Spa Spectacles

Last night I had my first spa experience. Mattie and I were spending the night at the Bridges to keep Bailey, Josiah, and Emma company while their parents were out of town. Bailey had been researching facials, and she made us a mini spa in the living room. There was candlelight, oatmeal, cucumbers, chocolate, everything.
Mattie and Emma wanted to give me a makeover, first, so they powdered and brushed and poked at me for a little while. After a look in the mirror, I didn’t really notice that they’d actually made me over, but Mattie explained that she didn’t want to freak me out.

Poor Emma was the one who got freaked out. Bailey mixed up her yummy looking oatmeal/milk/strawberry concoction and laid Emma out on the floor with a headband around her face. Then she spread the goo. It smelled really good. But the stuff was COLD. So Emma giggled and wiggled and had various kinds of fits, while Bailey was tried to get her to calm down and have a spa moment. Mattie and I were rubbing her feet with aromatic peony lotion, music was playing…who wouldn’t have been relaxed? But I had to laugh, because I knew I’d be just like her when my turn came, and worse, if anyone was messing with my feet like that!

After Bailey rebuked my irreverent attitude (it being non-conducive to the general spa-mosphere we were trying to attain), I tried to shape up and enjoy the spa moment, but I couldn’t seem to shake old habits. I couldn’t help thinking that strawberries, milk, and oatmeal sound (and smell) an awful lot like dessert, and didn’t our Mommies always tell us NOT to get food all over our faces? I mean, here’s Emma, getting cold food smeared all over her face while she lays on her back on the floor with her eyes shut while two other people hold her by the feet. And Bailey wants her to relax!

So, it wasn’t really as bad as all that. In fact, it was so fun, that, once Emma had dried up and washed off, Mattie did it too. And then, we began talking about other kinds of facials, and Bailey’s wheels started turning, and in the end, we declared a state of emergency and the five of us jaunted off to Kroger and bought two cucumbers, a bottle of lemon juice, and a substantial supply of chocolate. (Josiah was only along as body guard/innocent non-interested bystander; he wasn’t getting a facial).

While we stood in the candy aisle expostulating over the chocolate (why can’t everyone just like dark?) we thought about yogurt, too. I thought about yogurt. And said something about yogurt.

“Oh, I saw a recipe for a facial with yogurt in it,” Bailey said enthusiastically.

“Sounds yummy,” I said. Bailey grimaced cutely at me.

“Cassie, you have to think…”

“Facially.” I agreed, shame-facedly. “I know. I’m trying. Why do these facials have to be made out of all the food I like?” After all, what kind of world is it when you pay good money for good yogurt once in a blue moon and it never even gets to your mouth? Well, in your mouth.

Well, we got back home safely and set up the “real” spa. Enter chocolate. Enter candles. Enter pretty acoustic music. Bailey made us a refreshing drink by putting a spritz of lemon juice and some cucumber slices in a pitcher of cool water, and Emma made up a veggie tray and laid out the chocolate. Then they laid me on the floor and Bailey doctored me up. I was determined to relax, despite the fact that my last external oatmeal experience was when Mom slathered me with cold oatmeal paste to sooth my raging chicken pox last year. Actually, in spite of the cold and gooiness and the slight tickling sensations going on in the foot region as Mattie and Emma stuck cotton between my toes, the whole thing was very pleasant. I must have been a regular spa spectacle. Pink oatmeal caked on my face, twin cucumber slices balanced precariously over my eye sockets, hair sticking in all directions. Bailey did a great job with the facial, and it smelled heavenly. Strawberries and oatmeal. Reminded me of birthday cake. And then, Bailey rubbed my head and Mattie and Emma massaged my hands. I was totally pampered out. When the oatmeal had dried, I washed it off, and sure enough, my face felt great.

We tried to do Bailey too, though we aren’t exactly pro’s like she is. :) But hopefully she got to enjoy the affect too. It was a fun, girly evening that I certainly won’t forget :)

The Most Patriotic Thing I've Ever Done

Today I voted for the first time! Yay! It was the most patriotic thing I've ever ever done. I loved it. I appreciate my dear country more for having actually taken part in its well being.

All the political palaver makes me want to puke, and I want to go bury my head in the sand like an ostrich to avoid the unpleasantness, but I recognize that debates are sometimes necessary, and the truth has to come out, even if it is with a lot of demoralizing garbage. At this point, I confess, I still rely on Dad's views because I haven't researched for myself. I've made my faith my own, but not my politics, yet :) But I will. The privilege and dignity of voting is great incentive to take up the responsibility with gusto.


Must go now...will write more sometime soon.

Big Dreams in a Little Teacup

Mattie, Mom, and I just got back from a fun overnight trip to Jefferson with our girl cousins, Aunt Robin, and Grammie.

I've got the SAT tomorrow, so I've been spending the afternoon diligently avoiding all forms of study. No, I really was going to come home and stuff in some more algebra. It seems though, that just cramming in more numbers and frets is only going to make me worry. I guess the best preparation is to rest, relax, drink tea, and...maybe have some sewing therapy? Hmm. That will certainly keep my mind off of it, but I'm afraid it will also keep me up at night. Thinking about sewing causes me more sleep deprivation than anything else barring Starbucks (and more often!) I just get so involved and wound up.

It was a great time at the Bed and Breakfast. I sort of feel like all I do these days is party (but that's not entirely true!). It was a special treat from Grammie for conglomerated birthdays.

We pretty much took over the house. In the midst of a kafuffle over who was going to sleep where, Elizabeth and I ended up in the room we were both secretly coveting, even though we never said a word. The ceilings were about 14 feet tall, wallpapered in pale blue with white trim and simple white lace curtains on the tall windows. The gigantic bed was draped with a canopy of something suspiciously like mosquito netting (at least that's what I thought of first.) It was all rather breathtaking...the garden, the daffodils and jonquils in bloom. The whole house had a homey, restful atmosphere that made me want to patter around in sock feet, and gave me a queer ache inside.

I was so inspired. I pored over several Country Living Magazines in the "conservatory" (the dining room with lots of windows opening onto the garden where there was a good spot for drinking tea and having fresh cookies and visiting). I'd never looked at current issues of Country Living, so I was kind of dazzled with the artistic flair of home decorating. I fell in love with the fabrics. Scissors began to dance dangerously through my head, shredding up old clothes and visiting Goodwills to start a little artistic sewing myself. Of course, this comes a little late. My room has just been redone. But I was thinking tableclothes...clothe napkins (which I think are so homey) and bags...skirts...cushions.

All of us had a splendid "girl time" together, and after 9:30 Liz and I sat in the giant bed and looked at more decorating magazines. We hardly said a word to each other, but I think we had fun. At 11 we turned the lights out and hit the sack (a rather luxurious sack, I must add), but I coudn't go to sleep. I tossed and turned, listening to the old wooden floor creak and the train screaming by just down the street, and...thinking.

I feel like I have a disease. I can hardly enjoy the beautiful things I see because I'm so craving to create them myself. I want to snip and sew and paint and play the piano and sing and dance and do calligraphy and make delightful food and plant tulips and write and make cozy corners for teatimes. All at once. Without spending any money, preferably. I think I'm a little crazed, and I usually go 'round in circles with it, concluding that "what's the use, it's all going to burn up anyway." But this morning, when I had woken from an interlude of fitful sleep at a bright, early, and unexpected 6:15, I crept out to the white porch swing in the damp morning with my coat and pondered it a while. I thought about the verse in 1 Timothy 6 that says that God has "given us all things for our enjoyment." I don't want to waste my life getting tied up with the things of this world, or spend my life on work that has no eternal value, but the thought that was in my head was, maybe I am supposed to look for beauty right here, right now, and do what I can at this moment, in this day, to bring joy to other people, and to point us to God. Creating is certainly a godly quality trait! We can't make anything apart from Him. It's all a gift from Him. I can't go out today and take art lessons or decorate a house, but I can send a pretty card to a friend, draw a doodle in my journal, and drink tea out of an enchanting teacup!

Today I did stifle my inner penny pincher and make way for delight: I bought a beautiful teacup. It's a pale irridescent wintery blue with silvery-gold and white designs- very delicate and beautiful and breakable, and entirely unpackable. Since I plan on making it the first of a lifelong collection, however, I will have to just pack it on faith and tote it around the world as I go :)

See, one of my dreams is to have a home where people come and stay, whether for short or long, a place where teacups are in definite cirrculation. No dust. Dusty collections are my dread. There will be lots of gathering together, lots of meals together, lots of prayer and rest and good things. I'd love to make a tranquil, delightful haven for seeking, weary people, a little like Francis Schaeffer's "L'bri." I want people to seek God and know Him. I want them to know others, without being rushed and pressured. I want there to be beautiful things in the house that point people to God and help create a restful atmosphere. Pictures of bare trees in the snow. Light, fresh curtains. Fresh cut flowers. Tea in teacups. Long talks in cozy corners. Tulips and daffodils and shade trees outside. Paintings inside. Rich, soothing colors. Lamplight, candles, firelight. Warm soup in big bowls. Scripture stenciled in gold around door frames. I don't know. It's just a fantasy. I know that I can't create a utopia, and I should know well from observation that external things don't make a peaceful place. But it's just a dream, after all. I like it. And you have to start small. That's why I bought the teacup.

Little Vespucci's and My Personal Bean Craze

What to say about today…

I’m tired after threedaysofnonstopbusiness (work, math, and an abbreviated English class with the girls). After tomorrow morning, though, I’m home free…Mattie, Mom, and I are going to spend the night in Jefferson at a bed and breakfast with Grammie, Aunt Robin, and cousins. A special treat from Grammie. And after that, on Saturday…the SAT. Last night I started feeling nauseous as I lay in bed thinking about it. What is my deal?

When I arrived at the Crowe’s today , the house was strangely hushed. Deb was on the phone, but she pointed out the back the back door and told me the kids had gone “exploring” down to the lake next door. They had set their watch alarms and were supposed to be heading back to be home for school. I went outside and looked for them, but there was only the dry, bare pasture and a cold, stiff February wind. No kids in sight. I walked to the fence and called for them, and saw some movement in the brush across the field, plus a silent black cow adorning the landscape. She looked a little puzzled, but wasn’t complaining. Maybe she knew the visitors.
I yelled for Bronwyn several times, but I could see that no one could hear me. So I tested the tight new barbed wire and cautiously squeezed through it (not noticing, of course, that there was a gate a few yards away with less perilous squeeze room).

The cow regarded me placidly, but she didn’t have any horns. That’s a good thing, because I still retain a vestige of that childhood fear of cows…
Soon they saw me and came running, full of their adventures. Bryce, the neighbor kid, was with them.

“We were trying to come home, but Bryce is still on the other side of the ditch,” Broderic explained, make a wrinkly sort of sniff with his nose like he often does when he’s talking to me, “Bryce is kinda chicken about these things.”
Brent poured everything out to me in tumbling, glumped up bits of sentences.

“We were trying to get away from home.” He said, “We went exploring by the lake and then Broderic and me were trying to get home, but we couldn’t find ourselves.”
Yes, well, that is a problem.

“My arms are covered in prickys and scratches,” he continued, rubbing the offended arms vigorously. Bronwyn emerged from the brush and the exiled Bryce found his way around the “ditch” without falling in. Tucker came running up and grabbed me, obviously elated.

“It’s my bolth-day, Cassie!” That it was. We went back to the house to start school. I worked with Bron and the boys did other things. Poor Bryce had to go home, a looking pained and lonesome.

It’s fun being with the kids. Yesterday, I was in Bronwyn’s room and Broderic came in, glanced around, and said, “Huh, I thought I smelled you in here.” I hope that’s a good thing  Bronwyn and I are reading Hans Brinker, and it’s the perfect part of school time when we curl up in a blanket and she snuggles up to my shoulder while I read to her. I love seeing her get interested in the book. Whenever we stop she begs for “just one more…” and I really don’t mind obliging!

Tonight I was trying to convince Mom that falafel is yummy… but she didn’t buy it. At first she only thought it sounded weird, but when I told her that you make it with chickpeas, I lost her forever. There was that diet back in the early 90’s that ruined her forever…

Well, I found a recipe for falafel in the newspaper accidentally, and since I’m in a current fascination with beans of all kinds, I want to try it. I had no idea you could sprout any old bean in a jar. I should have known from seeing our compost, though I can’t admit to giving much study to a pile of rotten food. I love sprouts, and we’ve made alfalfa sprouts before, but now I want to try sprouting pintos and garbanzos and whatever others I can get my hands on. We all know what a bad rap beans get…but I think they’re underrated and misunderstood little vegetables. Wait…are they vegetables?

Yeah, will, I think it would be great to make a sandwich like the one in the newspaper, which we actually had once at Mrs. Burklin’s for geography class (on Israel, I think). You make the falafel balls out of sprouted chickpeas, garlic, eggs, and other ingredients, then chop them up and put them in a pita with salad and yogurt and…wal-lah! A sandwich my Mom will sure miss out on. Oh well. It’s just a fantasy unless I manage to

1) Induce Mom to buy garbanzo beans (well, she did agree to)
2) Actually sprout the garbanzo beans
3) Actually make falafel
4) Somehow procure some real yogurt
5) Make pitas some time in the near future
6) Get around to putting them all together

Since I don’t seem to be around the house that much for now, I don’t know if I’ll do it, but I did try a good bean recipe in the crockpot today. I liked it, and I could detect a measure of approval even from the less-bean-eaters of the family. It was just pintos with two chopped up pork chops, onions, minced garlic, salt, pepper, cumin, a little oregano, and two dried chili peppers, which added some spice. We have yet to find out how they rate gastronomically.

A Faithful Witness

I'm sure that at least once in your life you played a game or filled out a form or engaged in a conversation where you got asked the question, "If you could meet any character from history (aside from Jesus), who would it be?" I've been asked several times. I never was sure what to answer. I could think of a lot of heroic people, but none stood out as my particular favorite.

But last night I found someone who stands out. Her name is Blandina, and she lived in the first century a.d.

"Blandina,...one of the noble martyrs, dreaded that she would not be able to witness a good confession, because of the weakness of her body;--[but] Blandina was endued with so much fortitude, that those who successively tortured her from morning to night were quite worn out with fatigue, owned themselves conquered and exhausted of their whole apparatus of tortures, and were amazed to see her still breathing whilst her body was torn and laid open.

The blessed woman recovered fresh vigor in the act of confession, and it was evident annihilation of all her pains, to say--'I am a Christian, and no evil is committed among us.'

...Weak and contemptible as she might be deemed, yet when clothed with Christ, the mighty and invincible champion, she became victorious over the enemy in a variety of encounters, and was crowned with immortality."

-Foxe's Book of Martyrs, from pages 26,27,28, emphasis mine

This woman saw her children tortured and killed before her eyes. Blandina herself endured horrific tortures such as being torn by wild beasts and roasted in an iron chair. She thought she was too weak to face the things she faced...and she was right. But she claimed Christ as her champion. This is the same strong and mighty Champion I know and love, and who helped me conquer just today when I was weak, tired, and afraid. I'm amazed that, while my struggle is nothing compared to hers, our Champion is the same! So I can look at her witness and know that, just like her, I will overcome through weakness. I would love to meet her face to face, and I think that someday I will, when my race is finished.

Precious Hospitality

I'm still thinking about our time with the Johnsons the other night. On Sunday night they invited us over for supper, and we had the most precious time. Just that morning I had been praying that God would give me a chance to have fellowship that night...and He answered!

We came at four, and were going to leave at eight because we were all tired and had a lot to do on Monday. But we stayed till 10! We felt so honored and blessed by their sweet, welcoming family. They made a delicious meal for us, and after supper we visited and Mr. Johnson and some of the kids and Connor played worship songs on various instruments. Others of us sang and danced...we (the girls and little ones) were going crazy dancing in cicles and I felt like I was at, oh, maybe a Jewish wedding or something. Like Fiddler on the Roof! That's sort of a far-fetched fantasy, but that's what I thought of. We had so much fun.

That simple act of hospitality and kindness touched my heart so much. It's so rare in our culture to be invited to a family's house and share a wonderful meal, and to be begged to stay till all hours. Being invited into someone's home is like being invited into their heart. You see more clearly who they are and what they truly value and believe. It takes some willingness to be vulnerable, but it's such a sweet blessing. I went away thinking, "That's what I want my home to be like someday."

Adventures in Barbary, oops, I mean Barbering

I just got done cutting Connor's hair with the clippers. Boy, was he jumpy! Good grief. It's true that I've only done it once before and therefore don't have much experience in the fascinating art of barbering, but like any other skill, it takes practice. Unfortunately for the victims, it takes cutting real heads of hair to really practice ;) Brothers are the perfect subjects. Dad...well, I only tried him once.

The fact that I couldn't remember which settings to use right away probably made Connor feel uncomfortable. I don't know if that had anything to do with the way he nervously gripped Mom's hand-held mirror, his eyes hovering suspiciously over my every move like a mama cat. "Relax." I told him, thinking of the times he's driven me around in the car since he got his license. Then I had to quote Dori. "Trust me on this!"

Well, I can't blame him for being nervous. I hadn't done it in a while. Mom wasn't home. I needed instructions. So he gave them, and I followed them, mostly without incident. I shuffled around in a mound of icky hair clippings to the tune of the obnoxious buzzing clippers, bzzing this way and that. He has (had) a lot of hair.

One thing I figured out very quickly was that you have to use the right language. When in doubt about how you're cutting someone's hair, you shouldn't express it verbally, especially if the victim is already nervous. You should eradicate all traces of "oops" "whoops" and "uh-oh" from your vocabulary. And I'd go so far as to banish the hesitant "hmm" as well. Either muse in silence or give a cheerful running commentary (if truthfully possible) like "I'll just get that little tuft with the other setting." "Just over that ear and we'll be finished." "I'm just evening that side out a bit." Emphasize small amounts. Smile confidently. Stay calm. And if at all possible, persuade the subject to stop stalking your every movement with the mirror.

When it was all over, we both agreed that it looked good. He's a rather handsome dude. And I was proud that I could actually cut his hair, though I hope he doesn't gray prematurely over it :) After all, it's like my Dad says: "The difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is just two weeks." There's not that much to be lost. Of course, it's not my head...