Misha

Fourteen years ago....

It was our first Christmas in our new home.  The boys were old enough to handle the responsibility.  If we waited too long, they might grow past the time when they could still be selfless enough to appreciate the gift.  We finally owned our own home again.  M and I negotiated and compromised, it could stay inside but would remain in the kitchen. This was the year, I told my husband.  We had to get a dog - now.

With his approval, I began stealth operations of scouring the classifieds and making secretive phone calls out of earshot of our children.  I fit visits to numerous pounds and even a few private homes among my grocery shopping outings to check out prospective pups.  I even put money down on a sweet little beagle (M's choice of breed, I wanted a Lab) out in Union County.  But on the way home, I happened to stop by their animal shelter.  A shy, blond beagle mix caught my attention and I just couldn't shake her sweet face from my memory that night;  the thought that she might meet an untimely end was too much.  So, I pleaded with M that I might apologetically cancel the check on the beagle and return for the mutt.  He relented and the next day I did so in that order, only to find that the little heart-breaker had found a home already.  I rejoiced for her, but now I had only a week to find our puppy.  A few days later, I told my husband, "I'm going back to that pound and either I'll find our dog or there won't be one under the tree this year."

Returning to the shelter, I actually walked by her several times without too much notice.  All the other dogs were desperately clamoring for attention, jumping and barking and whimpering and crying.  I dutifully did my best to try to give them comfort and love before apologetically extricating myself from their paws and pleading.  This one, though, she was different.  She didn't bark.  She didn't jump up and beg.  She watched me quietly with her steady brown gaze, her face divided right down the middle as by an invisible line, black on one side and a splotchy grey on the other.  (Later I learned this is called blue merle.) I read the label outside her cage: Border Collie/Australian Shepherd Mix.  She was a round ball of fluff, standing inside her small space on four stout little legs, sizing me up as I looked her over.  I entered her kennel and she readily allowed me to pet and stroke her soft downy coat, eventually lying down half-way - enough for me to rub her tummy, but not fully on her back.  She wasn't afraid, it was more of an awareness that we really didn't know each other yet, not really.  I was struck by her independent spirit.  "Yes," I said, "you'll do.  You're kind of funny looking in a cute way, but I think you'll fit in just fine."  And she did.  And that's how Misha came to be a part of our family. Like my daughter recently said, "she wasn't just a dog, that doesn't describe her.  She's Misha."

For the past fourteen years we all grew deeply in love with her and she with us. She had her weaknesses, but ones we could live with.  She was so smart, even when she pretended not to be. She was a big believer in the sanctity of personal space balanced by affectionate connection and contact.  She really was one of us, unique and different and loyal and secure in our love.  

Shortly before our oldest two graduated from college, we discovered a lump in the front of her neck.  It turned out to be thyroid cancer and we were told she had six to nine months more or so.  Actually, we were blessed with over three more years, and she never was the wiser as far as we could tell.  She remained sharp and bright, sweet and faithfully dear.  Her hearing started to fade of late, but once you made eye contact you were on a level of full understanding.  Unfortunately, her weight just began dropping in the past year and continued to do so, of course.  My husband and I waited until our son D returned from a trip out of town.  We all recognized where this was heading for her and agreed it was time.  The three of us took her in to the vet's office.  They allowed us plenty of time and privacy to love, love, love on her, sharing funny stories and tears.  At the last, we sat in a circle around her and stroked her gently; she had the comfort and assurance of our devotion and tenderness and I know she felt that.

Whenever my kids would ask me if our pets go to heaven, I always hesitated.  I never wanted to answer simply out of sentimentality, it just wouldn't be honest.  But as time passed I considered this more carefully in light of the Lord.  He will make all things new when He returns, restoring and reconciling all things to Himself.  I never doubted that sparkling rivers and glistening streams would be a part of this re-established earth, or beautiful mountains and shady valleys. And they would be teaming with flickering fish and frolicking animals as well.  So I've come to believe something, not because it brings me comfort, though it does; but I believe it because of my God who is the great Redeemer.  

On August 12th, we sent our good ol' girl on ahead of us.  For now we miss you so much Mish, but heaven is all the sweeter because you will be there to welcome us in joy - hale, healthy, and happier than we can possibly imagine.

Our Little Neighbors

One of my most favorite delights are the little unexpected things that pop up among the regular ordinariness of our days.  (No, not those turn of events like my refrigerator dying this week and having to get a new one while we're planning a wedding.  I said unforseen 'delights.')  I'm referring to those prodigious moments that add an extra depth or sparkle to life that you had no idea were around the corner.

Or in the tree.
Or between the pillars.
Or on that branch.

Gardening has brought a depth of living to my life in the growing of our food.  I've just loved watching to see the first green of shoots pushing up through the soil; checking on their progress and maturation each day; picking ripeness of reds, greens, and blues; even snipping fresh blooms and dead-heading old ones.  It has also tucked in little twinkles of the wonderfully unpredictable.

Last year we found there was a frog living in a crack at the base of one of our trees.  As I sprayed my cucumbers with water one day, out he (or someone who looks alot like him) came, jumping up to his front door once more, blinking in his pleasure at the shower I gave.  Here he is:

What was even sweeter was a few weeks later.  I aimed my hose at his doorway and he obligingly greeted my girls and I.  But as we watched, here came another frog just a bit smaller, climbing forward to sit on his head.  And unbelievably, just like in a quaint storybook, there came an even smaller frog to sit on top of his head!  I didn't have my camera with me that day to capture their unassuming pose, but my daughters and I laughed with surprised delight at the gift we were blessed to witness that afternoon.

On another day, I'd sent L out to move some fragments of cement stones out to place around our back garden bed.  She came inside a little while later, all in excitement.  There between two old ornate pillars was resting a small little bunny rabbit.  The girls donned gloves and carefully captured him, cuddling and loving on this little bit of fluff before we released him back into the wilds of our backyard.  We have no neighbors behind our house, so no doubt his real home is hidden within the woods there.  Want to see him?

Last week I was collecting cherry tomatoes.  I was aware that the birds around me seemed to be making a good bit of ruckus rather close by.  Suddenly I gasped as I spied a precious little baby cardinal sitting on a branch right in front of me, not one foot from my face.  What a dapper little 'do he had, growing in a little to one side.

His Mama was trilling away in the tree above me, watching over her wayward one.  We monitored events over the next few days as she fed him and repeatedly demonstrated flying from branch to branch. Eventually he was gone - we're sure he learned his lessons.

What sweet unheralded delights we've been given among our sweat and toil.  Thank You, Lord.


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Fighting Poison Ivy

So I'll ask the big question up front: If you have an ecological conscience, what do you do with Poison Ivy?

As I cleared and trimmed within and around my garden this past week, I pulled a bit of delicate vine away from around this little tree near my tomatoes.  There are so many things that come with stickers and prickles from roses to squash to borage.  It's habit for me to come in and wash up to my elbows after every foray out into my yard; but I didn't realize I'd met up with that nasty little creeper, otherwise I'd have done an even more thorough job.  Now I'm looking for it everywhere: "Leaves of three, let it be."

That's no joke.  Here's the worst spot, although we think it's improved a bit.  Little blisters are still popping up here and there on my arms even as of this morning.  I got some on my face and neck in addition to this beauty, but those places haven't been as bad, thank goodness.  Turn away if you're squeamish, kids.

I looked online for all kinds of natural remedies.  I recognized the pretty orange flowers of the jewelweed from our neighborhood path, so L and I went out there to carefully harvest some.  We brought it home and I then cooked it to make a warm poultice which I applied to my bubbling forearm, wrapping it in gauze.  It took away the itching immediately and worked for about 24 hours, then it was no good.  (Later on I read that it must be used fresh.  I guess I should have gone and picked some more since I was still using what I'd cooked up and it must have lost its effectiveness.)  I read that apple cider vinegar stings at first but works great so I gave that a go - it not only stung but seemed to make it all the redder, not a winner for me.  I've applied Anbesol for its numbing quality, then moved to Caladryl which was also helpful.  Benadryl is getting me through the night.  Time is just going to have to do its thing, I'm afraid.

Of course I've also been looking for a natural way of killing this monster.  M wants to spray Round-Up on it, but I hate to even hear the word.  A armed up with long sleeves and gloves and removed the rest of the vine, but it's got this serious hairy stump from which it's growing and there was no budging it, even after a couple days of good hard rain. In fact, the little tree has grown up around it, enveloping it between two stout shoots. The other day I cooked up a boiling pot of vinegar, salt, and soap, dug a hole at the base of the tree and poured my concoction in.  My plan is to do this every week until the witch is dead.  


Now A and L have had itchy spots and stripes popping up as well.  Today we stopped by CVS and I picked up some Zanfel scrub and TecNu spray.  We went straight to the bathroom and used it.  Ahh, sweet relief...


I'm weakening.
I might wind up giving it to Round-Up as well.
Sometimes having such an earth-conscience is really a drag.

Note of warning - be careful not to use to wide a shotgun approach.  Read more here.

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Gardening Update #2

As I think back over the on-the-job-training I've received via my little plot of fertile ground, I find myself fingering over the bruises I've gotten during the daunting challenges faced.  They've been the turns that have threatened to be game changers - with me as the loser.  I want to document these for both the sake of other novice gardeners so as to give you a head's up and hopefully be an instrument of preventive care in your lives, as well as having record for myself of the mountains and molehills faced in my maiden foray into floriculture.

Lesson Seven will be positive: Plant borage.

These have been a wonderful addition, attracting busy, buzzing, beneficial bees.  They've grown at least 3 feet tall and sport such pretty blue flowers, just what I wanted.  I used them as a border, but next year I will place them in more of a background position rather than front and center.  They are quite prickly once they have reached relative maturity, and after a while the winds and rain we've received have caused them to topple over, necessitating bamboo stakes for support.  However, I have been absolutely pleased with them.  I've gathered quite a few of their seeds so that I can plant them next year, but I've a feeling that I will have to be on top of it to keep them from popping up on their own - they appear to be willing to reseed themselves quite happily.

I put in three cucumber plants where we have planted tomatoes for the past seven or eight years, expecting the soil to welcome them as a long overdue change.  Something was ready and waiting for a change, and quickly ate my little ones up before they had a fighting chance.

Lesson Eight: Know when you've been beat.  There's no shame in cutting your losses and moving to a new field if one's available.

I planted another three cucumbers in a different plot.  It's not as sunny, but they are doing much better.  I believe the adversary contending for dominance there is the teeny-tiny spider mite, so a 3-in-1 product was applied.  Here's hoping.  As it turned out, I got a volunteer cherry tomato plant that sprouted up in that original bed.  Its fruitful mother of last summer was well-loved and appreciated by us all, and the daughter is coming along grandly.

One day I sat by the window as my own daughters were taking a math test, when what to my wondering eyes appeared but a miniature chipmunk walking along my stone border for all the world like it was his own private sidewalk.  He nibbled on a few borage flowers, and I considered this thoughtfully. "Well, that's ok - but if he encroaches over into the fruit of my sweat-filled brow, it's on."
Guess what?  Two mornings in a row, my cry of delight at a bright red tomato turned to one of outrage as I picked it and stared into a gaping kid-sized bite taken out of their sweet ripeness.


Ah!  I can't believe I almost forgot to include the latest!  This really amped things up.  


Of all the things we've planted, there have been two I have most looked forward to harvesting - sweet potatoes and my various tomatoes.  Last week, A was finally able to rejoin us outside after having her wisdom teeth removed and being tended back to full health.  She hadn't seen our verdant oasis up close for about five days, so with delight she drew my attention to the changes in the sweet potatoes.  All she noticed were the increase in vines.  What I noticed from seven yards away were the little naked stems all along the vines - shorn of almost every one of their beautiful leaves!  I came howling around to the other side of the yard, absolutely incensed by this new violation! 

Lesson Nine: Don't take it lying down. You have to have a strong stomach, steely nerves, and a willingness to engage with "whatever."
Lesson Ten: Lesson Nine Part II - Desperate attacks call for desperate measures. 

So that's when the blood and rat traps were set out.  Feeling a bit like a witch doctor, I hummed a little tune as I sprinkled (purchased) dried blood 'round the perimeter of my garden wall, then moved on to setting a few rat traps out while Luisa whimpered in pity for poor "Alvin." Of course she named him.  Oh, and two squirrel traps too. The next morning, I began my day with no eerie premonitions, just my regular cup of coffee. Heading outside, I quickly spied one squirrel trap flung several feet from where we'd set it up.  I went to look at the other and froze.  Something not a squirrel was inside.  Dark, a rather narrow nose, and what appeared to be a light stripe down the middle of its back.  Once again, I was overtaken by hysterical laughter so that I could scarcely speak by the time I got back inside the house.  What was I going to do with a skunk in a cage??!!!

One call to a wildlife control representative later, and I was left to consider how to explain all of this to my husband.  The rep quoted me over $200 in permit and removal fees.  How sick is that?!  The clock ticked by - over an hour.  Boy, was this guy making me sweat.  Finally, I decided to risk the need for testing that tomato bath theory and headed outside to take a picture of my trapped irritant.  Slowly, slowly, I edged closer... and spied a skinny tail.  Going around to the front of the cage, I snapped a quick photo.

It's an opossum.

I had the girls scurry over the creek to return our intruder back to nature, hopefully freaked out enough not to ever come around here again.  He tried to play dead for a bit and scared us all, 'till I recalled the proverbial phrase, "playing opossum."  Out he went with a little shimmy, and I rushed back into the house to call off the wildlife rep who assured me that I can expect this now-experienced opossum to run amuck throughout my garden on a regular and increased nightly basis. Splendid, just splendid.


I bought some screen netting that I am now anchoring over my naked and shocked sweet potato vines at night, then removing when the sun comes up again.  I'm trying to give them a fighting chance.  It's a pain, but it keeps me busy and feeling like we might pull this out.  So far, no dead chipmunk, but I have been able to pick all my own tomatoes since then all by myself.  After all, it is my garden.


Next installment, I'm sorry to say, will be early blight.  


But let me reassure you, dear reader - I am still having fun!  I guess this just might mean, hands in overall pockets, shoulders hunched, toe digging in the dirt, "I'm kind of a farmer, huh?"


Shared at Titus Tuesday
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Gardening Update #1

I thought a little gardening update was in order as it has become such a significant part of my life this year. There is so much to cover, however, that this is clearly going to take two posts.  How enamored am I with my little swatch of farmland?  Well, this past Friday was my 27th Anniversary, and while I did remember it the night before, my first thought when I woke up that morning was to get outside and water the garden's flowers and vegetables before the 104 degree temperatures came to kill them.  My dear husband wandered outside a short time later to find me, bestowing a commemorative reminder kiss upon me as I'd clearly come under the hypnotic early morning thrall of tending to my nursery beds.  I do love you more, honey - I know you know this.  And thank you again for my garden - my Christmas/birthday/Mother's Day/Anniversary present.  Well done, my sweet.

This being my first year, I've had such a roller coaster learning curve of a ride even in these three short months. Let me try to do a little recap.  Our first seedlings were planted in March and everything came up leafy and green and beautiful and all was wonderful.  Gardening gives one a new appreciation for Spring.  And then the velvety cabbage worms came along.

Lesson One: Don't take the Polly Anna approach of simply hoping that all those bugs will not find your garden.  Buy what you will need so that you are prepared to do battle at the first sign of attack.


I went to Garden's Alive and ordered the necessary biological weaponry: Green Step Caterpillar Control.  It arrived a few days before I was leaving to visit my family for two weeks, so I asked somebody to please mix it up and spray it on my collards, cabbage, bok choy, and broccoli while I was gone.  Many wonderful projects were completed in my absence, but the spraying for the eradication of these pests was not.  So I returned home to two surprises.  One was "Jurassic Garden."  Evidently, my plants maintained a moderate pace of growing in my absence until the two days of rainfall just before we flew back in.  They drank it up like steroids.  The girls and I got in pretty late, but I probably woke a few of the neighbors with my hysterical laughter!  My shock over the change was simply overwhelming.  I was worse than the ridiculous auntie who can't believe how much you've grown in the time since she last saw you.  But it was crazy!

Lesson Two: Plants fantastically love and flourish under God's provision of rainfall over our man-made water systems, so make sure to rely as much upon that as you can.


My second curveball was the copious riddling of holes in the leaves all the afore-mentioned brassicas, not to mention the arrival of irritating, harder-to-kill worms turned cabbage moths!  Don't you know I looked like a loon whacking my tennis racket around in attempts to decrease their population (it's what we quasi-hippies do when faced with flying foes, or at least so instructs my internet gurus.) Vain attempts, I might add, as I have absolutely atrocious aim.  But I now have a homestead to protect and cannot concern myself with appearances.  Read: The protection of my public semblance of full sanity dropped a few more notches.  Oh well...

Aphids on my rose bushes were next, as was
Lesson Three: A homemade water and soap spray solution works for these pests, so save your money for more serious threats.
My spray bottle was a weenie, so I wound up pouring it into my palms and hand applying it, but this took care of them overnight.  Boo-yah!

I didn't yet know a new nemesis was about to descend: the Japanese Beetle.  At first these metallic little buggers charmed us, but we quickly came to realize they are voracious devourers and had arrived as they always do - en masse.  They favored my plum tree, borage, roses, and most especially my zinnias.  Initially, this swarm pumped up my blood pressure something awful as I stressed over them off and on throughout the day.  I tried an insecticidal spray first, then others I whipped up via instructional youtube videos, but they weren't tremendously effective. Eventually, I began to relax and have even learned to have a sort of appreciation for these little nitwits.  I mean, all they do is lie around in the sun and mate as much as possible.

Lesson Four: A jar filled with water and a drizzle of soap works wonderfully as a drowning pool for them.


There's a good deal of satisfaction in having an enemy that is so stupid and lazy.  I typically take a stroll out to my garden about three times a day and swipe these green little glints off leaves and petals, dropping them into their watery demise. Proportionally, I realize the score is still probably JB 1,000 / Me 1; but I am appeased.

Lesson Five: Although I was initially tempted to cut the unsightly leaves they created, I've found that they are ridiculous creatures of habit, returning to eat from the same spot again and again.


So leaving the riddled leaves provides me with a ready-made meeting place from which to catch them. Plus, I have another secret weapon I am preparing to pull out.

Lesson Six: Japanese Beetles come from a nasty little grub, and I plan on using a two prong attack against them: Milky Spore in the near future, and beneficial nematodes in the fall.

In addition, Lesson Six: We now love wasps, bees, even yellow jackets, and ugly little guys like assassin bugs. They are our friends, and our enemies are their's as well, so we are co-existing quite peacefully.  Even my girls have learned not to shy away from them!  Well, unless they try to land in our hair or something.


More tomorrow....


Shared at Titus Tuesday
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In Five Words...

Have you ever heard of that challenge to describe yourself in five words?  Yesterday I sent out a little text to a few people in my family - "How's life?  In five words..."  It was a small nudge to communicate in a low key sort of way.  Some seemed to find it a bit too formidable - maybe they saw it too much like a bar set low in a "limbo" sort of way.  It's not going to be set in granite, folks.

Hence, no response - you know who you are.  But most sallied forth, gave it a shot, and brought a smile to my face and a little laughter to my day.

This morning I opened all the upstairs windows to clear out the musties.  The warm sunshine of yesterday has morphed into cool, cloudy grays; tomorrow it should reach lukewarm again.  As I changed my sheets, snapping them in the briskness drifting in from outside, I mulled over a five-word communique for the day.  All sorts of competing and contrary words tumbled around in my mind vying, "Pick me! Pick me!"

Laughing out loud, I chose, "April is a fickle girl."  There is so much more to this than meets the eye.

Shared at We Are That Family

Wanting To Spin Yarn

Writer's freeze, funk, or fizzle - follow the thread to the ball of knots which is it's origin and you'll always find a degree of fear in the tangled skein.  That's where I've been lurking for the past month or so.  Despite suffering through some sort of stomach bug (or maybe in part, due to it) from right after Thanksgiving up to just before Christmas I was able to blog even beyond my once-a-week personal minimum goal.  Then, we started our 2012 school semester late due to waiting on the departure of our college-age son as he headed back to school; a week in we got hit with rounds of colds which some of us are still struggling with four weeks later.

Why all the wah! wah! explanation? Because I've had to tell myself this repeatedly for the past few weeks in order to try to feel ok about not writing, and I now feel compelled to get it all off my chest right off the bat in this post.  (Aarrgghh - a mixed metaphor!)  With a depressingly low level of writing sent out into the blogosphere, I'm feeling rather stunted.  In the shower the other morning, I berated myself aloud, "You said 'line of cosmetics' twice in your one short little review piece you've managed to get out."  Really, the Nyquil should have worn off by now and my mind should be clearer.  I have no excuses, no real ones, I suppose.  Just a real life.

It must be the season for sputtering thoughts and intentions, though.  In perusing a few blogs, I've seen a number of posts belaboring resolutions and goals already derailed.  Writing, exercising, drawing, beginning or getting better at something.  At first I refused the company of other failures (I apologize right now for my snootiness), but after a while I just had to lean into it, lay down my head and suck my thumb.  It's not the end of the world, and I'm being a big baby when all's said and done. Things haven't gone exactly as planned - again - and that's alright.  It really is.

I'll end this little note by sharing another fellow blogger's encouraging answer to her writer's block: http://write2ignite.com/2012/02/01/cure-for-creative-funks/  Good for her, I say.  For me, I'm just grateful for what I have been able to keep going - namely dinners, reading, schooling, family relationships, and prayers - and trust that writing will come more readily once again when its meant to.

It's funny how the mind works, I began with the image of a big ball of yarn and now the knitting term "casting off" came to mind.  To cast off is to bind and end your project.  I think I'll cast off my fear of a terminal barrier to my literary exercises and scribblings now and carry on.

Linked at We Are That Family and Simple Lives Thursday

A Chicken is Not Just A Chicken

Ok, follow me here...

Do you know that saying, "a rose is a rose is a rose?"  (I'm hoping you do, as so often these days I find that people are not acquainted with the familiar maxims and sayings I grew up with.  Another path of time-honored wisdom lost to the void of mind-stunting television and texting, I'm afraid. Pick up a book, please!)  Anyway, in the same way, the familiar white meat of America is often seen as: a chicken is a chicken is a chicken.  A simple, predictable, no-brainer protein for our plates.  Alas, this is not and has never been true for me.

In all my years of conversing with other families, I find there are three main categories of family "cooks":
1) A heavy reliance upon out-to-eat meals fills the bulk of their diet.
2) Pre-packaged, prepared, pre-mixed - dump a jar of salsa, de-boned chicken parts, a can of beans, a bag of frozen corn, a packet of taco seasoning, and some water in the crockpot; set on low for the day; dish it up that night and sprinkle each serving from a bag of shredded cheese and you're good to go.
3) Routine, routine, routine is the name of the game.  These meals are more likely to be made with fresher ingredients, but the holy trinity is usually going to be spaghetti, chili, and some sort of chicken dish.  A methodical repetition of steady repeats keeps things running smooth and steady.

There is another note-worthy minority out there which I should mention before coming to myself.  Some folks are born with an innate sense of confidence in the kitchen, a superior gift of culinary skill and command.  Like those people who seem to have a compass embedded in their brains and can speak of north, south, east, and west as though is is clearly obvious, these savants possess tantalizing abilities that beat in natural rhythm with the proverbial heart of a home.  I salivate with envy.

The class to which I belong is also unique, but not so gifted.  We strongly disapprove of fast food, detest anything of the Zatarain/Hamburger Helper ilk, and abhor routine at our table (we struggle with this in other areas of our lives as well, much to our detriment.)  Families with this type of cook in the kitchen are the recipients of quite fine and varied meals; indeed when dining out, menu choices are made based on whether we could make this ourselves, and better, at home.  Confidence and pride is hard won, but I must confess is only as strong as your last meal.  Our appetite for a mouth-watering and healthy dinner is robust, but is eclipsed by our desire for uncharted regions and tastes.  Variety is our slave-master.  Each day we wake wondering what we will make for dinner. Trip(s) to the grocery store(s) are equally spontaneous and subject to un-premeditation. (I just had to make up that word because is is how I live!)  It is for this reason that I say 'a chicken is not a chicken is not a chicken.'  I drive myself crazy with this inability to conform.  I look at a chicken, or a roast, or a potato as though I'd never seen one before.  And while this has presented my family with distinctive and unique meals that might be served from anywhere in the world, I'm honestly getting a bit wearied. Indeed, I am rather maddening myself.

However, my habits are deeply ingrained.  So, what to do?

As I have been attempting to create plans and purpose for the coming year, I long for a marriage of new-found consistency and some retention of my free-spirited ways in the kitchen.  So, I have devised a strategy that will channel my predilection for diversity by bringing it under weekly submission.  On Sunday, starting tonight, I will plan two weeks worth of dinners.  I will schedule one trip during that time-frame in which to drop by both Trader Joe's and the grocery store that sells local goods, and two afternoon outings (one a week) to my local grocery stores.  Sometime tomorrow I will also schedule two weeks of breakfasts.  The next Sunday I will review my progress and make any tweaks and adjustments as needed.  And round and round we will go.... fingers crossed!

In this way, I am not tied to a broken record of roast chicken unless I want to be and will still be able to cook up anything from a Chinese stir-fry to Mexican albondigas, but I am hoping to experience the freedom that comes with the willing assent to a reliable pattern.  It has taken my dear husband and I twenty-six years to arrive at such a state of wedded bliss (wink and a kiss!)  Tiffs and spats, disagreements and debates, unmet needs and unrealistic expectations, unexpected understandings and eye-opening insights - all par for the course.  I embark on this path with the appreciation of experience; this may well be a lengthy process of conformity but I enter with rosy hopes and, dare I say it?

A good deal of pluck.

Linked with Domestically Divine, Time Warp Wife, Works For Me Wednesdays,  Simple Lives Thursday, and I LOVE Fridays

I Just LOVE This!

Her somewhat smug, self-satisfied little smile
just fits me to a T right now.

Girlfriend, you have got to have yourself one of these!

Inspired by a recent post at Keeper Of The Home, I promptly shared it with everyone I could and then ran to my generous husband to put in my request for a Mom's Day Out.  I don't even know if he knew just what I was asking for beyond a time of reprieve; he's great that way - it was enough and I picked my date.  I have looked forward to "my day" ever since I read that post; anticipation is a small word for the relish it spread over my heart.  I have spent the past two days doing all sorts of organizing in our bonus/school room - purging, sorting, coordinating, and bringing some sort of cohesion to it all once again.  Last night I picked out a few things to bring along with my computer and finally, today came!

Reading through Erin Odom's post, it is clear she and I are cut from very different cloth.  She's much more of a stoic, spartan sort. (Forgive me if that paints an ungenerous picture, Erin!  But rising every day at 5:30?!!!)  I'm more of a marshmallow by comparison.  But she has inspired me.  The thing is, I'm such a wuss I won't even post all the plans I'm coming up with.  I'm still "trying them on."  Actually, my start to my big day was a giant tell-tale.  I slept til 9, got up and had leftover beans and sopa (thanks to my gourmet son) and some homemade broth for breakfast; visited with my honey; showered and dressed; dealt with kid issues; and finally rolled away from the house around 1pm.  "Ah well," I thought, "if I stay out until nine that'll still give me a solid eight hours."  And that's what I did.

I needed it.  I am not an organized person, even after homeschooling five kids over seventeen years.  It is still a process of growth, reach, and change for me.  I hope you find that comforting.  For me to try to locate and pull together even the beginnings of the 'planning' part of this retreat took a good deal of time and effort.  Still, I was able to accomplish some basic bones and I feel quite cheered by it.  I'm hoping that my notes on the rest of it make sense to me later on.  I have to look for someplace to squeeze the other two days worth of planning I find I was not able to fit into my time away today!  A little here, a little there I guess.

Now it's off to bed so I can get some much needed rest before rising for a Prayer and Pancakes Breakfast a good friend is hosting tomorrow morning as further bolster to our start to 2012.  I am so blessed and so thankful!

How are your preparations coming along?  So what if tomorrow is New Year's Eve, you still have time before things really get underway; and as I'm sure some will be reading this after we've moved on into January, it's the intentionality that counts, not the date.  Get yourself a planning retreat!

Linked with Domestically Divine, Time Warp Wife, Works For Me Wednesday, Simple Lives Thursday

Clearing a Clogged Drain Naturally

Ever notice how you'll put up with much more of your own junk/mess/stuff than you care to of other's? I've found this to be true in the area of kids, dogs, homes, habits, you name it, really.  We just tend to overlook and minimize the flaws and failings we possess; but if we see these same things in another...  "Well," we say,"I'd never put up with that!"  Maybe it's just me...

One area where I think this is true is the bathroom.  I know my family has come out of other bathrooms clearly thankful for escape.  "Mom," they whisper in horrified voices, "you just wouldn't believe it."  And yet their own bathroom can suffer neglect for the same amount of time and, well, it just doesn't bother them in quite the same way.  To be fair (and because I am similarly challenged) some of them truly cannot see their surroundings very clearly what with all the steam buildup combined with their lack of vision sans glasses. But we need to assume that other things are building up too.  Like crud.

This evening that agglomeration resulted in a clogged shower/tub drain.  I always take a bit of pride in being able to solve these kinds of dilemmas ourselves, repairing dishwashers, washing machines, blocked pipes and the like.  My youngest seems especially to get a special satisfaction from these challenges too. So while my husband ran out to the store to get a drain cleaner (he did pick out an environmentally friendly one!) I engaged us in a game of beat the clock to try to clear this problem before his return.  Some time back we'd ordered some really helpful little home snakes to help us with our occasional sink issues.  They have worked great, and we employed them to attend to our trouble this time as well.  When that didn't do the trick, I had my daughter try the plunger.  The problem just seemed to get worse.  Water was clearly jumping up and out through the overflow opening.  We had to create a seal in order to ensure the plunger's pressure would go to the source of our blockage.  I didn't have any duct tape, so we used packing tape and sealed it up tightly all the way around.  Now we were in business!  Taking turns, my daughters and I really worked that sucker. The water got smellier and dirtier, but we took that as a sign of progress.  We fished it out to dump in the backyard.  (Occasionally I flushed the toilet as well, thinking that they are somehow connected and this would work in our favor.)  Eventually...., after some sore backs and a bit of sweat... we were rewarded.  Yes, we did it!  The sweet sound of solid suction - the water was twirling down and away! L put on a pot of water to boil and A brought me vinegar and baking soda.  We poured the latter down the drain and once we heard the shrill whistle of the teapot, I brought the boiling hot water upstairs and poured it down as well as a chaser.

After a good tub washing tomorrow, we'll use that drain cleaner my hubbie brought home for good measure. Yeah girls!!!  We did it!!!

Happily shared at Time Warp Wife, Domestically Divine, Works For Me Wednesday, Ramblings of a Christian Mom

Shyla, Shyla, Quite Contrary

I was a frustrated woman.  We live in a subdivision, so all my dreams of chickens, goats, and gardens have to go through a hesitating process.  About ten years ago, my husband, sons, and our neighbor put in a two raised-bed gardens, to the back and between our houses, each about 3X6 ft square.  We own one of them and have simply tomato-ed it out for the past decade, poor thing; it desperately needs a change of roots and I need somewhere else to plant my tomatoes.  In truth, I am a "baby gardener." My husband has been the faithful tenderer of our little plot of soil for these many years, and I would just cook up what we reaped, wishing we had more.  But this past year I was the one who planted, watched over, and gathered from it - and I really liked it.

So this summer, I started looking for a new place to live.

After dragging my husband from one old house with some land to another, and another, and another, (Read: much work required in order to make it what we'd like) over numerous weekends, he asked me over after-search coffee, "What will it take for you to be happy with the house we have? A garden?"

Yes.


And so he hired someone to build me a garden.  The animals just aren't going to happen, I know; but I'm grateful that I can purchase eggs from other local hen-owners.  I'm still hoping a goat's milk source might open up somewhere (and realistically, that's more to my liking than the thought of twice daily milkings.)  But this summer 2012, I will have the garden I have waited for and wanted! It was an early Christmas present that will continue to give for a long time to come - perfect for me.  Thank you, Honey! I have some time to lay out a design with forethought and intentionality.  I've ordered seed catalogs tonight and perused a few online as well. My smile as I'm writing this is one of satisfaction and excitement.

Here are a few pics.
1) "The crew" spreading out our organic soil
2) A view from the street, what a passer-by will see (Yes, the bold orange door was also part of my season of changes)
3) This was work we had done near the front and I have three blueberry bushes planted on that back edge
4) One of the finished product (from my upstairs' bedroom window.)



I'll post an update this summer to tell you how my garden grows!  Oh, and those are lovely gardenia bushes planted between my garden and the street... heavenly.

Linked to Simple Lives Thursday and Works For Me Wednesdays.

Early Christmas Memories

Like our parents before us, my husband and I definitely had our struggling first years - college debt, entry level pay, two babies before our 2nd anniversary, major surgery w/o insurance that first year (more debt), a decision made as a child for me to be a stay-at-home Mom, but lived out in the real world of grown ups now. Put simply, times were tight and everything was accounted for.

Although I am the oldest of six children, sadly, I didn't come to my marriage with a great many culinary skills. Essentially, I could basically make around three dishes that served eight, so when I made spaghetti my husband and I would be eating it for a week.  Poor M!  I would buy milk by fours - one in the fridge, three in the freezer.  It was an adjustment cooking for two, but living frugally and from scratch was my rich inheritance.  One of the treasures that my Mom passed on to me was her North American Cook Book.  It looked old when she gave it to me, and I knew it would serve me dependably as a much-needed guide.  The cover has held up well over the years, but the inside binding came loose long ago; and although I don't exactly recall doing so, I must have attempted to re-glue the pages back in.  Most are solidly affixed to the spine, albeit not exactly aligned with one another.  Maybe one of my kids did that.

To me, this book was the sacred writ of domesticity.  Like many cookbooks of its time, it was written in rather cryptic fashion with succinct instructions such as, 'put chicken in a hot oven.'  Um... What?!  I'd include in my allotted monthly-hour's-worth of call*  a clarification from Mom to find that everyone knows a hot oven is a standard 350 degrees.  I pored over the drawings and diagrams of various meats, trying to educate myself on how to cut up a chicken.  Never did manage that one well, but I found it saved the day to roast them or boil them whole.

Of course, for Christmas we had very little extra.  I don't just mean money for gifts.  I mean what we had in the house was what I had to work with.  No mixer. No rolling pin. No wisk.  And if we couldn't eat it, I didn't have the luxury of running out to buy it.  So for those first Christmases, I made our own gifts for our families.  Enter the North American Cook Book.  Homemade fudges (chocolate and penuche), divinity, peanut brittle, rolls of noughat covered in pecans, gingerbread pigs, and sugar cookies painted with care and artistry.  I must have read these instructions fifty times, determined to break the code:

Fudges are made up of tiny crystals; the finer the crystals, the smoother the fudge. Beating initiates the growth of crystals, and if crystal formation takes place early, they will be large.  Avoid excess stirring while cooking, and do not beat or agitate the cooling syrup after cooking until it has reached the correct temperature for beating.  The use of brown sugar, syrup, cream of tartar, or vinegar in a candy mixture tends to retard crystallization of the syrup; butter and cream also have this effect.  Always choose fudge recipes which contain at least one of these ingredients.

So... should I beat or not - and when?  I couldn't afford to make a mistake, and this was clearly a lesson in chemistry impeding my attempts to create candies of perfection!  Armed with three wooden spoons (each broken in succession) and two bowls, I did as I best I could. Somehow, I managed, and shipped off my delicacies with homely pride and satisfaction.

Our tree was another area I felt the challenge to pinch pennies while making our apartment a festive home.  M was able to bring home two boxes of store-bought ornaments, bright globes of iridescence against the evergreen tree, and twinkling strings of multi-colored lights.  Still, I longed for a more personal touch.  I popped corn and painstakingly strung it with thread, draping it over the tree - just like home.  Then, I experimented with mixing up flour and water.  No rolling pin, remember?  So I patted my dough out into the most uniform thickness I could master, cutting shapes from the fairly even plane with a butter knife, and baking them to hardness.  Bringing out my watercolor paints, I applied layers of color, striving to build up the most intense pigments possible, then coating them with clear nail polish to preserve and add a glisten. A few of my treasures have survived the years to adorn our Christmas tree even this year, although faded with time, still bearing the bumpy imprint of my palms and the homemade mark of loving industry.

My oldest daughter picked up the North American Cook Book the other morning, flipping through the stubborn pages, finding the treasures within.  Her eyes lit up, and my heart warmed within me.  I'm thinking French Hot Chocolate - but that's for my next post.

Shared at Simple Lives Thursday, Works for Me Wednesday, and Ramblings of a Christian Mom


*Yes, young mothers, we paid by the minute back then - and long distance meant each minute was more precious - and consequently, more expensive.  No internet either!
** The second year, I borrowed a neighbor's mixer and burned it out.  Wound up having to buy two - one to replace her's and the other my very first. ;D

First Week Of School 2011

I've been waiting for this week for months now.  I'm usually the kind of mom who sort of whips my plans out of thin air just weeks prior to the start of the school year.  Yes, even after sixteen years.  Every March the wind seems to blow in with a great creative impetus for other mothers, causing them to begin ruminating over books and subjects.  As one turns to me and asks what I am doing next year, I am routinely caught by surprise.  July is absolutely the earliest you can expect me to even broach contemplation of the next year's academic endeavors.


However, for some reason ideas for this year began percolating back in March for me too!  I did my best to keep things on the back burner so we could finish out the year well and have a real summer, but I kept stirring those pots and checking on them as time went by.  I actually had at least half of it planned by July and felt quite satisfied with myself.  At least, I thought I did. Suddenly, one scenario evaporated, another boiled over, still others just tasted off and clearly needed seasoning adjustments.  And I was back to my old game plan of praying and pulling it together per usual.  Still, I came to it feeling a bit deflated after such a visionary start.


As a solid plan began taking shape, I remained non-plussed.  It didn't feel quite like the picture I had earlier imaginations of.  This would be fine, I contented myself.  What I found emerging was a certainty that although this was not my plan, it was His; and as such, it would be good.  GOOD in the way He makes things.  Of this I was sure, regardless of my misgivings.


We began this week.  The first day... well, although the girls enjoyed it, I know that they too felt something was different.  For myself, I can only describe it as spiritually oppressive.  At one point I actually went into my room and told Him, "I don't want to do this.  I don't mean just today.  I don't want to do this at all.  I really just want out."  I don't think I've ever felt quite like this in all my years of schooling - especially not on the first day!  Yet, I returned to my tasks and carried on.  He had my back.


I'm not sure just when, but at some point late in the day the darkness under which I'd stepped out and walked was gone.  As the light was fading outside in our unusually cool summer late afternoon, in our home it was the obscurity of my heart and mind that was giving way. He is like the light of morning at sunrise on a cloudless morning, like the brightness after rain that brings grass from the earth.’*   


I don't understand all that is going on, but I do know this.  I wouldn't change a thing.


* II Samuel 23:4


Shared at Far Above Rubies, We Are That Family

The Next Best Thing to God's Heart in a Garden

Earlier this year my daughters, a few friends, and I attended a wonderful evening of educating ourselves on the wonders of organic gardening.  By the time we left we were all geared up to purchase precious seeds from a reputable company, and the warming pad and lights necessary to properly roust our little seedlings from the sleeping soil, had the name (it escapes me now) of the bonafide best potting soil and the one place we could lay hands on it within a 50 mile radius.  A delay of a few days allowed my albeit 'not-necessarily-better' self to prevail, definitely it was my more real self.  One bit of advice from the evening remained ringing loud, clear, and true.  Start small.

Normally, my husband is the "farmer" in our marital bond; but with his years of experience he has his own way of doing things.  He has made a lot of organic changes in our yard care, but as he hadn't attended the meeting, and I didn't feel up to trying to convey the elucidation we have received (ie I can't remember enough to fill a decent paragraph), and he was otherwise occupied with his real job... at length I decided to pitch the start from seed ideal.  However, I did drive the distance and pick up some organic baby plants and brought them home for him and the girls to plant with organic feed.  I'd also had dreams of either having more raised beds to plant in (to add to our one), and/or attempting hay bale planting.  Seriously, how cool is that?!  Be that as it may, we now have two heirloom tomato plants, one tomatillo, three cherry tomato plants, three jalapenos, an italian basil, and a thai basil - all doing remarkably well, I am pleased as punch to report.

And I have decided that I will pacify my delayed desire to have much more produce growing in my own yard by supporting my local farmer's market.  I've always known we had one, I just didn't have the understanding of its importance to give me the oomph to get my butt out of bed on a Saturday morning. Today, I came home with two kinds of yellow squash, bok choy, garlic and onions, a jar of apple pomegranate jelly, and two lbs. of local antibiotic/hormone-free bratwurst.  Even more exciting, I brought home TWO different kinds of beets.  Yes, that two-year-old New Year's Eve specter of a resolution will be vanquished within the week!  The lady who sold me the traditional ruddy beets swore they'd taste like candy.  While I'm not going to hold it against her when they don't, her pitch pushed me over the edge.  And the second bundle looked so beautifully artistic - really, their deep golden hue ready to be captured in a still life - I just had to give them a go as well.

So, the moral is: sometimes our thwarted desires lead us into lanes of unexpected pleasures.  That's a worthwhile lesson, don't you think?

Natural Progesterone Testimonial

(Time reference: 2002) I should have realized right away that things were not right with me.  By nature, I am a pretty easy-going person; but just prior to my 40th birthday, although outwardly I seemed the same as always, I found I was not handling things well inside myself - not at all.  Finally, there came an afternoon when I called and left my husband a phone message, simply asking him if he could come home a little early if possible so we could talk.  He cancelled all appointments and flew home immediately, imagining all kinds of far-out reasons for my call.  This may give you some understanding of how uncharacteristic even such a small request was for me.  Had one of the boys mouthed off with me?  Had I finally had enough of a particularly trying friend?  What could this emergency be? 

... I thought I'd sounded rather nonchalant. ;-)

It really was a fairly small thing that I was fretting over, and M laughed at my worry; but he quickly saw that however much he might think my response was an over-reaction, it was very real.  He helped me to get through my dilemma over the next few days, then gently suggested, "Shy, do you think this might be hormonally related?"  Only seconds before had that thought occurred to me.  It could just be.

I picked up What Your Doctor Might Not Tell You About Peri-Menopause by John Lee from my local library and began reading.  Normally, I prudently finish researching before taking action, but this time I went straight to my local health food store and purchased a recommended jar of progesterone cream, wasting no time in beginning to rub it into my skin daily before I'd even finished the book.  I could stop using it later if this turned out to be a crock, but I wanted relief from my anxiety NOW.  Every day I would ask my husband, seeking his reassurance, "are you still that wonderfully supportive man?  because I'm still that crazy lady."  Eventually the symptoms subsided with only very occasional reoccurances, and I have continued the use of this cream, roughly in a three weeks on/one week off routine for the past eight years.

Recently, I have had an increase in taxing situations come up in my life for which I have needed to rely heavily upon His strength and comfort, as well as the vitality of prayer and deep reserves in my spiritual walk.  All has been supplied, but I noticed that I'd begun to have restless nights of sleep coupled with annoyingly interruptive night sweats and then periodic daily hot flashes.  The lightbulb went off the other morning as I realized I have been negligent in administering my routine application of progesterone cream during this same season.

I am two days back into the swing of it, and time will be needed to build up this defense in my system; but I am grateful for the natural avenue of relief that is available here.  I encourage you to look into this yourself if you find you are getting of a certain age and meeting up with unusual challenges, either mentally or physically.  It has been a wonderful resource of help to me.

Blessings to your health!

Update: Three weeks later, not a hot flash or night sweat to trouble me at all.

A Green Cure For Lingering Scent of Cigarettes

Sometime within the past year, I ordered a book from paperbackswap.com.  If you're not familiar with it, and you are a book lover like myself, you really should check it out.  I rounded up all the books that were not really necessary essentials to our family library, and not ones I could sell to other homeschoolers, and posted them as available for swapping. This has been a great way for me to make both my husband and I happy.  I purge some books from the house, and I wind up with others that I can own and read - at least for a time until I might swap them out again. Others I wind up keeping for good.  Overall, even if I don't wind up with as much available shelf space as my husband would like, I am saving money on my books.  For the price of shipping, less than $3 most times, I have a new one.  And for voracious readers like myself (and maybe you), it's a definite win.

Well, as with most arenas you enter into as a novice, I did not know all the ropes at first.  Consequently, I wound up with a book I truly wanted - but which came reeking of cigarette smoke and I was quite disappointed. Afraid that I'd just come out the worse in the exchange, I went searching for a remedy and chose one which I am thrilled to share with you.  This really works!  You have to be willing to be without your book for while, but afterwards I promise - there won't be a whiff of nicotine lingering.  I simply took a newspaper and tore it into squares, placing a page size sheet between each and every page in the book.  A bit time consuming, yes, but I assure you it was well worth it.  I then placed all of this inside a plastic bag.  I'm afraid I can't tell you just how long this part of the purification process took exactly, because quite honestly, I forgot the book in a drawer for months.  However, when I removed it - truly it was as good as new!  I have a very sensitive nose, and there was not a trace of cigarette within the pages.  If you find you have inherited a book you'd really like to read, but are put off by the lingering scent of this stinky habit - by all means give this a go.  Future readers of your book will also reap the rewards of your efforts.

And fyi, you can request your books come smoke-free at paperbackswap.com, as I later learned. But my inconvenience can be your gain!  Happy smoke-free reading!

Blessed With Arms To Serve

Last weekend I got a fortuitous treat.  A friend from church emailed me rather last minute, asking if my girls and I could babysit her children for her.  She has a two-year old (almost three), and five month old twins.  Although I was tired, I said 'yes,' of course.  Not out of an inability to say 'no', but more than anything because I saw in this an answer to prayer.  One of my girls is a natural nurturer, but for the other, this is an area in which I have asked the Lord to provide opportunities for work in her heart.  And so I made coffee and off we went.  

Once we'd arrived, the Mommy took me through all the things we might expect in a typical evening with her little ones, her sincere and tender love for them shown through so endearingly.  I nodded and appreciated the sweetness that I recognized and understood.  Her words and manner brought out in me remembrances.  You know how the certain smells and sights and sounds evoke the sensibilities of things past?  Her mother's care in speech and delight warmed the recollections of years gone by for me when my own were small enough to hold in my arms.

Inside?  Well inside, I was jumping up and down.  I couldn't wait to hold those babies, whisper and sing to them, talk and encourage smiles and gurgles from them.  My girls and I waved as the parents left for their evening of celebration with a family member.  Then I shut the door and embraced my role of fairy godmother, rejoicing in merry-making of my own.  I talked my daughters through the care of these little ones, seeking to inspire and encourage the love of children in them.  I changed diapers, fed bottles, rocked babies (oh, what pleasure there is in a rocking chair!), soothed them, read stories, sang songs, and relished the joy of this task.   It was a triple gift - for my friend a night away, for my daughters an opportunity to experience babysitting, and for me... well, I think I received more out of the evening than anyone else, and as we drove home I sighed happily in deep contentment, expressing quiet thanks in my heart.

Great opportunities to help others seldom come, but small ones surround us daily. ~Sally Koch~

Please Stop and Think

One of my goals for this year is to attend a writing seminar.  The other day I was browsing for possibilities and came across a blog called She Speaks.  This was one of those fortuitous stumbles, the kind where you read in black and white something that you just knew was true, but the whole world seems to be ignoring it and so it almost seems like its not true.  Like this one. I mean, didn't we all have the common sense to know this before the U.S. Surgeon General came out and announced it?

So, back to She Speaks.  While it wasn't really what I was looking for, it was a clarion call I readily have taken in hand to join in sounding out.  We have virtually created a world in which we pickle ourselves silly.  And while we might not care enough to make changes for our own sakes (mostly because we're either lazy and/or 'too busy', if we're quite honest), perhaps the fact that we are now so soaked in this "stuff" that our bodies harbor it while we carry our children, maybe this will be enough to prod us to change.

In this day and age, we have absolutely inundated ourselves with an environment of chemical exposure. From our non-stick pans that make our foods slip out easily, to the makeup we feel compelled to slather and lather ourselves with on a daily/nightly basis, to the invisible fumes emanating from our walls and floors and furniture, and on and on and on. 

I know, I know - we have grown up in an environment that grooms and caters to cultivate within us an expectation that what we need will be provided before we even quite know we need it.  With each successive generation, this is becoming more and more "natural" and it is more and more difficult to believe it is for anything but our good.  For those of us who see through this Matrix-like web, it remains a challenge to shake off the lies.  Fortunately for us, there are others who have braved the trail before us and offer hope and encouragement in our attempts to get real and pull back.  Hard choices, difficult decisions, deliberate and intentional efforts are all a part of this way - but we know it is worth it.

I'm like you - I would rather kick back than work; I'd rather have it all figured out and spoon-fed to me than do all the thinking and comparing and deliberating required; I'd rather pamper myself in a bubble bath every time than deny myself and serve.  But I've learned that I can't always have what I'd rather, and sometimes what I'd really truly rather have is the latter... I've found that there are some things that are worth all that working, thinking, comparing, deliberating, denial of self, and servitude.  Sticking our fingers in our ears and covering our eyes isn't going to work for very much longer.  And lest you think I'm all doom and gloom, take the time to read this article that offers ways in which you can begin making changes for your good, the good of those you love, and others.  Just start somewhere, please.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters,
in view of God’s mercy,

to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—

this is your true and proper worship.

Do not conform to the pattern of this world,
but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Then you will be able to test and approve what

God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

~ Romans 12:1-2