New year, new resolutions

With New Year’s Day just around the corner, I thought today would be as good of time as any to write a New Year’s resolution blog.

I don’t always make New Year’s resolutions. And usually when I do they are so far fetched that I have given up on them before I even get my Christmas tree down.

This year I’ve decided to take a different approach. I reminded myself that my New Year’s resolutions are not a list of things I need to do to become a perfect person. My resolutions should be a list of things I’m committed to doing in 2012. I thought about the things I want to do and habits that would help me be a healthier, well rounded person. Without further ado here are my 2012 New Year’s resolutions.

In 2012 I Arley Elizabeth resolve to:

• Do yoga once a week.

• Take Gunther on daily walks. I feel kind of embarrassed to admit that I don’t do this already, but with a doggy door and fenced in yard it’s pretty easy to be a lazy pet owner.

• Floss. This will likely be the hardest for me to keep. I don’t know what it is about flossing that makes the activity so difficult. But I’ve heard flossing daily can add seven years to your life so I’m going to take this seriously this year.

• Pray regularly and intentionally. Outside of the prayers I recite in church, my prayer life seems to consist of, “God, please help me,” “Lord you can’t be serious?!” and “Thank you Jesus for this food.” I really want to cultivate a deeper prayer life in 2012.

• Stop worrying about what people think about me. Not in a arrogant conceded Lebron James kind of way, but in a healthy, self-aware Tina Fey kind of way.

Well, those are my resolutions. Let’s hope I am able to keep them at least as long as I keep my Christmas tree up. (Which will likely be mid-January). Happy New Year!

*Read my blogs, stories and more at herkansascity.com.

Christmas tree finds triumph amidst tree stand tragedy

How many people does it take to put up a Christmas tree in my house? Apparently, four adults, one tween and a teenager who works at the local hardware store.

Logan and I attempted to put up our tree last week which proved to be a difficult task. The tree was a leaner, but the pickings are slim when you get your tree half-way through December. I could deal with the leaning, but no matter how much Logan and I tried to situate the tree we couldn’t secure the screws in it’s bark.

“Maybe the the guy cut the stump too short,” I proposed, shifting the blame.

By the time we finally got the tree up, and seemingly secure, I decided to call it a night and put the ornaments on the next day. Unfortunately, I woke up the next morning to find the tree on the floor. I tried to put it up myself but failed.

My friend Edmee’s middle-school aged son walks to our house after school sometimes because his school is so close to our house.I thought he could help me get the tree up that afternoon. I had found another tree stand in the basement that I thought might work better with the tree’s short stump.

I didn’t have any luck with Edmee’s son Kaelum. When Edmee and her husband Ryan came to pick Kaelum up, the five of us were unsuccessful as well. It turned out that the first tree stand was indeed too tall and the second stand was broken. Apparently, I had blocked last year’s broken tree stand incident out of my mind.

In order to get the tree to stand I had to visit Cottins, the hardware store a few blocks away. I grudgingly grabbed my purse and drove to Cottins. Why does putting up a Christmas tree have to be so difficult? Just another item to add to the long list of things I dislike about the holidays.

I don’t want to be a Scrooge, but every time December roles I around “bah humbug,” seems to run through my mind. I love to shop, decorate and hangout with my family, so it seems a given that I would love Christmas. But something about Christmas feels too hectic and contrived. Christmas forces us to do things that I think we should do all year round- give gifts, help the poor, spend time with family and celebrate faith. Sometimes with all hustle and bustle of going from one family gathering to the next, it seems like the meaning of the holiday gets lost.

I came home from the hardware store praying that I would get the tree up and get through the holiday with a little more cheer and a little less drear. It turns out my tree issue and attitude problem required the same solution, finding a good stand. Once I got the right stand for my Christmas tree, I got the tree up in less than 10 minutes. As I type I can see the tree with its pretty lights and decorations.

My attitude shifted when I remembered the stand that holds me together is bigger than any of the things that cause my anxiety, stress and bitchiness. At Christmas time we celebrate the idea that the creator of the universe came came to the Earth in the form of a Jewish baby boy to share a message of hope, love and redemption. And I believe that same eight pound, six ounce, newborn baby Jesus continues to offer us hope, love and redemption. And his hope is the base that keeps me standing through the holiday season and throughout the year.

*Read my blogs, stories and more at herkansascity.com.

Gunther and me

My husband Logan and I take our 10-year-old Jack Russell Terrier everywhere. He has been to more states than most 10-year-old children.

Gunther goes with us on road trips to see concerts, on family vacations, and as strange as it sounds we even took him with us to Leadville, Colo. for our honeymoon. Gunther loves Colorado and when Logan planned the trip to stay in a cabin in the mountains it was just too hard to leave him behind. And I worried he might bite my
cousin who graciously offered to house sit.

Oh, yeah, Gunther isn’t the sweet cuddly little dog you may have pictured. He’s a feisty little biter. Piss him off and there will be consequences.

When Logan was in college he thought it would be cool to buy a little dog that could live with him in his apartment. He drove to a small town in Missouri to purchase little Gunther, the runt of the litter. But once they got home Gunther became the king dog of every place Logan lived. Through 7 years of schooling, Logan had several roommates.

All of these roommates have stories about Gunther. Along with being a biter, in his defense I’ll say he’s more of a nipper, Gunth also makes statements with his poop. Make him mad and he will poop on your bed. This happened to multiple roommates. Not surprisingly, Logan moved back home to live with his mom the last year of pharmacy school. While he never pooped on my mother-in-law’s bed, Gunther’s ankle biting did ruin several pairs of business pants, which she holds against the dog to this day.

When Logan and I met, Gunther had just been diagnosed with diabetes. We believe it is type 2, since he had been living on a college student’s diet for the first six years of his life. I still remember the first time I came to Logan’s house. (He no longer had roommates. Gunther had officially scared them all away.)

“He’s so cute,” I said as I bent down to pet him.

Gunther looked sweet and passive, he was clearly still in recovery from his in-patient stay at the vet.

“Oh, you’ll think otherwise soon,” Logan said with a laugh.

I wondered what he meant by that. I found out the first time Logan cooked me dinner. Gunther barked for the duration of the cooking and eating of the meal.

Because of Gunther’s diabetes, Logan and I both assumed the little guy would die before we ever would move in together or get married.

Gunter proved to be a fighter. It seems that nothing can kill him. In the last four years he’s survived diabetes, pancreatitis, kidney stones, and a 15-foot drop off the balcony at the Super 8 motel in Goodland, Kan. (That story could be a blog in its self).

Gunther had issues with me when the three of us moved into a house together after Logan and I got engaged. Apparently, Gunther didn’t want a new house or a step mom.

We give Gunther insulin shots twice a day. A couple weeks after we moved in Gunther bit my hand after I gave him a shot. The bite left teeth marks and a throbbing pain in my tendons. I cried in the pantry for five minutes before I headed to work.

Once, when Logan and I invited a couple and their newborn baby over, Gunther didn’t like the attention that Logan gave the baby. And to this day, I believe Gunther blamed me. The next morning I slipped on a pile of poop Gunther had left on the floor by my side of the bed.

But for all his faults, Gunther has become my little buddy these past six months. When I got laid off from my job at the Kansas City Nursing News, Gunther sensed my pain. He would cuddle up with me, lick my arm and let me know is his doggy way that everything would be okay.

Last week, when Logan and I headed out for a get-a-away to warmer weather we decided to leave Gunther at the vet. This was the first time we have ever boarded him and the decision was heavy on our hearts.

I bought new toys for Gunther to take on his “trip” and since I worried he might not eat as well without us, I actually browned a pound of lean hamburger meat to send with his dog food. As I cooked the meat, I realized this was probably the equivalent of a mother who peels her third-graders grapes before she pack her kid’s lunch. But knowing my behavior is slightly neurotic, makes it somewhat okay, at least in my mind.

All the way to the vet, I kept thinking about all the people who would say it’s always harder on the owners than the pets when it comes to dropping them off to board for the first time. Well, I don’t believe that’s true. If I did I wouldn’t feel so bad. I mean, Logan and I will be relaxing on vacation, while poor Gunther will be at the vet.
When we finally left vet, Logan and I both turned to watch Gunther walk through the door, he pranced through like a champ. Way too proud to show fear, if indeed he had any.

Logan and I held each other’s hand as we walked to the car and I realized at that moment that sometime in the last six months Gunther had went from being Logan’s dog, to our dog. We are a happy family of three, feistiness and all.

In defense of Black Friday

Last Friday I accomplished something that many view as a brave feat. I purchased Christmas gifts at a department store on Black Friday.


I shop Black Friday deals every year, but I’ve noticed the annual sales have gotten more and more intense over the years, to say the least. People camp out to get the best doorbusters and some stores even open Thanksgiving night.

I have heard tales of pepper spray being used by a shopper to deter other shoppers from snagging her deal. And one woman told me she saw a man punch a 10-year-old girl in order to get the toy she had. Greed, insanity and overindulgence are what many people think of when they hear the phrase “Black Friday.”

I’m here to give voice to the moderate Black Friday shoppers. We are not the intense shoppers who wait hours in parking lots for doorbuster deals. We are the mellow, casual shoppers who don’t mind crowds and have patience for long lines. We come home with good deals but mostly boring stories.

My Black Friday experience went like this: My alarm went off at 8 a.m. I decided that I needed some more sleep so went back to bed for an hour or so. I spent some time with my husband before he went to work and headed out the door around 11:30 a.m. I stopped by Dunkin' Donuts to get a Latte Light before heading to Kohl’s.

As long as I purchased the boots I wanted by 1 p.m. I would get the “bonus buy” special, $19.99 for a pair of $65 boots. Should I have made an effort to get to the store earlier? Probably. But lo and behold, the boots were still there. With four sisters, deals like this make Christmas shopping much easier on my checkbook. I also snagged some toys for my nephew and a nice frame with a cleverly placed cliche saying. I purchased all of these items for $57, that’s less than the original price of the boots.

I shop on Black Friday because of the deals, but I also enter the stores because I enjoy the experience. Yes, you heard me correctly, I enjoy the experience.

I don’t arrive at stores before or when they open. And I find the noon crowd to be quite friendly in line. This year I stood behind a nursing student who will graduate this May. She had luggage in her hand, a gift for her boyfriend. Which, she added, also will serve as a not-so-subtle hint that she wants to travel during spring break.

We chatted about her nursing rotations and the most interesting cases she has seen in the emergency department. I love to hear people’s stories. Maybe it’s the reporter in me or maybe it’s just because I’m an extravert.

After my trip to Kohl’s I grabbed some wrapping paper and gift bags at Michael’s and headed home to wrap these gifts, and the others I have stored in my special gift closet.

I understand the need to buy local, and I do. This year I have purchased gifts from local artists and trendy boutiques. But I also enjoy my department store deals, which I purchase free of greed, insanity and overindulgence.

*Read my blogs, stories and more at herkansascity.com.

Maintaining the magic

My standard fall/winter outfit includes a basic cardigan with a cute scarf. The other day I tossed pink scarf on my bed and scrambled to find the pair of jeans and cardigan I wanted to wear so I could get dressed and out the door. Somehow in the process the pink scarf disappeared. I seriously think I have a special knack for misplacing things.

I am also skilled at running late. So, with my pink scarf nowhere in sight I grabbed the first scarf I could find on the shelf and headed out.

As I drove to my appointment in Kansas City I looked at the vibrant, multi-colored scarf around my neck and smiled. My friend Tamra got me the scarf in Turkey, where she worked as a teacher for a couple of years. Every time I wear the scarf I think of Tamra, which makes me smile.

Gifts have a magical way of connecting the recipient with the giver. I love the sentimentality of gifts. Whenever I where a piece of jewelry or accessory I got as a gift in some mystical way if feels as though the person who gave me the gift is with me.

I’m firm believer that gifts should be given with thought and without obligation. Yet, even as I write this I realize that I’ve been a hypocrite when it comes to this standard. I’ve given gifts out of obligation countless times and it has recently came to my attention that I have rather high standards on the gifts I expect my husband to give to me.

Logan’s always been a good gift giver. But after a 65-hour work week Logan realized Friday that he still hadn’t gotten me a birthday gift. So, he ran to the most reasonable place to get a gift for your wife, Orscheln Farm and Home.

Logan came back from Orscheln’s and surprised me with a wind chime. I don’t know if it was the unexpectedness of the wind chime (I had hinted that I wanted a camera) or the fact it was a last minute gift, but when I looked at the bird-shaped chime my feelings felt slightly hurt. (Translation I turned into one of those 12-year-old spoiled brats outside of Hollister’s whining because they didn’t get the $70 jeans that they wanted)

A wind chime? Really? Logan usually gets me a unique piece of fair-trade jewelry that he spends hours, or at least tens of minutes, picking out. This hastily purchased wind chime left a sour taste in my mouth. We’ve only been married sixth months. Are we already one of those couples who forgets to get each other birthday gifts?

When Logan and I got married we swore we would never become one of those boring couples. We would be fun. If we had children we would not lose the ability to have adult conversations. We would not become our parents.

And I had hoped that we would not lose the spark and passion in our relationship. I didn’t want to lose the magic.

In my six months of marriage I’ve learned that everyday can’t be magical, but what sustains the relationship is remembering the moments that are.

I’ll never forget the first gift Logan gave me. It was a couple weeks into our relationship. On our second date we went on a picnic and I mentioned that I didn’t have corn cob holders. It was an item I never remembered to get for myself at the store but I always wished I had when I cooked corn on the cob.

A few days later I went to Logan’s house and he presented me with two packages of corn cob holders.

“I saw these at the store and thought of you,” he said with a smile.

I still have those corn cob holders. They still make me smile.

And now when I see my newest wind chime, I’ll remember the year when Logan worked a crazy busy week at the pharmacy and still managed to come home with gift for me from Orshlen Farm and Home. When I hear that strange looking bird chime, I’ll remember how much my husband loves me.

Need great gift ideas? Check out these tips

With the major gift giving holidays less than few months away (I’m including my birthday among those holidays), I thought now would be a good time to share my best holiday shopping tips. Enjoy!

1. For the hardest to shop for on your list pay attention year round to things that say they like, new hobbies or trends, ect. If you are really ambitious, and/or forgetful you can write these notes in a cute notebook or type them into your phone. When you see items that fit these people’s wishes on sale snag them.

2. Take advantage of online deals. This may seem like an obvious one, but it’s easy to overlook e-mails that look like spam. Sites like shopittome.com and groupon.com are amazing resources for creative gift ideas at great prices.

3. Remember gifts don’t have to be tangible. Tickets to a concert or theater event can make great gifts. Let’s face it, some people already have enough stuff.
Don’t forget to support local artists around the holidays. There are tons of art events this time of year. It’s easy to get deals on original art work at silent auctions. But deal or no deal art is a great gift on which to splurge. When you give the gift of original art your loved one has something no one else has. Unless, it’s a reprint, but even then it’s sure to beat anything you’ll find at a big box store.

4. Get crafty. From baked goods, to jewelry to knitted hats, if you can make it, now is the time to do so. People love homemade gifts. And even if they don’t, trust me they will pretend like they do. :)

5. If all else fails have something delivered from Harry and David or Omaha Steaks. I mean who doesn’t love fancy fruit or frozen meat.

Barbie reveals her feminst side

I feel like Barbie’s gotten bad rap over the years.

I understand her extremely large breasts, itty-bitty waist and non-existent ass make her seem like she’s a bad example for little girls. Clearly the doll is not proportionate and some feel it may give girls a complex about their weight and looks.

As someone who played with Barbies well beyond a socially acceptable age (Yeah, I still broke out the Barbies in middle school) I can attest that there is more to the doll than her looks.

I have memories as a kindergartner playing Barbies on the porch of our trailer. In many ways Barbie gave me the opportunity to create stories before I even knew how to write. Barbie, you could say, was one of the first who inspired me to explore fiction writing.

Barbie could be anything I wanted her to be, from a stay-at-home mom, to a successful business owner.

Of course there are some odd things about Barbie that I notice as an adult that I didn’t notice as a child. Looking back, my Barbies’ lives seemed to be a lot like an episode of Sister Wives, since I only had two Ken dolls and had dozens of Barbie dolls.

And yes, there wasn’t as much diversity in my trunk of Barbies as I wanted. My family wasn’t as eager to buy minority Barbies as I wanted them to be. I remember getting a Hawaiian Barbie seemed like a big feat. And sure, it bothered me that all my Barbies came in the same shape and size. I did have a Gem and the Holligram’s doll, which helped alleviate this problem. The purple haired Holligram was much bigger than Barbie. In fact, she was the same size as Ken. Sometimes Ken would wear her clothes. Apparently he was transgender before I even knew what transgender meant.

My point is, for all her flaws, Barbie can also be a great creative outlet for girls. I played with Barbies almost daily for well over five years, okay likely more like eight years. I put Barbie away for good by the end of my sixth-grade year. And in seventh grade I started writing short stories like there was no tomorrow. Barbie helped get my creative juices going and they were eventually unleashed on a 75 cent Mead spiral notebook. I turned out to be a rather well adjusted feminist, not in spite of Barbie’s influence but perhaps because of it.

I hope to have a little girl someday and if she wants Barbies, I won’t hesitate to buy them for her.

Life is short, treasure the moments you have

Sometimes life ends too soon. This year, I saw friend after friend lose someone they loved. And in July, I said goodbye to my friend Cinnamon Smith, yet another beautiful person whose life ended too soon.

The phrase, “the good die young,” seemed rang true more than ever this year.

Last week, my hometown dealt with yet another tragedy. A young mother lost her life at only 23.

I used to search for reasons why such tragedies occur. But I’ve come realize that tragedy often times has no rhyme or reason.

These losses are beyond my comprehension. In the midst of grief, I can never grasp why such good people are taken from us, but I do know that these deaths remind us how fragile and precious life is.

If I’ve learned anything over the last six months, it’s that life is a gift that should not be taken for granted. And that our time on Earth should not be wasted on pettiness, heart ache or regret.

I’ve learned to embrace those who build me up and walk away from those who tear me down. I cherish the time I have with love ones, because I know that time is a gift and not a guarantee.

Things that used to bother me- disappointment, rejections, criticism- seem to roll off my back much easier. In light of so much heartache, I’ve gotten a new perspective on what really matters.

A year ago, I couldn’t imagine the thought of not having a full-time job. I thrived on my busy schedule filled with deadlines and obligations. But today, I see the slower pace of my freelance work as a gift. My open schedule makes me readily available to spend time with family and friends. And I find myself able to be fully present with those I’m with, my mind no longer rushing a million miles an hour. I know my schedule won’t always be this laid back. I’m optimistic that full-time employment will be part of my future, but for now I’m going to enjoy this gift of an open schedule with a grateful heart. Life is too short not to enjoy it.

Arley's totally awesome kitchen tips

Lately I’ve been buying the cheap rice, but last week I splurged on the Asian sticky rice. As the rice soaked up the yummy stir fry juices I remembered why the sticky rice was worth the extra couple dollars. I didn’t know the difference between regular rice and sticky rice until my roommate Esther showed me the error of my rice cooking ways. And when Logan and I started dating I quickly found out he too was a sticky rice convert. Truthfully, Logan’s rice cooker was one the reasons I pursued the relationship with him.

Between my reminiscing about rice and the ridiculous amount of daytime food shows I watch lately, food is on my mind. So, what better to blog about than the five kitchen rules I live by. Here they are:

1. Always, always splurge for sticky rice. As I say, once you go sticky all other rice seems icky. :)

2. Condiments add zest to a meal. It’s always good to have some fancy add-ons at your table for guests to enjoy. I love mayo, but a dish of mayo in the middle of the table doesn’t look quite as sophisticated as a dish of mayo with a little Sriracha Hot Chili Sauce. Mayo and Sriracha has become favorite sauce. I eat it on everything from sandwiches to potato chips. Sometimes I even just eat it on my fingers!

3. It’s good to mix up dishes with different spices. It keeps your taste buds on their toes. If you don’t know what spice to add, go with cumin. It’s one of the most versatile of the spices. Need to give your chili some extra kick? Go for it. Want something extra in that Asian dish? Why not. Are your pancakes tasting a little flat? Okay, so this spice may not work for EVERYTHING, but you get what I mean.

4. Every couple weeks it’s good to prepare a catch-all meal. Last week I made jumbalaya. The meal created the opportunity to throw in the leftover pork loin from the night before and lots of veggies from the garden. “Catch-all” meals are a great way to use up leftovers without making if feel like they are leftovers. Some of my favorite catch-all meals are chili and any kind of stew.

5. Keep a stand by meal in the freezer. Occasionally, I’ll cook extra and freeze the leftovers. This works well for lasagna, chili, ham and beans, Korean barbecue and any kind of soup. I keep these meals on hand for days that I’m busy or just feeling lazy. Let them de-thaw and them pop them in the oven or stove top and wahla! These homemade frozen meals give the illusion that I have it way more together than I actually do.

Living in the grey

This week has been the busiest week I’ve had since I became an unemployed/freelance writer/pseudo tie-dye artist.

Logan and I are joining the church that we’ve been going to for the past year and I’m working on a piece about my time in Mission Year to submit to Seeds of Service, (http://seeds-of-service.blogspot.com). Needless to say, the week has been full of reflection.

Seeds of Service is collecting essays for a book about volunteer service in the United States. For my submission, I had to write about how my experience continues to shape my life. I spent 11 months in West Philly for Mission Year. It’s hard to summarize how my time in West Philly impacted me because the experience shaped me in such a profound way.

Getting out of my comfort zone, out of my bubble, taught me about compassion, love, grace, social justice and community. But if I had to summarize what I took away from Mission Year in one word, it would be grey.

Mission Year taught me how to “live in the grey.” Mission Year showed me how to dive into the tension that comes when we witness situations where there are no clearly identified heroes or villains. And where the lines between wrong and right are fine, and hard to recognize. I came to Philadelphia as 20-year-old evangelical who was confident she knew how the world should be.

But when confronted with the realities of how the world is, I realized there was lot more grey than my world view at the time had led me to believe. I quickly recognized that I didn’t have things all figured out and found joy and comfort in the reality that I didn’t have to.

Living in the grey, continues to shape me life. On personal level, living in the grey means pursing the truth as a journey, not a destination. On a professional level, living in the grey has made me a better journalist because I explore the different angles of a story to get beyond the surface. On a political level, living in the grey forces me to look at the issues not just from the perspective of a middle class WASP, but also from the prospective of the marginalized. And on prophetic level (what can I say I love alliteration. It’s the real reason I changed my name), living in the grey enables me to take joy in the subtle glimpses of the divine that I see on a daily basis- a hug from a toddler, a hand written letter of encouragement, or time to reflect during a long bike ride.

Living in the grey has freed from the need to be right and enabled me to be more relational. For that, my 11-months at Mission Year are invaluable.

Baby tye-dies

Since I seem to like making a mess far more than cleaning, tie dying has become one of my favorite hobbies. I love to make tie dyes for family and friends. And baby tie dyes are my favorite. They are just so little and cute. The bright swirls of color on an itty-bitty onesie make even the biggest cynic say, ahhh.

I get lots of compliments on the tie dyes I make so I thought why not share the love. My tye dyes will now be available in Lawrence at Doodlebugs, 816 Mass. I can also make custom orders. If you want to provide a hippster look for a special baby in your life let me know. :)

Living life live

I love fall. Love, love, love fall. I feel like I can’t say it enough.
The last two weekends have been filled with my favorite things- live music, college football and people I love.

Logan and I headed to Colorado for Labor Day weekend to see a couple of Phish shows. And last weekend we saw KU pull off what could be their second and last win of the season. (I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a third win, but I’m not holding my breath.)

There is something spectacular about live events. And fall is the perfect time for these outdoor festivities. When you are at a game or a show it’s more than just a series of plays or melodies. The events become a collection of shared moments that you experience in a specific time and a specific place with specific people.

As an extrovert, I thrive on the energy from crowds at concerts and football games. But more importantly these occasions remind me of the importance of living in the moment. I’m a firm believer that life is best lived live.

A few days ago I heard Garth Brook’s “The River” on the radio. (I realize Garth Brooks is quite the contrast from Phish, but what can I say, I have an eclectic taste.) I saw Garth Brooks in Kansas City in 2007 and when he sang “The River” I got goose bumps. That song is one of my most memorable concert moments.

In 2007, Iayoffs were looming and I was applying for jobs. I wondered if I would stay in the Kansas City area or even in the journalism field. As I searched for purpose in my career and life, Garth Brook’s words struck me to the core.

“You know a dream is like a river
Ever changing as it flows
And the dreamer's just the vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores.”

These days I’m doing my best to stay between the shores. The ever-looming layoff has came to pass and even though I’m slightly more stable (having a husband and a house) I still don’t know what my future holds. I know that I will continue to be a dreamer. But for now my focus is less on what I’m going to do, and more on simply being in the moment. This weekend I’ll be enjoying the moment at Winfield and encourage any blue grass fans come along.

Begging for crumbs

I have had a rough week. One of those weeks where I try to be positive, perhaps even overly positive, and then by the end of the day I end up crashing.

So, tonight my tearfest happened on the staircase. I was heading up stairs and looked down at Gunther laying at the bottom of the stairs so peacefully and I just burst into tears. I have the kind of mind that often floods with thoughts. A beautiful mind if you will (although not quite schizophrenic beautiful like the movie A Beautiful Mind). At any given moment it’s hard to tell what thought might have caused an emotional reaction when there are so many thoughts running through my head.

I decided to sit down on the steps to take a moment. As I continued to look at Gunther, my eyeless diabetic dog who literally blindly follows me around the house all day, I thought of Jesus’ parable of the Canaanite Woman. (http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2015:21-28&version=NIV)

I’m no theologian, and fully appreciate those who are. To me, as a lay person, I view the Bible as beautiful collection of stories whose meanings and depth continue to change as I grow and evolve. I have taken many different perspectives on this passage throughout my life.

To summarize the scripture for those of you who don’t want to read through the link provided above, a gentile woman begs Jesus to save her from her affliction. Jesus refuses and refuses eventually saying, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

Jesus refers to her as a dog because she is not an Israeli.
The woman replies, “Yes it is, Lord. Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

Upon hearing her witty response Jesus says, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.”

The story goes on to say that Jesus healed the woman of her affliction. Odd story, with a happy ending.

When I read this story as a teenager I thought it made Jesus seem like a huge prick. I mean seriously he called the woman a dog. He made her “beg.” Really Jesus? This doesn’t sound like the peaceful sheep herding Jesus we see in pictures. And it’s certainly not the “8 pound, 6 ounce, new born infant Jesus.”

I just don’t like to think of Jesus degrading anyone, so this parable always bothered me. I mean he called her a dog.

In my early 20s I found a deepened spiritual intimacy and my view of the passage changed. Instead of looking at Jesus’ comments to the woman, I started to focus on her comments to him. I started to focus on her faith and it became beautiful.

Here is this woman full of affliction, desperate for help, looking to a God who she sees as magnificent enough to view his crumbs and miraculous. In my early 20s I thought to myself, yes that’s the kind God I serve. One whose crumbs are enough to sustain me.

My mid- to-late 20s brought on some more challenging times and to be honest I haven’t thought about that passage in quite awhile.

Tonight as I sat crying on my steps, I felt overwhelmed. Here I am looking for work, trying to overcome the learning curve of married life, and desperately missing the steady flow of stories I used to write.

I stopped crying long enough to look at Gunther, my terror of a Jack Russell. Everyone knows Gunther and I have had our ups and downs. I came into his life about three years ago as Logan’s new girl friend and have now transitioned into his “mommy.”

As much as I view Gunther as a tremendous pain in the ass, I really love that little pup. I love him unconditionally with little expectations. (We expect him to go to the bathroom outside and limit his biting to just Logan and me.)

As I a looked at Gunther and thought of the parable of the Canaanite woman, I couldn’t help but wonder if God views me in the same way that I view Gunther- as a pain in the ass who She loves unconditionally regardless of my accomplishments. I’d like to think She does.

And when I feel down about my trials, those that are trivial and those that are not, it’s good to look around and identify the crumbs that God has left for me. It’s good count my blessings and know that regardless of my circumstances, life is good.

Gold vs. Old

A couple weeks ago I went in search of some garage sales, as I do most Saturdays. Logan constantly tells me to keep my eyes out for items that I can sell on eBay. I can really make a profit on my hobby if I try, he tells me.

When I saw a couple Care Bears at a garage sale in West Lawrence I thought I had the jack pot. Surely, I could get around 30 bucks off of the big one I though and maybe $10-12 off of the little one. I purchased two Care Bears for $1.50 and got home to find they are apparently worth just that. The highest going out-of-the-box Care Bear I could find on eBay sold for only a couple bucks. I did end up going back to that same garage sale later that morning after I told Logan they had several video games there. He dug a little more than I did and found an entire collection of Grateful Dead albums. This is the kind of stuff you could really sell on eBay, we however are keeping them for our own personal collection even though we do not have a record player.

This whole incident inspired me to write a new blog segment called Gold versus Old. It’s my version of “Hot or Not.” Some things really are worth gold, while others are just simply old.

Gold: Original Grateful Dead albums. The albums Logan snagged at that garage sale are priceless, or around $30 a piece on eBay if you are going to put a price on them. But to us they are historical memorabilia that we hope to pass down to the next generation.

Old: Care Bears. Who knew? To me these stuffed animals will always be valuable. But apparently they aren’t to the general public. Logan also told me a lot of parents don’t like buying used toys for their kids because of the germs. That comment set me off on a pro-germ soap box. How are kids going to develop a strong immune system if they aren’t exposed to germs.

Gold: Environmentally friendly cleaning products. I’m trying to go green when it comes to cleaning, if for no other reason than the scent of Clorox with bleach makes me want to vomit. Clorox now has a non-bleach, green all-purpose cleaner that I have been using for my counters. And I am a firm believer in using water and vinegar on wood floors, although you might not think so judging by how little I actually clean mine.

Old: Sexist salesmen. Speaking of environmentally friendly cleaning products, I had a door-to-door salesman come by the other day with some concentrated orange all-purpose cleaner. The cleaner could be used on floors, windows, class, counters and even cars. I was sold on the product until he made some wise crack about a woman’s place being in the home. This was a direct sale fail. Don’t let the yoga pants, pony tail and wedding ring fool you buddy, being a stay-at-home wife is not my career.

Gold: States that promote equality by allowing same-sex marriage.

Old: DOMA

Gold: The fall. With cooler weather, seasonal amber ales and football, how can you not love the fall?

Old: Summer. So long 115 degree days.

These are my confessions

This week has been full of revelations for me. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I got the Usher song Confessions in my head, so I thought maybe I would share a few of my confessions on my blog. Don’t worry, none of my confessions are quite as juicy as Ushers.

1. I’m not a Bob Marley fan. I’m not actually into the reggae genre at all. It’s just not my thing.

2. Babies scare me. They didn’t used to. I baby sat all the time as a teenager and had no problem. Back then I didn’t realize how much damage I could do to the little ones. I didn’t even know what the term liability meant. And there seem to be much more gadgets for babies now days then there used to be. Truthfully, I feel like I don’t quite know what to do when I’m left alone with a baby. And I feel an extreme since of relief when Logan and I hang out with couples who don’t have children, and don’t seem to be trying to either.

3. I liked Tina Fey’s book Bossypants, but I didn’t LOVE it. I think the fact that it seemed so “eh” actually made me like Tina Fey more. Because truthfully, it’s hard to really like someone who seems ridiculously perfect. Tina Fey’s book was a funny, down-to-earth quick read that I liked, especially where she calls out the breast feeding Nazis. (You’ll have to read the book to see what I’m talking about. :))

4. I wish I had people over for tea more often. One of my cousin’s got me cutest tea pot for my wedding and I really haven’t used it much. Probably because it’s been 115 degrees, but still. When I lived in my apartment I used to have people over for tea. I don’t do that any more and I really wish I did.

5. I’m not much of an animal person. I love Gunther, but I probably wouldn’t choose to have another pet after he dies. Maybe I’ll change my mind. Puggles are really cute, but I just don’t feel suited for taking care of live things, whether it’s a plant, animal or human.

6. I could never be a nurse. I wrote about nurses for three years and think it’s a great profession, but I don’t think I have the empathy to do the job. When someone asked me for pain medications for a minor wound or injury, I would have to fight the urge to say, “Are you serious? Suck it up.”

7. I fear my lack of empathy makes me an overall awful human being, or at the very least a bad wife. Three sayings the Hoskin family lived by from childhood memories are: life’s not fair, suck it up, and tough it out. I sometimes expect other people to have these mantras for their personal lives. But when it comes to systematic injustices I have compassion down. I hope that balances me out enough to at least be someone people would like to have a beer with. I think it does.

8. I really like McDonald’s.

Living a good story

I had lunch with my grandma and grandpa last Friday. One of the things I like best about spending time with my grandparents is the stories my grandpa tells. My grandpa likes to tell some doozies, some are true, some are completely fiction.

On Friday Grandpa told me about his childhood visits to his grandfathers. Apparently my great-great-grandfather lived next to a black night club called the Sugary Peach. My grandpa said wild things happened at the Sugery Peach- bar fights, stabbings, all the typical riffraff you’d expect from an establishment in Missouri.*

If my great-great-grandfather had lived in an uneventful cul-de-sac, I doubt my grandpa would have as interesting stories about his childhood. Everyone knows it’s the turmoil and trials that make a story worth retelling.

In Donald Miller’s latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, he challenges his readers to view their lives as a story. He challenges us to live a good story. Miller said good stories start with inciting incidents that propel you forward. Losing my job and getting married are probably the biggest inciting incidents of my life thus far.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of story I’m living lately. I’m in a transition career wise, and in my first months of marriage, so it’s a good time for self evaluation. I know what kind of story I lived during my childhood, adolescents and early 20s, but what will my story be as I enter this new face of adulthood? What will my story be now that I actually feel like an adult? What will the conflicts, rising action and plot include?

My past has never lacked drama. And in the absence of conflict, I have to admit, I have a knack for creating tension myself. I know what you are thinking, Arley dramatic? Never! It’s true, it’s true, at times I’ve been known to be a drama mama. I can’t help but wonder, if writers in general sabotage themselves for the sake of a good story.

I’ve decided that I want my story to be more than drama, for dramas sake. Bart Campolo once told me the best way to get out of a complacent slump is to look around at the things in society that really piss you off, like perhaps the state closing Lawrence’s SRS building. Take on those battles, Campolo said, and you’ll have a fulfilling life. Take on those battles and you’ll create a great story.

As a married couple, I feel like Logan and I are living a great story so far. He balances out my social activism with fun projects like pimping out our bikes (they are retro Schwinns) or brewing some tasty beer. Someday we hope our story will include some baby Arkenbergs. And my dream is that years from now our children will ride their own shiny Schwinns with a heart of compassion that naturally advocates for the underdog.


*While I and some of my family members have lived in Missouri at some point in time, I would like to state that my blood line is Kansan through and through. I bleed crimson and blue.

Double dog dare me

This weekend I busted out my sewing machine. I decided to transform a few pillow cases I bought at a garage sale for 25 cents into a 1920’s style dress.

With a little inspiration from @newdressaday, I felt ready to go. I don’t like to use patterns when I sew. I like to take a few dresses I already have and convert them into templates and guides to create a new outfit.

Once pieces are cut and penned together it’s time for my favorite part of the process, the actual sewing. I love the rhythmic sound the machine makes as I sew the stitches. The hymn of the machine hypnotizes me and takes me away to a simpler time. In this age of smart phones, twitter feeds and instant gratification, I appreciate the process it takes to sew a dress. With a google search and couple clicks of the mouse I could purchase a 1920s dress, but there’s something calming about slowing down enough to get my creative juices flowing and make my own.

As I continue to look for work, I can’t help but be inspired by blogs that go viral, like www.newdressaday.com or the website that inspired the movie Julie and Julia, www.julieandjulia.com. I seem to have some similarities with the women who created both these blogs. Both were 29 when they started the blogs. (I will be 29 this November.) Both were also in times of transition professionally. Here I am, wondering what I’m going to do next and hoping to come up with that next big blog idea. I need a challenge that I could blog about that would be interesting enough draw in an audience. Any ideas? Any double dog dares? I’m ready for a challenge and I have about three months to think of one. Stay tuned.

Accidental housewife

I never planned on being a house wife. But when I got laid off four days before my wedding I seemed to accidentally fall into this position.

Logan and my normal distribution of chores completely shifted when I had an extra 45 hours a week of time to spare. To be fair I do spend a number of hours a week looking for jobs, working on my book and social networking (it is the thing journalists are supposed to do these days.) But never the less, the duties of cooking, cleaning, laundry, and grocery shopping now fell on me while Logan went to work each day to “bring home the bacon.”

In truth I am the one who literally brings home the bacon when I go to the grocery store each week, Aldi’s Fit and Active turkey bacon to be specific. The switch to turkey bacon was among the many disputes Logan and I have had as I took on the role of sole grocery shopper. We’ve also had arguments over milk, bread, orange juice and eggs. Fortunately, I think we’ve finally started to iron these things out.
But one thing I haven’t come to grips with is the idea of me as a stay-at-home wife. I know, I know, I’m on unemployment and am looking for a job. I realize I’m working on a book that someday could inspire hundreds, or more likely tens, of people. But in this bleak economy, I can’t help but think, what if this is it? What if my life from here on out is house work and children with a little bit of freelance on the side. It seems the way it goes for so many couples, but I hate fitting into the normal gender stereotypes. And I always thought that Logan and I broke that mold. He knows how to cook and I can bate my own line. And we all know who would win if Logan and I got in a hot dog eating contest. Yet here we are, Logan the provider and me the semi-domesticated wife.

When people ask me how married life is going I always say “Great!” Because it is. I love my husband more than I ever imagined loving anyone. But somedays I don’t feel great and I want to tell people married life is kind of like a starting a new job- even if you like it you really don’t know what the heck you are doing for the first couple of months.

Yesterday at church the woman who gave the sermon asked us to picture the Kingdom of Heaven. What did we think it looked like?

My mind instantly thought of my wedding day. All the people I love gathered together celebrating at our feast. Family members who hadn’t spoken in more than 20 years laughing and smiling together. Arguments of the past disappeared. That day I thought to myself, this is what heaven will be like. Laughter, food, beer, blue grass, God and all the people you love. This is heaven.

I was really surprised when Heather didn’t say the Kingdom of Heaven is like a wedding feast instead reread that mornings scripture.

“The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field.” (Matthew 13:31)

She went on to verse 33, “He told them still another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds of flour until it worked all through the dough.’”

The Kingdom of God is like planting a garden and cooking dinner?

Apparently, according to Jesus it is. The Kingdom of God isn’t just the big celebrations and accomplishments it’s what we do everyday.

I may feel like my life as a sudo-housewife is meaningless and unfulfilling, but the truth is this is where I am right now. And when I can learn to rejoice in that, I think I will start to see the Kingdom of God as I cook dinner and Logan waters the garden.

When I look back at our amazing wedding, I realize we were celebrating so much more than just our wedding day. We were celebrating the good and the bad. In that time of feast we were acknowledging that we’d support each other through the times of famine.

Maybe next time someone asks me how married life is going I’ll say it’s kind of like watering the plants and cooking dinner, but then getting to eat the meal with the person in world who means more to you than anyone.