View from the Prairie Box

I didn’t know how to cook.

My fiance picked me up from a friend’s house in St. Louis that Easter holiday and we proceeded to cook Easter dinner — our favorite, Chicken Kabuli. It was by no means a traditional Easter meal (okay, so it was an Indian dish far from your normal ham and potatoes), but it was what we loved to eat and thus we prepared it for my family.

I also didn’t know how to shop for groceries. But one of my most vivid memories of cooking with Jeremy in those days was picking out the necessary ingredients for Chicken Kabuli. One of the most vital parts of the recipe is tomatoes, and that was how I discovered Romas. Beautiful, oblong, firm fruits quite unlike their more familiar cousins, the overly-round Beefsteaks which readily spurt their innards upon contact with a sharp knife. The lovely red of the Romas, in combination with an array of spices and the final touch of heavy cream, contributes to the attractive , delicious dish of Chicken Kabuli.

Over my kitchen sink tonight I fingered the final produce from my garden, collected one week ago, before the first hard freeze of the season. As I washed away bits of rich soil and picked off green stems, I felt the Romas had somehow seen me come full circle. There’s tremendous joy in now being married to my favorite person in the world, the man who taught me how to pick out good produce from the grocery stores in St. Louis. There’s much happiness in watching little seedlings grow into productive and full plants within the confines of our modest backyard garden. And there’s a feeling of satisfaction in being able to turn the literal fruits of our labors into good food for dinner… I can’t claim to be a great cook. But at least now I know how.

i like rain.
i don’t like it when it gets dark early.
rain + dark = desire for fireplace.
the darkness makes me want to sleep.
i love to sleep, especially under a down comforter.
i never feel like i’ve had enough sleep.
i almost always get 8 hours of sleep, so the statement above is ridiculous.
weekends are good.
some movies are good.
we go to blockbuster way too often.
enjoyed ‘bend it like beckham’ but didn’t think it was fabulous.
really enjoyed the creepy romp ’28 days,’ though it caused a few bizarre dreams.
eagerly anticipating ‘cold mountain’ on christmas day.
‘along came polly’ looks pretty darn funny (esp. the bathroom scene).
see apple.com/trailers or themoviebox.net for movie trailers.
wondering where bethany’s website is these days. (yo, b?)
a blog is little bit of a burden.
not feeling very creative this evening.
this is all just filler.
happy monday tomorrow folks.

Inspired by one of Jeremy’s birthday gifts (thanks, Chelsea!), I have picked up The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien to read once more. Feel excited and goose-bumpy along with me, and in preparation for the final movie, at Aragorn’s response to the spear-yielding Riders of Rohan:

Aragorn threw back his cloak. The elven-sheath glittered as he grasped it, and the bright blade of Anduril shone like a sudden flame as he swept it out. ‘Elendil!’ he cried. ‘I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dunadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil’s son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!’

Every once in awhile I get a huge desire to read out loud, with voices for different characters. Trust me… these lines were read out loud.

Calvin Haywood Baker took his first breaths of life on Sunday, October 12th at 7:31pm. Whew, are we glad he’s here! I’m certain he doesn’t know the aches and pains, as well as joys and thrills, he caused his mom and dad… The excitement of the positive pregnancy test, the days of nausea and vomit-inducing odors, the many purchases of enlarging-belly maternity wear, the terrifying cramping in the second trimester and the endearing kicks a few weeks later, the fun of registering for teeny clothes and diapers and the inevitable feeling of “what are we getting into?” and finally, the last readings of high blood pressure, the baby shower the honoree never attended, and contractions that could blow your socks off. And he’s here. A darling bundle of humanity, 6 pounds and 3 ounces, 19 inches long. Dark hair on his slightly pointy head and a quite perfect little face. Welcome to the world, Calvin! We love you already. And, oh yeah — congrats Sarah and Dave! The fun is just beginning.

It is soooo good to read your own opinions in the words of another. As understood in the aforementioned mall episode, I agree with this author on the issue of low-rise.

There is nothing you can do to make God love you more, and nothing you can do to make God love you less.
(An Arrow Pointing to Heaven, Smith, 2000)

going to the mall
trying to look cute
competing with
…perfect teeny t-shirt and grunge jeans
…spiffy, fitted top and adorable khakis
…just the right pair of footwear to match the rest of the outfit

seeing others, comparing myself
hating it each time i do

frumpy and lumpy
hair all a’frizz
freckled and natural
not like showbiz
the real world is me
not perfection to a ‘t’

why care to match ‘glamour’
and other magazines
who cater to the beautiful
and wealthy-parented teens
the rest of us must be content
to wear the styles of yesteryear.
but we’re not, let’s face it
we’re so into ourselves
we’ve got to be wearing
clothes off gap’s shelves

but who sets the standard?
that’s what i ponder
as through westfield-shopping-town’s halls i wander.
wearing my shopko ensemble
not very hip
the semi-cute top
the jeans with a rip

alright! that’s it!
i’m ready to throw
fashion in the garbage
with all my silly wants and woes
who the heck cares
what clothes that i wear?

S-I-G-H

me — that’s where
i get all the pressure
me — that’s the who
that ignores the treasure
that lies within,
seeing the outside
and ignoring the beauty
that i tell everyone else they have.

practice what you preach.
buy what you can afford.
and most importantly,
ignore yourself.

You’ve gotta love this. Okay, maybe you don’t. But I did! Here it is, in all its glory… President Bush’s Poem:

Every once in awhile I get the urge to seek out other adoption opportunities, just to see if one will be a better fit for us than the private attorney route we’re currently engaged in. Every single time I’ve made phone calls to other adoption agencies I’ve hung up the phone with disappointment. Here’s why…

Today I called Bethany Christian Services — they do both domestic and international adoptions and I’ve heard good firsthand reports about them. I asked for a general picture of the fees charged for a domestic adoption. Wanna hear it?
– $500 formal application fee
– $2,000 adoptive family assessment fee
– $3,000 approval of homestudy
– $13,000 placement/post-placement fees
– $1,050 I can’t remember because my head was spinning

Now, just yesterday Stu said that God owns all the money in the world, meaning: He can accomplish anything, no matter its pricetag. So, yes, God can allow us to adopt a baby through Bethany… But let’s lay aside matters of sovereignty for one moment, HOLY CRAP! Who the heck has that kind of money?????

Make no mistake about it. When we adopt a child or give birth to one, it will be a miracle. I have no idea how or when this event will happen, but when it does we will all acknowledge it as an act of God.

The other day I was listening to “A Liturgy, A Legacy and A Ragamuffin Band” by Rich Mullins and, recalling conversations of many who have been impacted by his life, wanted to read a little about him. A few days later my dad handed me a devotional biography on the life of this musician-poet. Coincidence? I think not!

I started the book today, and have already been touched by the foreword and chapter one. However, one paragraph made me laugh and like Rich Mullins even more. Here it it, from An Arrow Pointing to Heaven by James Bryan Smith:

Rich learned a lot about the Christian faith from his extended family, particularly his great-grandmother, whom he described as “a wonderful woman [who] had a very down-to-earth approach to religion. She said bad words sometimes, and I loved that. That’s why I always liked Christmas — because it was the only time you could says ‘ass’ in church. I used to sing that line out of that carol over and over again.”

Here’s to Rich Mullins, his music and poetry, and saying “ass” in church! ; )