Work ended a bit early, today, in honor of Halloween. I think this is somewhat silly, truth be told, because I was never all that into Halloween. True enough, I enjoyed getting candy as much as the next kid, but it didn't keep me up nights dreaming and wishing the way, say, Christmas might have.
Anyway...
I got home and realized all I really wanted to do was...brace yourselves...go buy my weight in secondhand books and LPs.
So by golly, I did.
Currently, Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" (50 cents!!) is crooning from the phonograph in the corner and I'm a happy, spoiled little gal. Four LPs and at least five or six new books. Plus I stopped at Jo-Ann's and got myself a new stitch counter (to replace the one the fairies stole) and a new circular knitting needle. Rawr, life is good!
But I got home at 8:30 and realized I hadn't eaten a thing. My, my...what to do? Experiment? Forsooth!
Sautee three diced cloves of garlic in some olive oil, add a box of Trader Joe's chicken stock (how I love it so), season with salt, black pepper, and red pepper, then once it's boiling nicely add in a lot of frozen spinach, mixed tricolor kidney beans, and a beaten egg.
Dinner of champions. Especially with a glass of sweet Riesling and some whole wheat crackers slathered with sunflower seed butter. Gosh, I'm still experiencing the joy.
For the record (ha, get it?), I'm a bit in awe of the fact that I've recognized every song so far on Rumours' A-side. This doesn't usually happen to me. I follow a pretty strict "Do not buy the record unless you know and love at least two songs on said record", and I've toed the line quite a bit on a few purchases. But this one is in no danger, on that front.
Have a great weekend, y'all. I fully intend to.
-The GLS
(NaNoWriMo starts in a few days!! AHHHHHH!!)
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Impatience Is My Virtue.
I'm not tired.
I'm what you might call weary. I feel weary. Which is different than tired. Tired can be a good, satisfying feeling. Weariness just feels like a weighty version of tired.
But before I sign off to assuage my weariness with the balm of sleep, a list entitled "I Want":
1) I want to simplify.
2) I want to grow things.
3) I want to feel the seasons change at their fullest depth and know they're changing NOT because the calendar told me so but because I experience it.
4) I want to be off the grid.
5) I want to remember what it feels like to be excited by snow, but also respect it for the power it can be.
6) I want to nestle deep into the earth.
7) I want to put down roots.
8) I want to begin, continue, and complete, then begin again.
9) I want to set a feast before friends and family.
10) I want it all right now.
Sigh.
That #10 is a kicker. It really is.
-The GLS
I'm what you might call weary. I feel weary. Which is different than tired. Tired can be a good, satisfying feeling. Weariness just feels like a weighty version of tired.
But before I sign off to assuage my weariness with the balm of sleep, a list entitled "I Want":
1) I want to simplify.
2) I want to grow things.
3) I want to feel the seasons change at their fullest depth and know they're changing NOT because the calendar told me so but because I experience it.
4) I want to be off the grid.
5) I want to remember what it feels like to be excited by snow, but also respect it for the power it can be.
6) I want to nestle deep into the earth.
7) I want to put down roots.
8) I want to begin, continue, and complete, then begin again.
9) I want to set a feast before friends and family.
10) I want it all right now.
Sigh.
That #10 is a kicker. It really is.
-The GLS
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Lotto Man Cometh.
My, my. What a world, what a life.
This has been a crazy, crazy weekend. Between the storm front outside and the hurricane INSIDE, I haven't quite known what to do with myself.
I said in my last blog post something about cleaning my room. And I made all sorts of quips about how it would be a bloody fight, and blah blah blah.
Let me make this clear: I was kidding. Joking. Making jest.
But it has been no joke, this room cleaning business.
For serious, I took almost everything out of my room, moved furniture around, pitched stuff I didn't want anymore, vacuumed the heck out of whatever was left, threw dust in the air, organized my bookshelf, found space for my great-great-grandma's rocking chair, took my desk apart, cocked my bed perpendicular to the window, took everything off of my walls, gave my record player its own surface, gave myself a nightstand for the first time ever, and finally removed every trace of my color-scheme from eight years ago (including a dark green area rug and a dark green bedskirt that had been clinging to this room for FAR too long).
And then...today...oh, today.
I bought stuff. Two new lamps, a new rug, a wicker hamper (for the end of my bed), a new bedskirt, and a new doormat. Holy cow, I'm on a roll, and my room looks brand new! Very exciting. Especially if you're me.
So I'm sitting in the newly-feng-shui'd-wreckage and surveying my castle and thinking lovely thoughts.
It's funny how a new space can give you a new feeling about, well, everything. Like I'm starting over, in some way. Feels almost like a new me. But it's not. It's the old me with a cooler room.
Oh, and did I mention I'm full of Guinness stew? Shoot, what a great way to end the weekend.
Hope everyone else is as contented as I am at this moment. Please say that you are. I care about you. All of you, whoever you are. :)
Love to you and yours,
-The GLS
This has been a crazy, crazy weekend. Between the storm front outside and the hurricane INSIDE, I haven't quite known what to do with myself.
I said in my last blog post something about cleaning my room. And I made all sorts of quips about how it would be a bloody fight, and blah blah blah.
Let me make this clear: I was kidding. Joking. Making jest.
But it has been no joke, this room cleaning business.
For serious, I took almost everything out of my room, moved furniture around, pitched stuff I didn't want anymore, vacuumed the heck out of whatever was left, threw dust in the air, organized my bookshelf, found space for my great-great-grandma's rocking chair, took my desk apart, cocked my bed perpendicular to the window, took everything off of my walls, gave my record player its own surface, gave myself a nightstand for the first time ever, and finally removed every trace of my color-scheme from eight years ago (including a dark green area rug and a dark green bedskirt that had been clinging to this room for FAR too long).
And then...today...oh, today.
I bought stuff. Two new lamps, a new rug, a wicker hamper (for the end of my bed), a new bedskirt, and a new doormat. Holy cow, I'm on a roll, and my room looks brand new! Very exciting. Especially if you're me.
So I'm sitting in the newly-feng-shui'd-wreckage and surveying my castle and thinking lovely thoughts.
It's funny how a new space can give you a new feeling about, well, everything. Like I'm starting over, in some way. Feels almost like a new me. But it's not. It's the old me with a cooler room.
Oh, and did I mention I'm full of Guinness stew? Shoot, what a great way to end the weekend.
Hope everyone else is as contented as I am at this moment. Please say that you are. I care about you. All of you, whoever you are. :)
Love to you and yours,
-The GLS
Friday, October 22, 2010
Miss Clean Jeans.
Funny, isn't it? We have these ideas for how we want life to look, and it doesn't pan out the way you planned.
Actually I'm not being sweeping and profound, here. I'm talking very specifically about the appalling state my bedroom/bathroom is in.
Really, it's awful.
And I ought to know better. How old am I...22, now? Yes, 22. I really ought to have more gratitude for what I've been given, and be more inclined toward organization, and blah blah blah...
But really, I don't think my awfully messy room has anything really to do with a lack of gratitude for what I have. I think I just have WAY TOO MUCH STUFF.
So tomorrow? Oh, tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday. A Saturday with nothing but family plans to look forward to, later in the day. Which means...what?
It means, the battle begins tomorrow. The war, if you will. The crusade against the terrible state my room is in.
If I don't return by Monday...this means the room has won, and you will find me buried under a pile of shoes, tinwhistles, and miscellaneous papers including bank statements and artwork from four-year-old Picassos.
Gird yourself.
-The GLS
Actually I'm not being sweeping and profound, here. I'm talking very specifically about the appalling state my bedroom/bathroom is in.
Really, it's awful.
And I ought to know better. How old am I...22, now? Yes, 22. I really ought to have more gratitude for what I've been given, and be more inclined toward organization, and blah blah blah...
But really, I don't think my awfully messy room has anything really to do with a lack of gratitude for what I have. I think I just have WAY TOO MUCH STUFF.
So tomorrow? Oh, tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday. A Saturday with nothing but family plans to look forward to, later in the day. Which means...what?
It means, the battle begins tomorrow. The war, if you will. The crusade against the terrible state my room is in.
If I don't return by Monday...this means the room has won, and you will find me buried under a pile of shoes, tinwhistles, and miscellaneous papers including bank statements and artwork from four-year-old Picassos.
Gird yourself.
-The GLS
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Go Do.
Oh, dear. I appear to be deep in thought, preparing for this year's NaNoWriMo novel. My notes are open, my character sketches are getting filled in, and names are tripping across my brain and out through my tongue.
Apologies.
I'll leave you with this loveliness.
...and I made homemade ginger cookies. But you can't have any.
Narf!
-The GLS
Apologies.
I'll leave you with this loveliness.
...and I made homemade ginger cookies. But you can't have any.
Narf!
-The GLS
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Anachronistic Love of Iron.
Oh, shoot.
Did you know...when you mix rolled oats, sugar, melted butter, honey, and vanilla all together, stick it in a jellyroll pan and bake it at 350 for 30 mins, it will become caramelized, oaty goodness?
I didn't either. But it's true. You should try it sometime.
Got back from camp a few hours ago and needed to bake something. Desperately. I've been on this kick about not using pre-packaged foods wherever possible, and instead of popping open cans of pre-made high-sodium soup for a quick dinner, I try actually MAKING a quick dinner from scratch. Tonight I made (and ate) the creamiest scrambled eggs you ever tasted (farmer's market eggs, no less) with a side of Irish cornmeal griddle bread and an apple. Not fancy, but MAN it tasted good. Especially because the griddle bread was made with my cast iron skillet. Love me some cast iron. I also made some more butter with the heavy cream left in the fridge and used the buttermilk from the butter-making process in my griddle bread. I feel like I need to sew my own dresses, hitch up the wagon so I can head into town, and marry someone who will bring me some freshly killed game to cook. This is getting outlandish.
(I may or may not have been born in the wrong century. But I digress.)
I made popcorn
My breath was visible
You told me you were tired.
Tired of helping.
Tired of being.
Tired of it.
Just tired.
I wanted to tell you
In my visible voice
That we all get tired.
Please don't stop.
Kids need someone like you.
They need you.
But I handed him a bag of popcorn instead,
And replied in a poem.
Camp is a very, VERY important thing. Kids need camp. But they need the attention and love of adults they know and trust even more. If you work with kids, consider yourself deeply blessed. We all need mentors to look up to. Childhood ain't as easy as it ought to be.
I know it's a weird way to end this post. But it's on my heart tonight. So there.
-The GLS
(My poem is addressed to a youth worker whose name I don't know. So it's a mostly true story.)
Did you know...when you mix rolled oats, sugar, melted butter, honey, and vanilla all together, stick it in a jellyroll pan and bake it at 350 for 30 mins, it will become caramelized, oaty goodness?
I didn't either. But it's true. You should try it sometime.
Got back from camp a few hours ago and needed to bake something. Desperately. I've been on this kick about not using pre-packaged foods wherever possible, and instead of popping open cans of pre-made high-sodium soup for a quick dinner, I try actually MAKING a quick dinner from scratch. Tonight I made (and ate) the creamiest scrambled eggs you ever tasted (farmer's market eggs, no less) with a side of Irish cornmeal griddle bread and an apple. Not fancy, but MAN it tasted good. Especially because the griddle bread was made with my cast iron skillet. Love me some cast iron. I also made some more butter with the heavy cream left in the fridge and used the buttermilk from the butter-making process in my griddle bread. I feel like I need to sew my own dresses, hitch up the wagon so I can head into town, and marry someone who will bring me some freshly killed game to cook. This is getting outlandish.
(I may or may not have been born in the wrong century. But I digress.)
I made popcorn
My breath was visible
You told me you were tired.
Tired of helping.
Tired of being.
Tired of it.
Just tired.
I wanted to tell you
In my visible voice
That we all get tired.
Please don't stop.
Kids need someone like you.
They need you.
But I handed him a bag of popcorn instead,
And replied in a poem.
Camp is a very, VERY important thing. Kids need camp. But they need the attention and love of adults they know and trust even more. If you work with kids, consider yourself deeply blessed. We all need mentors to look up to. Childhood ain't as easy as it ought to be.
I know it's a weird way to end this post. But it's on my heart tonight. So there.
-The GLS
(My poem is addressed to a youth worker whose name I don't know. So it's a mostly true story.)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Weather-Proof.
I weather-proofed my suede boots today.
It's actually a very simple process. You spray on the stuff, let it sit for an hour, then wear the boots all the time, even while you're sleeping. Or...at least that's what I do.
Funny thing is, I tend to think of weather-proofing for shoes as if there will never be any more weather, ever. Like as soon as my boots are weather-proof, their little boot-lives are suddenly going to be weather-free. No more rain! No more snow! Just happy, sunny days forever!
Gosh. That doesn't make sense.
Doesn't make sense in my life, either.
And just because I've "weather-proofed" my life with the love of Jesus and the grace of God, doesn't mean my life is never, ever going to get rained, snowed, and thundered on. Doesn't mean it's sunny days until I die.
So why do I expect that?
The rain is going to fall just the same, and I have to live with it. But being weather-proofed means just this: I don't have to get sopping wet anymore. It rolls right off, eventually.
And that's alright.
Writing from a rainy season,
-The GLS
It's actually a very simple process. You spray on the stuff, let it sit for an hour, then wear the boots all the time, even while you're sleeping. Or...at least that's what I do.
Funny thing is, I tend to think of weather-proofing for shoes as if there will never be any more weather, ever. Like as soon as my boots are weather-proof, their little boot-lives are suddenly going to be weather-free. No more rain! No more snow! Just happy, sunny days forever!
Gosh. That doesn't make sense.
Doesn't make sense in my life, either.
And just because I've "weather-proofed" my life with the love of Jesus and the grace of God, doesn't mean my life is never, ever going to get rained, snowed, and thundered on. Doesn't mean it's sunny days until I die.
So why do I expect that?
The rain is going to fall just the same, and I have to live with it. But being weather-proofed means just this: I don't have to get sopping wet anymore. It rolls right off, eventually.
And that's alright.
Writing from a rainy season,
-The GLS
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