News Trend Love > Hate|Actual

Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. - Martin Luther King Jr.

More tragedy spills out on American streets and darkens American souls:

Philando Castile shot dead by a police officer over a broken tail light.

Peaceful protests in Dallas interrupted by intentional fire that leaves four police officers dead.

President Obama tells America that we all have to do better.

The Washington Post echoes a familiar sentiment: white people must take responsibility for dismantling white supremacy.

Like most Americans, I recoil from this news with heartbreak and horror. This is no way to live. The petty differences of race are literally superficial; our hearts and minds and souls are meant to be united as fellow humans.

The idea that we should judge one another by the color of our skin is surely evil.

But I don't feel confused or corrupted by this evil. I know exactly how I will respond to this latest affront to human decency.

I will keep doing what I'm already doing.

I will treat every human being who crosses my path with dignity and friendliness and human kindness.

Just as I greet the groups of black and white boys skateboarding behind my local high school. I look at their faces and they look at mine; we smile and say hi to each other.

Just as I keep Ranger close to me when we pass the older Asian gentleman on our walk because I know he's afraid of my dog.

Just as I count down the days of Ramadan with my Malaysian friends and share their holiday spirit.

Just as I offer my unopened soda to my African-American airport shuttle driver in Detroit, and listen attentively as he tells me stories about his visits to Seattle.

Just as I show my deepest gratitude to Asian friends who host me in their homes.

Just as I relax and enjoy the comfortable silence with my black seat partner on a flight to LAX, occasionally bumping elbows on the armrest or nudging past him as I climbed in and out of the seat.

Just as I share a special greeting with a teenage girl in my neighborhood. She's black, overweight, and has a killer fashion style which I often compliment.

These are the ways that I choose to fight back against the anger and racism and hatred and intolerance that threatens to poison our beautiful country and our very souls.

And I share these examples not as an excuse to hold myself up, or as laundry list of things I've done for "those" kind of people.

I simply believe that the solution to our problems lies not in policies or protests, not in legislation or lawsuits.

With all my heart, I believe that we must love one another.

Person to person. Face to face. One human being at a time.

Because I believe that in the end, this is the kind of love that will surely conquer hate.

News Trend Garbage Cans And Geese|Actual

Two weeks ago, I scrubbed out the inside of my rubbish containers.

No, I do not mean the managably-sized bins and baskets that live in the house.

I mean the big-daddy curbside boys.

^My various garbage bins, resting on their immaculately clean sides in all their post-scrubbing glory. Aren't they pretty?

Once a year, these plastic caverns get hosed and scrubbed to within an inch of their lives. Copious amounts of bleach, a high-pressure hose, and a feisty old broom are employed with abandon to polish each receptacle to near perfection. I invest a ridiculous amount of elbow grease in the process, but by gum, I only do this once a year and so I'm determined to give the job my all.

Full confession: I'll admit that when I was done, I was so pleased with the results that I seriously considered taking a few shots of my glorious handiwork.

I know. Garbage cans, right?

^ This is my blue recycling bin, where plastics, paper, glass and aluminum are all tossed in a heap together, resulting in a sticky mess of residual food and bits of paper along the bottom.

After a moment's reflection, however, I decided that the bleach fumes were surely getting the best of me. So I laid down my camera and passed on the opportunity.

Then I posted the good news of this auspicious event on Facebook and wouldn't you know it, one of my friends asked to see photos.

^ The grey receptacle is for regular trash, which we gather up in bags from the house. Accordingly, he stays fairly clean, but its previous owners stuffed him full of used cat litter and I'm forever trying to wipe out the last of the odors.

Ha. Guess that wasn't such a crazy idea after all.

^ Green is for yard waste and food scraps, the hardest working soldier of the three. Week after week, this bad boy ends up jam packed with grass clippings, plant debris, heaps of weeds, and a handful of errant snails, and interwoven with coffee grounds, egg shells, vegetable trimmings and the occasional piece of rotten fruit. By week's end, the whole mess has slightly decomposed and leaves an onerous bit of residual inside this bin.

Now multiply that by fifty-two weeks in a year, and trust me, that allows for one dirty bin.

Sadly, though, my pretty cans had already resumed their life of drudgery and were no longer picture perfect. But fear not, I reported to my friend; just give me a week or two and I'll give them a quick touch-up and share photos for sure.

^ This brown boy served as our main garbage receptacle for twenty-five faithful years before the grey guy took over. Now, even with a few holes in the bottom, he serves as our back-up compost container and during the summer months often gets called into play.

So today was that day.

I re-rinsed.

I re-scrubbed.

I shamelessly photographed my clean containers, standing in the street for the best angles and proudly snapping away as the neighbors drove past.

And now I have shared my story with you.

And on the off-chance that photographs of my clean garbage cans don't quite fill your soul with the peace and serenity that they offer me, maybe these geese will suffice.

News Trend Birthday Adventures: Little Cranberry Lake And Mount Erie|Actual

Once upon a time, when my daughters were young, birthdays were all about the parties. Plans sprung forth from the pages of Family Fun or American Girl magazines - water sprinkler games! bear claw cupcakes! handmade piñatas! tie dye crafts! - and with a round-up of eight or ten other little girls, we had some pretty good times. Of course, I could bet the ranch that the birthday girl would be in tears at some point during the day. All of the anticipation and emotion was just too much for any reasonable child to bear. But there was joy in the chaos, and I happily planned and presided over my daughters' birthday parties for many years until finally, my daughters decided enough.

Now the birthday tradition tables have turned, and my adult daughters have perfected the art of the birthday adventure. On any given Streicher birthday afternoon, you will find us traveling, touring, inspecting, and exploring the world, according to an itinerary set by the birthday girl. And this, too, is a joyful way to spend these special days.

* * * * *

Ready for another time-honored birthday adventure? This time, it's my third-born's special day. And since this is her first birthday back in the States since the birthday adventure tradition began, she chose her outing carefully.

Her decision? A hike around Little Cranberry Lake, at the foot of Mount Erie, just outside of Anacortes. And so, with my fourth-born and ever-faithful dog, Gracie, we set off in search of adventure.

^ Our first objective was to traverse the length of Big Beaver Pond, which turned out to be afloat in skunk cabbage, water lilies, and other water-dwelling wonders. As we came round the first corner, expecting to see blue water but finding instead this low, flat jungle of greenery, our minds were blown.

^ Gracie, however, did not skip a beat. She plunged into the water here and there along the gently winding trail, favoring her habit of lying down in the shallows to properly lap up a drink and cool her belly at the same time. Such an efficient lady.

^ Once we came to the south end of Little Cranberry Lake, the scenery smooths out into what we were expecting: Beautiful blue water, still and serene, perfectly reflecting the surrounding fir forest. In all the best ways, we felt utterly alone in a pristine wilderness, many miles removed from civilization. Truth be told, we were a mere few flaps of the crow's wings from town though we never could have guessed.

^ While the lake was smooth, the trail was not. Massive slabs of the area's signature diorite rock form the hillside around the lake, and while the path hugs the shoreline, the heaps of stone tumble all the way to water's edge and force us to climb up and down, up and down, scrambling our way along the rocky undulations. Though the challenge wasn't anything that an energetic five-year-old couldn't handle, I was slightly put off by all the unexpected work. Luckily, the sight of my enthusiastic dog bouncing up and down the boulders kept me happily entertained.

Gracie posed happily for photos on rocky outcroppings, and steered clear of the water's edge. The bank was a bit too stony and steep, I suspect, and I admired her discernment.

^ The northern end of the lake affords a gorgeous view back through the trees to the water.

^ And this bridge marks the turning point, where the trail bends south again and back towards where we came. I love a hike with a good destination, and this one satisfied my soul.

* * * * *

^ As much as I enjoyed our hike around Little Cranberry Lake, I must say that the highlight of the day came a bit earlier. Before landing at the trail head, we took a quick cruise up to the top of nearbyMount Erie to scramble around on the iconic diorite rock formations and soak up the breathtaking view. Our hike was lovely, but the heart-pounding vistas from this unique little mountain gave our birthday adventure the jolt of glory and wonder that such an outing deserves.

^ And I must say, Gracie wholeheartedly agreed.

News Trend Induced By Induction|Actual

Last October, my thirty-year-old cook top died.

RIP homely little Jenn-Air electric two-burner. You and I had some good times and I'll remember you fondly.

In November, after much rumination, we picked out a handsome new Bosch induction cook top with a down-draft ventilation fan. The unit was installed six months ago, in January.

And this week, well into July, I bought some new pans so we can actually cook on it.

Yay progress.

When this journey began, I thought I wanted a gas range. Psh, everyone knows a big beautiful Wolf cooktop is where it's at, right? I was so ready to buy one and make out with it every day.

But wait. What's this? My Google-searching reverie was broken by a single word: induction.

Induction technology, I learned, is fast, clean and ridiculously safe. Magnetic fields generate heat if and only if they come into contact with a steel pan or pot. The glass cooking surface gets moderately warm but can't set fire to anything that isn't made of steel.

And wiping down the sleek black glass truly is a dream.

After learning that induction technology is old hat in Europe and finally catching on in the U.S., we decided to take the plunge.

Thankfully, my tried-and-true trio of cast iron skillets made the leap to the new technology. But the rest of my pots and pans were rendered useless and marched off to the secondhand store.

No worries, I told the family. I'll buy some new pans pronto.

That was a dirty lie.

It actually took months of alternating online searches and frequent perusals of the checkbook balance before I decided on a set of three pots fromIKEA'a 365+ line. Are they dreamy, top-of-the-line, for-the-rest-of-my-life, finest quality cookware? No. But these stylish stainless steel workhorses will get the pasta boiled and the stews simmered around here for a few years while I decide if some aristocraticLe Creusetis truly worth its outrageous price tag.

My new cook top has changed my life. My cooking technique has improved by leaps and bounds, thanks to the amazing performance of this snazzy fellow. From melting chocolate to putting a crisp char on some steaks, my induction cook top gets the job done with style.

I'll admit that I still dream about the red knobs on that sexy Wolf model, but all in all, I'm thrilled with the match I made.

News Trend Be You|Actual

First thing every morning, I stumble into my bathroom and reach for my toothbrush.

It lives right next to my sink. For maximum findability.

Then I grope around for toothpaste, and I find it here, on my bathroom shelves.

These shelves have lived through some transition lately.

For a long time, they were just random Target

Burt's Bees Milk And Honey Body Lotion

Which greatly soothed my weary morning soul. But to be honest, under that design ethic, this prime real estate was a tad underutilized.

Air plant | Sky Nursery.

Pink bowl | long ago at Target

An upside down Neti pot |Amazon

Burt's Bees Mama Bee Nourishing Baby Oil | Target

Vitamin E oil | Amazon

White jar | long ago at Target

Marble jar | long ago at Target

So I've experimented with adding a bit more product to the mix.

Oh sure. I'll totally admit that when I'm picking out lotions, cleansers, and hair products, I'm highly editorial about their packaging. They either fit my color scheme or, if they are really special, sent to live in a cupboard or drawer.

Kristen Ess Hydrating Curl Defining Cream | Target

Kristen Ess Weightless Shine Working Serum | Target

Marble jar | Thrifted

Bubblewrap | Glossier

Milky Jelly Cleanser | Glossier

Priming Moisturizer Rich | Glossier

And lately, I realized that my current collection of bottles, jars, and tubes plays up a handful of neutrals with a pretty shade of pink. Thanks, Glossier. You make my shelves look gorgeous.

But as I happily sorted and straightened, I felt like something was missing. Something that would pop open my eyes every morning, and elevate my day to a higher trajectory.

And in an instant, a vision popped into my brain.

Hello Activated Charcoal Whitening Toothpaste | Target

Burt's Bees Milk And Honey Body Lotion | Target

Sally Hansen Nail Treatment Vitamin E Nail And Cuticle Oil | Target

A frame from the thrift store, spray-painted white.

A picture-perfect shade of pink - culled from my extensive collection of pink acrylic paint - across a piece of watercolor paper.

Hand-cut letters from the same watercolor paper, glued into place.

Now, in the mornings, as I stand in my bathroom, toothbrush in hand, and turn to reach for my toothpaste, this message fills my eyes and lifts me up with light and loveliness.

Be you, Gracie. As if you could ever be anyone else.

And then, brushing my teeth all the while, I step back into my bedroom to greet my dog and remind her too, to just be you.

* * * * *

Here's a link to the story about how I restyled my bathroom shelves last time:

Twenty Years

* * * * *

I rarely display word art in my home, but when I do, it's always homemade. Check out these stories about my other word art projects:

Organization Upgrades: Kitchen Pantry Edition

Sex In The Front Hall

News Trend One Thing About Kellen|Actual

Let me tell you some things I know about my friend, Kellen.

In many ways, he's a decent and fairly ordinary guy.

He loves:

watching professional sports,

listening to music,

swimming, fishing, hanging out on his cousin's boat,

playing tennis, working out, riding bikes with his uncle,

throwing around a football or a baseball, or kicking around a soccer ball,

eating,

cooking,

Jesus,

and spending time with the people he loves,

especially his nine-year-old son.

Kellen and I have known each other for a year and a half now, and I can tell you for a fact that he is a deep thinker and interesting conversationalist, open to examining his own life and willing to consider new possibilities.

He's also thoughtful, considerate, and devoted to being a good friend. I can always count on him to be honest with me, and to hear my blunt questions with positive intent. He says thank you a lot, and opens doors for me.

Kellen and I are friends. Good, solid, tried-and-true friends.

And while all those wonderful things about Kellen are 100% factual and true, there is something else you should know.

Kellen is a heroin addict.

For somewhere around fifteen years, he has battled many demons:

using pretty much every street drug he can get his hands on,

stealing from the people he loves,

committing felonies,

running from the police,

destroying relationships with his loved ones,

living a life of utter chaos.

He's gone to rehab, experienced horrible withdrawals, sobered up, relapsed, run back to the streets, more times than he can count or even remember.

He's been arrested, convicted of felonies, and served time in prison.

He's told a shocking number of lies, in order to save himself from even deeper trouble.

He's turned his life over to Jesus, then fallen away, over and over again.

And I will tell you the honest truth. Sometimes it is hard to be Kellen's friend. It's hard to see him want to do the right thing in his life, only to struggle and fall down, time and time again. It's hard to watch him make the mistakes that addicts make, and know that I cannot fix him. It's hard to remind myself, over and over again, that he has to figure this out for himself.

But of all the things I know about Kellen, this is the most true.

God loves him.

I have never in my life seen so many miracles fall into one person's life.

I have no words to describe the wild twists and turns that happen in Kellen's life every week or so, that allow him to keep walking on a path toward sobriety.

I have observed countless times that when Kellen makes even a tiny effort to do the right thing, God takes his step forward and multiplies it, many times over, to bring good into Kellen's life, right when he needs it most.

Lord knows Kellen hasn't yet reached his destination of sober living. But God seems utterly determined to remove the obstacles in his way and give him the second, third, fourth...Twentieth, thirtieth, fortieth chances that he needs to keep on walking in the right direction.

And so if there is any one thing I would like you to know about my friend, Kellen, it's this:

His painful, chaotic, off-the-rails life is living proof, right before my very eyes, that

no matter what we do wrong,

no matter how far we fall,

no matter how many times we screw up,

God loves us, far more than we can ever understand.

News Trend A Simple Celebration|Actual

Welcome to the Streicher annual Fourth of July backyard bash.

We keep it pretty simple around here.

Early in the morning, our flag makes it appearance on the front porch. Around noon, the kitchen is typically aflurry with various cooking and baking projects. Each Streicher daughter plans and delivers the dish of her choice, and we often work together.

The schedule also allows ample time for baseball games, dog walks, and general slacking off.

Around dinner time, the celebration shifts to the back yard.

^ This year, the party started with a fire. And that is my department.

True confession. I am a massive pyromaniac and I love building fires. And by fires, I mean roaring blazes that push the limits of paling aman and common sense.

The bigger, the better is definitely my motto, and though this effort looks puny, I heaped on all the wood available to me and lit her up all at once.

Not a bad effort for a small cooking fire.

^ While I was overseeing the conflagration, my daughters filled the table with our feast:

Hot dogs and bratwurst with buns and condiments

Baked beans

Cornbread

Potato salad

Pasta salad

And an all-American homemade apple pie.

^ Then we roasted up our tube steaks...

^ ...While Gracie guarded the table.

Just kidding. If my dog had been left alone with all that food for two seconds, she surely would have jumped up in the middle of that table, muzzle deep in one dish after the next, eating until every bite was gone or someone hauled her off the table and wrestled her into submission, whichever came first.

She's quite the enthusiastic picnicker.

^ At some time between eating our fill of dinner and tucking into the apple pie, we savored s'mores around the campfire. Nothing says freedom to me like this kind of crunchy, gooey, melty, chocolatey, lick your fingers deliciousness.

^ As the mosquitoes gathered in the shady corners and began their assault on the sweet-blooded members of the family, we decided to finish our second desserts in the house. But before we went inside, we enjoyed the festive mini -fireworks display of sparklers. Our wands of light sizzled and smoked across the backyard as we listened to the not-so-distant bangs and booms of higher caliber explosions, and decided that the combined effect was almost as fun as one of the official fireworks shows that we had opted not to attend.

* * * * *

Our Fourth Of July celebration was pretty darn basic, that's for sure. We didn't even get around to hanging red, white, and blue decorations; feasting on our traditional saltwater taffy, or arguing over croquet. I forgot to wear my tri-cornered hat, which I purchased once on a trip to Boston and wore all the way home on the plane. My then-teenaged daughters' were definitely not impressed, and still roll their eyes when I bring it out for its usual annual appearance. I'll wear it next year for sure.

But even the simplest celebration of our country's birthday fills me with awe and gratitude for our founding fathers' insight and courage. I'm forever thankful to the brave men and women who fought for future Americans' right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. There's nothing simple about the sacrifices they made for you and me.