Which 10 Items Did You List in Your Gratitude Journal Today?

1.  My oldest knowing I was awake when she snuck in this morning, "Mommy, I see your eye open."
2.  My youngest wearing her art beret while creating houses out of boxes for her Little People.
3.  Folding the hub's holey underwear. . .
4.  A text from a woman blessing. . .
5.  A Netflix marathon with the hub . . .
6.  A cleared off dining table . . .
7.  The last of the Breyer's Oreo Ice Cream . . .
8.  A loving e-mail from my aunt . . .
9.  Making St. Patrick's Day decorations with my girls. . .
10. The anticipation of another snow day with my girls. . .

By Courtney Winkler

The Fake Boob

After reading through Deb Ellis' recommendation of Why Being Mom Is Enough written by Rachel Marie Martin, I smiled.  In a nutshell, the blog post discusses quality time with your children, big or small, and savoring those simple moments.  Mothering is not about where you take your children, but, instead, when you are with your children, completely present . . . the little occurrences.  For these seemingly trivial events are the ones which matter and may occur in the most unwanted of life circumstances.

Diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago, I ended up having a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction.  This immediate reconstruction involved replacing removed breast tissue with tissue expanders, which would eventually make room for breast implants.  Shortly after my tissue expanders were put into place, I developed an infection which resulted in the removal of my left tissue expander leaving wrinkled skin at the incision area and a lopsided chest.  To remedy this situation, I had to visit a medical supply store which sold specialty bras capable of housing the prosthesis or in layman's terms, fake boob.

Having to walk into the store with only a one-sided projection from my chest and then have virtual strangers eye my naked chest and make measurements was not an incident I would like to relive no matter how kind the women working in the store were.  I simply wanted the process to be over and was immediately pleased with any synthetic plastic breast they selected for my use. 

Not wanting my girls to be startled or scared by my scarring or the intricacies of the reconstruction, I told them the cool, gel-like shape which they found on my dresser was a boob protector  which I wore to protect myself after surgery, and they bought it.

With reconstruction now complete, I no longer need the fake boob for medicinal or aesthetic purposes, but I do need it for the laughter it brings not only me, but my hub and my girls.  This fake boob has now become an object to manipulate in order to play tricks on one another.  For example, any one night might find this fake boob in the pillowcase of any of our pillows.  When the discovery is made by the one being tricked, belly laughter is sure to ensue by all.  The girls may slip the fake boob in question under their shirt and demand for us to look at their "boobs" or "belly" depending on where the device may lie.  Recently while snowbound with 14+ inches of snow, the girls had a friend over for the day and had the run of the house.  While folding clothes on the couch, I could see their friend strutting down the runway (our hallway) with the fake boob placed atop her head as in how a beanie might be worn.  Thus, as one may guess, giggles soon followed.

This fake boob could be a symbol and constant reminder of a difficult year.  Instead, to me it represents God's greater plan.  Much happiness, love, and simple mothering moments have developed due to the presence of this fake boob and all it represents.  

"I alone know the plans I have for you, plans to bring you prosperity and not disaster, plans to bring about the future you hope for."          Jeremiah 29:11

By Courtney Winkler

 

The One Way You Can Keep Opening the Presents

The One Way You Can Keep Opening the Presents

Submitted by Courtney Winkler, "Woman Blessing Julie Ford introduced me to the writings of Ann Voskamp, and I fell in love.  If you haven't read 1000 Gifts, add it to your list to read in this coming year.  You won't be sorry you did."

Intimacy

For all concerned, this is a PG blog post, but please keep reading anyway.  The hub and I are approaching our eleven-year anniversary.  For ten of those years, we have played musical beds due to my snoring and the birth of two baby girls.  Finally, this past year I was diagnosed with sleep apnea and now wear a nifty nose mask to bed in order to eliminate the snoring.  Thus, the hub and I have once again joined forces in our queen bed for the duration of the nights.

Now, instead of being woken due to snoring, the hub shakes me if my nose mask is blowing cold air on his back (this happens when the mask becomes dislodged on my face).  I adjust the suction mechanism on my nose, and we both return to our state of slumber.  

A couple of nights ago, I woke to the sound of snoring in my ear.  Literally, I was on my back (as the CPAP is most comfortable in this position), and his mouth and nose were targeted right for my ear.  Lying there hoping the noise would cease, I could not help picturing our situation as if I were standing from our bedroom door looking in at the view.  Doing this, I started to giggle, which, in turn, caused me to choke (opening one's mouth with a nose guard on during use results in loss of breath).  

In truth I was thinking, "Is this sexy, or what?"  The response in my mind was an unassailable, "Yes."  

Ecclesiastes 9:9
Enjoy life with the woman whom you love all the days of your fleeting life which He has given to you under the sun; for this is your reward in life and in your toil in which you have labored under the sun.

By Courtney Winkler

Gracias Senor

I always feel so much better after attending church at Troy United Methodist Church.  For me, the sermon inspires me, the music gives me the goosebumps, and the people make me smile.  Today was no different.

Pastor Dennis' sermon was entitled, Gracias Senor, and the scripture reference was Philippians 4:4-9:

⁴ Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! ⁵ Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. ⁶ Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
⁸ Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. ⁹ Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

Pastor Dennis was retelling about our church's work with another Hispanic church community in Southern Illinois (I cannot recall the name of the small town now, but do remember Pastor Dennis said this town came in second in the State basketball finals in '64).  While Pastor Dennis' college Spanish was rusty, he could make out the repetition of "Gracias Senor" which translates "Thank you, Lord" throughout devotions and prayers in this Hispanic community.  Thank you, Lord.  What greater gift to ourselves than to remember to repeatedly offer thanks to our Lord.

In fact, Pastor Dennis offered seven suggestions of further implementing this kind of thanksgiving into our lives:

1)  Have a morning gratitude session ever day.

2)  When facing the inevitable challenging day, compose a gratitude list.

3)  Instead of being angry with a person, show gratitude for this person.  Consider whether this person in question has done anything positive in the past, and focus on those acts.

4)  Show gratitude for your spouse versus criticizing him/her.

5)  Show gratitude for your kiddos versus criticizing them or their actions.

6)  When facing major challenges, be grateful for them.

7)  Look at what you have and be grateful versus focusing on what you do not have.
  
The hub and I immediately did just this by offering thanks to one another on our walk down the hall to pick up our kiddos from Sunday school.  Their joy after attending Sunday school filled me with gratitude.  Gracias Senor;  thank you, Lord.

By Courtney Winkler

Aunt Bet's Sage Dressing

Since my one attempt at homemade dressing was nothing but gooey, I have been a Stove Top kind of dressing girl.  Talking with my Aunt Bet, though, my mouth began to salivate at the mention of her Sage Dressing, so I begged for the recipe.

I USE WHITE BREAD AND TEAR IT UP THE NIGHT BEFORE AND LET DRY.

 

USE YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT AS TO HOW MUCH YOU WANT.  FOR US I USE A 1/2 LOAF PLUS 2 SLICES.

 

PUT BREAD IN BOWL.

 

1 EGG

1 SMALL ONION

SALT AND PEPPER TO TASTE

SAGE I LIKE QUITE A LOT IN MINE, BUT YOU CAN PUT IN WHAT YOU LIKE.

 

IF YOU DON'T HAVE TURKEY OR CHICKEN BROTH, I USE EITHER BEEF OR CHICKEN BROTH CANNED.

 

MIX ALL WELL BEFORE YOU ADD BROTH THEN POUR ALL IN BAKING DISH AND GO FOR IT.

 

SURE HOPE THIS HELPS YOU.

 

LOVE,

AUNT BET

 

Submitted by Courtney Winkler

Seek and You Shall Find

With minimal grading to do, I had no excuse not to walk for an hour today determined to hit the 10,000 step mark on my FitBit.  So, after dropping the girls at school, cashing checks at the bank, and purchasing fun patches at the Girl Scout office, I headed to SIUE Gardens, one of my favorite places to walk.  Not only is there a paved path, but there is also a trail hidden in the woods in which one may walk.  I plugged my headphones into my cellphone, hit "play" on Pandora, and set the timer for sixty minutes.  At roughly the twenty minute mark, the little girl's room was calling.  So, I visited the facility adjacent to the trail and then resumed my steps. 

With a mere three minutes left on the countdown, I headed back to the car.  Seated in the driver's seat, I adjusted myself so as to read my FitBit readout when, much to my surprise, it was missing from the waist of my stretch pants.  Ugh!  Thanks to woman blessing, Sherri Volz, I connected my steps to Walgreens balance rewards, and my thought was, I will never be able to earn points.  A tad frantic, I retraced my steps beginning with the path.  Passing an older gentleman, I stopped and asked if he had seen a lime green FitBit.  He told me, "My eyesight is shot," so I thanked him for his help and kept walking.  Over the river and through the woods I went to no avail all the while thinking, "My hub is not going to dig my losing yet another electrical device."  Two cellphones met the electronic graveyard due to my leaving them on top of my car and then driving away.  In fact, the hub found one in the form of roadkill at the entrance to our subdivision.  So, losing this FitBit after only three weeks was not going to fair well.  In a final attempt at recovery, I revisited the restroom near the parking lot.  On the floor beneath the sink lay the object in question.  Eureka, Baby!  Of course, forty minutes of the sixty I had walked did not register since the FitBit had disengaged from by body.  Bummah!  All of that walking had been for naught. . . or had it?  I felt better, and even though I could not prove my steps, I knew they had been taken.

Driving home with a smirk on my face, I thought of a favorite song, Seek and You Shall Find, I used to sing while in my parochial school choir.  As a tween, I would belt out the words to this song as if I could sing on key.  Miss Bowden would have us sing this song year after year in rounds.  Perhaps, there was a method to her orchestrations, one I have held in my heart all of these years.

Matthew 7:7 
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

By Courtney Winkler

I Cheated with Rolls Slathered in Honey Butter on Day 19

So, my daughters have treasure map behavior charts in an effort to promote positive reinforcement.  Upon completion of a chart, the daughter in question is allowed to select an activity of her choosing.  In this instance, my youngest chose a restaurant, "The place where they weigh you to see how much you pay."  Thus, the buffet at Ponderosa* was calling her name, which, in turn, ultimately shouted my name, too.

In the beginning, I did fairly well with my selections:  a fried chicken breast minus the skin, brocollini, ice water with lemon . . ..  Then, the waitress asked if we would like any Texas toast or rolls to accompany our meal.  A huge fan of both, I requested the rolls because I knew this was what my family preferred.  My hub had already acquired multiple small tubs of honey butter from the salad bar in anticipation.

The rolls, which look like mere hamburger buns bathed in butter, were set in front of us on the table.  With dilated pupils, I dived in thinking, "What harm could come from just one?"  Well, one led to two, which then led to the trifecta of rolls being consumed.  Had I mentioned breads doused in any kind of butter are one of my weaknesses next to sweets?

Anywho, lethargy soon set in after returning home, so my CPAP and I were settled in earlier than usual at 9 p.m.  Usually an all-night sleeper, to my surprise, I woke due to thirst.  When I walked to the kitchen, I saw the clock read 3 a.m.  Ugh!  I felt wide awake, and I soon heard, my gastointestinal system was at full attention, too.  When woman blessing Christin, the instigator of this cleanse, said, "It's truly amazing how our body is a machine," she wasn't kidding.  By the way, she cheated, too, early on with eight whole dark chocolate covered raisins (really?!?!).  My machine, much to my hub's disappointment, was retaliating to the honey butter rolls with a cacophony of sounds, if you catch my drift.  

With only two days left on this twenty-one day cleanse, I have learned a great deal about myself and my lack of willpower.  Eating healthfully does affect this machine of a body for the better, and I excel at this feat when I simply avoid temptation all together.  I attribute my career high bowling score of a 157 (oh yeah, Baby), my sounder sleep, and my overall amiable spirits to a more toxin-free body.  Lent this year will be a breeze now that I have attempted a trial run.


By Courtney Winkler


*On Tuesdays, children are charged the price of their weight in pennies for the buffet.  The girls look forward to stepping on the scale near the register.

The Reemergence of the BFF

As a child growing up in the 70s and 80s, my friends and I each maintained a running list of our friend hierarchy. No, this list was never actually written in black and white. One desired no evidence lying around to be used as ammunition in future fusses with friends. Instead, the friendship list evolved daily if not hourly in our young, immature minds depending on the shift of attitudes and perception of behaviors. The goal of each young girl, however, was the same- to attain the top position on the other girls' lists, numero uno, or simply stated the BFF, Best Friend Forever. 

In the later 'tween and teen years, the BFF title seemed to gain in significance. Now, “BFF” was used in the closing of notes passed back and forth between friends in class and in the halls during passing periods. More importantly, those three letters, BFF, were quickly searched for after a friend signed one's yearbook. The presence of these letters representing Best Friends Forever signified a sense of security, in essence an oath from the teenaged author, that would last not only for the remainder of the school year, but also encompass the summer months and endure beyond graduation.

Then, in my late 20s and early 30s, reality sunk in. . .. Best Friends Forever represented a childish ideal that did not translate well into adulthood. During this time, before the dawn of social networking and instant communication, friends still had to put forth effort to continue the BFF mentality, this effort which did not feel like effort in one's carefree youth. Yet, time constraints due to dating, marriage, employment, divorce, children, remarriage, house repairs, and the like, eliminated lengthy letters as an option, and costly phone bills were not feasible. So, the BFF, once a person of importance, became a distant memory of the past.

This is not to say that friendships were not prevalent in my adult life, but not to the degree of ease and certainty as the BFF once experienced in my younger years. Intriguing people have been met and admired through work and social encounters, but a fair share of unmentionables have crossed my path along the way, too. Initially, these unmentionables seemed to mirror the BFF of earlier years, but they, too, soon faded away, moved away, or I ultimately enlisted a getaway from the friendship.

So, to my surprise, I never thought in my late 30s, I would have a chance encounter with a woman who would renew my belief in the BFF. Perhaps, one may say that I had closed the door on the notion of a BFF and simply accepted the “fact” people enter and exit out of other people's lives. Savor and learn what I could from the lost relationship and not dwell on the heartache and loss of what I believed had been a true friendship; I had my health, my happiness, my husband, and my two daughters. Acceptance set in; I had come to terms with my BFF worldview until fortuitously a metaphorical door presented itself in the form of Bug Camp.

A stay-at-home thirty-seven-year-old mother of a two-year-old toddler and five-month-old baby, I found myself enrolled in a three-day children's camp geared towards the study of insects. Lugging my diaper bag, carrying the infant carrier, pushing the stroller, holding the registration forms, and keeping my toddler in tow, I looked over to see another woman in a similar predicament. A familiarity existed, but not simply as a result of the ages and number of her children. I had seen her before, but could not place her. We smiled politely at one another, exchanged pleasantries, and then followed the teacher's directions to quiet down and join the circle.

On day two, I could rack my brain no further and needed to know how I “knew” her. Upon approaching her, we realized that we had participated in Wiggles Gymnastics together nearly a year previous with our then only children. Laughter ensued when we realized both of us felt that Wiggles Gymnastics would be better relaunched as Parents Do the Work while Workers Watch Gymnastics, but that is a story for another day.

Day three was a joy at camp. This woman and I helped one another complete bug crafts and sing the correct words to the bug songs. Our final Bug Camp event was walking on a nature trail and observing various critters in their natural environments. We walked stroller to stroller for the duration. An uneasiness rapidly emerged, however, as we approached our cars and began loading our gear. Another year or more may pass before we crossed paths again if ever, so I needed to take action; I asked for her e-mail address.

Nearly two weeks elapsed before I sent the first e-mail. My thoughts swung from gratitude at the thought of a potential friendship to panic at the wonder of whether she was truly an unmentionable in disguise. Finally, I decided to take a risk by clicking on the send button and then anxiously awaited a response. When I saw her name in my in-box, I think I felt a flutter of excitement. The length of her response impressed me, and I hung on every typed word. Even after my appendectomy, I lumbered awkwardly downstairs to the computer in order to check for her e-mails. A birthday invitation to her daughter's third birthday soon followed, and I asked her if she would be interested in joining my book club; she accepted as did I.

Numerous birthday parties and three (failed) book clubs later, she is “Frick” to my “Frack.” Together we are solving the world's problems, reviewing the latest movies, and critiquing our husbands one day at a time. She tolerates my sloppiness, and I admire her cleanliness. I volunteer her for Vacation Bible School activities, and she recruits me for Pee-Wee Soccer duties. She observes my color-coded book collection with a smile, and I dismiss her attempts to skip kettle bell with a shake of my head. Who knew that my 40s would present the reemergence of the BFF? I suppose the old adage does hold true; if one door closes, inevitably another one will open with an unlimited threshold of possibilities.

By Courtney Winkler

This essay is dedicated to woman blessing Sarah B. on her 36th birthday, 10/17/13.

Do You Have Your Ticket?

The Hunger Games Trilogy Book Club

Submitted by Courtney Winkler, "I have my ticket reserved for the 11/21 double feature beginning at 5 p.m.  Join me!"

Fun with Thank You Cards

Repeatedly finding the repetition of the word "fun" minus any explanations, elaborations, and/or exemplifications in my English 111 student papers, I had no choice but to deduce that activities these young adults find "fun" may well be the same activities a forty-something, such as myself, finds "fun."   Thus, some time spent making cards for the purpose of thanking others, a cherished pastime of mine,  was in store for our next class together.  At the very least, perhaps after a class spent creating cards, students may think twice about choosing the familiar "fun," and, instead elevate their writing with more mature vocabulary choices.  

Instead of the anticipated moans and groans of disdain, what I found were more than willing participants for this card-making workshop.  Young men and women alike cared for the appearance of their cards by making use of the stickers, colored Sharpies, and paper puncher while their words were chosen with care and creativity.  Although a majority of cards were sent to the tutors at the Writing Center on campus, students were given autonomy over whom they would like to thank.

 

In truth, the results far exceeded my expectations.  Reviewing the cards for revisions, I could not help but smile at the depth of their thoughtfulness and sincerity.  A child of the original Star Wars era, a former high school English teacher, and a devoted fan of The Hunger Games trilogy, the letter below resulted in a rash of goosebumps on my skin: 

 

Mrs. Meyer,

I’m writing to you today to thank you for teaching me the ways of the Force, also known as English. Your teaching abilities have influenced me greatly, and I could not have asked for a better teacher. Though we had our differences at first, butting heads like a pair of male goats fighting for the position of alpha, you have brought me so far, not only maturing as a writer, but as a young lady as well. If it were not for you, I would not know what a well written paper should consist of, nor would I know how to go about writing it. Again I thank you for being the best influence a scrawny high school student could ask for. 

 

Best wishes, and “May the odds be ever in your favor,”

 

Carliann Huelsmann

 

So, have some "fun" today and every day by sending a thank you to an unsuspecting someone.  You will be thankful you did. 

 

by Courtney Winkler

I Cheated with Kit Kats on Day 2

Woman blessing, devoted friend, and gluten-free health nut Christin convinced me to partake in a 21-day cleanse with her.  Up for most anything, I agreed especially after she told me her father-in-law, a cancer survivor, participated in this program and then tested completely free of the Big C.  What can I say?  (1) Looking at her (she is beautiful both inside and out) and (2) hearing this (cansah free), I was sold.  I figured it couldn't hurt.

Yummy Sauteed Zucchini and Onions

Today is Day 3, and I am still living to tell about it.  Three pounds lighter, my stomach has not imploded, much to my delight, due to all of the healthful foods and the 30 pills I must swallow daily.  Instead, I feel a slight spring to my step and perceive a faint glow to the skin.

Brussel Sprouts, Carrots, and Onions Prepared for Roasting

Being the concerned physician assistant and friend she is, Christin checks in often throughout the day for progress reports.  I, in turn, report changes in my bowel movements (normal) as well as my fall from grace (Kit Kats).  Could one blame me?  Halloween candy makes me weak in the knees, and we have acquired quite the stash (prepared for those Trick or Treaters).  
To my relief, I told Christin myself because my 7-year-old not only threatened to tell Christin, but ended up e-mailing her.  The e-mail read, "Mom ate a Kit Kat.  She said she couldn't take it anymore."  Thus, my girls took it upon themselves to hide the goods in order to help me.

Candy Hidden in a Dresser Drawer

Believe it or not, I am looking forward to the days ahead in order to see what happens at the end of this 21-day metaphorical hike uphill.

Dear Lord,
Thank you for the body you have given me.  Please assist me in my attempts to treat my body as a temple.  
In Your name, I pray,
Amen

By Courtney Winkler

Proof of Heaven Book Club

Dr. Eben Alexander's Proof of Heaven is a must-read for the scientific-minded person who may struggle with theology because of his/her left-brained dominance.  In fact, Alexander himself was one who fell into this category of thinking until he found himself in a life-threatening coma for seven days.  During this time, Alexander's brain was, in essence, not functioning.  Alexander, an academic neurosurgeon, is able to explain the intricacies of his illness in layman's terms for the scientifically challenged like myself and still maintain reader interest.  

Alexander describes in vivid detail his life-changing experiences in those seven days while in the presence of God or "Om" (as he refers to Him), the Realm of the Earthworm's-Eye View, the Core, and the Gateway.  According to statistics,  this man should have perished from his sickness let alone have some lingering brain damage if not complete incapacitation.  Instead, Alexander fully recovers, a medical miracle.

For the purposes of book club, a spread composed of eggs would definitely prompt discussion for as Alexander writes:

While in the Core, even when I became one with the Orb of light and the entire higher-dimensional universe throughout all eternity, and was intimately one with God, I sensed strongly that the creative, primordial. . . aspect of God was the shell around the egg's contents . . . (160). 

by Courtney Winkler

Sealeth

Temporarily confined to bed after some minor surgery, I had no choice but to flip through the channels.  I finished reading my novel, skimmed through all of my magazines, and harassed everyone I knew through texts.  My hub and the squirts were at the local water park, so I was hoping I'd score and find Lidia's Italy on PBS, one of my favorites.

Instead, what I found was an older gentleman wearing a Touring Cap speaking in front of an audience.  The sign behind him had the word "Wishes" on it, but I couldn't make out the rest.

By the time I tuned in, he was talking about the fifth and most important "wish" on his list, and he used Job 33:15-18 KJV to reinforce his point:

In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon [wo]men, in slumberings upon the bed;  Then he openeth the ears of [wo]men, and sealeth their instruction, That he may withdraw [wo]man, from his purpose, and hide pride from [wo]man.  He keepeth back . . . [her] soul from the pit, and . . . [her] life from perishing by the sword.

The man explained how to use that transition time between wakefulness and sleep in our favor.  Instead of focusing on the hurts of the day, the troubles of the world, or negative body imagery, for example, we should, instead, focus on where we want to be as long as it feels natural . . .  "I am content.  I am healthy.  I am blessed," so that God may "sealeth . . . [our] instruction."

This concept is not a novel idea.  Years ago after having read, Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach, at the author's encouragement, I logged a journal each night of five blessings of the day for which I was thankful.  Ann VosKamp's 1000 Gifts, in the same manner, urges readers to log throughout the day until a minimal goal of 1000 is eventually reached with the end result being a habit formed so that the reader will continue recording without limits.

What was interesting to me was that I had never read this verse from Job in the King James Version;  the versions I keep handy are the Good News and the New International Version.  A self-described logophile, I was taken by "sealeth."  Instead of encapsulating negativity into my subconscious, why not go for the gold in terms of positive thinking?  So, tonight while I'm adjusting my CPAP mask and allowing my melatonin VitaMelts to dissolve in my mouth, I will attempt to do just that . . . 

Courtney Winkler

The Case of the Carbuncle

I can remember my younger self longingly looking forward to the end of all school so, in my case, I could finally have a classroom of my own, a place of my own, and this grown-up life of my own.  Then reality sets in . . .

As I age,  I am now introduced to death, disease, and hardship- items I hadn't anticipated in my youth.  My grandparents . . . gone.  My father . . . gone.  My best friend's father hospitalized for blood clots, a dear friend's father-in-law . . .  cancer.  Then, I hear from more . . . Alzheimer's, ALS, alcoholism . . .  It's like being a child and learning an entirely new alphabet minus the eagerness and innocence.  For me, a language I could do without. 

A middle-aged woman, I am now familiar with once unfamiliar terms such as carbuncles, Bartholin gland cysts, Somogyi Effect, ER+, and the like.  In my mind, I have earned nearly enough credits through personal experience to graduate medical school while keeping my dear friend, woman blessing and nurse practitioner extraordinaire Christin on her toes.

Case in point, my left eyelid was tender one morning.  The next morning it was swollen.  On the third morning, the day I was scheduled to meet women blessings Galusha and her niece at a baseball game, I was unable to open my left eye entirely -a hard, round, growth approximately the size of a marble was front and center on the lid.  Sexy!  

Fearful of this mass on my eye, I called my friend and told her I wouldn't be able to make the game.  Assuring me I'd be fine, she insisted I meet them.  Wearing my prescription glasses since contacts were out of the question, I sat in the bleacher seats with the sun beating down upon my carbuncle.   

As the bleachers cleared towards the end of the game, we noticed a disposable camera sitting solo to our right.  Together we thought, "What a great idea to take pictures of the carbuncle!"  So, a photo shoot of this growth ensued- tilting my head from side to side- and we laughed until we cried.  Then, we returned the camera to its original location.  Are we immature, or what?

When I think of that day or look at that scar on my eyelid, I can't help but smile a huge goofy grin.  If it weren't for that carbuncle, we may not have shed tears of joy that day, laughed great belly laughs, or revisited our youthful, immature selves (okay, we probably would have, but bear with me here).  In fact, just saying the term carbuncle aloud (my own perceived onomatopoeia) makes me giggle.

So, this, in turn, makes me think of Proverbs 17:22, "A joyful heart is good medicine . . . ."

Courtney Winkler

I'll See You Again Book Club

I'll See You Again, a memoir written by Jackie Hance with Janice Kaplan leaves me speechless.  Hance retells the tragic death of her young daughters- Emma, Alyson, and Katie-  at the hands of her sister-in-law, which changed her and her husband Warren's life forever. 
  
Written with such raw emotion, the reader feels Hance's desperate search for an escape from the present and for sense of the immediate past in regards to this incongruent loss.  Seeking solace in material possessions, hours in bed, time with friends, Hance reaffirms her belief there is no relief from the ever present hole in her heart.  Finally, through the generous gift of a specialist, her heart expands to include love for another while the pain, which Hance inevitably has to walk through, remains, but is channeled for the greater good through the Hance Family Foundation.

For the purposes of book club, a breakfast spread including homemade Egg McMuffins would be an ideal place to commence discussion, mirroring the Christmas tradition Hance begins in an effort to move forward again. 

Courtney Winkler 

Friendship

Today is my dear friend's 33rd 43rd birthday.  Her name is Dena, but I renamed her "Denta" years ago after I saw a Dinty Moore commercial and thought it would be hilarious.  I'm not sure why I made this connection, but it still cracks me up every time I call her this.  We met when we were Democratic pages for the Illinois State House of Representatives- the summer after high school for me and the summer after her first year of college for her.  We were inseparable accompanying each other on food runs for the representatives or hiding out in the Bill Room.  We both thought a fellow page, the nephew of a representative, was cute, but he only had eyes for her which came as no surprise since she has this glow about her and the most infectious smile.  I listened with wide eyes when she told me about their make out session in his uncle's office and cried hysterically when this summer with her came to an end.

A few years later, we lived together in Virginia Beach.  Together, we fell in love with the beach and the ocean and the sun (apologies to our skin) and tried to find our ways in life.  She, I might add, was speedier at finding her path.  I, in turn, took some wrong turns and ran into some dead ends.

Married to a man in the Air Force, she has lived on both coasts.  While on the East Coast, she and her husband made an intentional out-of-the-way detour to my apartment in small-town Illinois while I was nursing what I thought to be a broken heart.  Although we hadn't seen each other in years, we hooted it up as if no time had passed at all.  I cried when she left.

When my father passed away, I picked up the phone as soon as I left his house and called her.  Her response, "Do you need me to come?"  Just saying these words to me made me feel better, but I told her not to come.  I was relieved his body was finally at peace.

When I told her the doctor declared me infertile, she called me and invited my hub and me to Savannah in order to celebrate her 35th birthday, what she felt was a HUGE milestone.  Down in the dumps and fearful of flying, I said we wouldn't make it out, but she wouldn't take anything but "yes" for an answer.  So, we went (I've always done what she says)- celebrated her birthday, ate chicken and waffles, explored Tybee Island- and I had uncontrollable sobs at the airport when we left.

When I called to tell her I had breast cancer and was going to undergo a double mastectomy, she said, "I'll come."  Crying, I told her not to because I was okay with it. . . just wanted it over.  

When I shared I had signed up to walk 39.3 miles in support of breast cancer research, she said, "Where do I sign up?"  In a nasty storm, she flew from Maryland to Chicago for the sole purpose of walking these two days with me;  this was the first time we'd seen each other in 7 years.  She not only raised the exorbitant amount of money (I had misread the rules) in order to participate in the walk, but she managed to pull my rump from bed that first morning at 5 a.m. in order to catch the bus to our starting point.  26 miles later, we (okay me) gorged on the food offered at the first day's stopping point.  On the bus ride back to the hotel, I told her I wasn't feeling well and then proceeded to vomit all over her shoes.  She gathered me up and settled me into our room.  After popping all of the blisters on the bottom of my feet, I passed out.  The next morning, Denta was up and brushing her teeth.  I told her we could skip the last 13+ miles, but she wouldn't have it.  She said, "I flew here to walk 39.3, so I'm going to do it."  We ended up doing it together, me limping and her looking as if she'd barely broken a sweat.  The day after the walk, I left our hotel room first because I knew I would cry, and I did.

Grateful this magnificent spirit entered my life 25 years ago and has remained, I find it hard to believe she's 43, and I'm a year younger (heeheehee!).  When I'm with her, it still feels as if we're 18 and 17.  I love her, always have and always will.  So, happy birthday Denta as well as happy friendship day. 

A Birthday Video to Me from Denta

 
by Courtney Winkler

I Met Esther Today

Or, rather, I revisited Esther today while waiting for my doctor's appointment.  Arriving a half-hour early for my 8 a.m. (yes, I am type A), I had time on my hands so I thought I'd fiddle with my new phone.  Not able (or rather my 13-year-old neighbor has not loaded it for me yet) to access my Kindle books, I decided to browse through the free Apps (FREE being one of my mantras).  I'm not into slicing fruit with my fingertips or projecting birds, angry ones at that, with levers, but I am into reading.  Woman Blessing Sue Busler's Prayer of Listening was resonating in my subconscious, so I scrolled until I found a Bible App.

Woman Blessing Julie Ford had gifted me with a Bible about a year ago, and I was pretty faithful on daily readings for a better portion of the year, but eventually fiction, kiddos, t.v., hub, Norovirus, etc., distracted me from my frequent meetings with the Word.

Today is a new day;  I'm sexist (the other way), so I opted for a book of the Bible named after a female, Esther.  Here I discovered a brazen woman for the time, Queen Vashti, who "refused to come" (1:12) when her king and husband, Xerxes ordered her presence in order to "show off her beauty to the officials and all his guests"  (1:11).  This man who had been partying for a week and "For six months he made a show of the riches of the imperial court with all its splendour and majesty"  (1:4), sounded like a guy who could have benefited from some time to reflect on his behavior (did I mention his harem of women?).  On the advice of his advisers (all men I might add), Queen Vashti was banished from the throne for her apparent insult to the king.  She was probably better off without him.

Fast forward through some verses and enter Esther, Queen Vashti's replacement.  Esther, cousin to Mordecai from the tribe of Benjamin, was a Jew (although Mordecai urged her to keep this secret from the king).  Meanwhile, the king's prime minister, Haman, detested Jews and convinced the king to have them put to death.

When Esther heard of this, she took action.  Instead of waiting to be summoned by the king (you go, Girl!), she threw a two-day banquet inviting the king and Haman (keep your enemies closer . . .).  The king, apparently swept up in the attention, repeatedly tells Esther, "Tell me what you want, and you shall have it- even if it half of my empire"  (5:3).  Finally, she replies on the second night, " . . . my wish is that I may live and that my people may live" (7:3), uncovering Hamon's plot to exterminate the Jews and the fact she herself is a Jew.

If you want to learn what happens and understand the meaning behind The Festival of Purim, crack open the book of Esther.  You won't be sorry you did.

by Courtney Winkler

 

Teaching Compare/Contrast with The Little Mermaid

A good friend of mine, Sarah Kirkpatrick, invited my squirts and me to see a production of The Little Mermaid at Metcalf Theater located on the SIUE campus.  Directed by Johanna Beck, a 2012 graduate of SIUE in Theater Education, this production mesmerized my kiddos.  A modern take on The Little Mermaid, costumes consisted of colored jeans and brightly colored tank tops for Ariel and her sisters.  Flotsam and Jetsam, Ursula's hench-eels slithered around the stage on scooters wrapped in lights.  A ten-minute intermission occurred between Beluga Sevruga and Les Poissons with an opportunity to purchase fundraiser cupcakes, but they were sold out by the time Sarah and the squirts approached the line (bummah!).  During the performance, Sebastian surprised the squirts by running and hiding between the rows of seats in the audience.  On the way home, excited chatter asked when we could see this show again.

As luck would have it, talking with a friend at church, Carolyn Biagi, she told me about Hard Road Theater located in Highland, IL.  When I visited their website, I was pleasantly surprised to see their next production was of The Little Mermaid Jr.  Kismet!  I ordered the online tickets, and we headed to The Kennel at Highland High School on the second performance evening.  Directed by Gentry Nessel, this performance, too, took on modern elements intertwined with traditional costumes.  Ariel, Flounder, the Princesses, Flotsam, and Jetsam all swam with the use of shoes with wheels.  The overall age of the performers was much younger than those in the SIUE production, but the caliber of the performance was the same, phenomenal.  My daughters sat on the edge of their seats throughout the 21 scenes.  The fact that there was no intermission was not missed as a concession stand was available prior to the opening scene complete with beverages, popcorn, and snacks.  

The ride home consisted of discussion of the comparison of the two productions.  They were unable to pick a favorite as both showings rocked.  We look forward to another lesson in compare/contrast with use of theater.  In fact, I was able to sniff out an upcoming dance performance of The Wizard of Oz coming in January, performed by Dance St. Louis.

 

Courtney Winkler 

A Missed Opportunity

Today I took my squirts and their friend, Miss E, to the park after Music and Drama Camp.  We were all in high spirits after their fun-filled learning experience and were looking forward to roller skating after a visit with "Porky Pig" and "Wilbur" (our names for the pigs) in the park.  After saying our "hellos" to the two pigs in question, we crossed the road so that the girls could play at the park for a few minutes before the skate center opened.  While they played, I sat on the bench next to someone's Big Gulp.  A few minutes later, a younger woman who had just been pushing her child on a swing sat next to me and drank from the Big Gulp.  We started chatting about the weather, etc., which, in turn, led to discussion of activities for the kiddos.  When she told me she'd like to take her three children to Splash City, but that it was too expensive, I told her about a summer reading program which had offered complimentary tickets for reader participants and their family members (I love FREE and am constantly on the hunt for FREE).  She then explained how she was a single, low-income mother.  This conversation led to the upcoming FREE Vacation Bible School offered at Troy UMC.   Usually having a RUBY Magazine card on me, much to my disappointment, this day my pockets were empty.  When it was time for the squirts and I to leave, I told her my name, and she told me hers.  I told her I'd hope to see her again at the park or VBS.  When I left, though, I felt as if I should have acted on her need . . . inviting her to join us skating and paying her and her kiddos' way, asking for her number, something, anything, but I didn't.  Sarah Kirkpatrick's article on TWIGS was resonating in my subconscious, but I failed to act.  The girls and I skated, and much to our sudoriferous glands pleasure, in a nonworking air-conditioned facility.  Due to this uncomfortable environment, we were given complimentary passes for a future visit to the skate center.  Thinking about the tickets in my hand, I am hopeful the next time we are at the park I run into this mother of three, pass on the FREE tickets, and not miss yet another opportunity.

Courtney Winkler