Don't try this at home

Um, so, well... I don't recommend mixing caffeine and anti-histamines.

Unless, of course, you'd like to feel a war taking place inside your body.

Today I stepped into the bathroom to find a huge, hot, splotchy rash spreading across my face and neck. I let it go for a bit, but when I began to feel itchy and breathless, it was time to stop the offender in its tracks: Benadryl to the rescue!

Which would have been fine, except I drank about 8 cups of coffee trying to stay awake cooking breakfast for my aunt and uncle (who graciously spent hours mingling with our friends last night--and subsequently helped us wash a bazillion dishes into the wee hours of the morning).

On its own Benadryl usually knocks me out for a good 6-8 hours. I awake groggy but in the clear. Mixed with caffeine it is quite another story. A war between stimulants and depressants in the body makes for a fitful afternoon in the bed. For the Queen of Naps when she's already tired and has taken Benadryl... well, that was some serious coffee.

Thoughts for a thursday

I've been trying to read several books for several months. I come in and out of them like the open doors they are. One particularly compelling book that I am absorbing slowly is The Places that Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times, by Pema Chodron. I've returned to the same bookmarked place several times, never remembering which paragraph I read last, so I always start again with the first one, which strikes me every time:

"It's hard to know whether to laugh of to cry at the human predicament. Here we are with so much wisdom and tenderness, and--without even knowing it--we cover it over to protect ourselves from insecurity. Although we have the potential to experience the freedom of a butterfly, we mysteriously prefer the small and fearful cocoon of ego."

Over and over again, like my return to these books, like my return to these words, it can be a life's work to step away from the cocoon, test our wings, and fly.

Leftovers ahoy

Well, readers, it has been a cooking extravaganza these past few days.

I arrived on Friday to a simple dinner--mac & cheese, leftovers and easy shrimp cocktail. Countless hours and several hundred dollars later, we have made everything else from scratch, in just about this order:

potato-kale soup
cornbread
pear salad
nuts and bolts (old-fashioned chex mix--my great-grandmother's recipe)
garlic cheese grits
monkey bread
egg scramble
ham
cornbread dressing
sweet potato casserole
port-wine cherry salad
green beans
pecan pie
potato-kale soup again (this was for a gluten-free friend which I ruined by accidentally adding wheat products; it's now in the freezer, for us)
fruit salad
fudge (my grandfather's recipe)
...and a variety of mixed drinks.

Tonight the cooking continues, as we gear up for tomorrow night's Holiday Open House. We're doing beer-cheese fondue, spinach dip, Christmas cookies, sweet and sour meatballs, baked bourbon brie with pecans, country ham biscuits and all your party fixin's. If you're in the area, holler--we'd love to see you.

Aunts and uncles arrive tomorrow, so we're also prepared (post-party) to whip up eggs benedict, Dutch pancakes, breakfast casserole and, if folks are lucky, my favorite orange Kuchen rolls.

Whew! That's enough to make a gal tired. Or hungry.

Perhaps our tastebuds mistake themselves for ambition?

Season of waiting

Here's a little diddy from my journal, dated December 20:

The season of winter speaks clearly to me. Joan Chittister says:

"Winter is a lesson about the fine art of loss and growth.
Its lesson is clear; There is only one way out of struggle
and that is by going into its darkness,
waiting for the light, and being open to new growth."

I am in winter, both physically and spiritually. A lot of growth is happening--the gestating kind that takes place deep beneath the surface. It's the stuff of seeds lying in wait... for ground to thaw, air to warm, soft rains to come, strengthening sun to seep through. It's the stuff of promise and waiting and hope and expectation.

Yes, new life is forming, deep within. It waits in the deep darkness, hidden and protected in its vulnerability. Slowly it will grow and spread and strengthen. My body awakes as its harbor, its shelter, its safety, nurturing it along its way. I will birth it and call it by name. I will tend it and raise it. And then I will set it free, as my self.

Love bein' home

I love to come home. It's a very different place now than it was when I lived here, and I love it still. When I come home at Christmastime, it's even magical. My mom decorates to the nines--fresh greenery, lights, candles, the tree, presents, fabulous food, luscious scents and random festive paraphernalia (most of which I wouldn't buy for my own home but which I like perfectly well when I'm here because it's, well, here). All this decorating and festive-making is a ton of work for her (and that part I don't like), but she wouldn't be my mom if she didn't decorate for Christmas, and this wouldn't be "home for Christmas" if she didn't do all the doin's. It really does make for a special time and space. And when 4 of the 6 people you grew up celebrating the holidays with have passed on, it's a cushiony comfort to have sensual delights around every corner in which to indulge.

Of course, this being Atlanta, I cannot say that the magical snowy frostiness of winter is a dependable part of the deal. Today, for example, it's 65 degrees. I like me some cold, and I LOVE me some snow, but I gotta tell ya--I love me some warm weather in December. A southern gal takes all the warm days she can get when winter is her least favorite season.

It also helps to have trips to Central America (or other warm climes) during winter. I've been lucky enough for this to be the case each winter for the last 5 years or so. In 2006 I went to Nicaragua in January, and then to Brazil in February. Beautiful, both of them. 2007 will find me in Guatemala and Mexico in January, and Florida and Puerto Rico in March. Ahhh.... Those trips will literally get me through the winter. Like Mom's Christmas decorations, I think they need to become a tradition.

What's special for you about this time of year?

What helps you get through winter?

Quote for Wednesday

I can't remember who said it, but I jotted this quote down in a meeting the other day...

"You can raise your voice to the masters if you are no longer capable of wounding with your words."

Quote for Tuesday

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

-Carl Gustav Jung

Restaurant wisdom

Printed on last night's dinner receipt...

"Love is the discovery of ourselves in others and the delight in that recognition."

Sabbath time

Once in a while Central Presbyterian Church sets up a Sabbath Center in the chapel. It's a lovely, quiet space where I have done some serious discernment, fun art and quiet reflection. I invite you to spend time here for your own nurture and delight.

Here's "official" info and some photos. Central is located in Old Louisville, at 4th and Kentucky.

"The Sabbath Center is open during Advent, Christmas and Epiphany. The Sabbath Center is a place set apart to experience and experiment with ancient spiritual practices and contemporary resrouces for spiritual exploration and encounter with God. You are invited to vist and explore this place for nourishing the Spirit of God within you.

Walk the labyrinth, post a prayer, sit beside a fountain to read scripture using "lectio divina," listen to the chants of Hildegard or create a journal for your writing or artwork. Visit and revisit, rest and renew, play and pray.

The Sabbath Center will be through January 7. It is open during the week when the church office is open and on Sunday mornings."

How I want to live these days...

A poem by Dawna Markova:

i will not die an unlived life,
i will not go in fear
of falling or catching fire,
i choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living open to me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible,
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
i chose to risk my significance:
to live.
so that which comes to me as seed,
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which comes to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.