That Funky Smell

For the past few weeks there has been this increasing funky smell in my house. I've been trying to solve the problem. I deodorized all the drains, made sure all the trash cans were cleaned out, I put the diaper pail outside (even though I didn't think the smell was coming from there). Still the smell grew worse.

Gana took all the recycling out. No better.

Being pregnant the smell was literally making me gag. I started looking through old diaper bags and purses wondering if somehow there was a dirty diaper somewhere. Nope. Not the problem.

A couple days ago I peeked in the back of my chest freezer and saw a bunch of stuff--toys, books, pens--that had fallen back there. So, I pulled it back. And sent Luc back there to remove all the stuff. He started handing me stuff. A hat, a picture book, a Lego. Then he handed me a plastic bag and said, "What's this?" I examined it and realized it was an individually wrapped piece of fish that was decomposing.

Gag, gag, gag. Dry heaving for a few minutes as I got that outside.

I told Gana about it later when he got home. "Oh....you know what.....I think that might have been my fault. A few weeks ago I was looking in the freezer for bread....."

If you have visited me lately and have noticed the funky smell, please know that IT WAS ALL GANA'S FAULT!

:-P

Men!

When Iraqi Women Get Gussied Up

I was recently fascinated by this article.

"BAGHDAD, Iraq - Umm Doha cuts hair and waxes eyebrows in secret from her living room because making women look pretty can get a person killed in her Sunni-dominated Baghdad neighborhood. Hardline Muslim extremists who believe it is sinful for women to appear beautiful in public have forced many beauticians to move their trade underground."

"Besides beauty salons, militants have also targeted liquor stores, barber shops and Christian churches."

Who would have thought that Christian pastors, bartenders, beauticians, and barbers would have so much in common? They all traffic in a healthy dose of rebellion against the domination of the human spirit.

"To those outside of Iraq, the prospect of being killed just for frequenting a hair salon might seem a convincing reason not to go. But despite being targeted by militants, stylists say women here still want to look good — and stylish. Refusing to get a haircut or having their makeup done would be giving in to the violence and despair surrounding them."

"See this salon?" said the stylist Kifah, as she deftly lopped off a woman's dark hair into smart layers in her east Baghdad establishment. "It's never been empty, not through the Iraq-Iran war, the Gulf war or this war. Women are women, they always want to look good."

Women. We have our priorities. Leonard Lauder, the chairman of Estee Lauder claims, “When things get tough, women buy lipstick.”

Lipstick sales when UP during the Great Depression. Lipstick sales doubled after the 9-11 attacks. There is something innate in women that knows what's important.

"One of those women lay back in Kifah's chair. She asked not to be named, fearing identification by the extremists her family had fled. But the woman said the strife made her want to look her best. She said she could not stop the war, but she could boost her morale by looking good. Iraq's violence, she said, was like a person suffering from a high fever. "The fever will break and Iraq will return to normal. But until then, we want to be stylish and look good," she said.

"Here, we give women hope," Kifah said. "They feel like women, even during the worst tragedy."

"If we give some hope here, it helps us carry on," she said, dusting off the salon chair to prepare for her next customer."

This bears witness to something I have believed for a long time. It's a husband's job to make the living and a wife's job to make life worth living.

This reminds me of a play that brings me to tears every time I read it. It's called When Queens Ride By. Here it is for your enjoyment and consideration:

When Queens Ride By

John and Jennie Mangrave had eager plans when they married and took over the old farm. But their great faith dwindled as the first years passed. John worked later and later in the evenings. Jennie took more and more of the heavy tasks upon her own shoulders and had no time for the home and children. They were no further on, and life had degenerated into a straining, hopeless struggle.

One hot afternoon, Jennie was loading baskets of tomatoes to take to town when the children came running to tell her there was a dressed-up lady at the kitchen door. Wearily she followed the children back and saw a woman in a gray tweed coat that seemed somehow to be a part of her brownish hair. She was not young, but she was beautiful! An aura of eager youth clung to her, a clean and exquisite freshness. The stranger in turn saw a young woman, haggard and weary. Her eyes looked hard and haunted. Her calico dress was shapeless and begrimed from her work.

Stranger (smiling): How do you do? We ran our car into the shade of your lane to have our lunch and rest for a while. And I walked on up to buy a few apples, if you have them.

Jennie (grudgingly): Won't you go in and sit down? I'll go and pick the apples.

Stranger: May I go with you? I'd love to help pick them.

Jennie: Why, I s'pose so. If you can get out there through the dirt.

(She led the way along the unkempt path toward the orchard. She had never been so acutely conscious of the disorder about her. She reached the orchard and began to drag a long ladder from the fence to the apple tree.)

Stranger (crying out): Oh, but you can't do that! It's too heavy. Please let me pick a few from the ground.

Jennie: Heavy? This ladder? I wish I didn't ever lift anything heavier than this. After hoistin' bushel baskets of tomatoes onto a wagon, this feels light to me.

Stranger: But do you think you should? Do you think it's right...? Why, that's a man's work!

Jennie (furiously): Right! Who are you to be askin' me whether I'm right or not? A person like you don't know what work is!

Stranger (soothingly): I'm sorry I annoyed you by saying that. If you were to tell me all about it--because I'm only a stranger--perhaps it would help. Why can't we sit down here and rest a minute?

Jennie: Rest? Me sit down to rest, an' the wagon loaded to go to town? It'll hurry me now to get back before dark.

Stranger: Just take the time you would have spent picking the apples. I wish I could help you. Won't you tell me why you have to work so hard?

Jennie (half sullenly): There ain't much to tell, only that we ain't gettin' ahead. Henry Davis is talkin' about foreclosin' on us if we don't soon pay some principal. The time of the mortgage is out this year, an' mebbe he won't renew it. And it ain't that I haven't done my part. I'm barely thirty, an' I might be fifty, I'm so weatherbeaten. That's the way I've worked.

Stranger: And you think that has helped your husband?

Jennie (sharply): Helped him? Why wouldn't it help him?

Stranger: Men are such queer things, husbands especially. For instance, they want us to be economical, and yet they love to see us in pretty clothes. They need our work, and yet they want us to keep our youth and beauty. And sometimes they don't know themselves which they really want most. So we have to choose. That's what makes it so hard. Just after we were married, my husband decided to have his own business, so he started a very tiny one. I helped my husband in the store, but we would both be tired and discouraged after a hard day at the office and we didn't seem to be having any great success. The house got run down and dinner was always a hasty affair, and soon we both started complaining and bickering with each other. Finally, we decided that maybe I should stay at home and let him take care of his work at the office as best he could. And then I worked in my house to make it a clean, shining, happy place. My husband would come home dead-tired and discouraged, ready to give up the whole thing. But after he had eaten and sat in our bright little living room, and I had told him all the funny things I could invent about my day, I could see him change. By bedtime, he had his courage back, and by morning, he was all ready to go out and fight again. And at last he won.

(Jennie did not speak. She only regarded her guest with a half-resentful understanding.)

Stranger: There was a queen once, who reigned in troubled days. And every time the country was on the brink of war and the people ready to fly into a panic, she would put on her showiest dress and take her court with her, and go hunting. And when the people would see her riding by, they were sure all was well with the government. So she tided over many a danger. And I've tried to be like her. Whenever a big crisis comes in my husband's business, or when he's discouraged, I put on my prettiest dress and get the best dinner I know how, or give a party! And somehow it seems to work. That's the woman's part, you know....to play the queen..."

(A faint "honk honk" came from the lane. The stranger started to her feet.) That's my husband. I must go. Please don't bother about the apples. I'll just take a few from under the tree.

(Takingsome coins from her purse) And give these to the children.

Jennie's thoughts were too confused for speech, but, as she watched the stranger's erect figure hurrying toward the lane, she remembered her words with the pain of anger.

Jennie: Easy enough for her to set talkin' about queens! She never felt the work at her throat like a wolf. Talk about choosin! I haven't got no choice, I just got to keep on goin', like I always have....

She stopped suddenly and picked up a fairy-like hanky of white linen that the stranger had dropped. Its faint, delicious fragrance made her think wistfully of strange, sweet things. Of gardens in the early summer dusk; of wide, fair rooms with the moonlight shining in them; of pretty women in beautiful dresses dancing, and men admiring them. She, Jennie, had nothing of that. Everything about their lives, her's and John's was coarseness, soiled somehow by the dragging, endless labor of the days. Suppose....suppose...suppose she were to try doing what the stranger had said, suppose she spent her time on the house and let the outside work go....

Jennie (with sudden resolution): Mebbe I'm crazy, but I'm going to do it.

Jennie brushed her hair, changed her shoes, and put on her one good dress. Then with something of the burning zeal of a fanatic, she attacked the confusion in the kitchen. Buy half-past four the room was clean. Now for supper! she decided upon fried ham and browned potatoes and apple sauce with hot biscuits and pie. With a spirit of daring recklessness, she spread the one white table cloth on the table.

The first pan of the flaky brown mounds had been withdrawn from the oven when Henry Davis' car came up the lane. Cold fear struck Jennie. He could be coming for only one thing. As she stood shaken, wondering how she would live through what the next hour would bring, she heard the words again, "There was a queen once..."

Jennie (cordially): Well, howd' you do, Mr. Davis? Come right in. I'm real glad to see you. Been quite a while since you was over.

Henry (embarrassed): Why no, now , I won't go in. I just stopped to see John on a little matter of business. I'll just....

Jennie: You'll come right in. John will be in from milkin' in a few minutes an' you can talk while you eat, both of you. I've supper just ready.

Henry: Why, now I reckoned I'd just speak to John, an' then be gettin on.

Jennie: They'll see you at home when you get there. You never tasted my hot biscuits with butter an' quince honey or you wouldn't take so much coaxin!

(Henry Davis came in and sat down in the big, clean kitchen. His eyes took in every homely detail of the orderly room.)

Jennie: And how are things goin' with you, Mr. Davis?

Henry: Oh, so so. How are they with you?

Jennie: Why, just fine, Mr. Davis! It's been hard sleddin', but I sort of think the worst is over. We'll be 'round to pay that mortgage so fast come another year that you'll be surprised.

Henry: Well, now, that's fine. I always wanted to see John make a success of the old place, but a man has to sort of watch his investments... Well, now, I'm glad things are pickin' up a little.

Jennie felt as though a tight band at her throat had relaxed. At the kitchen door John stopped, staring blankly at the scene before him...at Jennie's moving about the bright table, chatting happily with Henry Davis! At Henry himself,his sharp features softened by an air of great satisfaction. At the sixth plate on the white cloth--Henry was staying for supper! But the silent depths of John's nature served him well. He made no comment. He merely shook hands with Henry Davis and then washed his face at the sink. Jennie arranged the savory dishes, and they sat down to supper. Henry seemed to grow more and more genial and expansive as he ate. So did John. By the time the pie was set before them, they were laughing over a joke Henry had heard at Grange meeting. As they rose from the table, Henry brought the conversation awkwardly around to his errand.

Jennie (quickly): I told him, John, that the worst's over now, and we're gettin' on fine! I told him we'd be swampin' him pretty soon with payments. Ain't that right, John?

John's mind was not analytical. He had been host at a delicious supper with his ancient adversary, whose sharp face was marvelously softened. Jennie's eyes were shining with a new and amazing confidence. It was a natural moment for unreasoning optimism.

John: Why, that's right, Mr. Davis. I believe we can start clearin' this off now pretty soon. If you could just see your way clear to renew the mortgage.

It was done. The papers were back in Davis' pocket. They had bid him a cordial good-bye from the door. Jennie cleared off the table and began to wash the dishes. John was fumbling through the papers on a hanging shelf. He finally sat down with an old tablet and pencil.

John: I believe I'll do a little figurin' since I've got time tonight. It just struck me if I used my head a little more, I'll get on faster.

Jennie: Well, now you might.

(She polished two big apples and placed them on a saucer beside him.)

John (pleased): Now that's what I like. Say, you look sort of pretty tonight.

Jennie (smiling): Go along with you.

But a wave of color swept up in her sallow cheeks. John had looked more grateful over her setting those two apples beside him now than he had the day last fall when she had lifted all the potatoes herself! Maybe even John had been needing something else more than he had needed the hard, back-breaking work she had beengiving him!Jennie walked to the doorway and stood looking off through the darkness. A thin, haunting breath of sweetness rose from the the bosom of her dress where she had tucked the scrap of white linen. She wished that she could somehow tell the beautiful stranger that her words had been true...that she, Jennie, was going to fulfill her woman's part. She had read the real needs of John's soul from his eyes that evening. Yes, wives had to choose for their husbands sometimes.

At that very moment, speeding along the sleek macadam highway, a woman in a gray coat with a soft gray hat and a rose quill leaned suddenly close to her husband.

Husband: Tired?

Wife: I'm all right. Only, only I can't get that poor woman at the farm out of my mind. It, it was so hopeless.

Husband (smiling tenderly): Well, I'm sorry too, but you mustn't worry. Good gracious, darling, you're not weeping over it, I hope!

Wife: No, truly, just two little tears. I know it's silly, but I did so want to help her and I know that what I said sounded insane. She wouldn't know what I was talking about. She just looked up with that blank, tired face. And it all seemed so impossible. No...I'm not going to cry. Of course, I'm not...but...lend me your handkerchief, will you dear? I've lost mine somehow....

© Copyright 2002-2007 by LAF/BeautifulWomanhood.org

Viva la Difference

Bathroom door signage at the Science Fiction Museum in Seattle

The other night at dinner we had the following conversation:

Luc: There are four boys in our family and one girl. And Beleg is the littlest boy.

Me (in a playful mood): How do you know that Beleg is a boy?

Luc: 'cause his name is Beleg!

Me: Well, what if when he was born I would have called him something else? How do you know?

Luc: 'cause he came out of your tummy!

Me: Well, Meg came out of my tummy and she's not a boy.

Luc: Yeah, but she's a grown-up girl.

Me: But, she's always been a girl. Do you think when Beleg gets older maybe he'll be a girl?

Luc: Noooooooooooooo!

Me: Well, how do you know that Beleg is a boy?

Luc: He just IS Mom!

Israel: Mom, girls have pretty eyebrows and boys have handsome eyebrows.

Ahhhhhh! Enlightenment! Now I understand!

The Perfect Husband

The Bachelor

I’m four weeks postpartum today. During my four weeks I’ve spent quite a significant amount of time channel surfing in the evenings when I’m too beat to actually fold the laundry piled in the chair, but it’s too early to go to bed.

I stumbled across another embarrassing display of modern America. You’ve probably heard of it. It’s called, “The Bachelor.” I saw only the first episode where they showed this Ken-doll of a guy--a military man, a doctor, an athlete and all around demi-god. Then they show about 25 brainless twits of women who are to compete for his affection over a course of weeks. Not that these women don’t have general intelligence, ‘cause they have jobs like a financial analyst, graphic designer, and organ donor coordinator. Yet, there is something deeply lacking upstairs in any woman who wants to be on national TV competing with other women for the affection of an over-inflated male ego.



Is this where decades of feminism has left us? Career women so desperate for a good-man that they’ll debase themselves by foolishly and collectively fawning over ONE guy?! "Pick me, pick me, pick me!" What are we choosing team members for a playground game of kickball?

How does this way of finding a spouse at all resemble real life? Can you imagine if this Andy fella chooses his bride this way, how they will make other decisions? What if they decide to adopt a child? They’ll call up the orphanage, have 25 children sent over, and have the children compete for who will be their child through a series of challenges. The contest will be open for all orphaned children ages 3-6, providing they are beautiful and have a great haircut. The challenges will be things like shoe-tying at 3am. Eating spaghetti over white carpet. And paint-by-number.

The whole premise of the competition is flawed. You don’t choose a spouse because they have great hair, can hold their liquor, and look great in bikini. Before too long we all lose our hair or go grey. Everyone acts like the village idiot when they’ve had one too many. And those great bikini bodies will eventually have stretch marks and flab.

Pitiful. Just pitiful.

I have an idea for a new reality TV show. How about a competition to look for people who can write for television!

Men

I love men. Seriously, I think they are the most remarkable creatures. First of all, they own things like painters tape, ratchet straps, and stuff to stop leaks in laundry hoses. Things I don’t know the uses for (like all those different kinds of screwdrivers?) and things I would never even think to buy (like stuff to clean the tires?) and stuff I didn’t know existed (like a nifty emergency hammer thing that is in my glove box that will break the window and cut the seatbelt if I’m ever trapped in the car--funny how now that it's there, I'm itching to use it.) are all in my husband’s possession.

This past weekend (two days before Christmas, mind you), my brother-in-law and my brother helped us move from Atascadero to Pasadena.

I wish I would have taken a picture, but the camera was already packed! We didn’t rent a truck. My brother loaded his truck and landscaping utility trailer. My brother-in-law loaded his Toyota Tacoma. My husband loaded his Suzuki Sidekick and we packed my mini-van. If you ever thought that hours of playing Tetris were a waste of time, you have never seen three men pack a house full of stuff into regular trucks. It was incredible. Each piece was perfectly fitted, every space utilized and not an inch wasted. There is simply no way I could have done it—even with the help of my sister and sister-in-law. It just would never have happened. So, I love men. I appreciate them.

Another great thing about men is that men have muscles. (Oh, I’m sure some woman reading this might feel slighted. But, if you’ve read my blog for any amount of time, you’d know that I’m not a feminist. Men have better muscles than women, plain and simple.) They can lift heavy boxes, carry a washer and dryer and a fully loaded chest freezer up a flight of stairs and become only slightly winded and need a sip of water and to take off their shirts and they are ready to carry the next thing! I find this very fascinating, because if I had just done that level of lifting, I’d put on a pot of tea and put my feet up! Well, maybe not, but I would have at least bragged about it to all my friends. But, men just take it as a matter of course. They are men. That’s what they do.

Joel (brother-in-law), Josh (brother), Dad, and Abishai (nephew)

Men seem more confident in their own skin than most women. There are a few exceptions of extremely confident women and visibly insecure men. But, whether men are truly insecure or not, it’s difficult to tell. They look cool without trying to. They can throw on a favorite pair of jeans and a ratty t-shirt and accomplish all their day’s tasks without stopping once to see if their hair is out of place or stopping to look around to see if anyone is checking them out. If someone doesn’t like them, they don’t lose any sleep over it. If someone shows up to a party wearing the same shirt they do not die of embarrassment. In fact, they’ll be fast friends and will probably be playing golf, basketball, or watching the game together the next weekend. They don’t worry if the house is messy and they have to have their relatives over. Most men I know just seem more confident than most women I know.

Where would the world be without these wonderfully strong, clever, confident, hardworking, sometimes sweaty, and very masculine men?

With all their amazing talents and character and power tools, I guess there just isn’t room to remember where the laundry basket is.

Gana and Captain

Father's Day

Today is Father’s Day. I helped my kids prepare for Father’s Day. I really talked a lot about it and helped them to really look forward to a day to honor their daddy! They made a “Nuts and Bolts Paperweight” for him. They had fun keeping that secret and working on it all week. (Instructions below)

Last night Meg made me promise to wake her up early so she could make breakfast for her daddy. So, I woke her up when Caesar woke me up! The three of us went to the kitchen. Meg made a “Tea Ring” (pastry stuffed with three different kinds of berries, coconut and walnuts). She was quite pride of her accomplishment, as was I!

We tried to keep quite this morning as we had our breakfast and dressed for church and let Daddy sleep a little. Finally we took him a breakfast in bed. And the kids presented him with their cards and presents.

They played with him for a while in bed while he ooo-ed and aaawww-ed over their gift. Then they went to make their beds and prepare for church. I took a few minutes and had coffee with Gana, expressing to him how much I admired him as a father. Our kids are so enthralled with him. They think there is nothing he can’t fix, nothing he can’t afford, nothing he can’t create, nothing he can’t do! The kids have yet to realize that he can’t cook to save his life or to have the way he chews gum get on their nerves. Right now he is just the strongest and bestest man in the world.

And I think that’s fantastic that they feel that way! The day will come when they’ll know his shortcomings. But, I encourage them to look up to their dad all I can. I know that they will be able to see and accept God as a father because they have a father who loves them and cares for them so well.

This week I read a quote from “Parenting Isn’t For Cowards.” It said, “The way a boy sees his father is largely a product of the things his mother says and the way she feels.”

I think this is so true. Ephesians 5:33 says, “And the wife must see to it that she deeply respects her husband—obeying, praising and honoring him.”

And this reason this is so important, I believe, is because the way a little child sees his father is often the way he will see the Lord when he is an adult!

Today I am very thankful for my husband being a great dad and I want everyone to know it!

Daja

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NUTS AND BOLTS PAPERWEIGHTIn a large mixing bowl, mix together plaster of Paris and water (two parts plaster to one part water). Stir until the mixture is smooth. Give the students a handful of plaster and let them mold the plaster into a mound, about 3" in diameter. Decorate by pressing with a variety of nuts, bolts, nails, and screws into the surfaces. Set the paperweights on old newspapers to dry for two or three days. Spray paint them silver after they dry. Trace paperweight onto a piece of felt and cut out. Trim edges and glue to bottom of paperweight for protective covering for bottom.