cheering normalization

I'm probably going to regret this post.

I tend to stay away from serious-to-me stuff, mostly because I like the lightness and fun of this space. There's a whole lot of "serious" inherent in life already, so my blog is usually a break from that.

But. This matters to me. And I gotta get it out.

You may or may not know that in my working world - there ain't a lot of women. There are more than there used to be, but still, we are small in number. Just this week, during a hospital visit, a nurse asked me who I was, and when I responded - "I'm their minister," she blinked and said, "Oh. Well, good for you," and walked away as I rolled my eyes in a decidedly non-ministerial fashion.

Disclaimer: Not everyone in the Weird and Wonderful World of the Church agrees that women can or should be pastors. That's OK with me. I respect where they're coming from; and only ask the same respect in return, if not agreement.

Anyway. Every now and then, someone asks me what it's like to be a female pastor. I tell them it's great, because really - it is. I love my job. I'm not looking for battles. I'm not a raging, aggressive feminista-type. I don't hate men. (I don't like pink, but that's just a personal preference, not a statement against femininity!)

Every now and then, someone asks me what I would like to see, what would be helpful, to us women clergy. Do I want weekly encouraging emails just for women? No. Do I want leadership training specific to my gender? Oh gosh, no. Do I want flowers? Only from Spike. (hint, hint) Do I want more friends, a support group? Nope - got 'em.

My answer (and I only speak for myself, obviously) is that I think what would be most helpful to women in ministry would be - help to normalize us. Don't give us separate seminars - make us an active part of the ones already there. Bring us in as speakers at the conferences, as teachers at the seminaries. Act like it's normal for women to do this job, and eventually maybe it will be.

With that in mind ... I got an invitation to a conference this week. I wish I could go. It will be full of challenging dialogue and thoughtful conversation, and people I wouldn't otherwise meet. I just know it would stretch my brain in most excellent ways, and I would come home with all kinds of "Why NOT?" conversation starters.

I probably can't go - it's in Minneapolis. But it's 21 leaders ... 21 topics ... 21 minutes each. (A time limit which I suspect will be quite a challenge for some of them! We clergy-types aren't known for being short-winded.)

But here's the part of the invitation that made me want to stand up and cheer, to plant a big, fat kiss on whoever came up with this idea:

"And in an unprecedented move, all of the speakers at this event are women — this is not a women's event, but it is a gathering at which women's voices will be featured (because we think it's about time for that!)."

And they mean it too. It won't be lame speakers brought in just because they are women. They will be speakers who are brilliant, thoughtful, engaging and real - who also happen to be women.

YEAH!!!

African rain

How am I ever going to have enough time to share my profound insights, hilarious wit and enthralling stories with you, if you all keep sending me videos which MUST be shared??

*sigh*

Kelly sent me this one too.

If you like creative sound ... you will like this. Truly. It is worth it. But it takes 6 minutes, FYI.

Enjoy.

summer food

Dill.

Best of the fresh herbs.

Even giving all due respect to basil, which is exciting and sophisticated, and parsley, which is dependable and unchanging ... dill is my herb of choice in the summer.

Nine years ago, on a trip to Ukraine, I was introduced to the wonders of fresh, local produce grown in the breadbasket of Europe. Flavour-filled tomatoes. Crisp cucumbers. Peaches, grape and plums picked off the trees and vines which grew beside the backyard picnic table.

Ohmymymy. I ate some good food in Ukraine. There was sala too. Which was ... less ... enjoyable.

But the dill....

Here's what you do.

Take some new potatoes

Cut them into chunks

Boil them.

Drain them.

Now quickly! Before they cool...

Melt some butter around them there potatoes, still in the pot.

Dump in lots of freshly chopped dill (chopped green onions is a nice addition too)

Sprinkle with salt and pepper

And if you're the classy type, dish the whole thing out nicely on a plate with your other food groups and enjoy.

If you're like me - eat it right out of the pot, and call it dinner.

forever

Another spontaneous moment of joy that made me cry.

I don't know why.

Thanks to Dave at BigEarCreations that drew my attention to it in the first place.

just another Sunday

So it rained here yesterday. Good thing too, because we were in mortal danger of drying out. It hadn't rain in, oh, maybe a few hours.

Didn't bother us a bit. We were in church (it being Sunday and all) and our music is louder than any storm. Spike's band was even there, and everyone knows they drown out all other sound.

Unless the power goes out.

Which it did.

Which was kind of funny.

Later, my b-i-l phoned me, knowing I wasn't going to get home until later in the evening.

"Hey, sis, did you know there's been some flooding? In the country, ditches have overflowed, pouring water right into people's front doors. Want me to check your house?"

Seconds later, Spike phoned. He and his band were on their way to another gig, and apparently they drove past and/or through this. He was wondering if maybe our b-i-l might check on our house. You know, since the highway was washed out, and neither he nor I was at home.


So the house was checked.


The basement was dry. (Yay for Spike's new and improved extendo-downspouts!)


Millhouse had left a few little "gifts", probably in anticipation of my b-i-l's visit. Millhouse doesn't like my b-i-l. Or anyone.


And then on Sunday night, the power didn't go out. But people took turns sneaking out of the service to see the amazing rainbow in the sky.

All in all, just another Sunday.

(with thanks to the weather network who kindly take pictures while I'm in church)

my chiropractor and me

It rained again today.

We won't discuss what the rain did to our basement ... again ... OK? OK. I don't want to talk about it. If I don't talk about it, I can pretend it didn't happen. In line with the deep wisdom of Scarlett O'Hara - "I can't think about that now. I'll go crazy if I do. I'll think about it tomorrow."

In other news, the rain meant that Spike's plans were cancelled.

Which meant that he stayed home.

Which meant that I had our spiffy little car (if it was clean and unscratched, it would look like this) available all to mine own self today.

Which meant that I could finally visit my chiropractor.

Do you know that, just now, when I searched "chiropractor" on this blog, it turns out I've mentioned him repeatedly? Enough, that I created a new label over there on the left. "My Chiropractor". You know, in case you want to really delve into this very specialized aspect of my bloggy blurbs.

Today we discussed toes. Which is weird, because toes have come up before with him. He politely commented on my toenail polish, which is approximately this colour.

"I see a lot of toes in here," he said. "But I've never seen that colour. I've seen denim colour. And it's not just the colour, either. Somehow it's got the lines in it, so it looks like denim. But I haven't seen this colour."

"It matches your shirt," I observed.

"Oh, so it does," he said.

Paused thoughtfully, then added, "I don't think it works with the tie, though."

He's got good fashion sense.

***

I also spent a few moments today with G.K. Chesterton, whom I love, as you well know. Thus, the new quote, also to the left, just above the labels.

a birthday night

Last night was the group's 3rd birthday.

There was cake! Chocolate cake, white cake, ice cream, little coconut tarty things. And Doritos too. Which is a perfect combination for a birthday party.

It was an open meeting - anyone could come.

So we came.

We sang.

We prayed.

Some told their stories.

Everyone listened.

"... God gave me my life back ..."

"... no one told me to buzz off ..."

"... I can say anything ..."

"... no one judged me ..."

"... if it wasn't for this group ... for Crossfire ... if it wasn't for God ..."

Applause at the end of each story. "Thanks, --- ".

An evening of hugs, smiles, friendship.

A good night to be part of the Church.

United Breaks Guitars

Every now and then, someone sends me something that I just MUST pass on to you.

This is one of those nows. Or thens. I'm not sure which. Kelly sent it to me. She gets me, me know?

Here's the story.

And here's the video.



Enjoy.

princess tours

The Princess and I spent a little quality time together today.

I was at the hospital on official business, and she was there too, so we toured around the place, hand in hand.

We climbed up on verrrrry high stools so that we could look around as we had a snack. Hers was the biggest cinnamon bun ever - a two-hander that had to be mostly saved for later.

We explored the gift shop, full of bejeweled purses and bedazzled notebooks and soft teddy bears. We didn't even break any of the fragile knick-knacks, which is quite an accomplishment on my part.

We discussed the meaning of the word "lobby".

We went up some interesting-looking stairs, and gazed at the world below us. And then we came back down.

We discovered a garden - with gazebos!

And at the end of it all, in a pleasantly surprised tone of voice, she announced, "Well! I didn't know that ICU was like THIS!!!"

okely dokely then

Do you remember the Simpson's episode where Ned Flanders loses it, and the gibberish takes over? (Don't click there if you aren't a Simpson fan!)

A few weeks ago, you may remember that we had a little old-iddly flood. Just some sewer water flowing up through the random diddly toilet and pouring throughout the basement.

And then insurance came along and said they would fix it - which they are - happily-oodly - but we probably should get a plumber to check things out before things are replaced and repaired.

And so we got a diddly-iddly plumber who cleaned out some pipes and sent a camera down, and said, "Oh, wouldja look at that. Yep, you got an issue here that you need to take care of. You can leave it be, but someday something awful will happen, and insurance isn't gonna cover it."

And we twitched slightly and said, "Okely dokely then."

So the plumber came back with his assistant and they fixed that darn-tootin' iddly issue, and installed a real, well-positioned basement drain. We got some significant Canadian Tire points on our credit card, and all was well, the plumber said, "... except ..."

insert face twitch here

" ... well, ya gotta leak that seems to have shaken loose from all the stuff being done down here, and you're gonna wanna take care of that, because we had to turn off the valve, and now you don't have any cold water in your kitchen ... "

diddly

diddly fan-freakinoodly-tastic oddely

Later that night, we discovered mid-cycle that our washing machine also no longer had cold water. Insert further face twitching here.

So a wonderful-iddly friend came along, and he and Spike fixed the leak. Actually, they opened up the wall from whence the silly-iddly-oddely leak came, and the whole darn pipe fell off, yessirreebobeedily. Good thing the sewer backed up, so that we could put in a drain, and fix a problem, and discover a leak, and rip out a wall, BEFORE water poured out of that pipe into our undrained basement. Whew!

insert more twitching and random nervous sneezing

On the weekend, it rained. Really a lot. And while I smugly reflected on the knowledge that our basement problems were fixed (you may notice a pattern here, from a few weeks ago) the sound of rushing water caught my attention, as my brain registered the fact that I wasn't running any water anywhere.

I hurled myself down the stairs to see, well look at that, we got ourselves a beautiful-iddly lil old-iddly water-aterly-fall-iddly coming down the wall, and working towards the newly installed-iddly drain. Just a darndiddly moment of joy, that was.

That's when the twitching turned into a seizure of some kind, as I ran upstairs, downstairs, in a circle, forgot entirely how to send a text message to Spike, and then started throwing things everywhere in an attempt to find my jacket, before running outside into the deluge to try to ... I don't know ... move water away from our house.

Soon the sun came out, and the water stopped, and it wasn't so bad, but if you listened closely, you could hear my continual mutterings of "giggelyiddelyoodely water falling from the sky iddely doodely and into my sewerlybuddley basement diddlelyoodely."

Spike came home, and we started repositioning downspouts and eaves, which meant Spike had to go up on the roof, which is where he discovered a hole, right above where the water came in, and he had a little twitching and muttering of his own, which I won't quote in this family-friendly space.

And so tomorrow, our roof gets fixed, so that no water will pour in from the roof above, nor from the sewer below, and leaking, falling-off pipes have been capped, and drains are clear, and foundations are drying. And soon, someone will come and put walls and flooring back into our diddly-iddly basement.

And then, to my poor, unsuspecting, lovingly lurking uncle, who politely inquired recently if I was still running ... just watch for me.

I'll be the twitching, muttering, crazily giggling one, running in tiny circles in the rain.

chip or dale?

I have a new critter.

You know there have been critters on this blog.

The kittens.

A bunny.

A peregrine falcon. (Probably good it wasn't in the yard at the same time as the bunny.)

And possibly Mr. Tumnus.

Surprisingly, it would appear that I have not blogged about the raccoons or the squirrels. I'll have to do that sometime ... if you haven't heard the stories, you will laugh!

But I have a new critter. A chipmunk.

Not the slow chubby kind that has been fed by humans since birth.

He's a skinny little thing that moves at the speed of light and can stop on a dime.

Yesterday I saw him again on the deck, on the edge of a planter. Now if he had been a squirrel ... well, that's another story to be told someday ... but he's a chipmunk. He's adorable. He can stay. And he snuggled into the planter, right under the alyssum.

He was so busy under there that I managed to sneak outside and across the deck undetected, while he busied himself within his personal Garden of Eden, moving about under the blooms, evidently dusting and tidying the place. Finally I said, "Um...excuse me...hey!" And up popped his head, cheeks bulging ridiculously. He looked like a cartoon. I burst out laughing and he was gone - probably to blog about the giant monster looming over the edge of his garden.

early morning dignity

It's not that I wasn't awake.

I was.

I woke up at 5:44 AM today, at Millhouse's command. Went back to sleep, of course, but was up before 8 AM, opening windows to catch the morning breeze, sipping the first coffee of the day, checking to see if Anything Very Important happened in the world while I slept.

So it's not that I wasn't awake.

But I wasn't expecting a workman to arrive at 8:18 on a Saturday morning.

He graciously ignored my bedhead and hastily donned robe, and allowed the conversation to proceed as if I didn't have morning crust in my eyes.

"Oh, hello, are you guys working here today?"

"No, no, just have to take some quick measurements."

"Oh, I see. Come on in. Welcome to my home. What a lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly is."

What else is one to do in that situation? There's a lockbox on the door, so if I pretend I'm not here, he's coming in anyway. I don't think arm-waving shrieks would be helpful at that moment. And so I resort to my usual response - just get through the moment, knowing this is going to make a mildly amusing story later on.

"All right, so this is where the tile floor was?"

"Yes, yes it is. Watch your step on the stairs, there's a light switch at the bottom."

"Ok then, and here is where the carpet was? I have a sample of that carpet; it's being analyzed so we can determine the value."

"Yes, that's where it was. That's great, thank you."

I wander back upstairs. He's only staying a moment, so there's no point now in putting on make-up, or even washing my face. I do manage to run a brush through my hair before he emerges from the basement. I also make the bed - why? I don't know. He's not even in that part of the house.

"All right, I'm finished. Once the analysis is completed, I can bring you back some carpet samples so you can decide what you want to do down there."

"Oh, how lovely. Would we be able to put in flooring instead? ... allergies, you know ..."

"Certainly. There are many options available. Perhaps some vinyl flooring where the peel-and-stick tile was."

"Wonderful. Well, thank you so much. You have a great day now."

He leaves, calmly, graciously. He's almost certainly composing HIS version of this mildly amusing story.

And perhaps making a mental note to include a small bottle of mouthwash in the estimate.

a tribute

Dwayne made a good point.

The random toilet deserves one last moment.

Here goes.

Ah, random toilet, how did we love thee? Let me count the ways.

Thou wert a place of rest for weary overnight travellers that didn't want to ascend the stairs whilst half asleep.

Thou wert also a haven to which boys (and - let's be honest - even girls sometimes) could run in an emergency.

Thou wast the one and only toilet in this abode, unassuming yet necessary, whilst the upstairs privy wast being gutted and renovated, and the donut shop down the street wast closed.

Thine enclosure in the hall didst shield 60 to 75% of a person using thee. Which isn't bad for a random toilet.

Thou didst provide many joyful laughs and deepening of relationships, as we fondly displayed thee to our friends who toured the house.

Thou didst inspire creativity and imagination amongst those friends who offered suggestions of what could be done with thee.

And now thou art gone.

Thou didst back up and spew, and although we do not hold that against thee, yea indeed, we do forgive thee - yet - thee had to go.

Thy time has come. Thou hast fulfilled all of thee's duties (doodies?) in this house, and the time has come for thee to go to thine eternal reward, perhaps on heaven's front lawn, as a daisy planter.

And so we bid you a fond farewell, one last flush, as it were, content in the happy reflection that you were a part of our lives for a time.

Adieu, random toilet! Adieu.