Attitude Check and The Best French Onion Soup Recipie Ever

Around 12:30 this afternoon, I decided to make a menu for the week, complete with grocery list. The idea was to then go to the grocery store and get my supplies for the week so that I will be prepared and perhaps even a bit more relaxed this week. Just think, when I leave the hospital at 4pm, I can be home by 4:15pm instead of stumbling around the grocery store trying to think of something to make for dinner. Lovely.

And yet, it is 3pm and I have just completed my list. It is like I can't let myself do something useful to give myself a hand up for the rest of the week. I could have been to store and back by now. I could have already done the one other task I set out to do today and be reading or doing something creative. But here I am. Still on the couch. And now I will rush around to get all my goals completed before we go to church in 2 1/2 hours.

I can still go to the store. And I can still be prepared for the week. I mean, I have a great menu planned . . . french onion soup and flank steak, fish tacos, and this yummy concoction of chicken, artichokes, mushrooms, kalamata olives covered in a yummy red pepper cream sauce - and the best part is, it is a Cooking Light recipe, so I can feel good about pouring the half and half into the food processor because the elves at CL have found ways to let me use yummy ingredients while watching out for our health at the same time! Bless 'em!

When I was single, I think I probably fantasized about Sundays like today. I would have loved to have a second person to plan meals and cook for. Going to the grocery store while he was snug on the couch with the football game as the backdrop of his dreams would have sounded like heaven to me.

But here I am. It is reality now. And while I enjoy planning meals and going to the grocery store, I don't feel all that different than I did back in my basement apartment, sitting on my hand-me-down fouton - wishing I had a partner to share life with. I still feel discontent sometimes. I still wish I was different - you know, less sensitive and more disciplined. I still get "stuck" sometimes . . . unable to do things I want to do in exchange for widdling away my time and then rushing around later.

I have been studying certain women around me lately. Some live nearby, others are friends far away . . . some are strangers whose blogs I "monitor" on a regular basis. What I am learning is that circumstances inform our experience of life much less than I would like to give them credit for. I have always thought that if circumstances are the barometer, then when I don't feel the way I want to, I can just daydream about different circumstances that might someday bring me the experience and emotions I want.

But I know better than that! I am a therapist, for goodness sakes. I knew in the back of my mind that marriage would not solve all of life's problems . . . my mom told over and over again that a man was not the answer to any pain I might have in my heart. And I replied with an indignant, "I KNOW that mom! But I still want to be married!" But she was right. I hate it when she is right. But she is right . . . a lot . . . especially when it comes to me.

I have the man now - a great man! - but my heart still feels empty sometimes . . . okay, more often than I would like to admit. So I won't.

The point is: the women I have been studying have a variety of circumstances: some are single, others have had tradgedy, some have sick children or struggle with their own health, some have awesome marriages, others struggle financially. But they all have something in common: a strong faith in Christ and a daily choice to look for the positive and enjoy what they have.

So, I will stop my pity party and my daydreaming about being a different person and go put MY shoes on. Because really, despite a few scuffs and the fact that I trip and twist my ankle when I wear them sometimes, they are good shoes. Then, I will kiss my sleeping husband on the forehead. I will go to the store. And I will be thankful.

And now, the soup!

Frech Onion Soup

1/4 cup unsalted butter
6 large onions (about 5 pounds), thinly sliced (**** I find my food processor cuts the prep time for this recipie in half!!!)
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 cup brandy
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
6 cups beef broth, homemade or canned
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
12 (1/2-inch thick) slices French bread, toasted
3/4 pound coarsely grated Gruyere

Heat the butter in a soup pot over moderate heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring frequently, until caramelized, about 40 minutes.
Add the garlic and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 1 minute. Remove the pot from the heat and add the brandy. Return the pot to the heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until almost dry. Sprinkle the onions with the flour and cook, stirring, for 3 minutes. While stirring, slowly add the broth. Bring the soup to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer, with the cover slightly ajar, about 20 minutes. Season the soup with salt and pepper.

Arrange a rack about 4 inches from the broiler and preheat.

Arrange 6 ovenproof crocks or deep soup bowls on a baking sheet and ladle the hot soup into them. Arrange 2 slices of toasted bread on top of each soup and sprinkle with the cheese.

Broil the soups until the cheese is melted and bubbling. Serve immediately.

(***This soup can be made the day before - it tastes even better after it has been around for a while!)

Marriage: A Tool For the Depraved? VOL. 8

When I worked in the treatment center, we had a young man who came from an abusive family. We're talking unimaginable amounts of trauma and damage. This boy was wounded. Deeply. To the core. He didn't weigh more than a 100 pounds, and yet he was so disruptive and destructive that we could not control him. Eventually, we got to a point where we had to hire an extra person to work the milieu so that there would always be an extra pair of hands to make sure he was taken care of. That is a big deal. In a place where the client to staff ratio was 1:4, this child had 1:1 attention during every one of his waking hours. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for him. We told him I love you. We joked around with him. He was loved. He was given choices. And second chances. And 17th chances. And three meals a day. All luxuries he had not been afforded before.

After several months of treatment, and a month of very good behavior, I got permission to take him out for a reward. We went out to a mexican restaurant. He ate fried ice cream until he could eat no more. He was accelerating in the program. Growing. Healing.

Three days later, he ran away and was brought back to the facility in handcuffs. He lost control that night and had to be physically restrained. After spending the last of my fun money that month on chimichangas and fried ice cream, I was called horrible names and even bit so hard I had a large bruise.

It was like he did not know how to get better. Like he didn't want to get better. And the people who wanted to help him were his enemy.

Melanie's comment from last week about the paralytic in John 5 is beginning to make sense.

In so many ways, I am that teenage boy. I have everything I need before me for full life. And yet, I flaunt my battle wounds (small in comparison to those of other people) as an excuse to stay stuck . . . to resist change.

Last week Herb and I were joking around about scapegoat . . . "Sorry, I had a bad day, so I can run this red light." "You know, I just got in a fight with my boss, so I am going to punch you in the face." "I had a colonoscopy today, so, I just wanted to let you know I won't be paying my taxes this year . . . and I am going to put whoopie cushions on the chairs of all of the judges in the Supreme Court. But don't blame me, I had a tiny camera shoved up my buns today. It isn't my fault."

This week and last, my prayer book has been guiding my to scriptures and sacred readings about our part in the process of God's healing and forgiveness. Melanie was right . . . there is a level of responsibility in healing. At some point, we have to say:

"I want to get better."

Maybe Not

My friend Libby has decided to take a ride on the Change Train this summer. Her Change Train is on a non-stop route; destination unknown. The conductor is a scary, tatoo clad personal trainer. To hear her describe this vehicle makes me think of the scary boat ride on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I always had to close my eyes during that part of the movie. And if the Change Train at all resembles the boat, then my response is the same. I don't mind adventure. Nor do I resist new things (with the exception of course, of sushi. and now that i have mentioned sushi, i fear that any comments i receive will be about how i am missing out on God's favorite food. let's try to stay focused, people!).

But real change. The kind that causes you to forgive, let go, make new habits, believe in God at a new level . . . you will always find me covering my eyes and rocking back and forth at the mere suggestion. And with the exception of the promise of "ridiculous fun" and viewings of "Sex and the City" reruns on DVD, I want nothing to do with Libby's change train.

The funny thing is that I have spent my whole life held captive by the belief that I need to change. I want to change. Sometimes I am so immersed in self-disgust that all I want to do is change. I have spent hours dissecting myself with the hope of finding the cancer that has caused such disdain for myself. But I can't find it. Maybe my biggest problem is that I won't accept that there is a blood coursing through my spiritual veins that ripped the cancer from me years ago. Maybe the root of my sickness is my obsession with needing to be broken.