tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11021264986295293422024-03-13T21:52:10.270-05:00In Haught PursuitWendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.comBlogger918125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-45277859071910596442023-01-12T05:38:00.000-06:002023-01-12T05:38:38.156-06:00In Which I Discover a Treasure from Christian Culture<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxAWD75tmvGSt8bHvFGEJO4icRwOxfGZkKRh3rCOWAdFIFoRgX_Jsugz__ap_PmJ0ocGc9YnBo7TkSDsK2o1Rn2R7DLL_owLw-PGAjsULfX7Hi6wn5TTTKdNrpT2iY43zwrtJ3cnB5qujrOgKgdN3SJ4pYE4zFy0LHniMGi_cxmrBsXeUY-4-UmgL/s4032/B38B74F0-7083-44D7-A068-65A35220EFD0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxAWD75tmvGSt8bHvFGEJO4icRwOxfGZkKRh3rCOWAdFIFoRgX_Jsugz__ap_PmJ0ocGc9YnBo7TkSDsK2o1Rn2R7DLL_owLw-PGAjsULfX7Hi6wn5TTTKdNrpT2iY43zwrtJ3cnB5qujrOgKgdN3SJ4pYE4zFy0LHniMGi_cxmrBsXeUY-4-UmgL/w300-h400/B38B74F0-7083-44D7-A068-65A35220EFD0.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"> I am surprised I spotted them.</p><p style="text-align: center;">And even then I hesitated, leaning forward to peer into the yellowed plastic before gingerly plucking them from amongst all the other knick-knacks on the dimly-lit thrift store shelf.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Carefully, carefully I pried open the sides of the brittle package.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Oh, my goodness! No yellowing here! </p><p style="text-align: center;">The gorgeous dancing couple dressed in vibrantly-hued traditional European costumes delighted my eye and blessed my soul.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNsCEeQv8OeawHyVHbo43PhjjLzPBQLCOJg041G4Vdlm8a4r6MQ9zhpOeydP9FzkG1_WTIGKmbt_1-gv9q4MvMU9Up6FaY4nkeMBUsKy3yRFb6y2s1uwi3hoIkgC9TiWu90jgXKb2JwdGLFw9uVwmhfxoXkzK3RH3MS7eb8dQKuB3wLvTCydCyONX/s4032/C200A2AD-4E6E-4EFE-B9AF-39C702BF6681.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNsCEeQv8OeawHyVHbo43PhjjLzPBQLCOJg041G4Vdlm8a4r6MQ9zhpOeydP9FzkG1_WTIGKmbt_1-gv9q4MvMU9Up6FaY4nkeMBUsKy3yRFb6y2s1uwi3hoIkgC9TiWu90jgXKb2JwdGLFw9uVwmhfxoXkzK3RH3MS7eb8dQKuB3wLvTCydCyONX/w480-h640/C200A2AD-4E6E-4EFE-B9AF-39C702BF6681.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;">I marveled at the details. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Her flower wreath and long blond braid. His cap with the multi-colored tassels on one side. The netting overlay on her skirt and the jaunty belt cinching his long vest.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I looked for the price tag: $10</p><p style="text-align: center;">Confident that I had already received $10 worth of value from the charming pair, I purchased it and hurried home.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I looked forward to removing them from the ugly packaging and examining them closer. It was only when I tried to free them that I realized the dancers' feet were permanently attached to the base. I turned it upside down and for the first time noticed that it had a label.</p><p style="text-align: center;">And it was in Polish.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRN5OP8CAzu5DI6b-l8dWMOdB6tBwTsFOJVrL7_4iyGgSWZvBj9y0UBhJmGD4l_Izybc-S9gOBdardI52d4OuPt37sMWQcnPQDIjH-yoLldf9IFBby8FB7pD7AA3QUByiJmp0BMJj4gg7vg8knKye8-mMTni0MlI99WclhFVjmzA3ZQwufCyy7NU5/s4032/FF9BACFD-C20F-4DE5-968E-A81F1CCCBA4A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRN5OP8CAzu5DI6b-l8dWMOdB6tBwTsFOJVrL7_4iyGgSWZvBj9y0UBhJmGD4l_Izybc-S9gOBdardI52d4OuPt37sMWQcnPQDIjH-yoLldf9IFBby8FB7pD7AA3QUByiJmp0BMJj4gg7vg8knKye8-mMTni0MlI99WclhFVjmzA3ZQwufCyy7NU5/w300-h400/FF9BACFD-C20F-4DE5-968E-A81F1CCCBA4A.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;">I had no idea what it said. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Nevertheless, a thrill of joy leapt through me as I thought how perfectly the couple would look displayed in my hutch with all my Polish pottery. I hurried over and found them a spot, center stage, my daily reminder that life is beautiful.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fcWIIfl_dZvpnjtuUqdG46BU5pw0nzTcmERMUskYrEdK1pBUQY_xKF2YUbTW88sxv3SPEpAPdklA65CIiXhSIpnZgT69wDSUhwC9wTrjXBSZjLY7MuyMPnzuJfGx9vOE1x5ISJ3UkrF4kqciEsyKagJUjFGECA2ZLHAUuxLAvvhScCEDniYdpkEQ/s4032/FD40123F-92A7-4257-92D0-06B73F345B46.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fcWIIfl_dZvpnjtuUqdG46BU5pw0nzTcmERMUskYrEdK1pBUQY_xKF2YUbTW88sxv3SPEpAPdklA65CIiXhSIpnZgT69wDSUhwC9wTrjXBSZjLY7MuyMPnzuJfGx9vOE1x5ISJ3UkrF4kqciEsyKagJUjFGECA2ZLHAUuxLAvvhScCEDniYdpkEQ/w640-h480/FD40123F-92A7-4257-92D0-06B73F345B46.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBSlBkIGXQlnsPWRctIel2Sasph8zjp6Umr8BwNzC7RpwuAT5BZpiTu-38zA6R-7ffnsbE14U72ukUwlS5EM0TQvDiGJESkFIKq383mstkzlrjk3kjuW6RKIYWlcvDXPYUygnomoETw2FW6cdhOF5-r8_F18P2z8yEWh6Q171JsU2ZTf7sNsAm2Hx/s4032/25859221-320B-49D7-B987-B3B902B48C08.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBSlBkIGXQlnsPWRctIel2Sasph8zjp6Umr8BwNzC7RpwuAT5BZpiTu-38zA6R-7ffnsbE14U72ukUwlS5EM0TQvDiGJESkFIKq383mstkzlrjk3kjuW6RKIYWlcvDXPYUygnomoETw2FW6cdhOF5-r8_F18P2z8yEWh6Q171JsU2ZTf7sNsAm2Hx/s320/25859221-320B-49D7-B987-B3B902B48C08.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-846373158394351982023-01-05T11:28:00.001-06:002023-01-05T11:31:44.540-06:00Christmas Eve in the Weary World<p> Christmas Eve found me motoring from Kansas to Arkansas with our geriatric cat, Cotton, and our middle aged Lab, Esther. I had given Cotton a tranquilizer for the five-hour drive, so she protested meekly but regularly from the carrier in the cargo area of my Ford Flex. </p><p>I made frequent stops at convenience stores because I kept getting drowsy. Each time I had interactions with folks that kept me thinking of and praying for them for several miles after I departed.</p><p>At one, I wished a man with an unkempt gray beard and loose fitting clothes a Merry Christmas. </p><p>We were retrieving drinks from the refrigerated cases at the back of the store. "Merry Christmas," he replied smiling. "Are you going to the casino?"</p><p>I smiled and told him "No, no, I'm not".</p><p>We each still had a door to the cooler open as he proceeded to tell me that he had just gotten off work and that his wife and children had gone away for Christmas, leaving him alone. So he was on his way to the casino to spend the holiday. </p><p>"I'm so sorry," I said, caught off guard by his frankness and not really knowing how to respond.</p><p>Unperturbed, he described how the local casino is quite a bit nicer than the other one that he frequented. "You should try it," he said enthusiastically.</p><p>He said something else I didn't catch, and we both headed to the checkout counter, my thoughts whirling. Was he happy or sad that his family had left him alone for Christmas? I was waiting behind him when a young female clerk called me to her register.</p><p>I wished her a Merry Christmas, and she returned the greeting.</p><p>"I have to work, though," she explained. "I won't be able to see my kids till tomorrow."</p><p>"Oh, that's awful," I sympathized. "But luckily Christmas Day is just the first day of the Twelve Days of Christmas."</p><p>"Oh, that's good," she said. "I've never heard of that." </p><p>Suddenly a young male clerk jumped in beside the one I was talking to and asked loudly, "Are you talking about Kwanzaa?"</p><p>"No," I said, feeling like I needed to shake my head vigorously to process all the conversations I had participated in since I entered the store. "I was talking about the Twelve Days of Christmas".</p><p>"Huh? Never heard of it," he confessed.</p><p>He had heard of Kwanzaa but not the Twelve Days of Christmas. Letting that sink in, I smiled and returned to my car. "Maybe I should try one of Cotton's tranquilizers," I mused.</p><p>"Meow," Cotton complained softly.</p><p>At my next convenience store stop, I pulled open the ladies' bathroom door to be immediately greeted by a loud bark. I was so surprised that I gasped loudly. A woman's voice sang out from one of the stalls, "It's all right. It's just my dog Rosco. He won't hurt you."</p><p>As there were only two stalls, I reluctantly entered the vacant one, separated from the the voice and the bark by one shared metal partition. Would Rosco stick his snout under the wall? I drew in my feet.</p><p>"HELLO? IS THIS THE COUNTY JAIL?" the voice next door boomed. "I'm looking for my<span style="font-family: times;"> <span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures; font-variant-numeric: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.4px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">fiancé</span></span>. His name is..." The woman gave a man's name. After a short pause, she said, "Oh, ok. I'll call that one". Apparently her betrothed was locked up at a different location.</p><p>I exited as quickly as possible, seriously lamenting the loss of enclosed phone booths...and berating myself for not thanking God enough for all my many blessings.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-2651527738183297152022-09-12T08:59:00.001-05:002022-09-12T09:01:16.393-05:00Words to Live By?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="710" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcr7I3FAz-Hxjb_KxNP4_qJIcPUInKU81zRtvG46xT2s5EyPRd7rAV3euFcUTrIVNKCyiO6pn9wjYawsks5jOPTa0DF04HpKpzC42fhv7bhqt17DKLVBUqva_j9MPHuTnOp7wV2xJBK_CxDY3O1XW3fs8ElbLwO0jH9u0gupcxULIwyBY-gGDC1Em/s320/6724988F-4E45-44F0-B0E1-2AB907E2B623.jpeg" width="320" /></div><p><i>Edification</i>. This word chose me last year. Edification and I had a good run with her as my co-pilot while I navigated the rough roads of 2021 with both gloved hands on the wheel. </p><p></p><p>We had a conversation going 'most all the time. </p><p>I especially treasure the memory of one of our roadside picnics, complete with a flask of mint tea, elegant chicken salad sandwiches shaped by a tulip cookie cutter, and poetry recitation from <i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i> in the shade of a moss-laden oak.</p><p>Edification is still with me but has moved to the back seat where she reads and occasionally comments on the scenery. </p><p>Yesterday a new word came and claimed me for its companion: propriety. This word leapt out of the page at me as if it were bolded, italicized, and three-dimensional. This does not seem proper behavior for this word--a puzzlement to be sure. At any rate, the reality was that it was just plain type in Wendell Berry's essay, "People, Land, and Community". To quote:</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><i>A farm can be too big for a farmer to husband properly or pay proper attention to. Distraction is inimical to correct discipline, and enough time is beyond the reach of anyone who has too much to do. But we must go farther and see that propriety of scale is invariably associated with propriety of another kind: an understanding of and acceptance of the human place in the order of Creation--a proper humility.</i></blockquote><p>Berry is using propriety to mean "the quality or state of being proper or fitting," which is a definition I am eager to explore because it implies a timelessness that we do not get from the understanding of propriety as "the standard of what is socially acceptable in conduct".</p><p>Clearly, what is socially acceptable in conduct can and does change dramatically.</p><p>"Sad, but so true!" remarks Edification from the back seat, reaching for her dainty but well-worn copy of <i>Famous Shakespeare Quotes.</i></p><p> This leads me to thinking about limits and right back to the quote above. I don't see how to understand "the quality or state of being proper or fitting" without taking into account the concept of limits.</p><p>If I am reading Berry correctly, a proper humility is what helps us recognize the limits.</p><p>"Gosh," I sigh to myself, involuntarily squeezing the steering wheel. "Much food for thought in this word." </p><p>"Indubitably," chirps Propriety from the passenger seat.</p><p>By the way, in my dictionary, <i>Webster's Third New International Dictionary</i>, copyright 1981, the first three definitions are obsolete usages; the fourth one is the one I want to study; the fifth is the "standard of what is socially acceptable in conduct" one.</p><p></p><p></p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-23270818925347159992022-09-05T10:13:00.002-05:002022-09-05T10:14:38.895-05:00Finding Free Market Medical Care<p> Ever since I had to do my own research to get help for my daughter's Hashimoto's (autoimmune thyroid disease), I have been questioning what has happened to our medical care system in the USA. I found those answers, but I won't go into them here. My conclusion was that we need a new paradigm. </p><p>I have read about a few doctors who operate by a membership where you pay them annually to keep you well. There are also doctors who work on a cash per visit basis. I have even read about cash-only surgery centers that are extremely cost-effective and offer excellent results. These options save a lot of money because the costs that doctors incur to accept insurance is extremely high. They have to pay extra employees to do the coding and billing, and the insurance companies also dictate to the doctors about what treatments/tests are acceptable and how much they can charge for them.</p><p>The <a href="https://aapsonline.org/" target="_blank">Association of American Physicians and Surgeons</a> is a good resource for these alternative medical care options. Here is a link to its article <a href="https://aapsonline.org/direct-payment-cash-friendly-practices/" target="_blank">"Find a Direct Payment/Cash Friendly Practice"</a>. And here is a link to its article <a href="https://aapsonline.org/surgery-centers-with-cash-friendly-pricing/" target="_blank">"Surgery Centers with Cash Pricing".</a></p><p>I also recommend <a href="https://odysee.com/@DefyTyrants:a/building-christian-medical-structures:a" target="_blank">this video</a> of Dr. Gordon Donaldson's presentation on building Christian Medical Structures. He has run his own private medical practice for 31 years:</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-2732318426465345012022-09-01T21:08:00.002-05:002022-09-01T21:08:48.502-05:00Good for Your Soul: Jefferson Davis's Remarks on Robert E. Lee <p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5AR7WYY_UBNSz7GEHBLuPZBws0CP_HhKyPhaaXQerWZEv7BoWrK2dve4YWJHMhZ7fFLwY1wg1oNIcslhA33cdr_cGy43gfhJGZ2pTR8tP-gKmzmo3j4nd2d7p8JCY8-bT5rr-jlz4RcudoRiNfjBkL8ksx-tpgC977cF-A8kLDyczQL_YDe5Jtdr/s900/BA3BCED6-7999-4893-B47D-406B3B70ADC4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="900" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5AR7WYY_UBNSz7GEHBLuPZBws0CP_HhKyPhaaXQerWZEv7BoWrK2dve4YWJHMhZ7fFLwY1wg1oNIcslhA33cdr_cGy43gfhJGZ2pTR8tP-gKmzmo3j4nd2d7p8JCY8-bT5rr-jlz4RcudoRiNfjBkL8ksx-tpgC977cF-A8kLDyczQL_YDe5Jtdr/w400-h286/BA3BCED6-7999-4893-B47D-406B3B70ADC4.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p></blockquote><p><br />On a whim tonight I decided to check Abbeville Institute's site for something historical to read. I hadn't visited in months, maybe not since last year. I discovered just the right thing to suit me: a speech by Jefferson Davis honoring Robert E. Lee. I didn't read the whole thing. The first two paragraphs were enough. I had a deep need to read about a truly good man. I had been reading Twitter. Enough said? </p><p>This was a double scoop of edification, because Jefferson Davis's own goodness shone brilliantly in his remarks about his friend. Such gentlemen. Shall we have the likes of them again when the rule by the insane predator class is over? ( I started to just say "predator" but felt it was critical for accuracy to go back and add the modifier "insane".)</p><p> I didn't read the whole thing because I have <i>How to Resist Amazon and Why </i>by Danny Caine on the chair beside me. I want to get started on it. And on the other chair I have a gorgeous edition of Kenneth Grahame's <i>The Wind in the Willows, </i>which I started re-reading with supreme delight a couple of nights ago. </p><p>Anyway, here are the two paragraphs I read about the admirable Robert E. Lee:</p><blockquote><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "PT Serif"; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 1.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Robert E. Lee was my associate and friend in the military academy, and we were friends until the hour of his death. We were associates and friends when he was a soldier and I a congressman; and associates and friends when he led the armies of the Confederacy and I presided in its Cabinet. We passed through many sad scenes together, but I cannot remember that there was ever aught but perfect harmony between us. If ever there was difference of opinion it was dissipated by discussion, and harmony was the result. I repeat, <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">we never disagreed</em>, and I may add that I never in my life saw in him the slightest tendency to self-seeking. It was not his to make a record, it was not his to shift blame to other shoulders; but it was his with an eye fixed upon the welfare of his country, never faltering to follow the line of duty to the end. His was the heart that braved every difficulty; his was the mind that wrought victory out of defeat.</p><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "PT Serif"; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 1.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">He has been charged with “want of dash”. I wish to say that I never knew Lee to falter to attempt anything ever man could dare. An attempt has also been made to throw a cloud upon his character because he left the army of the United States to join in the struggle for the liberty of his State. Without trenching at all upon politics, I deem it my duty to say one word in reference to this charge. Virginian born, descended from a family illustrious in Virginia’s annals, given by Virginia to the service of the United States, he represented her in the Military Academy at West Point. He was not educated by the Federal Government, but by Virginia; for she paid her full share for the support of that institution, and was entitled to demand in return the services of her sons. Entering the army of the United States, he represented Virginia there also, and nobly. On many a hard-fought field Lee was conspicuous, battling for his native State as much as for the Union. He came from Mexico crowned with honors, covered by brevets, and recognized, young as he was, as one of the ablest of his country’s soldiers. And to prove that he was estimated then as such, let me tell you that when Lee was a captain of engineers stationed in Baltimore the Cuban Junta in New York selected him to be their leader in the struggle for the independence of their native country. They were anxious to secure his services, and offered him every temptation that ambition could desire. He thought the matter over, and, I remember, came to Washington to consult me as to what he should do, and when I began to discuss the complications which might arise from his acceptance of the trust he gently rebuked me, saying that this was not the line upon which he wished my advice, the simple question was “<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Whether it was right or not</em>”. He had been educated by the United States, and felt wrong to accept place in the army of a foreign power. Such was his extreme delicacy, such was the nice sense of honor of the gallant gentleman whose death we deplore. But when Virginia withdrew—the State to whom he owed his first and last allegiance-the same nice sense of honor led him to draw his sword and throw it in the scale for good or evil. Pardon me for this brief defence of my illustrious friend.</p></blockquote><p>Please do read the whole thing here if you have a mind to: <a href="https://www.abbevilleinstitute.org/jefferson-davis-on-robert-e-lee/" target="_blank">Jefferson Davis on Robert E. Lee</a> </p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-74028453158121296512022-08-31T13:35:00.002-05:002022-08-31T13:38:39.456-05:00My Lovely Conversation with a Stranger at the Dearing Drive-in<p>On my way back from getting my hair bobbed and crimped, I stopped at The Dearing Drive-in for a hamburger. I love that place! Their hamburgers are so tasty--the way I remember them when I was a kid in the 60s. It's in an old building that looks like it was originally built as a Tas-t-freez. </p><p>Nothing about its humble origins has been updated, which makes it all the more alluring to me.</p><p>A lone picnic table under the front awning offers the only available seating, and all orders are taken at the walk-up window by right friendly folks. An air of mystery pervades the transaction while the ancient sliding screen is in place. </p><p>But that may just be me seeing things through my Catholic lens.</p><p>After I placed my order I turned and saw that the gentleman who ordered before me had sat down on one end of the table, on the side closest to the road. </p><p>I considered sitting down on the other bench, so that I would be facing the building with my back to him to wait for my order.</p><p>Chastising myself, I decided to engage him in conversation instead. </p><p>I figured I couldn't complain about the disintegration of society if I didn't even make an attempt to talk with this fellow under such easy circumstances.</p><p>So I sat and greeted him, and soon we were chatting amicably while we waited for our orders. He explained to me all about the garbage company he drives a truck for. I had no idea there were so many types of dumpsters and garbage trucks. </p><p>When I admitted this to him, he surprised me by saying that he didn't know it either until recently. "I've only been working for this company for five months," he admitted smiling. "I lost my job, But some people get angry when I talk about it."</p><p>I grinned and assured him that I would not get angry.</p><p>His face lit up. "I was a pipeliner. My wife and I traveled all over the country in our 5th wheel. But Biden put an end to that," he explained matter-of-factly. </p><p>I detected no resentment in his voice or expression. In fact, he seemed almost jolly--happy to talk about driving the garbage truck, how busy he and the other drivers are, and how far afield they travel from their home base on their routes.</p><p>"Ah, I see." I told him smiling. "My husband works for the refinery here."</p><p>He returned my smile and mentioned one of the contractors at the refinery that is also one of the garbage company's customers.</p><p>"YES!" I thought. We can talk about hard things and not lose our composure. I wanted to hug him but restrained myself. (This new-found restraint is one of the gifts of my dotage.)</p><p>The clerk at the window hollered that the pork sandwich was ready, so my new friend retrieved it and sat down again. I commented that the sandwich didn't look big enough to maintain a man. He smiled and said that he usually didn't eat breakfast or lunch. "When I started doing that I lost 30 pounds," he exclaimed happily.</p><p>"Wow!" I thought to myself. "He's an intermittent faster, too. What a super cool fellow!"</p><p>The clerk announced that my double cheeseburger was ready, so I wished my new friend a good day and thanked him for the conversation, feeling enormously grateful for his company. </p><p>I hope I see him again. I want to ask him to tell me some stories from the time when he and his wife were traveling around the country towing their 5th wheel.</p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-27407142098363833462022-08-29T14:55:00.005-05:002022-08-29T21:06:31.874-05:00The Antidote to the Technocracy: Immersing Myself in Sumptuous Ladies' Magazines<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-2ZPYOknMh4hOxDqzbt6nC-_jBMj13j9rVBHw7vgQNJglu9iOwN7DTQvbrBxaP5jREzlRImApnKM4Rx_Iarcm8PlC43bsXZv0-ypNQWvZ_57ciqkiMCDubsDDGGeH-9AYsStnv6Ok2El50hHN3lzR1uas_VanBO_CUdnzfH6N5nu8OHOfHEKa_e0/s4031/F19F7F1C-8CBA-4637-8A50-02E30C5273CA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3023" data-original-width="4031" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-2ZPYOknMh4hOxDqzbt6nC-_jBMj13j9rVBHw7vgQNJglu9iOwN7DTQvbrBxaP5jREzlRImApnKM4Rx_Iarcm8PlC43bsXZv0-ypNQWvZ_57ciqkiMCDubsDDGGeH-9AYsStnv6Ok2El50hHN3lzR1uas_VanBO_CUdnzfH6N5nu8OHOfHEKa_e0/w400-h300/F19F7F1C-8CBA-4637-8A50-02E30C5273CA.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br />When the world is too much with me, I retreat into <i>Victoria</i> and <i>Southern Lady</i> magazines. They pile up in tucked away towers around the house for months at a time, unopened. Sometimes even six months fly by with nary a ruffling of the pages by yours truly. <p></p><p>But then, suddenly, I will feel so dried up and crispy from this worrisome world that I will grab a couple from the stacks and scurry off to the patio, like I did Saturday evening. </p><p>With birds flitting and chirping, chimes resonating, and the horn of a distant train lending a bass line, I melt into the loveliness of elegant words, elevating thoughts, and picturesque scenes. </p><p>I startle myself from my reverie by whispering gorgeous phrases, savoring each word-picture as it rolls off my tongue. </p><p>Oh! A feature story on demitasse spoons! Readers writing in about their lovely book clubs, peopled by ladies endowed with exquisite manners. An article on artful stationery. </p><p>I am charmed and feel the the nectar of life filling my cells, moistening my very marrow. </p><p>I am restored. </p><p>At least until I open my email again.</p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-33373807757213544542022-06-14T19:30:00.005-05:002022-06-15T06:12:06.480-05:00The Subtle Art of Not Saying F*ck<p>Friends, it's time to create our own uplifting expressions for when we are frustrated and inject them generously into the population. My hope is that a surplus of wholesome expressions will drive out nasty ones.</p><p>Because, y'all, I am sick unto death of being blasted with the F-word and then the perpetrators hiding behind the excuse that it is "adult language".</p><p>REALLY?</p><p>So adult means that you retreat to the lowest common denominator and call it good? I thought adult meant that you were conquering your weaknesses and accepting your responsibilities so that you are actually a role model for children. </p><p>Anyway, if the F-word is your go-to expression, it's high time to get over it. It's a lazy way to express yourself--like using "nice" and "very". "F*ck" and all its coarse iterations is overused, worn out, and scummy. Let's categorize it as word pollution and erect billboards demanding its defeat.</p><p>My grandparents used expressions like "Land o' Goshen!"; "Holy Hannah!", and "Lord help us and save us". They edified instead of dragging one down. </p><p>But that was a Christian culture.</p>Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-30311922359144292252020-05-30T10:13:00.002-05:002020-05-30T10:13:52.526-05:00Welcome to Haught Air<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oWNiDwvCOKU/XtJ1qhCXrHI/AAAAAAAAHYk/X_ijpyyxpf4gudJc1a-k1WrsHmlVeqCbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="830" height="468" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oWNiDwvCOKU/XtJ1qhCXrHI/AAAAAAAAHYk/X_ijpyyxpf4gudJc1a-k1WrsHmlVeqCbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/0.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And so the big day has finally arrived. Dear husband is in the air, getting the hours he needs with an instructor to get his new-to-us Beech Bonanza V-tail insured. The policy requires that he have ten hours flying in his plane with a certified flight instructor.<br />
<br />
Herb got his pilot's license back in the early 80s, but he hasn't flown in 20 years until this year when he renewed his license with an instructor in Bartlesville, OK. His parents and mine owned planes, so he used to fly a lot. He and my dad logged tons of hours together and had a blast doing some limited aerobatics. When Herb and I were at college in Auburn, Dad would take us to faraway places for breaks. I think a lot of the motivation was that he just loved having Herb as co-pilot, someone he could talk physics to who shared his passion for flying.<br />
<br />
But I digress. Herb got his license renewal completed last week in a rented Cessna 172. A recent furlough of Cessna test pilots in Independence, KS, about 20 minutes north of us, blessed him with a local pilot with experience "out the wazoo" to get him checked out in his Bonanza.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cesvMzCXPck/XtJ38hXU9KI/AAAAAAAAHY4/e-PSb7phEGUWJdzTnwIdM066GNzFbyxgQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/0-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="440" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cesvMzCXPck/XtJ38hXU9KI/AAAAAAAAHY4/e-PSb7phEGUWJdzTnwIdM066GNzFbyxgQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/0-4.jpeg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
It's been a long wait.<br />
<br />
Herb was building a kit plane, an RV-6, but he just never had the time to complete it. One of the big drivers for purchasing our last home in Texas was that it had a grass strip and a hangar. Sadly, the runway never got used. Last year we started looking for property with a building on it where Herb could finish the RV-6. We even had a contract on one that would have been perfect and solved some other storage problems we have now that we live in a subdivision instead of on rural acreage. But the seller decided that he did not want to remove the "junk", and so the deal fell through. At that point I told Herb that I would rather him buy a plane that is ready to fly rather than spend money on property and still have to invest so much time and money in getting the RV-6 completed. Herb jumped on that suggestion. I feel bad now. I think that is probably what he wanted to do all along, but I am always so careful about money that he didn't even consider that I would be open to it, much less encourage it.<br />
<br />
I can't remember exactly when the Bonanza purchase was made, but it was right when the Rona was descending on this country--middle of March, I guess. Its home was a small town in New York. By the time we had the inspection done, the country was shut down, and no one wanted to fly to New York to ferry the plane back for us. It was pretty awful. As the weeks dragged by, I began to wonder whether we would ever be able to get it. Herb was never worried, though. God bless him. I need his steady confidence so much.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago, one of the pilots that Herb had dealings with in New York let him know that a plane was being ferried into the airport where Herb's plane was, and that the ferry pilot would like to fly the Bonanza down to Coffeyville for us. O happy day! Herb made all the arrangements, and we met our plane for the first time at the Coffeyville airport. We stood on the tarmac, pretty much vibrating with anticipation, and watched it approach and land. It was so exciting! When the ferry pilot taxied toward us, tears sprang to my eyes--a combination of relief, happiness for Herb's dream coming true, and poignant memories of my dad and his beloved Bonanza.<br />
<br />
The ferry pilot was surprised to learn that Herb had never seen the plane in person, and so right away he offered to take Herb up in it, even though the ferry pilot had been flying most of the day. Herb accepted, and I was overcome with joy watching them take off. They invited me to go, but I just wanted Herb to have that experience. I guess they were gone for about 20 minutes. The sun was setting as they landed, the perfect ending for this historic day. Herb reported that everything about the plane was as advertised and that it flew like a dream. Since then, he has visited it three times, twice taxiing it around and imagining what it will be like to be able to take off as pilot-in-command.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-llHbPTK-nhc/XtJ3U8gE7FI/AAAAAAAAHYw/_0Ft6RxZN_M_vVIgjmtD-eWPw8I6XP1ygCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/0-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="440" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-llHbPTK-nhc/XtJ3U8gE7FI/AAAAAAAAHYw/_0Ft6RxZN_M_vVIgjmtD-eWPw8I6XP1ygCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/0-2.jpeg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Herb getting in for the first time.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm hoping that Herb gets at least two hours with the instructor today. We are eager to fly to Florida to visit Herb's parents. The test pilot has ten days completely open starting next week. So many possibilities flood my mind now. And gratitude, heaps and heaps of gratitude.<br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-24581005250314159342020-05-28T10:16:00.000-05:002020-05-28T10:16:03.608-05:00My Wild Week of WeadingSo here are the books I have been chewing on this past week:<i> The Power of Eight: Harnessing the Miraculous Energies of a Small Group to Heal Others, Your Life, and the World </i>by Lynne McTaggart; <i>Alienated America: Why Some Places Thrive While Others Collapse</i> by Timothy P. Carney; and <i>A Manual of Catholic Action</i> by Monsignor Luigi Ciardi, published in 1935. I also read a popular work of fiction by a <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author that ended up being an advertisement for divorcing your husband if he doesn't make you happy and thinking of yourself as a doormat if you live to serve your family. I happily tossed that one in the library book return yesterday.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<i>The Power of Eight</i> is divided into two parts. I read through Chapter 4 in Part 1. So far it is all about the experiments that were conducted trying to show results from a group of people concentrating/praying on one intention. I am not inclined to read the remaining 17 chapters to complete this part. I've got the idea, and what I am really looking for, the implementation, appears to be in the one chapter that comprises Part 2, "Creating Your Own Power of Eight Circle". I want to read it with a Catholic lens and see if I can reach a deeper understanding of prayer from looking at it from McTaggart's perspective.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Alienated America:</i> I got interested in this book after listening to a long interview with the author. I find the goal of restoring Christendom highly motivating, and so I am deeply interested in what makes communities thrive. Carney posits that those places that have strong community bonds through a shared culture believe they are living the American dream and therefore did not vote for Trump in the Republican primaries. His "Make America Great Again" mantra did not resonate with them. My take on that is that those communities have the basics of a medieval Christendom village via caring for each other through a shared religion, even if that religion is liberalism, as in the case of Chevy Chase, MD. The rest of the book looks at the communities that did vote for Trump and examines the actual circumstances of their daily lives that have brought them to see America as broken. It's not discussed, but I know that the American government worked to destroy the close-knit Catholic "ghettoes" in the 1960s. Also, Vatican II caused huge losses in Sunday Mass attendance. I'm still in the first chapter, but I did jump ahead and read some of Chapter 2, "Progress at a Price". Here is a tantalizing excerpt from that chapter. It's about the 1950s era and serves as background for exploring our current situation:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Good breadwinner jobs for white-collar and blue-collar men allowed 80 percent of wives with young children to stay at home. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
America was fairly equal, economically, and inequality was shrinking. The average household was within striking distance of the top 10 percent of households, with income about 33 percent lower (these days the shortfall is about 60 percent).</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
That relative equality extended beyond the economic and into the social realm.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Marriage was the norm. Nearly 90 percent of all adults were married by age thirty in the mid-1950s. This norm applied roughly equally to both white-collar adults and working-class adults. Almost all babies were born to married couples. Ninety percent of al first births occurred after the parents' marriage (about one in nine of those infants was conceived before the marriage).</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Wealthy Americans were a bit more likely to go to church than middle-class and poorer Americans, but that difference was shrinking. Religion was on the rise. "Ever since the nation's founding," religious historian Phillip Hammond would note, "a higher and higher proportion of Americans have affiliated with a church or synagogue--right through the 1950s."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Churches and synagogues were packed," sociologist Robert Putnam would write decades later, "as more Americans worshiped together than only a few decades earlier, perhaps more than ever in American history."</blockquote>
I can't wait till I get to Chapter 7, "It's about Church: America's Indispensable Institution".<br />
<br />
I've read the first two chapters of the <i>Catholic Action</i> book, "The Idea of Catholic Action" and "The Ends of Catholic Action". It's wonderful how clearly and logically the material is presented. I especially enjoy the papal quotes from letters and encyclicals like this one:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"It is clear that Catholic Action merits every favour and support, not only from bishops and priests, who know well that it is to us as the apple of our eye, but also from the heads and magistratures of any and of every State. And if it indeed shall rejoice in this common support, it will certainly issue into a magnificent abundance of fruit for Catholic peoples, and, by reawakening the religious sentiment in souls, will forward not a little civil prosperity as well" (Letter to Cardinal Bertram).</blockquote>
Pope Pius XI is simply stating that Catholic Action benefits the State as well, as it works to restore all things in Christ, which idea is really the unifying element of the three books I am reading this week.<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-49042369868918828612020-05-04T15:43:00.000-05:002020-05-04T15:43:42.131-05:00Bananafana-bo-bagelSo last week I decided to bake some banana scones and a loaf of sourdough Einkorn Walnut and Raisin Miche. At the same time. With my phone beside my work area. While answering texts and replying to Facebook comments about tasty recipes that would use up my excess supply of ripe bananas.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kHRGkHw1tY/XrB6MnnU55I/AAAAAAAAHXQ/TDmLWQkB9D4YNlChIAjq1EhfFODW20FkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_0781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kHRGkHw1tY/XrB6MnnU55I/AAAAAAAAHXQ/TDmLWQkB9D4YNlChIAjq1EhfFODW20FkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_0781.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Needless to say, I was distracted a tee-weency bit.<br />
<br />
But I didn't realize it till 4 hours into proofing the bread. It was not rising at all. I raised my head after peering down at the dense dough mound and looked directly at the covered bowl with the sourdough levain in it. "No way," I said to myself, but I knew it was true. Painfully, painfully true. I had never added it to the mix.<br />
<br />
A cold chill ripped through me as I tried to retrace the steps of the recipe. "Oh, no!" my poor brain shrieked. "I must have used my sourdough starter instead of the levain! And it was all I have!"<br />
<br />
Frantically, I started searching the internet for a solution to my crisis. Maybe I could convert the levain back to starter. I felt sick. As quickly as the fear had consumed me, my reasoning brain came back and whispered, "Why don't you check the refrigerator and see if your starter is there?"<br />
<br />
I felt like slapping my forehead in desperation. I took a deep breath.<br />
<br />
I dropped my internet query and quietly searched the Inner Sanctum of Chaos, otherwise known as the interior of my refrigerator.<br />
<br />
There it was. The starter. Just where I had put it the night before after I made the levain.<br />
<br />
If someone had offered me a measuring cupful of whiskey at that moment, I'm quite sure I would have tried my best to gasp it down, so keenly did I feel the need of a balancing shock to my system.<br />
<br />
Not surprisingly, no one appeared with the longed-for libation. And so I returned to the limp dough, plunged my hand in, snatched back a goodly clump, and glommed it into my mouth.<br />
<br />
It was delicious and deeply, awesomely comforting. Only a dough eater would understand. A faint hope rose in my grieving breast.<br />
<br />
I grabbed another clump and baked it for ten minutes on a cookie sheet. I removed it, drenched it in butter, and consumed it, steaming hot. <br />
<br />
It reminded me of a cinnamon raisin bagel. I snatched my doughnut baking pans from the cabinet and started rolling segments of dough into the desired size. I was able to get nine "bagels" out of the forlorn loaf. No one would guess that they weren't bagels unless they picked one up. I tossed one of those rings on the scale: "Holy bagel, Batman!" It weighed in at 6.5 ounces!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9CGrnntFRvk/XrB5qmBAaKI/AAAAAAAAHXI/eUaVhMS-F4Yp8iE9Ci_i8ZOwrickhp9jACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_0782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9CGrnntFRvk/XrB5qmBAaKI/AAAAAAAAHXI/eUaVhMS-F4Yp8iE9Ci_i8ZOwrickhp9jACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/IMG_0782.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Presently dear hubby came home and devoured one greedily, grunting, "good" as he chewed.<br />
<br />
"Huzzah for the Wholy Heavyweight Champion of the Whirl!" (Don't worry if that doesn't make sense to you. It's just me entertaining myself.) I hung up my oven mitts and exited the ring, triumphant but utterly exhausted.<br />
<br />
And after all that, I didn't like the banana scones.Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-21248345279312092302020-04-22T08:45:00.001-05:002020-04-22T08:45:23.386-05:00I'm Back and Blooming in KansasI'm always at a loss for what to say when I've been away from blogging for a while, but I'm determined to start. Please bear with me while I find my voice again! For any longtime followers who are still miraculously about, we sold our house in Texas in February of 2017 and moved to southeast Kansas. <br />
<br />
We bought a large house in a subdivision just north of town because it has a mother-in-law suite, and it is so close to the refinery where Herb works that it only takes him ten minutes to get to work. He doesn't even have to get on a highway! At the time we needed a place for my mom and dad, and this space worked perfectly so I could take care of them at home. In February of 2018 my dad passed away, followed in September of 2019 by my mom. I was blessed to be able to be at their bedsides at home as they passed. I saw a report yesterday that said 60% of elderly people die in the hospital, 20% at home, and 20% in the nursing home. I am so grateful they were in the 20% at home. But more than that, I am grateful that they both died as Catholics.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I am still trying to figure out my focus since the death of my mom. It's the first time in 28 years that I haven't had anyone to take care of besides dear Herb. Happily, I have a chapel within an hour's drive of my house, and this morning I am getting ready for a ladies rosary in the chapel followed by a potluck lunch and visiting in the hall.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I'm finishing this post while the iron heats in front of a window looking out on the backyard. It's getting ready to storm, but I like the way the green leaves sort of glow in the gloom. I moved the ironing board out here to the family room during Holy Week when I was blessed to have Sister Mary Catherine and Sister Josephine Marie of Congregation Mater Dei stay with us. We all three took turns at the iron. On Holy Saturday we were quite busy getting ready for the Easter Vigil. Sr. Mary Catherine worked on making covers for the baptismal water container and jar. Luckily I had an old twin bedskirt trimmed with Battenburg lace that she was able to utilize. And thank goodness my sewing machine was in good working order! Sister Josephine Marie ironed tablecloths for the statue tables on either side of the altar. And I had washed a priest's surplice and needed to iron it. It was such a joyful experience having these two nuns with me that now I am loath to take the ironing board back to the laundry room. It helps me remember their sweet presence here and their singing at the piano.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cx_Aa7paW9c/XqBIMvluMiI/AAAAAAAAHWQ/HfFSbf_uEZ8gLys15kkrcR-9YpWuKfDkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_0698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cx_Aa7paW9c/XqBIMvluMiI/AAAAAAAAHWQ/HfFSbf_uEZ8gLys15kkrcR-9YpWuKfDkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_0698.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here you can see a glimpse of Sr. Mary Catherine's handiwork for the blessing of the baptismal water.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I hope you have a lovely day and check back in as I get back into the habit of posting. I plan to create a brand new blog soon. I'll keep you informed.Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-62969918884771334172016-12-14T07:28:00.000-06:002016-12-14T07:39:35.417-06:00The Gluten-Intolerant Family Member and Holiday Food TraditionsOne of the hardest things about taking control of your own health is that it often requires that you eat much differently than the way most Americans eat. It can be extremely isolating, especially when it comes to family traditions, gluten intolerant family members, and celebrating the holidays. <br />
<br />
Sharing a meal together is one of the primary ways we celebrate community. So I have favored ditching old family favorite foods and replacing them with something that everyone can eat and enjoy.<br />
<br />
For example, my family, both nuclear and extended, always expected to have a Buttermilk Pound Cake at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Unfortunately, it requires white flour to make it. This ingredient has been stricken from our kitchen since we learned six years ago this month that Emma is allergic to it. A couple of months later we learned that she had to strictly avoid corn and rice as well.<br />
<br />
Now, the Lighter Than Air Chocolate Cake has replaced the Buttermilk Pound Cake as our go-to celebratory cake. Everyone loves it, and it is completely flourless.<br />
<br />
Just so you know, I have tried baking with white flour for other family members, but the stuff goes everywhere. You open the container and scoop, and a cloud rises up and dissipates on countertops and appliances. Trying to clean everything perfectly afterwards to prevent cross-contamination is time consuming and stressful. And you are expending more precious energy cooking twice. I finally decided it just was not worth it. Family members who want to eat white flour have endless opportunities to do so when they are not at home, whereas Emma can eat at very few places away from home with peace of mind.<br />
<br />
If there is one place where a person with food allergies should feel safe and supported, it is in their own kitchen. <br />
<br />
Believe me, the support is incredibly important, because many folks think that gluten-intolerant people are just selfish troublemakers who want attention. And they let you know it by their expressions. The nay-sayers fail to realize that gluten-intolerant people would like nothing more than to be able to eat the white flour with no concern for the consequences! Giving it up is hard, but being able to function normally on a day-to-day basis makes it worth it.<br />
<br />
I believe that a lot of people who are gluten-intolerant don't even know it. My neighbor down the road stopped in yesterday with his wife to tell me that he had found enormous relief for his interstitial cystitis since I recommended to him that he do a Whole 30 elimination diet. He had struggled with it for years under the care of urologists, had undergone surgery seeking relief, and had to take early retirement because of it. I gave him the original Whole 30 book and a companion recipe volume last month, and he told me yesterday, "I absolutely did not believe that this would work, but I was so desperate for pain relief that I started it the day you gave me the books." He took out his phone and showed me his log of taking serious prescription pain medications and how over the course of the 30 days it diminished to none. He also explained that his energy has returned. He is able to work on building his house again, and is now going to drive to his daughter's house in San Antonio for Christmas, a trip he could not make prior to the Whole 30. His wife is amazed at the change in him. She is going to do a Whole 30 herself starting in January.<br />
<br />
So I encourage you to adapt your celebratory foods to ones that everybody can enjoy together. Make new traditions. The family celebrating together is more important than the individual menu items. <br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-60298046222446008182016-12-10T18:51:00.001-06:002016-12-10T18:51:27.750-06:00Dreams Worth Keeping: Two Suckling Pigs, a Goose, and a Duck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-thuCsMGKg3o/WEygHzqFzZI/AAAAAAAAFrk/HEA8AO7a_SIxs7zN0qlLt2M79nHqaSc8QCLcB/s1600/unnamed-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-thuCsMGKg3o/WEygHzqFzZI/AAAAAAAAFrk/HEA8AO7a_SIxs7zN0qlLt2M79nHqaSc8QCLcB/s400/unnamed-1.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
"We need red solo cups, paper plates, napkins, a tablecloth, and a lot of lunch meat for sandwiches," my mom advised me shortly after learning that my sisters and some members of their families would be joining us for a five-day Christmas visit. Some of them will be sleeping at Mom and Dad's house and some at ours, but Emma and I will be preparing both houses.<br />
<br />
"And canned biscuits. Lisa and her children like canned biscuits," she added, thinking hard. <br />
<br />
My dad started telling me about how he wanted me to order hickory nuts and how delicious they are. By the next day he had been shopping for nuts online and discovered Black Walnuts coated in dark chocolate. He asked me to order them. His face would light up like a child's every time he mentioned them. So far that has been two to three times a day. <br />
<br />
"They're going to go pretty fast once everybody finds out how good they are," he confided to me, grinning happily. "Make sure you order enough."<br />
<br />
Where were my thoughts? <br />
<br />
I began dreaming of pig roasted outdoors on a spit with all the menfolk gathered round in the heady smoke, talking and laughing and speculating on the doneness of the meat. <br />
<br />
And I dreamed of succulent goose and duck. I could see them each in a roasting rack in my oven, dripping juicy goodness into the pan. <br />
<br />
And I dreamed of moving our dining room table into the living room in front of the fire and placing silver goblets of wine and heavy tankards of ale at each place, and...<br />
<br />
I don't actually own any silver goblets or heavy tankards, <i>but I imagined them just the same.</i><br />
<br />
And purple cabbage and collard greens and sweet potatoes and cranberry salad. And dogs under the table! Flickering candlelight and ancient Christmas carols playing in the background with all my dear ones gathered round about.<br />
<br />
Dear Baby Jesus in his manger at last.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<i>O the giddiness, the tingling, the soaring anticipation of the Feast of Christmas! </i><br />
<br />
I grew restless to begin.<br />
<br />
So this morning Emma and I bundled up in sweaters, jackets, hats, and gloves and hurried to the farmer's market to arrange for the procurement of the desired delicacies. <br />
<br />
First stop, the duck and goose booth. We decided on a ten-pound goose and an eight-pound duck. We put down a deposit and were instructed to return to the market early Christmas Eve morning to pick up the freshly-slaughtered birds.<br />
<br />
Next we visited the pig man. I've bought pork from him many times before but never a whole pig. I arranged with him to pick up two suckling piggies--a 15 and a 16-pounder--at the market on Christmas Eve morning when I pick up the birds. He said he would send me a picture of the lil porkers so I would know what to expect. He promised to put a coin over each of their eyes because he feared I would be disturbed by their missing eyelids, which for some reason are removed during the butchering--surely a most creepy practice. <br />
<br />
Maybe crispy-fried pig eyelids are a delicacy somewhere and they sell 'em separately to make more money! At least they left the pigs' heads on. I wouldn't want any headless pig. That would ruin the whole dream for me.<br />
<br />
Our business with the pig man completed, Emma and I sampled juicy sweet Satsumas at a booth across the way. We bought ten, and we also bought a bag of Navel oranges from another vendor. I plan to put some in everybody's stockings. Then we found these delightful long and thin sausages that I thought would be great in the stockings too. So we bought an assortment of those and added them to our bag. We stopped at several other booths for individual little gifts. Such great fun!<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, we couldn't linger, as we had to hurry home to give Grandma and Grandpa lunch. While I did that, Emma worked on decorating the rest of the gingerbread cookies she had baked for St. Nicholas Day. Seeing her handiwork along with all the goodies we had brought home from the farmer's market made me think, "This is good. This is very, very good."<br />
<br />
I am looking forward to lighting the pink candle this Sunday and the fasting of the Ember Days next week.<br />
<br />
And contemplating the fullness of time.<br />
<br />
Come, thou long-expected Jesus!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-63400828318884903752016-12-08T06:38:00.000-06:002016-12-08T06:38:30.327-06:00Fixing Our Gaze on The Immaculate Conception<a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20width=%22560%22%20height=%22315%22%20src=%22https://www.youtube.com/embed/FtKrTrEDDsI%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FtKrTrEDDsI" width="560"></iframe></a><br />
<br />
A most blessed Feast of the Immaculate Conception to you!<br />
<br />
In this clip from <i>The Song of Bernadette</i> we see Bernadette fixing her gaze on the beautiful lady who has been appearing to her at Lourdes. In answer to Bernadette's request to learn her identity, the lady responds, "I am the Immaculate Conception."<br />
<br />
Watching Bernadette in the opening scene as she knelt there on the ground, I was impressed by the purity of her expression as she looked upon the most pure Virgin. How rare it is to see that kind of innocence today! And I thought about the Catholic concept of custody of the eyes and what a daily battle we must fight to practice it. <br />
<br />
It's frightening, but much of what we should guard against today, we may not even be aware that we see.<br />
<br />
Let me explain. <br />
<br />
I just finished reading a transcript of a <i><a href="https://solari.com/blog/">Solari Report</a></i> podcast on entrainment technology, a form of mind control. In it, Catherine Austin Fitts interviews Adam Trombly, a scientist/physicist, about how this technology is used and what you can do to minimize its influence on your life. <br />
<br />
Basically, the entrainment relaxes/pleasures you and puts you in a state of openness to suggestibility. The suggestibility part is where they implant the subliminal message they want you to act upon. Entrainment is used surreptitiously in all kinds of media--dvd's, cd's, radio, movies in the theaters, etc., but it seems television paved the way for the others starting way back in the 1950s. <br />
<br />
Maybe I've finally discovered why Catholics accepted the New Mass in 1969. They had been lulled to sleep by gathering in front of the TV at home instead of kneeling in front of the Immaculate Conception and the Crucifix. <br />
<br />
John Senior was so right when he admonished Catholics to "smash the television," in his classic book, <i>The Restoration of Christian Culture.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Of course now the television has morphed into all kinds of different screens that we must guard ourselves and our children against. We haven't done such a good job. Just look at how we fell for the notion that public school children needed computers in the classroom to be able to keep up with technology and compete in the modern world. <br />
<br />
After reading about entrainment techniques, I firmly believe that the so-called "snowflakes" are a product of it. Previously I had thought it odd that Hillary Clinton had called on pop singers to boost her campaign. But now I understand that their music and videos are powerful vehicles for entraining listeners. The raw emotion from the melting snowflakes finally makes sense. At first I thought it was all the coddling they received in school and a lack of critical thinking skills. And, of course, a lack of the True Faith.<br />
<br />
As I thought more about the idea of how we, like Bernadette, should "fix our gaze" on the Immaculate Conception, I became aware of the double meaning, as "fix" also means to repair. We do need to constantly fix our gaze by avoiding as much as possible the things the world wants us to see. And we must pray the Rosary, which Our Lady gave us as the most efficacious weapon for our battles against the world, the flesh, and the devil. <br />
<br />
The Rosary, with its beautiful mysteries, gives us lovely pictures to contemplate and incites the imagination to holy thoughts, which makes us more human, more alive, more able to create. All this is in direct opposition to the sounds and images that the world wants us to consume. Look around, and you will see the results--zombie-like people who are consumers, not creators. <br />
<br />
Interestingly, entrainment technology takes advantage of God's design for our brains. As Mr. Trombly explained it, "Entrainment technology basically is the technology that
exploits a neurological function called frequency following response.
And, frequency following response was discovered in the earlier part of
the 20th century and in terms of this type of entrainment was a matter
of when the brain hears a repetitive pattern.<br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:=""><br /></span><span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="">"It </span><span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot="">can be a repetitive pattern of words, it can be a
repetitive cadence of rhythm, or in modern
times it can be a repetitive acoustic sound
coming across the loud speaker. It can be in a
certain wave form, a certain frequency, the
brain will follow that sound. The brain will
follow that sound whether it’s monaural or
binaural or surround sound; the brain will fall
into rhythm with that sound." </span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot=""><br /></span>
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot="">My conclusion from that explanation? </span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot=""><br /></span>
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot="">God hard-wired our brains for the recitation of the Rosary with its repetitive pattern of words and repetitive cadence or rhythm! Without fixing our gaze on the Immaculate Conception and praying the Rosary, we leave ourselves open to conquest by the Powers of Darkness, the enemies of Christ.</span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot=""><br /></span>
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot=""><i><b>Three Steps to Follow</b></i></span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot=""><br /></span>
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot="">Fix your gaze </span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot="">Pray the Rosary and</span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot="">Entrain your brain to follow that sound to Heaven.</span><br />
<span 14pt="" agaramond="" font-family:="" font-size:="" quot=""><br /></span>
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-8273818844670096422016-12-07T06:36:00.000-06:002016-12-07T08:03:49.745-06:00To Fast or Not to Fast, That Is the Question<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Editor's Note: Initially this post was inadvertently titled after a rock song. About an hour after publishing, the lyrics surfaced in my brain, and I thought it better to change the title to the present one. Happily, it is a more fitting title anyway.</i></span><br />
<br />
After the gingerbread cookies and the chocolate of St. Nicholas Day, the complete fast of the Vigil of the Immaculate Conception: 2 snacks, 1 full meal, no meat. <br />
<br />
And, I might add, no questions.<br />
<br />
This past Vigil of All Saints, I realized that my two traditional Catholic calendars contradicted each other on whether to fast. After consulting a knowledgable friend, I learned that the fast had actually been abrogated under Pope Pius XII. So you could choose not to fast at all.<br />
<br />
Today when I was looking at my calendar from St. Jude Shrine, my sedevacantist parish, I found a page titled "Supplement to the Instructions for Fasting and Abstinence" with all the background information to the changes that occurred under Annibale Bugnini during Pope Pius XII's reign. Whether or not you agree with the sedevacantist position, the history is good to know. I wish I had known it back in October. I wouldn't have been so confused. <br />
<br />
The last two paragraphs of the supplement page explain how the traditional fast for the Vigil of the Assumption was "transferred" (effectively abrogated) to the fast for the Vigil of the Immaculate Conception during the latter part of Pius XII's pontificate and how there never was confirmation from the Vatican on whether the obligation to fast on the Vigil of All Saints was to be lifted. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>"This brief historical background serves as an introduction to the main purpose of this advisory, namely, to address the questions surrounding the abrogation of the Vigils of All Saints and the Assumption, and the suspension of the fasting and abstinence regulations for those vigils. Both vigils were abolished in the 1950's, quite possibly as the first phase of 'change for the sake of change', engineered by the aforementioned Masonic infiltrator, Hannibal Bugnini. When the American Bishops requested an official determination from Rome on whether the custom of fasting and abstinence on the suspended Vigil of All Saints had also been terminated, they received only a pre-printed notice, dated 15 March 1957, stating that, 'The Decree of the Sacred Congregation of Rites...looks simply to the liturgical part of the day and does not touch the obligation of fast and abstinence that are a penitential preparation for the following feast day.' Thus, without any official confirmation from the Vatican that the disciplines associated with the Vigil of All Saints no longer applied, the US Bishops unilaterally dispensed American Catholics from those long-standing regulations. In 1957, the power of the still-valid and legitimate American bishops to bind and loose in disciplinary matters pertaining to the faithful under their care was certainly lawful. However, the bishops' decision to relax the vigil fast was in reaction to the first wave of Vatican innovations that would soon morph into an all-out, anti-Catholic liturgical revolution that was spring-loaded to be unleashed upon the death of Pius XII.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>"Just fourteen months before the demise of that aged and ailing pontiff, the penitential custom of fasting and abstinence on the Vigil of the Assumption was also effectively abolished by its transfer to the Vigil of the Immaculate Conception, this time by official decree of the Sacred Congregation of the Council (sic) on 25 July 1957. This unusual move seemed to contradict the Pope's prohibition against rearranging the liturgical calendar, issued by his encyclical, Mediator Dei, ten years earlier. Nevertheless, it is beyond the scope of this brief review to provide an analysis of this legislation, or, for that matter, to challenge every alteration in discipline that was enacted during the pontificate of Pius XII. Indeed, three of them turned out to be providential just a few years later, after the true Mass had been taken away from parish churches. The exemption of water from the Eucharistic fast in 1953; the shortening of the Eucharistic fast from Midnight to three hours; and the simultaneous introduction of Sunday Evening Masses in 1957, made it possible for circuit-riding, Latin Mass clergy to bring valid Sacraments to remote groups of remnant faithful on Sunday nights, sometimes hundreds of miles away, after assisting their own congregations earlier in the day. Thus the legislative revisions in the waning years of Pope Pius XII may be viewed as a 'mixed blessing', with some seemingly inspired by the Holy Ghost and others of doubtful origin. In any case, there can be no imputation of sin to those who no longer observe the old rules for fasting and abstinence on the Vigils of All Saints and the Assumption. The faithful who are able to continue those traditions (while retaining the practice also on the Vigil of the Immaculate Conception) are encouraged to do so, as voluntary acts of penance win greater spiritual merit than those done purely for compliance with the law. Finally, the rules for fasting and abstinence on the Vigils of Pentecost and Christmas were not affected by the changes in question, and therefore, are still listed as obligatory by this calendar."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-56409915998139196572016-12-06T17:13:00.000-06:002016-12-06T17:13:17.614-06:00St. Nicholas and Using Money in a Catholic Way<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H3L-GxghbCk/WEbL6uMd3-I/AAAAAAAAFrM/Oe0pCM7Mfts0qm57W-nNk_St7TSVds0RwCLcB/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H3L-GxghbCk/WEbL6uMd3-I/AAAAAAAAFrM/Oe0pCM7Mfts0qm57W-nNk_St7TSVds0RwCLcB/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
First, a most happy and blessed feast of St. Nicholas to you, dear reader!<br />
<br />
I was thinking early this morning as I set up our St. Nicholas display that he really gave us a good example of investing money. If you are unfamiliar with the story, he secretly gave a bag of gold from his inheritance as dowry for each of three poor maiden sisters so that they could marry well.<br />
<br />
I use the term <i>investing</i> rather than <i>giving</i> because if you think about it, there is nothing more important to a healthy civilization than establishing good Catholic communities. And that begins with Catholic families. Helping these girls marry was a wonderful way of investing that paid interest by furthering Christ's kingdom, which as a bishop he understood perfectly.<br />
<br />
Notice he didn't toss them gold so that they could buy a house of their own or go to college or travel the world. He gave it expressly for marriage.<br />
<br />
He imagined the kind of world in which he wanted to live, one where Christ is King, and he put his money where it would work toward that vision. And though this example involved charity, I want to engage in the same kind of thought process for all our family's monetary transactions. <br />
<br />
However, going from the thought process to the reality is where it becomes exceedingly difficult, dare I say impossible? As you have probably discovered, there is this whole corrupt underworld operating out of sight that does not care about you, your children, or your grandchildren and actually hates Jesus Christ. It just wants your money. It doesn't care whether your neighborhood is safe or whether you have access to food that is not poison. It's like we live in a giant charade. I truly feel like I go out into the world with sword drawn just to go to the grocery store and the drug store. I mean, they look like nice places, but they both really, really want to give me a flu shot! At least that is what I infer from all the signs they post, trying to entice me to get one.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arimo, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: justify;"><i>For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and power, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places.</i></span><br />
<br />
Clearly, Prince of Lies, Inc., is the real owner of many profitable companies. <br />
<br />
So it is difficult, but it really does matter where you bank and what companies you support by buying their products. We can't give up. <br />
<br />
I have subscribed to two different investment advice/education sites over the years, hoping to find help in this matter, but in both cases I unsubscribed after determining their advice didn't fit my vision. In fact, it clashed with it. I don't want to invest in the military-industrial complex even if it is the best return on my money. It's evil. <br />
<br />
Recently I subscribed to another site after watching several video interviews with its author, Catherine Austin Fitts. Here's one of the first one I watched:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4uOq5XFfVHw" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Her site, <a href="http://solari.com/">Solari.com</a>, is such a wealth of helpful information that I am still mining its rich archive two months later. I subscribed on the monthly plan to see whether I would like it. It's $30 a month. I will most likely buy an annual membership in January. No, I don't get any money from mentioning the site, no benefits of any kind.<br />
<br />
I am particularly excited about her posts on "Reviving a Local Economy". I think it would be a fantastic tool for young Catholic families to use to start creating the kind of place they want to live and raise families. She gives advice on how to extricate yourself from the corruption as much as possible and how to start investment groups to help one another succeed. Of course, it is not perfect. It is just the most helpful site I have found so far. It's so helpful that I could keep writing about it for a long time, but alas, the day wanes, and soon St. Nicholas Day will be over. <br />
<br />
So that's all for now.<br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-16790679658388157472016-12-04T06:18:00.000-06:002016-12-04T06:18:20.562-06:00Dumpling Daze<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wf2sYdrQK-U/WEP65DrpZ6I/AAAAAAAAFq8/nsRnP0_NBegm_iCfI3zLI2wFC_loaaRdACLcB/s1600/IMG_1999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wf2sYdrQK-U/WEP65DrpZ6I/AAAAAAAAFq8/nsRnP0_NBegm_iCfI3zLI2wFC_loaaRdACLcB/s400/IMG_1999.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
Grandma has been hankering for dumplings for several weeks now. We wanted to make her some but weren't sure what recipe to use. Grandma eats gluten-free.<br />
<br />
Emma and I thought that the <a href="http://theurbanposer.com/cassava-flour-tortillas/">Urban Poser's tortilla recipe</a> would give us a good starting place for strip dumpling experimentation. It uses Otto's Cassava Flour which is naturally gluten and grain free.<br />
<br />
Grandma nixed this idea, favoring biscuit-type dumplings made from a gluten-free mix that she had on hand. It includes corn flour, which Emma is allergic to--thus the necessity of dual dumpling development. Emma made the strip dumplings while I made the biscuit ones.<br />
<br />
With both of us working in close proximity to the stove and Emma's kitten, Elsie, underfoot and sometimes climbing our legs while our hands were doughy, it got pretty interesting at times.<br />
<br />
Finally Emma stuck Elsie in her apron. We had a few moments of peace, for which we were grateful. <br />
<br />
I cooked Grandma's dumplings in a separate pot of chicken broth to avoid cross-contamination. They turned out well, and she scarfed them up. Yay! It's great to be able to satisfy someone's craving, especially when that someone is in a wheelchair and can no longer cook for herself.<br />
<br />
The cassava flour ones were definitely not like the traditional Southern (white-flour) strip dumplings that I grew up eating in Chicken and Dumplings. But they were still good, and we're looking forward to trying them again with the addition of some grain-free baking powder to make them a little fluffier. And I think Emma said she will roll them out a little thicker as well. The only thing we regretted with this first try was not having more homemade chicken bone broth on hand to make a bigger batch of soup. <br />
<br />
One word of warning. If you grew up nibbling dumpling dough while you made the dumplings like I did, do not try this with cassava flour. It tastes gross. Bleh!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-76373435204852049042016-12-03T10:33:00.000-06:002016-12-03T10:33:43.692-06:00Advent: The Cross and the Crib<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Utk3VxnAhw/WELycBOG8RI/AAAAAAAAFqs/8H2CFrziU9YtRPVawKdg4nKOIu-qAoAxwCLcB/s1600/ecuador.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Utk3VxnAhw/WELycBOG8RI/AAAAAAAAFqs/8H2CFrziU9YtRPVawKdg4nKOIu-qAoAxwCLcB/s400/ecuador.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The painting of the Sacred Heart commissioned by Gabriel Garcia Moreno for the consecration of Ecuador</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The aftermath of the presidential election revealed to me in a startling way how desperately this country needs to be Catholicized. How much better the Catholic way when faced with situations one finds disagreeable: practice resignation and embrace one's cross! <br />
<br />
Instead, it seems as if the country has been taken over by toddlers in their terrible twos. Such whining and temper tantrums I've never before witnessed on a national scale. <br />
<br />
The experience shone a light on my own weaknesses in this regard and gave me pause. How often, I, too, whine and complain! And how unattractive it must be for those around me!<br />
<br />
Consequently, on St. Andrew's feast I decided to start saying St. Andrew's prayer, <i><a href="http://www.preces-latinae.org/thesaurus/Filius/OBona.html">O Good Cross,</a></i> every day in addition to the St. Andrew Christmas novena during our Advent wreath prayer time. The idea of being led to both the cross and the crib by St. Andrew is one I hadn't considered before now. I find it enormously helpful, and it has given me reason to be thankful for the Trump protestors. May their unhappiness work toward their conversion and the establishment of the Social Reign of Christ the King.<br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-49403880303605578232016-11-27T07:00:00.000-06:002016-11-27T07:00:08.546-06:00Goodbye Cemetery, Hello Advent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Just a few more days in the month dedicated to the Holy Souls.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eeeidFGYi7U/WDrJ2updaoI/AAAAAAAAFp0/O6DNb9fUCdYWPnpFdQa0uVLCxDhQt5GnwCLcB/s1600/IMG_1959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eeeidFGYi7U/WDrJ2updaoI/AAAAAAAAFp0/O6DNb9fUCdYWPnpFdQa0uVLCxDhQt5GnwCLcB/s640/IMG_1959.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We'll start the St. Andrew Christmas Novena on November 30: You say it 15 times a day from St. Andrew's Day through Christmas Eve:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Hail and blessed be the hour and moment at which the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary, at midnight in Bethlehem in piercing cold. In that hour vouchsafe, O my God, to hear my prayers and grant my desires (mention your request) through the merits of our Savior Jesus Christ and of His blessed Mother. Amen.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
THIS IS MY ADVENT PICTURE</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9uJJ_W32v3o/WDrJPsrhjAI/AAAAAAAAFps/e8LzoX_kVO8re7pkncHwW_S75oadwxCxQCLcB/s1600/IMG_1961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9uJJ_W32v3o/WDrJPsrhjAI/AAAAAAAAFps/e8LzoX_kVO8re7pkncHwW_S75oadwxCxQCLcB/s640/IMG_1961.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
I know. A kitten getting a flea bath is not your normal idea of Advent symbolism, but that is the way my mind works. Make straight the way of the Lord! Hair shirts and locusts and honey. Flea bath. Same thing. Advent is supposed to be a little bit uncomfortable, right?<br />
<br />
Wishing you much spiritual progress on your Advent journey.Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-10854158288261219192016-11-26T06:26:00.000-06:002016-11-26T12:19:49.514-06:00The Logic of SecessionFrom <i><a href="http://www.abbevilleinstitute.org/blog/trump-wins-secession-back-in-style/">Trump Wins--Secession Back in Style</a></i> by James Ronald Kennedy<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"The idea that a large and supreme central government in the United States can protect the rights and interests of all the people is mathematically absurd. When the original federal government under the constitution was established (1789) each member of the House of Representatives represented the interests of 60,000 citizens. Today each member of the House of Representatives is supposed to represent the interests of over 700,000 diverse people. If we had the same ratio today, there would be over 5,000 members of the House of Representatives! It is absurd to think that a supreme central government that rules over the lives of over 300 million people would be able to protect the interests of the political minority. Under the current system of supreme federalism, the lives of 300 million people are governed by a majority vote of 269 members of Congress and even less if acting by a mere quorum. With Trump’s victory, even liberals, who once controlled the federal government, are now beginning to see the logic of secession."</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-10467212426951836942016-11-25T06:52:00.000-06:002016-11-25T06:52:49.247-06:00You're the Cream in My Coffee<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xFhGlKvQpqI/WDghSpp2xtI/AAAAAAAAFpc/snxrx_fnCGg32rqHpu31I5btA5OK8EpdgCLcB/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xFhGlKvQpqI/WDghSpp2xtI/AAAAAAAAFpc/snxrx_fnCGg32rqHpu31I5btA5OK8EpdgCLcB/s640/unnamed.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sacred coffee station at my parents' house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Nothing gets more attention from my mother during her bedtime ritual than making sure that I have prepared the coffee pot for the next morning and set out the cups. She starts worrying about it in the early afternoon and flips up the lid to the basket where the coffee grounds go in as a warning flag to draw my attention to my serious duty. It works exceedingly well. I see the upright lid as a giant exclamation mark and immediately feel the weight of my responsibility to ensure that her next morning will begin properly. It's kind of like being in charge of making sure the sun comes up. Nothing predicts a gloomy day and a grumpy grandma more than a sub par coffee ritual.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Recently, a new twist has been added to the defining morning event. Mom must have cream. She has drunk her coffee black for at least the past forty years. But this past June she was hospitalized three different times for a gastrointestinal bleed so serious that each time she had to have blood transfusions. She has a rare blood type plus lots of antibodies that have to be matched, and so in each case it took a long time to get the blood from the blood bank. It was rather a harrowing experience watching her hemoglobin count fall steadily while the clock ticked off the minutes and hours with no sign of the replacement. Oh, and her veins kept collapsing. There were several times I truly thought she would die. The doctors never did discover where the bleeding was coming from, but the end result of all this was that we started adding cream to her coffee in the off chance that all the acid she was getting in her morning three cups played a contributing factor in the bleeds.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
She discovered that she likes cream in her coffee. She likes it a lot. Like to the moon and back. Now, after forty years of imbibing black coffee, SHE MUST HAVE CREAM. And since she is in a wheelchair, the cream must be easily accessible to her in the refrigerator. Since she has made it clear how important cream is to the satisfactoriness of the morning ritual, Emma and I have striven to make sure we keep it on hand and in the right place in the refrigerator.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Except sometimes we fail.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I hurried in one morning to cook breakfast for Mom and Dad and was greeted by Mom with the complaint, "This cream doesn't taste right." Immediately I remembered that I had forgotten to buy cream and that there was none left. I looked at the coffee station where she sets the cream each morning. There stood my dad's $50 bottle of liposomal glutathione, which we keep in the door of the refrigerator. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"No way," I thought. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Then, a doubt crept in. Have I mentioned that she has bad eyesight? I picked up the bottle and showed it to Mom. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"Is this what you used in your coffee?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"Yes. And it doesn't taste right," she repeated.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"That's because it isn't cream. It's Dad's glutathione," I explained, shaking the bottle to see how much was left. "And I think you just drank about $25 worth."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"Hmph," she answered. "Well, I couldn't find my regular cream, so I figured that had to be it."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Immediately I thought of Starbucks and what a lucrative option they could offer to the health conscious: Glutathione Pumpkin Lattes for $35. Or maybe they could just sell the glutathione by the shot.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
At any rate, I realized that my mom could not conceive that we could let the cream supply fail, and so she looked until she "found" it. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It could have been much worse. Thank goodness we don't keep Milk of Magnesia in the refrigerator.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-21172407483709618012016-11-24T08:05:00.004-06:002016-11-24T08:05:51.523-06:00Play Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5XaAHeCpjHU/WDbeWuPJ9iI/AAAAAAAAFpM/YHphRZViqk04BU4uzlI15RNdh80L8v_nQCLcB/s1600/IMG_1500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5XaAHeCpjHU/WDbeWuPJ9iI/AAAAAAAAFpM/YHphRZViqk04BU4uzlI15RNdh80L8v_nQCLcB/s400/IMG_1500.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
While walking down the sidewalk, enjoying a festival in an economically-depressed small town, I came upon the scene in the photo to the left.<br />
<br />
I stood there mesmerized while the little girl plunked away at the tired keys. She obviously had never had a piano lesson, but that did not dampen her enjoyment at all. It probably heightened it.<br />
<br />
I was struck with the idea--so simple--that We Can Do Little Things That Make a Big Difference. <br />
<br />
There is the possibility that the opportunity to play this piano will lead to an interest in studying music. This would undeniably be a great return on the investment of making the piano available to festival goers. But even if no one was inspired to learn music, what a fabulous expression of goodwill! I believe that such acts create good returns, even if they appear to be invisible.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Recently I noticed an old and scarred baby grand piano on display in my local community center. It was roped off, but there was a small placard on it that explained that the instrument had been used to teach piano lessons to local children for 30 years. I marveled at the remarkable impact this piano most likely has had on our town, probably with immeasurable ripple effects of goodness that have echoed throughout the country. I am grateful to whomever had the insight to put it on display. So often we are encouraged to publicly admire the big industrialist. His impact can be measured in dollars, so he easily gains recognition.<br />
<br />
I struggle to remember these lessons. I have gotten caught up in all the national election hoopla. Yes, the president of the United States is important. But we cannot discount the importance of the little local things that we can do. Locally, we can have a far bigger impact than nationally. <br />
<br />
I have been reminded since the election that even a smile matters. With all the news about the animosity of different groups, I realized that I was beginning to expect people to be unfriendly to me. I have been enormously relieved to have my expectations proved completely unfounded. Representatives of the different groups have gone out of their way to greet me with warm smiles and welcoming eyes--to politely and cheerfully say, "Excuse me," as they pass by me in the grocery store. <br />
<br />
I happily return the greeting and remind myself to take a break from the news, even the alternative news, and to make decisions on my own experience.<br />
<br />
<br />Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-85493209121077365352016-11-23T07:25:00.000-06:002016-11-23T07:25:21.517-06:00In the Cemetery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
For the last four years or so, Emma and I have gone to pray the rosary in the small Catholic cemetery nearest our house every day during November. It belongs to a rural parish that was established early in the 20th century by people of Czech descent. We can see the tiny brick church across the hay fields to the west of us as we walk and pray. <br />
<br />
We have grown to cherish our time in the cemetery each year. It is so peaceful there, and often a refreshing breeze washes over us as the setting sun glints golden on the surrounding fields. Here we have the comfort of the community of the dead, many of whom died before Vatican II and so professed the same Faith as we do. We love reading the Old Country names. I am particularly fond of "Frantiska" and "Zofie". <br />
<br />
Along with the joy we experience in the cemetery, we feel keenly the sharp stab of exile. We gaze with longing at the little church and wish that we could go to mass so close to our house. To be able to go to daily mass and rosary--what bliss! We have driven 2 hours roundtrip on Sundays for the last 12 years to be able to assist at the traditional mass. In desperation several years ago we tried going to mass at the little brick church. We hungered for Catholic community--to live our faith daily among those who shared it. The experience was so shocking that we never returned. That novus ordo mass sharply illuminated for me how formative the traditional mass is. Ever since, whenever I remember our experience, the word "hootenanny" pops into my mind. It's far more accurate than "lack of reverence."<br />
<br />
I firmly believe the old dead at the cemetery would feel the same way we did if they were allowed to return to their little brick church.<br />
<br />
Happily, on All Souls Day, we met an older couple at the cemetery who belong to the parish. Emma asked them if they would like to join us in praying the rosary, and they agreed. So most days this month they have met us there, and we have walked and prayed through the cemetery together. It has been truly lovely to have their company.<br />
<br />
From them we learned that there is a new Polish pastor and that he asked the parishioners if the old altar and altar rails were stored somewhere--a hopeful sign. Sadly, these fixtures, along with many beloved statues, were shipped off to Mexico after the new mass was introduced in 1969. <br />
<br />
Our rosary companions told us that one parishioner managed to save the large Sacred Heart of Jesus statue that used to stand at the front of the church on the epistle side. He carried it home and has kept it ever since. Now he is quite elderly, and rumor has it that he is wondering if it is safe to bring it back. But the "praise band" now occupies the spot where the Sacred Heart used to stand. I thought about how that displacement was true on so many levels in the novus ordo. The day we learned this story, we added to our rosary the intention that the Sacred Heart statue be returned to its rightful place and that the "choir" would return to the long-vacant choir loft.<br />
<br />
Let us pray hard for the restoration of the Church. Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102126498629529342.post-39014774375451808322016-11-21T10:31:00.005-06:002016-11-21T10:31:53.512-06:00What I Noticed in the Toy Kitchen Ad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iFh3WDdxATs/WDCKR9GYj3I/AAAAAAAAFog/21cWEc-gY0Ed5NOtYKy00xpRBETbn54mACLcB/s1600/imageService.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iFh3WDdxATs/WDCKR9GYj3I/AAAAAAAAFog/21cWEc-gY0Ed5NOtYKy00xpRBETbn54mACLcB/s400/imageService.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I was flipping through a Costco catalog recently and came across the toy kitchen ad above. It struck me as odd, and I spent some time studying it to see if I could figure out why it gave me that impression. I decided the main thing that puzzled me is that the children seem so detached from any involvement with the kitchen. The girl especially seems to simply be passing by. She steadies herself by holding the countertop. She is equipped with a cell phone. Perhaps she is going to order a pizza and re-heat it in the microwave? The boy appears to be holding on to the back of the refrigerator with his right hand while he half-heartedly reaches for the handle of the refrigerator. Both children may need to hold on to something because, if you notice their feet, they each have one foot turned on its side. It's not a stance that lends itself to taking action. It seems really odd to me that <i>both</i> children have their feet placed this way.<br />
<br />
An alternative explanation of the detachment from activity is that the photographer needed the children out of the way to be able to showcase the kitchen. However, this could have been overcome by showing the girl putting something in the sink and showing the boy in the act of filling a glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator door--or many other options.<br />
<br />
I decided to look at vintage ads for toy kitchens to see what I could learn by comparison. I chose to study the one below.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rlX__TBSTLg/WDCKRnzN0jI/AAAAAAAAFoc/yWK6M3OsZDQNUM8gTtSk6I6OL5jpKarygCLcB/s1600/ritehiteallsteelkitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rlX__TBSTLg/WDCKRnzN0jI/AAAAAAAAFoc/yWK6M3OsZDQNUM8gTtSk6I6OL5jpKarygCLcB/s400/ritehiteallsteelkitchen.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course the pink appliances are noticeably different from the first picture and imply that the kitchen is the girl's/woman's domain, but the main thing I notice that is different from the modern ad is that each unit is open, implying active participation. I can't tell if the girl's hand is actually touching the refrigerator handle, but the door is open, and she is holding something in her other hand--maybe a plate--definitely something to do with kitchen play. She is clearly happily involved in her pretend world. And look at her feet. Both are flat on the floor. I notice that she doesn't lean on anything. After looking at her and seeing how upright she is, I recalled how good posture used to be emphasized to children. I even remember being instructed in proper sitting posture in first grade in 1966, which included both feet being firmly planted on the ground.<br />
<br />
With this insight, I went back and looked again at the children above with their turned feet. I think the modern girl looks more confident than the modern boy. She gets the more upscale outfit and shoes; he gets the sneakers and jeans. The oversized untucked shirt gives him a soft look overall. <br />
<br />
Looking back at the pink kitchen, I notice the emphasis of time. See the big clock above the stove? This girl is going to get meals cooked on time. She is productive. I don't get that impression from the modern children. <br />
<br />
Maybe "hanging out" is the new play.Wendy Haughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03224112973689131637noreply@blogger.com2