Changing the World - One Light Bulb at a Time

Great googly moogly! It's been a loooong time since I've blogged. Even then, it was a repost. Shame on me! Anyway, I'm back in school this quarter and taking a couple of online classes (God forbid I have to speak to anyone in person, right? Ask me later about the communications class I'm taking online next quarter. hahahahaha). Because they are online classes, though, there's more writing. Bliss! A current assignment in my health class (taught by Ms. Myklebust, who I find to be pretty cool - Hi! if you're reading this!) has us exploring our relationship to the environment. The last question was:

Do you think it's important to reduce your personal use of resources to reduce the impact on global resources? Explain why or why not.

 Well, I got a little carried away with my answer. If you know my blogs, you know what I mean. I start out almost every one with something like "This is going to be a little long...but worth it!" So, yeah, I got a little long-winded for a community college discussion board, so I'm posting my full answer here, putting a pared down version with a link to it in my actual discussion board, and inviting the huddled masses to experience the random places my mind goes. If you're one of those community college huddled masses, welcome! Check out the rest of my blog for more hilarity. I promise you won't be disappointed. OK, I don't promise but, if you ARE disappointed by what you read, we probably shouldn't be friends outside of our online class. Not that we are anyway but you never know. We could be sitting in a crowded coffee shop, Vivaldi playing in the background, and our eyes might meet and... then we would realize that we don't know what each other even really looks like (my profile pic for class is a waterlily for crap's sake) and we would keep drinking our coffee and ignoring each other and you would never know that you were sitting in my presence. Which might be for the best some days. I digress. What else is new.

So, my answer to the question follows. If you feel the need to go to IKEA afterward, let me know. I may even offer to drive. 

I know that many people have the attitude of “the little bit that I may do doesn’t have an impact” but I’m not one of those people. This portion of my answer is going to be a bit lengthy but come along for the ride because it will be fun!

Let’s do some basic math (it has to be basic; I’m a girl and I haven’t taken a math class since 1983!):  The estimated population for Clark County for 2012 was 438, 287. Just to make it easy, let’s just call it 438,000.  Now, the estimated household size was 2.66. I think that’s weird given the number of people I know with more than .66 kids, so let’s round that up to 3. So, if there are 438,000 people in the county, and we divide that by the average number of people in a home (3), that comes out to be 146,000 homes.

Now, let’s say those 146,000 homes each spent $6.99 on a single LED light bulb from IKEA and replaced ONE bulb in their home. If they all replaced a CFL with their LED, it would amount to 2,920,000 pounds of CO₂ emissions eliminated from the planet. If they all replaced an incandescent bulb with their single LED bulb, the savings would amount to 19,704,160 pounds of CO₂ emissions! Holy schnikeys, right? Of course, this doesn't take into account the emissions that the LED will produce but we'll get to that later.

It gets even more interesting when you remember that this is just comparing one bulb to one bulb. An LED has a life span of approximately 50,000 hours whereas an incandescent is approximately 1,200 hours and a CFL is approximately 8,000 hours. So, the emissions from one LED should actually be compared to that of about 41 incandescents or six CFLs!

So, if you’re still with me, that means that ONE LED bulb, which produces, on average, 15 pounds of CO₂ emissions during its lifetime (yes, only 15) will last you, ideally, as long as six CFLs, which will produce 210 pounds of CO₂ emissions, or 41 incandescents, which will produce 6,150 pounds of CO₂ emissions.  15 vs 210 vs 6,150. Even as a girl, I can look at that math and figure out that it’s a stunning difference.  Really, by installing one LED, you aren’t eliminating the emissions from one incandescent or CFL, you’re eliminating the emissions from 41 or six of them, respectively!

A smidge more math and then I’m done. Let’s say all these homes in the county that we’re talking about have at least got CFLs in their homes and that is what they plan on replacing. That’s an elimination of 210 pounds of CO₂ emissions per home. Multiply that by our 146,000 homes and that’s a whopping 30,660,000 pounds of CO₂  emissions!! Of course, you have to offset the emissions from the LED to get an accurate number, so let’s do that (subtract 2,190,000). That still leaves you with 28,470,000 pounds of CO₂  emissions that have been eliminated from the planet! And that’s just from our county!! From replacing just ONE lightbulb for $6.99!! AND, you got to go to IKEA!! IKEA!!!!

So, yeah, I’m not one of those people that thinks the little bit that I do doesn’t make a difference. Because, if we all do $6.99 worth, we can save emissions that are the equivalent of the annual emissions of roughly 196 entire households. And, let’s just say we eliminate 196 houses. In today’s building market, that’s just over 60 acres of land that could otherwise be left as forest or green space. You know, where trees grow.

Don’t even get me started on tree planting.

I don't know why...

 This is a blog that was originally written March 6, 2007.  Today it is being reposted for my friend Debbie, who is sick and needs a good laugh. Get well, Deb, and enjoy!!

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Sometimes, on rare occasions, I get to sleep late.  Mostly, though, I just lay there hoping for sleep to return to me.  Rarely does it.  When it does, though, and I truly am sleeping late, it's called sleeping in.  As opposed to what?  Sleeping out?  We never say that.  So, if you can't sleep out, how can you sleep in?  Maybe that's why it rarely happens for me.

Daylight savings time confuses me.  If we've been saving for all these years, shouldn't we have enough to have it not be dark anymore?  Someone's withdrawing and not telling us about it.

I just learned that I can make a clay mask  for my face out of kitty litter.  That's just gross.  I have nothing more to say about it than that.  And, of course, will the cat then be compelled to pee on me while I sleep if I use that mask?

The dictionary defines the word "set" as "a collection of articles designed for use together".  That's "articles" with an -s.  That means it plural.  More than one.  Why then, when I buy a television set, do I only get one.  Shouldn't there be at least two.  I could use another since the blasted networks have put all my shows on at the same time and on the same day now.  Honestly, they make it so hard to sit on the couch and let my arteries clog these days.

If you call something nonexistent, does that mean that before it was existent?  I've never heard anyone say that.  That's dumb.  Like chalant.  No one says that but we say nonchalant all the time.  English is stupid.  And I think it's extra stupid to have a silent B at the end of the word dumb.  That's dum.

I just saw a commercial on my television (not a set) for, quite possibly, the most retarded children's toy.  Barbie Girl.  Barbie Girl is Barbie in her younger years I guess.  Her head is just as big but the rest of her hasn't discovered the brainwashing media that will force her to begin binging and purging throughout high school and then just slip into full blown anorexia once she gets to college.  So, she's short, got a big head, and her boobs haven't developed yet.  Because of this, she doesn't come with a Ken Boy doll as her companion.  No, instead she comes with Tanner the dog.  Unfortunately, everytime you touch Tanner's tail, he poops.  Yes, you read that correctly.  He poops.  Little plastic piles of dog poo.  I'm going out to buy stock in Mattel tomorrow.  Any company that can and will make millions off of plastic dog poop has got a few more tricks up their sleeve I'm sure.  Maybe there will be a day when we do have Binge and Purge Barbie.  She'll come with two bags of McDonald's food, a box of Suzie Q's, pork rinds, Dots, a caramel apple and a Big Gulp of diet soda.  Oh, and the little globs of plastic vomit.

Anyway, Tanner poops.  Good thing Barbie Girl comes with one of those litter picker upper tong things so that she can grab it without touching it and then place it in the lavender garbage can that comes with her.  Why not be a bit more realistic and just giver her itty bitty leftover bags that her plastic newspaper came in.  We can teach the women of tomorrow how to place the bag, inside out, over their hand and arm, pick up the steaming plastic poo with said covered hand, draw the plastic bag over steaming poo and tie the bag closed.  But wait, Barbie Girl's elbow would have to be able to bend for that.

So, yes, we've made sufficient advances to give Barbie Girl a dog that poops but not elbows that bend because, as we all know, picking up dog poop with long handled tongs is much more realistic than having elbows that bend.  RE-TAR-DEDB.  With a silent B.

I think I'm done for now.  The television (not a set) is off right now so it's hard to find more stupid things to dwell on.  We're on our way out to dinner, though, to celebrate Alex's birthday.  Have you ever seen the wait staff at Red Robin when there's a birthday?  They're so chalant about it.

"The Stomach Flu" or How To Lose 4 Pounds in 7 Hours

Another blog from days gone by. But, since I just posted about the flu AND I'm presently trying to lose some weight, it seemed relevant. After re-reading it, I've decided to go lick some germ infested shopping cart handles. Because hitting my goal weight in 7-10 seems way more attractive than counting calories.

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January 19, 2007

The stomach flu blows...no pun intended. 

Last week we were preparing for Ryan's 6th birthday.  He was very excited about taking a special snack to school (Oreos and milk, yum!) and then having his birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese afterward.  We were making big plans, shopped for all the goodies for the goody bags, picked out the cake, the whole nine yards.  It was a very exciting time.  He was, after all, graduating from one whole hand to a hand plus.  We had talked about all the fabulous things that 5 had brought our way...reading, math, tying shoes, bike riding, Kindergarten, swimming, etc.  Five has been a big year for us.  And, it's our last 5.  I've said it before, 5 is magic.  There is nothing quite like 5 and, although we were sad to see it go, we were very excited for 6...all day school, taking the training wheels off, and all the other new things he will learn (hahaha  he just came into the office and asked me, "Mom, after nighttime is over and you're done sleeping, do all your calories go away and you start over?"  I wish.).

So, we're all excited about his birthday and we go to bed with visions of Chuck E. Cheese and bad pizza in our heads, when I awake to a mysterious whimper and leap from my bed to see what's the matter.  As I am making my way to the bathroom, where I expect to find Ryan trying to find his way there, too, without peeing his pants, I step in... something.  My first thought is that the cat, being as ancient as she is, has somehow not made it to the bathroom catbox in the night and has just peed on the floor.  I could only hope to be so lucky.  For, there, in the bathroom, is my baby, on the brink of turning 6, heaving his guts out.  So, now, I'm faced with the dilemma that generally only mothers deal with:  child throwing up in the toilet to console...child's puke on my feet...child's puke all over the floor in doorway blocking access to or from said room...likely chance that there is more puke somewhere else.  Which to deal with first???

I chose a combination approach.  As I'm trying to soothe him with my words, I peel my socks off (thank goodness my feet were cold when I went to bed; 100% cotton socks do a great job of absorbing as well as keeping the chunks of mostly digested fries from between my toes!) and then carefully move him to sitting on the side of the tub once he's finished.  Whew, two down.  As I'm getting him a washcloth, which I later use to clean the floor (multi-tasking!), I ask if he threw up in his bed at all or if he was able to make it almost to the bathroom.  He tells me he didn't throw up in bed.  I hear a host of demons burst into laughter at this so I assume it's worth checking out the bed, at least once I have the floor cleaned up enough that I can get there. 

Now, there are some real advantages to having laminate flooring in one's home.  Cleanup is one of them.  Soooo much easier and quicker than carpet. However...when a person, even a small, nearly 6 person, just leans forward a bit and throws up on it, it splatters to the ends of the earth.  Guh-ross and guh-narly is all I have to say about that.

Cleanup finished, I make my way into the bedroom to check on the bed. It's basically a crap shoot here because Alex is still sleeping so I can't really just turn the light on and do a thorough check.  I've got the hall light on and am trying to stay out of the beam of light that it casts in the room.  I feel the mattress.  Dry!  Ha ha, evil minions!  My young prince has been triumphant!  I grab the comforter to adjust the blankets before I bring him in to lay down again and the shrieks of glee rise around me once again.  No, he didn't throw up in his bed.  On the comforter, yes; but in the bed, no.  Heavy sigh (only after the initial "Eeeww!!!").  I clean myself up...again, and I go back in for the sleeping bag. 

I get the muffin set up on the floor of my room and return to his for the comforter.  God must have been with me on this trip because the light from His glory illuminated the other TWO places where my sweet prince had NOT been triumphant.  Once again, no, he hadn't thrown up IN bed, BUT he had thrown up on the floor next to the bed and onto a stuffed animal and a pair of his brother's shorts as well as throwing up next to the dresser on his way out of the room.  Uhhh...an hour later and I was finally finished.  20 minutes after that, we were racing to the bathroom again, thankfully, for the last time, though.

So, no school for Mr. Man on his big day.  No party.  It was a bummer.  We postponed the party to yesterday, though, and it turned out wonderfully.  We spent his birthday on the couch, looking at books and watching movies.  Maybe the kind of day we were supposed to have anyway.  Me and Mr. Man, snuggled on the couch while we moved from 5 to 6.

We've been lucky so far.  I'm the only other one in the house who has been fortunate enough to experience this stomach flu.  If I had to get it, though, I was confident in the knowledge that it would last for about an hour and a half and then I would sleep a lot and feel better.  No such luck.  Seven straight hours of being in the bathroom every 20-30 minutes will really take a lot out of you (not that you have any IN you anymore, but...).  I spent the next two days in bed, the first of which I was in a self-induced Vicodin coma, which, by the by, is not a bad way to spend a day.  I lost a total of 5 pounds; 4 of them in those first 7 hours.  I broke through the weight plateau I've been at for the last 9 months.  If I can exist on Saltines and gingerale I just may be able to keep it off.

Cold Med Warning

It's cold and flu season and I haven't written a blog in nearly a year, so I thought, "What better time to NOT write another blog but simply copy one from a million (7) years ago?"  So, here ya go! I'm not sure if the product in question is even still on the shelves. I've avoided buying it for a million (7) years. A smattering of time for the evilness that this product wrought one long ago night. In any case, enjoy the read and stay healthy, my friends!

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March 23, 2006

So, I have 2 out of my 3 children at home sick right now.  We've been battling ugly chest congestion, stuffy noses and fevers in the range of 102.2.  It's been a real treat that has me practically bathing in Lysol in hopes of not getting it myself.
 
Nights have been particularly hard since it becomes rather difficult to breathe when one is not constantly yacking up the truly heinous stuff that is invading one's lungs.  Being the good mommy that I am, I, of course, sought a solution.  Giant jars of Vicks to slather on a rag and tie around my kids' necks?  No.  An old yucky T-shirt to designate as the "Vicks Shirt" that gets coated in the stuff.  No.  Don't want to hassle with the vaporizer (plus, they sleep in two different rooms); can't use those plug-in thingy-s because the brainiac that wired our house only put outlets in the places where one would obviously have to put furniture so none are accessible enough.  No, I go the obvious, no mess, so-easy-to-use route.  I go out and purchase the little menthol patches that just stick right to your kids' chest and allows them to breathe easy all night long.  This particular product is put out by Triaminic.  The cartoon pic of the little boy on the front is so cute and he looks so happy to be able to breathe with his little patch on.  The box comes with 6 patches AND a sheet of stickers. BONUS!!

So, bedtime comes last night and I dope up my kids with the appropriate multi-function liquids and pull out the box of magic patches.  Aren't they cool, I muse to the children?  We ooh and ahh over how clever they are and how you can smell them right away.  See, they're already working!  We find all the appropriate jammies so that the patch can really emit all the soothing vapors that it can and I kiss my babies' fever-ridden foreheads and send them off to a good night's sleep.  In the morning they will be just as cute as cartoon boy on the box!  Yippee; score one for mommy!

Fast forward 3.5 hours.  My oldest comes and wakes me asking if he can take the patch off.  He's breathing OK and it's beginning to hurt.  Hurt?  Yes, it's burning and stinging.  "Yes, yes, take it off if you feel better but put it on a piece of paper or something near your bed so you can still smell it a little," I slur through my sleep.  He leaves and, as I'm drifting back into sleep, my groggy mind floats to the 4 year old who is wearing the other patch.  I conclude, through my fog, that I should get up and check to make sure he is OK, too, but I apparently fall back asleep while deciding this.  Instead, I'm awoken by said child who is in tears, standing by my bedside, begging me to take the burning thing off of him.  Yes, yes, yes, I say in a panic and shoot straight up in bed.  **Now, one would think that the burning part is the bad part.  One might be correct in this assumption but there's one more challenge ahead**  I reach out to grasp the patch that is adhered to my hairless, pink, feverish, baby skinned boy and begin to peel up the corner when he shrieks like a rabbit being skinned alive (if you've ever heard that sound before, as I have, it is NOT a sound you want to hear at any time of day, much less at around 1 something in the morning).  Oh, yes, that's right; I am, in effect, ripping an enormous band-aid off my child's chest.  My husband says, "Just rip it off!"  "Off his CHEST?" I hiss.  "I'm just kidding," replies DH.  His timing is incredible.
 
So, I peel said fire patch from my dear boy's virgin skin and then hug him close.  Good thing those patches came with a sheet of stickers.  They will come in handy tomorrow when trying to distract my children from the raw rectangular marks on their chests.  Come here, I say, as I start to lift him to my lap for a more appropriately soothing mommy cuddle.  AS I'M LIFTING HIM AND JUST SETTING HIM ON MY LAP, he says, "But my clothes are wet," which I feel on my bare thigh at the same moment in time.  I quickly right him to his feet once again and ask why.  "I had to go a little and I had an accident."  The poor lamb.  He's been overcome by the burning on his chest and being in a state of panic while still pretty much asleep and tinkled a bit.  If only it were that easy.  Oh, no.  Not my boy, the reigning prince of understatements.  This child has completely peed.  COMPLETELY peed.  All over himself.  On my bedroom floor.  Cripes.  I tell him to start taking his clothes off while I go rustle up dry pj's and Spiderman undies and prepare to get him clean.  While in his room, a little voice, I believe it was Satan himself, giggles and says, "Check his bed, hee hee hee."  And the minions shrieked gleefully and did a little dance just as my hand, in the dark, found that my boy had gone "a little" in his bed as well.  Curses!  You would have thought the boy had drank a Big Gulp before retiring for the night.

So, somewhere around 2 something in the morning, I climbed back into my own bed.  No more burning.  No more crying.  No more peeing.  I see the cute little cartoon boy in my mind.  I hate him.  His patch probably burns, too, but since he is the son of Satan, who made these evil torture devices, it doesn't bother him.  Probably thinks it tickles a bit.  Sick little bastard.  I hope he gets pink eye in a bad way.

This is My Normal

This is going to be a heavy post. Likely a long one, too. Just wanted to warn you before you invested time you will never get back.

I suffer from depression. I've never made a secret of it. Okay, maybe never is an extreme. I haven't made a secret of it for the roughly the last 12 years or so. What I have made a secret, though, is the degree to which I suffer from it. It is debilitating and paralyzing. It is a dark, dark place that my soul resides on most days. And, unfortunately, this is my normal. It brings along with it a host of other party-goers - low self esteem, lack of self worth, an absence of close friendships, a shortage of drive and determination, and an overall malaise that pervades every secret corner of my existence.

I believe that almost everyone, even if you consider our friendship close, may likely regard this as a surprise or as me being overly dramatic. Trust me on this, I am not. This is my public "come to Jesus" moment here. On the outside, I am an outgoing, determined, independent, ball of energy. I am the party planner, the organizer, the project coordinator, the comedienne, the involved parent, the helper, the surrogate mom, the creative spark, the ___________ (fill in the blank with who you think I am). And, while I am those things, I am only them with extreme effort most days.

Yes, I am functional. Probably even highly functional comparatively. I function like this out of necessity; out of expectation - out of accept-ation - and I have for as long as I can remember. Because, let's face it, we live in a society that expects and accepts those that are all those things I am on the outside and none of which I am on the inside. Despite the huge strides in acceptance of things like depression as "common", we still label it as an "illness" that is frowned upon. But, the (medical) fact remains that issues such as depression, bi-polar disorder, etc. are caused by the body's inability to produce what it needs to on its own to maintain proper chemical/hormone balances. Diabetes is no different, so why isn't there a social stigma with that? Whether it's type 1 or type 2, the fundamental fact is that the body is not regulating insulin levels as it should. Does anyone say with disdain to the diabetic, "I don't know what your problem is. Just eat the cake and choose to not have it affect you. It's not that hard. I do it everyday."

But, that brings me to today. I am not functioning. I haven't been functioning. At least not as well as I should. Honestly, my proudest personal achievement in the last 2 months is that I haven't gone back to bed everyday after getting the kids off to school. Because that's what I normally do every year at this time. No, I'm not being sarcastic. It's the honest to God truth. This is my normal. Yes, I have good days, but they are few and far between at this time of year. Around June I'll get my happy back and it will generally reside here for about 3.5 months. I look forward to it but this is no way to live.

Today, I had hoped to change that. I finally called my doctor yesterday and said, "Look, I'm a freaking mess. I have bouts of happy but no joy. I have functionality but not livability." I was told that my doctor happened to have a cancellation "tomorrow" at 10:20, so let's get you right in. Awesome. I felt better. A bit. So, I got up this morning, and was, of course, feeling very optimistic and functional (that's the way it ALWAYS is when you finally get to see the doctor about an ailment, right?), got dressed (a milestone for me before 2pm), did my hair-makeup (another daily milestone), and off I went to the doctor. I arrived and checked in with the receptionist who looked at me blankly, and that's when the rapid downward spiral began. "Your appt is for tomorrow," she says, "March first." I'm at a loss. "When I made the appt yesterday, I was told that it was for today," I say. She shakes her head, "No, it's for tomorrow. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." She has no idea. I can't even look at her as I stuff my insurance card back into my wallet and into my purse and turn around to walk out. I'm crying before I even get out the door. I sob all the way home (not to the 3 places I had optimistically planned to stop at after my appt). I get why the mixup happened. 75% of the time March 1 is "tomorrow" when you're talking to someone on February 28. This year it is not. But it is a prime example of how I am different than many people. To most, they would be irritated, maybe angry; frustrated at the very least. I am broken. This reaction is not unusual. I'm not just having a bad day. This is my normal. And, on top of the brokenness is the knowledge that I lack the ability to "just change how I feel". The lack of power and control over one's own mood is something that's hard to describe. You know the supreme effort it takes to get out of bed to get a glass of water when you are sick, really, really sick, as a dog? You know how it takes every ounce of strength you have to function and you just collapse when it's over? That's the closest thing I can compare it to. The degree of helplessness is overwhelming and defeating and, honestly, for me, extremely embarrassing. Especially since I know that most people view me as someone who has her shit together. This is my normal. On my better days, I laugh it off (what else can I do?) and claim that I bring a whole new definition to the term "hot mess". Today, I am just a mess. Dressed and with my hair and makeup on, but still a mess.

But, this is the beginning of a journey (I hope). I do have a doctor's appt tomorrow. I will most likely be given some kind of drug to take (again). And, I'm going to try to be more honest about who I am. Am I an organizer and party planner and involved parent and helper and surrogate mom and project coordinator and comedienne and creative spark and _________? You bet your ass I am. And, I'm damn good at all those things, too. But, I'm also a girl that struggles most days to find real joy. I'm a girl who is broken on the inside most days. It's not what I'm satisfied with, though. It's not what I deserve. And I hope I can find a way out of the darkness. I hope I can find a way to opt out of the charade without feeling guilty or ashamed. Clicking "Publish Post" is the first step to a new normal.

PS. I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm not looking for pity. I'm not looking for the "I'm so sorry" said in a tone that intimates one's grief that I am not "whole". All of those responses, whether in this particular case or when offered to another, invite more shame and embarrassment to reside in the psyche of the person who is just trying to be who they really are. Honestly, I'm not looking for anything. I'm just seeking to be honest about who I am because it's been too long that I haven't been.

I Heart My Crockpot

I could sit for days, ok weeks or months, surfing the net and reading the blogs of women much more crafty and Betty Crocker-y than myself. They make all they're children's clothing, throw lavish 1st birthday parties with handmade decorations and favors and chair coverings, bake like nobody's business and still seem to have time to fit in professional photography and writing their blog. I, am not these women.

Yes, I like to sew. Yes, I like to make stuff. Realistically, if I could get paid for just sitting around and crafting on my own time schedule, I'd be seriously blissed out. But baking and cooking are not my thing. I'm good at it; I just don't necessarily enjoy it. That's a problem when the cook in the family (my husband) has to take a work schedule that has him working until 8 or 9 in the evening. Personally, I'd be willing to snack while I wait for him to come home and cook but the children are not. So, about a year or so ago, I became the cook in the household after over 15 years. It hasn't always been pretty. I admit to cereal nights on a more than rare occasion.

Anyway, the man is back to working a mostly regular schedule but the strangest thing has happened... he has ceased with the nightly cooking and it seems to have fallen on my shoulders. I, admittedly, would be happy eating the same 5-8 meals that I really like. The rest of the family would not. So, I try to come up with new stuff but it's really rather difficult because, generally, if I think it sounds good, at least half of the house doesn't. AND, I have no desire to stand over a stove for 3 hours making the perfect meal. I'm not one of those people that loves the people around them by cooking and feeding them. That's why I craft (read, you should feel loved when I give you a crocheted cozy for your cell phone/laptop/tv remote).

Anyway, to the point... I have a crockpot. I love my crockpot for the simple reason that I can put food in it, turn it on low, and craft for 6 hours (I wish) and then have a completed dinner. It all feels like I'm working some voodoo magic and that makes me giggle inside. So, today, I'm trying something new. Lasagna in the crockpot. Who knew? Seems so simple, I'm not sure why I didn't think of it before. It takes a bit more prep work but, really, if this turns out, I'm going to be over the moon. So far, it looks pretty tasty, so I'm sharing the recipe with you here. I've left it pretty vague because you can customize it as you wish. Who am I to judge if you like onions in your lasagna anyway?

Crockpot Lasagna

1 - 67 oz jar of spaghetti sauce (I use Prego Traditional)
1.25 pounds of meat (optional; I use ground turkey)
1 - 32 oz tub of ricotta cheese (you can substitute cottage cheese for a lower fat version)
2 cups grated cheese (mozarella or an italian blend)
1 box lasagna noodles

Brown the meat and then add sauce; mix thoroughly
In crockpot, layer as follows:
meat sauce
uncooked lasagna noodles (you can break them up so they fit properly)
ricotta cheese
grated cheese

Repeat layers two more times, top with a layer of meat sauce
Put the lid on your crockpot and rn on low.
Now you just let it sit for approximately 6 hours (don't try to speed it up and go for 3 hours on high; this is a slow cook type of dish). While you wait, go knit a blanket, make jewelry out of bottle caps, weave a rug, decoupage your breadbox and braid your daughter's hair with an eight strand braiding method.
When all that's done, enjoy!

PS. the pic is of a perfect piece of lasagna that I found on the internet because mine is still cooking and I have a rug to weave.

Yes, Virginia, You Should Say Happy Holidays

So, it's the end of December and all month, all around the country/world, people have been preparing for __________ (insert celebration here). If you're like the majority of Americans, you have inserted Christmas in the blank. There are countless views regarding this particular holiday. For some, it's merely a holiday associated with gift giving and consumerism. For others, it is a time of deeper religious meaning; that religion being, of course, Christianity. And, for the rest, it is somewhere in between.

Now, because we live in a digitally social world, I am, like many others, on Facebook nearly everyday. I have a large group of 'friends'; hundreds actually. So, when one has hundreds of friends that are updating their statuses on a daily/weekly/monthly basis, one also is witness to the beautiful cross section of personalities, lifestyles and beliefs that are represented among those hundreds. As a side note, when I say beautiful, I do mean beautiful. Cultural diversity really is a lovely thing. It's no surprise, though, that the strongest opinions ever expressed come in the forms of political and religious beliefs.

And, that brings me to the point of the blog. Well, maybe not the point but the subject at least. Lately I've seen a lot of status updates that read something akin to "It's Merry Christmas NOT Happy Holidays." Having spent years living and existing as part of the (Christian) religious right, I understand the sentiment. I don't begrudge anyone saying it. It's a free country after all. And, if you are reading this and you are one of those friends that posted a similar status update, let me preface the rest of this blog with this - I do respect your beliefs. I do respect what Christmas symbolizes to practicing Christians. I do not wish to offend anyone. I only want to express my own thoughts and ask that you listen with an open mind.

With that said, let's begin!

When I first saw this type of status update, I took it for what it was, an expression of religious belief. The second time, I thought about the actual message the post-ers were trying to convey. The third time I pondered the impression it gave to the universe at large. And, by the fourth plus time, it honestly irked me a bit.

The US is a predominantly Christian nation. Nonetheless, it remains one of the most religiously diverse nations on the planet. Even before the pilgrims came, there was religious diversity. And, with their coming, the end to a search for a place to practice their religious beliefs freely, came even further diversity. So, duh, over multiple years of immigration, the US has become home to a myriad of religious beliefs. And, each person that represents a different belief, got here, either on their own or by way of a far off relative, because freedom of some kind was being sought. You would think, then, that we would be a nation of tolerance. A nation of understanding. A nation that understood that being able to practice a religion, a lifestyle, an occupation, etc. of one's choosing was a privilege and that, if one wants that privilege to be respected, one must respect it in others as well. Somehow, as a nation, we've forgotten that, though.

That's what irked me. Because the impression that those status updates began to give me, whether intended or not, is this... My religious beliefs are the only true beliefs and thus are superior to yours, and, therefore, you and yours do not deserve my respect (btw, I haven't met a 'religious' person yet who doesn't believe that first part regardless of what their religious beliefs are). Now, if you call yourself a Christian, does that sound very Christ-like? Does this fall in line with the teachings of a man who we are told accepted and loved the unacceptable and unloveable? Yes, we are told that Christ spoke his beliefs plainly, but He didn't do so in a way that alienated people from Him. If I'm to believe what I was taught to me in the church, He met people where they were at; didn't condem them and then expect them to eagerly accept an invitation to follow Him.

So, now we're at the point of my blog, which is, if you're concerned about whether the school your child goes to holds a winter celebration or a Christmas pageant, then you should send your child to a school that fits your beliefs. If you balk at the idea of not having a Nativity scene in the town square, you might want to think about moving to a religious compound. You get the idea. We are a nation, a state, a city, a neighborhood of many beliefs. Some celebrate Christmas. Some celebrate Kwanzaa. Some will light a menorrah. Some will have a family feast, decorate ornaments, hang mistletoe, put lights on the house, hang a wreath and light a yule log. Think I'm talking about Christmas with that last observation? I'm not. Those are traditional ways to celebrate winter solstice. You know, the holiday that Pagans and Wiccans celebrate. Have you feeling a little conflicted about your own decor now?

Whatever you do, though, consider this... Consider saying Happy Holidays now and then. Consider really meaning it. Consider that, when doing so, you are showing a deep respect for those around you that may subscribe to a different set of beliefs. Consider that, when asking WWJD?, the answer just might be to ask you to consider saying it, too.