Quiet on the Set

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“Your solitude will be a hold and home for you even amid very unfamiliar conditions and from there you will find all your ways.  All my wishes are ready to accompany you, and my confidence is with you.”

–Ranier Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

My Quiet Spot in our Texas Home

When I was in my thirties, I lived in the perennial hope of Helen Gurley Brown’s myth that a woman really could have it all.  For me, this entailed happiness and wealth and professional prestige and contentment in family life.  It was a list connected by ‘ands’ —  not ‘ors’.

But no matter how hard I played the game of life, I never landed on the space marked “All,” even though I packed life to the gills and then some.  Too often, my ‘some’ slipped through the cracks of a sad busy life; and ultimately, this led me to reassess who I was and what I wanted out of life.

Seeds of salvation were sown in the quiet moments of a retreat with good friends.  Being surrounded by the deep piney woods of Texas — at a point when I was wondering whether some essential part of me had gotten lost in the chase for worldly success — was a rich metaphor that I failed to grasp until later.

Too focused on digging down to the core of my being — preoccupied with figuring out who I was and who I was becoming – I then had little appreciation for the birds-eye view.  But what is most important to who I am today, I walked out of that quiet weekend with a new sense of direction and a longing for something more.

It is good to retreat from life to take time to reassess life priorities, choices and actions.   However, to find a quiet place to think is not easy where societal noise is so portable, with cell phones and laptop computers, not to mention trains, planes and automobiles.

Away from the whirlpool of noise that drowns out any ability to think, the quiet waits to give life.   The quiet invites me to catch my breath and to expel whatever darkness threatens to eat away at my soul; it helps me to breathe in the aroma of fresh possibilities and reconnect with the truth of my being and the deepest longings of my heart.  The quiet allows me to let go of unwieldy props and masks that make me clumsy and allow me to hide and forget my true self.

There in the quiet, pretense is unnecessary.  I am free to once again seek my truest self and longings.   And to know and claim and wear my true self is so very important, because as Thomas Merton writes, “To know ourselves is the other side to knowing God.”

The Bible tells us it was in the sounds of sheer silence where Elijah heard God when Elijah was in retreat, running for his life from the wicked Queen Jezebel.  It is no surprise then, that it is in the quiet where we best discover out true selves.

But what is the quiet? — what does quiet look like?– and how does quiet differ from silence?   Frederick Buechner offers us answers, as he draws this shimmering definition and contrast out of his book Wishful Thinking:

“An empty room is silent.  A room where people are not speaking or moving is quiet.  Silence is a given, quiet a gift.  Silence is the absence of sound and quiet the stilling of sound.  Silence can’t be anything but silent.  Quiet chooses to be silent.  It holds its breath to listen.  It waits and is still.

“…The quiet there, the rest, is beyond the reach of the world to destroy.  It is how being saved sounds.”

Beef Fajitas

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No matter that it’s mid-winter by the calendar… outside where it counts, it’s early spring.

The bright sunny day has inspired me to all sorts of spring cleaning.  I’ve mopped floors and scattered the dust off furniture.  My bed linens are freshly washed and even now, a white coverlet hangs on the backyard gate soaking up sunshine  and Oklahoma wind.  Even our little Scottie dog hasn’t escaped my attention — freshly washed herself, Cosmo is driving poor Max to forget they’ve been ‘fixed’ to live squeaky-clean, G-rated lives.

The way I like clean-living, it’s easy to forget I wasn’t raised in a squeaky clean house.  Housekeeping was never tops on Mom’s priorities.   The only time we could count on a clean house was when company was coming.  Even then, to make our house presentable, it took all hands on deck  to cram two months of cleaning into one day.

In spite of her poor housekeeping, Mom enjoyed having company.  Importantly, the reverse was true also:  folks liked being Mother’s guests.  Mom was a wonderful cook and she loved to play card games, but mostly, it was Mom’s lack of pretentiousness that caused guests to forget themselves and have a good time.  My girls were never ready to leave — they would have moved in had Mom invited them.

Housekeeping regimens probably changed once my parents moved to Texas, as entertaining occurred less often, with guests usually staying over a long weekend.  My parent’s entertaining base kept changing every couple of years, with the phone company transferring Dad to Austin, San Antonio, Kingsville, Corpus Christi and eventually to Lake Jackson.  But all the changes in scenery offered guests a chance to soak up different parts of Texas culture.

It was Kingsville, in 1982, where mom first served beef fajitas.  The girls were young — Kara 8 months old and Kate just four — when I took my family ‘home’ for Christmas.  I’d never heard of fajitas and was a little hesitant about trying this new food.   But it wasn’t long before we were all filling our tortillas like old hands… and thank goodness, soon finding them on menus at Oklahoma restaurants.

Fajitas are easy to prepare in advance, which is one secret of being a good host.  But certainly there are other secrets, which raises the question of what good hospitality should look like.  Margaret Guenther’s Holy Listening, provides answers by describing what happens when we offer hospitality:

“We invite someone into a space that offers safety and shelter and put our own needs aside, as everything is focused on the comfort and refreshment of the guest.  For a little while at least, mi casa es tu casa, as the Spanish gracefully put in.  There are provisions for cleansing, food and rest.  Hospitality is an occasion for storytelling with both laughter and tears, and then the guest moves on, perhaps with some extra provisions or a roadmap for the next stage of the journey.”

Guenther shares a perfect recipe for hospitality.  My mother followed it, my friend Bernice follows it, and Susan — my source for today’s recipe — follows it.  “Make yourself at home.”  They said these words in a way that their guests knew they meant them.

From the inside out is where it all counts:   “Mi casa es tu casa. ” And in my mother’s casa, whether it was tidy or not.

De mi vada a tu’s — from my life to yours.

Beef Fajitas

4 servings        Preparation Time:  1 hour or less (excluding marinade time)

Serving Note:  The fajitas can be made in advance and kept warm in a foil-lined ice chest.

2 lbs skirt steak
1/2 cup bottled Italian dressing
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/3 cup Worcestershire sauce
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1 tsp garlic powder
juice of 1/2 lime

Combine all ingredients except steak and mix well.  Remove as much fat from meat as possible.  Cut into 6-8 portions.  Marinate meat in sauce in shallow dish 24 hours in refrigerators or 3-4 hours, covered, at room temperature.  Drain and grill. Let meat rest for 5 minutes before slicing into strips.

Serve with flour tortillas, salsa, sour cream, black beans, lettuce and tomatoes — and like us, with caramelized onions and green peppers.

Inside Cooking Note: During the winter months, I sear the meat in an oven proof skillet and finish it off in the oven.  Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  Heat oven proof skillet over medium-high heat for about 5 minutes.  Depending on size of your skillet, you may need 2 pans.  Add 2 tbsp. olive oil to hot pan and sear the steaks well, 2 minutes each side.  Finish cooking in the preheated oven — 5 to 10 minutes, depending upon the level of  doneness desired.  Let steaks rest for 5 minutes before slicing.

Nap Party

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I admire how easily dogs fall asleep.

Is it their freedom from worries?  Or could it be their lack of preoccupation with tasks that lie in wait for them?  Or perhaps it’s their constant practice at the fine art of good sleeping?

As I contemplate my morning readings, Maddie snores by my side with nary a care.  Her body forms to the sides of the chair, her head rests on its arm.  I look around to see that it’s this way with my other dogs too — all are completely at rest.

I wish I could rest this easily.  I didn’t sleep well last night, though I have no worries or preoccupations that I can point to as sleep-nappers.  Sometimes I just wake up at the indecent hour of four a.m. — and no matter how much I toss and turn to put myself back to sleep, sleep evades me.

Often, Max hears me stirring, and when he’s not already in bed with us, he jumps up to keep me company.  Without need of invitation, Max  drapes all forty-six pounds of his body on top of mine.  I wonder if he’s trying to anchor my tossing with his weight or trying to bring me the comfort of his presence.

Perhaps Max just desires the comfort of my presence, since a minute later, my poodle comforter is snoring comfortably while I lie underneath him hot and wide awake.  I feel Max’s body form to mine, with the full force of his weight shifting to me.

With no intention to do so, I begin to think thoughts.   Thinking removes the last hope of my return to sleep.   But thoughts come and this one was important to me, as I compare Max at rest to prayer at best.  My dark night encounter with Max invites me to grow still, settle into a warm, comfy spot and allow whatever is weighing me down shift to God.

With prayers expressed and forth-six pounds of weight shifted, I shake awake Max to begin my day.  Max is always happy to get an early start, as my day begins with his food bowl.  I feed the dogs, make my coffee and find a comfortable chair to hold me.  And there, resting in God’s word, I too fall sound asleep, in spite of the coffee.  Thirty minutes later, I wake refreshed, ready for the day.

Now, with morning chores behind me and no worries or preoccupations pressing upon me, I’m wondering if I might indulge in a dog nap or two.  Already I’m missing one good nap party behind me.

With the day still young and my dogs true party animals, I’ve no doubt there will be other nap parties to crash.