Counting

Thanks to the overwhelming response of the Auspicious masses I am posting this although it did not make the cut 8 months ago. For my empathetic readers, I am happy to no longer be in the place I was when I wrote this. I stand by my views on Don Johnson, however.

There are many ways to look at life but I have never found a mathematical approach to be helpful. I do not recommend taking a tally of any aspect of life even though so much in life suggests that we should.

Facebook friends. Why does facebook promote the tally of the number of friends anyone has? It's not like you are having tea and crumpets with them all each week?

Weight. As a tall woman I have never wanted to talk numbers on my weight. I was a teenager the first time I read a description of a man who was supposed to be the epitome of masculinity and weighed... the same amount as I did. I had to abandon my marriage plans to Don Johnson because of an age difference, a weight similarity, and height issues that need not be addressed here. I am still torn on that decision.

Number of academic degrees. Salary. Number of trips to wherever we are supposed to be travelling now. Cholesterol level. Failed marriages. Speed limits. They have their purpose these numbers, but we are usually misguided as to the breadth of their import.

I have never found any of this to be telling of anything intriguing about who I am or anyone else is, but I still fall into the traps. (And not just the speed traps.) With my defenses down in my mourning time, I don't feel the traps coming at all.

Today I looked at my weight on my driver's license, and determined that I filled that out BEFORE the birth of my second child. Today I also kept quiet about the years spent in academic study post-high school for fear of being judged by people I do not know well. Today I was self-conscious about my age twice - once too old, the other too young. Today I looked at my children and counted the years I have left to treasure them in my house.
All of this is ridiculous and could not be less Zen, but in times of stress, counting is easier to deal with than big thoughts on overwhelming emotions.

I have been counting the days of life without my aunt in this world where she belongs. I counted my stomach aches, but got over that (the counting, not the stomach aches.)I counted all the sympathy cards but they had far more power than their numbers would suggest. I counted the number of vegetable types in supper - 7! I counted the minutes in traffic until I thought that was stupid, then remembered that I was counting because it was better than crying, and so I resumed counting minutes in traffic.

I almost counted the words in this seemingly purposeless post but decided to count reasons to be forthright and honest about grief instead. The numbers were about the same.

Non Sequitur Buffet

Returning from a Wi-fi free camping vacation I realized I left the 15 Jots faithful in a lurch again. That's a shame because I had some very deep thoughts on that air mattress in the tent in my Uncle's backyard in Florida, but I have forgotten all of them. I received a traumatic brain injury from staring at the highway for 16 hours on the solo drive back that I took straight like a Jaeger shot with Cuervo chaser. All I have left are random thoughts with the intellectual calories of a Fox news commentary. But now that you have all outed yourselves, I know who my readers are and you are a forgiving bunch.

First up - In the interest of building the kingdom of heaven on Earth, let's boycott chicken. I have decided that poultry farming is inhumane and unreasonable. All people are created equal and none of us should have to ever be near a chicken or a rooster. I came to this conclusion when some red-crowned bastard rooster from Germany started cock-a-doodle-annoying-the-ever-loving-crap-out-of-me-dooing in small-town Florida every morning at 1:30 AM. (That's how I knew he was German. He was on time in Stuttgart.) The way I see it is simple math. No eggs + no chicken fajitas = no roosters and peaceful sleep in small-town America, which will most likely lead to peace on Earth. If we start the boycott now we should see results by Wednesday.

Next up - I should go into another writing block built of self-loathing and grammatical inertia after my Florida trip because another week with my Uncle Dan confirms that he is one of the funniest people I know. I have said it before, but it is so true that it needs repeating- I come from a long line of superb story-tellers and I am not one of them. In a super story powers ultimate tale match I am in only the ninth tier behind my cousin Ellen, my aunt Libby, all of my grandmothers, Uncle Dan, my Dad's dog Scruffy, and my mother's architecture library. I do squeak in ahead of my sister's security blanket and my cousin's travel photos from Piankatank Shores, but barely.

I looked up one of my uncle's favorite expressions and it turns out, as expected, to come from a Western series - "Rawhide" to be exact. My uncle who survived multiple near-fatal crashes and has more scars than I have years of life, who hand-raked two-and-a-half acres in preparation of our visit and wore a different Hawaiian shirt every day we were there... as if he were not colorful enough, he peppers his speech with expressions from old Westerns. He is a jack of many trades but blogging is not one of them so I can continue to write if for no other reason than to introduce him to you. The word, by the way is "jasper" pronounced /jay-spur/ and meaning kid or doofus.

For the dessert course: I am taking an editorial vote. I found some old posts in the Jots archives that did not make the cut. I could pull a Salinger and wait until I'm dead to post them but I believe that the best part of dead is that you get to forget all your passwords. Not that remembering "JasonStathamLoveNugget1" takes all that many living brain cells. Would you like to see that which did not make the cut in the past 9 months or keep the vault sealed? Comments welcome. For you Facebook readers, now taking votes on the comments page at http://acmiles.blogspot.com.

In conclusion - (as if there was any logical progression here and I did not just think of this last little vignette... but in sermons I used to say "in conclusion' to let people know that freedom was nigh) I passed one of my readers on the street today. He looks awesome. Spring in his step, good coloring, lost some weight... I resisted asking if I could use his health and well-being as crass blog marketing. I'm thinking something along the lines of "Auspicious is as Jots reads" or "Auspicious Jots is for Optimists - the next post has got to be better" or something classsy, witty and subtle like the blog itself. Something like "Reading Auspicious Jots will make you Hot, Baby".

Lent 2010

Ever feel like the jackass who walks into the wedding and blurts out something about the bride's ex-girlfriend? I am normally blessed in being the minister who watches that outburst and thinks, "Not this again. Hope they have bacon wrapped scallops at the reception." But today - I am the jackass.

After my recent post it has been brought to my attention that I have not three but twelve readers, and nine of them would like recognition. Sorry that I did not see you there in your lovely bridal veils. I apologize with glee and thank you all for the affirmation that you would rather read my blog than scrub your toilet. I will post more regularly starting now.

(For my reader who IS the jackass at the wedding, you should probably start blogging, too, boy-o. I know five of these people would read you because they have more than one toilet to avoid cleaning. )

Today is a bright shiny Saturday morning on the 40th (** explained below, bitte) day of my Lenten diet/cleanse/purge/meal time death march. For my reader of the Zoroastrian persuasian, that means I am three meals away from being done with this spiritual experiment gone nuclear.

** For my savvy Christian reader, you know that Lent can be 40, 44, 46 or 55 days depending upon one's sect. I meant to go for 40 and figured out at 10:40 PM on the 46th day that I'd gone for the gold, at least in Western Christendom's Lenten terms. I will be seeing Jesus tomorrow for a 6 day refund.

I cornered a possible 13th reader at the elementary school yesterday who claimed he would read the blog if I wrote about the Lenten cleanse. I have a quota to fill or Blogspot reduces my clearance level which currently allows me to use asterisks and occasional German words (and as exhibited above ** I really need those. O Tannenbaum.) So it looks like it is the request hour here at Auspicious Jots.

Lent, duh... what?

Lent is the Christian observance leading up to the celebration of Easter. In my case it lasted from Ash Wednesday until the morning of Easter Sunday. Some denominations take out the Sundays in the count, celebrating multiple "mini-Easters". Others stop at Palm Sunday, others at Maundy Thursday; and the Eastern church does some hard core math that brings them to 55 days.

There are many Lenten traditions, but the most commonly known ones are a dramatic dietary change and fasting. One of my readers thinks that Lent is a time to quit coffee, chocolate, and sex with the lights on, but she is confusing New Year's with Lent. She is seeing Jesus tomorrow about a whammy of a refund.

What was I thinking?

I have observed a Lenten/Passover combo plan off and on for years. Each year at this time I pay more attention to whatever spiritual discipline I am practicing. Some years I go to Lenten lunch lectures at the Episcopal church. Other years I journal and meditate. Some years I do lectio divina (** to be explained in a different entry, Kartoffelnkuche). I find that the end of Winter is a great time to do this because as the practice becomes harder to sustain, Winter becomes easier to endure. By the time Easter and Passover roll around, I am one happy camper.

What was the plan?

The plan was to strip a little slice of joy out of my life every week. No, that was the result. The plan was to progressively remove foods from my diet in order to think about sacrifice and blessings every day of Lent and into Passover. The progressive method was something I learned from a former judge who used to do an annual diet cleanse that she described as transcendent.

Here's how it worked. Every week I removed another element of my diet without replacing the previously removed items. On Ash Wednesday I lost beef. February 24, I lost pork. March 3 - chicken; 10 - eggs; 17 - seafood; 24 - dairy; 31-wheat. I also removed caffeine about half way through and alcohol out of necessity because chickpeas do a crappy job of absorbing vodka.

How hard was it?

It was hard in the out of shape couch potato running 10 miles world of hard. It was not Mt. Everest hard. The worst was at the end when I lost dairy and wheat and dishonored the pork fat heritage of my ancestors by becoming a gluten-free vegan.

At that point my son began calling it "that crazy diet." My husband began eating meals with friends. My co-dependent enabling best friend bought Tofutti cream cheese and started putting his hand over his plate so I could not see his meal, as if a hand can cover the smell of Jerk Chicken.

What made it easier was that it was progressively restrictive but I was not required to go cold turkey (went out with the chicken). I had plenty of time to adjust to each stage before the next came. Next time I will take the wheat out at the beginning of Passover but this go round I couldn't handle it that early. I also cheated with a couple of things: milk chocolate was allowed all along in small portions; I intended to go to water only to drink but let myself have juice if I was having trouble keeping my blood sugar up; when my mom brought me a philly cheese sub on week 3 I ate it anyway because I felt like throwing out animal flesh was a greater sin than eating the meat. And because my mama is bigger than I am and scares me.

Has it been worth it?

Yes. This was the most eye-opening Lent ever. I thought about Lent every single day with increasing concentration as my menu shrank. In addition to the spiritual benefits, I slept better. I developed a healthier view of eating as sustaining instead of eating as a hobby, friend, escape, reward, or reflex. Eventually I had more energy. And, honest to Elijah, once the wheat was gone I had far fewer cravings and overate only once. Exercise was easier. And I did happen to lose weight although that was not the purpose of the cleanse, Reader #7.

Why did I not think of this earlier?

You would think that a minister would come up with this before leaving the ministry when one could share it with a congregation. The 13th reader may do just that for next year's Lent. The problem with a rewarding career that requires creativity, empathy, boundless energy, and an extremely flexible schedule is that it is untenable on this planet. At some point you lose one or more of those attributes and the whole system transforms from a fluid dance to a... what's the word? Struggle? No. Chaos? No.


Oh yeah... the Alcatraz of the creative spark.


I did not think of this when it would have been a useful tool for the seekers within my congregation because being a minister meant that I raced my days at a full gallop, without a saddle, holding on to mane for dear life. Now that I stand at a copier, look at boxes, and have a complicated relationship with a telephone system: these things come to me. Go figure.

In 12 hours I will be eating pot roast with roasted root veggies, orzo salad with feta, brown rice in organic chicken broth, fresh pineapple, and broiled scallops with shrimp. It will be the best Easter dinner of my life. It will also be eaten in very small portions because I am appropriately fearful that it will make me vomit. After that fiesta de tastebuds I plan to ease back into food on a 20 day plan, give or take 6 days.

And Reader 8 thought tomorrow was about bunnies.

**Verschnoerkeln**

Dear Bob

Dear Bob,

Thank you for your recent fan letter. These days at Auspicious Jots due to our blogging negligence we only receive spam mail so it was exciting to recieve a note that was in English, pertinent to the blog, and complimentary.

Regarding your questions in order:

1) The long delay in this response is due to many obligations to my fans. This is an award winning blog that examines life and death issues, the heartbreaks and joys of parenting, and honky tonk music. With such a wide-ranging scope we have a breadth of readership that is... what is the word... ? Ok, well... by breadth I am referring to the two other fans named Gray and Mary Rose. Lovely people those two. I'll introduce you some time. They were probably at my local watering hole when you celebrated my birthday in my honor but without my presence. And by my many obligations to them I am referring to the concentration required to change the subject quickly and dramatically when they mention the blog.

2) I do not need an intervention. I stopped writing the blog because I no longer had an audience. Or so I thought. Now that the three of you have let me know your interest, I will resume writing. I will just need you to intervene periodically and remind me of my blogging purpose, give me encouragement, threaten me at times, and prod me. But this is in no way an intervention.

3) You asked about my new vocation. My latest career move involves many, many copies. Copies and file folders and facsimiles and duplicates, because I can't say copies any more without looking dim.

Each day I sit at my desk after a long round at the copier. Once rested, I offer a meaningful look at the phone. Sometimes I cock an eyebrow so the phone knows that I know, but I don't really know. Eventually I break eye contact to get up and move the furniture until the phone rings because I stopped watching it.

After I tend to the phone's needs I look around the office. Eventually my eyes fall upon boxes of my own writings and hundreds of books that I collected in a 15 year career. I try not to give these boxes meaningful eye contact. I try to give them the disinterested face I give lotion hawkers at the mall. But the boxes stare and I think they sometimes lift a communal cardboard eyebrow to let me know that they know. And it seems that they really know.

When the boxes are staring me down I take a deep breath because that's what I used to do for a living - I led by example in breathing deeply. Sometimes I open a flap on one of the boxes with my pinkie finger to peep inside. If I open the flap wide enough to let in some sunlight I see orders of service with my name on them. I see sermons and funerals and newsletter articles and meditations all in my handwriting or with my name on them. The books have meaningfully turned down pages and enthusiastic marginalia and on the inside covers -my name. Occasionally there is a photo tucked in of someone who looks a lot like me. Like me if I wore a robe for a living which is a silly but oddly familiar thought.

And if the phone still does not ring I stare intently at these papers who would very much appreciate some collating or filing or even a little shuffling. I stare at the books with their bright underlinings. I stare inside these boxes full of my name and the office gets very quiet. I take another deep breath. I blink. I breathe again.

Then I look away. I break eye contact with the boxes, slide my pinkie back closing the flap, and I walk back to my desk adjusting the rocking chair on the way.

I say to myself that my name being all over those things is a coincidence like when you have cereal with honey for breakfast from a little plastic honey bear and then driving home from work the radio plays Black Joe Lewis and the Honey Bears. I say to myself that somewhere very close by is a piece of paper that needs to be duplicated then I look hard at the phone to hurt its feelings so it will go away for awhile.

This is what I do.

Thank you for your letter, Bob.

Death Club Celebrates Poe!

We have a business with no office. It's mighty darn cold. My sister had her purse stolen in a most obnoxious way. And our 4 year old began the day by vomiting in our bed.

There's only one thing that can pull me from this funk... DEATH CLUB!

This Saturday (January 16) is the anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe's birth and the venerated and quirky Poe Museum of distinguished Richmond, Virginia is throwing a party. Let's join them, shall we?

Arrive at 1914 East Main Street no later than 5:30 or you will miss the zombie cheerleaders. At 6 we will take part in the Eerie Nights ghost tour. After all this joy and fun we may head off to supper somewhere close unless we are all freezing and miserable; in which case you can pick up your Death Club Calendar of upcoming events and head home.

For more information on the Poe celebrations go to www.poemuseum.org

For more on Death Club: stay tuned here or see you at Poe!

Happy Birthday to Poe!
Happy Birthday to Poe!
He wrote frightening stories...
And led a life of woe!