We all give thanks by giving back.
In November, I always celebrate my birthday - 53 total so far – with a series of small checks in honor of folks who make East Texas so fabulous.
I just wish I had more money. I started posting the lists when I started writing this column to make your “shopping” easier as Christmas approaches.
This year, with all the talk of recession, I am focusing on faith-based ministries that address physical or emotional needs. I am also highlighting some organizations that are economically sensible choices because they make East Texas an appealing place to live or visit.
1) Christus Mission Clinic, 307 Cain Street, Bullard TX 75757 903-894-0109.
2) Bethesda Health Clinic, 409 W. Ferguson, Tyler TX, 903-596-8353 or www.bethesdaclinic.org.
3) CARE, Christ-centered Abortion Recovery of East Texas, www.careabortionrecovery.com.
4) Meals on Wheals Ministry Inc, 3001 Robertson Road, Tyler TX 75701, 800-451-2912 or 903-593-7385 or www.mealsonwheelseasttexas.org.
5) Project HEAT, Healthy Action Eating Team, devoted to impacting American health by changing the way the next generation and their families eat, PO Box 1278, Chandler TX 75758 or www.projectheatonline.org.
6) Pine Cove Christian Camps, PO Box 9055, Tyler TX 75711, 903-561-0231 or www.pinecove.com.
7) Boys and Girls Club of East Texas, 504 W. 32nd St, Tyler TX 75702, 903.593.9211 or Lauren@bgcet.org.
8) Literacy Council of Tyler, PO Box 6662, Tyler TX 75711, 903.533.0330 or go to www.lcotyler.org.
9) Living Alternatives, PO Box 131466, Tyler TX 75713, 903.882.0182 or www.livingalternatives.org.
10) The Women’s Symphony League of Tyler, 107 E. Erwin, Tyler, TX 75702, 903.596.9154 or www.wsltyler.org.
11) American Freedom Museum, AMF Development, 1051 N. Houston St, Bullard TX 75757 or www.americanfreedommuseum.org.
12) East Texas Hall of Fame Museum and Cultural Arts Complex, in the early planning stages, via The Arts & Humanities Council of East Texas. Call 903.216.3671 or go to www.artscouncilet.org
I wanted to give you a sentence about why I love each of the above, but I ran out of column inches. So, please go to their websites or better yet, volunteer.
Picking only a dozen non-profits in East Texas is nearly impossible. If your favorite was not on my list this year, just send me their address and why you love ‘em. I would love an excuse to get your best-loved nonprofit in before the first of the year, too.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Monday, November 14, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Pee in the Cup
The last time I applied for a job a million years ago, no one asked me to pee in a cup.
For those of you who are retired and missed this phenomenon, now days, if you want a job with almost any big company, you have to submit to a drug test.
There was a time many moons ago, when you could look for a job without anyone even once recommending that you head to the potty. In fact, in those ancient days, people considered it poor etiquette to even mention the potty during an interview.
We even had euphemisms in the unlikely event that the subject could not possibly be avoided.
Like powder room. What a lovely concept!
Of course, powder was an extremely feminine luxury and putting powder on your nose was considered a complex and perplexing mystery.
Nothing at all like peeing in a cup. Which is pretty vulgar.
If you ask me, peeing in a cup is an incentive for keeping the job you’ve got.
While I was looking for a job, I applied at some temp agencies. I can write, but apparently I can’t type, so they never called me.
I was relieved. Not in the euphemistic sense.
Young people coming out of college seem to assume that peeing in a cup is just part of the process of landing their first big job. They have such good attitudes about the whole thing.
I try to tell myself that I should emulate their example, change with the times, accept what I cannot change.
And I will, too. Right after I write this column.
My goal is to write something that employers can give to their prospective employees along with all the proper medical forms, to acknowledge that, yes, the new system is really icky.
Imagine how happy I was to learn that peeing in the cup happens at a lab and not at the work place.
Picture yourself handing a cup of pee to your boss and you have the general concept. Try not to think about it.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
For those of you who are retired and missed this phenomenon, now days, if you want a job with almost any big company, you have to submit to a drug test.
There was a time many moons ago, when you could look for a job without anyone even once recommending that you head to the potty. In fact, in those ancient days, people considered it poor etiquette to even mention the potty during an interview.
We even had euphemisms in the unlikely event that the subject could not possibly be avoided.
Like powder room. What a lovely concept!
Of course, powder was an extremely feminine luxury and putting powder on your nose was considered a complex and perplexing mystery.
Nothing at all like peeing in a cup. Which is pretty vulgar.
If you ask me, peeing in a cup is an incentive for keeping the job you’ve got.
While I was looking for a job, I applied at some temp agencies. I can write, but apparently I can’t type, so they never called me.
I was relieved. Not in the euphemistic sense.
Young people coming out of college seem to assume that peeing in a cup is just part of the process of landing their first big job. They have such good attitudes about the whole thing.
I try to tell myself that I should emulate their example, change with the times, accept what I cannot change.
And I will, too. Right after I write this column.
My goal is to write something that employers can give to their prospective employees along with all the proper medical forms, to acknowledge that, yes, the new system is really icky.
Imagine how happy I was to learn that peeing in the cup happens at a lab and not at the work place.
Picture yourself handing a cup of pee to your boss and you have the general concept. Try not to think about it.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Monday, August 30, 2010
What if? Abortion and Immigration May be Related Issues
What if we asked God to raise up an army of believers to bring justice to a difficult social injustice and - pause - He DID it?
What if we prayed for something and God gave us exactly what we wanted but wrapped it up in a box that we didn’t recognize?
I’m afraid there is a lot more to the topic of immigration that many Republican pro-life candidates and elected officials may be missing.
I was fortunate to attend the Texas Press Association summer conference one week after attending the Texas Republican Convention.
What a study in contrasts!
My brain was on overload by the time we left the GOP even though I heard later from friends that we missed more raucous discussion on the floor of the last general session.
One young friend shared how surprising it was to hear grown men have “temper tantrums” while amplifying it over a microphone. Clearly, it was his first convention. Welcome to American politics as usual.
A week later at the TPA a friend reminded me comfortingly that US politics was a “bloodbath” back in the 1800s, too, an era that this newspaper man/author often researches in his personal time.
In spite of the fact that downright meanness seems to be the standard of American politics, I’m tired of unkindness masquerading as “truth.” Truth can be plainly spoken without being vitriolic.
Being a passionate – okay, opinionated - person myself I too get the self-indulgent temptation to speak bluntly without taking a 10 second pause to measure the effect of my words on those hearing them. I try to keep in mind that while God is All-knowing, I’m not. And neither are any of our office-holding, public servants.
Usually, I enjoy the rough and ready nature of Texas politics.
But this time the stakes are high.
As one Texan friend with Latina heritage confided, “No one is in favor of abortion.” Then she added that rhetoric on immigration is “hateful.”
What if, hearing our entreaties for help in the effort to curtail and eliminate abortions in this country, God decided to send a deluge of hard-working, God-fearing people to our aid?
But what if in the complicated, often heart-rending issues surrounding immigration, we failed to recognize the prize? What if in our frustration we failed to have the useful and constructive public conversations that will produce solutions regarding immigration and, instead, settled for sound bites?
What if we simply told God, “Never mind, I’ve decided I’d rather keep my wallet in my pocket. What I asked You for is going to cost me too much in taxes?”
Just a thought.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Less Fat, More life
DIET is a four-letter word.
Imagine the frustration that word is stirring up in the heart of a teenager who was recently diagnosed with high blood pressure; a problem that temporarily bumped him out of the sports he loves and landed him in the hospital. Bummer.
Life is not fair.
His mom happens to have a friend who is a self-trained expert on how to fail at every diet. That would be me. I have a wealth of unwanted experience about trimming the fat and upping the nutritional value of my calories.
In honor of my friend’s son, here are the things that turn out to be kinda easy:
-Google all the fast food restaurants and pick out one item you like on each menu that is less than 300 calories, maybe a little more for guys. That way you’ll have a “safe” choice when you are hanging out with your friends. You’ll be surprised; who knew a small cup of slaw could pack a whopping 600 calories.
-Pick out a sugarless jam or jelly to eat on your toast instead of butter. This can cure a sweet tooth.
-Spread a teaspoon of peanut butter or Neufchatel on a whole-wheat cracker or flat pretzels if you find yourself craving fat. Or choose avocado because it will give you a dose of potassium and you can add onions and tomatoes and have guacamole.
-Teenagers always love Rotel dip, but add a can of vegetarian refried beans and at least get a little real food in there with the Velveeta.
-Keep boiled eggs in the fridge. Cut them in half and throw away half the yoke.
-My friend who is a personal trainer tells me that people who are successful at losing weight keep diaries of what they eat each day. I can’t seem to be that organized more than one week at a time, so I just do it every other week. To me, overeating is a lot like when folks quit smoking for a week, that’s still a week less lung pollution or a week of eating for good health. It can’t hurt.
-Find some easy, crock pot recipes, like lo-cal lo-fat soups, so when you walk in your door tired and hungry the smell that greets you will be temptingly healthy.
-Invest in a sturdy, non-stick skillet.
-Experiment to find the changes your family might not notice, like tossing a few tablespoons of bran or oatmeal into your regular baking recipes. Or replacing some of the butter with small amounts of olive oil.
No, there’s nothing earth shaking on this list; just a few easy changes that your family might be willing to swallow, like drinking more water and less soda pop.
Who knows? A few less calories today might mean a longer, healthier life for the whole family.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Resolutions. Really?
I just hate resolutions. They sound so political. As if we are proposing some government agreement that is personally binding. Ick. As appealing as taxes.
“I set 8 goals last year and I’ve only got one left,” said a twenty-something friend about November of last year.
I was impressed; my resolutions never make it into February. Plus, eight is less than one accomplishment a month. Definitely do-able.
And it was cool stuff, too, like a bucket list.
“I’m sending you the abridged version,” laughed my friend when I asked him for his 2010 list. Before I could wonder what he left off, he added, “It’s going to include swimming in the Krafve’s pool once a week.”
In 2009, this young man managed to run a half marathon in under two hours, open a Roth IRA, save money for retirement, begin saving money for a down payment on a house, buy a serious piece of fun sports equipment, build his website, come close to running a six-minute mile, pull together one of his projects and submit it for a state-wide award.
He’s not even 25-years-old yet. Wow!
Notice how measurable and practical his ideas are. And there’s fun in the mix.
So, what’s he got on the agenda for 2010?
-Run a half-mile in under 1:50.
-Run a 6-minute mile.
-Learn to play harmonica
-Read the bible every day; no matter how short the passage. At least crack it open.
-Win a work-related award.
-Open a money market account and invest.
-Become conversational in Spanish.
-Do a 100-mile bike race.
-Choose a three-course meal and perfect cooking it.
Yeah, I like his list so much, I’m having trouble making my own set of goals for 2010.
Let’s just tell the truth; a fifty-something mom-type is not going to run a six-minute mile. However, but I am thinking of putting at least one of his ideas on my own list.
Yeah, if you change swimming, to laying out by the pool and working on my tan once a week, I’ll have the beginning of a list I can relate to.
Goals. I like the sound of that. And I still have eleven months to go.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Friday, November 20, 2009
A Community Full of Reason to Give Thanks
There’s a chill in the air and we are alive to enjoy it.
Two reason to give thanks.
Each year at this time I make out a short list of reasons I am thankful and I send them all a small gift, before I start cooking for Thanksgiving or shopping for Christmas.
Why? Because I like to remember what really matters to me, right before the holiday rush competes to short circuit my soul.
So, who is on my Thanksgiving list this year?
-Bethesda Health Clinic. Serving the working, uninsured of Smith County, this group brings together volunteers from all walks of life, including hundreds of doctors, dentists, and nurses. Bethesda also unites churches of all denominations to provide affordable, top-notch health care and they do it all without one penny from our government. Pretty impressive. 409 W. Ferguson, Tyler TX, 903.596.8353.
-Bullard Education Foundation. With our government dictating how we have to spend our own tax dollars, local foundations put local control back in the hands of community leaders whose heart beat is the education of our own kiddoes. PO Box 928, Bullard, TX 75757, 903.894.6639.
-Discovery Science Place. East Texas children can grow up running through the bat cave and vibrating on the earthquake without ever realizing that it was a form of education. 308 N. Broadway, Tyler TX 75702, 903.533.8011.
-East Texas Rescue Mission of Tyler. Being a journalist takes me into new territory every day, but this year the thing that touched my heart most was to learn how many people we have sleeping on the streets in East Texas. I like this group’s approach because they make a long term commitment to those willing to take personal responsibility and apply spiritual solutions. 1023 N Glenwood Blvd, Tyler, TX 75702-5058, 903.592.9400.
-Pine Cove Christian Camps. I love the way Pine Cove ministers to families and kiddoes, soldiers’ families, young and old people, near and far, the privileged and the underprivileged. But my favorite thing is the way they train young men to be servant leaders. PO Box 9055, Tyler TX 75711, 903.561.0231.
Is East Texas unique in the way people are so committed to helping others? Or maybe its just part of a bigger American way of thinking that is built into our heritage and identity. Who knows?
All I know is I am thankful.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I Refuse to Be Poor
“I refuse to be poor,” said my friend recently with a big grin.
Don’t ya love it? In the face of all the negative economic talk, she’s made a decision to be rich.
Me, too.
Take, for instance, our dog, Lucy, who does not care if the bills get paid this month as long as there are scary and dangerous squirrels in her yard that she can chase away for the safety of our family.
Okay, it may seem silly, but I love the way Lucy passionately goes about her business in the present moment without any concern for what the folks in Washington or on Wall Street are cooking up.
Besides squirrel-chasing pets, here is the list of wealth we can all enjoy no matter what the economy does.
-Heritage. We are a people who are rich in our ancestors; those good folks who founded a nation on the principle of self-government, based on self-sacrifice and self-discipline. Then, they came to Texas and built a culture out of hard-work and vision.
-Family. We can be rich in family in any economy.
If our kids know that dad and mom are heroes who would starve before letting the kids go hungry, then we are rich indeed.
When our parents have committed themselves to a lifestyle full of dignity and service to others, we inherit a wealth.
-Friends. We are wealthy if we have friends who understand the real priorities in life and remind each other.
-Good Health and Brave Hearts. Folks who are enjoying good health always add this to the list of reasons to be thankful, but I’ve noticed that my friends who are fighting a health battle are the ones who inspire me most. So, give us hearts to be brave in the face of whatever happens. Let us inspire those around us as we face challenges with grace and courage.
-Community Values. Community values are expressed a thousand ways, but one of my favorites is in the hymns that ring out on any given Sunday in hundreds of churches across East Texas. There’s nothing like a good old rousing rendition of Amazing Grace to serve as a reality check.
Does it seem a little Pollyanna to be positive in the face of bad economic news? Maybe. Or maybe the reality isn’t what we see on the television at night.
Maybe, just maybe, the reality is the wealth we enjoy in the loving relationships we create as we struggle and succeed together in tough times.
Just like my friend, I refuse to be poor, even if our bank account fluctuates with the rest of the world’s economy.
My best wishes to you, dear neighbors, for your continued success in the face of uncertain times. May you be rich in all the ways that matter.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Don’t ya love it? In the face of all the negative economic talk, she’s made a decision to be rich.
Me, too.
Take, for instance, our dog, Lucy, who does not care if the bills get paid this month as long as there are scary and dangerous squirrels in her yard that she can chase away for the safety of our family.
Okay, it may seem silly, but I love the way Lucy passionately goes about her business in the present moment without any concern for what the folks in Washington or on Wall Street are cooking up.
Besides squirrel-chasing pets, here is the list of wealth we can all enjoy no matter what the economy does.
-Heritage. We are a people who are rich in our ancestors; those good folks who founded a nation on the principle of self-government, based on self-sacrifice and self-discipline. Then, they came to Texas and built a culture out of hard-work and vision.
-Family. We can be rich in family in any economy.
If our kids know that dad and mom are heroes who would starve before letting the kids go hungry, then we are rich indeed.
When our parents have committed themselves to a lifestyle full of dignity and service to others, we inherit a wealth.
-Friends. We are wealthy if we have friends who understand the real priorities in life and remind each other.
-Good Health and Brave Hearts. Folks who are enjoying good health always add this to the list of reasons to be thankful, but I’ve noticed that my friends who are fighting a health battle are the ones who inspire me most. So, give us hearts to be brave in the face of whatever happens. Let us inspire those around us as we face challenges with grace and courage.
-Community Values. Community values are expressed a thousand ways, but one of my favorites is in the hymns that ring out on any given Sunday in hundreds of churches across East Texas. There’s nothing like a good old rousing rendition of Amazing Grace to serve as a reality check.
Does it seem a little Pollyanna to be positive in the face of bad economic news? Maybe. Or maybe the reality isn’t what we see on the television at night.
Maybe, just maybe, the reality is the wealth we enjoy in the loving relationships we create as we struggle and succeed together in tough times.
Just like my friend, I refuse to be poor, even if our bank account fluctuates with the rest of the world’s economy.
My best wishes to you, dear neighbors, for your continued success in the face of uncertain times. May you be rich in all the ways that matter.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I’m NOT Going Through Menopause
I’m fifty and I’m not going through menopause.
I know this because every year I have my doctor draw blood and check it. Who knew there’s a test for menopausal women?
This only became a question because my husband kept saying, ‘Oh, you’re just going through menopause.”
No, I’m just super-sensitive and it has nothing at all to do with menopause thank you very much.
Most women, and apparently their husbands, dread menopause.
Let me just say that having your last child late in life does affect your perspective. When I started experiencing symptoms at 38, I thought then that I was probably just going through menopause early. I was afraid to tell anyone I was pregnant, for fear I’d have to go back and explain it was just a hot flash.
Now every time I get symptoms of any kind I think I’m pregnant. Not that I’m neurotic or anything.
All my friends, of a certain age you understand, are going through menopause, so I feel kinda left out. I’m really due to be menopausal. I’ve earned it.
I’m looking forward to having an excuse for my temper tantrums.
“Oh, Mom’s just menopausal,” I imagine my children saying as they tiptoe around the house avoiding my hypersensitive feelings.
“But you better clean up your room anyway,” they’ll add tenderly. In my fantasy world.
The reason that menopause hasn’t struck me yet is bound to be because I had that child late in life.
Or maybe it’s because I just love my estrogen cream.
It’s fragrance-free, plus it goes on like silk.
The instructions say to use only a dab, so I am not recommending the following course of action. I have no idea what the consequences are; side-effects could involve additional mammary glands, sort of like the blue Hindu goddesses I see in art museums.
But I spread that cream all over. In gobs.
I really like it as a face cream. Originally, I had hoped that it might hold back the wrinkles. Uh, no, that doesn’t work. Apparently.
I also love yams. And soy. I developed a taste for all-things-estrogen when my daughters moved away and left an estrogen vacuum at my house.
Suddenly, I found myself overwhelmed with testosterone. Or, as one of my friends said when they got their new puppy, “No more penises!”
I joined my mother’s garden club. I went back to my sorority meetings. Anything to be with other women.
I call my mom a lot. Bless her.
“You know, men go through menopause, too,” she told me.
What a relief. I bet that explains why my husband is so super-sensitive.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
I know this because every year I have my doctor draw blood and check it. Who knew there’s a test for menopausal women?
This only became a question because my husband kept saying, ‘Oh, you’re just going through menopause.”
No, I’m just super-sensitive and it has nothing at all to do with menopause thank you very much.
Most women, and apparently their husbands, dread menopause.
Let me just say that having your last child late in life does affect your perspective. When I started experiencing symptoms at 38, I thought then that I was probably just going through menopause early. I was afraid to tell anyone I was pregnant, for fear I’d have to go back and explain it was just a hot flash.
Now every time I get symptoms of any kind I think I’m pregnant. Not that I’m neurotic or anything.
All my friends, of a certain age you understand, are going through menopause, so I feel kinda left out. I’m really due to be menopausal. I’ve earned it.
I’m looking forward to having an excuse for my temper tantrums.
“Oh, Mom’s just menopausal,” I imagine my children saying as they tiptoe around the house avoiding my hypersensitive feelings.
“But you better clean up your room anyway,” they’ll add tenderly. In my fantasy world.
The reason that menopause hasn’t struck me yet is bound to be because I had that child late in life.
Or maybe it’s because I just love my estrogen cream.
It’s fragrance-free, plus it goes on like silk.
The instructions say to use only a dab, so I am not recommending the following course of action. I have no idea what the consequences are; side-effects could involve additional mammary glands, sort of like the blue Hindu goddesses I see in art museums.
But I spread that cream all over. In gobs.
I really like it as a face cream. Originally, I had hoped that it might hold back the wrinkles. Uh, no, that doesn’t work. Apparently.
I also love yams. And soy. I developed a taste for all-things-estrogen when my daughters moved away and left an estrogen vacuum at my house.
Suddenly, I found myself overwhelmed with testosterone. Or, as one of my friends said when they got their new puppy, “No more penises!”
I joined my mother’s garden club. I went back to my sorority meetings. Anything to be with other women.
I call my mom a lot. Bless her.
“You know, men go through menopause, too,” she told me.
What a relief. I bet that explains why my husband is so super-sensitive.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Veloute Soup
My friend, Margarite Strout, whose kitchen always blends the aromas of her family background including French, Swiss, North and South American (Uraguay), is genetically and culturally predisposed to be one of the best cooks I know. Veloute is French for velvety.
Veloute Soupe
3 quarts water
4 chicken thighs, with bones and skin
½ tsp garlic powder (not garlic salt)
1 tsp crushed oregano
2 large potatoes, peeled and cubed
4 large carrots, peeled and quartered
Salt and pepper to taste
½ tsp. cumin
In a large pot, boil the chicken thighs for about 45 minutes with the spices until the chicken is falling apart. Scoop out the chicken and set it aside. Add the veggies and boil until tender. While they cook, separate the chicken meat from the bones and skin. Dice the meat and throw away the rest.
With a hand-held blender, puree the veggies in the pot until it looks velvety. Add the diced chicken meat back in. Salt and pepper to taste. Add cumin.
Served in mugs by a roaring fire, this is a nutritious, wintery treat for a cold day. For fancy occasions, Margarite swirls in a spoonful of cream and garnishes with oregano or parsley. Either way, it is sure to make your kitchen smell like hers; a cross-cultural experience.
Veloute Soupe
3 quarts water
4 chicken thighs, with bones and skin
½ tsp garlic powder (not garlic salt)
1 tsp crushed oregano
2 large potatoes, peeled and cubed
4 large carrots, peeled and quartered
Salt and pepper to taste
½ tsp. cumin
In a large pot, boil the chicken thighs for about 45 minutes with the spices until the chicken is falling apart. Scoop out the chicken and set it aside. Add the veggies and boil until tender. While they cook, separate the chicken meat from the bones and skin. Dice the meat and throw away the rest.
With a hand-held blender, puree the veggies in the pot until it looks velvety. Add the diced chicken meat back in. Salt and pepper to taste. Add cumin.
Served in mugs by a roaring fire, this is a nutritious, wintery treat for a cold day. For fancy occasions, Margarite swirls in a spoonful of cream and garnishes with oregano or parsley. Either way, it is sure to make your kitchen smell like hers; a cross-cultural experience.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Mirror, Mirror, Leaning Against the Wall
I accidentally discovered the easiest solution ever for my weight problem.
If only I could market it, I’d be rich.
It happened when it dawned on me that, once my daughter moved back home to work, I would not be able to use her room as my office/personal huge closet. As I was removing all my collection of stuff, I realized that the longest mirror in the house was fixing to be off limits to me sometimes.
So I did what all sensible mothers would do under the circumstances.
I moved the mirror to my room and leaned it against the wall.
And, like Galilee and Thomas Edison and countless inventors before me, I had my own eureka moment when I accidentally looked in the mirror.
Things may appear skinnier than they are.
Apparently, when you look at a person at a certain angle, mostly as if you are looking up, they look really trim and tall. It was a new experience for me. Not unlike the trick mirrors at the county fair each year.
We possess another mirror that I have always claimed had similar secret powers. Now I suspect that this other mirror, too, has some kind of design flaw.
You might be a candidate for my leaning mirror trick...
- if you tell your girlfriends that girdles, not diamonds, are a girl’s best friend. And, yes, like me, you are getting old if you call them girdles, not bodyshapers or spanx.
-if you have strong opinion about the florescent lighting in retail dressing rooms ending with the phrase “I don’t see why we can’t have candle-light!”
-if you grab a pen and paper when your friend tells you her favorite recipe for her juicer.
-if you count the calories in chocolate as medicinal. Okay, maybe that has nothing to do with weight; that may be a female thing.
-you are pretty sure that a good belly laugh burns calories.
-you write columns about mirrors and you actually think someone else might care.
I call my new leaning mirror trick, “The Skinny Angle Principle.” I want credit for discovering it. I’m claiming that it is even more practical than, say, the law of gravity or Newton’s Law.
There are obviously some other easy ways to put the Skinny Angle Principle to work for us.
We can simply make it a habit to stand on stairs. We can bring stools with us to every social function. We can exclusively hang out with six-year-olds and similarly short people.
As a short person myself, I am also working on a corresponding theory: Tall people may not be as skinny as they appear. I find that comforting somehow.
The other good thing about this new discovery is that it gives me the perfect excuse not to bother with actually installing the mirror. It’s not like hanging a mirror will burn that many calories anyway, right?
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmasil.com.
If only I could market it, I’d be rich.
It happened when it dawned on me that, once my daughter moved back home to work, I would not be able to use her room as my office/personal huge closet. As I was removing all my collection of stuff, I realized that the longest mirror in the house was fixing to be off limits to me sometimes.
So I did what all sensible mothers would do under the circumstances.
I moved the mirror to my room and leaned it against the wall.
And, like Galilee and Thomas Edison and countless inventors before me, I had my own eureka moment when I accidentally looked in the mirror.
Things may appear skinnier than they are.
Apparently, when you look at a person at a certain angle, mostly as if you are looking up, they look really trim and tall. It was a new experience for me. Not unlike the trick mirrors at the county fair each year.
We possess another mirror that I have always claimed had similar secret powers. Now I suspect that this other mirror, too, has some kind of design flaw.
You might be a candidate for my leaning mirror trick...
- if you tell your girlfriends that girdles, not diamonds, are a girl’s best friend. And, yes, like me, you are getting old if you call them girdles, not bodyshapers or spanx.
-if you have strong opinion about the florescent lighting in retail dressing rooms ending with the phrase “I don’t see why we can’t have candle-light!”
-if you grab a pen and paper when your friend tells you her favorite recipe for her juicer.
-if you count the calories in chocolate as medicinal. Okay, maybe that has nothing to do with weight; that may be a female thing.
-you are pretty sure that a good belly laugh burns calories.
-you write columns about mirrors and you actually think someone else might care.
I call my new leaning mirror trick, “The Skinny Angle Principle.” I want credit for discovering it. I’m claiming that it is even more practical than, say, the law of gravity or Newton’s Law.
There are obviously some other easy ways to put the Skinny Angle Principle to work for us.
We can simply make it a habit to stand on stairs. We can bring stools with us to every social function. We can exclusively hang out with six-year-olds and similarly short people.
As a short person myself, I am also working on a corresponding theory: Tall people may not be as skinny as they appear. I find that comforting somehow.
The other good thing about this new discovery is that it gives me the perfect excuse not to bother with actually installing the mirror. It’s not like hanging a mirror will burn that many calories anyway, right?
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmasil.com.
Words We Don't Use
There is a three letter word we don’t use at our house and it starts with an f.
If you don’t know which word I mean, then you obviously have a good relationship with your bathroom scales.
At our house, we say soft. Or, my personal favorite, suave, which is the word for soft in espanol.
Suave. Don’t ya just love it?
Of course, no man wants to be referred to as soft, so we have masculine euphemisms, too.
My favorite is the way we refer to the tire around the middle of a middle-aged man as his security. You know, in the event of a famine, security could be useful. I am just practical that way.
I finally reached a truce with my scales. I ignore them and they consequently ignore me.
That was right before the scales broke, not that I cared.
My bathroom mirror, on the other hand, is a thing of delightful enchantment.
Don’t ask me how I became the happy owner of a mirror that invariably makes me look skinny, young, wrinkleless, and sag-free.
It was a gift from my mom-in-law for our first home.
How did she purchase the perfect gift? Perhaps from a wandering gipsy caravan? From a retired circus performer?
I don’t know, but I am pretty sure it is one of a kind and I am not sharing it.
I will certainly triple wrap the priceless mirror, if I ever have to move again, even to the nursing home. I am finally at an age to fully appreciate the worth of such a remarkable object.
It is possible that it is not the mirror at all. I could just be an anti-rexic. I always see myself as eighteen and quite skinny. This is clearly a psychic disorder, but I refuse to take medication for it.
Unfortunately, my closet is not so accommodating.
Somewhere between my bathroom mirror and my blue jeans, I gain ten pounds.
Good grief. I cannot explain this phenomenon; I only know that it is true. I can tell by the way I have to strain to get the jeans zipped and buttoned.
There are other f-words, of course. If you have an elementary school child, you already know that the kids at school use an f-word every time someone passes gas.
There’s the s-word too, which is for kids that are the opposite of smart.
And, if the s-word does not suffice, there is always the d-word.
I would tell you what the d-word is, but I’m no dummy.
Oops.
We don’t use those words at our house.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
If you don’t know which word I mean, then you obviously have a good relationship with your bathroom scales.
At our house, we say soft. Or, my personal favorite, suave, which is the word for soft in espanol.
Suave. Don’t ya just love it?
Of course, no man wants to be referred to as soft, so we have masculine euphemisms, too.
My favorite is the way we refer to the tire around the middle of a middle-aged man as his security. You know, in the event of a famine, security could be useful. I am just practical that way.
I finally reached a truce with my scales. I ignore them and they consequently ignore me.
That was right before the scales broke, not that I cared.
My bathroom mirror, on the other hand, is a thing of delightful enchantment.
Don’t ask me how I became the happy owner of a mirror that invariably makes me look skinny, young, wrinkleless, and sag-free.
It was a gift from my mom-in-law for our first home.
How did she purchase the perfect gift? Perhaps from a wandering gipsy caravan? From a retired circus performer?
I don’t know, but I am pretty sure it is one of a kind and I am not sharing it.
I will certainly triple wrap the priceless mirror, if I ever have to move again, even to the nursing home. I am finally at an age to fully appreciate the worth of such a remarkable object.
It is possible that it is not the mirror at all. I could just be an anti-rexic. I always see myself as eighteen and quite skinny. This is clearly a psychic disorder, but I refuse to take medication for it.
Unfortunately, my closet is not so accommodating.
Somewhere between my bathroom mirror and my blue jeans, I gain ten pounds.
Good grief. I cannot explain this phenomenon; I only know that it is true. I can tell by the way I have to strain to get the jeans zipped and buttoned.
There are other f-words, of course. If you have an elementary school child, you already know that the kids at school use an f-word every time someone passes gas.
There’s the s-word too, which is for kids that are the opposite of smart.
And, if the s-word does not suffice, there is always the d-word.
I would tell you what the d-word is, but I’m no dummy.
Oops.
We don’t use those words at our house.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Reasons to Be Thankful
This time of year I always have one more reason to be thankful; I’m still here.
Yep, my birthday is in the fall and in honor of the occasion, every year I give myself the gift I really want; a better community. One small check at a time.
Here’s the 2008 list of winners of the Checklist Charlie’s Birthday List of Favorite Community Groups in East Texas.
-The Lift the Library Fund supporting the library in Frankston, where since the mid-80s, books have shared quarters with the Depot Museum. Send checks c/o First State Bank PO Box 277 Frankston TX 75763. The Bullard Library, housed in the familiar old log cabin downtown, it is time Bullard’s library had the space to match their hard work, vision, and community service. PO Box 368, Bullard TX 75757. The Noonday Library where Miss Loretta blesses folks by knowing their names and ordering new books with specific kiddoes in mind. 16662 CR 196 Tyler TX 75703.
-The Neonatal Unit at Trinity Mother Frances. We have always had to load extremely sick newborns into helicopters and ship them off to Dallas, where their families had to cope with the additional burden of travel and lodging. Fortunately that is about to change. It can’t happen soon enough. Donations should be marked Neonatal ICU and can be mailed to Trinity MFHS Foundation at 611 Fleishel, Tyler TX 75701.
-Bathesda Health Clinic. Step inside the clinic and you will immediately recognize that the key to their success is their commitment. Providing health care for the working underinsured of Smith County, Bethesda is primarily staffed by hundreds of doctors, nurses and other volunteers. Plus, while patients pay a small fee, the burden of the cost is shouldered by visionary private donors.
-Discovery Science Place. I love the attitude of teaching kiddoes while they are having fun. I respect all the sacrifices made along the way by the team of community leaders who have worked hard to give East Texas a science museum and then used the facilities to bless lots of families, including my own. They make my list every year: 308 N. Broadway, Tyler TX 75702.
-Pine Cove Christian Camps, where scholarships make it possible for many military families to attend family camp -sometimes while daddy is on tour- and also Boys and Girls Club kiddoes attend camp every summer because of lots of small gifts from people like you and me. Mark checks “scholarship” and mail to PO Box 9055, Tyler TX 75711.
-The TISD Foundation. Every community should be so blessed to have folks willing to give their own money to improve and empower the public schools. One of the oldest education foundations in Texas, this pioneer in public school philanthropy is always coming up with new ways to make public school education better in Tyler. If your business benefits from people raised in the TISD, why not put a check in the mail in honor of your employees? Or if you are interested in learning more about how an education foundation can serve the community, go to www.tylerisd.org.
This Birthday List distinction does not come with a trophy, but it does have a cash prize. I’m turning 50, so I’m sending $50 to each of the lucky winners. They also get listed on my blog. Whoop-te-do, right?
Yeah, I know it’s not much, so I’m hoping you’ll find it in you heart to put a check in an envelope, too. Either to the groups on this list or to the folks you know who are working hard in this community.
They tell me every little bit counts. I believe them. Obviously.
Better communities is a gift we can all be thankful for.
Yep, my birthday is in the fall and in honor of the occasion, every year I give myself the gift I really want; a better community. One small check at a time.
Here’s the 2008 list of winners of the Checklist Charlie’s Birthday List of Favorite Community Groups in East Texas.
-The Lift the Library Fund supporting the library in Frankston, where since the mid-80s, books have shared quarters with the Depot Museum. Send checks c/o First State Bank PO Box 277 Frankston TX 75763. The Bullard Library, housed in the familiar old log cabin downtown, it is time Bullard’s library had the space to match their hard work, vision, and community service. PO Box 368, Bullard TX 75757. The Noonday Library where Miss Loretta blesses folks by knowing their names and ordering new books with specific kiddoes in mind. 16662 CR 196 Tyler TX 75703.
-The Neonatal Unit at Trinity Mother Frances. We have always had to load extremely sick newborns into helicopters and ship them off to Dallas, where their families had to cope with the additional burden of travel and lodging. Fortunately that is about to change. It can’t happen soon enough. Donations should be marked Neonatal ICU and can be mailed to Trinity MFHS Foundation at 611 Fleishel, Tyler TX 75701.
-Bathesda Health Clinic. Step inside the clinic and you will immediately recognize that the key to their success is their commitment. Providing health care for the working underinsured of Smith County, Bethesda is primarily staffed by hundreds of doctors, nurses and other volunteers. Plus, while patients pay a small fee, the burden of the cost is shouldered by visionary private donors.
-Discovery Science Place. I love the attitude of teaching kiddoes while they are having fun. I respect all the sacrifices made along the way by the team of community leaders who have worked hard to give East Texas a science museum and then used the facilities to bless lots of families, including my own. They make my list every year: 308 N. Broadway, Tyler TX 75702.
-Pine Cove Christian Camps, where scholarships make it possible for many military families to attend family camp -sometimes while daddy is on tour- and also Boys and Girls Club kiddoes attend camp every summer because of lots of small gifts from people like you and me. Mark checks “scholarship” and mail to PO Box 9055, Tyler TX 75711.
-The TISD Foundation. Every community should be so blessed to have folks willing to give their own money to improve and empower the public schools. One of the oldest education foundations in Texas, this pioneer in public school philanthropy is always coming up with new ways to make public school education better in Tyler. If your business benefits from people raised in the TISD, why not put a check in the mail in honor of your employees? Or if you are interested in learning more about how an education foundation can serve the community, go to www.tylerisd.org.
This Birthday List distinction does not come with a trophy, but it does have a cash prize. I’m turning 50, so I’m sending $50 to each of the lucky winners. They also get listed on my blog. Whoop-te-do, right?
Yeah, I know it’s not much, so I’m hoping you’ll find it in you heart to put a check in an envelope, too. Either to the groups on this list or to the folks you know who are working hard in this community.
They tell me every little bit counts. I believe them. Obviously.
Better communities is a gift we can all be thankful for.
The Miracle of Alzheimer's
My friend Ed has Alzheimer’s.
One of my first encounters with Ed happened over twelve years ago. It was a rainy day and I saw Ed’s car stranded by the side of the road with a police car pulled up behind it. Fortunately, my husband has a habit of keeping huge golf umbrellas in my car.
Ed and I and the officer stood in a dry island, our own little universe of three people under my big umbrella. Ed talked about faith and we prayed for God’s protection for the officer while we waited for the tow truck.
I know it was twelve years or more because my son wasn’t yet born. My son has only known a world that included Ed.
Ed, and his wife Kathy, always kept candy in a drawer just in case the neighborhood kids happened to ring the doorbell which, naturally, the kids did on a regular basis. After a while, Ed started sharing his stash of ice cream bars. William, my son, would return home from errands to their house with one for mom, knowing that if I didn’t eat it, he would get two.
Ed, a brilliant, gentle giant of a man, spent his career teaching teachers at Lutheran colleges.
I know that Alzheimer’s is unpredictable. Still, if I didn’t know better, I would think that the reason that Ed still has access to the teaching and the gentleness tracks in his brain is because those are the tracks he used most often over the years.
Observing Ed teach is a sight to behold.
Now days, when we go visit Ed, he gives my son putting lessons. Each time William misses the putt, Ed gently shows him again how to line up his golf club against the plastic target on the other end of the room.
Same lesson every few minutes. Just like it was the first time Ed ever explained it. Because, for Ed now, every few minutes is the first time.
William is learning to listen attentively like it’s the first time for him, too, because he wouldn’t hurt Ed’s feelings for anything in the world.
Actually, putting has turned out to be the strongest point of William’s golf game. Hmm…
Ed’s favorite verse is, “Lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways, acknowledge Him….”
If you ask Ed about scripture, he will quote these verses from Proverbs 3:5-6 and then, gently explain the many benefits of trusting in the Lord over man’s limited capacity to understand. This from the man who always had brain power to spare.
If you wait a few minutes, he’ll repeat the lesson.
His face will light up and he will repeat the lesson just like it is the very first time he thought of it.
I always try to remember to ask Ed about that scripture when we’re together.
Like golf, some of Life’s lessons are better with repetition.
One of my first encounters with Ed happened over twelve years ago. It was a rainy day and I saw Ed’s car stranded by the side of the road with a police car pulled up behind it. Fortunately, my husband has a habit of keeping huge golf umbrellas in my car.
Ed and I and the officer stood in a dry island, our own little universe of three people under my big umbrella. Ed talked about faith and we prayed for God’s protection for the officer while we waited for the tow truck.
I know it was twelve years or more because my son wasn’t yet born. My son has only known a world that included Ed.
Ed, and his wife Kathy, always kept candy in a drawer just in case the neighborhood kids happened to ring the doorbell which, naturally, the kids did on a regular basis. After a while, Ed started sharing his stash of ice cream bars. William, my son, would return home from errands to their house with one for mom, knowing that if I didn’t eat it, he would get two.
Ed, a brilliant, gentle giant of a man, spent his career teaching teachers at Lutheran colleges.
I know that Alzheimer’s is unpredictable. Still, if I didn’t know better, I would think that the reason that Ed still has access to the teaching and the gentleness tracks in his brain is because those are the tracks he used most often over the years.
Observing Ed teach is a sight to behold.
Now days, when we go visit Ed, he gives my son putting lessons. Each time William misses the putt, Ed gently shows him again how to line up his golf club against the plastic target on the other end of the room.
Same lesson every few minutes. Just like it was the first time Ed ever explained it. Because, for Ed now, every few minutes is the first time.
William is learning to listen attentively like it’s the first time for him, too, because he wouldn’t hurt Ed’s feelings for anything in the world.
Actually, putting has turned out to be the strongest point of William’s golf game. Hmm…
Ed’s favorite verse is, “Lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways, acknowledge Him….”
If you ask Ed about scripture, he will quote these verses from Proverbs 3:5-6 and then, gently explain the many benefits of trusting in the Lord over man’s limited capacity to understand. This from the man who always had brain power to spare.
If you wait a few minutes, he’ll repeat the lesson.
His face will light up and he will repeat the lesson just like it is the very first time he thought of it.
I always try to remember to ask Ed about that scripture when we’re together.
Like golf, some of Life’s lessons are better with repetition.
Heroes I Know: Max
“You can’t out-give God and you can’t out-give Max.”
That’s the way we say it at our house.
Max is our next door neighbor and we know a lot about him. It’s hard to hide anything when you share driveways.
His generosity is a fact of daily life for our family; particularly for my son.
My son was blessed with a treasure-load of grandfathers. Not only did he inherit two of the best grandfathers in the world, just by being our kid, but, for some reason, he is also blessed with plenty of surrogates.
He must be some kind of grandfather magnet.
Maybe old guys see my son and remember what it was like to be a boy; young, invincible, and full of dreams and imagination. Or maybe they see me and recognize a woman who has her hands full with this kid. Either way, I’m thankful.
William has been following around behind Max since he was big enough to toddle.
Together, they’ve battled snakes with shovels, made wooden creations in Max’s shop, built campfires, and trained our dog to sit for treats.
Over the years, Max has included my son on adventures when his own grandsons visit, turning hikes into expeditions and a dip in the lake into celebrations of boyhood.
All the while demonstrating a vast generosity of spirit that is synonymous with his faith.
Oh yeah, and he prays. A lot.
How do I know? I ask him to and I can tell by the way he follows up.
I would have been willing to spend a lot more to get this house, if I had known that prayer came as part of the package
Right now, Max is battling cancer again.
It must be exhausting work. I can tell by the way it takes all his energy just to get the newspaper.
He still has energy to check on us. To love my son. To love his kids and grandkids. And his wife of more than sixty years.
So, I’m praying for Max, not that I’ll ever be able to catch up with all the gifts of prayer he has given me over the years.
I know people who pray for parking spaces. Okay, maybe I’ve done it myself once in awhile. Not any more though.
To me, miracles are about life, not parking spaces. I am discovering as I age that life happens deep within. The body is essential to our survival on this planet, but there is more.
Somewhere beyond our body, and, at the same time, somewhere deep inside ourselves, we know that life is happening regardless of our physical condition.
When our bodies are done, life will still happen.
Sounds cosmic, and yet, we know. Somehow, we know.
Maybe it’s because Max’s spirit is bigger than his body. More real somehow.
That’s the way we say it at our house.
Max is our next door neighbor and we know a lot about him. It’s hard to hide anything when you share driveways.
His generosity is a fact of daily life for our family; particularly for my son.
My son was blessed with a treasure-load of grandfathers. Not only did he inherit two of the best grandfathers in the world, just by being our kid, but, for some reason, he is also blessed with plenty of surrogates.
He must be some kind of grandfather magnet.
Maybe old guys see my son and remember what it was like to be a boy; young, invincible, and full of dreams and imagination. Or maybe they see me and recognize a woman who has her hands full with this kid. Either way, I’m thankful.
William has been following around behind Max since he was big enough to toddle.
Together, they’ve battled snakes with shovels, made wooden creations in Max’s shop, built campfires, and trained our dog to sit for treats.
Over the years, Max has included my son on adventures when his own grandsons visit, turning hikes into expeditions and a dip in the lake into celebrations of boyhood.
All the while demonstrating a vast generosity of spirit that is synonymous with his faith.
Oh yeah, and he prays. A lot.
How do I know? I ask him to and I can tell by the way he follows up.
I would have been willing to spend a lot more to get this house, if I had known that prayer came as part of the package
Right now, Max is battling cancer again.
It must be exhausting work. I can tell by the way it takes all his energy just to get the newspaper.
He still has energy to check on us. To love my son. To love his kids and grandkids. And his wife of more than sixty years.
So, I’m praying for Max, not that I’ll ever be able to catch up with all the gifts of prayer he has given me over the years.
I know people who pray for parking spaces. Okay, maybe I’ve done it myself once in awhile. Not any more though.
To me, miracles are about life, not parking spaces. I am discovering as I age that life happens deep within. The body is essential to our survival on this planet, but there is more.
Somewhere beyond our body, and, at the same time, somewhere deep inside ourselves, we know that life is happening regardless of our physical condition.
When our bodies are done, life will still happen.
Sounds cosmic, and yet, we know. Somehow, we know.
Maybe it’s because Max’s spirit is bigger than his body. More real somehow.
It's a Wig!
“It’s a wig,” whispered my new friend, Kristie, as she drew in close to me at the table where we were having lunch in honor of our wonderful daughters.
“You have got to be kidding!” I exclaimed, leaning back to get a good look at the soft brown hair, neatly trimmed and framing her face with the gorgeous smile.
The conversation turned to the heartaches women face in life.
Breast cancer. Divorce. Dating again, ugh. Remarriage.
The beautiful, blond lady across the table shared about the hurt she felt when her first husband came home and told her he wanted a divorce.
She shared about going back to the church where they had been active, respected members and facing the humiliation of a divorce.
“You find out who your friends are,” she said.
Her daughter is beautiful and blond, too, and highly successful at her university. The pain of her parents’ divorce was momentarily relived on her face as her mother spoke of it.
My thoughts turned to a lady that I met for the first time the day before who cried as she talked about the trauma of infertility.
If only we could spare our daughters the pain of life.
I looked up Kristie’s story on a website called www.breastcancerstories.com. If you go there, click on “read stories,” then scroll down about half way until you see a Kristie from Texas.
I should warn you, it’s personal. She even included pictures of shaving her head.
One of my favorite parts was the nicknames she listed for breast cancer. I’m guessing that “clump in the lump” is the only one that might make it past my editor’s red pen. The other nicknames demonstrate a more creative, free approach to the English language. I laughed. Personally, being a writer, I appreciate new ways to use old words.
But the best thing about Kristie’s story is the way she is so honest about her fear. In writing about her cancer, she keeps coming back to her relationships.
That’s probably why I instantaneously liked her as we sat together. Her heart and life seemed available to me.
I guess the best we can hope for, as women, is to live honestly before our daughters. Maybe as we lean on our friends in life’s crises, they can see what strength looks like. Not being perfect, but being vulnerable, being patient, being resilient.
Facing life bald. Putting on a wig and a smile and looking for a chance to encourage someone else before we die. Today, in case today is all we get.
And leaving our children, especially our daughters, the inheritance of knowing what unconditional friendship looks like.
The beautiful blond lady missed the first part of the conversation, but she suddenly realized we were talking about Kristie’s cancer.
“It’s a wig?!” she exclaimed.
“You have got to be kidding!” I exclaimed, leaning back to get a good look at the soft brown hair, neatly trimmed and framing her face with the gorgeous smile.
The conversation turned to the heartaches women face in life.
Breast cancer. Divorce. Dating again, ugh. Remarriage.
The beautiful, blond lady across the table shared about the hurt she felt when her first husband came home and told her he wanted a divorce.
She shared about going back to the church where they had been active, respected members and facing the humiliation of a divorce.
“You find out who your friends are,” she said.
Her daughter is beautiful and blond, too, and highly successful at her university. The pain of her parents’ divorce was momentarily relived on her face as her mother spoke of it.
My thoughts turned to a lady that I met for the first time the day before who cried as she talked about the trauma of infertility.
If only we could spare our daughters the pain of life.
I looked up Kristie’s story on a website called www.breastcancerstories.com. If you go there, click on “read stories,” then scroll down about half way until you see a Kristie from Texas.
I should warn you, it’s personal. She even included pictures of shaving her head.
One of my favorite parts was the nicknames she listed for breast cancer. I’m guessing that “clump in the lump” is the only one that might make it past my editor’s red pen. The other nicknames demonstrate a more creative, free approach to the English language. I laughed. Personally, being a writer, I appreciate new ways to use old words.
But the best thing about Kristie’s story is the way she is so honest about her fear. In writing about her cancer, she keeps coming back to her relationships.
That’s probably why I instantaneously liked her as we sat together. Her heart and life seemed available to me.
I guess the best we can hope for, as women, is to live honestly before our daughters. Maybe as we lean on our friends in life’s crises, they can see what strength looks like. Not being perfect, but being vulnerable, being patient, being resilient.
Facing life bald. Putting on a wig and a smile and looking for a chance to encourage someone else before we die. Today, in case today is all we get.
And leaving our children, especially our daughters, the inheritance of knowing what unconditional friendship looks like.
The beautiful blond lady missed the first part of the conversation, but she suddenly realized we were talking about Kristie’s cancer.
“It’s a wig?!” she exclaimed.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Parenting Final Exam
Here's a column from April that I forgot to post. Hope you enjoy!
Your child’s choice for a spouse is the final exam in parenting, right?
Observing my daughter choose who she was willing to spend her life with revealed all kinds of things about her heart and values. So, it makes sense that her choice could be considered the ultimate test of our parenting.
Recently, as that beautiful bride floated down the aisle on the trembly arm of her father, her chiffon skirt stirring around her ankles, gold shoes on feet that were trying not to skip, to the side of her beloved who was smiling as if he was the luckiest human on earth, I couldn’t help but feel that we aced that test. Mainly because she chose a husband who invests wisely and generously in all his relationships.
On the other hand, it turns out I was wrong about it being the final exam.
For parents, our kids’ choice of a spouse is only the mid-term.
I turns out that how we die is the last true test of our parenting.
Yeah, this sounds kind of morbid, given that we just had a wedding. But, you know, those kids are on their honeymoon. I’m pretty sure they are not thinking too much about us; at least I hope not.
The truth is Life has a way of juxtaposing beginnings and endings on us whether we like it or not.
I learned this in the last few years as I watched scleroderma slowly take my husband’s father away from us a few months before the wedding.
Scleroderma, for those of you who have happily avoided knowing anything about it, is an autoimmune disease that slowly freezes your organs and your skin.
We watched as Bill heroically and daily faced increasing physical pain with dignity and perseverance.
As his body failed, his bright blue eyes increasingly reflected the depth of his faith and the shining beauty of his soul.
Some of the best conversations with him were when I asked him about what he had learned through suffering.
People are always surprised that I ask so freely about death and about suffering. I figure I’ll be taking those tests soon enough; it won’t hurt me to study up.
Of course, a true exam tests our character, not our knowledge. That’s the beauty of the process.
In the final days before we closed his eyes for the last time, Bill demonstrated the power and beauty of dieing the way he had lived, with his eyes toward heaven.
Weddings and Funerals. Life and Death. Beginnings. Endings, followed by unseen, unknown Beginnings.
I couldn’t help but think of my dad-in-law as my daughter vowed her heart, life, and faith to her new husband.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives in beautiful East Texas with her husband and unmarried children. Comments are welcome at CaeKrafve2@aol.com.
Your child’s choice for a spouse is the final exam in parenting, right?
Observing my daughter choose who she was willing to spend her life with revealed all kinds of things about her heart and values. So, it makes sense that her choice could be considered the ultimate test of our parenting.
Recently, as that beautiful bride floated down the aisle on the trembly arm of her father, her chiffon skirt stirring around her ankles, gold shoes on feet that were trying not to skip, to the side of her beloved who was smiling as if he was the luckiest human on earth, I couldn’t help but feel that we aced that test. Mainly because she chose a husband who invests wisely and generously in all his relationships.
On the other hand, it turns out I was wrong about it being the final exam.
For parents, our kids’ choice of a spouse is only the mid-term.
I turns out that how we die is the last true test of our parenting.
Yeah, this sounds kind of morbid, given that we just had a wedding. But, you know, those kids are on their honeymoon. I’m pretty sure they are not thinking too much about us; at least I hope not.
The truth is Life has a way of juxtaposing beginnings and endings on us whether we like it or not.
I learned this in the last few years as I watched scleroderma slowly take my husband’s father away from us a few months before the wedding.
Scleroderma, for those of you who have happily avoided knowing anything about it, is an autoimmune disease that slowly freezes your organs and your skin.
We watched as Bill heroically and daily faced increasing physical pain with dignity and perseverance.
As his body failed, his bright blue eyes increasingly reflected the depth of his faith and the shining beauty of his soul.
Some of the best conversations with him were when I asked him about what he had learned through suffering.
People are always surprised that I ask so freely about death and about suffering. I figure I’ll be taking those tests soon enough; it won’t hurt me to study up.
Of course, a true exam tests our character, not our knowledge. That’s the beauty of the process.
In the final days before we closed his eyes for the last time, Bill demonstrated the power and beauty of dieing the way he had lived, with his eyes toward heaven.
Weddings and Funerals. Life and Death. Beginnings. Endings, followed by unseen, unknown Beginnings.
I couldn’t help but think of my dad-in-law as my daughter vowed her heart, life, and faith to her new husband.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives in beautiful East Texas with her husband and unmarried children. Comments are welcome at CaeKrafve2@aol.com.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The Normal Boy With Fragile X
Michael Watkins, of Whitehouse Texas, is the father of Austin who was diagnosed with Fragile X as a toddler. Michael and his wife, Amanda, share this story in the hope that it will offer encouragement and information to those who face similar challenges.
The family gathers around the table, clasp hands, and bow their heads. As the father thanks Jehovah God for His blessings, including his son’s favorite, pepperoni pizza, Austin Watkins raises the hand of the person next to him and gently caresses his own cheek.
Without a word, Austin communicates a welcome to the new person at the table and communicates the truth about his own tender heart.
A freckle-faced, 10-year-old with a bur haircut and an impish grin, he has bright brown eyes that are alert to every nuance.
His sister is 8-year-old Abigail, a shy little brunette with hazel eyes, an easy laugh, and a sparkly personality.
They dig into the pizza piled high on their plates and the conversation turns to family and friends.
Austin claps with joy as small accomplishments are discussed, his or any one else’s.
And he never says a word.
“Imagine never hearing the voice of your child,” says Austin’s father, 33-year-old Michael Watkins.
For parents of Fragile X children, “normal” takes on a whole new meaning.
For instance, since Austin was late at every stage of the development, when he was finally able to run through the house like a normal boy, it was a cause for celebrating, not scolding.
Austin would run, that is, until he reached the end of the tile and the beginning of the carpet. Then he would stop, raise his foot high in the air and carefully test the new surface represented by the carpet. Once sure of his footing, he would dash off again until the next change of texture caused confusion to his brain’s processing.
Something as simple as an outing to the park represented a thousand challenges for Austin whose brain processes every last bit of information without filtering.
“He would not slide or swing,” says Michael, explaining that children with Fragile X are prone to sensory overload and that even movement or wind can alarm them. The multitude of textures that most people take for granted, like the wood chip ground cover, can trigger panic attacks as the child tries to decipher what the textures represent.
These days, his family is poignantly aware of what a milestone it is for Austin to enter into the pizza restaurant without hesitating or panicking along the way.
“Imagine if you had to listen to all the florescent lights in a restaurant, if you could hear all the silverware clattering, the car doors outside banging, and about seventy-five conversations all at once,” Michael says, explaining how children with Fragile X have difficulty with sounds. “We take for granted our ability to tune it out.”
The folks at CiCi’s Pizza call Austin by name and wait patiently as he presses the screen on his “V,” which then announces that Austin would like pepperoni pizza. V stands for voice and is the latest technology, designed by Dynabox, specifically to allow Fragile X and Autistic children a chance to communicate with words.
Austin’s grandfather, Don Treul, of Breckenridge, Texas, is particularly pleased with this new avenue of communication, claiming that it only proves what he knew all along, that his grandson was a smart boy who was aware of what was going on around him, but hindered by his inability to talk.
Being able to communicate has eased Austin’s frustration level and allowed his true personality to shine out.
“He is the most kind, huggy-kissy kind of kid,” laughs his father.
Michael also credits his wife, Amanda, with bringing a whole new level of behavioral achievements. Amanda loved both Austin and Abigail immediately when their protective father first introduced them.
Amanda saw Austin as an individual who was old enough and ready to do many things for himself.
For instance, his father was still making Austin’s sandwiches in the routine way which included cutting off the crust and dividing them into eight equal portions when he discovered that, lo and behold, Austin was perfectly capable of making his own sandwiches when Amanda was in the kitchen.
Another day, on the way home from worship, Austin communicated that he was hungry. He was instructed that as soon as they finished changing out of their good clothes, the family would make something to eat together.
After changing, on her way to the kitchen, Amanda noticed that Austin’s door was closed.
“He never closes his door,” laughs Michael. Abigail nods in agreement. Something was definitely up.
Poking her head in the door, Amanda saw immediately that Austin had orange cheese-y stuff all around his mouth as he quickly hid the bag of chips behind his back.
She had to go back to her bedroom and laugh out loud before she returned to tell Austin that he had to take a time out because he disobeyed.
“Those moments show the complexity of the person who is trapped within. Its there behind his eyes,” says Michael, tenderly.
It’s another kind of normal.
Every child has their challenges, Michael points out. All children are different and unique.
“We think he’s easy,” laughs his dad, referring to Austin’s loving personality.
Routine is especially crucial in helping children with Fragile X cope with new situations. A trip to the pizza parlor, a morning of worship can happen with preparation and planning, but a wise parent helps the child by taking it in stages.
For instance, when the family decided Austin was ready to join in worship, they took him first to a place just outside the sanctuary where he would not have to see all the people. Next, they brought him into a room with a window.
Now he sits with his family, holding his own Bible or hymnal, and enjoying the experience.
Just recently, Austin laughed out loud for the first time.
The family was sitting in worship, when something struck him as funny and his laughter came bubbling out.
The sound of Austin’s laughter is sweeter than music to his family.
The family gathers around the table, clasp hands, and bow their heads. As the father thanks Jehovah God for His blessings, including his son’s favorite, pepperoni pizza, Austin Watkins raises the hand of the person next to him and gently caresses his own cheek.
Without a word, Austin communicates a welcome to the new person at the table and communicates the truth about his own tender heart.
A freckle-faced, 10-year-old with a bur haircut and an impish grin, he has bright brown eyes that are alert to every nuance.
His sister is 8-year-old Abigail, a shy little brunette with hazel eyes, an easy laugh, and a sparkly personality.
They dig into the pizza piled high on their plates and the conversation turns to family and friends.
Austin claps with joy as small accomplishments are discussed, his or any one else’s.
And he never says a word.
“Imagine never hearing the voice of your child,” says Austin’s father, 33-year-old Michael Watkins.
For parents of Fragile X children, “normal” takes on a whole new meaning.
For instance, since Austin was late at every stage of the development, when he was finally able to run through the house like a normal boy, it was a cause for celebrating, not scolding.
Austin would run, that is, until he reached the end of the tile and the beginning of the carpet. Then he would stop, raise his foot high in the air and carefully test the new surface represented by the carpet. Once sure of his footing, he would dash off again until the next change of texture caused confusion to his brain’s processing.
Something as simple as an outing to the park represented a thousand challenges for Austin whose brain processes every last bit of information without filtering.
“He would not slide or swing,” says Michael, explaining that children with Fragile X are prone to sensory overload and that even movement or wind can alarm them. The multitude of textures that most people take for granted, like the wood chip ground cover, can trigger panic attacks as the child tries to decipher what the textures represent.
These days, his family is poignantly aware of what a milestone it is for Austin to enter into the pizza restaurant without hesitating or panicking along the way.
“Imagine if you had to listen to all the florescent lights in a restaurant, if you could hear all the silverware clattering, the car doors outside banging, and about seventy-five conversations all at once,” Michael says, explaining how children with Fragile X have difficulty with sounds. “We take for granted our ability to tune it out.”
The folks at CiCi’s Pizza call Austin by name and wait patiently as he presses the screen on his “V,” which then announces that Austin would like pepperoni pizza. V stands for voice and is the latest technology, designed by Dynabox, specifically to allow Fragile X and Autistic children a chance to communicate with words.
Austin’s grandfather, Don Treul, of Breckenridge, Texas, is particularly pleased with this new avenue of communication, claiming that it only proves what he knew all along, that his grandson was a smart boy who was aware of what was going on around him, but hindered by his inability to talk.
Being able to communicate has eased Austin’s frustration level and allowed his true personality to shine out.
“He is the most kind, huggy-kissy kind of kid,” laughs his father.
Michael also credits his wife, Amanda, with bringing a whole new level of behavioral achievements. Amanda loved both Austin and Abigail immediately when their protective father first introduced them.
Amanda saw Austin as an individual who was old enough and ready to do many things for himself.
For instance, his father was still making Austin’s sandwiches in the routine way which included cutting off the crust and dividing them into eight equal portions when he discovered that, lo and behold, Austin was perfectly capable of making his own sandwiches when Amanda was in the kitchen.
Another day, on the way home from worship, Austin communicated that he was hungry. He was instructed that as soon as they finished changing out of their good clothes, the family would make something to eat together.
After changing, on her way to the kitchen, Amanda noticed that Austin’s door was closed.
“He never closes his door,” laughs Michael. Abigail nods in agreement. Something was definitely up.
Poking her head in the door, Amanda saw immediately that Austin had orange cheese-y stuff all around his mouth as he quickly hid the bag of chips behind his back.
She had to go back to her bedroom and laugh out loud before she returned to tell Austin that he had to take a time out because he disobeyed.
“Those moments show the complexity of the person who is trapped within. Its there behind his eyes,” says Michael, tenderly.
It’s another kind of normal.
Every child has their challenges, Michael points out. All children are different and unique.
“We think he’s easy,” laughs his dad, referring to Austin’s loving personality.
Routine is especially crucial in helping children with Fragile X cope with new situations. A trip to the pizza parlor, a morning of worship can happen with preparation and planning, but a wise parent helps the child by taking it in stages.
For instance, when the family decided Austin was ready to join in worship, they took him first to a place just outside the sanctuary where he would not have to see all the people. Next, they brought him into a room with a window.
Now he sits with his family, holding his own Bible or hymnal, and enjoying the experience.
Just recently, Austin laughed out loud for the first time.
The family was sitting in worship, when something struck him as funny and his laughter came bubbling out.
The sound of Austin’s laughter is sweeter than music to his family.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)