Sweet Slice

sweet slice

“Half pound of Sweet Slice ham sliced thin, please.”

Our local grocery chain carries Boar’s Head lunch meats in some of their stores. We’re big fans.

It’s all good, but our favorite is the Sweet Slice. Tastes like Easter.

The clerk prepared my order and handed it to me, wrapped in butcher paper.

“Thanks,” I said. Then I looked at the label: Maple Glazed.

“Uh, this isn’t Sweet Slice. I ordered Sweet Slice ham.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to do it over?”

“No,” I said. “This is okay.” Hated to make her cut it again and waste the deliciousness of Maple Glazed. Like I said, it’s all good.

Life went on as usual. Packed the child’s lunch the next morning. Sent him out into the world. Picked him up at carpool.

Later safe at home, I popped open the lunchbox to discover a nearly untouched ham sandwich. There was evidence of a nibble.

“You didn’t eat your sandwich,” I said.

“Why didn’t you eat your sandwich?” said my husband.

“It’s the ham,” said the child. “I don’t like that kind.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “It’s Boar’s Head ham. It’s Maple Glazed not Sweet Slice, but…”

“It’s not the same,” he said. “Don’t want it.” And off he trotted to shuffle his Pokémon deck.

“How can he tell the difference between Sweet Slice and Maple Glazed?” I said.

“We’ve created a food snob,” said my husband, “with lunch meat.”

No more Maple Glazed, Black Forest, or Virginia ham. I won’t make the mistake of buying anything but Sweet Slice again. Unless I want to eat it by myself.

Have we created a food snob? An inflexible, entitled consumer? I don’t think so. He’s adaptable in other ways. Rolls with the punches and changes of life well.

Perhaps he simply likes his Sweet Slice ham. He’s tasted the good stuff. Met his muse. There’s no settling for less.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. This is just lunch meat. One day it will be weightier things.

He’ll be faced with what to study, what hobbies to pursue, where to work, who to befriend, who to unfriend, who to date (or marry!), who to worship.

Kathy's kitchen (Hi, Brad!)

There’s a lot we don’t get to choose. A lot of areas where we’re responsible to others. We have to compromise or sacrifice. Do what we’d rather not do.

But in the places we do get to choose, how extraordinary to choose the good stuff and pursue it wholeheartedly.

To pursue the good stuff, you have to recognize it. To recognize it, you have to know how it tastes.

And when it comes time to choose, you have to summon the courage to say no to the others, pick the Sweet Slice, and eat your fill.

Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see—
how good God is.
Blessed are you who run to Him. Psalm 34:8 The Message

Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell.

Disclaimer: I’m not being paid to promote Boar’s Head products. But I’m telling you, it’s some of the best lunch meat ever.

The Angry American

June 22, 2011

This past June, we took our son on his first trip to Washington, D.C.

Showed him the city in grand style. The museums, the monuments, the zoo. Even the U.S. Capitol thanks to my husband’s college friend Rep. Vicky Hartzler.

Previously I’d spent a good deal of time in D.C. I knew the ropes. But this trip would be my first visit to the Pentagon. Don’t know why I hadn’t gone before.

My husband had work commitments that day, so my little boy and I were on our own. We rode the yellow line out to the Pentagon stop. Emerged from the Metro tunnel into hot, blinding sunlight. Passed through security. Beheld the military headquarters of the free world.

The Pentagon is massive.

the Pentagon Memorial

We walked two long sides girded by concrete barriers. Crossed paths with dozens of strong men and women. Upright, built, neat as pins in their uniforms, marching to their cars or the train. It was late afternoon. Time for some to go home.

Then we came to the place we’d come to see.

It was seamless and silent. Completely ordered. Respectful. Logical. Such a stark contrast to what must have been the moment the plane torpedoed the southwest side of the building.

bench, pool, pebbles

And it was beautiful. The pools of water. The trees and pebbles. The paths and benches.

The benches stood in trajectories arched toward the building for the 59 passengers on the plane who died and arched away for the 125 people in the Pentagon who died. Engravings held the victims’ names.

Another mother walked among the benches and the names with her son.

“How do I explain this to him?” she said to me.

I shrugged. Nodded. Tried to connect with her eyes, “I know. I know.”

a family

My son and I walked on through the memorial. The strange peacefulness that sometimes inhabits a graveyard hung in the air. I wondered if he felt it too.

I let it be. Didn’t try to explain it.

There is no explaining it.

If there is pain, fear, sadness, anger—that’s part of grief. Part of a process that can’t be circumvented, reasoned or negotiated.

"How do I explain this to him?"

The only way through it is through it.

But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;
You consider their grief and take it in hand.
The victims commit themselves to You;
You are the helper of the fatherless. Psalm 10:14 NIV

Courtesy of The Red , White and Blue (The Angry American)  by Toby Keith expresses the anger and resolve many Americans felt in the wake of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

This is the second of three posts commemorating the 10th anniversary of 9.11.2001. The first post Somewhere in Pennsylvania was published on August 24, 2011. The final post If You See Something was published on September 10, 2011.

We will never forget.

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We’ve Been Freshly Pressed!

Hello, subscribers, RSS feed readers, FB friends, and others who are scrolling through. A quick and happy note to share some exciting news.

big red super star

WordPress, my blogging platform, picked up last Friday’s post I Like My Bike for their Freshly Pressed lineup today. Click Freshly Pressed to see for yourself.

I Like My Bike won’t be on the front page for long. If it’s gone when you get there, scroll down and hit the Earlier button. Look for the shiny, purple bike.

Thank you for your readership, comments and encouragement. You’re the best!

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17 NIV

What better song than one of my favorites If I Stand by the brilliant Rich Mullins.

You Deserve a Break Today

one of those days

Ever have one of those days? Yesterday was one for me.

Worked all morning on Thursday’s serious blog post when, oh, look at that. It’s noon! And by the way, the post is mopping the floor with me. Hmm. Wonder what’s for lunch?

Stumbled to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of ambition. But I got nothing.

No caffeine in the house. No appetizing morsel awaiting me in the fridge. Blood sugar is plummeting. Approaching meltdown status.

Suddenly I felt the urge to escape. To break free from the four walls of the house. Flee from the heavy subject matter I’d been tackling. Make a run for the border. Come on, baby, drive south!

That’s it, I thought. I’ll simply escort myself out. Next thing I know, I’m in the truck driving down our friendly neighborhood street. Headed for some destination yet unknown to me.

Had I been showered and dressed I’d have gone to the mall. Where else does a Gen X girl go when in flight?

But a shower had evaded me that morning, I hadn’t even brushed my hair, and I was still wearing Monday’s outfit. Nix the mall.

Bread Company? Been there. Qdoba? Done that. Chinese? No. Salad bar? What?

How about a drive thru? Nu-uh. That would mean I’d have pick up and go home to eat alone. I was escaping, remember?

The truck, sensing my distess, turned south on a major thoroughfare.

“Ah,” I said. “I know where we’re going.”

The truck didn’t answer. It just carried me forward, meticulously obeying traffic signals all the way.

“We’re going to McDonald’s, aren’t we?” I said.

happy meal 4 me

Sure enough, we soon arrived at the Golden Arches. Three dollars and 71 cents later, I had lunch, CNN, and people watching. And no one cared about my hair or how I was dressed.

There are healthier options than a cheeseburger, like making a salad at home. More ecological means of transport than the truck, like riding that shiny purple bike. Maybe I’ll try those today. Or tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow’s looking better already.

But I’m reminded how my grandparents used to take us kids to McDonald’s as a special treat. How the Happy Meal was elevated to near comfort food status.

And I for one am thankful McDonald’s will still do fine for lunch in a pinch on a day otherwise in peril.

Be brave. Be strong. Don’t give up.
Expect God to get here soon. Psalm 31:24 The Message

Bad Day by Daniel Powter. We all have ’em.

Dream Sequence

Remember earlier this month we got a new Mac to replace our dying Dell?

Over the weekend, took the Mac back to the techies at the store for the data transfer. The wait was five days when we bought it. Now it’s only 48 hours. Gulp.

True, it’s been a bit of a circus hopping between two machines. Will be nice to have everything on one computer again. But I was becoming proficient.

Felt like I was commanding the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. “Uhara, pull up the photos on the Dell. Spock, hit Publish on the Mac. Beam me up, Scotty!”

Maybe it’s the anxiety of being laptop-less for a couple days that got to me. Whatever it was, last night I had the strangest dream.

I dreamed I traveled to a writing seminar where there were no computers. It was old school, the way we used to do things. Back in the 80s.

In the course of my stay, I ran out of paper. So I wrote poetry on the bed sheets in my room, folded them, and turned them in as my project. My thesis. My magnum opus. And I passed with highest honors.

Read into it what you will. It was sweet and it was mine.

Now give me back my laptop, Mac guys, before I start writing on your sheets too.

And they replied, “We both had dreams last night, but no one can tell us what they mean.”

“Interpreting dreams is God’s business,” Joseph replied. “Go ahead and tell me your dreams.” Genesis 40:8 NLT

Last night I had the strangest dream… Oh, I already said that. Enjoy Blue Lagoon’s fun 2004 cover of Matthew Wilder’s Break My Stride.

as seen at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum

Dreams by Langston Hughes (1926)

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is
a barren field
Frozen with snow.

I Like My Bike

Cindy II (not to be confused with my homegirl, the unflappable Cyndi Tew)

This post was featured by WordPress Freshly Pressed on August 31, 2011.

My friend Corey turned 40 this year and announced he would now be living as if he were half his age. I promptly decided to adopt this philosophy.

Of course there are many things I can’t do now that I could do when I was 20.

Well, I may still be able to do them. But just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.

Staying up past a reasonable bedtime? No longer a good idea. Drinking more than an occasional glass of wine? Not good either. Eating half a five-dollar pizza all by myself? No.

There are other things though. Things I haven’t done for many years that are good for me. Enter Cindy.

Cindy was my first bike, complete with a banana seat and streamers on the handle bars. A horse was not in the cards, but I could name a bike just as well.

I received Cindy way before I was 20. Probably around age five or six. I’ll never forget learning to ride that bike. How wonderful it felt to be free and go fast.

Somewhere in the murky years of high school, I gave up bike riding. And skating. And swimming. Fun things I once enjoyed. Why do we do that?

fun on ice…

Then a couple years ago, I decided to take my little boy skating at Steinberg Ice Rink in Forest Park. It was a perfect December day. He was too young to be on the ice for very long. I, however, had a ball.

We went skating again this past winter. He got the hang of balancing and moving at the same time. But all he really wanted to do was spin around in circles and fall and laugh.

We go swimming too. Although momma doesn’t always let her hair get wet, the water is like a long-lost friend.

…and in water

When my husband received a reward certificate with an option to redeem for a bike, I lobbied. I had my eye on a sleek, expensive model at Big Shark Bicycle Company in the Loop. But a free bike? We had nothing to lose.

My son was as excited as I was when the bike arrived in a big box last week. We unpacked it, all shiny and purple.

He helped my husband put it together. Insists I wear my helmet as we ride around the neighborhood.

When I’m with him, we go slowly. He’s still learning. When I’m alone, I fly.

Someday I hope he’ll fly beside me and know what I remember. How wonderful it feels to be free and go fast.

good night, sweetheart!

So, I’m all for just going ahead and having a good time—the best possible. The only earthly good men and women can look forward to is to eat and drink well and have a good time—compensation for the struggle for survival these few years God gives us on earth. Ecclesiastes 8:15 The Message

Be free, go fast, and meet me back here next week!

How could I forget to mention the bicycle is a good invention?

Somewhere in Pennsylvania

wall flag

Driving this past summer between Pittsburgh and Gettysburg. Needed to stop for lunch.

Made our way off the Pennsylvania Turnpike, through a little town, and into a Pizza Hut. The buffet’s a crowd pleaser.

Sat down with our salads and slices. Remarked how this Pizza Hut was unlike any other restaurant we’d visited.

The place was decked out in Star Spangled Banner. Flags hung from the windows, the ceiling, the salad bar. All awash in red, white and blue.

salad bar

It was June 14th. Flag Day. Though it really didn’t matter. I’m a pushover when it comes to Old Glory. This was my kind of place.

Had the iPhone handy, so I snapped a couple pictures. After our meal, I walked the restaurant and snapped a few more.

Flag of Honor

That’s when I saw it. A large banner centered behind the buffet:

Flag of Honor. This flag contains the names of those killed in the terrorist attacks of 9.11. Now and forever it will represent their immortality. We shall never forget them.

Flag of Heroes

And centered on the other side, another banner:

Flag of Heroes. This flag contains the names of the emergency services personnel who gave their lives to save others in the terrorist attacks of 9.11. Now and forever it will represent their immortality. We shall never forget them.

Chilling, dignified, fearless patriotism. Alive and well in a small town pizza joint.

the wind farm

Soon we were back on the Turnpike. Green hills and forests surrounded us with billowing gray clouds overhead.

A wind farm south of the road offered the only hint of motion for miles. Low mountains rose in the distance, ahead of the quiet rain now spattering our windshield.

Picked up the iPhone again. Googled the county where we ate lunch: Somerset.

Mapped it in relation to the town in Pennsylvania: Shanksville.

Somewhere just north of us it happened. The hijacked plane plunged through these skies.

In this air, Todd Beamer prayed The Lord’s Prayer and concluded: “Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.”

There was no sign. No fanfare. No convenient off-ramp to pay respects. The highway speeded us through, leaving the place behind in the rain. We’d crossed hallowed ground and nearly missed it.

The people there will never forget. Will we?

overhead

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12 NIV

Alan Jackson’s Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning bids us to remember.

This is the first of three posts commemorating the 10th anniversary of 9.11.2001. The second post The Angry American was published on September 1, 2011. The final post If You See Something was published on September 10, 2011.

Who’s on First?

sprinkler fun 2006

Tomorrow is my only child’s first day of first grade.

I could laugh. I could cry. I could ponder his early childhood. The day he was born. How fast he’s grown.

How much fun the years have been. How we waited so long for him and how we can’t imagine life without him now.

Lots of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends are thinking such things about their kids this time of year.

So, since many of you are already doing that, let’s do something different.

think puppies

Let’s think about puppies. Cute, but it’s not working.

How about ice cream. No.

Asparagus. No.

Chips and salsa.

Oreos.

Steak?

independence day 2010

No, no, no. Exit the food section.

Republican hopefuls for 2012. Ugh.

The Cardinals.

The weather.

Shoe shopping.

Fall sweaters.

Soap.

Bubbles.

Tears. Tears. Tears.

Captiva 2009

My friend Jenn calls this the emotional roller coaster of raising children.

Another friend Kaisa once offered this sage advice: Children are like the ocean. Go with it or you’ll drown.

So here we go. Forward march in the constant exercise of trust. God, help us. Here we go.

You will guard him and keep him in perfect and constant peace whose mind [both its inclination and its character] is stayed on You, because he commits himself to You, leans on You, and hopes confidently in You. Isaiah 26:3 AMP

Put yourself in a time out to savor the perfect back to school song. I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends by The White Stripes.

Birds on a Ledge

Stroll through the city with me. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.

Down along the river. Across the bridge then back again. It’s early evening and quiet here. Silent compared to the bustling day.

Look up to the top ledge of a building. Under the signage, still unlit as the sun begins its descent. What are those dots against the concrete? Is that dentil molding? Decorative relief?

One dot moves near the middle. Then a flutter far right, a quiver to the left. They’re birds. Hundreds of them perched in a row across the building. Lined up one by one on the ledge.

image by wili_hybrid via flickr under creative commons license

In comes another, furiously flapping.

“Make room! Make room!” beat his wings.

And they do make room. Comfortably he is enveloped in the rest as if he’d always had a place.

Another lands. And another. One leaves, diving off the edge and lifting up. More come. Some go. Most stay.

The evening sky reaches above the building and the ledge and the ones resting. It’s filled with dots. Thousands more birds in endless, circling flight.

There are plenty of high buildings here, plenty of ledges to make for safe rows. Room enough to keep them all.

Come settle, little flying ones. Break from your wandering journeys, your weary circling and dipping and floating away. Come. Land. Many find rest. And still there is room.

“The servant reported back, ‘Master, I did what you commanded—and there’s still room.'” Luke 14:22 The Message, from a parable of Jesus

Landed by North Carolinian Ben Folds. If the piano alone doesn’t move you, please check your pulse.

This post is in fond memory of Dr. George Worrell.

A Word to the Menfolk

silly smiles

Some of you may be relieved to know tomorrow’s post is gender-neutral.

Apologies to male readers if yesterday’s post made you feel uncomfortable or left out. Always pushing the limit around here.

I’m a girl after all, but the moral still applies I think. And although I love being a girl, I love my guys too! Remember Club MOB?

Hope you’ll come back. Thanks for reading. And thank you for your support.

(Oops, there goes another undergarment pun. Forgive me. I couldn’t resist).

In Christ’s family there can be no division into Jew and non-Jew, slave and free, male and female. Among us you are all equal. That is, we are all in a common relationship with Jesus Christ. Also, since you are Christ’s family, then you are Abraham’s famous “descendant,” heirs according to the covenant promises. Galations 3:28-29 The Message

No Doubt, Just a Girl. Taken with a grain of salt and a giggle, please.

A Firm Foundation

Recently one morning, I was upstairs getting dressed. Something wasn’t right. Couldn’t place it at first. Just felt different. Off-kilter.

Didn’t take long to realize it was my bra. Looked like it had a flat on one side. Upon closer inspection, it was apparent the underwire was missing from the deflated half.

How did the underwire get out? And where was it now?

image used with permission from Kim Powell

I must interrupt this saga to tell you this was no ordinary bra. No, sir. I had tired of ordinary bras months ago.

It couldn’t have been that my old bras had simply worn out. No, that couldn’t have been it. Surely I’d been wearing the wrong size and the wrong bras. I needed a professional fitting by an expert.

Two of my BFFs talked up a lingerie shop in the ritzy part of town.

“Oh, they’re good,” said Peaches ‘n Cream. “They’ll fit you perfectly!”

“And their stuff is beautiful,” said Strawberry Blonde.

“They’re expensive,” said Peaches.

image from my kitchen sink

“But totally worth it,” said Strawberry.

“At least go in and get the fitting,” said Peaches, “and buy one there.”

“Then go to TJ Maxx to buy more,” said Strawberry.

Eureka! No more wimpy straps, pinching hooks and eyes, or dull, lifeless cups. I was going bra shopping uptown.

Peaches and Strawberry were right. The shop was delicious. Beautiful, tasteful undergarments. A perfect fitting. Expensive bras. And so convenient.

My husband had been trying to convince me of the worth of my time. How much was it worth for me to drive all over the city searching for cheaper options when I could be done in one easy, albeit expensive, trip?

So I bought a bra. And I bought another. And one more for good measure. I’d never spent so much on undergarments before. I walked out confident I’d gotten it right this time. I had what I needed and was finished in less than an hour. Could I ever lead The Glamorous Life!

You can understand my brief state of shock the morning the bra blew out.

“Honey,” I said. “Can you come upstairs for a minute?”

captain underwire

“Yes?” he said.

“Did you see a thin wire thingy floating around in the laundry?” I said.

Silence.

“The underwire has escaped from this bra,” I said.

Silence. Poor man. Grew up with all brothers.

“What does it look like?” he finally said.

He retrieved the underwire from the laundry. It had mischievously punctured its encasement and slipped out. I repaired the bra best I could.

It doesn’t matter where you get it, how it comes to you, or even how much it costs you. What matters is how it holds up. How it does its job. How true it is to its purpose. The moral of the story? You’re sunk without a firm foundation.

“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. Rain poured down, the river flooded, a tornado hit—but nothing moved that house. It was fixed to the rock.” Matthew 7:24-25 The Message, from a parable of Jesus

Michael Card sings the timeless hymn How Firm a Foundation with a Celtic twist. Someone called Beanscot set the song to pictures with an American twist. Melodramatic, but let yourself watch. You may end up teary-eyed like I did.

Team Steven

me & Steven Curtis Chapman

Standing in line last week to board a plane to Nashville. Gee, I thought to myself. That voice sounds familiar.

Turned around to see none other than Steven Curtis Chapman. We were on the same flight!

Might not have recognized him except for his voice. I’d heard his voice in an interview on Joy FM earlier that morning and a thousand times before. Added up, I’ve been listening to this man sing for 20 years.

The line was moving fast and soon he was out of reach. I’ll look for him on the plane, I thought.

That didn’t happen either because I found a front row seat. I happily spent the short flight sitting between a man who slept the entire time and a lovely 84-year-old woman who recounted to me her adventures traveling the world with her late husband. She may get a post of her own.

But before the plane took off, I updated my Facebook status: Steven Curtis Chapman is on my flight to Nashville!

When we deplaned an hour later, I figured I’d lost my chance to speak to him. Then I turned on my iPhone to check messages. A dozen excited Facebook comments popped up on my status along with a groundswell of likes.

Oh, dear. I vowed if I saw him again I would speak to him. I had to. For the team. And I got my chance in baggage claim. Yes, he carries his own luggage.

The businesswoman in me firmly shook his hand while the fan in me gushed and giggled. He was so gracious, so unpretentious, so normal.

Who among us cannot relate to the story of his songs and the story of his life? Love. Grace. Salvation. Adoption. Triumph. Tragedy. Grief. Mercy. Renewal.

(1990) Tomorrow morning if you wake up and the sun does not appear, I will be here.

(1992) Go on and say what you need to say while it’s still called today.

(1996) But when it all comes down, you know it all comes down to the walk.

(1999) So sink or swim I’m diving in.

(2004) You spoke and made the sun rise to light up the very first day.

(2008) It’s all Yours, God. Yours, God. Everything is Yours.

(2009) Out of these ashes, beauty will rise.

(2011) Do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you.

on 2nd ave north

Keep singing, Mr. Chapman. The team’s listening and loving every word.

He has given me a new song to sing,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what He has done and be amazed.
They will put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40:3 NLT

Hmm, what video to link up here. You choose: Dive or Do Everything or both. How’s that for interactive?

St. Louis area readers may like to know Steven Curtis Chapman will be singing in our city on October 13th. He will be joined by special guests Andrew Peterson and Josh Wilson. At time of publication only a few tickets remained. Get thee to joyfmonline.org quick.