RIBS - THE GREAT EQUILIZER (or Political Theory 101)

I have a suggestion for our nations leaders. The next time you host a big, multinational superpower summit - maybe the next G7 meeting, or a UN event - forego the linen napkins, Contre Fillet of Beef aux Cêpes and Louis Martini Napa Cabernet Sauvignon. Instead, consider a roll of paper towel, a pile of bone-in sauced-up ribs and a pitcher of sweet tea.

Here's my theory. There is no better social equalizer than a succulent, sauce-heavy, grease-dripping-down-your-arms rack of ribs. Who could play one-upsmanship with a barbeque sauce gotee and a paper towel tucked under the collar that is so splattered with dripped goodness that you look like a shot-up mafia extra in a Brian DePalma movie?

Think what could be done for the good of humanity if our leaders could sit together as equals over beef ribs and just hammer out the problems! Better yet, if you want to be a real leader, meet on neutral ground. Let me suggest Famous Dave's. That way, the only one sitting around the garbage can lid who can claim superiority is the one who can ingest the most Devil's Spit.

Now THAT's how you get things done!

Cheddar Cheese Soup

For about 12 years now, I've been making (semi) homemade cheese soup - a perfectly wonderful, rich, hot treat on a cold winter's evening. (And, trust me, it is cold out tonight. The temperature is around 2DC).

Each time I make my soup, I tweak it a little. Sometimes the recipe is elaborate, sometimes just simple. I've used vegetables from finely sliced carrots to rough chopped celery to diced red onion to sauteed mushrooms to broccoli. When I first started making cheese soup, I used to throw in fried bacon. Chopped chicken breast works well also.

Tonight, I kept it simple. Two cans cream of mushroom soup. 1 can of condensed milk (I prefer half-and-half, but, in a pinch...) Half a red onion, chopped, sauteed in sage butter. One bag frozen spinach leaves (thawed first, of course). Yellow mustard, Louisiana hot sauce, a loads of shredded sharp cheddar cheese. Oh... and one bottle of O'Doull's Amber.

Then I browned up some croutons for one top (sage butter and olive oil with Italian seasoning melted together, then torn pieces of leftover yeast rolls tossed in, coated and fried brown and just crisp).

It must have been a good batch. Austin ate all of his!

Next time, I may try to incorporate some goat cheese. That should give it a unique, sharp taste. I'll let you know how it goes.

Au Revoir, 2009...

As I write this, all of Asia and Europe have shucked off the old year, and are embarking on the possibilities that we all hope 2010 will bring. I must admit, I will shed no tears at the passing of this year. It isn't that the year was entirely horrible.

Just stressful.

Which brings me to my real confession. I admit that my attitude has hit bottom this year. My petty grumpiness hit a low. (Writing that sentence in a somewhat detached manner - as if the "grumpiness" itself is the problem and not me - helps me to simultaneously own and duck responsibility for my actions. Did it work?)

The problem... ok, ok... my problem is simple. I have not lived life with passion. I let myself get caught up and swept out in the undertow of busyness and stress. I forgot to approach life with enthusiam and joy and gratitude for all God has done (and continues to do) for me.

No more.

I don't do New Year's resolutions. However, there is something about the changing of the years that makes one want to use it as a demarcation for change.

Change.

Passion.

Joy.

2010 is going to be a blessed year. I can choose to look to Christ for strength and stride forward with gusto. Or I can trudge into drudgery. The choice is mine.

I choose to live as God created me, to do what He has gifted me to do, and to be creative about it. I choose to follow Christ and leave the results to Him.

I choose passion.

I choose joy.

2010 is heading west over the Atlantic Ocean, bringing with it the exhiliration of possibility and newness and change. A fresh breeze. Wonderful opportunities.

Welcome 2010.

Stubble and Stuff

"...wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?" - Job 13:25

Wow... I cannot believe how difficult it is to write this blog entry. It feels like I'm trying to ride a ten-speed uphill with rusty sprockets and a loose chain. Chug, chug.

Chug.

I'm posting again today after lots of thinking about it and meaning to get around to it and hoping to do it and wanting to do it and... well, you get the idea. I'm not procrastinating. I'm just waiting for the right time.

2008 has been so full of stuff that absolutely had to take priority (adoption stuff, parental stuff, school stuff, church stuff, work stuff) that I have managed to stuff my life full with no time to just write. To pray. To think. To ponder.

To be.

I feel I am losing myself in stuff.

Today I am beginning - once again - to review my life and see what's important, what's more important, what's less important, and what just isn't important at all. This isn't the first time I have attempted this exercise. In fact, it isn't the tenth time. And, every time, just when I think I've got it down... along rolls a pile of stuff, just crying out, Don't forget me! I'm important!

And I'm back off the wagon again.

It is time to get healthy again. Time to find time to relax. To invest in my beautiful wife and son. To write. To draw. To pray. To connect.

To be, as opposed to being stuffed.

I think I know what I need to do. Stay tuned.

Life and Rugby at the Center of the Continent

I was sitting here on my lunch break, pondering great ponderances and wondering about this wonderful world we live upon and thinking, "I wonder where the geographical center of the North American continent is."

Lo and behold, thanks to Google, I found it.

Rugby, North Dakota.

A mere four-hundred and forty-odd miles from where I sit.

Sounds like a fun traveling destination. So... what with the weekend coming up, I thought I'd check out Rugby's website.

Looks like the city-wide garage sale is this Saturday.

Hellboy II is showing at the local cineplex.

They have a Victorian Dress Museum. And a bell tower. And the Dale and Martha Hawk Museum, with lots of old farm machinery.

Prairie Village Museum is celebrating it's 23rd anniversary with a village fair.

Oddly enough, no mention of a rugby league. No Rugby rugby team in Rugby.

Gasoline is just under $4.00 a gallon in Grand Forks.

Maybe we'll stay a little closer to home this weekend.

This Week's Fake Horoscope

ARIES (March 21 - April 19)
Be careful of your dinner choices tonight. An incautious poultry entree order will cause you come to the conclusion that you have no idea what bird gave his life to become a "cornish hen". Don't worry, nobody really knows where cornish hens come from. You have two choices: 1) Look to see if there are a lot of pigeons (worse yet, loose feathers) outside the restaurant, or 2) Order the Filet Mignon. But not the "petite" minion (same reason).

TAURUS (April 20 - May 20)
Ease up on the Aqua Velva, sport.

GEMINI (May 21 - June 21)
You are about to become the hero to millions of kids worldwide when you discover the true source of childhood obesity: broccoli, asparagus and brussel sprouts.

CANCER (June 22 - July 22)
The Prize Patrol will not pull up to your house in a beater pickup truck with a window decal of Calvin peeing on Hobbes (or anything else for that matter). Don't open the door, and don't try to cash the big cardboard check.

LEO (July 23 - August 22)
Tonight's "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?" marathon will do nothing for your self-esteem. Read a book instead. One without pictures.

VIRGO (August 23 - September 22)
You're in for a big surprise when a dinnertime ring-of-the-doorbell comes from none other than actor and activist Sean Penn. Tips: put away the camera, turn off the Madonna CD, and don't ask how he feels about the Iraq situation. Keep conversation light: gardening, the kidlets, his brother's music career. No, wait... Michael Penn hasn't had a hit in years... Just keep quiet and play Yahtzee. And, for Pete's sake, let him win!

LIBRA (September 23 - October 22)
Don't track mud across my nice, clean floor!

SCORPIO (October 23 - November 21)
Yes, she said she has a boyfriend. No, she doesn't really have a boyfriend. Neither do any of the other 18 ladies you hit on at Hoppy's Bar and Grill last night - even though they all told you "yes, I have a boyfriend." My advice: see entry above for Leo.

SAGITTARIUS (November 22 - December 21)
Cheese covers a multitude of burned foods.

CAPRICORN (December 22 - January 19)
A glitch in the solar system tonight will mean no astrological events for Capricorn tonight. Sorry for any inconvenience.

AQUARIUS (January 20 - February 18)
No, the Burger King mascot isn't staring at you through your bedroom window. Time to lay off the fast food.

PISCES (February 19 - March 20)
Yes, the Burger King mascot is staring at you through your bedroom window. Time to lay off the fast food.

This Wrinkly Life

I like perfection. I want things to be just so-so - ducks in a row, plans detailed and plain, everything smooth and easy. No muss. No fuss. No wrinkles.

No wrinkles.

Here's my problem: life is wrinkly.

Like a sharpee (the dog, not the ink pen).

Like my shirts (at least when I do laundry).

Like my Grandma Courtney's cheeks (as a very young boy, my little brother once informed our grandmother that her cheeks were soft like rotten apples. He honestly meant it as a compliment. I believe she took it as such - once she stopped laughing).

Smooth. Like velvet. Like a new stretch of freeway. Like pudding.

Like pudding.

Not old-fashioned cooked pudding. That stuff's lumpy. Too much startch.

Like pre-made, factory-plopped pudding-in-a-cup.

What I am slowly accepting is that writing and art are wrinkly as well. And God being gracious and wonderful as He is has been showing me this in gentle little ways. On our recent outting to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, I had an opportunity to study a few paintings up close. (Actually, a little too close. A guard kindly told me to step back so I wouldn't accidentally flick a booger on Gerrit van Honthorst's Denial of St. Peter. Evidently, snot is niot easily removed from 384 year old oil paintings.)

It was a painting by an artist whose name escapes me - a photo-realistic painting - that caught my attention. This huge painting looks just like a photograph.

Until you get up close.

Then you see the paint.

The very minor imperfections.

And I was reminded that everything is imperfect.

Every painting.

Every writing.

Every song.

The beauty comes from what pours forth from the heart and the mind, not the technical proficiency of the artist.

Wrinkly is okay.

Just not too wrinkled.