Cooking Curse

It is a well known fact that my mother-in-law does not cook. She reheats via oven or microwave and occasionally boils potatoes, and back in the day, apparently, she baked a pan or two of shortbread. Christmas dinner at her house was a series of ready-made starters, precooked turkey breast and pre-roasted potatoes, finished off with ice cream and fresh raspberries.

I am not sure how I feel about her lack of culinary interest. At first I really loved it because I think I may have lost it long ago if I had married a ‘that’s-not-how-my-mother-used-to-make-it’ type. But no, I have the opposite problem… My husband is so excited that he now gets served edible food at home that he never has the desire to eat a meal any where else. Once I started cooking for him, it was like he discovered food for the first time after years of starvation. (Okay, a bit extreme perhaps, but the man hoovers anything I make him with the greed of my father’s black Labrador.)

Anytime I start thinking a bowl of cereal would do me for dinner, I come home to discover that my sweet husband has been bragging about my cooking and am guilt tripped (by myself) into making yet another brag-worthy meal. If I pick up something pre-made off the shelves, my husband’s heart visibly sinks.

Don’t misunderstand me- I genuinely love cooking, especially for my wonderful husband. I love feeding some who so clearly appreciates each and every bite (I have yet to see a dinner plate he hasn’t cleared completely! I baked him cinnamon rolls for his birthday in Sept and he hasn’t stopped talking about them since.). My complaint isn’t that I have to cook- my complaint is that I have to figure out what to cook!

After eight months of marriage, cooking 5-6 nights a week, I am out of ideas! My husband may be perfectly happy with whatever I cook, but if I have to eat another meal of mushroom & chicken pasta, I think I might cry. Now all I can do is pray for spark of culinary creativity. In the meantime, I’ve been walking to work and back to save my bus fare so I can buy up any cooking magazines I find…

It must be love...

I have never doubted that my husband loves me. He goes out of his way to make sure I know- he brings me flowers, gives massages, indulges my chocolate needs, and recently took me out for a terrific Valentine's dinner at a really nice restaurant. He is always my biggest fan and encourager.

But I have never been more sure that my husband loves me than when he offered to hold the bowl. Last week I contracted some form of stomach flu/food poisoning. Ross sweetly rubbed my back and head while I writhed in pain. And when I woke up in the middle of the night, emptying my stomach of it's entire contents, he could have gagged and left me to it- not my husband- he offered to hold the bowl.

It must be love...

Valentine’s Day

My parents sent my husband a valentine’s card to let him know that they miss and love him. The Husband’s response:

“Dear In-laws,

Thank you so much for the card you sent. I have never received a Valentine’s Day card from an elderly person before...”

Impropriety or Bird...?

I am really enjoying being back in the working world. So far I haven't had many problems adjusting to my duties, and for the most part, my days are without incident. However, every once in a while I run into some major language barriers, where I either misunderstand what's been said, or I just stand there in a cold sweat with a complete blank.

Occasionally there are quite humorous misunderstandings. Like yesterday when my co-worker, who was looking out the window in our office remarked, "Look at those two tits! They're so wee. They're dead tiny. Aw, they're lovely." To which my other two co-workers rushed to the window and heartily agreed.

After my initial shock at how innappropriate they were being, I managed to clarify what they were talking about. Apparently, they were gazing at two young blue tits, which are not anything sinister, but are simply a small type of bird native to this area. My co-workers then went on to explain how there were Blue tits, Green Tits, White Bellied Tits, and Marsh Tits. Despite my attempts to remain professional, I couldn't help but snicker throughout their explanation. After my co-workers earnestly tried to think of what else might be called tit ("Well, they had a thing called a dummy tit for babies to suck on..."), my snickering turned into belly-aching-tear-inducing-laughter, which lasted a good half an hour.

Perhaps I am not so much of an adult afterall...

Thankfully, my co-workers appreciate me for my American vernacular and ignorance. This morning I found in my inbox an e-mail from one co-worker labeled 'Check out this Tit!' leading to a picture a wikipedia article and a picture of a small bird.

Bailey

The day we all knew would come but were hoping would hold off another year or two finally arrived. My parents' decided to put our old dog, Bailey, to sleep. Technically she was my younger brother's dog, but really she was the family dog. At 12+ years old, the hot summer days were pretty miserable for her. At the end, in pain and no longer able to stand, my dad had to carry her to the car (which was no small feat if you recall that Bailey was about twice the size of a normal golden retriever).

I was definitely sad to hear this news, but, to be honest, being so far away makes it feel less real. Bailey was such an everpresent character in our family for the past 12 years- always in the middle of whatever activity was going on, with a nack for laying down right in whatever walkway or path you might be needing. She is the center of so many good family memories- the christmas eve we spent washing her after she got sprayed by the skunk, the time she proudly covered herself in fresh buffalo dung at Yosemite, the brownie she sneakily stole at our bridal shower... I could share Bailey stories all day. Despite her being a dog, it is pretty easy to talk about her like she was a member of our family. And she was. There is a part of me that still expects to see her coming out to greet us the next time we visit.

She was a good dog and I am thankful we got to enjoy her for as long as we did. Rest in Peace, Bailey.

Feeling Catty

Dealing with the direct loans people make me want to tear my hair out or beat my head against the wall. On the surface the whole system really doesn't seem that complicated- I need money for school, they loaned it to me, now I need to pay them back- All totally straight forward. So then why does the act of repaying them become so gosh darn convoluted?? And why can't they hire people for their help-line that are actually helpful?? Grr. At least they are giving me a lower interest rate for paying my bills on time and for signing up for direct debit. That .25% is something, I guess.

On a lighter note, I suddenly have an urge to read James Herriot stories... It could be because I found out he went to Vet school in Glasgow, or the fact that I was trying to think of some good books to read to children (a friend asked), but I think I am going to blame it on Akin, and the long stream Milo stories on her blog.

Now that I am reading this entry over, I am finding it rather boring. I can't think of anything interesting to write about these days.

...Maybe I should get a cat.

When I grow up...

It is already 2pm and I am still in my pajamas after spending the last several hours searching and applying for jobs. This whole process is so disillusioning. For the past year being out of work has eaten away at me. At first I had the wedding to plan, which was a welcome distraction, then moving to Scotland, but now that I am here and feeling the pressure to find work. We don't need the money, but I just can't justify to myself sitting around doing nothing.

I don't have any real career goals, but I really miss having something to be passionate about. Truthfully, I miss ministry. I miss serving the Lord, using the gifts He blessed me with and putting my energy into something that I know is significant and lasting. In the last few weeks I've put out dozens of job applications for positions that mean nothing more to me than a paycheck and an addition to my resume. Ambition is something that continually alludes me.

Some may see what I've just said as clear evidence that God has called me into ministry of some kind, but lately I have been questioning my motives. Do I want to do ministry because God has called me and I want to serve Him, or is it because this is where I'm most comfortable? Having grown up in church, it is too easy to be apart of churchianity, all the while ignoring the Holy Spirit.I want to do His will, not just what is easiest.

Anyway, it occurred to me today that I've been looking for work and filling out all these applications, but I haven't really stopped to pray about any of it. That is where I need to start.