Writer's Block: Worrisome
You know, reading those answers,most of them are financial. The rest are about being alone forever and most of those are phrased in such a way to make me think that they aren't really at an age where that's too much of a problem yet. Of course that's a horrible stereotype on my part and I've done enough whining about similar things often enough that I'm not one who can talk.
The farmer's market was today. (This is going to be a metaphor, hang in there.) I got some squash and a green pepper, and some corn, and just a little bakery stuff, and I had half of one of the squashes for dinner. (With pork. Love you, mom.) It was an acorn squash- I love winter squashes, with lots of butter, nice and hot and melt in your mouth. I like cutting them in half- they smell so much like a pumpkin, and I like splitting the skin and seeing the golden flesh beneath, sound and clean and healthy. (No, this is not that kind of metaphor. If I was writing food porn, I'd be in a very different line of work, now wouldn't I?)
Half the fun these days is eating my dinner in such a way as to not let Maggie share- because I love her but ick- and my latest strategy involves cutting the meat up into bite-sized pieces while it's still on the butcherblock, where she can't get to it, and eating it right away when I sit down, because she has a weird fascination with vegetables and starches but it's the meat she's almost willing to draw my blood for.
I had steamed the squash in the microwave because I was using the stove for the pork and I really didn't want to have to do dishes more intensely than strictly necessary. Unfortunately, the cutting up the pork took a little longer than I expected, and by the time I sat down, it was still nice and hot but the squash was cold. From neglect. Still the right texture, but the butter hadn't melted properly and I wasn't quite willing to scoop it into another container I'd just have to wash in order to nuke it again and get it up to room temperature. So I ate it cold. Well, lukewarm. The texture was right, the temperature was wrong, the butter was a little weird- but it worked out. It wasn't bad, it wasn't as good as it could have been, but it isn't going to give me food poisoning, is my point. And I still have the other half of the squash, so maybe I'll get it right next time.
I'm kind of worried that the ELCA is like the squash.
Okay, this is officially the weirdest metaphor of my career thus far, yes, I know. And no, I'm not going for a one-to-one metaphor here- the cutting the squash in half does not equal the church splitting. Instead, I think that The Vote on That Friday was like the cutting the squash in half. Not that the vote split the church- because the ELCA isn't exactly the squash. The squash is actually the- well, the history of the church. And the chunk I ate tonight was the history up until now. The vote- the cutting up the squash- was the decisive action that allows us to, sort of, chop off that piece of history and look at it in total, right? Only you can never look at history without the context of the present, so that came with.
And yeah, I cooked it and ate it and it won't give me food poisoning- that is, the church is essentially doing what it is meant for, it's just taken a little longer than it should have. It is fulfilling its purpose. It's just cold- neglected. We spend so much time focusing on the rules, what we're supposed to do (like how to cook the pork) that we forget to enjoy the squash while it's at its best. I should have eaten the damn squash while it was still hot, even if the pork wasn't ready yet, and screw sitting down with a full plate of food like a "normal" person. The point of squash is to make it and eat it when it's ready to go- that's the point of food. Waiting didn't do any good- I was just following a rule for the sake of following the rule. If I had loved the squash more than the rule, I would have liked it better.
But I still have the rest of the squash, for tomorrow. Because after this metaphor, you can bet I'm eating it tomorrow. Though with my luck, I'll probably wind up setting it on fire, now.
The farmer's market was today. (This is going to be a metaphor, hang in there.) I got some squash and a green pepper, and some corn, and just a little bakery stuff, and I had half of one of the squashes for dinner. (With pork. Love you, mom.) It was an acorn squash- I love winter squashes, with lots of butter, nice and hot and melt in your mouth. I like cutting them in half- they smell so much like a pumpkin, and I like splitting the skin and seeing the golden flesh beneath, sound and clean and healthy. (No, this is not that kind of metaphor. If I was writing food porn, I'd be in a very different line of work, now wouldn't I?)
Half the fun these days is eating my dinner in such a way as to not let Maggie share- because I love her but ick- and my latest strategy involves cutting the meat up into bite-sized pieces while it's still on the butcherblock, where she can't get to it, and eating it right away when I sit down, because she has a weird fascination with vegetables and starches but it's the meat she's almost willing to draw my blood for.
I had steamed the squash in the microwave because I was using the stove for the pork and I really didn't want to have to do dishes more intensely than strictly necessary. Unfortunately, the cutting up the pork took a little longer than I expected, and by the time I sat down, it was still nice and hot but the squash was cold. From neglect. Still the right texture, but the butter hadn't melted properly and I wasn't quite willing to scoop it into another container I'd just have to wash in order to nuke it again and get it up to room temperature. So I ate it cold. Well, lukewarm. The texture was right, the temperature was wrong, the butter was a little weird- but it worked out. It wasn't bad, it wasn't as good as it could have been, but it isn't going to give me food poisoning, is my point. And I still have the other half of the squash, so maybe I'll get it right next time.
I'm kind of worried that the ELCA is like the squash.
Okay, this is officially the weirdest metaphor of my career thus far, yes, I know. And no, I'm not going for a one-to-one metaphor here- the cutting the squash in half does not equal the church splitting. Instead, I think that The Vote on That Friday was like the cutting the squash in half. Not that the vote split the church- because the ELCA isn't exactly the squash. The squash is actually the- well, the history of the church. And the chunk I ate tonight was the history up until now. The vote- the cutting up the squash- was the decisive action that allows us to, sort of, chop off that piece of history and look at it in total, right? Only you can never look at history without the context of the present, so that came with.
And yeah, I cooked it and ate it and it won't give me food poisoning- that is, the church is essentially doing what it is meant for, it's just taken a little longer than it should have. It is fulfilling its purpose. It's just cold- neglected. We spend so much time focusing on the rules, what we're supposed to do (like how to cook the pork) that we forget to enjoy the squash while it's at its best. I should have eaten the damn squash while it was still hot, even if the pork wasn't ready yet, and screw sitting down with a full plate of food like a "normal" person. The point of squash is to make it and eat it when it's ready to go- that's the point of food. Waiting didn't do any good- I was just following a rule for the sake of following the rule. If I had loved the squash more than the rule, I would have liked it better.
But I still have the rest of the squash, for tomorrow. Because after this metaphor, you can bet I'm eating it tomorrow. Though with my luck, I'll probably wind up setting it on fire, now.