7 Takes: Who Knows Whether They Were Quick Or Slow

One

I think I've finally redeemed myself from the Bitter Flesh Soup of Satan. I don't even know where that post is and I'm not going to look it up. But I'm sure you all remember. I've made some decent soups for Shepherd's Bowl in the intervening months, but last night seemed better, even though I did the same thing I always do.

Onion, garlic, green pepper, cabbage, broccoli, carrot (skipped the sweet potato–too hot, too lazy), big cans of tomato, powdered Goya chicken stock, ground beef that's been seriously browned, if not cooked through and the fat strained off, many cans of garbanzo beans, liberal amounts of curry powder, salt, more water if needed, and then, at the end, several bags of peas and two tubs of sour cream. As for amounts of things, well, I fill my cart at Price Rite/Right (which is it? Last time I got it wrong) and just go from there. I try to do everything in threes or fours. It's a whole box of powdered stock. And the bigger pot and the bigger spoon. And the stool from home to reach the pot for stirring.

It doesn't look beautiful, but it's really delicious. I can't even begin to think how I would do it on a smaller scale. One green pepper? One onion? Only one pound of ground beef instead of ten? It's a lot of chopping. I have to start around noon if I don't want to be rushed.

I'm not usually in charge of salad and dessert but this is the summer. Flexibility is required. I made a vinaigrette–Dijon mustard, red wine vinagre, olive oil–and let baby tomatoes and “blanched” (but really over cooked because I put them on and stupidly went home and sat down for five minutes and then remembered and raced back and by then it was too late) green beans, and lettuce.

(Before the Lettuce)

See, not pretty. But actually really buttery and light.

And an heirloom watermelon. And then, because who knows why, I made an oatmeal crumble sort of thing. You take two sticks of butter and melt them and then pour that over half a tub of old fashioned oats well coated with brown sugar and stir it really well and shove it in the oven. Then, when you remember, you stir it, and finally take it out when it's golden brown and crispy. If you were at home, you could just eat it out of the pan with something like full fat cream, not that I would do that. But for last night it was sprinkled over little cups of vanilla yoghurt.

So that was dinner last night. In a month I'll do it all again, exactly the same way. Probably.

Two

Got to pack Elphine up and take her and two friends to Cole Park for the afternoon, which means running around and assembling a picnic, and seeing if Matt can cancel all his appointments, because he and I miscommunicated, as in didn't communicate, so that I don't have to haul all six children up there, but rather leave them here to watch Frozen and some horrible Bat Man movie. We'll see how the negotiations go this morning.

Three

Which means not taking a walk again. It's the one thing that gets chucked whenever I feel pressed for time, which is every day. I need to walk, I feel better when I walk, I don't have low grade irritating low back pain when I walk, I have a better outlook on life when I walk, but if there's anything that's going to be chucked out the window, flung away far never to be seen or heard of through the whole course of the day, it's going to be the walk. I never ever miss writing a little something for this blog. I don't miss a little bible and a little prayer. I certainly don't ever miss breakfast (heaven forbid). I always have a few spare moments to kill Japanese Beetles. I always have time to yell at the children to clean up. But I never seem to have time to walk. Ever. So interesting how that works out.

Four

I also don't have time to return email and Facebook messages. And phone calls. They sit there, piling up, leering at me when I look at my phone. And I think, I should really write that person back. And then I wander out into the garden and lose track of everything.

Five

And then I go around telling people that I'm not a procrastinator. “I used to be” I say, “but I'm not any more.” And for the most part they believe me because how would they know? My children are clothed and fed. I'm, as Matt argues back all the time, “homeschooling six children!!!” I do so much at church. I don't come across as someone who is chronically avoiding the hard things in life. I like to comfort myself and say, “you can't have it all. You're not super woman.” But honestly, I could probably have a little more if I worked a little harder.

Six

Nearly at the end of Jeremiah. Gedaliah is about to be killed. Everything is in ruination and despair. It is small comfort, I think, for Jeremiah to be proved right, in all the words of The Lord, when there is so much death and destruction and sorrow. The line from Chronicles is so damning, “to fulfill the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah, until the land had enjoyed its Sabbaths. All the days that it lay desolate it kept Sabbath, to fulfill seventy years.” The idolotry and injustice and defrauding and infant killing and evil evil evil was plenty enough to cause Judgement, but the land had not been allowed to rest. Rest is a matter of trust. You stop working for a day because you expect God will provide for you on that day. You don't make others work because you have in your mind that God will come through. But it also implies that you were working all the other days. Neither laziness, nor grasping. I don't have a handle on either of these.

Seven

And so, I'm going to go do whatever it is I always do on the weekend, which is run around in a circle quietly freaking out. And also the final of the World Cup.

Go check out Jen!

7 Takes: who knows whether they were quick or slow