Amazing E Resource

I do hope that all of you out there know about someecards.com, the absolutely most hilarious ecard website in the universe. Here are a few of my favorites from them this Christmas:

Jesus: The Christmas Rubix Cube

 

So I have to say that this is the least Christmas-y Christmas season I have probably ever experienced.  By coincidence of a busy season at both my jobs and some mid-December traveling, here I find myself on Christmas Eve day not having done anything Christmas-y. I've not made or eaten a single Christmas cookie. I've not consumed a drop of eggnog. I've not been to a single cocktail party or donned a Christmas sweater even once. I haven't decorated a tree or seen a dressed up Santa Claus. I've not been to an office Christmas party (JDogg's work is too cheap for that sort of thing and my work only has 2 employees, not quite enough for an all out drunken, fattening, gossip-fest) and I've not even taken a driving tour of the trashy Somerville Christmas lights display.  In actuality, the only holiday things I have done are not been able to find a parking space at the mall and watch "Love Actually" several times per week which I do during most seasons. See what I'm saying? Least Christmas-y Christmas ever! Now I'm not saying any of this in a forlorn way. I'm don't feel sad or forsaken over any of this....more like just surprised as in, "how the hell did I make it this far in the season without doing any of this stuff?"

Funny thing, though: I feel like it's going to be a good Christmas. For the first time in a long time, I feel as though I'm actually going to be able to celebrate the day in the spirit for which it was intended; as though I'm actually going to be able to reflect a bit about what was going on in a manger in Bethlehem 2000 years ago and what the hell it has to do with me. 

My initial thoughts are these, for those of you who care: Christmas is not a one-shot spiritual vaccine against despair. I've often, in the past, had hopes that Christmas would really rev up my spiritual life all in one day, like a existential Red Bull or something. Angels! Harps! Babies! Cattle Lowing! Virgins! Hallelujah! How could I be anything but full of spiritual fulfillment and joy? But actually, I've decided Christmas is more like a Rubix cube in your stocking. We've got all these problems in the world and in our own situations and God's answer to all this (at least Christians see it this way) is a little baby in some hay. And we might ask, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? How will this help me? Well, my job now is to figure that out. And this is where that journey begins, on Christmas. Like the starting gun of a marathon, it doesn't signal that the race is run, only that it's begun. And now I have the next whole year to figure out what that strange baby (and what he grew up to do and say) offers me in terms of hope and a future, and in that way find joy, in the long term, in the depth, not in the mall parking lot. Though it would be nice if I could get a little divine help there too.

So Merry Christmas to all you readers. I hope that however you celebrate, you find God's peace in this season!

:) LIOLI

Black Out

Okay. That's it folks. Black Friday has gotten WAY too out of control. You must be stopped.  While I can sort-of understand the thrill of getting some gizmo for 1/3 the price at 5 a.m. cause it's fun, I was just alerted to the fact that Walmart was open all night last night with the express purpose that people can prowl the store ALL NIGHT before getting in on the 5 a.m. sale action. While I commend this effort to make sure people don't get trampled at the 5 a.m. opening time, I think this is just a little silly. And I have to implore you: Stop. Stop America. Stop being so ridiculous.

Sorry Your Life Sucks

So here's something that's been on my mind lately: What on earth do you say when greeting street people? In my current position, I interact almost daily with people in various stages of homelessness. But I never quite know how to begin my conversations with them. My educated, middle-class social instinct would be to lead with: "Great to meet you. Do you live in (fill in town I happen to be in at that moment)?" But that won't work, right, because that's the WHOLE DAMN POINT that they don't live ANYWHERE.  My typical back-up question for social conversation is, "And what do you do for a living?" which also mostly won't work for obvious reasons. So I usually result to, "How are you doing?" which I sometimes I later regret, because the answer, whether they say it like this or not is, "How the F&*% do you think I'm doing? I'm F(*$ing homeless!"

No need to insert commentary here on a society that assess our value on where we live and what we do as a job, as I'm sure you could all compose this in your own heads, and I do know that asking how people are is in fact showing them kindness, which is helpful in some grand scheme of things. But what I'm talking about is how to get to know people, in a meaningful way, without using any conventional modes of conversation or making inappropriate assumptions (So, you must be staying at the shelter?) or making people uncomfortable (Please tell me your life story including all the tragic details so that I can get to know you.).

Yet another one of the many conundrums of my particular ministerial setting that I have yet to answer.....

Update: Mozarella Madness

So we made mozzarella. And here's the CRAZY part: It actually worked!

As previously noted, we geared up for this by making some other, less labor intensive dairy products, like yogurt and cream cheese. But this weekend we decided we were finally ready.

So we went out and got some milk, which sounds easy, but is a significant part of the process as it's necessary to get milk that is not-ultra pasteurized. But we found some nice local, organic, non-ultra-pasteurized milk and brought it home. And then we heated it. To a very exact temperature.

 

And then we added the "magic" powder. And then we put the lid on and waited. And, incredibly, everything got really thick and the curd separated from the whey. And we cut the curd like this: 

 And then we heated it up again, until this WACKINESS started to happen:

 

 And it eventually all stuck together like this:

 And we could stretch it out, which you're supposed to do. Something about the proteins.

 But it's actually really hot, so sometimes you drop it.

 And then we got smart and used a spoon.

 And after tons of streching and reheating and more stretching and more reheating, it looks like this:

 Which you immediately slice up, put on pizza (with dough made from whey!) and enjoy:

Impressive, right? Apparently not if you're a dog;

Maple Shacks and Magic (Or: We made CHEESE!)

I've not been keeping up on my blogging lately, mostly because I've been dedicating a significant amount of time lately to wallowing in self-pity, which has left me little time for composing my thoughts and publishing them in the blog-o-sphere. Aside from the overwhelming nature of both my jobs, we've experienced a number of losses in our families lately, which, having all come in rapid succession, has made it difficult for me to focus on anything in a productive manner. You should know that usually I'm quite an efficient person.  But sometimes, when things get just enough off kilter, I can't quite channel my productive energies in the right direction and I end up doing completely random tasks which, though being carried out very effectively, are mostly irrelevant and not at all helpful to the general trajectory of my life. For instance, when I was in school and had significant deadlines approaching, I would frequently decide that at that exact moment what really needed to be done was (Fill in ridiculous and time-consuming task here.  Good examples are cleaning out the dishwasher drain catch, washing and ironing the curtains, adding tags to photos in my digital albums, alphabetizing books on the bookshelf, etc.). And so I would go off to pursue curtain cleaning or whatever with the vigor and focus that I should be saving for reading and writing papers.

And so one might see it as either a fortuitous turn of events or a simple psychological coping mechanism that just at the moment when everything seems to be completely out of control in my life, I decided to learn how to make cheese.

Well, that might be exaggerating a bit.  I actually signed up for cheese-making class last spring when, inspired by a scene in Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, a fellow bookclubber and I vowed to pursue the art of cheesemaking with our respective (and quasi-reluctant) spouses.  Apparently we weren't the only ones who had this fabulous idea, however, as the class was booked out for about 6 months.  But we signed up anyway, and I had almost forgotten about it by the time it rolled around, and the timing was just perfect for me to launch a new quasi-ridiculous obsession. 

The class is offered by Ricki the Cheese Queen who has been running a cheese-making supply company out of her home in central Massachusetts for about the last 30 years.  We should have been alerted to the weirdness of this program when after signing up online, our receipt arrived in the mail along with a fairly wacky and low-budget DVD about cheesemaking and a note reminding us to not wear deodorant on the day of the class due to the Cheese Queen's allergies. Nevertheless, we powered ahead, agreeing to meet at the class early that Saturday morning. (Our friends were smart enough to make a weekend out of it in a cute bed and breakfast near the site, which is about 2 hours from Boston. But we, perennial procrastinators that we are, didn't think of booking anywhere until the last minute, and wouldn't you know it, couldn't find anywhere that could accommodate us and our 90 pound dog. Go figure.)

When the day dawned, we packed up the pooch in the back seat and headed west to Ashfield, MA right in the foothills of the Berkshires.  The class was to meet in the Cheese Queen's home and the google directions we followed to get there took us past all the quintessential elements of New England scenery.....fall foliage, white church spires in tucked-away valleys, and shacks selling all variety of maple products.  When we arrived in the town, it appeared about 3 blocks long, made up of mostly classically white farm homes and several white country churches. Then, emerging from the morning fog, appeared our destination, which, in stark opposition to the subtle cape-codders on all sides of it, looked like this:

Like some other-worldly house of whimsy, the Cheese Queen's palace was one of the most ecclectic residences I have laid eyes on.  A mish-mash of bright colors, with antique yard furniture almost melting into the lawn, the porch was decorated with a variety of global art and approximately 58 jack-o-laterns. Upon entering, it became clear the outside was just the beginning.

We were escorted inside by Jamie, teaching assistant and some relation to the Cheese queen though the exact nature of their togetherness was unclear. What we thought would be a small gathering of uniquely motivated cheese connoisseurs (we were expecting 8-10 folks like us), turned out to be a group of 42, crammed around plastic folding tables in such proximity as to allow us to discern the weirdness of many of those around us with relatively ease. Here's our classroom during one of the breaks:

We came to find out later that among us were several chefs, a physicist, a "motivational speaker," several home-schoolers and a Presbyterian minister (aka yours truly!). After a few minutes of sitting and reveling in the complete randomness of this event, we were silenced for the entrance of the Cheese Queen. Middle-aged with a huge mop of frizzy hair and wearing what can only be described as a full-body, tie-dyed jumper, she floated into the room and began what was to be the next six hours of learning the techniques of cheese making.  Part demonstration, part practicum, part running commentary on the politics of the dairy-industry, it was quite whirlwind, but, ultimately, a fairly awesome and completely unique experience.

During the class, we learned the techniques for making queso blanco, fromage blanc, creme freche, cream cheese, yogurt, ricotta, mozzarella and cheddar. There was separating of curds and whey, cutting of curd, straining into cheese cloth, pressing in a cheese mold, all the procedures you've heard about and always wondered what they meant. Here's our friend A cooking up some Farmhouse Cheddar in the cheese press:

A beautiful and, of course, cheese-rich lunch was served in the kitchen and living areas and the afternoon was dedicated to mozzarella making. We left around 5 p.m. overflowing with cheesemaking wisdom (and supplies!). I for one felt quite satisfied: who else learns how to make cheese in a wacky, whimsical retreat in the Berkshires? Well, if you don't, then I'll let you in on the secret: the basic process for making all cheese is: Step 1: Heat some milk to a specified temperature. Step 2: Add "magic powder": (usually certain enzymes or live cultures).  Step 3: Let sit for a longer time than you would imagine milk should sit out. Step 4: Enjoy!

Here we are after surviving cheese madness:

Since we've returned we've made yogurt and cream cheese and have pans to make creme fraiche soon. Here's Mr. LIOLI cookin' up some cream cheese: Awesome.

Warning: Career Choice Can Be Fatal

Bad news: I just found out that being a pastor may kill me. Not like existentially, but literally: A study was just released that found that pastors, on the whole, are much more likely than their non-clergy peers to experience obesity, hypertension and depression. The study links thes trends to the overall stress of the job as well as working too much. To which I say: Duh. Any job that asks you to go out to coffee 7 times a day and also demands that you be consistently emotionally balanced, available for emergencies at a moment's notice, spiritually grounded at all times and proficient in a variety of areas including preaching, teaching, plumbing, social work, crisis intervention, mediation, photo-copier repair, financial management, interior design, non-profit administration, singing, institutional change and food preparation, is bound to drive you nuts. And certainly into the cookie jar (or the wine rack) much too often.

Now I have said before, on this very blog, that pastoring is not difficult. And I stand by that. It's not difficult in the way that coal-mining is difficult. Or being an air traffic controller. Or a police officer.  But it is challenging in a more constant way than some other jobs. Because you're a pastor all the time. When you're at work or not, when you're awake or asleep, when you're with your church members or your friends, you're a pastor. Now this certainly doesn't mean that you act like it all the time (thank goodness!), but it certainly an identity that follows you, a reality that can get really tiring. And, as Mr.L and I were recently discussing with another couple over dinner earlier this week, the work follows you as well. It's as if the tasks of the pastoral life ooze out like some Ghostbusters-2-esque blob into all areas of your life. 

Now, many pastoral leaders these days like to talk a lot about "boundaries." "You should set boundaries," they say, "then you wouldn't have these problems." Set boundaries about how much you work and when and who can call and on what number and so on and so on and so on.  But it's more difficult than it seems. Especially when you're in a small church or one without a lot of resourced folks with other support systems around them.  For instance, it's Friday evening and you get a call that someone is in the hospital. Do you take the call? If you do, do you put your family dinner on hold and go? Or wait for the next day? What if they don't have any family or friends and they'll be alone until you come? Or let's say it's Saturday afternoon and you still haven't finished your sermon for Sunday. Do you take a break from your relaxation or house projects to finish it up? Or do you deliver the crappy half-crafted message you've got already? It's Thursday, your only day off, and you get an email from someone who is having a difficult time due to (insert emotional, financial, physical, familial or situational crisis here). Do you respond? Or wait? What if the church is flooding? Do you go? They are difficult decisions to make and ones challenged by our views of pastors and the extent of pastoral compassion.  These are real things that are happening in real people's lives. And it can be difficult to draw boundaries around that.

On top of all this, how do you stop thinking about/worrying about/problem solving all the issues of a complex organization like a church when you walk out the door? I often find that even with no one calling me, I still spend huge portions of my days off stressed out about problems happening at the church. "What are we going to do about our fundraiser if it doesn't go well?..... I hope that person I talked to on Tuesday is going to be okay....... Did I remember to email the music director the song for this week?" And so on and so on and so on.

This is still something I'm working hard to work through. And I certainly don't know what the answer is. But I want to figure it out before I wake up in 20 years, obese, hypertense and depressed. I wish they had put a warning label on my diploma......