but we keep trying

I got the first part of this post in an email. Hang on, don't tune out just yet; I have more original content for you afterwards.

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Santa rides in a sleigh.
JESUS rides on the wind and walks on the water.
Santa comes but once a year.
JESUS is an ever present help.
Santa fills your stockings with goodies.
JESUS supplies all your needs.
Santa comes down your chimney uninvited.
JESUS stands at your door and knocks.. and then enters your heart.
You have to stand in line to see Santa.
JESUS is as close as the mention of His name.
Santa doesn't know your name, all he can say is "Hi little boy or girl, What's your name?"
JESUS knew your name before we did. Not only does He know our name, He knows our address too. He knows our history and future and He even knows how many hairs are on our heads.
Santa says "You better not cry"
JESUS says "Cast all your cares on me for I care for you."
Santa puts gifts under your tree,
JESUS became our gift and died on the tree.
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As I watch the customs and festivities around me, which to me seem pretty centered around materialism, I almost had to laugh, or cry, I couldn't really decide.

Everyone is after this rush that they can't quite achieve. Christmas is built up to deliver such excitement: oh the thrill, the joys, the ecstasy! I even saw commercials advertising for products that get the desired response from children; the parent goes and asks a clerk, "Where can I find the I love it!! Oh Oh oh!! It is so amazing!!! ??"
and the clerk answers that is in Isle 4 right next to the OH MY Gosh!! AAAHH!!! How did you know?? The people are screaming, sounding like they are about to fall on the floor in a fit of emotional overload.

After all the present opening hoohaw at our house this morning, Chris brought in a television and watched some Disney parade extravaganza show, which doubled as an infomerial for Disney theme parks.

I just couldn't get over the amount of energy and expense expended to make the most sensational, fantastic, thrilling show/experience/product. All this stuff is supposed to take your breath away. They hired famous multi-platinum artists to sing I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Cluas, acrobats, dancers, pyrotechnicians, bands, stages, elaborate sets, you name it. Same kind of hullabaloo as I talked about in the Olympic opening ceremonies.

And everyone sits picking their nose. You might smile, but no one really loses their breath, or is that impressed. 

The salesmen, the ones selling products and shows to buy happiness and thrill, work themselves into a sweaty frenetic frenzy to try and do the most amazing thing they can muster. I can almost hear them gruting, panting.

Yet God says one word, and the stars are hung in their fiery place in the firmament. 

One word, and there is LIGHT, where there hadn't been before. 

One word, and your spirit soars, when before you felt hopeless and swallowed by inescapable darkness. 

One enigmatic word, and a MAN and woman were made, with all the awe-inspiring complexity of the eye, all our inter-related internal systems, all the intricacies of the cell and DNA. From the miniscule to the majiscule, God has done the most mind-blowing things. 

Us = TONS of effort to make something mediocre

HIM = no effort to make the most phenomenal thing in the universe: indeed, even the universe itself!

But we overlook those wonders, and instead jump around in our spastic psychosis trying to muster up the thing or experience that will fascinate us, that will inspire awe and give pleasure. 

Silly creatures are we. 

What greater consequence is there of our folly, however, I wonder, far far beyond simply our own boredom and vain striving? 

Here's a couple pictures, cause pictures are pretty, and break up the monotony of all my words.

the girls enjoying some delicious Chewy Ginger Cookies 

Dis `n Dat

A random concatenation of thoughts. 

I haven't been around much for a couple reasons:

1) Niamh has decided to start the day at 5:30 lately, and frankly, I'm just not ready at that point. Neither is she, she is still sleepy and sufficiently cranky, and yet she persists with this idea. 

I am less than chipper or productive as well. 

2) Any time the computer is on, one of the kids (yes, both already) think it is their turn and want to do stuff on it. Why did I ever instigate this initially? They never needed to know there are cartoons or games for kids on the computer. 

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Anna says: "I wish I lived in Japan so I could eat seaweed."

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Nova Scotian winter has arrived! When I went out to get wood for the fire at 7 this morning, I was surprised when met with a foot of snow right up to the door. I shovelled a path and the steps before even attempting wood retrieval. It was up to my shins.

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Anna wrote a letter to Santa, giving her list of requested presents. Canada Post replies to these letters, and today Anna's reply from Santa came in our mailbox. A group of volunteers answer all letters sent to Santa in Canada. I found some of the content hilarious and a little Canada specific, particularly the part where Santa was saying how he takes a reusable lunch bag on his Christmas Eve world tour. Love the recycling plug. Good job, Santa.  

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Think of this post as a month's worth of Twitter in one convenient blog entry. 

Always looking out for you, in this often busy season. I just keep giving and giving, what a woman. 

I have lots of stuff simmering again... oh for more opportunity to post. 

Jumping on Jesus

But first:
Months, months of work, I flushed today in a moment's impulsive decision.

One cup of regular coffee.

It takes months, some will know all to well, to acclimate a well-seasoned snobbish palette to the lifeless *marf* of decaf. However, it can be done. It just takes time, and eventually, you will forget what delights a well brewed cup of french roast holds.


I gave in today, and reminded my mouth of the forgotten pleasures. Bad, bad, bad. I was almost contented with decaf. Now I can go back to hating it for a couple months, giving up on drinking any altogether, then finally coming back to it in desperation and not minding it.

Now onto Anna news.

We only have one tv channel here, well, one in English, one in French, but we don't speak French, so anyway.. We have one channel, and Wheel of Fortune is what happens to be on at our supper time, lucky us. Anyway, Chris is quite good at these games. He can solve all the puzzles before anyone else. Jeopardy too, which I am useless at. So there he is answering all the puzzles before the contestants, and it tripped Anna out. One night she was actually paying attention and heard him say, "Red - beans - and - rice, " then the person on tv say it 10 seconds after him. This tripped her right out.

"HEY! How did that guy on tv hear Daddy? Daddy, how did you talk to the tv!!" Now she tries it, but to no avail, they can't hear her. Poor thing. It is funny seeing her yell at the tv things she wants them to say. Of course, yelling louder like, Hey Stupid! Can't you HEAR ME??? Och.

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Out of the clear blue the other day she asked me if Jesus lives in your heart, and I said,
"He will if you ask Him to."
So she went over on the floor, knelt, folded hands and prayed, "Dear Jesus, come and live in my heart. Be my Lord. God, I know He is yours, but I love Him, and would you share Him with me?"
then she stood up all happy and came over to hug me.

Well a few minutes passes, life has resumed, and Niamh is playing her favourite game of sit on Anna's belly and bounce/jump while both of them laugh hysterically.
This time, however, something had changed. Jesus was now in the mix.
Anna yelled, "Jesus! You're going to have to get out again!!! Niamh is jumping on you! Niamh!!! Stop jumping on Jesus! Niamh! NIAMH!!!"

But I assured her that Jesus didn't mind, in fact, He loves kids and will get cross at you for insinuating otherwise.

Dairy farming and dress pants

Anna was explaining to me the other night how dairy farming works.

You see, the cows go down (don't ask specifics, apparently) and milk their selves [sic] and it makes a river (this must be American dairy farms, where they are allowed those hyper-production hormones) and the farmers go down to the river of milk with their buckets and dip them in and carry them back to the farm to give to people.

Wow. What a method.

Maybe this is what was going on in the Bible with that land that was flowing with milk... (and honey - so did the bees use a similar technique?).
Possibly where she got this idea. Otherwise I'm stumped.

Also heard, after watching some traditional Hawaiian dancing on YouTube: "I wish I could go to Hulaland."

But one of the funniest stories remains:
Anna attends a school-readiness program one day a week. Since I don't have a car home with which to take her, we have various people with whom she gets a ride or from whom I borrow a car. One of the families only counts sons among their number; their mother is the only female in the house. One of these young sons is in Anna's class. His usual school-time garb includes sweat pants, runners and a hoodie sweat shirt, all unmatched, of course. Even the shoes are not typically laced up or tied.

However, on the days where he knows they are coming to pick up Anna, he demands to wear his dress shirt and pants. He looked like he was ready to be the Ring Bearer in some one's wedding last time they showed up in our driveway. He even comes to the door to pick her up; hands in pockets, standing a bit off from the door, looking sheepish.

The following week when we didn't ride with them, but I still saw him at school, there he was back in the sloppy sweat pants again.

Hee larious.

The older son was helping Anna get her belt on and she said, while smoothing out her skirt, "Thank you, Brian, for helping me with my belt." And the brothers all looked at each other surprised like, uh, duh, what are we supposed to do?
"Uh, Sure. No prob," came the clumsy reply. Their mother thinks it is great that they are passively forced into being gentlemen in the presence of a lady.

Then today we were listening to Anne Sophie Mutter playing the Sibelius violin concerto, and there is this where there are really fast triplet arpeggios in complex chords - so it sounds a little harried. Anna walked over and looked and the stereo and laughed. "*chuckle* It sounds like they are rewinding!" Then after a minute it resolved into something a little less harmonically obtuse with the full orchestra, and she said, "OK! *phew* Now they pushed play!"

I was cracking up!

time ran out

For those who are following this story about an Irish priest, I have what I find to be a very sad and depressing update.

I wrote him this huge letter, like 4 pages long, in Irish, thanking him and encouraging him, updating him on my life and how his gift impacted me. I had pictures made up for him, a recent family one and one from back then to help him remember me.

As I was searching online for his address or how to find his address, I found not an address, but
a death and burial notice. *sigh*

I missed the boat big time on that one, and feel like the hugest heel around. I missed him, simply because I didn't get around to it in time. I get a sick stomach every time I think about it.

So the message today is: just like those often cheesey forwards that tell you to tell your family you love them etc, I'm saying don't procrastinate! If you have a loose end to tie up, get after it. Don't leave 'em hanging.

You really never know how much time you have.

Expat City Mouse

... would like some cheese with her whine.

When the City Mouse moves to the country, a few things change for her. Or maybe it is more accurate to say, a few things stay the same. Most things change.

I have found myself with a crazy desire for art and beauty. While reading Peter and the Wolf to Anna last night, and explaining to her the difference between a clarinet and an oboe, and describing a bassoon (which with the help of my new best friend Youtube, she was able to hear a proper demonstration) I realized it had been soooo long since I had seen any of these exotic wonders in person. I used to see them on a daily basis in high school during orchestra rehearsals. Now all I see is fiddle, guitar, piano. Ever.
So Youtube is my friend because I am able to watch classical concerts and ballets and modern dance recitals in the comfort of my own home.

Jenni trivia: Did you know I never actually wanted to play the violin? As a wee bairn I always dreamed of playing the flute or cello. But never violin. I enjoy it now and all, but it wasn't my first choice. Neither was Irish. I wanted to speak French. God had other plans I guess! A French- speaking flute player is more how I envisioned myself.

City Mouse misses all the fancy city stuff from her home town- er- city. She misses museums. She really misses classical concerts. Because of my connections I was able to see the KC Symphony almost on a weekly basis, for only $4 a concert. I told myself I would attend some concerts when I was in Toronto, but at $75 a pop for nosebleed, I said nevermind. Also on a near-weekly basis, I attended concerts of the top chamber musicians doing international tours. I was so spoiled, and I had no idea. My church had fantastic musicians and enthusiastic parishioners. My family thought I was a marvel and a wonder. I visited indie coffeehouses and indie rock concerts with great regularity as well. I read books, attended museums, poetry readings and festivals. I had dozens of friends in university, from every nation I ever heard of and many I hadn't.

Now, I sit home 6 days a week, I haven't laid eyes on a wind instrument live in 6 years, and thank God there are a few Africans visiting the university here that attend my church or I would forget what black people looked like. The only art I see is in the medium of crayon or play-doh. The only international cuisine I get is what I attempt. My 7th day outing includes the same 2 buildings every week: church, grocery store. Drive straight there, straight home. You can imagine my thrill when I stop at the beautiful coffee shop on the way home. Not often do I do this, for reasons of time and money. But I enjoy it immensely when I do. So I generally see 4 buildings: my home, my mother in law's, church and grocery store.`

I dream about Toronto. Although my hubby would prefer a Lucifer's Lake of Fire Cruise Ship vacation to visiting there, it puts a smile on my face every time I think about it.

In my desperation for some fine art culture, I started practicing some classical music on my violin. I even did some improv along with some solo classical piano recordings: the closest I've had to playing in a chamber ensemble in a long while.

I had to get all this negativity out before American Thanksgiving. Maybe this is Canadian Ungrateful Day. Maybe this blog entry is how I celebrated it. Weehoo! What a celebration! Do I know how to party or what!!??

All this being said, folks, you know i will be back around to chipper and thankful in a matter of hours. You just hit the blog-timing jackpot for crummy content.

I am super excited to report, that I get to go out of town this weekend. I'm really looking forward to it, as you can easily ascertain from this blather.

some quotes

Poetry replaces grammar, gospel replaces law, longing transforms obedience, as gradually as the tide lifts a grounded ship.

Wisdom begins with sacrifice of immediate pleasures for long-range purposes.

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Oliver Wendell Holmes

"Never believe that a few caring people can't change the world. For, indeed, they are the only ones who ever have." Margaret Mead

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." Unknown

"We come this way but once. We can either tiptoe through life and hope that we get to death without being too badly bruised or we can live a full, complete life achieving our goals and realizing our wildest dreams." Bob Proctor, Radio and TV personality, success trainer

"You can't cross a sea by merely staring into the water." Rabindranath Tagore, 1913 Nobel laureate for literature

All my pity and prayers

Goes out to Mr. Barack Hussein Obama, who, when he wakes up this morning, will be handed one of the crappiest and most overwhelming To-Do lists in the history of the Earth.

And I complain about cleaning out closets! Ha!

God's Skittles*

This post is a couple weeks old, as I have been waiting for opportunity to type.

*at time of typing, most all the leaves have fallen and their glory has faded away*


I'm still stuck on the fall colours, folks. Humour me.

(Notice all those ou's? I'm a good Canadian now. :)


As I drove home from church, for 3 consecutive weeks, I was awestruck to the point of laughing aloud in the car, almost in disbelief of what I was seeing. Luckily, wonderment isn't foreign to children, so the girls didn't think I was cracking up. At one point in the drive, which is all highway, I am at the base of a slowly inclining hill, and the road before me is straight. Because of the brightness and variety of the colours, the roadway looked as if it were bordered on both sides by great 50 foot high, multi-mile long rainbows, ribboning the length of the path. Seriously, every rainbow colour was there in full presence: Ferrari red, tangerine orange, banana yellow, summer grass green, eggplant purple, and many shades from peach to lime to add diversity, complexity, and interest. The only colour absent from the trees themselves, blue, was vividly visible in the sky, punctuated with radiating pure white cumulus.

I love how God can use colours and combinations that are so loud, but with such savvy and skill that they are not gaudy, but captivating and awe inspiring.

It mightn't have been little round fruit candy, but it truly was a feast for the eyes.

*God's Skittles have no hydrogenated oils.

Confessions: Bottomless Pit

You may have heard, there is a problem with hunger and starvation in many places in the world.

Well, I am embarrassed to admit: it's my fault.

I am 5 feet tall and I weigh 110 lbs. However, in the global rationing of foodstuffs, I eat both my portion and Ethiopia's. I kid not. It is really sad. I was reminded of this a few days ago when I went to have supper at a friend's house and while still trying to be diplomatic she commented casually on my consumption. ''Wow.. you are good to eat.. heh *awkward forced chuckle*,'' as I cleaned my plate, and Anna's and her daughter's. A shameful display.

I am reminded of a comment I received from the waitress at a truck stop once. Chris and I stopped at this same truck stop when we were still dating, 2 Saturday nights in a row. The first night I ate effortlessly and completely cleaned a full pot roast meal with rolls, salad and finished off dessert and coffee afterward. The following week I only had maybe a side salad and water, and didn't finish the hot chocolate. When she came to clear the plates she asked, ''Are you done?''
''Oh yes, thanks,'' I inattentively replied.

''Really?'' came her response, ''Cause I remember you from last week, and for a little one, you sure can put it away!''

Chris of course buckled laughing. My reputation precedes me. Great.

All my years growing up it was commonly accepted and referred to among my family and close friends that I had a hollow leg. That was the only psysiological answer they found for, ''where does she put it?''

People would refer to that Purina commercial years ago about how small dogs eat twice their weight or something, a bunch more than big dogs, and likening me of course to the small dog, that the same principle must be at work in my situation.

And it hasn't changed in adulthood. It has been excused for the last four-ish years under the clauses of pregnant and breastfeeding, but really we all know that it was no different before, and it likely won't be after weaning. My dinner plates raise the eyebrows of any unsuspecting visitor, and not because the pattern is striking: one would need GPS to locate the pattern under the mountain of food.

So Africa, India: sorry.

Autumn colors

Anna quote of the day, while all us girls were out driving together.
"When I grow up I'm gonna marry someone and I'm going to drive his car."
You go girl.

This "out driving together" was so wonderful. It was like going on vacation somewhere, but only 5 minutes down the road. The fall colours here are phenomenal. This area is known for them, and has a chunk of tourism based on them. Well, this year did not disappoint! MAN they are gorgeous! Yesterday we had rain all morning and then later in the day, we went for a drive. We saw two striking rainbows in the East, a patch of yellow trees that looked like they were spray painted they were so opaque, solid, intense yellow. No branches to be seen, nothing, just LEMON yellow! My favourite part of colours here however, are the cooler tones. When I think of autumn I tended to think of mostly orange and brown leaves. Not so here! Try FUSCHIA, purple, garnet, cranberry, salmon, coral, violet, and this neon red color that reminds me of Manic Panic. And all these fantastic colours in no small quantity!
It's like the angels had a ginormous paint ball fight.

I don't know how many of you share that frame of reference. Manic Panic is a hair dye used by punks, at least the ones at my high school. Does everyone know that brand or is it just me?

Anyway, we stopped by the beach on the way home, though it was too chilly to linger. The waves were high and rough and depositing copious burgundy seaweed onto the beach. The texture and shades of the clouds hold my attention totally rapped indefinitely. Some days they put on quite a show, and this was one of those days.

I always enjoy the perspective I find the sea gives me. I always feel in my gut this weighty sense of the profundity of God's work, of his majesty and miraculous creation. It quiets me (an accomplishment) and is like a touch of the Divine, untouchable, Infinite in a harried world.
I love it.

E-Props!

Here's a shout out to Eolaí for breaking the 8 post long, 2 month drought of comments! Thanks, Bud!

For all the lurkers, I know you are there, cause I see you on my Statcounter. You're not hiding completely. I'm left to my own conjecture however of what you leave here thinking. I of course turn it to my favor.

I choose to think you're not commenting because you are stunned speechless, in awe of my wit and wisdom. Every thought is so well laid out, so complete, self-evident and instrinsically understood to be true and universal, it leaves nothing left to add to it.

Oh, and you're all self-conscious because my coloured pencil blog banner is so much cooler than most other things on the web. That's what keeps you coming back, isn't it?I know. You just can't stop looking at my awesome creation. Who could blame you.

a day lakeside

My parents-in-law have a cabin on a lake. We went there this weekend and Anna pretended to fish.

It was beautiful. I do enjoy it there, as I do pretty much anywhere with water, I've discovered. If I was a moth, it would be my light. I am drawn to it.

Another Anna quote, from when she was colouring, and pretending to write.

"Hey Mommy, I'm writing you a message. Do you know what it says?"

"No, I don't."

She looks at me like I am crazy and answers:

"Of COURse not, ya Goose, it's just all wobbly!" Meaning, she is just scribbling, cause she doesn't know how to write yet, so how could I know what it said, since it says nothing. Silly Mommy! What were you thinking!

Grammarranter

I hate words like this.

littoral \LIH-tuh-rul\, adjective:
1. Of, relating to, or on a coastal or shore region, especially a seashore.
2. A coastal region, especially the zone between the limits of high and low tides.

Doesn't it sound lovely? Yes! Great! What a great word. Let's incorporate it into our vocabulary! NO! Because I will be the only one who does it, and then when I use it, everyone will think I'm dumb and mixing it up with literal and of course making no sense when I talk. And then I will get cross at them and they will be impatient with me and it's just not worth it. I have the same problem with consonance, which, as my high school English teacher taught, is alliteration just using consonants (assonance being alliteration with vowels). But not once in my life have I been able to use the word and had someone understand that I was not saying consonants. Spelling it out, and an extra 10 minutes of conversation to explain the one word you decided to throw out usually isn't a welcome addition to the interaction buffet, at least in my area of the world, so there's no point in knowing it. I'm stuck wanting to express myself with my colourful and specific word that is left itching inside me, trapped, unable to be unleashed and set free like the little bird it is and it causes nothing but angst and brain bruises from its poor beating wings. Excuse my overdramatism. I got caught up in the moment.

I had a similar problem that I am still bitter about when I wrote an article for an Irish magazine in Toronto, and I described someone (Paddy Canny, to be specific, if you know him, or of him) as having a snell sense of humour, which means acute, or sharp, but the editors changed it to swell without informing me and it got published that way.
I still haven't forgiven them for it.

Anna Quote of the Day

"Mommy, I smell something, and it ain't no angel mist either."

Context:
One of Anna's storybooks is about the night Jesus was born, written from the perspective of one of the shepherds. Angels come and leave angel dust on the ground and trees and angel mist, which apparently has this fantastic fragrance, that could only be angels, and all the shepherds pick up and go to Bethlehem to check it out.

This was her cute way of telling me that Niamh had pooped.

Riding the Techno Wave in Nova Scotia

We have something new, we've never had before.

What, you already have one? Well well, aren't you special.
I haven't had one in 7 years. I missed it. Old things become new again.

I was disturbed with how difficult I found it to write those names. My hand was so shaky. Gonna have to drop out of my brain surgery degree program. I was free-handing it with a sharpie on slicky curved metal, in my defense, but still, in former times I could have controlled it way better than that. Oh well. I'm sure the mail lady won't be offended.

Since I have been in Nova Scotia, we have had to drive a couple minutes down the road to pick up our mail at the gas station. Since there is no 2nd car at home for me (which I would like to say is because I am environmentally responsible and happily sacrificing my consumption for the greater good... but is more like, insurance is expensive and I often complain about not being able to consume more, to my shame), going to check the mailbox was not an option for me. We were left to wait for my in-laws t0 check for us and drop it off whenever they came.

So I am all excited now that I can check the mail everyday if I want, and I can actually MAIL LETTERS if I want! *Gasp* Which, after only having the opportunity to visit a post office maybe 4 times a year since I've been here, (you read right) access to outgoing mail is also a VERY exciting development. I don't think anyone has had a Christmas or birthday card on time in all those years. But, hey, we are in with the techno revolution now! No waiting! Ultra convenience! Woohoo!

There's no such thing!

In an attempt to soothe Anna's fear of monsters, we consistently tell her, there is no such thing.

So when Chris was leaving for work today, he and she had some exchange about why he had to go to work. He said he had to make money, she said why, and he said something to the effect of,
"I have to or the bankers will come and take our house."

Well I guess this sounded scary to Anna. Someone might come and take our house?? Surely Daddy must be kidding.

So this afternoon she was recounting this me and said, "ya, he said he has to make money so that the bankers don't take our house. But there's no such thing as bankers, right?" she said, sluffing it off with casual confidence.

And I answered, "oh yes there is."
She gasped and balked wide-eyed. "What!??!?!"
"Oh it's ok. They're not going to take our house. But yes there are bankers." And then explaining about financial systems of debt and ownership. To a four year old. That went well too as you can imagine.
Maybe I should have agreed with her. "Yep. No such thing."

Perfect Paradox

Deep Thoughts, with Jen Dandy.
Installment #2
a mere 10 months after the first episode.

I played a ceilidh last night. Mar is dual dom, I managed to omit supper from my getting-ready regimen. So I stopped at a grocery store that was on the way, and thought, I'll grab something quick. I found a little serving bottle of chocolate milk (they didn't even have the plain milk I was hoping to get), and a little insta-lunch of Stackers.

I don't usually get this kind of stuff. As much as possible, I try to not eat processed food, except for flour and dairy products. I had never had one of these Stackers things. Somehow I managed to turn it into a philosophical experience and an opportunity to pontificate.

It was so perfect. I'm not at all saying that I enjoyed it that much, rather I mean that I was amazed by this hermetically sealed, formed plastic, formed cheese, pre-prepared insta-meal. Everything was perfectly counted out; there was a perfect number of crackers to pressed meat rounds and cheeses, sitting neatly in their perfect little divided plastic sections. Not a cracker was broken, nor crumb astray. They were all formed to stack on each other in perfect little piles. There was no evidence of the stink and squawk of the turkey who gave his life for my lunch (this isn't a post about animal rights, if you were getting worried).

We also like things like this lovely shelf. I evidence this fact by the booming business of organizer products and proliferation of Neat shows on HGTV, TLC or whatever.

We have manicured lawns, impeccably mastered music recordings, tidy rows of matching boxes/baskets in our basements/closets/shelves. We all have antibacterial hand wash that so any bacteria that manages to float over and touch us will get the KO. Lets have perfection on the molecular level! Lets even program our sperm-egg combos while we're at it.

We want perfect teeth (bleach 'em, paint 'em, align 'em), perfect skin (treat it, cover it, shave it), perfect moods (we'll drug you if you're not), perfect partners (we'll divorce you if you're not).

Everything! From the font and finish of a book cover to a woman's Perfecting Concealer, everything has been thought of and somehow "improved" from its natural or former state.

And yet...

We are a bottomless pit of desperate filth on the inside and more or less content to deny our state of tarry blackness.

It reminded me of this verse, Matthew 23:27 "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men's bones and everything unclean.

I heard this quote, and will sum it up like this:

Isn't it ironic that at the end of the bloodiest century in the history of world, namely the 20th century, where we've seen the Holocaust of 6 million Jews, 20 million in Ukraine under Stalin, 50 million in China under Mao Zedong, 20% of Cambodian population under Pol Pot, 800,000 Tutsis in Rwanda, just to start, that you find in the universities now a denial that there is anything called evil? And still people will maintain that one doesn't need salvation, just education.

I'm gonna go out on my uneducated limb and say that I bet most of these perpetrators were educated people.

We need Jesus. Plain and simple. We are hopeless left to ourselves. We are whitewashed tombs of rot and stench with no good of our own. Our pretty facade deceives only ourselves.

God is not fooled.

If there is a moral to my story it is that.

My primary observation in writing this was the pure irony of how perfect we hope to make our immediate world, or own personal environment and situation, and yet how deathly horrid we are under our bleached teeth and ironed shirts, to the end that we have a murderous and suicidal love affair with sin, and the denial we live in about this hypocrisy.

nice hat

We went on a day trip to PEI recently, and Anna, with her very vibrant artist's taste and love of colour, chose this hat. If the bright colours weren't enough, it also has rows of sequins. I chose homemade Gouda. We all have our kryptonite.

It was great.

I love trips.

It is beautiful there. We went over on the ferry, and it might as well have been a Caribbean cruise as far as I was concerned. Beautiful water, splashing and reflecting a coral sunset... mmm. Me loves Beauty.

I have composed sooo many entries in my head lately, I am surprised when I check back and none of them are actually on the site. I might get around to it. We'll see.

Here's a crazy Anna story. We were driving on the highway, and the following conversation ensued.

"Hey Mommy, I know how we can go fast."

"Oh ya? I thought we were going fast."

"No. Not fast enough. There's fire in the trunk!"

"WHAT!?!?! *checks rear view... sees nothing* What do you mean, Anna?"

"You can't see it, but it's in there. That's how we go fast. The fire comes out of the trunk and then we go supa dupa fast."

"Is that so?"

"Yep."

Niamh hacks Mommy's Blogger account

Dear blog,

Attention babies!
Bored? I figured out how to get like 4 baths a day! Mommy wouldn't just put you in there cause you asked or point at it (she's too busy.. ya right!), but if you totally get filthier than filth, she will! Here's what I do. Take whatever you are given for you meal- oatmeal, potato salad, anything works. Grab handfuls of it, squeeze it through your fingers to start, and shmear it through your hair like shampoo. Try to get it in your ears, up your nose, up and down your arms like lotion, massage your scalp with it. I mean take mess to a whole new level. I guarantee, you will get a bath! It works for me every time!
Party in da tubby!