Yeah, I'm Still Here

Will post soon(ish).

In the meantime, here's a photo from exactly one year ago today:

Here we go!  Driving away from the Transition House.

Okay Then.

On the way home from school:

Eyoel:  Mom, I love you so much.  When I am an adult man, I will let you pick a wife for me.
Me (startled):  I love you, too.  But what if you don't like the girl that I pick?
Eyoel:  I trust you.  Just make sure that she's pretty.  And nice.  [pause]  But I don't like girls with really long hair.  That's so creepy.

Comfort and Joy!

Do you remember this post, written exactly one week before our referral in August 2010?

My dreams have come true.

Oh yeah, baby.

To my old stainless-steel-bowl-turned-upside-down-with-a
jimmied-up-duct-tape-handle lid:
Goodbye.  I won't miss you.

This is how it all shook down:  my new(ish) friend C. called me up and told me that she had found a store in the US that not only carried the Lefse grills, but also carried lids!  She was planning to buy one, and, since we live about 3kms apart, she wondered if we should order two, and only pay one shipping fee.

Oh, readers.  Dear readers.  My heart plummeted in my chest!  My breath caught in my throat.  Tears sprang to my eyes.  My voice broke as I explained that although I desperately wanted an injera maker, since we are planning to renovate our kitchen, I just could not justify buying new things for myself.  She murmured and commiserated and said all the right things, and told me that she'd go ahead and just order one for their family.

Several weeks later, our families got together for an Ethiopian feast.  Two school-aged children from Ethiopia have just joined C.'s family, and we all know that nothing says comfort like a huge platter of injera and a bunch of spicy wats!

And after dinner, one of her older daughters pulled out two wrapped boxes and presented them to me!

I think everybody else in the entire room knew exactly what was in the boxes, since we had just been discussing injera makers, and her brand-new, shiny injera maker was perched directly in my line of vision.  But believe it or not, I had no idea what was in the boxes.  Some of the older girls in their family are wonderful artists, and when I saw the large, flat boxes, I assumed that they were giving us some paintings!  Talk about being obtuse.

Anyway....  this gorgeous injera maker is fantastic.  I've played around with the heat settings on it, and have settled at about 475° for the perfect injera.  I'm still struggling to make the beautiful smooth edges that C. makes with hers -- mine are wobbly and uncertain -- but the texture is dead-on perfect.  And with a surface this large, I'm able to pour the batter on in spirals, just the way they do in Ethiopia.  As well, there's something about the massive, 15-inch diameter injeras that just look so good when they're rolled and cut.  You know the plates of extra injera that they serve in Ethiopia?  Yeah... I've got it going on now.  

A view over the injera maker that's seldom seen in Ethiopia!

Mmmm... this picture makes my tummy growl.

 

Oh, these poor, self-conscious, wobbly edges.  I love them anyway.

C, A, J, R and M, from the bottom of my injera-loving heart.... thank you!!!!! What a generous, thoughtful and PERFECT gift!

Not Too Shabby

Right, so it's time to do a little self-evaluation.  These were my resolutions for 2011:  (And in bold:  my yearly score, on a scale of 1 to 10.)

1. I will adopt this motto:  "There will be plenty of time for this later."  I will apply this motto to all housework.  You know what?  I ROCKED this one.  Never have my floors been grubbier, my bathrooms mankier, or my laundry heaped higher.  Well done, me.  10
2. I will delegate more.  I need to stop doing so much around the house, and start making my children work harder.  I know this sounds cruel and lazy, but honestly, my children are much too old for the way I treat them.  I still bustle around, cleaning and cooking, while my children lay on the couch reading books.  Time for the hammer to come down, folks.  And I will NOT go around and re-do their chores secretly because I want it done my way.  I'll have years to do it my way when they're grown and gone.  Time to focus on giving them the tools they'll need down the road.  Well, this one didn't go too badly.  I'm definitely much better along than I was a year ago, although I recognize that I still have a ways to go.  I'll admit it:  I'm still too easily swayed by my children's grumpiness, and although I insist that they do the chores, odds are fair that the next time it needs to be done, I'll do it myself.  Still.  I made big improvements, so I'll give myself a 6.
3. I will enjoy myself every day.  All work and no play makes Gwen a really dull, negative, unhappy girl.  I resolve to laugh a whole lot more, to let go of things that plague me, and to stop every now and then and gaze out the window.  I resolve to be free to do nothing at all.  I resolve to ignore the little voice that reminds me that I should really be doing something with my time.  Each day is a gift, and I'm finally going to start being grateful for it.  Holy guacamole.  This was super tough this year.  I could yammer on and on about how incredibly challenging 2011 was, but that would be boring and lame.  My score for 2011:  3
4. I will love every minute of running.  I'll increase those minutes if it starts to feel really good, but will definitely resist the urge to feel guilty about not increasing my minutes.  I feel great when I run, and there's no way on God's green earth that I'm going to spoil that with guilt.  Yikes.  I'm sure you saw this one coming.  We got the Great Visa Call on February 1, and that was the last time I went running.  Well, no -- actually, I went for one run in April, and two runs in July.  I was up to my ears dealing with trauma, grief and rage, and simply was NOT able to get away to run.  Mark my words:  2012 will be better.  Yes, it will.  But as far as 2011 went... yeah, I scored a 1.

Well, not too shabby, all things considered -- I'll consider 2011 a successful year!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Swimmingly

Remember I said I was going to learn the guitar?

I'm actually doing it, and no one is more surprised than me.

When Off in the Kitchen There Arose Nary a Shatter

In Christmases past, I have always guarded my treasured Czech porcelain carefully, insisting on washing it myself -- or letting Mr. Gwen wash it.  After all, I purchased this beautiful porcelain in the (then) brand new Czech Republic, and lugged the heavy box in and out of trains, buses and streetcars throughout the Czech Republic and Austria.  I had only just turned nineteen, and I was about to say goodbye to my sister and head south into Austria, enroute to a scary new job in Graz as an Au Pair.  It's been (gulp) seventeen years, and I still haven't broken a single piece.

This year, I decided that my older daughters are old enough to take on the job of washing up after Christmas dinner.

My sweet daughter Shiloh was more than willing to pitch in, and we spent a pleasant time in the kitchen together.  I had my back to her, packing away the leftovers and listening to her as she chatted to me.  After a while she uttered this memorable speech:

"Whew!  Well, I'm halfway done.  I think it's time to drain out some of this water because it's getting really full.  The porcelain is squeaky clean, that's for sure.  I'm washing them in SCALDING hot water, then I'm rinsing them in ICY COLD water to give them that extra sparkle."

And now, I'm going to go sit down quietly with a glass of brandy.  I'm almost finished breathing into my paper bag, though, so that's a bonus.

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

(note:  No, nothing got broken.  And the dishes were, indeed, extra sparkling clean.  Thanks, honey!)

Oh, By Gosh, By Golly

 Merry Christmas, to you and yours!

One of These Songs is Not Like the Other

Today after school, Zelakesh lay on her tummy in front of the Christmas tree, playing with a nativity puzzle that we bought at the Misrach Centre in Addis Ababa.  She was singing "I've found Jesus!  Woo-ooo-ooo!" over and over and over.  And over again.

I finally got so tired of it that I was ready to tear my hair out.  I called from the kitchen, "Zelakesh, could you sing something else now please?"

"Sure!" she chirped.

There was a long pause, and I heard the quiet sounds of the wooden nativity puzzle as she played.

Then she started belting out, "Lookin' for some hot stuff, baby, this evening!  I want some hot stuff, baby, tonight!"

*

Did I mention that we have another social worker visit coming up soon?

Whoopsie Daisy

The other night, my daughter Shiloh and I stopped in at the library after karate class.  We went separate directions at the door (I headed to Adult Fiction; she to Junior Fiction).  I was leaning down to read the spines when I heard her approaching, the noise of her Ugg knockoffs too loud in the quiet setting.

"Pick up your feet, for goodness' sake," I hissed.  "I can hear those huge clompers all over the library."

There was no response.

I looked up to see a well-dressed, middle aged woman glaring back at me.  (And yes, she was wearing Uggs -- though they probably weren't knockoffs.)

Why do I do these things?  Why can't I just be a normal, peaceful person?  Instead, I blunder through life telling families to take their children to nudist resorts, and telling strangers to quit clomping their boots in the library.

Nice.

Advent Calendars

Check out these great ideas for making your own Advent calendar!  I made ours, based on this Martha Stewart design, waaaay back in 2001.  Since it's made out of 24 little matchboxes, we can't really fit little chocolates inside, so I hide the chocolates around the house and put little clues in the drawers.  It's fun.

It's starting to look a little the worse for wear, though.  Last year the ribbon that goes around the outside came off, and I used a big nasty piece of Scotch tape to stick on another, randomly chosen one that totally doesn't work.  (I know, I know.  I was busy.)  The drawers are starting to look crooked, and some of the drawer fronts have torn from being opened too roughly.  And something tells me that this poor, abused calendar is just not going to survive two more extra-excited pairs of hands this year!

The only hard part will be choosing which new one to make...  hmmm....

Looking a bit shabby now, poor thing, and this photo was taken a ye

ar ago.