Last Saturday my husband, his siblings, his siblings significant others, his Dad and I were all going to see the film Avatar. We all divided ourselves into different cars and my husband, Scott (my husband’s little sister’s husband) and I rode together. As the three of us were walking toward the theater I saw an empty McDonald’s fries container lying right in the middle of the beautiful, still miraculously green grass outside the theater. So, I picked it up.
My husband sighed and said, “What are you doing?”
Scott replied, “She’s being a Good Samaritan.”
That really struck me as odd. See, I didn’t think doing something as simple as picking up a single piece of trash and carrying it 20 or 30 feet to the nearest trash bin warranted the title “Good Samaritan”. To me that’s a pretty grand title.
The term ‘Good Samaritan’ comes from a parable of Jesus Christ. He tells the story of a Jewish man who is attacked by thieves on an isolated mountain road and left for dead. Two people, who are not only his countrymen, but religious leaders, happen along and both find reasons not to stop and help him. Finally a Samaritan, a minority Jewish sect persecuted and severely ostracized for their beliefs, stops and helps the man. He not only tends to the man’s wounds and carries him to the nearest city. Once there, he leaves money to pay for the man’s care AND makes the stipulation that if what he leaves turns out to be insufficient, he’ll be back by at a later date and will pay the difference.
THAT is a Good Samaritan. Actually, that is THE Good Samaritan.
The point of that story wasn’t to shame the predominantly insulated and self-agrandzing Jewish religious leaders of the time or to provide an example for people with regard to how we should treat each other. I’m pretty certain it accomplished both of those tasks and that was intentional but that wasn’t the main purpose of the story.
That story was told to answer a specific question which was the last in a series of questions that, honestly, reminds me of the ‘Why’ game my kids play sometimes.
(If you don’t have kids the game is a contest of wills. They ask why until they either they get bored, are satisfied or you lose your sanity.)
So, this guy comes up to Jesus and says, “You know what? We’ve got a lot of rules. A LOT of rules. Which is the most important?”
Personally, I think that was a pretty stupid question. It’s like. “There are a lot of laws in this country, Officer. Sure, I was breaking one but it wasn’t the most important one.”
Anyway, Jesus goes with it. He says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength…” Then most translations continue it this way “and the second is ‘like it/like unto it’, love your neighbor as yourself.” I hate the way this is translated.
I went to a Preacher’s school. Some people call it seminary. This one was called an ‘International Biblical Institute’. The point is, I studied Greek and that passage is not so simple and the concept is hard to put into words in English. I think the best I can do is ‘the second most important commandment is part of the first’. In my personal opinion and interpretation it wasn’t a ‘do this, and then that’ situation. It was an ‘if you do this then you will, by default, also be doing that’ situation. He wasn’t saying, “Love God first and then love your neighbor.” He was saying, “If you love God, then you automatically will love your neighbor.”
My kids get to take a single toy to day care every day. Today my son wanted to take the ambulance that his sister got him for Christmas. My husband said, ‘That one is extra special.’
Jonathan decided to start playing the Why Game.
“Why, Daddy?”
“Because it’s the one Emmy got you.”
“Why?”
“Because she loves you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re her brother.”
“Oh.”
That stuck in my head. (You may have noticed that happens a lot. What can I say? I have a sticky head.) Why did this particular incident stick in my head? Because the Why Game session was so SHORT. Because the concept of brotherhood was so fundamental, even to my three-year-old, that it severely truncated a Why Game.
The concept of the greatest commandment and its runner up is that God is the father of humanity and that makes each and every human being on the planet siblings; family. The concept of universal brotherhood isn’t limited to a belief in God either. Whatever your beliefs, if you go back far enough we all came from the same place. We are all related to each other. We are all family.
Jesus in that commandment was saying, “If you love God, then you will love your neighbor. Why? Because God does. Why? Because that other person is just as much His child as you are.”
The parable is the answer to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” The main aim of the story of the Good Samaritan was to teach the questioner that shared DNA, skin color, nationality or even religious beliefs do not determine who your neighbor is. We are ALL neighbors. We are all family.
If the holidays teach us anything, they teach us that you don’t necessarily always agree with your family. You don’t necessarily always like all of your family. BUT you do love them. You make a conscious decision to overlook things in family members that you make a conscious decision not to overlook in people who are not family. Petty annoyances, social and economic differences, differences in religious and political beliefs; they all drive us crazy at the holidays but we put up with them.
Why?
Because they’re ‘family’.
Why?
Because our society decided they are.
Why?
Because we needed people looking out for us.
Why?
Because human beings apparently don’t look out for each other unless they feel obligated by the dictates of society.
Why?
Um...
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
The First Day
I work in Cube Land. It’s a magical place of in-between. There are these sort-of-but-not-really walls. People here are sort of friends (but not really) and it’s sort of your home away from home (but not really). The thing is you can’t escape your co-workers. You can try but then you get a black mark on your performance review.
(No, really, you do. I actually got a black mark saying basically that I worked too hard. I apparently “just sat at my desk and did my work” and I wasn’t “engaging with coworkers or making any attempt to be social”. My supervisor actually asked if I watched Survivor and when I said no suggested I start watching the show. She said that “the team” all watched and it would be a great opportunity for me to join in socially. Really. I’m not making this up.)
There are a few phenomena that are interesting in cube land. One of my favorites is the seemingly endless battle between those with hygiene and those without. The combatants are firmly entrenched in the restrooms but the fight occasionally extends to the communal refrigerators.
One of my favorite phenomena is the First Day After Christmas. The First Day is fun for me. People tend to put on this pretence of being grumpy about going back to work but generally are somewhat relieved to be free of the chaos of holidays that are usually filled with people who don’t know where to put their odds & ends and how the appliances work. Coming back to the quiet order of work is a relief but we can’t really say that so there is this affectation of “I don’t want to be here”.
The real fun though, is the gift display. People go to fetch coffee in new shiny World’s Greatest Dad mugs or wearing ties with a binary pattern that when decoded say, “Ties Suck.” They proudly wear inappropriately ornate but new jewelry or walk about with bulging pockets that conceal this or that new and exciting gadget.
Then there are the stories. I can tell the story of taking the kids to the movies and how Jonathan at one point apparently got tired of actually picking up the popcorn, just stuck his head into the tub and started munching. There will be present stories and burnt Turkey stories and missed flight stories. This year I’m sure there will be a few stranded by flooding stories.
Yes, on the First Day we’ll all whine about work and show off of gifted gadgets and tell tales of Turkey turmoil…oh, and work…sort of.
(No, really, you do. I actually got a black mark saying basically that I worked too hard. I apparently “just sat at my desk and did my work” and I wasn’t “engaging with coworkers or making any attempt to be social”. My supervisor actually asked if I watched Survivor and when I said no suggested I start watching the show. She said that “the team” all watched and it would be a great opportunity for me to join in socially. Really. I’m not making this up.)
There are a few phenomena that are interesting in cube land. One of my favorites is the seemingly endless battle between those with hygiene and those without. The combatants are firmly entrenched in the restrooms but the fight occasionally extends to the communal refrigerators.
One of my favorite phenomena is the First Day After Christmas. The First Day is fun for me. People tend to put on this pretence of being grumpy about going back to work but generally are somewhat relieved to be free of the chaos of holidays that are usually filled with people who don’t know where to put their odds & ends and how the appliances work. Coming back to the quiet order of work is a relief but we can’t really say that so there is this affectation of “I don’t want to be here”.
The real fun though, is the gift display. People go to fetch coffee in new shiny World’s Greatest Dad mugs or wearing ties with a binary pattern that when decoded say, “Ties Suck.” They proudly wear inappropriately ornate but new jewelry or walk about with bulging pockets that conceal this or that new and exciting gadget.
Then there are the stories. I can tell the story of taking the kids to the movies and how Jonathan at one point apparently got tired of actually picking up the popcorn, just stuck his head into the tub and started munching. There will be present stories and burnt Turkey stories and missed flight stories. This year I’m sure there will be a few stranded by flooding stories.
Yes, on the First Day we’ll all whine about work and show off of gifted gadgets and tell tales of Turkey turmoil…oh, and work…sort of.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Importance of Being You.
If you’ve read my blog, you know that I was hit by a car when I was a toddler. I spent some time in the hospital after that little stunt and made a connection. There was this nurse. I remember her being very beautiful, though I can’t see her face in my mind anymore. She had long silky black hair. One day she was adjusting something and it fell over my face. It smelled wonderful and tickled so gently. I absolutely loved it. From that point forward, whenever she came to check on me she would take the time to tickle me a bit with the ends of her hair.
I had my birthday while in the hospital and she gave me a present; a wire framed, pose-able, plush Tweety Bird. I loved that doll. I kept it for fifteen years before losing it. I packed it away with my things when I left home for Europe and it was somehow lost while I was away. I remember how truly upset I was when I realized that it was gone.
I have a point. It’s in here somewhere, trust me.
The point is this woman had a pretty demeaning job. Doctors don’t have a reputation for being appreciative and respectful of the role nurses play. In fact, nurses tend to be picked on by both the doctors and the patients. Most people don’t enjoy time spent in the hospital and don’t tend to express too much appreciation to nursing staff.
I don’t imagine that woman ever dreamed that I would remember her almost three decades later. I don’t imagine it crossed her mind when she picked up that fuzzy yellow bird that her purchase would make Tweety my mascot, the cartoon character with which I most identify.
There is a disease that has taken hold in the United States and is seen spreading all over the world. It’s a pandemic more disastrous than the much touted H1N1. People in this world have developed the concept of worth that is, in my opinion, dangerously warped. There is this designation of “important” roles and “unimportant” roles.
To try to better explain, I’m going to ask for help from one of my favorite TV shows; Chuck. Chuck is the name of the main character. He’s a computer technician at a large electronics store that is meant to be a parody of the US chain, Best Buy. He fixes people’s computers and cell phones and the show consistently portrays his job as unimportant to the point of being demeaning. Characters constantly ask when he will quit his “dead-end” job and get a “real job”, an important job.
The concept that he appears unimportant in this role but is actually a secret spy and very important, is one of the main themes of the show’s storyline. This is actually one of the only things I don’t like about the show. Chuck the ‘Nerd Herder’ is discussed as an unimportant cover life but he really is important in THAT role.
Example: In the pilot episode, a father comes into the store with his ballerina daughter. He is distressed because the video footage of the dance recital won’t play back. Chuck takes a look and discovers the man didn’t understand that he needed digital tape and has failed to record the recital. The girl is crushed and Chuck comes up with a solution.
The father purchases tape and Chuck sets up the great wall of screens to display the feed from the digital recorder. The little girl dances her part in front of this back drop and the day is saved.
Chuck, the lowly Nerd Herder saved the day! Another example is in a later episode. Lou (a brief love interest) comes into the store distraught because her smart phone is broken. She says something along the lines that her whole life is stored inside. Chuck is her hero, not because he has the knowledge of ‘the intersect computer’ locked in his brain, but because he can repair her phone.
We all need to pay attention to how important we are. A truck driver in the US is absolutely vital. They drive hour after hour alone on dark, slick and icy roads. People look down their noses at them, get annoyed at their large vehicles in traffic or just avoid them but without these men and women, America would come to a staggering and crashing dead stop.
The scary thing about people not valuing themselves or their contribution is we don’t see the consequences of our actions, good or bad. If we really don’t think our jobs matter, we lose opportunities to make other people’s lives better. If we don’t take pride in what we do, how can we really do it to the best of our ability? We’ve been sneering at each other for so long, we’re starting to forget what it’s like when someone really does take pride in their work and provides exceptional goods and services.
The other, even scarier, side of this is if we don’t think what we do matters, we don’t feel as much restraint from being dismissive or neglectful of other people’s needs. We can be cruel and not think much of it because what does it really matter what we do?
I’m sure that nurse didn’t think much of taking a few extra seconds to brighten a three-year-old’s day. That Tweety Bird doll was probably the first thing she came across in the store. Maybe it was an afterthought: Okay, got the eggs, milk & bread. Hmm, that little girl’s birthday is tomorrow. I’ll just grab this Tweety Bird on my way out.”
Yet twenty-eight years later, I remember her and her kindness. She will forever be a part of who I am.
You are important. What you do is important. What you do affects people in ways you cannot possibly imagine.
This Christmas my wish is that we all remember how important we are not only to our friends and family, but to people we will never meet.
I had my birthday while in the hospital and she gave me a present; a wire framed, pose-able, plush Tweety Bird. I loved that doll. I kept it for fifteen years before losing it. I packed it away with my things when I left home for Europe and it was somehow lost while I was away. I remember how truly upset I was when I realized that it was gone.
I have a point. It’s in here somewhere, trust me.
The point is this woman had a pretty demeaning job. Doctors don’t have a reputation for being appreciative and respectful of the role nurses play. In fact, nurses tend to be picked on by both the doctors and the patients. Most people don’t enjoy time spent in the hospital and don’t tend to express too much appreciation to nursing staff.
I don’t imagine that woman ever dreamed that I would remember her almost three decades later. I don’t imagine it crossed her mind when she picked up that fuzzy yellow bird that her purchase would make Tweety my mascot, the cartoon character with which I most identify.
There is a disease that has taken hold in the United States and is seen spreading all over the world. It’s a pandemic more disastrous than the much touted H1N1. People in this world have developed the concept of worth that is, in my opinion, dangerously warped. There is this designation of “important” roles and “unimportant” roles.
To try to better explain, I’m going to ask for help from one of my favorite TV shows; Chuck. Chuck is the name of the main character. He’s a computer technician at a large electronics store that is meant to be a parody of the US chain, Best Buy. He fixes people’s computers and cell phones and the show consistently portrays his job as unimportant to the point of being demeaning. Characters constantly ask when he will quit his “dead-end” job and get a “real job”, an important job.
The concept that he appears unimportant in this role but is actually a secret spy and very important, is one of the main themes of the show’s storyline. This is actually one of the only things I don’t like about the show. Chuck the ‘Nerd Herder’ is discussed as an unimportant cover life but he really is important in THAT role.
Example: In the pilot episode, a father comes into the store with his ballerina daughter. He is distressed because the video footage of the dance recital won’t play back. Chuck takes a look and discovers the man didn’t understand that he needed digital tape and has failed to record the recital. The girl is crushed and Chuck comes up with a solution.
The father purchases tape and Chuck sets up the great wall of screens to display the feed from the digital recorder. The little girl dances her part in front of this back drop and the day is saved.
Chuck, the lowly Nerd Herder saved the day! Another example is in a later episode. Lou (a brief love interest) comes into the store distraught because her smart phone is broken. She says something along the lines that her whole life is stored inside. Chuck is her hero, not because he has the knowledge of ‘the intersect computer’ locked in his brain, but because he can repair her phone.
We all need to pay attention to how important we are. A truck driver in the US is absolutely vital. They drive hour after hour alone on dark, slick and icy roads. People look down their noses at them, get annoyed at their large vehicles in traffic or just avoid them but without these men and women, America would come to a staggering and crashing dead stop.
The scary thing about people not valuing themselves or their contribution is we don’t see the consequences of our actions, good or bad. If we really don’t think our jobs matter, we lose opportunities to make other people’s lives better. If we don’t take pride in what we do, how can we really do it to the best of our ability? We’ve been sneering at each other for so long, we’re starting to forget what it’s like when someone really does take pride in their work and provides exceptional goods and services.
The other, even scarier, side of this is if we don’t think what we do matters, we don’t feel as much restraint from being dismissive or neglectful of other people’s needs. We can be cruel and not think much of it because what does it really matter what we do?
I’m sure that nurse didn’t think much of taking a few extra seconds to brighten a three-year-old’s day. That Tweety Bird doll was probably the first thing she came across in the store. Maybe it was an afterthought: Okay, got the eggs, milk & bread. Hmm, that little girl’s birthday is tomorrow. I’ll just grab this Tweety Bird on my way out.”
Yet twenty-eight years later, I remember her and her kindness. She will forever be a part of who I am.
You are important. What you do is important. What you do affects people in ways you cannot possibly imagine.
This Christmas my wish is that we all remember how important we are not only to our friends and family, but to people we will never meet.
Monday, December 21, 2009
She Came Bearing Gifts
Friday the social worker came for a visit and she came bearing gifts, just not for Jonathan. When I was a kid this happened all the time. My parents adopted kids and had foster kids as well. Christmas holidays, some organization or another would donate toys and such to the foster kids but this didn't extend to we biological children. There was also the fact that a couple of my foster siblings got presents from biological parents or extended family like grandparents. So, every year, my siblings got more presents than I did.
(One exception was this great Christmas where a church in town not only gave presents to all the kids in the family instead of just foster kids, but asked about our interests first and tailored the gifts to those interests and our ages. I said I was interested in drawing and got an incredible artistic package with pad, pencils, and even a pen and ink set. It was fantastic and still one of my all time favorite Christmas presents.)
But presents shouldn’t matter, right? What does it really matter that my siblings often got more presents than I did? Answer: I was a kid. It matters to kids…a lot. I think kids (in America at least) often see presents as a measure of their own value and worth. I blame Santa. In my opinion, the myth of Santa Clause really enforces this idea. Santa gives gifts to good children and neglects naughty children. Thus, the more presents you receive the more worthy you are of receiving them.
After I had de-boxed Emmy’s very nice gifts (No small feat, btw. Those suckers were practically welded in place), Emmy took them upstairs and started playing with them…in front of Jonathan. As the social worker was leaving, Jonathan came downstairs and in a curious but also clearly hurt 3 year-old voice asked, “Why you didn’t bring me any presents?”
This broke my heart. My husband and I tried to fix the situation as best as we could. Hubby pulled out a couple presents that had yet to be placed under the tree and we gifted them to Jonathan early. Unfortunately, my son is very thoughtful and not easily distracted. After he had opened his presents, which he absolutely adored, he came and sat quietly on my lap for a bit.
He asked, “Mommy. Why do more people love Emmy than me?”
That was how he interpreted the situation and I’ve got to say, from his perspective, it makes sense. All the people in his life who love him; me, my husband, our parents, friends and relatives, they have all opened their hearts and homes to Emmy. They have welcomed her and done their best to make her feel loved and at home.
Conversely, Jonathan was dragged along on monthly trips to Louisiana so that Emmy could visit with my sister, who barely acknowledged Jonathan’s presence, and Emmy’s former foster parents who also made no secret of the fact that they were interested in Emmy and not Jonathan.
Jonathan is three. The people with whom he comes into contact are his entire world. So, part of the world loves both him and Emmy but part of the world loves only Emmy. His little mind is trying to figure it out. So am I...still.
I was much older when my parents adopted but still remember sometimes feeling second place in a lot of people’s esteem, even my parents’. They’re such good people and such worry warts that the very last thing I would want is for them to find out about those feelings. You can’t help but feel strange and irrational things sometimes, especially as a child.
Unfortunately, irrational feelings hurt just as much as the rational ones. As my parents attended special meetings for my new siblings or took them to various visits and appointments there was a feeling that all our lives were built around them and what they needed. Since my biological sister and I needed less attention, we got it. It was hard sometimes to go to these places and visit with these people who cared for my siblings and not at all for us and not feel somehow unworthy.
I see this happening with Emmy and Jonathan. Emmy misbehaves in the strange incomprehensible ways only a child who has been deeply scarred can. She pushes boundaries regularly and creates chaos and disorder that Jonathan often finds baffling.
I try my best to give him attention for the good things he does. I try to reward them equally for good behavior and punish them equally as well. I try to make it so they receive the same amount of attention for good and bad behavior, just different sorts.
I can’t do anything about the fact that Emmy has more people in her life that care about her than Jonathan does. And I can’t do anything about the fact that Jonathan is aware of this. It’s not a thing I can figure out.
That’s one of the most baffling things about our lives. I watch Jonathan struggle with the same things with which I struggled as a child. I’ve had decades to figure it out and yet I still don’t have an answer to that question he asked. I understand now that the perspective of a child is warped and that the feelings of being second rate when compared to your seemingly more special siblings are invalid. However, I've no idea how to stop my child from feeling them or even really what to say. Even so, I have to say something, right?
So, what did I say?
I said, “Jonathan, who loves you?”
“Mommy.”
“How much does Mommy love you?”
“More than any little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Does it make you happy that Mommy loves you so much?”
(nods)
“It doesn’t matter how many people love you, Sweetie. It matters how much the people who love you, love you and the people who love you, love you as much as anybody can love anybody. Okay?”
(sigh)
“Okay. I love you, too, Mommy.”
(hugs)
(One exception was this great Christmas where a church in town not only gave presents to all the kids in the family instead of just foster kids, but asked about our interests first and tailored the gifts to those interests and our ages. I said I was interested in drawing and got an incredible artistic package with pad, pencils, and even a pen and ink set. It was fantastic and still one of my all time favorite Christmas presents.)
But presents shouldn’t matter, right? What does it really matter that my siblings often got more presents than I did? Answer: I was a kid. It matters to kids…a lot. I think kids (in America at least) often see presents as a measure of their own value and worth. I blame Santa. In my opinion, the myth of Santa Clause really enforces this idea. Santa gives gifts to good children and neglects naughty children. Thus, the more presents you receive the more worthy you are of receiving them.
After I had de-boxed Emmy’s very nice gifts (No small feat, btw. Those suckers were practically welded in place), Emmy took them upstairs and started playing with them…in front of Jonathan. As the social worker was leaving, Jonathan came downstairs and in a curious but also clearly hurt 3 year-old voice asked, “Why you didn’t bring me any presents?”
This broke my heart. My husband and I tried to fix the situation as best as we could. Hubby pulled out a couple presents that had yet to be placed under the tree and we gifted them to Jonathan early. Unfortunately, my son is very thoughtful and not easily distracted. After he had opened his presents, which he absolutely adored, he came and sat quietly on my lap for a bit.
He asked, “Mommy. Why do more people love Emmy than me?”
That was how he interpreted the situation and I’ve got to say, from his perspective, it makes sense. All the people in his life who love him; me, my husband, our parents, friends and relatives, they have all opened their hearts and homes to Emmy. They have welcomed her and done their best to make her feel loved and at home.
Conversely, Jonathan was dragged along on monthly trips to Louisiana so that Emmy could visit with my sister, who barely acknowledged Jonathan’s presence, and Emmy’s former foster parents who also made no secret of the fact that they were interested in Emmy and not Jonathan.
Jonathan is three. The people with whom he comes into contact are his entire world. So, part of the world loves both him and Emmy but part of the world loves only Emmy. His little mind is trying to figure it out. So am I...still.
I was much older when my parents adopted but still remember sometimes feeling second place in a lot of people’s esteem, even my parents’. They’re such good people and such worry warts that the very last thing I would want is for them to find out about those feelings. You can’t help but feel strange and irrational things sometimes, especially as a child.
Unfortunately, irrational feelings hurt just as much as the rational ones. As my parents attended special meetings for my new siblings or took them to various visits and appointments there was a feeling that all our lives were built around them and what they needed. Since my biological sister and I needed less attention, we got it. It was hard sometimes to go to these places and visit with these people who cared for my siblings and not at all for us and not feel somehow unworthy.
I see this happening with Emmy and Jonathan. Emmy misbehaves in the strange incomprehensible ways only a child who has been deeply scarred can. She pushes boundaries regularly and creates chaos and disorder that Jonathan often finds baffling.
I try my best to give him attention for the good things he does. I try to reward them equally for good behavior and punish them equally as well. I try to make it so they receive the same amount of attention for good and bad behavior, just different sorts.
I can’t do anything about the fact that Emmy has more people in her life that care about her than Jonathan does. And I can’t do anything about the fact that Jonathan is aware of this. It’s not a thing I can figure out.
That’s one of the most baffling things about our lives. I watch Jonathan struggle with the same things with which I struggled as a child. I’ve had decades to figure it out and yet I still don’t have an answer to that question he asked. I understand now that the perspective of a child is warped and that the feelings of being second rate when compared to your seemingly more special siblings are invalid. However, I've no idea how to stop my child from feeling them or even really what to say. Even so, I have to say something, right?
So, what did I say?
I said, “Jonathan, who loves you?”
“Mommy.”
“How much does Mommy love you?”
“More than any little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Does it make you happy that Mommy loves you so much?”
(nods)
“It doesn’t matter how many people love you, Sweetie. It matters how much the people who love you, love you and the people who love you, love you as much as anybody can love anybody. Okay?”
(sigh)
“Okay. I love you, too, Mommy.”
(hugs)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Christmas Cookies
Quoted from random e-mail:
Christmas Cookie Ingredients
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 lemon juiced
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal
Instructions:
Sniff the Crown Royal to check quality. Pour 1 level cup and drink it to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. (At this point it's best to make sure the Crown Royal hasn't gone bad. Try another cup...just in case.)
Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on
the turner. If the dried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it
loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Crown Royal to check for
tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check
the Crown Royal. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one
table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash
the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to
beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish
the Crown Royal and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.
CHERRY MISTMAS!!!
Christmas Cookie Ingredients
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 lemon juiced
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal
Instructions:
Sniff the Crown Royal to check quality. Pour 1 level cup and drink it to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. (At this point it's best to make sure the Crown Royal hasn't gone bad. Try another cup...just in case.)
Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on
the turner. If the dried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it
loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Crown Royal to check for
tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check
the Crown Royal. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one
table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash
the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to
beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish
the Crown Royal and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.
CHERRY MISTMAS!!!
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Quanah Parker: Born of Two Worlds
The life of Comanche freedom fighter, Quanah Parker could be considered a microcosm of Native American life in the age of the invading European peoples, specifically the Texans. Born to a Comanche father and an Anglo mother, Quanah lived a precarious existence between the two worlds and cultures. His success in initially resisting the armies of the invaders and, later, in not only surviving relocation to allotted lands but prospering, further exemplifies the duality of his existence. His life was seemingly a series of relationships between his upbringing in the native culture and beliefs and those of the European colonists. By observation and study of his life, we have the opportunity to learn from a man born of two warring people who somehow found a path to peace.
The exact date of Quanah Parker’s birth as recorded by modern calendars is not known. However, if we wish to ascribe a date to the creation of his existence, we might consider the date May 19, 1836. It was on this day that a group of various Native American people’s, including Comanche, Kiowa, Caddo and Wichita; attacked Ft. Parker, one of the early Texan settlements in the Comanche territory. The Comanche had successfully maintained their territory in the past despite advances by the Spanish and Mexicans and sought to do the same with these new intruders. This perhaps explains the violence of the raid, which far exceeded that typically used and even included the raping, stabbing and scalping of a woman in her seventies; Sarah “Granny” Parker.
Ironically, the two aspects of Comanche culture which the Spanish, Mexicans and, later, Texans found to be most frightening were their horsemanship and their propensity for taking captives; both of which were actually introduced into Comanche culture by the Spanish invaders. It is also ironic that Anglo officials encouraged their citizens to slaughter buffalo with the motive of depriving the native peoples of food as this left the Comanche with little choice but to increase raiding in order to survive.
During the raid on Ft. Parker five persons were taken captive, including a then nine year old girl, Cynthia Ann Parker. It is recorded that within only four years of her capture a white man, Colonel Williams, visited a Comanche camp. He offered to ransom her, however, the record shows that her “Indian father declared all the goods the colonel had were not enough to make him relinquish the girl.” Three years later, two U.S. officials, Butler and Lewis, also attempted to ransom her with similar results. They later reported, “A large amount of goods and four or five hundred dollars were offered, but the offer was unavailing, as she would run off and hide herself to avoid those who wished to ransom her.”
Unfortunately for the Comanche, the tactics which had been so successful when dealing with the Spanish had disastrous consequences when dealing with the Texans. In large part due to the fact that the Texans desired land while the Spanish were content to trade, these differences in culture and motive culminated in the Massacre at Council House. It began as a ransom of captives, but when the Texans saw the first captive, Matilda Lockhart, the girl’s mutilated face sent them into a rage. The fact that she was the first captive offered for ransom was an act of intervention on the part of the chiefs and indicated disapproval of her mistress’ harsh treatment but the Texans took her condition to be the standard for how the other captives fared and demanded the immediate return of the other 13 captives. The chiefs refused and, offended, began to leave. When a blocked the path of the exiting party, they struck him down and violence ensued. The Texans massacred all the men in the party and held the women and children captive to be exchanged for the white captives.
To kill during a council was an unspeakable trespass to the Comanche whose custom it was to always speak the absolute truth during council. If this lead to hostilities, a time and place for war would be prescribed but never would war break out in council. In retaliation, the Comanche tortured and killed the remaining 13 captives. Two children had been formally adopted and were spared but later described the revenge taken on their less fortunate counterparts, “They were tortured to death. One by one, the children and young women were pegged out naked beside the camp fire. They were skinned, sliced and horribly mutilated, and finally burned alive by vengeful women determined to wring the last shriek and convulsion from their agonized bodies.”
These tragic misunderstandings began a gruesome cycle of revenge raids on both sides. Charles Goodnight, a member of a party raiding the Comanche encampment at Pease River, recounted in horror some of the vicious retaliation, “the Rangers followed them up at full speed, passing through the squaws…The sergeant on seeing this fell in behind and killed all the squaws.” He goes on to tell of how a woman was seen fleeing and “Ross ordered his lieutenant to take charge of her. I had always supposed that he did it to save her life as he must have heard the guns of the sergeant killing the squaws behind” The woman caught fleeing was identified as Cynthia Ann who though assured of kind treatment was described as being “inconsolably grief-stricken at the separation from her sons and husband.” Quanah never saw his mother again.
Within two years of his mother’s capture, his father also died. At the age of eleven Quanah and his younger brother Pecos were left unsupported, a rarity in the Comanche people. Quanah later attributed this to his white heritage. He sought to redeem himself by “being more Comanche than the full-bloods”. Though little is known of the specifics of his life before the recorded Anglo history, it is recorded that as a young man he had “much influence with his people.”
William Hagan states that “as ability to deal with the whites became the overriding qualification for a Comanche leader, Quanah’s stock rose rapidly.” Leadership among the Comanche was based on reputation. During war, the Comanche would choose to follow a man who proved himself in “feats of battle with no formal installation, term or even office.” In times of peace the Comanche tended to follow men “who engaged in public displays of generosity.” At the same time, a leader in times of war was expected to be generous and a man who was not respected in battle was not likely to command respect in times of peace.
Quanah had distinguished himself in battle and used his influence to forward initiatives to create a ranching economy that was better suited to the Comanche culture than the governments plan they become farmers. This acceptance of the fact that the Comanche way of life had to change but recognition of what would and would not be acceptable is what led Quanah to successfully negotiate agreements with Texas cattlemen. One of these cattlemen was Charles Goodnight, a member of the party that captured his mother so long ago. The two men formed an unlikely friendship when Goodman responded to Quanah’s advertised request for information regarding his mother. Goodnight gave Quanah, an experienced horse breeder, a great deal of advice on cattle breeding and ranching and even made a gift to him of a Durham Bull.
Quanah ensured that funds from cattle agreements would be paid directly to the Comanche people instead of to the United States government. He also obtained authority to charge cattle ranchers driving herds over Comanche grasses leasing and other fees. While he was criticized by some Comanche for adopting ‘white’ clothing and building a ‘white’ house, he was also criticized by some officials for refusing to cut short his hair or convert to monogamy. However, by and large his efforts to remain true to his Comanche heritage and yet be progressive enough to ensure his people were provided for earned him the respect of the vast majority in both camps.
Quanah was a generous, fun loving man. He would sometimes dress a Mexican companion and friend in some of his Comanche attire and watch him greet unwitting guests. When President Theodore Roosevelt visited Oklahoma; Quanah, though not a drinker, had large goblets of wine placed at every place setting. When asked why, Quanah explained that the President had served small glasses of wine when entertaining Quanah and he wanted to show that he was even more generous. Quanah had several wives and many children but still adopted a young boy who needed a family. Though he valued and respected the justice system of the United States, in a dispute where he could find no solution in that system, he respected Comanche law and found in favor of the man in the dispute that had the best reputation. He is remembered primarily for his humor, generous spirit and great love of others and of peace. Born of love in the midst of misunderstanding, bitter hatred and conflict; he fought for the freedom and survival of his people throughout his life. He first fought in open combat; later, in trade negotiations and political hearings. Though this secondary contribution may have seemed less glorious, his work in peace was profound.
Even as a young man he said, “I am young…talking for assistance for my people…the white and the red people…I will not do anything bad, but looking for the good road, a suppliant for the red people, so when Washington hears he will help us.” Near his death he said, “Forty years ago my mother died. Love Indian and wild life so well not want to go back to white folks. All same people anyway.” After his death, his adopted son Knox Beal summarized Quanah’s admirable legacy with beautiful simplicity, “Quanah Parker, my father, fed a great many Comanche Indians. He had a great herd of cattle and horses in 1890 and when he died in 1911, he did not have many left because he was so generous. When a person became hungry he fed them. He could not stand to see anyone of his tribe go hungry.”
Quanah Parker lived at the height of hostilities between his two peoples but developed a respect for both that allowed him to find a middle path to peace where others saw only past hurt and old enemies. An examination of his life yields an example for all of mankind and inspires us to not be blinded by outward differences but to remember that we are all human and are all in each other’s care. We are all the same people anyway.
Friday, October 23, 2009
To Beer Or Not To Beer
To beer or not to beer; that is the question.
Whether ‘tis noble in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous anxiety, or to take a deep breath against an at sea feeling, and, by centering, end it.
To drink, to buzz - no more, and by a buzz to say we end the heartburn and the thousand unnatural shocks that testing is heir to - 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!
To drink, to buzz. To buzz perchance to fuzz?
Ay, there's the rub, for in that buzz of drink, what errors may come when we are feeling loosey goosey must give us pause. There's a respect that makes calamity of 24 hour liquor stores,
For who would bear the pressure of time limits, the teachers wrong, the A students contumely, the pangs of indecision, the insolence of admin and the tuition fees that seem unmerited but the unworthy takes, when he could himself oblivious make with a shot of bourbon?
Who would these finals bear, to grunt and swear under a weary study schedule but that the dread of something after school, the unemployment line from whose bourn no prospect returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others we (hopefully) know not of.
Thus the economy doth make cowards of us all. And thus the native rosy hue of intoxication is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of being pissed and happy with this regard, their current wines runs dry, and lose their satisfaction.
Whether ‘tis noble in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous anxiety, or to take a deep breath against an at sea feeling, and, by centering, end it.
To drink, to buzz - no more, and by a buzz to say we end the heartburn and the thousand unnatural shocks that testing is heir to - 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!
To drink, to buzz. To buzz perchance to fuzz?
Ay, there's the rub, for in that buzz of drink, what errors may come when we are feeling loosey goosey must give us pause. There's a respect that makes calamity of 24 hour liquor stores,
For who would bear the pressure of time limits, the teachers wrong, the A students contumely, the pangs of indecision, the insolence of admin and the tuition fees that seem unmerited but the unworthy takes, when he could himself oblivious make with a shot of bourbon?
Who would these finals bear, to grunt and swear under a weary study schedule but that the dread of something after school, the unemployment line from whose bourn no prospect returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others we (hopefully) know not of.
Thus the economy doth make cowards of us all. And thus the native rosy hue of intoxication is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of being pissed and happy with this regard, their current wines runs dry, and lose their satisfaction.
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