Each Wednesday I’ve been recording a Curiosity Journal to recap the previous week using these tag words: reading, playing, learning, reacting and writing.

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Reading

Still reading The Thinking Life: How to Thrive in the Age of Distraction. It’s a short book. Seriously, it’s so short I should already be finished, but I only have time to nibble a few pages at a time. It’s okay to go slow, though, and ponder his ideas. That is, in fact, one of his points: take time to reflect.I was pleased to read at the end of Chapter 2 a few words about the benefits of writing about our lives:

By the way, science has determined beyond a doubt that writing about your life—present and past—can be good for both your body and your psyche. Among other things, it strengthens your immune system and reduces the damages of stress. (Forni 28)

I knew writing about life was good, but I didn’t know it strengthened the immune system. All the more reason to blog, right?In a section about multitasking, Forni refers to a woman named Linda Stone (whom he described as “a distinguished expert on the impact of the new technology on our daily lives”) and borrowed her phrase “continuous partial attention” to describe how many of us spend our days (32). It’s a wordy way of saying “inattentive,” but the phrase sticks with me, reminding me of the importance of devoting my full attention to people and tasks. I don’t want to give my family, friends, and work “continuous partial attention.” I want to be fully here.He does, thankfully, assure readers that a person’s power of attention can be strengthened with training and practice. Among other things, he advocates taking time to reflect and write down the activities of the day. Preserving them in this way honors each moment we’ve been given. Engage with life, Forni advises, so that it doesn’t slip away:

What remains of all our yesterdays if we spent them without attention and conviction? It is as though we never lived them…We did not value life enough to pay attention to it as it was happening…The more you value life, the more you engage with it. (37, 38)

Oh, let me cherish the moments.

Playing

I personally hate surprises, but I love surprising others who love to be surprised.See “Learning” (below) for details.

Learning

This weekend I arrived at a local elementary school to celebrate a friend’s 75th birthday. Her family concocted various excuses that led her to the school cafeteria where we were waiting, trying hard not to whisper too loud in the dim, echo-y space. As the school nurse, she has keys to the building and could let herself in. She walked down the hallway toward the room, and when she stepped through the doorway, someone flipped the light switch and we all shouted “Surprise!” and her face, oh, her face, her whole self, seemed overcome by a wave of love.One of the highlights of the afternoon was the open mic. Friends and family took turns at the mic telling stories, praising the birthday girl, rising up and calling her blessed. She has never been rich from the world’s perspective, and she’s never taken to a hobby, but “she collects people,” one of her daughters said.There we were: her collection, perched on metal folding chairs, sipping orange punch, eating slices of chocolate cake, delighting in her.Under the fluorescent lights of the elementary school cafeteria, I realized this is how I want to celebrate my own birthday in 30 years: Laughing with friends, telling stories, scanning the room and marveling at God’s treasures placed in my life for a year…or a lifetime…to love well.

Reacting

This morning my son and I started down the front hallway in opposite directions. As he turned sideways slightly to pass, I reached out to hug him. He turned to me and wrapped his long, thin arms around me: first one, then the other, then a squeeze, then a tighter squeeze. He leaned into me and I had to reach out and press my hand against the wall to keep from falling over. Finally, he pulled away first one arm, then the other. He looked up and smiled sweetly.”You know what?” he asked.”What?””I think God chose the perfect mom for me,” he said, eyes intent on mine.”Really?”He nodded.”How interesting,” I said, “because I think He chose the perfect son for me.”He stared at me, his chapped lips stretched taut across his face in a smile that wouldn’t stop. I held his loving gaze until he finally nodded slowly and skipped into the living room.

Writing

I’m enjoying my work editing the “I Do” series at The High Calling. Today’s post by Seth Haines—the final in the series—is a call to preserve the truth about our marriages.

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Note: Affiliate links included.Works Cited: All images by Ann Kroeker. All rights reserved. Forni, P. M. The Thinking Life: How to Thrive in the Age of Distraction. St. Martin’s Press: New York, 2011. Print.

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The post Curiosity Journal: February 29, 2012 appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Hat tip to Garry Poole for pointing me to the “Validation” video.

The post Validation appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

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Each item makes a different sound as it rolls or thumps against the plastic: for example the whip—nothing more than a strip of leather—can be hard to guess as it softly brushes against the insides like a whisper, whereas we can easily identify the metallic chinka-chink of the noisy coins…

….continued at TheHighCalling.org.

Credits: Image by Jeff Carlson. Used with permission via Flickr. 

The post The Empty Egg appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

My parents tell me I was about four years old, dancing down the sidewalk, on the lookout for a hippie.Apparently my older brother announced that he had seen a hippie, so I raised a fuss about wanting to see one, as well. It was the early 1970s, so you’d think hippies would be commonplace, but we lived in a conservative Midwestern town where cultural trends developed slowly.Fortunately, we were visiting the college campus where my parents met—a location that held much more hippie-spotting potential than our hometown—and they told me what a male hippie might look like: long hair, a beard, maybe sandals or bare feet…….continued at TheHighCalling.org.

Credit: Image by ArtMarijke, available via Flickr under a Creative Commons license.

The post Crossing Cultures appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Last year's garden

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This post is part of Charity’s THC community-building project, “There & Back Again.”

I went to TheHighCalling.org member Seth Haines’ blog and read his post “A Community Garden,” which inspired me to write something of my own.Each Thursday, consider going “There and Back Again” yourself. It’s simple.Here are Charity’s steps:

1. Choose another High Calling Blogger to visit. It can be someone you have “met” before, or do what I do, and work your way through the “Member Posts” section of thehighcalling.com to meet someone new.
2. Visit his blog, digesting the message until it becomes something that you can write about.
3. Go back to your blog and write about it, being sure to link to the post that gave you the idea so that your readers can visit, too.
4. Add the button to your blog so your readers know you are participating in “There and Back Again.”
5. Go back to the Network blog and leave a comment so your new friend can feel the link love!
6. Complete the journey by returning here, to Wide Open Spaces, and enter your link so that we all can benefit from the new High Calling connection you have made.

Credit: Image by Ann Kroeker.

The post There & Back Again: Time to Get our Fingers Dirty appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

[T]ears streamed from his eyes as he read about ‘The Inconsolable Heartburn…by which the heart looks out astonished at the world and in its loving, wakes and breaks at once.’ This heartburn, Capon says, this sadness for what is not yet here is ultimately a longing for God’s final feast, the supper of the Lamb, when the Host of Creation will set all things right and will do so more beautifully than we can imagine. (Fields 76)

She reflects on this with astonishment:

The created order cries out—I knew that from Romans. Creation groans for further greatness still. Greatness in the kitchen? Greatness as a supper? …As if it were a near-death experience, my life flashed before me … I remembered my first taste of Communion wine at midnight Mass in the Colorado Rockies, my favorite sugar cream pie, and my grandmother’s homemade noodles with chicken. (Fields 76)

Like I said, her writing—her story—left me stunned. I’m not entirely sure why I connected so strongly with her piece, but I’ve continued living with my own food recollections. It seems that each day, scenes flash before me; blurry snapshots from my history with food slowly come into focus:

• Spooning my own grandmother’s noodles over mashed potatoes, starch on starch—forking down serving after serving until my stomach pooched out.
• Attempts at making whole wheat bread, mixed and kneaded by hand as a teenager—each loaf turning out more brick-like than bread-like.
• First taste of sautéed mushrooms prepared by my college roommate when we rented a house together.
• Learning to make my mother-in-law’s roux.
• My first successful crepes.

Harlan’s essay convinced me to order The Supper of the Lamb. She says:

Capon warns in his book that The Supper of the Lamb is a way of life, not merely a recipe that requires eight chapters of diversions to reach a conclusion. I read the book and reread it, as this way of life becomes mine. And I will tell you the truth: I’ve never grown tired of exploring the minute corners of life. I tossed a handful of lettuce seeds into the potted rosemary plan several days ago, and the sprouts stretch green leaves upward, and the anticipation grows. It might not work, but I had the seeds handy, and I was hungry for green things. I am hungry, still. (Fields 79)

I am hungry, too, for green things; for good words and good food; for bread and for truth.The Occasional VegetarianSo I read on. This week’s book club selection included “Tasting the Animal Kingdom,” in which I was taken back to my teens.Like Alissa Herbaly Coons, I committed to vegetarianism around age thirteen. Though my dad raised Black Angus cattle, my parents—Mom in particular—supported my decision. Dad worried that I wouldn’t get the protein I needed, but Mom fixed vegetarian casseroles as a main dish for me and a side dish for the rest of the meat-eating family.At Thanksgiving that year, my beloved grandmother prepared a turkey. I was torn. Should I take a serving to honor her labor of love? Or should I stick to my vegetarian lifestyle?As I smelled the turkey and remembered how it tasted—and as I looked at my grandmother’s beaming smile—I made my decision.I took a serving of Grandma’s turkey savoring forkfuls of dark meat—alongside her noodles, of course—and I gave thanks: for turkeys and family and Grandma. I think she was pleased that I ate it all.And it was very good.These days I’m eating meat, but I’ve been known to suddenly convert back to a plant-based diet again. Each time I transition to or from the vegetarian lifestyle, I find myself appreciating all food, all sustenance, more than I would if I ate without thought and concern.I was touched as I read about Coons’ careful preparation of a chicken all the way to boiling the carcass with vegetables to make stock. A sense of reverence and gratitude flow through her story to the end:

For hours, I boiled the last nutrients out of the chicken, claiming the goodness of its skeleton for myself and for the soups of my future, a small act of faith in my slow reconversion. As I strained the brother and finally discarded the bones, I found the wishbone, whole in the pot, which had slipped unnoticed through my earlier bone breaking. I held it for a moment, and then I left it intact. (Fields 95)

Sitting in my fridge is a container of stock that I made from the turkey carcass at Thanksgiving. I froze it in November, but recently pulled it out to thaw and use in a sauce.With what remains, I will make soup. Vegetable soup.

Join the conversation at TheHighCalling.org.

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Source:The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting Toward God, edited by Leslie Leyland Fields. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. 2010.

Photos by Ann Kroeker.

The post The Spirit of Food: Food Heritage and The Occasional Vegetarian appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

(smaller button below)

Here at the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe.If you want, you could simply describe Christmas leftovers and New Year’s Eve snack plans OR join the book club at TheHighCalling.org; because, you see, we’re pretty relaxed over here. Posts like that are as welcome as menus and recipes.When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button (the big one above or smaller option at the bottom) to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually.Then link your post using Linky Tools.

Food on Fridays with Ann

For the next few weeks, the Book Club at TheHighCalling.org (THC) will be dipping into The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting toward God, edited by Leslie Leyland Fields.

The THC Book Club operates something like a blog carnival, where we read, think, and write in response to what we’ve read, then publish our posts and link up on Mondays over at TheHighCalling.org. Join the conversation not only by visiting participants’ blog posts and publishing your own, but also by commenting at the main site.Because The Spirit of Food is all about food, I decided to publish my own book club posts on Fridays, to share with my Food on Fridays friends. If you find yourself inspired to pick up the book, feel free to jump in at any time and join the conversation.Our Book Club facilitator, Contributing Editor Laura Boggess, asked participants to read the first five essays in preparation for this Monday’s discussion (a recipe from the writer follows each essay):

1. “Wild Fruit,” by Patty Kirk (recipe: Apricot, Chokecherry, and Plum Jams)
2. “Late October Tomatoes,” by Brian Volck (recipe: Spicy Tomato Soup)
3. “The Communion of Saints,” by Jeanne Murray Walker (recipe: Scalloped Potatoes for the Church Potluck)
4. “The Land That Is Us,” by TheHighCalling.org editor Ann Voskamp (recipe: Tangy Glazed Pork Roast)
5. “For a Sweet New Year,” by Margaret Hathaway (recipe: Sweet Raisin Challah)

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Though I grew up on a modest farm of forty acres, my dad was not really a farmer. A full-time journalist, he leased out the tillable acres and kept a small herd of Black Angus cattle on the rest. Because Dad was not fully a farmer, I never thought of myself as a farmer’s daughter, even though Dad looked the part when he changed out of his suit and tie and donned his John Deere cap, Carhartt coat and manure-speckled boots.Because I wasn’t fully a farmer’s daughter, I got by being rather lazy when it came to chores. I enjoyed the property, though, playing around the persimmon tree in the back yard, tiptoeing around ripe fruit that thumped to the ground and burst open, oozing pulp onto the ground. We planted a garden most years, and I developed a taste for warm sliced tomatoes eaten plain alongside sweet corn-on-the-cob slathered with butter and coated with salt.I grew hungry for this and more while reading the essays in this section. I craved homemade jam after reading “Wild Fruit” and longed to slice a fresh tomato after reading “Late October Tomatoes.” Oh, how I miss fresh tomatoes this time of year. Reading this book in the dead of winter may prove to be a form of torture, awakening a craving for inaccessible food.When I read “For a Sweet New Year,” I found some relief in the thought that I can bake bread year round. In fact, I resolved to bake bread as soon as possible. I bought more wheat berries some time ago to grind into flour with the little hand grinder we borrowed from a friend. The wheat berries are sitting in a container just waiting to be transformed. I may not be able to pick blackberries in January, or make elderberry jam, but I can bake bread right here and now, even in January; even in my suburban home. Yes, tomorrow I’ll bake bread.Where I lingered longest, though, was with Ann Voskamp’s essay…and not just because she’s a friend. It’s because her prose, like poetry, whispers truth and unsettles the soul. I began to ache a little at the thought that by settling in suburbia, we may have settled for less.Though my dad sold off the cattle several years ago, he still leases the fields to a full-time farmer. Persimmons still fall from the tree in the back yard in summer. And my husband and I wonder sometimes if we should sell our suburban home and move out to the farm. The question Ann poses is one that has haunted us over the years: “How much do I love land?”I don’t know that I love that particular land; it’s just that I could probably have access to it. Dad’s not quite ready to turn the farm over to someone else; yet, if we wanted it, we could probably arrange to tend it. Should we?How much do I love land?The barn and out buildings could use some sprucing up. The fences need work. Are we up to the job?As we wonder, dragging our feet, I’ve been gardening in our back yard plot, where I grow tomatoes and peppers, cucumbers and zucchini.Is that enough?Reading the essays and revisiting the question of land inspired me to snatch up a seed catalog that arrived in the mail. Flipping through, I stopped at photos of apple trees and blackberry bushes. We don’t have the space in our back yard for an orchard. I sighed and looked out at the dormant yard. Unseasonably warm temperatures are melting away the snow to reveal leaves we’d heaped into the garden area. The leaves are contained by bent wire held by green metal fence posts leaning unsteady. I shake my head. We can’t even keep a small back yard garden trim and tidy. How could we repair and rebuild a barn and out buildings and mend fences surrounding 40 acres? How could we manage an entire farm? Perhaps this suburban back yard is all I can handle.Ann ends her piece with the question, “Who will stay and dwell in the land?”I look at the wobbly wire and slanted posts. Not everyone can handle the land.Not everyone will grow acres of grain. Some will buy just a few pounds of wheat berries at a time and bake bread. Not everyone will tend orchards. Some will pay to pick berries and freeze just enough for their families.Not all are called to stay and dwell in the land.But I marked the seed catalog and pulled out a gardening book. We will try to grow kale this year. And chard. Peas and spinach. Basil, tomatoes, peppers, squash. Tomatoes. Corn.For now, we will love this land, right here in this neighborhood cul-de-sac.Come spring, we will straighten fence posts and pull the wire taut.

Join us for Mega Memory Month!Details at MMM headquarters.

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