Functional Foodie Friday: Spicy Tomato Soup

// January 20th, 2012 // 1 Comment » // Functional Foodie, My Fabulous Life

This soup was stolen from Giada, but there’s a back story. Isn’t there always?

Apparently my cooking has been a bit too healthy earthy for Ron Burgundy. What with my many Ball jars of grains and rice and pasta, he was obviously craving some good old fashioned (what he calls) food. I got home late from the gym and he had stopped at the local grocery and bought canned soup – tomato and chicken noodle. Yes, those were always comfort foods to me growing up, too, until I read the labels. Apparently he wanted to live in the past. No big deal. At least he was cooking!!

Open can! Add water! Heat! He COOKS!

But I shuddered when I saw the big box of salty white poison saltines. I don’t think we’ve had them in the house since the kids left – a long, long time ago, and he uses about a half a sleeve in his soup. Surely I could come up with something a little more healthy for my aging maturing husband, who so nobly gave up pop this year. And if you know him, that’s BIG. We’re talking 6-8 cans of Mountain Dew or Sundrop a day, but it was rarely consumed in my presence.

(He dislikes the eyeroll).

The next night I took some healthy cans from my pantry, armed myself with the Google, and set to work looking for something that would mimic that disgusting soup that rhymes with Rambles, but would still be healthy. Can you pronounce the things on the label? I didn’t think so. They were hard enough for me to memorize in chemistry class. Replacing the crackers with sneaky protein and whole grain pasta was brilliant, and quite obviously not my idea.

Win! He loved this. Ate two big bowls, and didn’t even mind the kick of the red pepper.

But I did see him throw a few crackers in it. He thinks I don’t notice things like that.

Spicy Tomato Soup (adapted from Giada De Laurentiis)

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 large carrots, chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 (28-ounce) can Trader Joe’s Marinara Sauce (read the ingredients! Real food!)
24 ounces unsalted chicken stock (Kitchen Basics is the BEST)
1 (15-ounce) can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup small pasta (I used brown rice elbows; next time I’ll use a smaller one like anellini)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
a few fat shaves of pecorino romano cheese

Directions

Tea tonight: Mystic Dragon

Functional Foodie Friday: Hoppin’ John

// January 6th, 2012 // No Comments » // Functional Foodie, My Fabulous Life

Black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day – we ate them twice and I can’t wait to see what kind of luck that brings us for 2012.

If I believed in luck….which I don’t.

This recipe is adapted from the infamous Pioneer Woman (of course, why wouldn’t I pick someone famous?) and even if you don’t think you like some of the ingredients, I guarantee this finished product has a blend of flavors and textures you’ll adore. Add bacon, if you must, but it really doesn’t need it. I loved the pork in here, and the entire dish was extremely inexpensive because I had a small chunk of pork in the freezer and the only thing I needed to buy that I didn’t have in my pantry/frig was the kale.

Lunch and dinner for 3 days? $1.29 out of pocket. (cheep cheep) And loaded with healthy protein.

Our appetizer-turned-lunch was P-Dub’s Zannie’s Black-Eyed Pea Dip. I had to make it, because I’d soaked more black-eyed peas than I needed for the main intent. Who wastes thirty cents worth of dried beans? (I am my mother’s daughter). NO! Divine intervention! Add cheese and proceed! This was also delicious, and the two of us may or may not have eaten the entire batch in one sitting. So it makes a good lunch as well as an appetizer, and thus the Hoppin’ John cooked a little longer because we were stuffed for hours.

Starting out New Year’s on the wrong foot – too much of a good thing, but all for the sake of luck.

If you believe in that sort of thing.

Hoppin’ John

4 Tablespoons Olive Oil
1 lb pork butt, trimmed of fat, cut into 1 inch chunks
1 Tablespoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 green bell pepper, diced
1-2 jalapeños, diced (I guessed, because they’re diced & frozen in bags from last summer)
2 stalks celery, diced
4 1/2 cups soaked black-eyed peas
5 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 15 oz can fire-roasted tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 Tablespoons white vinegar
3 cups chopped kale
salt and pepper

Directions

Soak black-eyed peas overnight then rinse thoroughly. Mix paprika, 1/2 teaspoon cayenne, salt and pepper together. Toss with pork and allow to sit for at least 30 min in refrigerator. (I let mine sit overnight).

Heat oil in a large soup pot over medium-high heat. Brown pork pieces on all sides quickly; remove to plate.

Add onion, garlic, green pepper, jalapeño, and celery and stir. Cook for 5 minutes. Add pork back in pot, stir in black-eyed peas. Add chicken broth, tomatoes, red pepper flakes, and cayenne. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and cover the pot for an hour.

Stir in vinegar, then taste for seasonings. Add salt and pepper to taste. Stir in kale until just wilted.

Serve over chewy brown rice with a nice chunk of skillet cheddar-jalapeno corn bread (which I also had in the freezer).

Tea today: Organic China Green

 

#OneWord365: Alive

// January 4th, 2012 // 8 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Lamenting to a(n) (imaginary) friend that I’d miserably failed my 2011 word (Seek), I went back and read that post. Failed? No. Still in seek mode? Yep. Just because the year’s over doesn’t mean I stop focusing on that word, and I feel like I’ve come a long way. I just haven’t blogged about it; about much of anything, really.

I’m OK with that. It’s not like blog was my focus word.

My word this year?

Sara was one of the reasons I chose this word, because she truly was one of the most joyful, alive people I’ve ever known, even as she edged toward Heaven’s gate. She died with grace, dignity, and humility. But she remains alive in spirit as I frequent her words that continue to lift me.

I have also been inspired and moved by the lovely Shauna Ahern, as I sought out cooking/baking ideas when gluten reared its ugly head within my body. In that seeking process, I fell in love with her zesty passion for life, love, and community as written so eloquently in this post. I’ve dog-eared her cookbook, which reads like a novel, but is her true story of love and sacrifice.

Today I sit on the edge of the unknown, waiting for a diagnosis of a loved one with a potentially life-stealing disease. I think of all He gave to the world through Sara who embraced her own disease by giving glory to God. Her one word last year? Praise. My prayer is that our remaining days, months, or years (only God knows – only God decides) we all choose to be alive, keeping our spirits and attitudes awake,  animated, sensitive. Each of us has numbered days. Let us not be the walking dead.

Just like the visual thesaurus that guided me to Seek last year, I look there again for direction: “mentally perceptive and responsive,” “capable of erupting,” (nailed that one!), and “full of life and spirit.”

Alive.

Whatever my circumstances.

Tea today: Marrakesh Mint

Functional Foodie Friday: Caramelized Onion and Shiitake Mushroom Pizza

// December 2nd, 2011 // No Comments » // Functional Foodie, My Fabulous Life

The only thing that would have made this pizza more perfect is IF I HAD A PIZZA STONE instead of a cheap tin pizza pan, but alas, a son-who-shall-not-be-named (but rhymes with Duke) apparently missed the physics class that said you don’t run cold water over a hot stone. That was over 10 years ago. The promised replacement has yet to arrive.

The one I want is on my Amazon wish list. Emile Henry. Best bakeware ever. You can even put this one on the grill.

Now go.

(I’m talking to a wall – my family doesn’t even read this).

I picked up some local (as in 40 miles away) Iowa Shiitake mushrooms from “anything but green gardens” at the new RiverLoop Public Market Coop the other day. They were gorgeous, and I knew they had to be showcased. What better than pizza?

Bring on the fresh mozzarella from the local dairy store (though the cheese was from Wisconsin). It’s the very best for pizza for it’s meltability, which I’m certain is a word in some foodie dictionary. The other stars of the show were caramelized onions and a few leftover artichokes that I’d been putting on my salads for a week at were near-end-of-useful-life.

I used a Bob’s Red Mill GF pizza crust mix – made it like the package directions except I threw a handful of ground flax in the dough with the flour mix. I like the mix because it’s whole grains: brown rice, millet, and sorghum. Good stuff. But you could use any crust – even pre-made if that’s what trips your trigger. For the sauce I just used plain tomato paste that I mixed with Italian seasoning. Roasted garlic would have been good, too. I forgot.

This was SO good.

But it would have been better baked on a stone. An Emile Henry stone.

(There I go, talking to that wall again).

Tea today: Marrakesh Mint Green (Spice and Tea Exchange)

Functional Foodie Friday: Potato Corn Chowder

// November 18th, 2011 // No Comments » // Functional Foodie

Let’s make this clear: this is pretty much “starch soup.” But oh, it’s so yummy on a cold November day in Iowa, and don’t forget that moderation thing. By the time the clock strikes 12  bells, I’m absolutely starving (which is how you’re supposed to be at lunchtime) and I stare at my carefully packed colorful salad and can only envision a plastic container of regret. A warm cup of this complements that well, warms me up, and makes a pretty decent lunch.

I used 1% milk in this only because I bought it by mistake. They changed the lid colors on me at the store. You could easily use skim milk, and if you like a thicker soup, mash the potatoes a little at the end, or even thicken it with a slurry of cornstarch or flour and water.

As with most soups, it’s better the next day. Why is that??

Potato Corn Chowder

1 teaspoon olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
2 medium carrots, shredded
2 pounds potatoes, diced (I used Yukon Gold and left the peels on. Fiber).
4 cups chicken broth
2 cups milk
2 cups frozen yellow corn
1 tablespoon dried parsley
salt and pepper to taste

Sweat onion in oil until tender. Add carrots, potatoes, and chicken broth. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, then cover and simmer over low heat until potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes. Stir in milk, corn, parsley, and seasonings (and some bacon if you must). Let simmer for about 30 minutes and enjoy!

Tea today: Sencha

 

The Wedding

// November 13th, 2011 // 10 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

A million posts about our daughter’s wedding have rattled in my head before I could even venture to click on “new post.”

Just get started.

The few weeks leading up to it flew faster than I ever thought it was possible for time to fly. One of my favorite parts was that I would hear from Kate almost every day about something related to the planning. I love having her name pop up on my phone. Long gone are the days it sent a panic through my gut, fearing drama. Her personal, spiritual, and emotional maturation have far exceeded what I once thought possible.

I should have known better.

The three days preceding the wedding are a fog. Luckily there are some brain-jarring moments and photos to help me out.

The days were guided ever-so-gracefully (despite aforementioned near-beheading) by my awesome daughter-in-law, who was also Kate’s Matron of Honor. I heard from her almost every day, too. Loved that. And really, how beautiful is she? That beauty runs deep. Truly, my son married up.

I was kept on track by a spreadsheet of endless lists, including the one that said “Pack Spanx.” Because in the midst of this wonderful sacrament of marriage, one must remember to wear Spanx. Turns out the Spanx sort of argued with the shutter pleats on my dress and I had pleats a-flipping most of the night, but who cares? Checking “pack Spanx” off the list was cathartic.

A moment that grounded me in the meaning of the day was after the clamoring and giggling of the girls getting their make-up done in the hotel room. Sara, a dear friend and bridesmaid, offered to pray with us as we sat around the table cluttered with water bottles and M & M’s. In that moment, it all came together and I felt a peace that only conversation with God can give. I want to be like Sara when I grow up – never too busy or distracted to pause for a prayer of gratitude and praise. I’m not very good at that sometimes.

My cousin Ellie, who is Kate‘s namesake and was also my Maid of Honor, made the jewelry for both Kate and me. Kate chose her as one of the reception hostesses. She was an ever-present source of support, and left a sweet note on my pillow the night of the wedding, a gesture that blessed me and reminded me again how much thicker blood is than water. And how cousins can be best friends and near-sisters. Even though you still bicker about who gets to hold Harper next.

I really don’t know what I envisioned for the day, but it was perfect. Oh sure, there were last minute changes for the ushers, but being seasoned at their jobs they handled it well. My boys are awesome. I was at the mercy of the planning, coordinators, and organizers, and it was all unfolding as it should. My assignment was to greet, walk down the aisle, listen, cry, walk back down the aisle,  greet some more, go to reception.

I felt comfortably inconspicuous.

A bit alone.

Everyone had a job to do. Everyone was busy. My work was done, on many levels. I’d birthed, prayed, nursed, raised, taught, fought (yes, we fought), prayed, mentored, instructed, prayed, cried, advised, prayed, and loved this beautiful girl from the moment she arrived on Mother’s Day 32 years before. I’d left her in God’s hands long ago, knowing I was powerless to do only what He can do.  So I spent the several hours before the wedding just sitting in the chapel, alone, bare feet on cold cement, reflecting on this beautiful daughter of mine, never really mine to begin with, but loaned to me by Him. I thought about this God-breathed marriage, not merely a wedding. Ann Voskamp’s A Prayer for a Daughter had long been memorized, and I pulled the lyrical words randomly out of my memory throughout the day.

If you have a daughter, I dare you to pray that prayer and not weep.

May her vocation in this world simply be translation.
Translating every enemy into esteemed guest
Translating every countenance into the face of Christ
Translating every burden into blessing.

~Ann Voskamp

Kate was radiant the entire day, captured beautifully by skilled photographers, one of them Ryan’s cousin. Looking back at the videos, I am so proud of the person she has become, though she did not arrive there without trials, heartbreak, and tears. That’s how God shapes us. (Well, that and her Bridal Boot Camp which didn’t hurt her physical image one bit).

But the little girl woman I saw greeting guests as they exited was gracious, kind, and loving. The gratitude she expressed for them for was straight from the heart. I loved that they chose for us all to praise Him as one family, singing Hosanna along with the worship leader from their church. In the moment of silence after the song, a child in the congregation yelled “YAY!!!” Yes, that said it all. I love the look on Kate and Ryan’s faces as captured by Steph.

I’ve been dying to rehash the entire day with her. Every minute. Every thought. After dropping them at the airport early the following Monday as they jetted away on their honeymoon, I’ve thought of a million things I want to tell her or ask her. My restraint has been phenomenal. I won’t be that mother, or mother-in-law. God’s always had her first, but Ryan just took over second place.

Sigh. I may have lost that position a long time ago. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. I am eternally grateful for that Third Strand among them that will be the foundation of their marriage.

I pray their marriage will be blessed with God’s love, defeated trials, continual forgiveness, mutual submission, forever love, and cousins for Harper. Because Grandma’s house is the place cousins go to become best friends.

Just ask Ellie and me.

Tea today: China Green, leftover from tea satchels they had as wedding favors

 

Functional Foodie Friday: White Bean Stew with Chicken Sausage and Spinach

// November 10th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Functional Foodie, My Fabulous Life

There shall be a wedding post coming soon – I know you’re all on pins and needles. ALL THREE OF YOU….

But, it’s officially soup season here which means several things:

• I’m chilled to the bone
• It’s below 65 degrees and the Snuggie is out of the closet
• There’s snow on the ground
• It’s November
• Did I mention I’m freezing?
• It’s cold out

Cold weather redeems itself around here with soup season, and bean soup in particular is one of my favorites. Especially crock pot soups – I slave all day over those, or at least it looks like I did when I’m not even home. And when I walk in the door, it’s like my imaginary maid Florence has taken a break from scrubbing my floor spotless (obviously) and paused to make soup that fragrantly fills my kitchen and eventually my gut.

I usually prefer to keep soups lean, hearty, and filling, but someone around here is a meat lover.

Sigh.

I discovered Al Fresco chicken sausages several years ago and love the different flavors they have because it tricks me into eating … chicken. I’m not totally down on chicken, but I still like more plants than meat. I also love the ingredient list in these – it’s short and all natural, good lean protein. I do remove the casings, however, because, well, they’re natural too and I don’t “do” casings. You could use any flavor of their sausages, but I picked the sun-dried tomato and basil for this soup – more vegetables. Yay. Also? Gluten-free, for those of you who care, yet still mighty tasty for those who think GF can’t be.

And this passed the Ron Burgundy “I don’t know how to heat leftovers” test. That’s saying something yummy.

White Bean Stew with Chicken Sausage and Spinach

1 pound dried great Northern beans
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
5 cups chicken stock (can use up to 7 cups or add water if you like it “soupy”)
15 oz can diced fire-roasted tomatoes (do not drain)
1/2 – 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 large sprig fresh rosemary, chopped fine (or about 1 teaspoon dried)
3  links Al Fresco Sun Dried Tomato and Basil Chicken Sausage (9 0z)
4-6 cups fresh baby spinach (chopped kale would work too)

Directions
Soak beans covered in water overnight, or use the quick-soak method. In a 4- to 6-quart slow cooker, combine the beans, onion, garlic, chicken stock, tomatoes, red pepper flakes, and rosemary. Stir well to combine

Slice sausage lengthwise, then in 1/2 inch slices. Stir into soup. Cover and cook at least 8 hours on low, or 5-6 hours on high. Stir a couple of times while cooking.

When ready to serve, stir in spinach (0r kale) leaves until well-wilted and they turn bright green.

Tea today: Genmaicha

Absent, yet in the moment

// October 25th, 2011 // 3 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

It’s no accident that there hasn’t been so much as a food re-post on this teeny internet real estate lately. Being off the grid has meant being in the moment for me. I needed some moments.

Sara’s flight left me empty and wordless. I’ve been Pinning for mindless distraction, sending recipes and wedding details to Evernote and getting my house cleaned and organized because when stress hits my brain, busy is what I do. I’ve traveled to babysit Harper and consider every minute with our little miracle pure joy. And believe it or not, the internet just isn’t busy enough for me. Physically, anyway. Who knew I could run like the wind?

Well, a breeze, perhaps.

Cobwebs, BE GONE. Closets, BE CLEANED. The spindles on the staircase are polished as if Kate will be descending those stairs like precious Annie in Father of the Bride.

I’ve forced my rabbit-trail brain to focus on detail after detail – I will not live these precious pre-wedding days ever again. I’ve taken extra care to not get sick  from sleep deprivation or junk food, even though I don’t remember the last time I was sick. A couple long nights of sleep don’t, however, keep you well-rested.

If anything gives me sniffles and snorts,I hope it’s the music and the sight of Kate on her wedding day. I hope it’s watching her dad walk her down the aisle (and secretly praying he doesn’t stop and talk to all the guests THEN). It’s watching my two handsome strapping boys usher in family and friends and friends we haven’t met yet. It’s going to be the sight of my beautiful daughter-in-law  witnessing as her matron of honor and recollecting all she has so unselfishly done for us to prepare for Kate’s perfect day. It’s going to be sniffling as I see ”Uncle RyRy” watch his bride come down the aisle and I just know he’ll grin so big that his eyes will shut because that’s what he does and it’s adorable.

That boy, he’s a born smiler. His mama did good. She raised happy. We are so blessed.

I’ve prayed for my daughter’s wedding day for 32 years. But it was only in the last few years that the prayer turned from “Please God, find her a nice husband who loves her deeply” to “Please God, prepare heart of the man you want for her, that he will love her over moon and back, but love You more. Prepare her heart to love You first, and him second.”

That’s the prayer that was answered; this time both God and I were on the same page. I feel one step closer to heaven.

As Ron Burgundy tirelessly scours 30 years of VHS tapes and photographs in the wee morning hours, we are winding down to the tearful (for me) production that will be know as “The Wedding Video.” Tearful because of sheer emotion – joy, gratitude, and precious memories.

I want to be present in every single moment. I do not want to forget a conversation, a friend, or a hug. So as I have prayed for Him to prepare Kate and Ryan for this sacrament, I pray now that He will keep me present in every moment of their day.

I don’t want to miss it.

(It is not a coincidence that Sara and Kate share the same birthday – just another nudge from Above.  Her presence will be there in a special way, which I will share later).

 I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

3 John 1:4

Tea today: Mystic Dragon (The Spice and Tea Exchange)

Choosing a weekend of joy – for Gitz

// September 26th, 2011 // 14 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

I’m telling this story as I would tell it to Sara, our Gitzen girl. Because I’m going to miss telling her this and she always wanted to hear about celebrations. It was how she connected to the outside world from inside her igloo condo. She would double over from the combination of laughter and pain and joy and pain (the pain…no, I will not miss her pain) as I would regale on the antics of life with Ron Burgundy while she sipped her Sonic lime slush and ate her Starburst. Because Sara’s gone to be with Jesus, and I find it oddly comforting that she left to meet Him in the middle of this whole weekend story thing. Because she will always be a part of MY story, making me forever grateful. I guess we all grieve a little differently, and that’s what makes the world go ’round. It doesn’t mean there were no tears here.

As if an 80 hour work week wasn’t enough for Ron Burgundy, we had plans to go to the Twin Cities for “an award thing.” Yep, that’s all he told me. So I googled (what all good wives do for men who tend to leave out details) and discovered we were going to see someone named Emmy.

Emmy. I’d like that name for my next granddaughter, thankyouverymuch.

We started out rough. I was up all night with, shall we say, a gastrointestinal upset of the Montezuma variety. Graveyard shift bellyaches are not for the faint of heart, but fortunately, there was some medication in the cabinet that expired in 2004. Bingo!

We got a late start Saturday, and we were flying through the house, throwing things in random bags that we just might need. We weren’t being Samsonite people; nope, we were bag people. And off we went for the four hour drive, which had the potential of the proverbial three-hour tour, seeing as how that pesky electrical tape keeps falling off the “service engine soon” light and we had to watch it the whole trip.

To say that we arrived in Minneapolis looking like a couple of rode-hard, put-away-wet hicks is an understatement. Shabby jeans, long sleeved t-shirts from a road race in 1996, high-mileage tennis shoes, no make-up (either of us!), we were only *this much* out of place at the fancy hotel. I stood a bit behind RB as he was visiting with the bellhop Joseph (not Joe) a handsome, freshly-shaven and well-postured young man in an expensive wool suit. And an ear piece. And clip board. The epitome of customer service, but more resembling the Secret Service.

There he was, my favorite multimedia journalist in too-big Walmart blue jeans, visiting with Joe (they were BFF within 30 seconds), discussing amenities in downtown Minneapolis, and tipping generously as he always does.

And his electric toothbrush, bigger than life, sticking out the back pocket of his jeans.

I mean We. Are. Classy. My biggest fear was that he would turn wrong and the stupid thing would start vibrating and buzzing right there. (to which Sara would have said “SHUT UUUUP!! He goes to the City in grunge and he puts up Christmas lights in a suit? What’s that about?” to which I’d reply, “Dorks make the best husbands.”)

whew. dodged that bullet. the toothbrush remained silent.

We were late arriving and missed dinner, but my stomach was still telling me “no” so we went to our hotel, quickly threw on our city clothes (him: tux. me: Spanx. both: deodorant) and grabbed a cab for the ceremony. “I’ll bet you looked fancy,” Sara would have said. “And you didn’t take a picture??” Yep, we did. But our feet looked better than our faces by then.

There were young female journalists in very short skirts with very big hair and those five-inch heels that keep podiatrists and orthopedic surgeons in business. I’d be acrophobic in some of those shoes. (At this point Sara and I would have hit up Zappos.com so I could show her all of the foot-deforming styles). Good thing those young ‘uns don’t have to deal with Spanx while wearing those. That’s way too much multitasking for the lower limbs.

About two minutes before RB was called to the stage, I got the text about Sara leaving her earthly home. I gasped audibly, as if I never realized it was actually going to happen. I let out a heavy sigh, feeling peace and almost literally seeing her fly heavenward. I was happy-sad-nervous-annoyed-proud-relieved-mournful and only a little nauseated. She was pain-free at last. Oh and look, RB’s up on stage! Where am I? It was an out-of-body experience, and only right that Sara would be a part of it in her own delightful flight-of-ideas sort of way.

He was nervous and felt like he botched his acceptance speech, but he didn’t. What an example to young journalists in the audience on work ethic, perseverance, and integrity. I was very proud. Lots of people said “I knew you when….” Sara was also one who “knew him when,” even before I knew her, back when he had hair and (his) teeth and Shep was a pup. And she would pull out a story of “I’ll never forget the time….” and tell me something that was only able to be told because it was a long time ago and it was safe now to tell, because the participating parties are long gone. Or how shocked she was to see  him on the news set in running shorts, Nikes, a tie and suit jacket, ready to deliver news with utmost professionalism, from the waist up. When they showed a video with some crazy outtakes, I thought how much Sara would love it. And laugh. And need a pain pill.

The weekend ended with laundry, a pot of soup, skyping with Harper, and a grease fire. You (and by you, I mean he) shouldn’t leave your (his) popcorn oil heating on the stove even if your wife hollers that your granddaughter is online and you want to babble and make stupid faces at her to see how she reacts. Good thing we have tall ceilings – those were some nasty flames. Fire 1, throw rug 0, smoke alarms 6. At least we know they work – all of them. Sara would have been gut-busting by this point and I’d have to apologize for causing her the pain and breathlessness but she’d tell me to keep going. “Time for a pain pill, Sara?” She always thought it was so funny that I get so annoyed when RB’s ADD made him leave water running and go to work, or leave the door open and go running for an hour. Like standing open. In the winter.

She would have wanted to see pictures and hear details and we would have sat on her bed with Riley begging for treats and flipped through my phone pics and gone down a million rabbit trails before finishing with me as the heroine (of course), putting out the grease fire with baking soda that expired three years ago (it’s still good for fires). But she would also want life to go on and for us to “Choose Joy” despite the heavy hearts we were both carrying and the big lumps in our throats that simply would not go away for the whole weekend.

Emmy. It’s a nice name. Gitz would love it. Not only did she choose joy, she delighted in the joy of others – many others. Such a big, loving heart will I never again see.

I miss you, Sara, but I do not miss the physical pain and hunger for air that you bore every day. I am so grateful that you are finally relieved of that. I rejoice in your Homecoming. I’ll come back here to tell you about the wedding.

Tea today: Green Ginger

gitzen girl: heavenbound

// September 16th, 2011 // 37 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Meet Sara. Sweet Sara. Likely if you’ve landed here, you already know her.

This is our story.

We met in a most unlikely place, under unlikely circumstances. I surmise that’s a trick God plays – throws people together to see if they’ll love each other well. So there we were, hanging out reading a post on Pete Wilson’s blog several years ago, and somehow, someway, we introduced ourselves and ended up hijacking the comments section and apologizing to Pete. He was most gracious. I’ve looked back to find that post and haven’t been able to. I don’t even remember what it was about – sorry again, Pete. I’m sure it was profound.

Sara and I quickly realized we had a lot of mutual acquaintances (makes for good gossip, but who does that?), she knew Ron Burgundy way back when he had hair, we lived just a few miles apart, and we shared a love for food. Well, we don’t love the same food, but We. Love. Food. I tried to convince her to eat mine (“Sara, this açai juice will go right to your cells!”) and she extolled the qualities of bacon and … milk gravy(?), which I had never heard of. She stood by the stove with George and Riley while I whisked and stirred and added more salt and we stuck our fingers in it and it was *this* close. “Just keep adding stuff ’til it looks right. That’s what Mom does.” This is indeed my way of cooking (Jane and I would get along famously), but I didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. She decided the problem wasn’t me; it was the almond milk. Stupid whey, anyway.

Our common food ground is fruit. She loves fresh fruit, and it tickled me to no end the first time I brought her a pomegranate. I mean, they had poms in the Bible, right?  “Where have these been?? Are they NEW??” “I’m pretty sure Jesus ate pomegranates, Sara. They may have even been put on the Ark. Just savor the explosion in your mouth.” “NO, I just want to EAT them!!”  Funny girl, that one. (I saved that in my journal because some day I knew I’d tell the internets about it).

I have a hundred stories like this, and I’m trying to keep this light in the looming shadow of my grief. As Sara takes steps closer to Heaven because of her 17-year chronic illness, my heart feels like lead in my chest. And Sara doesn’t want that. She told me on Tuesday she is not afraid, she is ready to go Home, she wants to see her dad. She wants to fly to Jesus’ arms. No more pain.

Who can blame her? This horrible disease robbed her of everything the world knows and gave her constant, debilitating pain.

But Sara knew differently.

She refused to let it rob her of her faith, her joy, her immense love for people, especially children, her laughter, and her trust in her future in Heaven. She never complained. In fact, she would apologize for hurting when she would suddenly writhe in pain. Being homebound placed no limits on her desire to reach across the world to make friends, support friends, love friends. Yes, the world.

Her mantra: Choose Joy. Choose Joy in spite of your circumstances.

If there’s such a person as a chronic giver, that’s Sara. She’s painted canvases as gifts, prayed for us, written blog posts, spent hours trying to straighten out my misunderstandings of her Catholic faith, created free digital artwork for others, gifted us with songs with the voice of an angel, and just loved us immensely, no matter what. She was always mailing packages of gifts everywhere across the country.

I never drove by Sonic without calculating the time it would take me to grab a lime slush and take it to her house, or see peaches in Sam’s without getting some for her. Lime slushes and peaches were her kryptonite. And watermelon. And bacon. I think she threw her love of bacon in there just to get my goat, knowing I’d try to feed her something healthier.

Through the pain, she would laugh. Sometimes we would laugh and it would cause her pain. Even in her weakened state on Tuesday, she maintained her laughter, her joy, her praise. She lovingly talked of Harper (the kid is 3+ months old and Sara is dying. Who does that?? Sara does.) It’s rather awkward when a dying friend cracks a joke, but I’ve been in that situation before with other friends. I apparently pick friends who think dying well is akin to living well. There, I’ve found my spiritual gift.

We laughed at her Tuesday medication-induced gem: “I hope when I get there God doesn’t change his mind and decide 17 years of this disease wasn’t enough and then BRINGS OUT THE NAILS!!”

My sweet Gitz, thank you for all you have given me. I grieve big because I love you big. I can feel you love me back. And thanks to your faithful example, I’m even more confident Where to turn, in both gratitude and grief. Thank you for allowing me into your life and to love immensely.

(not) Tea tonight: Sonic Lime Slush, of course