Steele (the Day)

Priorities

// March 21st, 2010 // 2 Comments » // Family

But it’s just a game, right? I was perusing my Nutshell mail this morning when I came across this picture of UNI coach Ben Jacobson at a post-game interview, posted by Chris Hassel from WHO-TV in Des Moines. It says everything any young person should know about basketball – and life.

Priorities.

Image: http://twitpic.com/photos/hassel13

I once heard Dave Ramsey say “If you show me your calendar and your checkbook, I can tell you what’s really important to you.” It’s my guess if Coach had Li’l Jake on his lap after a game like that, he’s also on his calendar. Just look at that sweet face.

This was by far, the best “shot” of the game.

Congratulations, Panthers!

Tea today: Green with Hawaiian mango

I am so ready for spring!

// February 20th, 2010 // No Comments » // My Fabulous Life

As beautiful as the snow is, and as much as I really do love me some Iowa winter, I am so ready to get back out on my bike in the nice warm air, sunshine, and woods.

Longest. Winter. Ever.

Image: Facebook/Trek Bicycle

This is really getting old.

Leftovers

// February 16th, 2010 // No Comments » // Functional Foodie

Some days you feel like you have nothing left.

After vacation, the jet lag hit me like a tour bus. I was tired and cranky all last week – not a bit like you’re supposed to be after vacation. I really needed to get organized again, back on track with work and home but at the end of every day…

I had nothing left. Nada. Zip.

The weekend was a blur and about 3 days too short. I only exercised twice last week (and not very hard), which left me feeling even more tired, despite nights of 8 and 9 hours of sound, dream-filled sleep. Sitting at my desk all day trying to catch up on seemingly mundane and brainless tasks didn’t help much. And then I didn’t eat well. And then I didn’t sleep well. And the cascade of events happened all over again. Something needs to break the vicious cycle of bleh.

This morning I used up the last bit of everything else around here.

I cooked the last half of banana in my oatmeal and dumped it in the almond butter jar that had one last tablespoon left in it.

I used the last of my grape tomatoes, dried apricots, dates, garbanzos, croutons, and lettuce for my salad for lunch today. None of this looked all that fresh.

Every bag, can, container is empty. Except for carrots. I rarely run out of carrots. You just never know when you’re going to run into a hungwy wabbit.

My salad will be topped today with the very last of the only salad dressing left in the fridge.

Every feel like you have nothing left?

Or do you look at what you’ve had and say “I’ve had so much?”


Tea today: Jasmine (my last bag)

Aloha and Mahalo

// February 10th, 2010 // No Comments » // My Fabulous Life

Our tour manager from Holiday Vacations was probably a drill sergeant in her former life, but she had a heart of gold. She kept all 44 of us in line, on time, and fed mighty fine. Five flights, five hotels, innumerable bus rides (15 maybe?), hundreds of photos and hours of video later, I have to admit the “most expensive free trip ever” (thanks to baggage handling fees, daily internet charges, and umbrella drinks) was downright pleasant and the accommodations were 5-star.

Ron Burgundy was the perfect host for the trip. He handled his duties like he’d used a microphone before. By the second day, he knew everyones name and where they lived. He wielded his camcorder like a ninja. I was just the trophy wife along for the trip (stop laughing), the unofficial trip photographer, and so blessed to have the opportunity to go along. I had a ball Tweeting my way across the islands, despite my unintended lack of discretion for certain hashtags. #gimmeabreak

Never forget.

The trip to the Volcanoes National Park was a testimony to the power and strength inside God’s earth. Knowing a volcano could erupt at any given time did not unsettle me. I was too awestruck by the remnants of previous eruptions and the literal artistry that resulted from molten lava, black sand, and majestic mountains.

The orchid farm was truly God’s paintbrush at its best. I could have stayed there on sensory overload for hours.

We had free time on Maui, the most beautiful of the three islands. The meals were gastronomical. I failed in my goal to sneak into a kitchen of a swanky restaurant, just to watch the chefs. But I succeeded in eating my weight in fresh papaya, pineapple, kiwi, and melon.
The banyan trees had me fascinated to the point that at any minute I expected to see The Captain from “Five People You Meet in Heaven.”

The sunsets in Maui were surreal.

The last evening in Honolulu before our departure, Ron Burgundy and I walked hand-in-hand down Kalakaua Avenue, home of the up-scale shops of horror like Prada, Fendi, Coach, and Tiffany. Neither of us had much interest in shopping – he was in search of a hamburger and I wanted sushi. We found neither. Wolfgang Puck demanded $47 for a steak, “market price” for surf and turf (if you have to ask, you can’t afford it) and even the gold-painted mime wouldn’t perform without a donation.

And then I noticed him, sitting on a rock ledge across from Tiffany’s, chin in hands. Hawaiian descent. Shoulders slumped. Tattered, filthy shirt. Matted hair. Plastic bags containing his only possessions were piled around him. He would be sleeping on the beach that night, providing the police didn’t kick him off. His face was expressionless and his eyes were glazed. He was the classic image of homelessness.

I wanted to take his picture because he was a beautiful sight of sorts. The downtrodden in the middle of the glitz and glam. The poor among the rich. The empty among the full. The sad among the giddy. Such stark contrast to his surroundings, but I have no doubt he put his pants on one leg at a time, just like the fine Italian leather-shoed men who strutted past him as if he was invisible. But he was so very real.

He was an indelible image from a place known for extravagance. I will never forget him.

Nor will I ever forget the sight and sound of the sea.

Aloha, and Mahalo.

Tea tonight: Hawaiian Islands Pineapple Waikiki

The Swimsuit Debacle

// January 18th, 2010 // No Comments » // My Fabulous Life

The fluorescent lighting in the dressing room cast a horrendous yellow-green glow on skin that hadn’t seen a dose of Vitamin D for months. Undaunted, she disrobed and put her right foot through the first leg hole, smugly pleased that her balance was so solid for a woman her age. Tweeting from the treadmill and EFX really has it’s advantages when it comes to balance and core strength. After pulling the suit up to her hips, she felt a strong sense of gratitude.

Recharging

// January 11th, 2010 // No Comments » // My Fabulous Life

Just for a bit – the real world is calling for my time and attention, and I feel compelled to listen (this time).

Tomorrow Bridget will host the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival on the word “lust.” This is not my way of getting out of posting; perhaps it’s my way of taking the time to peruse others’ wonderful posts. I hope you do the same.

“Stop at the crossroads and look around. Ask for the old, godly way, and walk in it. Travel its path, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Tea today: Genmaicha

I want the snow without the cold

// January 8th, 2010 // No Comments » // My Fabulous Life

I’ve lived in Iowa all of my life (well, not yet, but so far). I love the changes of seasons, and especially the beauty of the snow. The way the drifts become so beautifully sculpted by the 20 mph winds never ceases to amaze me.

It also never ceases to amaze me that the street plows come after your driveway has been plowed, thus forcing me to call neighbor George back with his scooper thingie.

Reflections on 2009

// January 1st, 2010 // No Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Whether it’s appropriately called “twenty-ten” or “two-thousand-ten,” I will no doubt write  ”2009″ for 3 more months. It will take me that long to change my habit for the new year, and then another few weeks while the “2010″ written in Sharpie on my hand gets embedded in my brain.

It was an interesting year, starting out with some devastating news about a friend and the spontaneous combustion of wackadoos into a whole new circle of blog buddies (known to Ron Burgundy as the “imaginaries”). I found terrific inspiration from a great writer Sara and her dog Riley and only through an odd hijacking of Pete Wilson’s blog comments one day, did we figure out she lives a mere 7 miles up the road from me. As it came to pass, we found that we’ve had common ties for over 15 years. How weird/coincidental/spiritual/cool is that?? 

I agonized and beat myself up over my kids, and then praised God at the beautiful wedding of my eldest son  which gained me an awesome daughter-in-law whom I allow to pound me in Phase 10 because she may be picking out my nursing home some day. I keep my kids close in prayer, including this one, as our visits are all too infrequent.

It was an tasty year on the food front. I fell in love with generic foods over brand names (other than fire-roasted tomatoes and pomegranates) and found that pennies add up faster than you can say “free food.” I fell more in love with whole foods, and further out of love with any food that has a mother. Perhaps it was the 6 months of chicken noodle soup that I made for my dying dog, or just the gag factor of running gears on a chicken, but I could count on one hand the number of times poultry has crossed my chicken lips this year. I Twit-pic’d my way through breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as through a minor finger amputation, my daughter’s New York Marathon finish and a spectacular field in Iowa I never knew existed.

• Study more.
• Rid my life of clutter and junk, including toxic habits, people, and stuff.
• Fertilize, nurture, and prune every fruit of the Spirit
• Spend more time with my family, taking wisdom from my friend Ginny’s post to “Never treat your friends better than you treat your [mother, father, sister, brother].”

Adrift

// December 12th, 2009 // No Comments » // Faith, My Fabulous Life

When a paralyzing snow storm comes our way, it freezes you in your tracks. Literally and figuratively. We know it’s coming, we have the non-stop “weather crawl” on TV to warn us, the shift in barometric pressure alters our moods and our physical senses, and there’s a swelling-up of that calm-before-the-storm that centers in your chest. We’re used to it in Iowa, and when we had children at home, I was always prepared.

Cookies. Hot chocolate. Mac & cheese. Goulash. Entertain the kids. Avoid hearing “I’m bored” at all costs.

This storm was no surprise. “Biggest of the decade,” my favorite weathermen told me. That can only mean one thing in Iowa. You’d better buy bread and milk. And lots of it. I never quite understood that “milk sandwich” thing, but I usually just do what the guy ahead of me in line at Fareway does.

Until that day.

I left work irresponsibly later than I should have for a stormy day, and the evening was already wrapped in full white garb. The white skies were peacefully eerie in the dark. Streets were covered, businesses closed, and respectful white-knuckled drivers were headed with trepidation to their destination.

I stopped at the grocery store, only because I could. I knew not what to buy. Our refrigerator was on the blink, so “stocking up” was pointless. I’d just thrown out an unopened bottle of milk the day before, and chastised myself that I hadn’t caught it sooner and thrown it in a cooler.

I left the store with bananas, an onion, two sweet potatoes, and three grapefruit. Storm patrol at it’s finest. My mind was simply adrift along with the storm. You really don’t need to think much when you’re driving 20 mph.

The drifts blanketing our yard and sub-zero temperatures would not let me keep refrigerator food – like fresh vegetables, yogurt, and eggs – unfrozen. The garage hovered around 42 degrees – for now. The freezer was chock-full with everything that could be frozen that had been rescued from the fridge. Two big containers of freshly-made soup sat on the garage floor, but I was hesitant to eat the beef noodle – it had never really cooled from its initial preparation before my fridge met it’s maker (“Hello, Amana, I’m home”). The black bean was a different story. My jalapeño passion would kill anything.

Hating to waste anything remotely related to red meat, Ron Burgundy decided he’d try the beef soup anyway. Brave man, always going ahead of us to sense out danger. It was apparently fine, but I left it for him, knowing I wouldn’t be cooking much the rest of the week. (And I also know bacteria will grow in 42 degrees). Other than my sparse grocery purchases, I was left with 3 of the four food groups: frozen, canned, and preserved. I could make do.

The official snow day came as predicted. I was imprisoned by beautifully sculpted 3 foot drifts in the driveway. The laundry and de-cluttering was done, except for the most obvious things I don’t mess with:

The yard art in the family room in various stages of re-stringing, which prevented me from cleaning that room prior to assembling the Christmas tree

the kitchen desk containing very important things that cannot be lost and must not be moved

 or the den-turned-computer-room-turned-editing-studio with strategically-placed video cassettes, DVDs, and yards of firewire

Disorganized clutter is certainly a spiritual gift for a certain few in my family, and I decided not too long ago it’s not the hill I want to die on.

I was paralyzed. Literally, nothing to do except read or work on the projects I hauled home from the office (bleh). I entertained the idea of making cookies, but nearly every recipe called for sugar. (Obviously I don’t bake much). I found 1/3 cup in the container, a recipe for Snickerdoodles, cut it in thirds, and made a batch for RB to enjoy with his salmonella beef soup. I found myself adrift on the internet, but with my email down, it was difficult to communicate. I couldn’t make any calls out of our area, because our new cell service does not work in our house (huh? SprintFail), so there was no catching up with out-of-towners. It was a good day to shop online, but I had not one clue what to get anyone. My trusty little book collection was lulling me to sleep.

I made lists. I love lists. They offer hope and plans and tomorrow.

I enjoyed the solitude, staring at the beautifully formed drifts in the yard.

I read Scripture and caught up on podcasts.

I did a couple of online yoga sessions, for which my back was grateful.

I baked a sweet potato.

A wise person once told me “only boring people get bored.” That was assurance that I wasn’t boring, but Snickers didn’t seem too bored either, and she is the epitome of boring. Besides, she thinks yoga is dumb (and for dogs).

It was most certainly a day the Lord had made, and I loved every minute of it. Adrift among the drifts.

Am I the only one who can enjoy a day like that and not feel restless or bored?

The Greatest Kind of Grief

// November 30th, 2009 // No Comments » // Faith

Grief.

If given the choice, none of us would probably choose to experience grief in even it’s simplest form. It assumes loss – loss of life, loss of health, even the loss of our sense of self.

It is impossible to avoid, foolish to deny, yet inevitable for growth.

Grief chooses us, but it doesn’t mean we must live in it’s grip.

At the risk of sounding insensitive, I can’t completely grasp the concept of prolonged grief when someone dies. Many people close to me have died – my father, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends. It was sad. I cried. But to me, after a short period of mourning, death loses it’s sting because of what my faith tells me. I won’t deny the occasional thought of a sad memory that conjures up feelings and tears of missing them, but grief? Not so much.

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.

Please, God, don’t test me in these thoughts.

To me, the greatest grief is the loss of a real-life relationship. When bitterness and envy and greed enter into hearts and harden them. When understandings fade. When closeness separates. When opinions collide in a broken heap of rudeness, pride, mockery, and jealousy. Where laughter ceases and tears begin. Trust pales. This is where I find the greatest grief, because it has a way of hanging around, dancing this vicious circle in our hearts and heads, allowing the enemy the next dance.

There must be some good in grief. I don’t believe for one minute that God created such a potent emotion without purpose. He will fix the broken, mend the torn, and bestow the grace that comes with His abundant love. The “good” in grief?

It brings us to our knees as we cry out and bare our souls to the One who loves us the most. And I have no doubt that in our angst, He cries right beside us, wanting our relationship with Him restored as well. Wanting all relationships restored. He wept, but His work did not stop there. Ours must not either.

Tea today: green with pomegranate