Prayer Requests

Please pray for two of my blogging / Internet friends and their families. Ginni lost her son Jon yesterday to cancer. He was only 36.

Trish lost her mom early Monday morning.

*** My regular Thursday post is below.

Surf's Up

Due to our finances, this is as close as I'm going to get to the wind and waves this year. But hey, I've got good news. Yesterday, we had someone come look at our 13-year-old roof, and he said it was "good for another five years." Thank God for both providing and protecting the roof over our head!

A Tale of Two Movies

We don't make it to the movie theater very often (which is ironic considering that my husband has a master's degree in film and video). Every so often, Michael will drive over to Blockbusters and rent a bunch of movies for us to catch up on viewing. This weekend was one of those times.

One of the movies we watched was the Oscar-nominated film There Will Be Blood, starring Daniel Day-Lewis. Michael has been wanting to see this for the longest time, but it sounded a little too grim to me. I don't mind dark movies as long as they aren't nihilistic. So even though I really like Daniel Day-Lewis, I've hesitated. But this weekend I said ok.

Well, I did not like the movie. It's not only grim and dark, it's incredibly cynical. The story concerns an oilman and his attempt to gain the leases to drill oil wells on all the land in a small California town. His main nemesis is a faith healer, who has his own agenda. Neither is a positive character. Michael found it somewhat refreshing to see a movie that was a character study instead of being plot-driven, but it didn't work as a character study for me. I think the writer / director doesn't show much psychological understanding in his portrayals. There is no complexity to the people in this movie. The main character does not grow or change. Nor does he seem to have any positive characteristics. In fact, the movie is singularly devoid of likable characters. I felt the filmmaker presented a stacked deck to make his points.

In contrast, we both really liked the movie we watched the following night: Amazing Grace, which is the story of how William Wilberforce fought for years to get the British Parliament to outlaw the slave trade. In contrast to There Will Be Blood, Amazing Grace portrays very complex issues and characters. The movie makes the economic and political complexities of the slave trade quite plain. The sugar plantations of the Caribbean and the English merchants and seaman that relied on the sugar, molasses, and rum trade were all dependent on slavery. Because of the economic importance of slavery, an attack on it was seen as an attack on the British Empire itself. Yet, even though the movie gives the economic justifications, it doesn't pull any punches about portraying the absolute horror that was slavery. One thing I found quite interesting is that the film's director, Michael Apted, is a self-described agnostic and the star, Ioan Gruffudd, says that he is not particularly religious. Yet the movie respectfully portrays Wilberforce's Evangelical convictions and even shows a conversion moment without a hint of satire or cynicism. For those of you who have not seen this movie, I strongly recommend it. And if that's not enough of an incentive, Ioan Gruffudd is total eye candy. :-)

Strangely enough, a theme in both movies was how greed causes people to do despicable things. In one case, it worked for me. In the other, it didn't.

Meet My Mom

Sunday, I went to visit my mother, who lives in a nursing home. (Until December, she lived at home with my younger brother.) Michael took this photograph for me because I didn't have a really recent one of her.

My relationship with my mom has been fraught with complexity and ambivalence. However, instead of talking about our personal difficulties, I thought it might be interesting to tell you her story.

My maternal grandparents emigrated from Sweden to Canada. Each of them was a small child at the time that their families made the move. My grandmother Mary was 16 when she married; I think my grandfather John wasn't much older. I have a photograph of them playing guitars with my great-grandfather and a friend. They look very "family Von Trapp" in the photo.

My mother, whose name is Myrtle, was a twin, born prematurely in a tiny town on the plains of Saskatchewan. Her twin brother didn’t live. In fact, Mom has no middle name because her father said, “Why bother with a middle name? She’ll never live to use the first one.” She was so tiny that she fit in the palm of her mother’s hand. Grandma Mary could put her own wedding ring on my mother’s arm as a bracelet. Mom slept in a shoe box. She claims that Grandma couldn’t wash her at the beginning because her skin wasn’t really developed.

The family moved to the United States when my mom was about five. The children had never been inoculated because they had already survived having smallpox, but the immigration officials had a hard time believing that. Somehow my grandparents must have convinced them because the family did move to Chicago. When I was a little girl, my mom used to have a driver's-license-sized copy of her U.S. naturalization papers. I wonder what ever happened to that.

One of the biggest tragedies of my mom's life was losing her father when she was 17. It was so traumatic for her that she can't even remember clearly how old she was when her dad died. When I was little, she used to tell me she was only about 13, but I've seen family records, and I know she was older. He died in the midst of the Great Depression and there were still very young children at home, so my mother had to drop out of high school and go to work cleaning houses. She regretted the loss of her education her whole life.

I think that, because her family were "stoic Swedes," my mom had to repress a lot of her grief. A year after her dad died, when she was only 18, she developed arthritis so badly that she couldn't turn over in bed without grasping the headboard. She has remained arthritic ever since. Her fingers are actually bent sideways with it.

Health issues have been the story of my mother's life. She blames her poor health on being a premie, and being a sick person is a deeply embedded part of her identity. In addition to severe arthritis, she has high blood pressure, bad allergies, diabetes, and Parkinson's. She suffered two miscarriages as well as bearing five live children. From her pregnancies, she developed severe varicose veins and later had many blood clots in her legs. From the time I was very young, she had at least one hospital stay every single year of my childhood.

In spite of that, she worked long before working mothers became fashionable. She was never a stay-at-home mom when I was a child. Even though she didn't even have a high school diploma, she was successful at a number of office jobs. Later, when I was in high school, she took training with H & R Block and was an income tax preparer for several years.

The irony of her self-identification as a sick person is that she has outlived four of her siblings, even though she was the second oldest in her family. The baby who wasn't supposed to live is 89 years old now. I wish she could have learned to see herself as a survivor because that's truly what she is.

P.S. Notice that I have her nose? I'm constantly noticing similarly shaped noses on Swedish actors and athletes. Ingrid Bergman's nose had the same bulby shape at the end, and so did Swedish-American poet Carl Sandberg.

Dog Parables, Part IX: Made in the Image of Dog

This is Smokey playing with his "girlfriend" Charlie, who is a Jackipoo (Jack Russell / poodle cross). Charlie is the grand-dog of my former manager, and they come over for play dates several times a year.

This is Radar, a German shepherd was originally trained to be a police dog. He didn't make it onto a dog team, so he was adopted by my blogging friend Trish, who lives in British Columbia. (Trish's blog is private, so I can't link to her.)

This is Jethro, a Havanese who lives with Bob of Rhymes with Plague. Jethro is four years old and, according to Bob, he brings much sunshine to their lives. Bob refers to Jethro as a crown prince. I think we can see why.

This is Rosie, a Chihuaha who belongs to my long-time cyber-friend Ginni. Rosie is a wise little dog, and her life lessons are featured in the sidebar of Ginni's blog. (In this photo, Rosie is making sure the car wash doesn't eat her humans. Don't you love the expression?)

Scout is a golden retriever - husky cross who lives with Diane of Faith in Community. Scout has been taking agility classes and amazingly also has her very own blog.

This is Diva, a rescued pit bull who lives with Mauigirl. Diva has a happy disposition and hopes people will learn to have a better opinion of her breed. (She also does not like Michael Vick one little bit.)

As these photographs show, dogs come in an amazing variety of breeds and cross-breeds (and even mutts, which we don't show here). Despite this, whenever Smokey encounters another dog, he knows instantly that they are members of the same species.

It doesn't matter if the other dog is five times bigger than he is or half his size.

It doesn't matter if the other dog is black, white, gold, red, brown, grey, or multi-colored.

It doesn't matter if the other dog has long hair, short hair, fluffy hair, wiry hair, silky hair, or is "hairless."

It doesn't matter if the other dog is a working dog, a hunting dog, or a lap dog.

Smokey instantly knows that he has encountered another canine because in spite of all the variety, all canines are made in the image of dog. And all Smokey really cares about when we meet another dog is determining whether it is friendly or aggressive.

Similarly, people come in a variety of colors, shapes, sizes, and dispositions. Yet each of us is created in the image of God. We all have something holy and mysterious as part of our very make-up. If we could recognize that in each other more often, maybe we wouldn't get so hung up on our differences.

(And a big thanks to everyone who let me borrow their dog photos.)

Drum Roll, Please

*** ANNOUNCEMENT ***

It's Here!

The literary journal that contains my fifth published short story arrived in the mail Friday. Here it is--the outside cover and the first page of my story.

The editors of Rambunctious Review were the first people ever to publish me, and three of my stories (and two poems) have appeared in that journal. It's a local journal, not widely distributed, so you probably haven't heard of it.

The publication of this story especially means a lot to me. I wrote it some 20 years ago and have submitted it to many journals and magazines over the years. A couple of times, I've received personal comments that the editors really liked it but that it just wasn't quite right for them. A year-and-a-half ago, I submitted it to one of Rambunctious Review's annual themed contests. It was a stretch as far as the theme was concerned, and so the story didn't place. But six months ago, one of the editors e-mailed me to say they wanted it for this issue. That means they remembered the story for a whole year, which is gratifying.

* * * 

My second announcement is that Kate at Prairie Light has given me a third Arte y Pico award. Kate is very thoughtful and compassionate in the way she writes about her own journey and the people she encounters in her life. Thank you, Kate.

This is a traveling award for creative blogging, and the rules stipulate that that honoree picks five new awardees as stipulated in the following rules:

1) Pick five blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, in no matter what language.
2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
4) The award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of Arte Y Pico blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award -- which is here. 

I present this award to the following bloggers:

Rosezilla at All About Whatever. Rosezilla is quite a good storyteller.

Susan at A Slice of Life. Susan writes with great humor about her family life and other adventures.

Margaret at Leave It Lay Where Jesus Flang It. Margaret is a fairly new blogger. She has a real gift for making analogies that cut right to the heart of an issue.

Anne at Get Out of Jail Free. Anne is a prison chaplain in the UK, who writes with humor and good sense about her family and her faith.

Trish at Shades of Grey. I can't link there because her blog is private, but I want her to have this anyway.

* * *

We're going out of town to visit my mom in her nursing home, so I won't be reading blogs today.

Ups and Downs on the Path of Change

Change is difficult. (If you agree with that, can I hear an AMEN?) And I seem to be going through a lot of changes lately. This post is more or less a progress report.

As some of you already know, seven weeks ago I received a call from my doctor's office that my cholesterol was high. She wanted to put me on Crestor, but I asked to try dietary changes first. Her recommendation was to "reduce carbs," conveyed to me through one of her office assistants, so the guidelines I received were minimal at best.

After reading information on the Internet, I decided not to go on a pure low-carb diet but to stop overdoing carbs. (Because of financial stress, I had been indulging in lots of corn chips, low-fat cookies, and mochas with whipped cream.) I also decided to switch to complex carbs. As much as possible, I am avoiding white sugar, white flour, white potatoes, and white rice. And I'm trying to make sure I do at least five days a week on the treadmill, 2-1/2 to 3 miles a day.

Then a week or so ago, I found out that I'm losing bone mass as well. This added a second complex set of changes to my agenda. I switched to a better type of calcium pills, and I take them three times a day instead of once. I'm trying to eat yogurt and some green leafy vegetable every day. I've added five minutes of hand weights to my exercise routine.

The course of making all these changes has not been straight and smooth. First of all, at the same time that these health concerns started popping up, I was doing a couple of intense writing jobs that caused me to work longer hours than normally. So I was drained mentally while trying to learn a new lifestyle.

Second, as I explained in this earlier post, dieting often triggers unhealthy thoughts in me because of a period of near anorexia in my twenties. For the first month, I didn't experience this problem, but lately, I'm having some difficulty. Instead of feeling good that I'm making the healthiest choices I can, I'm starting to fall into the trap of thinking I need to eat perfectly. I feel guilty when I eat anything sweet, even if it is sweetened with honey instead of refined sugar. Fortunately, Michael is well aware of this mental struggle of mine, so it's very common around our house to hear the following dialogue:

ME: I'm feeling guilty again. I don't think I should have had that yogurt smoothie.

MICHAEL: Honey, it's all right. You don't have to be perfect. It's not wrong to eat something sweet.

I swear, without him I'd be a basket case.

Third, I'm having trouble balancing the requirements of the two dietary issues. Adding a daily yogurt smoothie sweetened with a tablespoon or so of honey pushed me over the carbohydrate limit I'd set for myself. I know I can figure out a balance by cutting back some of the carbs in other places, but that will require more counting and calculating. And keeping track of everything often triggers the unhealthy guilt about eating.

SIGH.

So I've started to feel resentful. I like to take changes more slowly and introduce new habits gradually. In this case, however, I have a deadline of getting the cholesterol improved in three or four months. So I had to make a large number of changes all at once. For the last couple of weeks, I've felt low-level irritation about the situation. Don't get me wrong. I am glad that I've made the changes, but I wish I'd been able to do it less abruptly.

This week, I've done several things to snap me out of the mopey, this-is-getting-too-hard rut that my mind was falling into.

1. I asked for and received a longer deadline for my next job (which I will start Monday). I'll be able to write at a more comfortable pace and not feel so burned out.

2. I took three days for myself to just read and relax--and not try to catch up on chores that piled up while I was working so many hours.

3. We drove 20 miles to the nearest Whole Foods to find some items that will help in my new diet. And we treated ourselves to lunch in their cafe.

4. I am being open with you all about my struggles. Hiding negative feelings just makes them stronger. By airing the difficulties, I'm trying to drain them of the power to own me.

5. Wednesday, we did something spontaneous. We live in a subdivision that is basically a square surrounded by four highways. As a result, we have hardly used our bikes in the 13 years we've lived here. Well, Wednesday morning a lightbulb went on and I suddenly realized that there might be a bike trail closer to us than we thought. We did some investigating and discovered that, sure enough, there is a trail about a third of a mile from our house, and we don't have to bike on the highway to get to it. So instead of slogging away on the treadmill, we went for a bike ride. We rode for only 40 minutes, but at least that was long enough to make us feel comfortable on the bikes again. It sure beat walking the treadmill in that stuffy basement.

Here we are, out on the trail. See how straight and smooth it is--not at all like the path of change! You can also see how pudgy I am even after losing ten pounds since Christmas. I had a momentary qualm about posting this photo, but you know all about my internal failings and struggles, so you might as well see the real physical me too.

My Take on Biblical Priorities

I'm not exactly sure what all the links in the thought chain were, but yesterday's post about prostitutes and sexually questionable behavior led me to the reflection I'm posting today. I suppose it came about from wondering whether God is as quick to reject people for certain actions as other humans are. As I tried to indicate yesterday, I believe the answer to that question is no.

Sadly, Christians have received a lot of press lately for judging and rejecting people. I think that to many people who aren't active in church, American Christianity appears to be an intolerant religion that focuses mainly on two things:

   • condemning homosexuality

   • condemning abortion

Those of us who do attend church know that many, many other things are preached from the pulpit and taught in Bible classes. Yet, somehow, the message has gone out that Christians care most about the two issues I've listed above. Many outspoken Christian leaders have emphasized those points more than anything else.

These leaders describe themselves as Bible-believing Christians. Yet, I wonder if they are reading the same Bible that I have.

Take the issue of abortion. Personally, I abhor the idea of abortion, and I would never be able to make that choice myself. Yet, I have mixed feelings about the crusade many people are on to outlaw abortion. For some Christians I know, this is the one and only issue they use to decide which political candidates to support. I can't help but ask myself if that is truly a Biblical stand. Does abortion truly have such a prominent place in God's teaching?

In fact, abortion is not mentioned anywhere in the Bible. The closest the Bible comes to a judgment on abortion is a passage in Exodus that prescribes the penalty for someone who is in the middle of a fight and strikes a pregnant woman, causing her to miscarry. Is the guilty party treated as a murderer? No, he is required to pay what damages the father demands.

I understand that those who are strongly pro-life define abortion as murder and base their advocacy on the passages about killing. However, I must point out that linking abortion and murder is an extrapolation from the Bible and not a literal reading of it.

Again, let me repeat that I'm not advocating for abortion. I just wonder on what grounds people choose an anti-abortion stand as the top priority of their faith.

Similarly, homosexuality is mentioned only a handful of  times in the Bible.* Many scholars believe that those references were discussing the specific practice of temple prostitution, not homosexual relations as they exist today. I personally agree with the interpretation that the Biblical injunction against homosexuality was part of a larger holiness code that we have discarded in many instances. I also believe that modern research into the nature of sexual orientation justifies a rethinking of the traditional church stand against homosexuality. For the record, I support gay marriage. However, my personal beliefs about homosexuality are not really the point of this post. The point I am making is that the Bible speaks of homosexuality in very few places, . . . and so I wonder why churches have seen fit to make preaching against it such a strong priority.

*(I had the wrong number in here because I did it from memory. Someone borrowed the book I have that's an in-depth study of this and I didn't stop to look it up in another source. Thanks Bob for catching the mistake.)

On the other side of the question of Biblical priorities is the subject of poverty. The Bible addresses poverty and social justice some 300 times. The Bible condemns those who exploit or mistreat the poor. It speaks of God's great love and advocacy for the poor. It urges us to treat the poor justly, to share our wealth generously, to care for the poor, and—perhaps most threatening to Americans—to redistribute land and resources to lift people out of poverty. How can anyone read the Bible and not conclude that one of God's biggest priorities is ending poverty and promoting economic equality?

If the Bible has 300 passages about the poor and only a few passages about homosexuality, what does it say about modern Christianity that we are known more for opposing gay rights than for helping our brothers and sisters in need?

And what does it say about us that we define "pro-life" as the act of banning abortion—a ban found nowhere in the Bible—rather than improving the lives of the starving children of Africa or the homeless people sleeping on American streets? Are we being pro-life Christians in ignoring this terrible waste of human life?

Obviously, I'm not saying that Christians shouldn't have opinions on issues like homosexuality and abortion. Rather, I'm talking about a matter of emphasis. It seems to me that if we take God's word seriously, we should emphasize the issues that he emphasizes the most. Do our churches have 50 times more sermons and lessons about helping the poor than they do about homosexuality and abortion? And if they don't, how can they claim to be Bible-teaching churches?

Have we been so seduced by our comfortable American lifestyle that we cannot hear God's word on this subject anymore? Am I—Ruth Christine Hull Chatlien, middle-class American—doing nearly enough to live out God's priorities concerning poverty?

Those questions have haunted me for the last 30 years, and they will probably continue to haunt me until the day that I die.

One of the things I do to try to answer those questions is to provide food and education for children in developing countries. Please meet Asuman and Doris, the children we currently sponsor through Compassion, International.

These children are the face of God's priorities for me. I wish I could support a dozen of them.

Prostitutes, Pharisees, and Patience

Last week, my daily readings included the story of Rahab in Joshua 2. Rahab was a prostitute in Jericho,  and when Joshua sent two Israelites in to spy out the city, Rahab hid them from the king's searchers. Then she said to the men:

I know that the Lord has given you the land, and that dread of you has fallen on us, and that all the inhabitants of the land melt in fear before you. . . . The Lord your God is indeed God in heaven above and on earth below. Now then, since I have dealt kindly with you, swear to me by the Lord that you in turn will deal kindly with my family. Give me a sign of good faith that you will spare my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all who belong to them, and deliver our lives from death.

The men promised that the Israelites would spare her and her family, as long as she didn't betray them.

I've read this story many times, but what struck me on this particular reading was how matter-of-fact the narrative is about the fact that she was a prostitute. The men have no hesitation about going into her house and accepting her help. They don't tell her, "Well, yes, we'll spare you, but if you're going to live with the Israelites, you're going to have to change your ways." Instead, they offer her a way to save her family. According to tradition, Rahab later married an Israelite and became a respectable woman. She is also cited in the New Testament as an example of faith.

The story also reminded me of the number of people in Jesus' ancestors whose sexual behavior might be questioned.

• Tamar had to act the part of a prostitute to trick her father-in-law into impregnating her (because he would not let his youngest son fulfill the duty of marrying his brother's widow to give her children).

• Ruth went to Boaz in the night and offered herself to him sexually to convince him to marry her. (The phrase uncovered his feet is a euphemism.)

• David impregnated Bathsheba, another man's wife and then arranged for her husband to be killed in battle.
  

God used each one of these people to accomplish his plan, . . . and didn't require them to "mend their ways" first.

Similarly, when Jesus deals with the Samaritan woman at the well and with the Jewish woman taken in adultery, he doesn't spend one second of time passing judgment or trying to make them feel guilty or laying out the new standards he expects them to live by.

He just loves them and treats them like people who are worthy of his time and attention. Through his love and acceptance, he gives them the space and the opportunity to start over if that's what they desire for themselves. His behavior is in marked contrast to the Pharisees and the self-righteous who believe they are justified in condemning the two women and casting them out of good society.

In just the second post I wrote on this blog, I told the following story:

At the end of the summer, I was digging up an iris bed because of an infestation of iris borers. Borers are insects that rot out the rhizome (the fleshy root that looks like a yam). After digging up the bed, I sat and cut away all the rotten parts and divided the remaining pieces for replanting. As I sat there slicing through rhizomes and tossing away rejects, a sudden flash of insight hit me. I grew up in a church that emphasized salvation versus hellfire and damnation. God is portrayed as eager to separate the sheep from the goats—or the incurably rotten from the good, as I was doing with my irises. Sitting there in the warm August sun, I concluded that I don't view God that way anymore. Instead I see him more as an overall gardener: feeding and watering plants, pruning a bit here and there, propping up weak stems with support, and providing restraint where needed. The purpose of all this activity is not to sort out the good plants from the bad. It is to try to help each plant in the garden grow as full as possible and bear the most fruit.

I believe that still. I only pray that through my own life, I may provide others with the hope of growth and redemption rather than the sting of condemnation.

My Public Clamors for More!!! :-)

Jan over at Yearning for God has tagged me for a meme in which I post seven facts about me. Even though I just posted 100 things about me, she's interested in more. And since I hadn't quite decided on tomorrow's post yet, here goes.

Here are the rules:

1. List these rules on your blog.

2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog.

1. I studied French for two years in junior high and four years in high school. Periodically, I try to brush up on the language by listening to French radio on the Internet or reading novels in French translations, but it's hard to keep it familiar.

2. I lived in two different houses up until the age of six, and then we moved to another house in the same town on the day that LBJ was elected president. My mother still owns that house.

3. For part of my childhood, I slept in a second-floor bedroom with an outside door that had to be nailed shut because it had no stairs leading to the ground. The upper story of our house had been an apartment at one time.

4. When I was born, my dad was a real live, honest-to-goodness milkman. When I was about a year old, I used to wake up very early in the morning so I could sit in my high chair while Dad ate breakfast before making his deliveries.

5. When I was about 12 or so, I was scared witless by a frightening noise in the house when I was home alone. Bricks had fallen down our chimney.

6. When I was a child, I always loved it when my maternal grandmother made us Swedish pancakes. Now I make them for breakfast for my husband on special occasions, such as Christmas Eve.

7. My favorite cocktail to order in French restaurants is a Kir Royale (champagne, creme de cassis, and a lemon twist).

3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.

I don't think I'll come up with a full 7, but I'll tag a few.

Sherry at A Feather Adrift

Rosezilla at All About Whatever

Elizabeth at Home Musings

Eileen at Episcopalifem

Laurelew at Episcogranny

a photo Michael took at Ravinia the other night--I like it because it looks so pensive

Musing on Meditation

About a week ago, I made reference to my struggle to maintain a consistent meditation practice and yet my belief at how helpful it could be. Several of you commented that you too have been thinking of meditating or have struggled with how to meditate. So I thought we might have a dialogue about what has worked for us and what has not worked. I'm looking forward to your comments because I hope to learn from you.

But I'll start by sharing what meditation is to me and how I approach it.

I think that my approach to meditation is somewhat untraditional. When I have read about meditation practices, the descriptions are often more off-putting than helpful. Some schools of meditation seem to view it as a negation of self. I have never been able to make that approach palatable to me or compatible with my belief in having been created in the image of God.

Instead, I prefer ideas that focus on quieting or centering the self. I have two goals (and only two goals) when I meditate:

1. to quiet the chattering of my mind and center myself so that I can (hopefully) slip into kairos time

2. to use that centered state to open the deepest part of my spirit to the Spirit of God so that (s)he may do whatever work in my life that (s)he wills

One thing that I have always found is that meditation is very much like physical exercise. Some days it is easy and refreshing, and some days it is a painful slog. Also, when I have neglected to do it regularly, I usually have to build up my meditation endurance. When I am first starting, I can barely stand to sit there for ten minutes. It takes practice and repetition for me to be able to meditate longer than that. Many times I have given up after a few weeks and then found myself needing to start all over again.

I've recently decided to try to reacquire the discipline of meditating. Last week, for six days out of seven, I managed to sit quietly for at least ten minutes. I admit I sneaked looks at the clock, but I try not to get down on myself about that because self-criticism is very toxic and destroys  the peace of a centered spirit. (Similarly, when my mind wanders, I try to just gently take note of what happened and return to the act of meditating instead of chastising myself.)

This week, I am trying to sit for twelve minutes at a time. Today, I managed to do that--and only look at the clock twice. It isn't much, I know, but it's a start that I can build on if I can just keep myself from feeling discouraged and giving up. I have read that you need to meditate at least 20 minutes to get real benefit from it, but I have hardly ever been able to sustain that intensive a practice. I'm going to try to work up to it this time, though.

I use a variety of techniques to help me meditate. Sometimes I need to switch what I'm doing to keep my mind from just going through the motions.

1. All of the techniques I use include deep breathing. I try to take at least four counts to inhale and at least four counts to exhale, and I try to make the breaths regular and even for the whole time I'm meditating.

2. Many of the techniques involve repetition. At times, I have said the Rosary or one of the prayers designed for Anglican prayer beads. Other times, I repeat a Bible verse. (One that helped me recently was "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief." The first sentence was said on the inhale; the second on the exhale.") Most often, I use a mantra. Some people like to use very simple mantras such as "Abba" or "Lord, have mercy." I use a mantra of my own, which is a somewhat-more-complicated adaptation of the second one. While leafing through my journals, I saw that I use the phrase Lord, help me frequently. So my personal mantra is "Lord Jesus, help me. Lord, have mercy." I say the first sentence on the inhale and the second on the exhale.

3. Some of my meditation techniques involve visualization and other sensory imagination. For example, sometimes when I want to dwell on  my connectedness to God, I will imagine myself as a tiny drop of water in a huge ocean. The other drops are all the other living things in the universe and God is both the ocean that holds us and the sky that stretches over us. In this meditation, I concentrate on the feelings of floating and of union and of warmth.

4. Finally, I sometimes use a technique called creative meditation. In this technique, you put yourself in an imagined situation and wait for God to meet you there. You can meditate on a Bible story and see which character you relate to and see you have to learn in that story. Or you can imagine yourself in a symbolic place such as a mountaintop, forest, or beach.

The first time I tried creative meditation some 25 or more years ago, I was quite skeptical about it, and yet once I placed myself in that imaginative place, a story played itself out, often taking turns that were the exact opposite of where I expected it to go. I met Jesus in that place, which was a forest, and we had a significant conversation there. For many, many years, I periodically went back to that place. God once told me that it was a representation of my heart. Sometimes, as I would be using a different meditation technique such as repeating my mantra, I would suddenly find myself in the forest without expecting to be there. I learned many things in that forest, both through conversations with God and from visual symbols.

A little more than a year ago, God led me on an imaginative journey away from the forest to a desert area with rocky hillsides and told me I was not going back to the old country. We have only begun to explore this new place together—partially because I have been reluctant. I miss the beauty of the forest and haven't wanted to be in this new place. I hope that by re-acquiring the discipline of meditating, I will allow myself to open to this new place for teaching.

The results of meditating for me have been as varied as the techniques. Sometimes, it is a feeling of peace and wholeness. Sometimes, I "hear" messages from God. Sometimes, I receive symbolic visions. Sometimes (perhaps most times), I simply have the satisfaction of knowing I kept to my discipline even though I didn't see any results.

So this is a summary of my still-very-undisciplined experience of meditating and a description of the various practices I use. I would love to hear about your experiences, approaches, progress, and failures. And please feel free to hold me accountable to my intention to build the discipline of meditating again.

Blessings.

Dog Parables, Part VIII: Holding Grudges

The driveway where we most often see the "hairy dachshunds"

About the same time that we adopted Smokey, new neighbors moved into the house across the street. The grandmother of the family had two small dogs: long-haired dachshunds. When they first arrived in the neighborhood, she used to take her dogs out in the yard without putting them on leashes. Several times while Smokey was a puppy, those two hairy dachshunds (as we liked to call them) came rushing across the street to bark at him in his own yard.

Smokey has never forgiven them—or any of the humans who live there. Anytime one of those neighbors steps out of the house or drives up in a car, he erupts into a storm of angry barking and launches himself at the front door. He is friends with the woman who lives next door to them and the people who live on either side of us, but he cannot stand the family with the hairy dachshunds. We're trying to break him of the habit, but he's an emotional dog and it's hard to counteract his impulse to vent his indignation. As a result, several times a day, our home is disturbed with loud, furious barking followed by a reprimand from either Michael or me. Slowly, he is learning that it's ok to growl expressively but not to bark.

Grudges are like that. They not only keep the person holding the grudge in a state of agitation, but they can disturb other people too. My mother is a master at holding grudges. When I was growing up, she used to repeat to me the litany of all the things my paternal grandmother and my father had done to hurt her. As a child, I hated listening to her tales of resentment, and I swore to myself that I was not going hold grudges the way she does.

I haven't always succeeded at keeping that vow. Recently, I was caught up short by the realization that I was holding a petty grudge that was hurting someone I love. For my 40th birthday, Michael gave me a fabulous gift. He took me and nine of my friends to a French bistro for dinner. It was a restaurant that we had been to several times and enjoyed, so we made reservations to have my party there. Needless to say, it was an expensive evening.

The food was good, and my friends and I enjoyed ourselves. However, one thing marred the evening. The owner of the restaurant makes it a habit to stop by every table to check if the customers are satisfied. Although we saw him making the rounds that night, he never spoke to us. Not only that, but when Michael made the reservation, the restaurant accepted it but did so grudgingly. They made it plain that they weren't thrilled about having a large table tied up for a whole evening.

I was offended. None of my guests had ever been to that restaurant before, and several did go back afterwards. One couple even became repeat customers. I thought it was short-sighted of the restaurant to think only of their profit for that one evening, and I was hurt to be ignored by the host on my special occasion. We have never been back to the restaurant since that night.

The other evening we were watching a TV show in which ordinary people recommend their favorite local restaurants. One woman praised the bistro where we'd had my party, and she said one of the best things about it was how attentive the host was. Hearing that, I laughed scornfully and launched into my well-worn speech proclaiming how annoyed I was about what had happened ten years before! When I finished, Michael said quietly that he was sorry that the party had been a failure and that he felt really bad about it.

That made me realize instantly how damaging my grudge was. In reality, I very much enjoyed the party except for that one small bit of neglect. Usually when I remember the evening, the slight is not the first thing to spring to mind. However, because I had brought up my annoyance several times over the years, I had given Michael the impression that the whole event had been ruined for me.

I quickly assured him that I did have happy memories of the party and I apologized for letting my anger fester.

Grudges really don't accomplish much in terms of changing the person you're angry with. They just keep you in turmoil and they poison the atmosphere for the people around you. It's a lesson that both Smokey and I need to remember.

Smokey often feels sorry for himself after we yell at him for barking.

Garden Photos

Here are some more photographs of my garden. The pot below stands by the front curb between the mailbox and the driveway. You can't see in this photo but at the other side is a new type of petunia that is pale yellow in color. It's called lemon zest.

This is an unusual clematis called Avant Garde. Each bloom is only the size of a quarter.

David phlox

Hyperion daylily

Unknown orange daylily. This top photo is the closest I've ever come to capturing its true color. I call it Fluorescent Cheese Popcorn. There's a funny story about this daylily. I bought a "color-coordinated" mixture of 12 unnamed daylilies. I put 6 in the front of a bed in the back yard and put the remaining six in two clumps in the front. All six in back turned out to be these. The four that survived in front are each different. I always thought that was an interesting coincidence. By the way, these blooms are huge; each is a big as my hand.

PRAYER ALERT

ALERT (Saturday 7-19): Evan is having a very, very rough time. Please consider reading about him in the sidebar and saying a prayer.

*** My regular post for today is below.

More Ravinia Photos

I need a break from my own words this weekend, so I'm posting photos today and tomorrow. Here are some more shots from our outing to Ravinia. The grounds have beautiful landscaping and a number of statues. The top one is by Botero, who has a distinctive style.  :-)

Taking a Time Out

I seem to be having a bit of a hiatus between freelance jobs right now because I'm waiting for the outline of the next assignment I'm supposed to write. It hasn't even gone to the academic experts for approval yet, so it won't be here anytime soon. As best I can guess, I'll have at least a week and a half off.  So let me open a window into my obsessive-compulsive mind and reveal what my thoughts have been like the last two days:

Good, this means I can get caught up in the garden. I should do at least 12 hours of work out there. And I still have to catch up with recording every check we've written for the last two months in the budget book and balancing the budget for each month and making it reconcile with the checkbook balance. That'll take at least five hours. There are some things I need to do around the house too, and oh, I mustn't forget my novel. This is the perfect opportunity to get a big chunk of work done editing the second draft of my manuscript—at least two hours a day, I think. And of course, I have to do my hour on the treadmill each day, and maybe I can even get back to doing yoga. That would be good for my bone health.

Before I knew it, I had managed to fill up my "time off" with what would amount to seven or eight hours of self-imposed work each day. Wednesday, after dutifully going grocery shopping, reviewing a manuscript for my husband, working on my novel for three hours, and exercising, I felt really depressed.

Thursday morning, I read this Frederick Buechner quotation in my daily devotional:

The Greek word chronos means "time" in a quantitative sense, chronological time, time that you can divide into minutes and years, time as duration. It is the sense that we mean when we say, "What time is it?" or "How much time do I have?" . . . But in Greek there is also the word kairos, which means "time" in the qualitative sense—not the kind that a clock measures but time that cannot be measured at all, time that is characterized by what happens in it. Kairos time is the kind that you mean when you say that "the time is ripe" to do something, "It's time to tell the truth," a truth-telling kind of time. Or "I had a good time"—the time had something about it that made me glad.

Reading the Buechner quotation reminded me of something else I know about kairos time, something I learned long ago from the writer Madeleine L'Engle (both in a lecture I heard her give and in her book Walking on Water). Kairos time is the kind of time I am in when I get lost in the experience of writing my novel or lost in the rhythm of weeding my garden. It is a time that seems to disappear so that I get a glimpse of what eternity must feel like.

Being reminded about kairos time yesterday helped to calm the crazy schedule-maker who lives inside my brain. I don't, after all, want the next week or so to be filled with efficiently managed chronos time. Instead, I want to be lost in whatever I'm doing so that it is the only thing that exists for me in that moment. I want this interlude to be a period of kairos time.

Last night, schedule and intention melded perfectly as Michael and I did one of our favorite summer activities. We attended a concert at the Ravinia Music Festival, and sat out on the lawn in the summer evening listening to Rachmaninoff pieces that have never been performed in the United States before. The pianist was Denis Matsuev, and he was a fantastic virtuoso. Ravinia is one of those experiences that make it easy to get lost in kairos time. Here are some photos from the concert last night:

I'm wishing that each of you finds moments of kairos time this week.

Shedding the Dragon Skin

On the Cusp of Change

One of my favorite books in the Chronicles of Narnia is Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and the reason I love it is that it contains one of the best metaphors I've ever found for what it's like to go through significant change.

On the voyage, Lucy and Edmund's unpleasant cousin Eustace finds a dragon's lair, and lust for the treasure turns him into a dragon. Up to that point, he had been a miserable, sulking, complaining child, but in his unhappiness, he becomes more helpful. In spite of this change of heart, he still remains a dragon. Aslan comes to him and transforms him in the following scene:

Then the lion said . . . "You will have to let me undress you." I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. . . .

Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off—just as I thought I'd done it myself the other three times, only they hadn't hurt—and there it was, lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me—I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I'd no skin on—and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I'd turned into a boy again.

Every time I have gone through a major emotional change, as a result of counseling or the result of God's leading, I always reach a moment when I must choose to move forward or give up on the transformation. Like Eustace, I usually find that continuing with the change involves peeling away the thick, knobbly skin of whatever defense mechanism or bad habit that I had erroneously defined as an essential part of myself. Giving up those old false identities involves pain that must be accepted and worked through.

But that's not the end. I always find that once I really start to give up the old ways, there is an uncertain period of nakedness. I'm not the person I used to be (relying on the old habits or viewpoints), but I have no idea of who the new, developing person is going to be. I've never seen her before, and I don't know what she'll look like or how she'll act or even if she'll be an improvement on the persona I just shed. For me, that is the most critical stage because that is when it's most tempting to retreat to the way I used to be. I don't like walking around smarting and tender because I have no skin on. Yet that vulnerable stage is an essential one to any period of growth. We human beings take time to learn new habits, and so we must endure the stage of living with uncertainty, living with the sting of tender vulnerable parts being exposed.

Whenever I go through one of those uncomfortable times, I think of poor Eustace allowing Aslan to claw off his dragon skin. Sometimes I even take time to reread the book. It always reminds me that what I'm going through is normal and helps me believe that I can get through the discomfort. With God's help, I always have.

NOTE: I have two posts today because I received a blog award again, and I'm passing it on to others. So keep reading to see who's being honored.

Thanks Again

Mauigirl of Mauigirl's Meanderings has generously awarded me a second Arte y Pico award. Thanks, Mauigirl. Her blog is a wonderful blend of pets, politics, travel, nature, and personal experience. Check it out.

Here are the rules of the award:

1) Pick five (5) blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.

2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.

4) Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y Pico” blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award which is here: "Arte y Pico".

My choices for this round of the Arte y Pico award are:

1. dlyn: She gives recipes, posts incredible photos of her garden, and even records the stories that the backyard birds tell her.

2. Dawn at Renaissance Mama: She raises her children in the most creative way and shares their lives in warm posts that really make me wish I'd had a childhood like that. She also writes about her own interests--such as eating more healthfully and experimenting with photography.

3. Jay at The Depp Effect: Jay is a really big Johnny Depp fan, and she has been inspired by his example to take more chances in her life and to care less about what others think. Her blog is a lot of fun.

4. Peggy at Passions of an Odd Chick: This blog is fairly new to me, but I enjoy what I've seen so far. Peggy is a painter who is passionate about life, creativity, individuality, and God.

5. Sharon at Rose of Sharon: Her creativity is evident in her blog and in her home. Sharon enjoys making her surroundings beautiful. She loves her family and her Lord, and her blog is always a warm place to visit.

Taking a Long Journey, Step by Step

A few things that I've recently read in this wide, wonderful blog-o-sphere make me think that it is time to tell another story. This is the narrative of how God led my husband and me from being two people employed at full-time jobs with good salaries and benefits to being two independent contractors with no predictable income and only the benefits that we can provide for ourselves.

Michael and I met 24 years ago in a writers' critique group, and supporting one another's art has always been a priority in our relationship. But after we had been married about two years, he asked for a kind of support that pulled me far, far out of my comfort zone. He wanted to be able to spend more time developing his talent as a screenwriter, and he believed that God was calling him to work part-time to do so.

Frankly, I freaked. When I was growing up, my family always worried about money, and I didn't want to give up the status of being relatively comfortable financially. My plans were for us to start a family before much more time had passed and for me to take time off from working so I could raise the baby for its first year or two. Michael wanted a family too, but he was certain about this other calling.

I couldn't agree to what he was asking, but I did agree to pray about it and see what I sensed from the Lord. I prayed for an entire year and gradually I too discerned that Michael should go down to part-time work. We didn't scrap our plans for a family. We decided instead that when that time came, we would each hold a part-time job and juggle schedules. Michael was a librarian at that time, and he found a part-time job that paid as much as we were hoping, and so we took that momentous step.

Even though our income dropped, God provided for us in two very concrete ways. First, when Michael left his full-time job, he had accrued vacation time that the library had to pay out. The amount of money he received was just a little more than we needed to pay off our car loan and reduce our debt load. Second, one of the dreams we thought we were sacrificing when he went part time was the idea of owning a house. However, my company, which was partially employee owned, was acquired by a larger publisher. We used about a third of my stock payout to make a down payment on our home, and so that dream unexpectedly came true.

We went along for a few years and began trying to have a family, but we didn't conceive. In the meantime, Michael was growing more and more miserable at work. He never liked being a librarian; it was a practical career that his family talked him into training for because they didn't believe in his artistic aspirations. My company had a one-year opening for someone to work on an educational video project, so again after praying, we decided that Michael should apply. He got the job, and that was how we took step two on our journey--from Michael being a part-time staff librarian to being a full-time but temporary employee.

For about three years, Michael continued to be hired as a temporary employee to work on six-month or one-year projects. Then that work dried up as educational publishers abandoned video projects in favor of computerized lessons. Michael found employment as a freelance writer working from home, which was step three of the journey.

A few more years passed, and I began to be the one who was depressed, burned out, and resentful. It grew increasingly clear that we were not going to have a baby, and I needed something else as a focus for my life. I hadn't been giving my own writing the time or attention it needed, so after spending some time in counseling, I decided it was my turn to become a part-time employee. I spoke to my managers and arranged to go down to four days a week. The twenty percent pay cut was steep, but it was worth every penny to have more time at home, to work on my novel if I wanted or to spend a day in my garden.

Even though I was happier working part-time, aspects of my job continued to frustrate me. I wanted to leave, but I was terrified of the financial insecurity of having two freelancers in the family. So I put off the decision to leave, telling myself that I had to stay on the job until I turned 55 so that I could take early retirement. That milestone was still 8 or 9 years away, and the thought of being frustrated that long shriveled my spirit, but I told myself that God would get me through it.

Then came the night of the gas leak and the epiphany that prompted. (If you don't know that story, you can read it here.) I took stock of my life and decided it was time to give up the illusion of financial security . I gave my notice and at the end of 2005, I left my job of 19 years and embarked on life as a freelance writer.

Have we had work every moment since then? No, this year we've struggled, although things seem to be getting better. Have I ever wished I were still back at my old job? Not for one single second. The discernment process I went through before quitting helped me to be certain that I was on the right path, and I've never regretted the decision.

The point I want to make with this long story is that God is very, very patient with us as he leads us along the path of growth. Most of the time, we don't have any idea what the future holds. It took more than fifteen years to take a frightened young woman clinging to job security and transform her into a woman who could leap into the void of financial uncertainty without a backward glance.

I think that's often how God leads us, baby step by baby step. Sometimes the pace of growth in our lives seems excrutiatingly slow, but as long as we're moving forward, we can accomplish momentous journeys over time. We just need to learn to be as patient with ourselves as the Lord is.

Progress Report

This is just a post to bring people up-to-date on a number of things.

Remember my problem with my weedy garden? Well, I still have a long way to go, but I've made some progress. My formal rose beds went from this . . .

to this . . .

The beds in the photograph below were filled (and I do mean filled) with three-to-four-feet-high weeds. I wish I'd taken a before photo of this area, but I didn't think of it. This is where I used to grow my vegetables, then I turned it into another rose garden. The last two winters killed off several of the roses, and I'm going to move out the ones that are left. I'm debating whether to grow perennials or vegies there next year.

My attempt to reduce white flour and white sugar has had an amazing effect on my life. I have a lot of respiratory allergies, and I've lived on decongestant and antihistamine since I was about fourteen. Typically, I take Claritin every morning and three doses of Sudafed throughout the day . . . every single day. If I don't, I start coughing. (My allergist always says it's a good thing I have fairly low blood pressure or I couldn't take the Sudafed.)

Since I've cut out white flour and reduced my sugar intake to only a small amount of dark chocolate each day, my allergies are getting better. I first noticed it the last time I went for my allergy shots. I had less of a reaction than I have ever had. Then I noticed that I started needing only two doses of Sudafed a day. Now I'm down to one dose a day. Sunday, I went without drugs altogether--no Claritin, no Sudafed. I did get some built-up congestion by the end of the day, so I went back to the low dose yesterday. Even so, I can't tell you how amazing this is. Thirty-five years of drug reliance just to breathe, and the problem is gradually clearing up because of a dietary change.

The photo below shows the aftermath of making Michael's birthday cake--a whole wheat carrot carrot with unsweetened pineapple, unsweetened applesauce, and honey as the only sweeteners. It was very good and very satisfying.

I did receive some bad news today. Because I'm approaching 50, I had to have a bone density scan recently. I found out today that I am starting to lose bone mass. It's not severe enough for my doctor to insist of a prescription drug, but I have to increase my calcium intake. Fortunately, many of the dietary changes I'm making are good for bone health too. I'm considering working my way off caffeine, but I haven't totally made up my mind about that. I'm also planning to lift hand weights for a while before my treadmill sessions.

So that's the progress report on the current issues in my life. Before I sign off, I'll share a bit of loveliness with you.

100th post: 100 Things About Me

self-portrait, age 5

Whoo hoo. I've reached 100 posts. No one has been clamoring for me to bare my soul even more than I already have, but I saw this on a couple of other blogs and decided to do it for my 100th post. Sorry this is so long, but it was hard to list just facts instead of anecdotes. I always think of my life in stories. This is a mix of discrete facts and longer stories. Oh and a couple of photos I've posted before are at appropriate spots down below.

1. I was named Ruth Christine for my mom's favorite aunt (Ruth) and her two grandmothers (Kerstin and Kristina).

2. I was the only girl of 5 children.

3. My parents were already middle-aged when I was born (Mom was 39 and Dad was 43).

4. My brothers were 16 years older, 11-1/2 years older, 7-1/2 years older, and 4 years younger than me.

5. My oldest brother died 7-1/2 years ago.

6. I was born pigeon-toed. I had to wear corrective casts for a long time as a toddler.

7. I was also born cross-eyed. The left one turned in. I had eye surgery when I was 2-1/2.

8. Even though the surgery straightened my eyes, the doctor didn't give me therapy to correct my focal point. So I don't use my left eye. If I did, I would see double.

9. When I was very little, I swore that I had yellow hair. I would cry if anyone said I was blonde.

11. I went to my pediatrician until I was 18. He was also the county coroner. I used to joke that I wouldn't have to change doctors if I died.

12. When I was a kid, people used to ask me all the time if I was related to Chicago Blackhawks star Bobby Hull. I used to say, "No, but my grandfather is Robert Kennedy." He was--Robert Lee Kennedy. No relation.

13. I'm half Swedish. My maternal grandparents were born in Sweden. My mother was born in Saskatchewan. My dad was a hodge-podge of English, Scots-Irish, and German. So I'm a mutt, but a thoroughly northern European one.

14. I became an aunt when I was 7.

15. I was baptized when I was 9.

16. I have officially been a member of the following denominations: North American Baptist, Mennonite, and Roman Catholic. Someday I'll post about why that happened.

17. I'm now attending an Episcopal Church, but I haven't completed the membership process. After joining so many denominations, I'm a little shy of making that official commitment.

18. The summer before I turned 10, I began writing a novel about a spy in the American Revolution. I finished it in high school. It was about 110 pages long.

19. In junior high, I wrote another short novel about a teenage detective (a la Nancy Drew) who discovered a drug ring at her high school.

20. In 4th grade (1967-68), I circulated a petition in my class seeking to ban mini-skirts. I was a proper little Baptist back then. I don't think anyone else signed.

21. I was 12 when I went on my first dinner date. My boyfriend in 7th grade was the son of two doctors. He picked me up in a taxi and we went to a nice restaurant, just the two of us. I really wish I could have a tape recording of what the wait staff said about us in the kitchen.

22. I majored in literature in college.

23. When I was 19, I spent a summer in England on a college study program. We were in Oxford for most of the time, but we didn't attend lectures at the university. We had our own profs with us.

24. I made my own wedding dress without a commercial pattern. I created a reproduction of my mom's 1941 wedding dress (which was too mildewed to wear.) Ivory satin, no lace, 32 covered buttons down the back, a train like the one Maria had in Sound of Music.

25. I share a birth date with Greta Garbo and the great Cubs second baseman Ryne Sandberg. I'm substantially younger than Garbo and a year older than Sandberg.

26. When I was a little girl, my nickname in the family was Charlie. A man at church dubbed me that the first Sunday they took me to the service because my mom had been so desperate to have a girl, and he decided to tease her that she'd had another boy.

27. My nickname in junior high was Ralf. When I first went online, I used that as my name and didn't admit I was a woman for a long time.

28. I taught 9th-grade English for one year, but teaching didn't work out for me. I'm a good one-on-one tutor, but when I was 22, I was much too insecure to control a whole classroom.

22. After teaching, I took a job as an expediter in a factory that made gaskets for John Deere, International Harvester, Whirlpool, and lots of other companies. I did that for four years.

29. By the time I was 23, I'd lost two friends to murder. One was the little girl I babysat all through high school. When I was 17 and she was 9, she was kidnapped, raped, and killed. The other was a man my fellowship group knew in Chicago. He was an alcoholic and was beaten to death while living on the street.

30. I used to tutor the oldest daughter of a family from Afghanistan. She was too old to attend Chicago public schools, so I taught her English.

31. My shoe size is 5EE. (And that's the only size I'm admitting to.)

32. I'll be 50 years old in September, and I still don't have enough grey hair to need to touch it up. It's my genetic inheritance from my father

33. I've been a Cubs fan since I was 10. It would have been harder for me to marry a Chicago White Sox fan than it would have been to marry someone from the opposing political party.

34. I'm only 5 feet 2 inches tall.

35. I have greenish-grey hazel eyes.

36. I don't wear make up. Maybe I'll use it a couple times a year for something special, but otherwise I don't bother.

37. My two upper front teeth are buck teeth. My dentist and I talked about orthodontia a few years ago, but I realized I would rather have my distinctive smile than a "perfect" one.

38. If I really like a novel, I'll reread it. To me, it feels like going back to a favorite vacation spot or revisiting an old friend.

39. I have a very small mole on the back of my left hand. When I was a little girl, it helped me tell left from right.

40. When I was in grade school, a friend and I made up a long elaborate story about how we were alien termites from outer space. My name was Mega, and she was Yuga.

41. I won't allow anyone to tickle me. One of my brothers used to do it so abusively until I felt like I'd pass out from being unable to breathe.

42. When I was four, I was convinced that I was going to marry the cartoon character Quick Draw McGraw. (In case you don't know, he was a sheriff who was a horse.)

43. I can't swim. I've had classes in summer camp, the public pool, the YMCA, two years of junior high, four years of high school, one quarter of college. I've never managed to go farther than one width of a pool. It's a fear thing.

44. I don't sing in front of anyone but Michael--and only in front of him if I'm accompanying the radio or a CD. I get so self-conscious that my throat tightens on me.

45. My favorite colors to wear are peach, turquoise, coral, warm pink, periwinkle, light orange, spring green, olive green, plum purple, royal blue, warm reds, and black.

46. I don't like to wear lace or ruffles except as small accents. I never wear artificial flowers attached to a hat, dress, or shoes.

47. I'm right handed.

48 I get depressed in winter from lack of sunlight.

49. My respiratory allergies are dust mites, cats, mold, and weeds.

50. My food allergies are soy and fish. In addition, bananas, kiwi, melons, and mangos can trigger my ragweed allergy.

51. I got married at the age of 31.

52. We've been married 18 years.

53. I'm five years younger than Michael.

54. Not having children was my greatest fear, and it came true.

55. Except for one large car that Michael had when we got married, I have only owned small cars: Ford Pinto, Ford Escort, Mazda Protege, Kia Spectra 5.

56. Except for a summer in England, I've never lived anywhere but Illinois.

57. The states I have NOT been in are Alaska, Hawaii, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, and Delaware.

58. The foreign countries I have visited are Canada, Mexico (just for a few hours), the United Kingdom,  and France.

59. At my peak, I had 72 rose bushes planted in my yard. Winter kill and disease have lowered the number to about 60 (I think). I'm allowing attrition to reduce them to a more manageable number.

60. I have had four short stories published in small literary magazines. I think another one is being published this year, but the magazine was not published when I expected, so I'm waiting . . . 

61. As an adult, I've written three novels. None published (yet).

62. I didn't get my ears pierced until I was in college.

63. I didn't wear blue jeans until I was in college.

64. I didn't get glasses until I was a high school freshman.

65. I used to take four teaspoons of sugar in my tea. In my late 20s or early 30s, I reduced it to 1-1/2. Then in my 40s, I reduced it to 1/2 t. Now I don't use any, although I will occasionally put a small squirt of honey in it.

66. When I was a child, I hated cheese. My mom had to save me plain macaroni when she made mac and cheese. When I went to England for the college study program, we were given cheese after dinner every night, and I learned to like it. (Real cheese is far superior to Kraft American slices.)

67. I'm not generally an adventurous eater, but I have eaten brains, raw octopus, and alligator. In all three cases, I was tricked into eating the food without knowing what it was. The alligator was ok. I hated the other two things.

68. Michael and I love to eat in French restaurants for special occasions. I don't order snails.

69. Michael and I love to vacation in Door County, Wisconsin.

70. We took our honeymoon on Amelia Island, Florida. Last year, we went back to Amelia and rented a beach house for a whole month. We used the time as a writing sabbatical and worked only on our creative writing.

71. I have one niece and two nephews in my family and three nieces and one nephew in Michael's family.

72. Altogether, we have 11 grand-nieces and nephews and another on the way. (At least that's how many we know of. One of my nephews is estranged from the family.)

73. When I was a textbook editor, I started working on literature books. After a couple of years, I transferred to the social studies department.

74. I never met either of my grandfathers. My mom's dad died when she was 17. My dad's dad died on my parents wedding day. (The Robert Kennedy I mentioned earlier was a step-grandfather.)

75. I once sat through an eight-hour play (a production of Nicholas Nickelby).

76. When I was 9, I cooked the entire Mother's Day dinner for my mother. I had about a dozen people to feed. (I made meat loaf, baked potatoes, corn on the cob, waldorf salad, and I forget what else--probably cake for desert.) My step-uncle did the dishes afterward because I wouldn't let Mom in the kitchen and I was so tired I was about to collapse.

77. When I was in grade school, I used to take plastic margarine tubs and make Easter baskets for every member of my family because I was trying to make the ideal, warm and fuzzy holidays like I saw on TV.

78. I remember walking downtown when I was 9 to buy Christmas presents by myself for the first time.

79. My little brother and I used to take our bikes 8 blocks down to a fast food place, order four burgers (two each), two orders of fries, and two small Cokes--and get change back from a dollar.

80. I was in 4-H for 7 or 8 years. No farm animal stuff since I lived in a city, but I did cooking, knitting, and sewing projects. I also exhibited at the county fair.

81. I still can recite the 4-H pledge: I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to greater service, and my health to better living for my club, my community, my country, and my world.

82. I competed in speech contest in high school.

83. I acted in a couple of plays in high school, but they were only bit parts.

84. When I was about 8 or 9, I wanted to be an actress, but I decided I was too introverted, so I would be a writer instead. That way I could act out all the parts in my head.

85. I hate liver. I hate steak and kidney pie. I guess I'm just not big on organ meats.

86. When I was about four, I went into my parents' room early one morning, and I thought I saw a little green man under their bed. I was afraid of the space beneath my bed for approximately the next 25 years. After turning out my bedroom light, I would leap into bed from about three feet away so the man couldn't grab my feet. (This was into my late 20s.)

87. One day when I was four, I saw some neighbor boys wrestling. I thought they were fighting, so I yelled at them to stop. When they didn't, I hit one with a baseball bat. The mother screamed at me and sent me home. I remained ashamed of that memory long into adulthood.

88. The two times I've been away from Illinois for a whole summer, I got homesick for the sight of cornfields.

89. After I graduated from high school, my family took a marathon seven-week driving trip. We went south to New Orleans, over to Houston to visit one of my brothers, San Antonio (uncle), New Mexico (aunt), San Diego (another brother), San Francisco (an aunt), northern California (cousins), and then home.

90. I was my high school salutatorian. The only think separating me from the valedictorian was she had a better grade in driver's ed.

91. I make half-caff, half-decaf, four-shot cappuccino every morning.

92. I used to take a bath before bed every night, but since I hit middle age, I sleep better if I don't.

93. I don't wear high heels.

94. I hate to style my hair. My stylist knows that I want a cut that I can just part, comb into place, and let air dry. One reason I hate to dry my hair is that it damages easily. It's very porous and soaks up water and takes forever to dry.

95. Finding the right haircut was a challenge. My hair is straight on top. It's very wavy in the back and on the sides.

96. I started talking early. My mom tells me that when I was a little over a year old, I used to stand around having long pretend conversations with store mannequins when Mom went shopping. It freaked people out because I was small for my age and had very short hair, so I looked like I was under a year old.

97. I hate knee socks. I haven't worn them since I was a teenager.

98. My oldest niece is named for me.

99. I like the meaning of my names: Ruth Christine means "Friend or companion of Christians."

100. I attended kindergarten twice. My mom put me in a church kindergarten when I was 4 because she was so sick of me asking her questions.