pensieve.me

Better than Fantasy Island...

 

Sweet glorious details coming soon...:)

Eden and after

It's been quite a while since I joined Laura Salas' 15 Words or Less poetic challenge and I'm feeling the creative void. Here's my offering for today's photo prompt (please click the icon below if you'd like to join in or simply learn more).

                        God...
                                        imaginatively created,
                                        abundantly blessed,
                                        generously provided,
                                        painfully sacrificed for,
                                        lavishly loved
                                                                        ...the world.

        

Swim suit shopping tips for moms ~ A PENSIEVE PSA ~

As a {ahem} 40-something mom of three, I loathe the 5th season of the year:  Bathing Suit.  In case you weren't aware, it falls smack dab between Spring and Summer and is often overlooked as an official season simply because women over the age of 30 have repressed their recollection of it.  Completely understandable because right about the same time "things" start happening to your body and subjecting ourselves to public humiliation putting it on display in front of God and everybody is not high on our list of priorities.

In the interest of full disclosure, here's something that makes it even more difficult for me now:  when I turned 41 I was in the best shape of my adult life and--PLEASE don't judge or hate me--started wearing bikinis again.  It came at a huge cost, however.  We had moved to another state where I knew NO ONE, I had no friends, no life, no job, had not yet discovered blogging, so I started exercising and stopped eating during the day.  Normal meals with my family in the evenings and on weekends, but because I couldn't control so many other things, I delighted in the control of my body. 

Fast forward five years and everything is reversed--I have a full, busy life with plenty of distractions, but somehow, magically, exercising went by the wayside.  Eating did not.  It's absolutely frightening and bewildering to me how ALL my clothes shrank over the past year, too. 

Perhaps that is why several weeks ago, with expression a mask of weighty concern, my daughter stumbled over her words and asked, "Ummm, Mom...are you planning...to wear...a two-piece this year?"

Her worrisome look coupled with holding her breath for my response confirmed what I knew a year ago:  my bikini ship had sunk sailed.

So, armed with a positive attitude and my daughter, the "mirror-that-never-lies", we set out for a day of tankini and one-piece shopping.   Keep the following in mind and you're sure to have a successful shopping experience.

1. You've gotta play the numbers game!  I'm sure I tried on close to 100 suits, taking into account different sizes for the same style.  Eventually you'll begin to see those styles that most flatter your figure, accentuate your best features and minimize your worst, and believe me:  all bathing suits are NOT created equal!  You can look perfectly wretched in one and rival Miss America in the next.  Seriously--there's that much disparity among suits, so DON'T GIVE UP!!  Take away point:  You'll do well to consider that swim suit shopping is a marathon not a sprint.
2. Close your eyes to size.  Start with a size three times your pants size and work down if necessary.  This will give your ego a boost IF you happen to find a suit equal to your pants size, but if not, let this be the one time you give no regard to that tiny little tag with a number on it.  It's liberating.  Take away:  Swimsuit sizes don't mean a thing.
3. Don't be a snob!  My favorite places to shop are Ann Taylor and J. Jill--they're small boutiques and I don't get lost in 'em like department stores; it's amazing what you can get 50% off or more if you're patient.  However, when it comes to bathing suits?  Try EVERYWHERE! {See #1 above.}  This year, we started at Target (where their primary demographic is "teen") and I actually found a darling, conservative tankini top (I already had black bottoms) and it was only $17.99 not even on sale.  Typically I have luck at Kohl's, but this year our store had a very narrow selection.  In spite of that, I sucked up my pride and sucked in my stomach with one of their Trimshaper Suits.  Two bonuses?  It was on sale for 1/2 price and it delivered what it promised--it slimmed me down and boosted my esteem.
   The biggest surprise, though, was Sears!  I went there in search of Lands End suits (highly recommended by friends); yes, I found those, but oh! my!  So much more!  I tried on suits for 2 1/2 hours and liked many!  DO YOU HEAR ME?  I HATE BATHING SUIT SHOPPING BUT I FOUND MANY--MANY, I REPEAT--I REALLY LIKED AT SEARS!!  The only problem was they didn't have my size in my favorites, but my second choices were pretty cute, too.  Take away:  Be willing to shop outside your normal venues and you might just find a gold mine when you least expect it.
4. Need a little more privacy?  Consider online.  Most all retailers in your hometown have an online presence with more styles and sizes available than possible in-store, but consider sites dedicated strictly for bathing suits.  You're more inclined to find great prices, varied selection and styles, and realistic, attractive suits.  Seriously, does the majority of buying America look like a Victoria's Secret model?  Me thinks not!
5. When in doubt, over-buy with the intent of returning.  If you don't have "rules" in your family that would prohibit this, I find it helpful to get the suits home, re-evaluate them on my own turf, and take advantage of my husband's critical eye.  As long as you leave tags attached and don't lose your receipt, most stores honor suit returns these days.  Take away:  It's STILL a numbers game!
6. You get by with a little help from your friends.  No matter how much it hurts, take someone with you.  I had fun with my daughter and we laughed...a lot.  Whether it's a friend or relative, transform this chore into a delight with the company of another.  A true-blue will be honest and help you to see yourself in better light, and maybe prevent you from spiraling into dispair when you discover cellulite in places you didn't know it could grow.  Take away:  Misery loves company--no one over the age of 30 enjoys bathing suit shopping!  {unless you're a super model or a sadist}

What other advice can you offer for reluctant bathing suit shoppers?  Comment your most helpful hints and I'll add them with a link back to you!

Black coffee, buttermilk and a glass of nostalgia

1)  If I could make the canyon leap from coffee with cream and sugar to unadulterated black, I think I could drink it with dessert (or donuts or anything sweet).  Now it's so sugared and creamed it IS dessert. 
    a)  Plus, I'd feel like a grown up.
    b)  Double plus, it'd be waaay less fattening.

2)  Did you know there are multiple methods of making your own buttermilk?  To make one cup, you can stir together: 

• 1 cup milk PLUS 1 tablespoon vinegar or lemon juice (let stand for 10 minutes before using in recipe)
• 1 cup milk PLUS 1-3/4 teaspoons cream of tartar
• 1/4 cup milk plus 3/4 cup yogurt

It's best to warm the milk first and always give it time to congeal.  I've also read in the past you can substitute measure for measure yogurt for buttermilk, but I never have. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mention of both coffee and buttermilk suddenly--and unexpectedly--stir thoughts of my mother this Memorial Day morn.  These dustiest memories bring a smile to my lips as I see Mama sitting in our tiny apartment dining room, overlooking both our scant kitchen and spacious-in-comparison den.  I think the table was oak and the chairs painted red.

Her chair faced the back yard; sliding glass doors led to a narrow cement patio that bled into a community sidewalk that bordered a small hill.  Georgia clay, I don't recall grass growing on it, and I wonder if our clothes were stained red from our constant play on that hill.  I think for a while we had an aluminum swing set.  My favorite things to do were to find roly polies and seal their fate in an empty mayonnaise jar, in spite of piercing the lid with an ice pick so they could breath; and to make mud pies, decorated with holly berries, worth the price of getting pricked 'cause they made all the difference.

Mama watched us from that chair. 

She drank coffee, but I cannot remember if she drank it black or with cream and sugar; I know my baby brother drank coffee with her, that's one of his treasured memories.  Mama also drank buttermilk, and even as a child, I never understood it.  Milk with chunks held no appeal to me then or now, no matter how good she claimed its taste.  I always presumed it had something to do with her deep country roots...when we visited relatives from her side of the family, we stepped out of the city and into a different world.

I didn't appreciate the richness of that life until adulthood.  And I'm a little sad my children will never experience water from a well, swimming in the blue hole, playing unsupervised with pocket knives and firecrackers, being so bored your imagination was freed to run wild. 

Sentimentality from black coffee and buttermilk; portals to my youth...I didn't see that coming!

{When I began this post, I thought it was just going to be a series of random, numbered thoughts.  Clearly, it went in another direction, lol...!  Does this ever happen to you or am I on that limb alone?}

What do you do with rotten over-ripe bananas?

When we have bananas that are almost fermenting on the kitchen counter, typically I toss 'em in the freezer to use in the future for strawberry-banana smoothies.  This week, instead, when I noticed three past the point of no return, I suddenly craved banana nut bread.

Because I've never made it before and I wanted a recommended recipe, I asked 1,500 strangers friends if they had a tried-and-true recipe to share. 

I received a pile of delicious-sounding recipes; it wasn't easy to choose one so I narrowed the field by considering the ingredients I had on hand.  Kara Kae James passed along hers, and because it used buttermilk, it's the one I chose.

Ladies and gentlemen...we have a winner!

It's moist and rich and ridiculously easy to prepare.  If you're on the prowl for some of the best banana nut bread in the world, do yourself a favor and try this!

Kara Kae's Banana Nut Bread

In a large bowl, mix together:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2  tsp. salt

In a second bowl blend until creamy:

• 1/2 cup softened butter
• 1 cup sugar

Add:

• 1/3 cup buttermilk
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup mashed very ripe bananas (2-3 depending on size)

Combine the flour mixture and the banana mixture.  Stir well, adding 1/2 cup chopped nuts.

Pour batter into one large (or two small) buttered loaf pan.  Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for about 45 minutes.  Check with a toothpick--it will be done when it come out clean.  Baking time depends upon the size of the pan used  (check often to make sure it doesn't burn!).  Allow to set in pan for about 15 minutes, then remove to a baker's rack to cool before slicing.

It'll be tough, but try not to devour in a single sitting :).

Want more scrumptious recipes?  Check out

Balancing Beauty & Bedlam

A Southern Fairytale

The tension of motherhood

"Young boys should never be sent to bed...
they always wake up a day older."
 ~ J.M. Barrie, "Finding Neverland"

As a mom of two teenagers and a tween, I am extremely thankful when I see evidences my youngest is still more "boy" than "man".  Take yesterday, for example.

After realizing my daughter had nothing little to wear, we spent the day shopping before and after her final exam.  Seven hours.  Because a) my "likes-to-shop" gene died years ago, b) my middle son's after-school plans were canceled so he had to join us, and c) it also involved bathing suit shopping for me, this was "work". 

By the time we got home, I was absolutely stick-a-fork-in-me-I'm done.  Perpetual laundry and cooking dinner were staring me down, but before getting started on either, I started rifling through our purchases to evaluate what we ended up with (at some point in the day, I had hit the "dazed and confused" wall of shopping, and for all I knew, my kids could've snuck in 10 pounds of Oreos.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.).

Oblivious to my heightened state of exasperation (stemming from, in part, my discovery of imminent returns), in walks Stephen, chattering away in his typical cheerful manner.  Because I was distracted, I was only half listening.  The little boy in him still likes playing with stuffed animals, and though his older siblings chide him about it, he doesn't care; he continues to name them and weave stories about them and be entertained by them.  His colorful imagination is enviable.

I'm acutely and painfully aware these days are numbered.  I cherish this about my son.  Five minutes ago I had three children who couldn't bathe, dress, tie shoes or wipe themselves, and now I'm down to one who, joyfully and uninhibited, plays with imaginary friends.  I refuse to rush this fleeting season to the next; the tell-tale pounding of time marching forward taunts more loudly each day. 

And yet, I believe it's important not to demand that he remain a little boy forever. 

The tension of motherhood:  letting go versus holding on for dear life.  Cultivating respectful independence without creating unhealthy dependence. 

Not a job for cowards!

Anyways............

He walks in with the bunnies he's referred to as Felicia and Jedediah--prizes a friend of his "won" plunking coins into an automated crane game at the mall.  He's talked **a lot** about these rabbits; that day he came home with a pair of frogs, but he talked more about the pair of bunnies his friend had.  In a trade, Josh had given them to Stephen yesterday, and Stephen brought them in to show me.

I barely looked up until in the midst of his loquacious monologue I heard, "...and this is where I neutered them..."!

That he a) seemed to use that term with full knowledge and ease, and b) that the mall gives anatomically correct stuffed animals immediately got my attention!  As I inspected his new pride and joy, I was confused then relieved to find--

1. Felicia and Jedediah look like little doggies to me; when I questioned Stephen, he responded with, "Look at those ears--do dogs have ears like that?!"  And I'm thinkin' ummmm, yeah, and then I questioned him further about the tail.  "Well, Pepper has a little nub..." and then I realized that he just loves rabbits **so much** that that's what he sees. 
2. He used the term "neuter" to mean he clipped their tags, not any gender-identifying (and plain wrong on a stuffed animal!) body parts.

Bless his heart...!

S i g h...so here I sit, cross-legged in the center of a teeter-totter.  To my left, never wanting to send him to bed again so he can never grow older; to my right, knowing that sleep is inevitable.

Kitty faces

Pansies always make me think of my grandmother--a master Bridge player, cook, knitter, imagination weaver...and gardener.  The living gateway to her garden was a row of mature boxwoods, edged to the right and left with azaleas and hydrangeas, and the far side, a brick wall hidden by camellias and gardenias, and even more hydrangeas and azaleas.  Daffodils, hyacinths, roses, primroses, zinnias, lilies of the valley--gosh, so many more I can't recall--lived there as well.  It smelled as beautiful as it looked, with hints of spearmint, peppermint and parsley in the back right corner.  One of my favorite childhood memories is jumping off the garage roof into the compost pile...we had NO idea what went into it (even if we had known, we still probably wouldn't have cared).

But it's the pansies that make me think of her, statuesque, regal and One Who Knew All Things.  She had the most fabulous jiggly arms on the planet and she didn't mind us playing with them a bit.  Forever I thought pansies were named "Kitty Faces" simply because she told me so.

I wish she had lived long enough to cultivate her gardening knowledge in me; I'll have to settle for a genuine affection for a flower's beauty.  A single stem has the power to transform my day.

 

Not-so-Wordless Wednesday

Do you have questions about Compassion International?

While I'm still searching for my lost cup of (mo)joe, it seemed like a good time to ask you to chime in with your thoughts, questions, observations or experience with Compassion International.  Are you a sponsor?  Supporter?  Detractor?  Skeptic?  What were your impressions after reading my account so far of our India trip?  Others?

Regardless of your perspective, I'd love to hear from you (and your readers, too, if you'd ask them for me and either link their responses in comments or direct them here).  Depending on response, I'll go to my trip bosses and Compassion experts if I don't know the answer myself. 

Thanks!

A different kind of love letter Divinely sent inspiring words

One of the most frequent searches that leads people to my blog is "words of encouragement...".  Sometimes other words are attached--death of a loved one, when a child loses their mom/dad, etc.--and when I stumble across these, I always wish I could dialogue with the searcher.  I'm concerned about their loss or why they're seeking out words to encourage or be encouraged by.

My lovable, adorable sister-in-law, out of concern for her niece and nephews, wrote a wonderful letter of encouragement to them when she learned about their schoolmate's death.  It was so...perfect...I asked her if I could reprint portions of it here. It's exactly the kind of "encouraging word" people are looking for when they're hurting...when they're grasping for how to express condolence or sympathy to family or friends.

It ministered to my children; I hope in some way it blesses you as well.  {And if you've discovered my page because you're in a similar position, my heart goes out to you....}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It makes me sad that you guys are having to experience something so horrible.  I wish I could make it all better for you.  Or at least hug you while you grieve.  I understand [you] know them well and I am certain your tender heart is crushed.  It seems so wrong when someone dies or gets so hurt at a young age.  I don't know why, but it does.

I hope you and your friends can somehow experience the love of God and his goodness during these moments.  I am sure at times you won't know how to respond or you might go a little hysterical or even numb.  Maybe you will feel guilty if you aren't sad for a moment and are doing the normal daily routine.  I really don't know where you guys are with this--

But I do know God is love and I pray this truth will be evident in His body of believers.  I pray you will feel comfortable enough to cry out to God if you need to--that his hand will hold you.  I cannot imagine what you five and the other families are going thru--I won't even pretend to know how I would respond.  I just know I want you guys to experience God's love for you as he pulls you up from the mud and mire.

"May the God of hope fill you will all joy and peace as you TRUST in Him so that you may overflow wiht hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." ~ Romans 15:13

                                                        Love,

                                                        Aunt Janice

Thank you Aunt Janice...we love you, too!! xoxo

When tragedy knocked, hope answered the door

Following the heart-breaking death of their 17-year-old son in a car accident a week ago, Jamie and Scott are responding with grace, dignity, humility, strength and life-giving faith.  Their daughter, Emily, is, too. 

If this had happened to me, it is how I'd hope we'd respond as well.

Eight grade commencement was Wednesday; Emily and her parents attended.  When we all went to lunch afterwards and then to a local park to hang out, they joined us.  There's a flurry of year end sporting events, and in most instances, they're showing up to support the kids.

In the face of grief, they're continuing to live. 

Again, if our family was reeling from the shock of losing one of our babies, it's how I'd hope we'd respond.

They aren't in denial; that's impossible.  They're acutely aware of the pain of a shattered heart.  Mysteriously strengthened by the prayers of an army, clinging to the hope in God they've always professed, they're honoring Ryan's life.

This was a kid who lived out loud :).

Our school is small, and in addition to Ryan being a student, Jamie is a teacher.  Through oceans of tears, our community has spoken love with tangible sympathies of food, flowers, cards and memorials.  In return, this precious family bears testimony to indescribable grace, praising God in the midst of their storm. 

Understandably, many students continue to struggle.  "Life is short" is no longer cliché.  They question God; they question His goodness.  Some are angry.  Others have examined their own lives and received salvation offered through Christ's gospel--recognizing and confessing their sin; understanding their need for a savior, found in the person of Jesus; experiencing freedom from guilt and condemnation through forgiveness; believing that God loves them, has a plan for them, knows what's best for them. 

Maybe they see for the first time that God intimately understands their grief...because He endured the death of His own son, too.

From a human perspective, this doesn't make sense.  It's wrong.  I'm still having a hard time accepting it really happened.  But when I consider in the economy of God that He sees from the end to the beginning (and beginning to end)...that He lives beyond the scope of conventional time...

When I consider His words penned in Isaiah 55: 8, 9 ~

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
       neither are your ways my ways,"
       declares the LORD.

  "As the heavens are higher than the earth,
       so are my ways higher than your ways
       and my thoughts than your thoughts."

...I'm able to believe this tragedy can be used--is being used--for our collective good, for God's glory, and for the advance of the gospel.

Let it be.