Why I would duck and run if I saw you at the market.

I ran into a woman at Fred Meyer a couple months ago. We were both dropping off our kids at the while-you-shop daycare, and I said something to her about how nice it is to be able to shop without distraction. We talked for a few minutes, and then she commented on how I looked familiar to her. After rattling off a few places we might have met, she finally mentioned one of the parks within walking distance of my house, and I remembered her as a mom I chatted with on several occasions while our kids played last summer. We talked some more and then exchanged phone numbers for future play dates.

To read more of this post on the Vox Pop Network, go here.

I posted this last week, but it’s been a little crazy here at the Zughaus. This was an essay I drafted a couple months ago, and was actually part of a larger essay originaly. But as I went on and on I realized there were two threads of thought that should probably be split in order to keep it simple and short(ish).

I think I fined tuned this one in three drafts, plus a little tinkering after Bryan read through it. I also made a point of closing with a question in hopes of generating a conversation in the comments. This seemed to work, as this post contained more comments than either of the other two I posted previously. I got this idea from Jen Lemen, who I’ve noticed ends many of her posts with a thoughtful question to draw people out of lurking.

Because I’m missing him terribly this week…

Bryan has been gone this week. We’ve had such a long stretch with him home, working from our basement studio, that I’ve grown really fond of having him around. This has been a sad and lonely week without him, so I will now wax eloquently of the many reasons I love this man.

Poetry. He writes me poetry, and reads his works to me at friendly gatherings with great energy and grandeur. My friend once described his readings as “So I Married an Axe Murder” poetry, which is to say it contains drama and rhythm, and is largely incomplete without the performance that goes along with each word.

He works hard, and is the most disciplined person I know. Every morning he wakes up at 5am to work out so he can still put in a ten hour day. He works from home, yet he showers every morning, gets dressed, takes exactly one hour for lunch, and kicks ass at his job. As I type this at three in the afternoon, I am still in my pajamas.

He protects his time with family. He wants to be with us, and makes this happen even when work is stressful and calls for long hours. He’s even disciplined with our money – our kids now have a college fund and our house has a new roof. If it were up to me, our kids would be screwed and our house would leak, but we’d have a beautiful new kitchen and a Toyota Highlander. I think endlessly about what I want, but he is always looking out for what we need.

Even though I’m the spontaneous one in this relationship, he’s the one who comes up with all the great ideas. I’ll say – Let’s do something fun today! – then proceed to spin my wheels about what that fun thing should be. After I agonize over indecision or brain block, he steps in to say, Let’s do [insert activity], and it’s always brilliant. It’s because of him we find ourselves picking pears at a friend’s orchard, or walking through Marymoor Park’s 40-acre dog park, or flying remote control airplanes in a field.

Six years ago I never would have thought I would feel this deeply in love. Somehow, even though the butterflies of first kisses have escaped us, the maturity of our love deepens and widens and multiplies in volume, filling out all the rough spaces and patching up all the holes and healing all the scars. Our love is a miracle, really – one rejected soul meeting one angry soul, each finding the comfort of the Refiner’s Fire in the other.

Come home soon, baby. We are missing you.

All hail All-Clad (and Macy’s)

A couple years ago my dad and step mom bought us some really nice All-Clad pans for Christmas. They know how much I love to cook, and nobody else in my family really enjoys cooking like I do, so these pans were an the awesomest Christmas present ever. I was very, very grateful.

But last night I took two of the fry pans back to Macy’s because they are non-stick, and I have decided that no matter how nice the pan is, non-stick is CRAP. I was hoping I could walk into Macy’s with my food-encrusted, VERY STICKY pans, and rationally expect to exchange them for their stainless steel equals.

The first girl who helped me was “new here,” which I’m beginning to think is code for “I don’t know what the hell to do with your request,” since everywhere I go I seem to be running into the new employees. She looked at my food-encrusted, VERY STICKY pans and said, and I quote, “These have been used.”

I was tempted to step into Demanding and Bitchy Customer mode, but the night was young so I further explored more diplomatic options.

“Yes, I realize these have been used. They are high quality pans that are quite expensive, and I would think one could expect more out of them than this.”

She called in a manager, but informed me that many managers have left for the night, leaving only one per floor. Because of this, the manager that came to help me was from the cosmetics department.

She, too, looked at my pans and said, “These have been used.”

Once again, I tucked my Demanding and Bitchy self into my back pocket and said, “There must be something you can do, because I can’t imagine All-Clad being content with this quality of pan.”

Then the Cosmetics Manager pulled through for me. She says, “I’ll have to check the information for All-Clad. If they have a lifetime warranty I will have no problem exchanging your pans.”

Jackpot. Right on the box of every pan are the words, LIFETIME WARRANTY.

The Cosmetics Manager returned my pans, rang up my new stainless steel pans, and issued me an in-store credit for the difference! Yes, I actually came out a little ahead in the exchange. How far do you think $30 will go in the housewares department?

I still think these were the awesomest gifts ever, because I was basically cooking on aluminum pans I’d purchased at the thrift store before I was married. Now I know that NON-STICK IS NOT THE WAY TO COOK, and will stick to stainless steel (ha! pun intended).

Incidentally, Macy’s had an extremely low inventory of non-stick All-Clad, so it seems somebody else is also getting the picture.

These are my friends.

Tonight as I pulled into the parking lot at Macy’s I was cat-called by a familiar voice behind me. I turned to discover that my friend and her husband were parked in their Toyota LANDCRUISER* drinking beer and smoking cigarettes like they were living out a scene from The Outsiders.

These are the same friends who, when I called them once to see if they could join us for a movie, declined because they were heading out to the mountains to drink Budweisers and shoot her old sewing machine to pieces. With an actual gun.

These are the same friends who’s son (who is three days older than Ruthie) rocks out to worship music at church like he’s front row at a KISS concert, while Ruthie flits about with her twirling and flitting.

God bless friends who keep it real.

*When my friend first acquired this car, every other word out of her mouth was LANDCRUISER, and she drawled out the word like it was in all caps: LAAAANDCRUISER.

“Want to carpool to the party? Because I have plenty of room in my LAAAANDCRUISER.”
“I don’t have a car today because Husband needed the LAAAANDCRUISER to drive in the snow.”
“Have you heard the kick ass sound system I have in the LAAAANDCRUISER?”

I mock, but secretly, I was jealous of her LAAAANCRUISER.

Cue eerie music in the background of this scene…

During a string of particularly bad days concerning Ruthie’s behavior this summer, I vented to my girlfriend that I thought I was raising a future serial killer. At the time she was bullying and intimidating other kids, and finding great enjoyment in watching the reaction of others as they writhed in frustration under her torturous powers.

It’s like an experiment to her, a social experiment – perhaps she’s on the road toward a sociology research degree. Or maybe it’s pure entertainment and all she needs is a comfy chair and a bag of popcorn.

Regardless, I really do think she enjoys pushing other people’s buttons, then watching the ensuing explosion. Reducing others (including her mother) to a fit of tears is her idea of a good time. And the remorse? Oiy, the lack of remorse is, at best, disturbing.

So I vented to my friend, exaggerating, I’m sure, in my emotionally heightened feelings of failure as a mother – wondering, also, which gene pool this behavior came from.

The very pragmatic advice my friend gives me?

“Eh, you shouldn’t worry. If she starts torturing small animals, THEN you have something to worry about.”

Um, do TOY animals count in that equation???

Good Music Finds

Bryan and I both enjoy making music mixes, and over the years people have asked us where we find our music. I will now let you in on our little secret…

For the last few years we have subscribed to Paste Magazine, which is an awesome music/movie/culture publication that actually includes a CD with each issue. We have somewhere around 36 or 37 CD mixes from Paste at this point, and we have loved discovering new music this way.

We also have an awesome local indie radio station, KEXP, which not only plays great music, but they have a kick ass website (and you can listen online if you are not local). On many occasions I’ll be driving around town and hear a great song, note the time it played, then check online when I get home to catch the name. I’ve gone back as far as a week to find a song, and they still have it catalogued. This is how I first discovered Thievery Corporation, Luna, and Bishop Allen.

We also may hear a song in a movie and check out the soundtrack, or we get recommendations from friends of what they’re listening to. I always have a playlist going in my iTunes folder called ‘new music’ where I dump songs I purchase for ninety-nine cents a pop.

Recently, one of my online friends started a new mp3 blog called goodnight believer. I didn’t know there was such a thing as an mp3 blog, but he links to others and I’ve checked them out, too. Now I tune in every morning to goodnight believer while I’m making coffee and the kids are crunching cereal. Thomas indicates his song approval by bobbing his head to the beat while throwing back his pint of milk.

So that’s how we do it. How do you find good music? What are your latest discoveries?

Overheard while the Zuglets were playing “school”

Ruthie, as the teacher, holding up a My Little Pony: Who can tell me what’s this?

Thomas, sitting attentively on the floor, as the student: What’s this!

R: No – Who can tell me what’s this?

T: What’s this!

Ruthie (visibly frustrated and shaking the horse): NO! Say what this is!

T: What this is!

Exasperated, Ruthie whacks Thomas on the head with the My Little Pony, and marches away to sulk in the corner. Meanwhile, I am doubled over in laughter as I try to comfort one wounded child and one angry child. I explain to Ruthie how Thomas thinks he is supposed to say whatever she says after the word ‘say.’ Surprisingly, she picks up on this quickly, but still doesn’t quite formulate the right question.

Ruthie (with a different voice inflection): Thomas, can you tell me what this is?

T: What this is!

Ruthie huffs, but sees me laughing and lightens up. I suggest a question.

R: Thomas, what is this?

T: ISS A HORSE!

Yea! We are all now cheering that this lesson is finally over.

how to can plums

1. Stand on a tall ladder over a treacherous patch of blackberry bushes in order to pick plumbs off the top of the tree

2. Sit around like old ladies, chattering about weddings and babies and the first days of school, while pitting plumbs.

3. More chattering while chop chop chopping.

4. Carry the load together, knowing that canning should never be done apart from the community of friends.

5. Stir stir stir!

6. Taste taste taste!

7. Marvel over the beautiful, purple jars, and feel proud after a hard day’s work.

8. Locate your children, who have run free on this half acre of blissful property all day with minimal supervision.

Thank you to my friend, Heather, who invited us all out to share in this experience, and for climbing the ladder – so bummed I didn’t get a picture of that! Alecia, you rock – your previous experience saved the day! And Beth, you looked mah-valous, and were just as clueless as me!

Round two with pears is this week, and round three with apples is next (if we can manage that kind of stamina!).

Plucking away at my hardened heart

My bean teepee has done well this summer, and has been a fun introduction into a vegetable garden beyond my usual tomatoes. When I planted my vegetables, I had great romantic visions of teaching the kids all about how things grow, and plucking the fruits of our labor together as folk music swelled in the background.

Not so much.

I don’t know why I always imagine myself as different than I am. Which is to say, how could I forget that I am the world’s bitchiest control freak?? In reality, I found myself sneaking out to the garden while the kids were otherwise occupied, just so I could pick beans in peace. Inevitably, Ruthie would always find me and beg to help, I would get frustrated, and a big record scratch sound would cut off the swelling folk music of my imagination.

She is so cute, and so helpful, and so capable of helping – yet I cannot seem to let go of my need to do everything my way.

One of the things I ‘have concerns’ about, is the possibility of an entire vine coming undone if she yanks too hard on a bean. To try and compromise, I held the base of vine that connected to the bean so Ruthie could safely pull the bean off. She eventually became frustrated by this, because she is, after all, a smart and capable little girl. And what’s scary, is that she knows it.

One day, after whining over and over about doing it herself, and me clenching tighter and tighter to my need to be in control, Ruthie literally shoved me out of the way, tenderly pinched the base of the bean stalk, and successfully plucked the bean off the vine, just as she had seen me doing. I laughed lightheartedly, scruffed her hair a little, and she beamed as I held out the bucket for her to drop the bean into.

We finished that harvest together, each picking our own beans, and me leaving her the hell alone.

She’s a tough cookie, that one. She’ll do alright out in the world – especially if she can manage her own mother.

Auralia’s Colors, and thoughts on fantasy.

Tonight Bryan and I had the privilege of attending the book release party for our friend Jeffrey Overstreet’s first fantasy novel, Auralia’s Colors. It was exciting to see him speak as he shared the story of how Auralia’s Colors came to be. As these things go, it started with one comment, made by his then girlfriend, and grew into a wonder and an inkling and an idea and then finally, a compelling. I was particularly struck by the amount of patience he must have endured in seeing this project through, as I think he first began working on the novel in the late 90’s.

It is very inspiring to see a friend and fellow writer get published. We are very excited for him, and I can’t wait to dig into this book.

—

The release of Auralia’s Colors, along with conversations I’ve had with Jeffrey, got me thinking about the fantasy genre. I’ve always held to the conviction that I dislike science fiction and fantasy in the same I way I dislike rap music – based solely on judgmental, preconceived notion that there was no substance or worth to it. I remember being in a book store as a kid, seeing these books about hobbits on the shelf, and thinking that was just weird. What the hell is a hobbit? And why would I waste my time reading about imaginary hobbits when I have the much more realistic and literary genius that is Sweet Valley High to read?

Yet, when I think about stories I’ve enjoyed like The Lord of the Rings series, the Narnia series, certain Orson Scott Card books, and even a Neil Gaimnan book – and even movies like Pan’s Labyrinth – I realize that I actually probably do like fantasy.

And as Bryan said to me tonight as we talked like grownups over a plate of Mexican food, I would enjoy reading a story in any genre, as long as it is a good story. And I suppose the same goes for movies and music as well.

So, it feels good to get that out there in the open, to come out of my closet, as it were. I am now an open and affirming book reader who discriminates against no book based on genre.

—

Also, as I post this, I’m listening to this podcast from The Kindlings Muse on Christian Contributions to and Consumptions of fantasy and myth. It’s a very interesting discussion (with Jeffrey Overstreet and others) around the fear of fantasy in Christian circles, as well as the idea of embodying the gospel in our stories instead of merely telling a linear story. I highly recommend you listen, too – especially if you have ambivalence toward fantasy.

[Shameless plug: to listen to The Kindlings Muse podcasts I participated in, go here for the links].

36

I look forward to my birthday more than I look forward to Christmas, or summer, or the day all my kids are potty trained. Today is a cool, crisp, sunny day, and there is freshness in the air. Summer is gone and I am wearing socks again. New fall fashions abound, and school provides me with a refreshing break during the day.

I am light on my feet.

I am light in spirit.

My birthday draws out the happy drunk uncle in me – the one who embraces everyone in a big hug and blesses them for being alive, who raises a pint in honor of friendship and then sobs uncontrollably while chanting, ‘I love you, man!’ I am always and forever grateful for my friends, and nothing brings out that gratefulness more than remembering the day many of those friendships began – which was 17 years ago today.

I am thankful today for all of my friendships, for each person who adds so much to my experience, for each comment I hope for on my blog, for each ass-kick I receive in loving rebuke. I could not be a mother without you. I could not be a wife without you. I could not be a writer without you.

And now I’ve done it: tears, snot, and contorted face – I’ve gone and made myself cry.

I LOVE YOU, MAN!

What All Four Year Olds Do With Scissors…

The other day I let the kids use their blunt scissors to make beautiful creations with paper. Later on, as I was cleaning the kitchen after lunch, they both went up stairs to get ready for naps. I could hear them up there, screaming as they played catch with a ball – then silence.

Thomas wandered downstairs asking for milk. I asked where his sister was, and went up to investigate. She was nowhere to be found. I called her name, and she answered me… from under Thomas’ bed.

I noticed that she had a pair of scissors in her hand, and I noticed that she was hiding under the bed.

“What are you cutting under there?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re cutting something, and you’re hiding it from me. Confess it to me now, because if I have to figure it out on my own you’ll be in worse trouble” [translate: spanking].

“…my hair.”

She crawled out from under the bed and I saw her poor, chopped, hair. It was so, so, sad. Fortunately, it fixed up pretty nice, but I miss her cute little Ruthie haircut. This one is growing on me, but it makes her look so much older, and I’m not ready for older.

We all took it in stride, though, especially me. It is, after all, only hair.

Flash Slideshow

RottenNeighbor

I checked, and so far we haven’t been reported. Whew!

Writing Day

My latest post is up at Mars Hill’s Vox Pop Network about stepping out of my comfort zone. Titled, Overcoming the fear that toilet paper may be hanging out of my skirt, here is an excerpt….

I once watched with curiosity as my friend stopped to talk to a homeless woman in my neighborhood and extended ways in which she could personally help her. I had no idea what made her capable of doing this, and chalked it up to just not being my thing. I know lots of extroverts, those people who make conversation with everybody. They chat with the cashier while grocery shopping, they talk to the other moms at the park, they say, â€˜Hey, that looks cute on you,â€™ to the fellow shopper at the mall. I once knew a gal whose husband teased her that sheâ€™d talk to a light pole if no one else was around.

This is not naturally me. In fact, this is the opposite of me. It is the anti-me. And for the longest time it was the so-not-going-to-EVER-be-me me. But lately Iâ€™ve been trying to not use this as an excuse to avoid the people Jesus puts in front of me.

Go here to read the full essay.

I worked on this essay for weeks, and finally posted the fourth or fifth draft. It’s such a rewarding experience to see something kind of good work its way into something (dare I say) excellent. It has also been beneficial in getting over my aversion to drafting. Just when I think something is great, I let it sit for awhile, and don’t even read it. Then I come back to it a week later with fresh eyes, and a new phrase pops into my head that fits perfectly between paragraphs three and four to tie it all together.

It can be a maddening experience though, and I’m beginning to see why writers and artists are so eccentric. We spend so much time in our own thoughts, distracted over an undone work of art, that the Right Here and Now gets a little lost. Please warn me if I start looking a little disheveled and mumble to myself while quietly rocking with pen and pad in hand.

My mother’s wish granted: More Jesus, less swearing.

Things are finally falling into place concerning my other writing gig (I just love saying that – writing ‘gig’), and I will hereby unveil it in this post.

In juuust a minute.

But first, a little context. By now you’ve probably figured out that despite the drinking and the swearing and the boob shots, I am a Christian. It’s a tricky topic to talk about directly for many MANY reasons, so I have chosen to refrain from any overt declarations and simply lend a few clues into my faith through my writing. If I do talk about my faith here at This Pile, it’s because there is no other way around processing through the topic at hand.

That being said, I have wanted an outlet for thoughts and essays that speak more directly about my life as a Christian. Recently I discovered my church has a network of blogs called The Vox Pop Network. I thought this was a very cool thing for a church to have, and a couple months ago I inquired about being a contributor to one of these blogs.

Aaaand despite the swearing and the drinking and the boob shots, they gave me a password and said, Go For It! So if you are interested in reading me in a different context – one that is more about Jesus and less about me, one that is several times refined and not a first draft, one that is filled with more hope and less angst – you can follow me (along with other contributors) here.

My first essay contribution, on the topic of baptism, is here.