Real Women Mix Cookies with their Bare Hands

Yes, I did this. In fact, I’ll be doing this again today. Because in all of the marriage hub-ub the one thing, the one appliance we -didn’t- get…was a mixer. Now most women would go pretty crazy about this. I can hear them now: “you made cookies with no mixer?!? Either you have arms of steel or your hands must have gotten filthy!!” Very much the later, ladies, very much the later.

♪I am a sovereign Prince of Egypt…♪ (I’ve had that song stuck in my head for like three days.)

So back to cookies. You would think that mixing cookies with your hands is a royal pain…but it’s not! it’s really fun!!! It’s like you’re a kid again playing with the properties of silly putty, play dough, or flour with water. Except you can eat it!! It’s just wonderful. I would recommend that everyone tries it once. Just once. If you prefer your mixer and your perfectly blended cookies, okay. But just once? For me? It’s such fun. Especially, I would imagine, if you have kids. You’ll have to watch them with the egg, but otherwise, what a great family activity: getting messy and making cookies all in one! It’s like a kid’s dream. Perhaps that’s why I love it. . .

Also recommended for all women: a good husband. But that should be up later this evening. 😉


Dreams, Dictators, and Nuns.

This past week I have been driving the hubby to and from work because, as irony would have it, his tire went flat the Friday before our wedding. This past Monday, I had plenty to do and worked around the house when I returned home, and yesterday I went almost directly to a full day of work at my part-time job.

However, today, I was quite tired so I curled up for a nap when I got home. Now, to clarify, a “nap” for me is about two hours because that is the length my sleep cycle tends to be. So after returning to my home and getting all situated, I fell asleep around nine and woke up rather groggily at eleven. This is somewhat unusual for me, because when I take daytime naps, I usually wake up ready to go go go, and only evening naps make me groggy. So I flopped my head back onto my pillow, the cat re-situated himself, and I thought a bit on my dreams.

I often have dreams while napping, though I couldn’t tell you why. By all means, it doesn’t make sense. The sleep pattern just isn’t designed that way and (to me) it makes no sense that I can toss and turn all night and then nap for two hours at a depth of sleep wherein no train could wake me.

This morning, however, I didn’t dream much, at least not that I could remember, which is quite peculiar. My dreams often froth on the brim of my brain for a short time upon waking so that I can watch the wisps dissipate and catch them if I would like to remember one. This morning, however, I awoke and found them all dissolved and after flopping back down on the pillow, I looked for them eagerly and found none. Naught but fleeting tails that didn’t want to be seen and hid playfully in the corners of my brain, to be remembered at a later date. While attempting to find one of the dreams I had, I realized I haven’t had any spiritual impressions in my dreams lately. Not so much as a nudge in this direction or that. And then I reminded myself I haven’t been praying for them. Well duh. Hellooo Denise, you have to ask for things. This is how it works. Ohh right. *nod* I’d quite forgotten.

So as my head lay on my pillow I prayed that should God have some impression to give me, may he speak now or forever hold his peace. I think this is something of a running joke between God and I, because I only pray it half seriously, but as far as I can remember, He answers each time. Perhaps he’s just reminding me that I couldn’t get him out of my life if I wanted to. :-p (and why would I want to?) And so I slipped into a dream, one I have had before, but that was different on all counts this time.

It begins with me walking near a river on what most people would call a “gloomy” day (though personally, I think “gloomy days” are the most appropriate for walking along rivers). I’m in some sort of religious courtyard, similar to a grave yard, but without any graves and with gravel paths around it. There is a small utility building coming up on my left, right after I will be turning a corner. There are two groups of nuns walking around today, in their full habits, and with pink ponchos on. There is also a group of nuns standing under the overhang of the utility building. They appear to have forgotten their ponchos. As I near the utility building and turn the corner, I glance at the nuns standing under the overhang, who are now to my right. I double take back at them and try to stifle my laughter because they are in fact, not nuns, but are men, wearing long black bell skirts about mid calf length, long black stockings, mule shoes, and some form of a bra on top. There is only one woman in this group. They all wear habit head dresses, except for the woman, who wears a black octagonal police hat. Just as I realize their charade, a group of nuns passes them on my left. I shuffle away a bit to see what happens. The lead nun of this group calls to the group under the utility building, assuming that they are the other group of nuns out walking. When she looks over at the group standing there, to my surprise, she begins a great hearty laugh, and the rest of the nuns, looking up, also laugh at this charade, entertained by the joke and capable of laughing at themselves and at the men. Once these nuns have passed, I take a picture of the nun impostors with my phone, and continue on my way with a smile on my face.

At this time I am headed for a building, what I somehow know is a building that I am confined to under some sort of dictatorship’s rule. I am unjustly held and will be punished for walking in the yard. The building is a compound of sorts. Women on the top floor, men on the bottom. I am a man in my dream. Parts of the dream go a bit blurry at this point, but I realize that there was some sort of evil plot that I managed to destroy because I was able to get intelligence to the outside rebellion. The destruction of this plot saves the families of many of the prisoners residing with me. They are all grateful, but none disclose that I had anything to do with this plot, or its destruction. There is a young girl there who is fiery and quite smitten with me. She is realistic about all things, and as such is admirable. She realizes that in such a war situation the self is less important than the whole and we think alike in that we are both willing to give our lives in order to save many. That evening I am set to be broken out of the compound. The guards are drugged, as are most of the prisoners, particularly the men and the incapable women. Those prisoners who would not rebel to escape as well are not drugged, but watch my escape and gain new intelligence to share with the others, news from outside. When my transport shows up, it ends up being Angelina Jolie. (huh?) She is displayed as rather unattractive, rather worn from the war state and reduced to that of a low life with ratty clothes and a sub-par personality. Unintelligent and uncouth. She sucks her teeth. I want to punch her for it. I toss her my bag of a few clothes and what little food I was able to gather and then I search the house for any other valuables. The people who are awake can not see me, only the prisoners can. There are also residents of this compound. “Free” people who choose to live where things are well protected. I don’t steal their things. I return to our compound building and loose a ceiling board. This is the part of the dream I remember quite clearly from dreams before. From the ceiling, I remove letters that I have saved that have been passed between the inside and outside, and also among our prisoners within. Many of the notes are from this young woman who is so taken with me, and as I remove the letters, she pokes her head into the room and asks if I’m leaving tonight for sure. I nod back at her and she smiles. (She -smiles-!) A big, huge grin, the most delighted smile I’ve ever seen within a dream. She looks at me and asks, “you’re coming back for us right?” “Of course” I reply, and stash the notes I’m taking into my bag. She asks about the notes I’ve left behind. I glance up at them. I’m shocked to see that they are notes from my (me, the person dreaming) past relationships. And then I remember. I remember at least three other dreams I had in which this young woman pops her head into the room and tells me she’s sad that I’m leaving. Or that I’m a horrible person for not taking her with me, or other selfish things, like, “can’t I come with you just this once?” These recollections come all in a flash and I close the ceiling board, leaving the notes inside and telling her I don’t need them. When I hop down from my chair and onto the floor, I can see the open door and the brake lights of the car light up the room red. I kiss her forehead and dash out the door, into the car, and we speed away.


Now, I will say again, what I derive as interpretations from my dreams are the messages I believe God is trying to tell me with these dreams. The message from person to person may be different. And I may have misunderstood my message. But from what I understand of this message, my recent marriage will be a great blessing on my life, beyond what words or dreams can communicate. But it will also bring challenge, difficulty, and adventure, which in the end will be a blessing on our home.

As far as the nuns in the beginning of the dream go, I think that they were just for God to make me laugh. He gives me those kinds of dreams every now and again. I’m sure I’ll crack up laughing while thinking about it later this week. If you catch me doing so, you’ll know why.



You all think I’m crazy, but just by posting this my stats have instantly sky-rocketed.

Oh yeah, “The Pope”.


A general irk. If your greatest trouble in life is finishing a paper on time, or that you might be getting yelled at by your parents because you just tapped another car, or that you may have to drop a class because you’re just plain too busy. Your life is pretty good. Stop using phrases like “fml” (aka fuck my life for those of you who don’t know). I know the feeling of life getting too stressful and crashing down all around you, but trust me when I say the only way to go from those positions is up. Why not be happy when you hit rock bottom? It can only get better.

Now I realize that most people don’t think like this, there are a blessed few who understand what I’m saying, and what I’m pointing to. And that’s that if you are a follower of Christ, as I am, you should rejoice in your troubles. Just a reminder.

If you’re not, then please take a moment to realize what’s going on in the world around you. Yes, that globe thing you spin around on daily. That thing. That you’re standing on. Right now. I am on the east coast of the continent of North America. About twelve hours of flight away from me is the continent of Africa. In Nigeria, there are people dying of Malaria daily. Mothers. Children. I met a woman who did missions there. She helped a mother bury five of her children. Five. And my mother cried when we buried my dog. Just six hours east of there is Uganda, a country currently at civil war because a man claiming to do the Lord’s work is kidnapping children and forcing them to kill their friends who are weak, in order to brainwash them and desensitize them in order to make them soldiers in his army. After a few more hours east, you’ll find China, where communists limit all freedoms, including your  choice of the god you can worship and the career you desire. Don’t even think of whispering for gay rights. You will disappear. You will not be killed, but you face a fate far worse. And a hop skip and a jump further east, and you will find North Korea, a country where your occupation is chosen from birth and where you can’t even scratch your nose without the dictator’s permission. Further east and we come to America. A free country that has democratically elected a Socialist into executive power. A country in which the reigning oppression is that homosexual people fight for the rights they already have. (Please don’t even think of comparing this to the civil rights movement. Blacks were persecuted with water cannons and forced to poor schools, poor seating at restaurants, and banned from major cultural concerts and events. Stop acting like this is another civil rights movement just because people give you dirty looks when you hold your partner’s hand). A country in which few citizens hold their senators or house representatives accountable for upholding the Constitution they SWORE to protect. A country where the people are so disconnected from the rest of the world that they complain about the freedoms they’re allowed.

So, I know that paper’s really raining on your parade this weekend, but realistically, can we save the “fml” for when there’s a gun to your head forcing you to shoot your best friend or watch him be disemboweled before your eyes? Or for when your mother disappears because she went to a meeting at that person’s house with the fish on their door? Or when you can no longer afford food and are forced to beg or steal your way through life? If this is your story, you have all rights to this term. Otherwise, shut the fuck up and stop being a whiney bitch.


In Celebration

of revolution. Because every government needs to be reminded every now and again just how steeply their reign teeters over the people. And because every person needs to be reminded just how fragile their society is.

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t’was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli’ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England’s overthrow;
By God’s providence he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
And what should we do with him? Burn him!

I miss the hymns like this:

In Christ alone my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This Cornerstone, this solid ground
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
What heights of love, what depths of peace
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My Comforter, my All in All
Here in the love of Christ I stand

In Christ alone, who took on flesh
Fullness of God in helpless babe
This gift of love and righteousness
Scorned by the ones He came to save
‘Til on that cross as Jesus died
The wrath of God was satisfied
For every sin on Him was laid
Here in the death of Christ I live

There in the ground His body lay
Light of the world by darkness slain
Then bursting forth in glorious Day
Up from the grave He rose again
And as He stands in victory
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me
For I am His and He is mine
Bought with the precious blood of Christ

No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life’s first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
‘til He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand


(Yes, I realize this is not an old hymn, but I do miss the days hymns like this were sung more frequently, and with more conviction.)