Beeing Transformed

by Beeattitude

(written 09-20-04) It is Saturday morning. Even though it is before sunrise and I am free from the office for the weekend, I am wide awake. I lie in my warm, rumpled bed for a few more delicious moments before surrendering to the overwhelming desire to be in my kitchen. Following a hasty trip to the bathroom to take care of necessities, I am off to the kitchen in my comfy slippers. Thoughts of this weekly ritual sustain me through many stressful weekdays. The act of crafting nourishing bread for my family is a source of pride. My children love it. My soul seems to crave the methodical, rhythmical and calming movements required. It is time to bake.

Smiling to myself I set the oven, gather ingredients and my work bowl. The sounds of the flour container's released vacuum seal opening and the drawers on runners seem strangely loud in the still, quiet house. Dipping into the flour container with my measuring cup, I notice how cool and slippery it feels as I level off the cup with my fingers. I watch the excess flour cascade in a a powdery sheet off the side of the cup back into the storage container. The flour settles in small, wispy, dusty swirls. I sift the flour into my bowl along with a healthy pinch of salt and a good handful of sugar.

I measure milk into a large Pyrex measuring cup and place it in the microwave to heat. Lacy bubbles surround the inner wall of the cup, signaling the right amount of heat. Removing the cup from the microwave, I add equal parts butter and vegetable oil, and watch the butter melt into yellow swirls. The cold butter tempers the milk to the perfect temperature for the yeast granules. I add the yeast, stir and set it aside to proof.

Cracking two eggs into a bowl, I watch the shiny, vivid orange yolks surrounded by viscous, gelatinous clear fluid fall into my dish. The egg whites on my fingers cause a familiar stickiness. I break the pristine yolks with a whisk and beat them to a lemony yellow froth. Adding the eggs to the yeast mixture and then to the flour mixture in the large bowl, I watch the bowl contents turn into a sticky wet glob. I stir the sticky mass, adding flour until it pulls away from the sides of the bowl.

Then my self-therapy begins.

Turning out the slightly sticky lump of soft dough onto my floured board, I begin the long kneading process. Gradually, I work in flour until my hands have been cleaned of the sticky white peaks of dough. After I have added enough flour, I allow my brain a vacation. I push down and thrust forward; grab the top of the dough mass and fold down, and finish with a quarter turn. Repeating these motions I plan my day, solve family and work problems, pray and daydream. It is over too soon.

The smooth soft ball is gently placed into a well oiled vessel to rise. While waiting, I clear the clutter and wash the dishes in warm, lemon-scented soapy water. Fully risen, the bread is carefully positioned in the oven to bake. I know that the buttery, yeasty and sweet aroma of baking bread will awaken the children and beckon them to the kitchen to enjoy fresh, wholesome, made with love bread with butter, jam and coffee. It is our Saturday treat.

(written 08-18-04) I often find myself thanking people for compliments paid to my family. Both strangers and friends frequently marvel at the calm sense of solidarity and cooperation that envelops our family. More often than not, these comments are followed closely by queries about applying strategies that I have employed to their respective families. Although many of the ideas that I share are elementary, they are no longer obvious in our high speed society. As our lives have become more and more mechanized, streamlined and impersonal, our family relationships have as well.

The cultivation of cooperation in a family begins conscientiously at the genesis of the family unit. Adults in the family must commit to a higher level of communication and expectation of success and peace within the family. By placing a deliberate emphasis on the concept of family members as built in life helpers, a healthy interdependence is born. From babyhood through the teen years, a steady agenda of cooperation and civility is employed. These truths taught by my parents have allowed me to maintain healthy and loving relationships with my siblings as adults.

As children realize that their actions affect others in the family, they strive to attain approval. Simple games of please and thank you accompanied by exaggerated facial expressions and emotions taught my one year olds that their actions mattered. When my toddlers behaved well, they were rewarded with a smile and hug. Over-exaggerated sad faces taught my sons that their actions could hurt people. Soon, they began to understand how we should treat others. They began to look outside of themselves to see where they fit into our family. Clear and consistent messages regarding acceptable behavior were invaluable at this age.

Preschool aged children are able to apply their understanding of relationship dynamics. At ages four and six my children began age appropriate chores such as setting the table, clearing dishes and emptying wastebaskets. Shared chores and clean up time helped to instill a sense of belonging to our group. In our home we have a standard team cleaning time. Friday evenings the whole house is cleaned. This allows everyone to sleep in on Saturdays while I prepare breakfast. My children are grateful for the sleep. I am grateful for the shared burden of keeping our home environment clean and healthy. Not to mention... the quiet Saturday mornings to myself!

I cannot over emphasize the importance of modeling appropriate behavior and decorum. Our home is a haven of the expected. Each member expects to be treated with civility and love, even in times of frustration. Each member expects to compromise at times because they have received grace. There is only one clothes washer. That fact is unchangeable. But perhaps the family member using it can offer to include a garment to help a sibling in a pinch. Help is expected. Peace is expected. Cooperation is expected. My oldest son once told me that our family has a behavior code. I suppose he is correct.

Blessings.

(written 08-16-04) Almost every little girl likes to play with makeup. In fact, most pre-teen girls long for the day that they will be allowed to wear makeup. I suppose I was like most of my friends. I too was impatient for the day when I would be granted permission to purchase lipstick, lining pencils, mascara and of course, blush. But that type of make up is not the kind that I eventually became dependant upon.

To some extent, everyone occasionally wears social or emotional makeup. I however, began to wear my stage makeup because I received positive reinforcement. Each day I would look into various flawed mirrors and carefully apply the thick, oily stage makeup. Some of the mirrors had names: father, husband and peers. With skillfully applied makeup, I appeared charming, happy and satisfied. Beneath, my true self was becoming sallow and marred with emotional pustular acne.

By wearing makeup, I learned to manipulate the perception of my intellect, marriage and personal happiness. I began to wear makeup around the clock, twenty-four hours a day. I started to forget what the real me, beneath the makeup looked like. I felt safe behind the heavy, pore-clogging makeup. After all, I looked good in it. By wearing it, I avoided uncomfortable or inflammatory situations with my spouse. My husband felt secure in our abusive marriage. My family was unaware of my situation. Many of my husband’s co-worker’s wives envied my well kept home and cooking skills. Never mind that feeling safe was not the same as happy.

Interestingly, discussions with those same military wives on my cul-de-sac provided me with an accurate mirror. While exchanging recipes and pregnancy tips, I was able to see how other women lived their lives unafraid without wearing emotional makeup. Innocent comments about certain things their husbands did or did not expect were quite enlightening. Uncomfortable silences when I made passing comments were thought provoking and embarrassing. At times, I would allow those honest sister-friends to take a warm cloth of kindness and remove a layer of makeup. Along with practical homemaking tips, they shared biblical truths about love, marriage, covenants and forgiveness. They held up accurate mirrors to help me remove the waxy makeup I so skillfully applied.

I began the process of removing the layers of makeup. I discovered that it was alright to have an opinion. I learned that possessing an opinion did not make me selfish. As I cleansed away each layer, I learned more about myself. Over time, I have discarded some old flawed mirrors. Some older mirror images improved when cleaned well with honesty and prayer. But the accurate mirrors in my life have never prompted me to reapply the stage makeup. I see my real self more frequently now. I have retired from the stage. There will be no more encores. I am no longer an actress. I plan to face the world as a child of God - au naturelle.