Today's Lesson in Cooking: Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookies From Crisco, per Vicki D.

Needed ingredients:

3/4 cup (3/4 stick) Crisco Shortening
1 1/4 cups firmly packed light brown sugar
2 Tbs milk
1 Tbs vanilla

1 egg
1 3/4 cups flour
1 tsp salt
3/4 tsp baking soda
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans (optional)*

Heat oven to 375. Place sheets of foil on counter top for cooling cookies.

Combine Crisco, brown sugar, milk and vanilla in large bowl. Beat at med speed of electric mixer until well blended. Beat egg into creamed mixture. Combine flour, salt and baking soda. Mix into creamed mix just until blended. Stir in chocolate chips and pecans.

Drop rounded tbs of dough 3'' apart onto un-greased baking sheet. Bake on baking sheet at 375 for 8-10 min for chewy cookies, 11-13 for crisp. DO NOT OVER BAKE. Cool 2 min on baking sheet, remove cookies to foil to cool completely. Makes 3 dzn.

This smells unbelievable in case your curious.

In the city, where I was raised, if you wanted cookies, you bought cookies. If you just HAD to bake cookies, you bought a package of pre-made cookie dough, prepped the oven and dropped them on a pan. Poof, cookies. The excess was stored in the fridge for those midnight sneaked spoonfuls in response to a break-up with a boyfriend. There has never been any such thing as "homemade" cookies for me.

Now, I live in the country:
Since moving here, I have been told that there is life without Crisco. Where ever it says Crisco, you can use butter, I've been told. Now I was raised on Crisco in cases of baking. Not butter. Somehow, in my mixed up head, I have associated Crisco with city: butter with country. Well, I live in the country now, any questions ask the cows outside of my window.

So for this "needs improvement" episode, I didn't quite follow the directions: I used butter because I'm in the country. Yes, that really is my reasoning.

I also decided after several scrapings of pans, to lightly grease the cookie sheet. AND I used dark brown sugar, because that is what I had.

It felt good. I used a wooden spoon and sprinkled the flour in little by little. I mixed and could feeeeeelllll the Luvvvv. That's my favorite part of homemade.

I dropped the cookie dough on the pan at 375 for 8-10 minutes only to pull out.....not cookies. The dough is cooked, but they looked like splats of cookies instead of cookies. Splats are wide messes that look a bit like pancakes, but with that cookie-esk-ness. I scoop the mess off the sheet into a bowl. (Which by the way, scooped onto a plate, about the size a cookie might be, with a small scoop of ice cream is great!)

Hmmm...must be the non-Crisco. So I add the Crisco to the rest of the batch. The batch changes color to something I recognize as the cookie dough from the cans! Woohoo. I'm in business. I drop the cookie dough on the pan at 375 for 8-10 minutes....

Splat. AHA!! I still have he grease on the pan, it must be making the dough run all over the place. So I clean the pan thoroughly, drop the dough and go. 8-10 minutes later.....

Splat.

I don't know what Crisco's got that butter doesn't, but I'm guessing it is a special ingrediant called: anti-splatter batter.

Cooking with Rachel K

On today's menu, we have Vicki D's Brunswick Stew. Below are the ingrediants you will need to make the ultimate stew.

1 can cream corn
1 can whole corn
2 cans stewed tomatoes (original recipe)
1 small bottle of ketchup
1 large white meat chunk chicken
2 cans Castelberry's BBQ pork in BBQ sauce
1/3 cup lemon juice
1 lb. ground beef
1 onion

Brown gr bf in skillet w/onion chopped. Combine everything in large pot. Cook on low/med for a few hours until bubbly.

In my world, I have always recieved an "N" from my elementary school teachers in "follows instructions." "N" is for needs improvement. SO with that thought in mind, we enter my kitchen.

Upon shopping for the goods yesterday, I could not find Castleberry's BBQ Pork so instead I bought...something else. I realized that maybe it did not have BBQ sauce in the pulled pork, so I bought some Sweet Baby Ray's bbq sauce ( the best bbq sauce in the universe). Today, I browned the beef and onion, but realized that I was probably supposed to drain it prior to dumping it in the pot. Oh, also I don't have a pot that big except the crock pot so...it's in the crock pot. I don' know if this is right either, but oh well. I also bought a can of tomato sauce instead of ketchup. I also forgot to get the chicken. I realized this when I was dumping the ingrediants in the pot. I turned the pot on Low. Finally, I added a hour on the fb in combo of a telephone call to my cousin Jenny. I think this is an especially important part because it is the luv in my culinary art.


So today in the kitchen of Rachel K we have Brunswick Stew per Vicki D...sortof.

The Culprit

A European Hornet, aka a "Japanese Hornet"

My normal unstung hand.

My not so normal, fevered hand

48 Hours after being stung in the ring finger

+ two Benedrils doses

+four Zertec doses

+ one Steroid Shot

In case you are curious, this is my hand looking better than it did originally.

Sometimes reality is more interesting that happily ever after.

I need to say first that I love Bernadette Peters. She is a tremendous actress.

How is it that people get in there head that life is supposed to be ever after? Do their parents just not tell them that ever after only makes for good movies when you are a kid? Do they not know that the life is worth more than ever after?

One of the reasons that I love Into the Woods, is the second act. How funny is it that once Cinderella, finds her fella, only to find out that he is dull, without wit, lives in a big lonely castle with nothing to do except chase princesses? Hurray, she got the guy with the house and the sisters are permanently punished, but really, what is that worth? Why is that happily ever after?

I don't know that I have ever had ever after. Maybe there was some of that before I was pubic, but I don't really remember much of it so who knows. I remember the creamery on the dairy farm with the real homemade ice cream. That is about it. Then I was 13. It was all over but the crying. Especially for the folks.

My friend who is very...not good right now, has a perception that I did it. I got the ever after. I found God, again. (Turns out he wasn't lost and so not so hard to find.) I don't drink, smoke or meddle in others affairs. I learned how to pay my bills. I learned how to get a good job. I learned how to take care of me. Now, I married a great man. I am in school for a great job. From the outside looking in: everafter.

She got her heartbroken by a scumbag of a boyfriend, so she thinks I have everything. The reality is that I work very, very hard. The reality is that it takes lots of effort on my part not to lose it on a daily basis. When I am juggling all the balls of life in the air, inevitably, I drop one. I have to search around and pick it up. I have to work to realign with God's will and in the meanwhile, continue juggling with one hand. She thinks ever after is Cinderella, dressed in yella. She thinks I am Cinderella.

I am not.

Neither is she.

We are not supposed to be. Cinderella is a story. A childhood tale with no purpose. I don't think Cinderella ever worked for what she got. I have busted my butt for what I have. I had to learn how to pray and juggle.

I like juggling. Praying is easier than juggling, so sometimes I take it for granted. I hope my friend hasn't given up praying, because I think Meredith Grey is right: reality is better than everafter. There are joys and sadness and intimacies with God. I get to love and hurt and learn to forgive. Gosh that is a hard one. I am working on that right now: forgiving. Gosh that is hard. It is not everafter.

I can't imagine doing the things I do with out a daily walk with Christ.

Maybe she just thinks she is alone. No one is alone. Even when I think I am alone, and making terrible mistakes...We are not alone, no one is alone. Maybe I need to let her know that she is not alone. Let her know that it is going to be okay. She is going through this terrible heartache so that she can help someone else to know that they are not alone: give her an opportunity to pass it on.

God's reality is not everafter, it is so much better.

When you don't blog for a while, you have bits and pieces of blogs left in your head:

Money is tight, yet, I am not afraid...relieved on economic insecurities. Being broke just ain't so scary anymore.

Flowers make the world go round. There is something to a blue hydrangeas, pink roses and random garden flowers. There is something to making something pretty for someone else. It fills you up and then lets you go...

Sleepy Sundays are awesome. But studying is important until you start sneezing...and sneezing...and achoo...this is Carter's fault.

I love that my car gets 37 miles to the gallon right now. I also love drivin around in it with my husband.

Ever have someone look you in the eye and say, "I want what you have, can ya tell me how to get it?" It will almost take your breath out of you. What's even weirder is how much alike you are after a few conversations. Matched up for God.

I am not really sick, I just think I am. Snort. Sniff. Sneeze.

Student loans are stupid. Don't they know that we have never borrowed money succesfully? Why do they make it so...my nose is running, hang on...painful? I mean, if you need one form of id why do you wait to process to ask for two forms? What takes so long to recieve and file a fax under my name? Why not be up front about everything that is needed and why would it last forever? and ever? and ...

I am eating chicken noodle soup for the first time in my life. I have never eaten chicken noodle soup. I am not a real soup fan, but a friend suggested it. Said it was kind of like having gingerale when you are sick...just tastes different. So I am eating chicken noodle soup. I am so sick, this is all Carter's sickness. He gave it to me through twitter.

"But life is among [us] is more than attending [church] and visiting the sick...No one is too discredited or has sunk too low to be welcomed...Social distinctions, petty rivalries and jealousies--these are laughed out of countenance.  Being wrecked in the same vessel, being restored and united under one God, with hearts and minds attuned to the welfare of others, the things which matter so much to some people no longer signify much to them.  How could they?"  

Stacy: this keeps coming up for me!  Just like our conversation: we are not to be of this world, but to be separate from the world.  

I have hung out with a girlfriend today who just three short years ago would have nothing to do with me.  It has taken a long, treacherous path for us to be friends.  Somehow it just worked better that way.  Sometimes being in the Spirit means just that: treacherous.  Today, I know that I don't live in this world.  I participate in it.  I do what is asked of me, but only so that it may serve God.  Things like who is and who is not my friend, whether what I am wearing is name brand, or how much better (or worse) I can be than you, means nothing.  

I went to see a friend today.  She is dieing.  She has lung cancer and sirosis of the liver.  When she found out they gave her a week to live.  Thankfully, God is bigger than doctors.  She actually drove herself to my birthday party.  What a birthday present!  She out-did anything that anyone gave me.  She gave of herself.  Today, they brought in hospice.  She is much closer now than she was before now.  I went to see her because that is what I can give of myself back to her.  She was pretty out of it.  One of the things she asked for was her pastor, who has been reading scripture to her.  It is about the Spirit, not the body.  She showed that to me today.  

I mess up a lot.  I am without a doubt not perfect.  I am beginning to recognize, that is part of being in the will of God.  In order for me to participate in this walk with Him, I have to be different from Him.  It is what makes Him divine and me, human with desires of closeness to Divinity.  But just because I am different from Him, does not mean that I have to be opposite of Him.  I have a likeness of Him.  I don't know why I wanted to be opposite of Him for so long.  I am so grateful to recognize my Likeness.  It is kind of like being okay with the fact that I am going to grow up and be like my parents.  Turns out they are not so bad after all.  No one could have told me that.  I just had to experience it, just like I had to experience the grace of God to be okay with that too.  

Atonement is so fulfilling.  

The term is SOCCER mom not hockey mom.  

"true ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God"

living usefully....walking humbly...kneel before the breath of God...

I pray every morning and every night.  I read a meditation with my bowl of cheerios.  I go to church on Sundays.  I wear my DOK cross to let other people know that Christ is my Lord and Savior and this is how Christians act.  But to know if I am living usefully?  walking humbly?  grace?  How do I know about grace?  

What I do have, is a desire to live that way.  Last year I wrote a piece for extra credit that said that I want to be an accountant as a direct result of my walk with God.  I really believe that I can be of use to God counting beans!  Who would ever think such a bland profession would allow me to be of service.  But now that I think about it, Matthew was a tax collector.  

That makes me think about the word disciple which is so close to discipline.  Shoo...discipline means so much: it means a study, means a correction of behavior, punishment (ooo, yeah, don't like that one), obedience (yep, not so fond of that either, instant rebellion at the spelling of the word).  

Usefulness through discipline, now that's something I can do.  I can pray everyday.  I can study my bible.  I can help others.  I can go to school and make good grades.  I can love my husband.  I can honor and cherish him until death do us part.  I can be a good sister.  I can be a good daughter.  I can be a good granddaughter.  I can be a good friend.  

I have run across a lot of people lately who I'd like to emulate in their faith.  I hope others can see in me what I see in these people.  They stand out to me.  They are not anyone person and their friends.  They are random Christians who have shown up lately, like my old friend from Smoke Rise, my cousins, a constant blogger buddy and former big sister from Agnes Scott, a random stranger at school who let me eat lunch at her table in the lobby and one of my wonder women who I graduated with, who I'd never peg, totally fulfilled in her walk with Christ.  The way they show themselves shows their humility, their usefullness, their joy.  

I have been given the Grace of God.  There is no question about that.  I honestly believe I got more than one dose of it.  I just hope that I can be of service with this gift.  

Yo tengo ganas.  (that's for kelley)

I have the desire.    

I was assaulted on Marta last night on the way home from the Braves game.  That's all I can think about since it happened.  I had a great time tagging up with my brother and having dinner at my favorite restaurant.  I got to watch my Mom's choir sing at Turner Stadium, what a privilege.  I got to go to a Braves game with my Dad and not have a single argument or even a cross word.  I got to see the Braves win a game.  I am pretty sure I have never seen the Braves win a game.  I got home in no time as a result of public transit and a jump up 400 with no one on it.  I used my brights on 400 because there was no one on it.  Yet, my strongest memory is a notion of violence that occurred when the game was over and getting onto Marta.  

There were lots of people trying to get home from the game.  We were squished into a bus like sardines.  It was not a long ride though, and the people were nice enough.  Then as we entered the train station, the security guards put pressure for everyone to get on the train.  Unfortunately, there were people that needed to get off the train first.  The doors open and close so quickly, if you are not paying attention you can miss your stop.  The crowd rushed the Marta train car.  Those inside came out with attitude and violence.  They pushed and hurt those crowding the door.  It was more than one man who slammed into several women.  The look on their face was of uncontrolled wrath.  I felt really bad for those women who were knocked around.  

As I got onto the train, the violent act rippled. 

One of the women who had gotten hurt was yelling at the top of her lungs, "I am so sorry that I am white and trying to use Marta.  The very idea that a white American would use Marta is too much.  I am so sorry, I am white."  

She was sitting with a young man who was totally embarrassed by her behavior.  She was throwing in the f-word every other word in the sentence.  There were so many people in the train car, including a three year old across the  aisle from her which she couldn't see due to people standing in her line of site and a young black man sitting in spitting distance of her just not saying a word.  This woman was obese, had pink and black hair, piercings and tattoos.  She wore her anger toward the world like an insulation blanket.  And was screaming over and over, "I know you want me to f-ing shut up, but I am just f-ing apologizing for being f-ing white, okay? I f-ing apologize." 

At one point she was shaking (white) people's hands apologizing to the ones she could reach.  

She was assaulting my ears.  The violence rippled.  

I became thoroughly aggravated by this woman.  At one point made a rude comment to my brother who just looked at me.  So now the actions of one violent person (shoving) led to another action (violent language, loudly) to me passing it to my brother (rude comment).  Violence, begats violence, begats more violence.  

On my way home, I thought of something that might have stopped that woman in her tracks.  Although, I don't know that I could say it with enough sincerity at the time, for her not to throttle me for misinterpretation of sarcasm.  If I could say it with all due sincerity and humility, I would say: 

There is enough love in this area of the train car for me to tell you, that we are sorry you feel hurt by the men who violated you.  We know what it is like to be hurt.  We know what it is like to experience violence and racism.  It is a powerful abuse to another human being.  We are here today to let you know that we hear your pain, we acknowledge you pain and that we are going to love you back to a place of a healed wound.  We will love you until you can love yourself.  Believe me when I say, you never have to apologize for who you are.  You are a beautiful, I know you won't believe it, but you are a beautiful child of God and are worthy of His love.  Those of us standing around you see, feel, hear your hurt and are going to extend our love to you.  

God, please cradle this woman in your arms that she may find your love and can find it within herself to love herself.  

The ripples of violence stop with me.  The ripples of violence stop through love. 

Have you told someone you love them today?

There is something strange about watching someone else grow. I know many of my friends have the opportunity to watch their children try new things and "oh how cute" stuph that happens. It is different when it happens to an adult. It is not "oh so cute." Mostly, it is really messy and a bit frightening because of the expectations surrounding being an adult. Folks expect someone who is an adult to act like an adult, as though there is an instruction manual on how to handle all situation life throws at you. Children can throw their peas on the floor and get away with it. I wish I could throw peas on the floor and get away with it. I bet even Mikey won't eat peas.

I am very careful to say, "when I grow up," for people to understand that I should never, under any circumstances be taken seriously. I have a friend who keeps a teddy bear on his desk at work so people will know, it is a sign: immature person at this desk, please handle with care. I might do that when I get a work desk. I have teddys on my bed just to remind my husband, and, at times, me.

I have been watching my husband over the past several days. He applied to an on-line college and within 10 days, is writing his first college essay. It has to be 1000 words and use the methods of composition which he is being taught. Can you say he is FREAKING OUT?! So messy. He gets this look in his eyes and walks from the computer to the kitchen and back again. Then he does it again. If the phone rings, he almost comes unglued. The very idea of answering trips his train of thought. So when my husband turned into the exorcist last night, I was so glad he was married to me and not somebody with rejection issues. He is so growin. It is so cool.

Going to college for me is like brushing my teeth: do it or suffer.

When I first went to college it was because Mom and Dad said go to college. It took everything they had to make me fill out the applications and then the decision: oh the decision....ASC or UGA? Ack. So glad I got that one right. When I went to college, I wasn't really interested in anything. I majored in booze, boys and bars...and GT football. Other than that, I studied because it was something to do once in a while. My Dad cried at my graduation. I don't know if it was out of pride or out of surprise. I didn't know what folks were making a fuss about. I mean, come on, I have been going to school since I was five! Like I couldn't do it? Of course I could, can't you? (*I am so arrogant sometimes*)

When I went back to college for the second degree, outside of being certifiable, I fit like one of those perfect hands and gloves. Grades are easier when there is no booze, boys or bars. Also, I have a, a ganas that wasn't there last time, that helps.

My husband, on the other hand, has never really been given a fair shake. He was raised in a house where they sent him to his room to study and he couldn't read. He has dyslexia. No one knew. Then out of no where, his Mom sent him to a graduate study on kids who don't quite get it in school. They taught him how to read, speed read, read upside down and backwards. Can you say way cool? By the time he got out of high school, he found uncle sam. There was some one in his head saying you can't, so he didn't and into the military he went, then marriage, kids and never any college.

Now he is 50. FIFTY! and going to college. Can you say, God works miracles?

For him it is not like those hands and gloves, for him it is like a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He can't figure out what he wants to see or smell or touch or eat first. I don't know what God whispered in the ear of my husband that changed that voice of "you can't" to "go for it." No matter, he is in the thick of it now.

I sit back and watch this funny man I love fall into the world of the academe, all that comes to mind is: ain't life grand?

After being away at my family's house for the holiday weekend, I found that coming home meant something different.

I used to think that coming home meant ending up in my parents house after swim practice/violin lessons with my brother in his room or watching tv and I in mine or under Mama's feet. We were perhaps working on homework or playing with a toy; preparing dinner or practicing an instrument. Dad might not be home yet, or it might be his day off and he is coming in with the groceries ready to have help to put them away. Around four thirty or five o'clock maybe as late as six, the pink radio box on top of the dryer in the kitchen would sound off to NPR's All Things Considered: da, da, da, da, da, da, da-de-da.

Today home means something different. It means moths around the lamps. It means happy dogs grateful you are home because the old dog died and they don't know what to think. It means having my husband there to greet me. It means a quilt on the bed and no air conditioning. It means fresh tomatoes off a neighbor's farm and flowers to the friends down the street whose daughter finally passed from cancer. It means washing dishes by hand, listening to the katydids sing. It means remembering to turn the lights off to keep the power down and the heat away in the summer. It means wondering why yet another calf is pinned in the barn hollerin for its mama and giving a new chair to the farmer who watches his cows under the big tree that shades the back of the house and then some, while the trough fills with water. It's about no noise. It's about peace and quiet. It's about rising and falling with the sun. It's about listening to the chimes on the grandmother clock. It's about planning a trip to town. It's about friends who are family. It's about lovin and losin and livin and lovin some more.

My home today is about life on a farm.

I ran the the 5k. Never done it before. Yeah...it is three miles. I finished in under 45 minutes. This is to say, less than 15 minute miles. I actually ran the first mile at 12:25, second mile at 26:54 (this is a personal best for my two miles) and finished at 43:05. Woohoo! I finished!

I have been trying to learn how to cook. All this time John and I have been married, I would make a dinner here or there, but usually it was the same dinner as last time or not very different from the last time. My dinners consist of chicken and noodles with sauce. There is always a salad and a fruit dessert, but the entree is always the same. Through trudging communication with my new husband, I have Finally heard that he likes to have dinner at home, especially now that he works at a camp where dinner consists of hotdogs or peanutbutter sandwiches. Now here is the problem: you can only eat chicken, noodles and sauce so many times in a row.

My first dinner for him was chicken alfredo. Pretty good change from the red sauce to a white sauce. Different flavor. Then I went for chicken, plain noodles and cheese. Yeah, now I am bored with the chicken. So I reach into the bowels of the freezer to find a roast. I pulled out my crockpot that Aunt Melody gave me a hundred years ago that only ever gets used for Christmas wassail and put stuph in with the pot roast. Yeah, we ended up having left overs that night. The potroast as it turns out was...old. It was two years old. Please, do not try this at home. Luckily, I have a kind mother who sent me a recipe to follow for the next time around that will allow me the ability to have a tasty meat treat for my hubby sweet. Thanks Mom.

I am determined to find things that are different on a regular basis so as to add to the health and well being of our meals and our relationship. On Sunday, I made homemade applesauce. While this is not a meal in itsself unless you are 90, it wore out all my cooking muscles for dinner. So there was no exercising the dinner prospects. In the process of cooking the fresh apples from the Orchard, yes, I live in the country and there really is an apple orchard, I had to go to get two sweet apples because the Orchard apples are mostly cooking apples with not a whole lot of taste which meant another trip to the grocer. Whilst there, I was able to conjure up more ingrediants for tonight's experiment: lasagna. I haven't made this since I was drunk, however, I have a really good recipe and I am good at following directions as long as you have my attention.

We shall see how it works. I am throwing this out to the culinary artists in my life: please send me (via email) recipes of something other than chicken to feed my husband dinner. For example, what are beef tips for? How do you make a moroccan dish? How do you cook bbq ribs without a grill?

I have a 1958 cook book from BetterHomes, but as it turns out, the food in that book is REALLY from 1958. Nothankyou, but the book is cool to look at. What is your favorite dish and how do you make it in a regular everyday kitchen?

CYBER CULINARY PEOPLE: help . . .






ps the applesauce that i made is AWESome.

I have always had a hard time maintaining relationships. I am great at making new friends or staying friends with someone because they go to school with me, work with me, church with me or live with me. I am horrible at the afterwards. For example, when I graduated highschool, people just disappeared out of my life. I have heard that people came back from college and on the holidays got together with old friends, but I never did that. I never had that. College, same thing. I graduated, they were gone: poof, like smoke.

The same thing was true for my relationship with God too. When I was no longer "required" to go to church, I didn't go. And just like that: poof, like smoke, God was gone from my life.

I found God again. It took getting honest, finding courage, having integrity and discipline, all and all I perservered and have an awareness of God that gives me the ability of service to God and to my fellows. It has been a long road of growth for me, but as a result, I have a relationship with God.

That Relationship has given me the ability to have relationships with my parents, my brother, my friends that stuck around long enough for me to stray and return and a few new folks along the way.

The reason I mention all of this is that I started back to school this week. Instead of the newness that comes with the freshman feel, I had a sophomore experience. I knew people already and don't have to go through the rigamarole of social dysfunction. I am hoping that, because I have a relationship with God, that maybe I can keep some of these college friends this time around...God willing!

I am having a hard time keeping my spirits up about weight. I don't know why I poop out after trying something for just a little while, but I do. I decided it is because I have a good forgetter. This means that I forget how well I have done before and give up too easily. My head says, "this is really hard and I am no good at it," and poof, I quit. And poof, low self esteem! Amazing how well a forgetter works! I just up an forget the effort already invested.

What's worse is that as I quit things, the quitting compounds as does the low self esteem. It gets to a point where I finally never get started on something--and Oh Well! I am on a track to no self esteem or negative self esteem. In awareness of the repetitive downward spiral, self-destructive behavior, I finally came up with a solution.

I believe in spiritual tools. One of my spiritual tools is taking inventory. This means finding out what I do and don't have; finding out what does and doesn't work. One example is that I used to have a vicious tongue that could cut open a tin can it was so sharp. Today, while I never miss an opportunity to keep my mouth shut, I recognize that I have the ability to prophesy, that is to say the right thing at the right time with an uncanny truthfulness about the statement that perhaps the person in conversation with me was unaware of the truth. Through taking self inventory, I found out using my mouth to hurt people doesn't work. Telling the truth without hurting people does work. The inventory tells me what defect of character that needs to be thrown out. I ask God for help with the defect: many, many times, he turns it into an asset. It took years, btw, to turn that one around. God's time, not Rae's time.

Today's defect: I am trying to turn this physically unfitness around with God's help, which likewise will take years just like everything else. My part is to keep a daily inventory so I can see progress or slackness, honestly. One of the other things I struggle with along with physical unfitness is housecleaning. There is no doubt in my mind that they are indelibly linked somehow, so I am using the same tool for that one too: inventory. Normally, I use a diary or journal or something on the computer, but this time those weren't working. The funny thing about my inventory this time as opposed to other times is that I keep it (thank you Mom) as though I am a little girl.

One of the things that I remember from being a kid is a chart on the refrigerator with stars. If we did every chore or a certain amount of chores, we received $1 allowance in that week. Carter had his list and I mine. My chores were loading/unloading the dishwasher, setting the table, cleaning my bathroom, emptying trash around the house and picking up pine cones so Dad could mow the grass (eventually I mowed the grass, and then Carter and I went back to pick up). It seems like Carter and I traded off on feeding Fluffy the ridiculously finicky dog. Taking note from my Mom, I realized it would be an excellent inventory tool for me today, so that is what I have done.

I made a chart with all my chores including practicing piano and running. I use smiley faces as I could not find stars (weird). The smiley faces are good, they make me smile. I am able to see two things with this tool: 1) that I have actually done a task x-amount of times and 2) when it is time to do it the next week if it is a weekly thing (i.e. dusting, cleaning the bathroom, etc). It is reassuring. I ran three times last week. I have run once this week and have done weights once this week. Success!

The most important thing this inventory brings me is the eraser for the forgetter. No more thinking this is hard and I can't when I have proof that I can and did. To boot, there is a smiley face cheering me on from the front of my refrigerator. God-bye forgettor, hello smiley face!

Quick status update (for Sarah and others). Last week I ran two miles for three days out of seven. My high time was 28:45 and my low time was 25:36. I wasn't able to get through the full two mile without stopping. I felt pretty inadequate about it because I have never not been able to do something. Even when I up and started running cross country for school, I could run the full two miles right off the bat. So I went to one of my favorite cross country runners, Grace. She is Sherry's 14 year old daughter who is an athlete of monumental proportions. She said that it took her about a week before she could run the full two miles. This was even after being at soccer and basketball camps during the summer and some outside basketball conditioning. She is tall and thin and has about five percent body fat, maybe six during the summer. She says don't worry about walking. She did say that try to run even if the run is slower than it would be if you walked. She said it conditions your body correctly. Okay, I say.

So today, I ran again. I ran the first mile at 12:38 with no walking and ran until about the half mile mark on the second mile. That is where the "wiltshire" hill starts straight up for about a quarter of a mile. It is very painful--literally. I got a stitch in my side that almost made me stop, but Grace told me how to work that out too so I kept going. I had a slow time today, but I ran further than I've ever run so far. I figure if it takes a gal who is in shape a week to run a full two miles, it will probably take me a month. That is my goal. In a month, two miles, no stopping.

I haven't been to a general practicioner since I was in college the first time. This means no physical, and in my mind, nothing wrong with me. I went in to the regular doctor to get a referral to an allergist as my allergies have become overwhelming. Thanks to the wiles of insurance, that is the necessary order to get to the allergist. I wish I could have just gone to the allergist, but whatever. When I went to the regular doctor, she insisted that I have a physical. This included being weighed, measured and worst, stuck (ow) for blood to be "tested."

Now, I am four doctor visits later and went from taking one pill prior to going in, to five pills and a nasal spray steroid. Turns out that I have severe allergies to dust, dust mites and hickory and pecan tree pollens. The severity is in the dust mites. So I get to take two pills and a spray for that. My regular doctor found out I had acid reflux (thanks to Dad's side of the family) and high cholesterol (thanks to Mom's side of the family). So now I have two more pills. One once a day, one twice a day. Yes, I have two wierd dysfunctions that normally don't happen until people are members of AARP.

The diagnosis that trips me out the most is the high cholesterol. Turns out that a high LDL count can lead to arteriosclerosis, which my grandaddy had, aka hardening of the arteries. So now I am eating a double portion of oatmeal in the morning (on a daily basis to lower cholesterol), cheerios for lunch, snacks and dinner (takes three portions of cheerios, instead of two like oatmeal), fruits and vegetables and other sterol induced products and taking a one a day vitamin that has Niacin (B3) and rigorous exercise which includes weights 2-3 times a week, to get back to normal. Ideally, I would love to be tested again and startle my regular doctor by having normal levels of LDL. Yeah, I don't actually expect that to happen, but I am going to give it everything I've got. I don't know that it will work, but I am going to try.

Now here's the craziest part of all: every pill I take is a different shape. I have a trapezoid, a circle, a square, an oval, and a rectangle. Then there is the vitamin, but I don't know what shape it is. Super huge, is that a shape? I can take all five of the pills together in one swish of water, but I have to take a whole cup of water to get the one a day vitamin down. Stupid. I am never going to the doctor again.

Okay, maybe I am just not going to the doctor until my next appointment.

I made the best damn omlet of my life.

When I was drunk, I used to say that I made the best omlets. But when I got sober, not so much. Guess I had to be drunk to add to the flavor. Now, I am not a happy go lucky heart healthy food kinda gal. I didn't eat steak until I was 16. I didn't eat red sauce on my spaghetti until...I was in college? I didn't eat green leafy veggies (ie broccoli and dark lettuces) until last year. I am just, well, I am just persnickity. My idea of a good meal consists of a Caramel Macchiato, M&M's, McD's french fries and a prime rib from Outback with tigerdill. I would eat myself crazy on that meal. Unfortunately, that meal makes me fat. As it turns out when you get older, you lose muscle mass as a result of less activity, creating a lower metabolism, leading to fat and so the cycle of an old fat person begins. It starts at 30 btw. It's hard to say which came first, the low metabolism or the lessening activity. Either is possible.

Now that I am 32 and fat, I have decided to act on my inevitability of less muscle tone. I began on December 26 of last year trying to eat no sugar and no white flour. Mind you, I also have no alcohol, no cigarettes, no meddling in others affairs already so to add no sugar and no white flour was no easy task. But I did it. It was stupid. I lost fifteen pounds and every time my horomones kick in, I gain five. All this tells me is that in six months of no sugar and no white flour, I lost ten pounds. Stupid. Don't worry. I limited my caloric intake too. That is how I lost the extra ten and gain five every hormornal cycle. Stupid.

So I have given up on the no sugar diet and made a batch of brownies for some of John's very happy campers and LICKED THE BOWL. It was the best batch of brownies I've ever had. After my splurge, I realized that was not the healthiest approach to continue to loose weight. So I ran. I ran almost two mile. It took me about 25 minutes which means that I was running about a 15 minute mile. It was my compensation for the brownies. I have also added reading a book to my healthy stuph. So as of Monday, I read a part of the book and ran two miles. Then on Tuesday, I did it again. Although I realized that a 15 min mile is a little on the slow side (my Dad is laughing at me right now wondering if I was walking and yes admittly there were periods of a fast pace walk), I timed my first mile to see what I was really running. My first mile was 12 1/2 mins. The second was more. I made it a full two miles on Tuesday and was able to get back before 30 minutes. I will try again today.

Today is my third day on the book and the run plan and as a way to continue to add stuph to the plan, I thought I should try to eat as healthy as I could. I thought an omlet would be nice, but I don't make good omlets. I made one anyway. I figured worse comes to worse, I would give it to Mikey. Mikey likes anything. I made a perfect omlet. I don't know how that happened. Maybe it was the cast iron skillet or the real butter that I used to season the bottom of it, or the milk that I added to the eggs, or the eggs themselves being farm eggs. I don't know, but it encourages me to eat more healthy stuph. So now, the omlet is a part of the healthy plan this week: read the book, run, eat the best damn omlet ever.

I have had a lot of allergies in my life. When I was little: whole milk. I would drink whole milk and break out. Mom thought it might have been the froot loops: boy was I glad it was the milk. I mean really can you imagine being a kid without froot loops? Anyway, then when we moved to GA, I was being babysat by the McKinnises and they had a very large hill to roll down. My brother and I rolled down that hill a lot for one day. I came home with a rash. Carter, not so much. So now we know I am allergic to whole milk and grass. That was about it...

Carter on the other hand, would come home from school with migranes as a result of allergies. Ever seen a cute little boy with a migrane? vomitting on the bus? It is pretty sad. All because of allergies. Dad has allergies too. AND I can remember going with my Grandmother when I was little to the doctor because she had to have shots, her allergies were so bad.

Outside of the milk *which I grew out of* and the grass *which I never rolled down a hill again so..* I really have never faced any true full blown omg allergies. Then I became an adult.

Turns out that I am allergic to alcohol and cigarette smoke. Which for those of you who are new, I had a serious bout of intoxication for about six years and smoked for...nine almost ten years *two packs a day, preferably* Turns out my system can't really take either of them. Now that there is no alcohol or cigarettes, I found this nice man who graciously married me and we live on this farm. Now, I don't know what I am allergic to, but these are the possibilities:

hay, dogs, cows, grass, mold, mildew, random bush outside of window, magnolias, my husband, down pillows, old mattress, down comfortor, ants, bees, wasps, spiders, tide, smell good spray i got for bday...I could go on, but these are the ones that are so present they make me sneeze.

I have been taking good over the counter drugs. But like all otc drugs, I have built a tolerance to them. I went to the doc last week, she gave me samples of not so otc drugs until we found out what works. Yeah, not the samples. If I mix the samples with the otc things get better, but not either drug separately. Why am I blogging about my snottiness you wonder?

I am scheduled to see an allergist tomorrow. The allergist said no meds for three days prior to visit. In case you are wondering: my eyes are leaking, itching, burning; my head is splitting, my nose is sneezing. I WANT MY DRUGS.

Tomorrow we will know exactly what is ringing my bell. Until then, I whine.

So I was just lamenting to my friend Michelle, how everyone else I knew got to go to the beach this summer and I didn't. Waaaa....

Then, my husband was invited to the beach! So we are at the beach! Thank you God for listening to my whining!

Here are some shots so far:

This one is for proof that I am here. (My toenail polish matches my bathing suit!)

This beautiful creature flew in to say hello while we were on the beach yesterday.

Ah...The next Christmas card? Definite potential!