrange for me,
and
I look forward to being with You in Your Home
forever.

I'm just wondering......

2008-12-06T17:56:00.011-06:00

Photo by mannequin.

For those of you who celebrate Christmas, the world (especially me) wants to know your answer to the all-important question:

Do you open presents on

Christmas Eve
Christmas Day
One on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas Day
Other - and what is your "other"?

When my Mom was a kid, they opened one on Christmas Eve and the others on Christmas morning. My Dad opened all his on Christmas Day. When I was growing up, I couldn't sleep past 3 AM, so we opened at about 3:07 AM and went back to bed at 6 AM. Now as a Mom with my own family, we open one on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas Day, which is what my husband did when he was growing up.

Your turn!

Telling Your Feet Only Half the Story

2008-12-02T22:28:00.029-06:00

Photo by aussiegall.

I'm taking a class called Write a Children's Book through the South Africa Writer's College. It's taught by award-winning author, Helen Brain, and I feel like the luckiest woman in the world to be part of it. One of the things Helen wisely forces her students to do is to read a bunch of books for kids in the age range for which the student wants to write. For me, this has meant lots of books in the 9-12 year old range.

One of the books I chose was A Single Shard, by Linda Sue Park. Set in twelfth-century Korea, twelve-year old Tree-ear is an orphan boy who works for master potter Min. At one point, Tree-ear must make a long and difficult journey on behalf of his aging master and deliver two exquisite vases to the royal court in a city far away.

A few days before he leaves, Tree-ear confesses his worries to his old friend, Crane-man. What if I lose my way? What if robbers attack me? How can I possibly make such a long journey alone?

"It is so far away," he tells Crane-man.

"No, my friend," Crane-man tells him. "It is only as far as the next village. Your mind knows that you are going to Songdo. But you must not tell your body. It must think one hill, one valley, one day at a time. In that way, your spirit will not grow weary before you have even begun to walk." (A Single Shard, p. 93)

Are you weak and weary? Are you freaking out about the upcoming holidays? Or maybe you're worried about your health or that of a loved one? Try telling your feet only half the story. And may I suggest that you tell the other half to Jesus? Matthew 11:28-30 in the Message version of the Bible is a great reminder of what waits for you when you do.

* * * * *

In Celebration of my First Blog Post

2008-11-28T18:07:00.013-06:00

It's my first blog post, and what's a celebration without some cake? Sorry I can't host you all in my home, but I'm happy to share a great recipe with you. It's easy, you will thank me, and I will quickly become one of your favorite people.

So let the party begin!

For this Incredibly Easy and Luscious Banana Tres Leches Cake: First, say a prayer of thanks to the Lord for my dear friend Meredith, who tweaked a recipe into the one I will share with you here. (Thanks, God! and Thanks, Mer!)

1 box French vanilla cake mix,
1 cup mashed banana (about 2 bananas)
6 oz. coconut milk (I used half of the 13.5 oz. can)
6 oz. sweetened condensed milk (I used half of the 14 oz. can)
6 oz. heavy cream (I measured 6 oz. in a liquid measuring cup)
2 cups heavy cream
1/4 cup sugar
Splash vanilla
Strawberries (optional)

Mix cake according to package directions (except stir in mashed banana) and bake in 9x13” pan. Cool and poke all over with a skewer. Mix the 3 milks and pour over cake. Cover and chill several hours or overnight. Whip the remaining 2 cups of heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla with a hand mixer. Spread on top of cake. Garnish with fresh strawberries or serve on the side. Also delicious with chocolate sauce. But then again, what isn't?

Thanks for joining me today! Why not give yourself the gift of subscribing to my feed? Look at the left of my blog. See the "Subscribe to Me!" heading? Click on "posts" and add me to your homepage. Whenever I post a new blog, it'll pop up on your homepage. And how cool is that?

I'm just saying......