Brandon

This is Brandon. He's one of the first people I met when I moved to Los Angeles. We met at the Tuesday Homeless Lunch I went to every week. And more often than not, I found him joking around, smiling and talking nonstop, especially to his friend Pauley (that's her and him in the picture below).

Over the last couple of years I'd run into Brandon on Tuesdays, on Sundays when I was in Hollywood, and at other random times. I remember going to a dinner party at an Italian restaurant one night and hearing from several friends that Brandon was there. He came in, had a drink, and was on his way. He was just always there. And he was always talking about how he was getting things together, figuring things out.

This weekend I found out through Pauley that Brandon was hit by a car and killed. I cried. And then when Pauley talked about him in church Sunday, I cried again. He was a sweet guy, always ready for a smile. And now he's gone.

But he won't be forgotten. Not by me, not by anyone who came into contact with him at Tuesday Lunch or anywhere in Hollywood. And to honor his memory, I'm going to pull out a few more t-shirts from my drawer and pick up extra socks at Target and throw some crackers in my basket at the grocery store to donate. It's such a little thing I can do, something I do regularly, but something that now, will mean so much more.

It's the Christmas season. It's a season of love and joy and happiness and peace. For many of us. But for so many more it's a season of cold nights (whether you live in Los Angeles or Detroit) and long days and wondering how you'll make it until your next meal or if you'll get a shower soon, if ever. So this Christmas season, think of Brandon as you eat too much turkey or buy those last minute gifts. Think of Brandon as you sing the carols and eat another piece of candy. Think of Brandon as you snuggle in at night and paw through the closet full of clothes you own to find just the right outfit. Think of Brandon and think about what you can do to make this season a little merrier for everyone.

Happy Birthday Grandma

For my entire life this day, November 27th, has been a cause for celebration. It's the birthday of Barbara MacDonald, my mother's mother, my grandmother. Today she would have been 86 years old.

Grandma loved birthdays. She loved chocolate cake and presents and singing the Happy Birthday song. And as a family, we loved celebrating her day as well. It was always great fun because her birthday would fall either on Thanksgiving or the day or two after and the whole family would get together, share a meal and cake, and often, help her put up her Christmas tree.

Grandma's been gone now just over six months. There are times when I forget and I think about calling her or sending her a letter. There are times when I remember and I can't stop myself from crying. But mostly, I just think of all the time we spent together. All the birthdays, all the conversations, all the moments. I think about her all the time. I think about how much I miss her and how much she loved me, and how she showed she loved me. She was an amazing woman. And so today, I celebrate her birthday by celebrating her memory and her life because of how much she shaped mine. I love you, Grandma.

The first Sunday of Advent

The advent devotion I wrote for today that appears in the Howell First United Methodist devotional booklet: 

“There were sheepherders camping in the neighborhood. They had set night watches over their sheep. Suddenly, God’s angel stood among them and God’s glory blazed around them. They were terrified. The angel said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has just been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. This is what you’re to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger.” (from Luke 2, The Message)

One of the parts of this story that has always struck me is the fact that the angel went to the sheepherders first. And in this passage alone the sheep get several more mentions. These animals seem to be such an important part of the Christmas story. In fact, they and the other stable animals are an integral part of each retelling of Jesus’ birth.

I have this little nativity set that’s porcelain, that I’ve had since I was maybe five years old, and it’s still my favorite. It’s four simple pieces: Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, and a lamb. No sheepherders, no wise men, not even the nativity-staple barn, just mom, dad, baby and a lamb.

I always envision that little lamb watching over the family, making sure the baby Jesus is warm and safe and smiling, even offering his warm fur if the need should arise. As a child I thought this was his only purpose in the nativity scene. But today, as an adult, I see it’s much more than that. Jesus is referred to in the Bible as the Lamb of God and I now know what that little lamb represents to the world: safety, comfort, warmth and love. And I guess, that childlike version of the lamb isn’t that different from my adult version, and for that I’m thankful. For the lamb is unconditional love – in all versions of the Christmas story.

Pretzel rolls!

So this morning I decided to make rolls. Specifically, pretzel rolls. I found this recipe online and I love trying new things in the kitchen so last week I went searching for all the ingredients (bread flour was surprisingly difficult to find in my neck of the woods). We have an abundance of leftover turkey and I'm making turkey soup tonight so I thought today would be a good day to try them. See the thing is, I've never made rolls from scratch before.

When I lived in Kalamazoo, in my first apartment, we'd bake bread and rolls but after buying that frozen bread dough at the grocery store. Good stuff, but not quite homemade. And my mom doesn't make rolls. She makes just about everything else but rolls are not her thing. She tries, God bless her, but she's never happy with the result (though Dad, Angela and I are always content to eat them).

I was a little nervous this morning because it seems like a thing you can screw up, making rolls. So much can happen. The yeast might not rise, you might add just not enough or too much of something. I'm a better cook than a baker. Cooking is not an exact science, baking is much more so.

I also realized early on we might not have the right equipment but my mom said that Angela's mixer with the handy dandy dough hook we've never used would take the place of the called for food processor. And it did, splendidly.

I was also a little skeptical that the recipe called for me to punch and knead the dough for five whole minutes. A) Five minutes is a long time. B) When my mom bakes, usually the less you touch the dough, the better - cookies and plunkett get tough when you need the dough too much.

While the recipe was a bit more complicated than what I'm used to (it's from Bon Appetit magazine), it wasn't really hard and it was kind cool seeing the ingredients transform.

And I even referred to the boiling of the rolls as my science experiment - until the science experiment went awry. The recipe called for me to add 1 and 1/4 cups of baking soda to a pot of boiling water. It did not mention to do this slowly or not all at once. So I plopped the soda in and BOOM! Big frothy explosion of water everywhere. I had three burners going (cooking down the turkey carcass for soup on two) and the oven and of course, there went the pilot lights. So once we cleaned up that mess...

We were back on track. I had enlisted Angela in helping and I was glad to have the extra set of hands.

 And here are the rolls as they went in to the oven.

And when they came out!

Beautiful (though I did say I'll have to work on the sizing a bit).

And tasty! The outside was crunchy like a soft pretzel, the inside tasted faintly of celery seed and overall, a big success. This recipe's definitely a keeper and I can't wait to make them for Mom and Dad in Michigan!

So incredibly blessed

I am thankful for the fall season. For crunchy leaves, even in Los Angeles, for early darkness (even though I complain about it the first few days), for cooler temperatures and for the holidays. This year I have so much to be thankful for. I'm alive. I'm a generally happy person. I have a roof over my head, I have a turkey in the fridge, I am doing work I love, I have family and friends who support and love me more than I can ever fully realize or appreciate. So much to be grateful for.

Am I a little sad that I won't be having a traditional Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow with a big group of people who laugh and cry and argue lovingly? Yes. Of course I am. Am I a little excited that Angela and I are going to see a double feature at the movies tomorrow? Yes. I am. I baked a pie and roasted a turkey today. We had a lovely dinner that left us satisfied and not stuffed. There is turkey to eat for the rest of the week and then soup to be made for the week after. It's been a crazy year, a long few months, a busy week so we're looking forward to a quiet long weekend. We both get to be away from school for a few days, away from the stresses of work and we get to eat leftovers. We get to float away into the world of vampires and werewolves and be transported into a land of puppets and songs. We are thankful.

But most of all I am thankful that I get to travel home to Michigan in December. Every year my parents gift us with the plane tickets to fly home at Christmas and that's what gets me through Thanksgiving, knowing that my family and I will be together again soon. I'm so thankful for that gift, for the feeling of anticipation of something great that's to come, for the joy to be had.

Tomorrow will be a good day. We'll talk to friends and family. We'll relax and take a walk. We'll eat some turkey and watch some movies. We'll remember that because of where we live and what we have we are so blessed. So incredibly blessed.

Angela is National Board Certified!

When Angela and I moved to Los Angeles in August of 2008 she began teaching for the Los Angeles Unified School District and she began a process that we didn't know at the time would take four years and one month to complete. But she's done now and I am so proud of her and so amazed, daily, by her commitment to her profession, to her job and most of all, to teaching children.

Angela is now a National Board Certified Teacher. It took four years, three sets of exams, one beyond extensive portfolio, countless late nights and early mornings and weekends but she did it. She passed. And I cannot tell you how happy we were on Sunday morning at 12:30am when the scores were released.

Being Nationally Board Certified is something most teachers do not ever achieve, or even strive for. In the middle school where Angela currently works there are over a hundred teachers and only one, besides her, is a NBC Teacher. Holding this advanced credential tells the teaching community that she is committed to her profession. It also means she doesn't have to jump through any school district hoops when she changes jobs or even states. She has a "clear credential" and she is done with their tests and their requirements. For ten years and then she can renew her certification.

But most of all what it means is that she rocks. She is the best teacher I have ever met. She is beyond committed. She is who you want teaching your kids and the future generations. And I don't say that just because I'm her sister. Now she has the certification to prove it.

Imagining the joy

Today I cried. I cried over a man who passed away who I haven't seen since I was probably in middle school. A man who was 30 but who I remember as a kid. A man who fought a terrible disease, got a double lung transplant just weeks ago, threw a clot, and had to be taken off life support on Tuesday.

I cried over Jeremy. I cried for Jeremy. For his wife, for his sister, for his parents. I cried because I remember spending time with him and his family when we were little. We went to church together, we went camping together. I remember one trip in particular where we spent many hours playing games inside a small pop up tent when we could have been playing outside. But it didn't matter or maybe we didn't notice. Jeremy had to stay in the tent because he wasn't feeling well and I remember playing cards and making up silly nonsense game, laughing and teasing. I remember that was a very good day. I remember that moment. I remember that person.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about death, I suppose that happens when someone you are close to passes away. I've been thinking about how unfair it is, to those of us left behind. I've been thinking about what might happen when we get to heaven. But mostly I've been thinking about how much I miss that person.

I'm so glad for that moment in the tent. For the memory of that moment. For the amazing reality that one person, so far removed, can still impact my life in such a profound way. I am better for that moment. It's part of who I am. Just as everyone who's gone before me is.

I cannot imagine the grief of burying a son or a husband or a brother. But I can imagine the joy in having that person in your life for even just a tiny moment. And I'm going to hold on to that joy. Tightly.

Veteran's Day

My dad is a veteran. He served in the Air Force for several years before I was born. He lived in Greece and Taiwan and has some pretty cool pictures and stories to tell. But the coolest thing of all? He volunteered, when he was just a teenager, to serve his country. To join the military at a time when the country was at war, and to go wherever they sent him. Do whatever they asked of him. And for that, and for the service he gave, I can never thank him enough.  


I am constantly amazed at the sacrifice that these men and women who join the military make. What they endure, what they accomplish, what they give up, what they provide. There simply are not enough words to express how grateful I am for what they give us. We live in a country where we can walk down the street without fear of suicide bombers or terrorist attacks and I generally feel safe. Too many people in our world cannot say that. And a large part of that safety is a direct result of the work put in by the women and men who serve us. 


I come from a long line of military family members. Along with my dad, two of my grandfathers and my grandmother served. Countless friends and other relatives have put on uniforms and taken orders, leaving those of us at home to do the only thing we can: pray. And today, for all the veterans and for all those currently serving, I do just that. I pray and I say thank you. Thank you, for what you left there, for what you brought back, and for what you continue to give to us today.