All posts by GretchenJoanna

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About GretchenJoanna

Orthodox Christian, widowed in 2015; mother, grandmother. Love to read, garden, cook, write letters and a hundred other home-making activities.

George Eliot and The Paralytic


This Lord’s Day we were remembering the paralytic, who sat by the pool waiting for a chance to get into the water at those times when an angel stirred it, so that he might be healed. After 38 years, Jesus came by and healed him.

Father John in his homily highlighted one aspect of the Gospel story: how we are like that man in our seeming paralysis when it comes to overcoming our sins. Priests often hear in confession the lament of the Christian who continues to battle the same weaknesses and failings year after year, feeling that he makes little progress.

I think a lot about the truism that habits are like a second nature to us. As we read in Jeremiah 13:23: “Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard its spots? Neither can you do good who are accustomed to doing evil.”

It sounds very little like one chipper exhortation you might have read: “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” Well, yes, why not just start today? When I read that on Tuesday, I remembered the paralytic, and I thought on my own unchanged bad habits. After his 38 years, wasn’t it in fact too late for many things? (The assumption is that one might have been greater; the reverse is probably more true, that it’s never too late to start a downward spiral.)

For myself, let’s see…how many years have I been cultivating certain of my bad habits? More than that, I’m afraid. But it’s a simple thing: “The only thing that stands between me and greatness is me.” (Woody Allen)

George Eliot

George Eliot is credited with having made that bold assertion, “It’s never to late to be what you might have been.” She was the subject of a New Yorker article from February of this year, “Middlemarch and Me,” by Rebecca Mead, who questions the validity of the quote and whether it even reflects the true outlook of the author Mary Ann Evans.

Mead has been a lifelong lover of Eliot’s books, Middlemarch in particular, and she points out some hints that the author leaves in her novels, as well as forthright confessions from her journals, to show that her general attitude was wiser and more modest.

In Middlemarch, we read of the main character,  “Dorothea herself had no dreams of being praised above other women, feeling that there was always something better which she might have done, if she had only been better and known better.”

Mead writes: “Middlemarch is not about blooming late, or unexpectedly coming into one’s own after the unproductive flush of youth. Middlemarch suggests that it is always too late to be what you might have been — but it also shows that, virtually without exception, the unrealized life is worth living. The book that Virginia Woolf characterized as ‘one of the few English novels written for grown-up people’ is also a book about how to be a grownup person — about how to bear one’s share of sorrow, failure, and loss, as well as to enjoy moments of hard-won happiness.”

Let’s look back at the Paralytic by the Sheep’s Gate Pool. He must have had some way to propel himself, perhaps one limb that was functional, so that he could sit there for much of his life hoping to get down to the water first. He certainly had patience — and perseverance, to keep trying.

Father John said that even if we feel we have nothing more than a big toe’s worth of strength against our sins, we must keep struggling. Because we never know when Jesus will come to us. When he came to the cripple by the pool, He Himself was the source of the healing, and the man was delivered from his afflictions and was able to walk and carry his bed. For most of us, we will not receive the equivalent healing until we are resurrected in the coming Kingdom.

In the meantime, we will have failures. Maybe we will even think we are failures. It is very discouraging when one realizes what Samuel Johnson found: “The chains of habit are generally too small to be felt until they are too strong to be broken.” On another aspect of this human experience, Dorothea said in Middlemarch about her husband’s intellectual labors: “Failure after long perseverance is much grander than never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure.”

The most helpful sort of activity to persevere in, if one wants to be on the path to God, is prayer. “A long perseverance” of this sort would never be disappointing. The very moments of prayer have the potential to be Heaven itself, in the presence of the God Who is Love.

“In patience you possess your souls,” we read in Luke 21, and Mark Twain elaborates: “Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time.”

Whether we are being too easy on ourselves is the question. If we are being lazy, of course, that is one of the sins we are trying to overcome. And pride in thinking we are equal to any task, we can be anything we put our minds to — that also must be set aside.

Mary Ann Evans put it this way in her journal: “The difficulty is, to decide how far resolution should set in the direction of activity rather than in the acceptance of a more negative state.”

But I like best the way St. Seraphim of Sarov speaks about this, and will close with his gentle words: “One should be lenient towards the weaknesses and imperfections of one’s own soul and endure one’s own shortcomings as we tolerate the shortcomings of our neighbours, and at the same time not become lazy but impel oneself to work on one’s improvement incessantly.”

I made flan!


Ever since I met him, my dear husband has spoken very fondly of flan. Perhaps it has something to do with the associated memories of a trip he took to Mexico with his family when he was a teenager.

Until this moment, when I was looking for a link to post, I didn’t realize that flan is just the word Mexicans and some others use for crème caramel. Perhaps because we have so many Hispanics in California, I always assumed it originated in Latin America.

I’d never tried to make anything of this sort fancier than cup custard, from milk and eggs. But recently Mr. Glad came home from work with a recipe gleaned from the many Filipina women he works with, and when we were next at the market together we bought the main ingredients, in three cans.

Before removing from baking dishes

I did some more research before attempting to make this dessert. It was the sugar-melting-to-caramel that was new and frightening to me. The cans sat on my counter for a couple of weeks until I could also lay in a supply of eggs and find myself with time to cook on this rainy and cold day.

There are so many family recipes out there, and so much advice about techniques, I think I’ll just post the ingredients I used, which were pretty much according to one of the “Mexican Flan” recipes. I noticed disagreement about whether to stir or not stir the sugar when it is caramelizing; I stirred. I ended up filling one small pie plate and four ramekins with the quantity I made, which, by the way, would not fit at one time into my blender. I used:

1 cup sugar for the caramel
1 12-oz can evaporated milk
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
3 large eggs
3 egg yolks
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup canned Nestle Media Crema (Mexican food aisle)

I thought the finished custard should be smoother on the sides. One has to run a knife along the sides to loosen the custard before turning it out on a plate, and that seems to rough it up a bit. Maybe a ramekin is not the best shape of baking dish? Also, a lot of the caramel stayed in the bottom of the ramekins as hard as candy, so you don’t see the flan sitting in a puddle of the syrup. That’s o.k. There was plenty of sweet stuff on the top. I haven’t turned the pie plate out yet to see if it is smoother.

The caramel wasn’t difficult. I was sure I would burn it or spill it when my husband came into the kitchen and started asking me a stream of questions at the crucial moment, but it survived even that distraction.

I baked the custards for about 40 minutes. I ate mine when it was still a little warm, but firm, and it was one of the best flans I’ve ever eaten. It wasn’t watery as they sometimes are.  The husband also pronounced it Very Good.

Cold Snap Gardening


As I was about to stick a gazania into its hole next to the church parking lot, I got a call on my cell from my husband, telling me the weather forecast: it’s supposed to snow down to 3500′ tonight. I immediately thought of Pippin, who is weary of the cold, and wondered if she is getting snow tonight.


I was a bit chilly myself, but at least I had gone back in the house to put on more layers before driving off with my garden tool kit, because there was no sunshine or warmth. And it didn’t ever get up to 60° today.

The north wind was blowing, but the filtered light was perfect for taking pictures of all the flowers there at church — if my shutter could keep up with the fluttering of blossoms.

Look! A hose is lying around even at church; someone was washing her car nearby.

There are several people who do yard work on the property, but I pretty much take care of the containers. Several times a year everything I’ve planted seems to look good together, but often things are a bit ragged or odd.

Today I added some snapdragons so that when the poppies and pansies expire from heat, perhaps the snaps will be making a show. I planted a lovely pink geranium in an empty clay pot.

I haven’t had much to do with this rose display lately, but we all are currently raving over the giant apricot irises.

My favorite cistus

At least the cool weather makes the Iceland poppies happy. I found out that the small orange-flowered perennial on the right is helianthemum, and from searching around on the Net I think this one is called Chocolate Blotch.

I know there was noise of traffic on the street, but it was a long time before that entered my consciousness. I heard mourning doves as I was wiggling clover roots out from the bed of ajuga. The neighbors seem to have a new bird, which I couldn’t see, but it cried like an angry peacock. Bird calls impress on my brain more easily on cloudy days.

Three hours is about my limit for at stint at church, weeding, planting, trimming, feeding, and carrying buckets of garden waste to the compost heap. All the bending and stooping must be worth a few pilates sessions; I recover by walking across the property to the next half barrel or perennial bed.

But this afternoon when I pulled into my own driveway and saw all the weeds in the cracks, I couldn’t bear to go into the house until I had hacked away at them for a while. Now I’m hoping to rest up and stretch out enough to have stamina for Vigil this evening.
I checked the weather, and it looks like Pippin will likely be having “snow showers.” That girl needs a greenhouse. But here, of course, we are not that high, or cold. So I can say, bring on the thunderstorms!

Thinking about work and smiles

If I am feeling scattered, might it help if I got one thing done, like writing one little blog post? I could just make it the Poem of the Week or the Quote of the Day or something like that.

Perhaps a quote about time, like this:

Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach. Barbara Crooker said that. It’s an interesting way of looking at it, but not really the way I myself feel.

Today I seem to be leaning more toward Oscar Wilde’s policy of I never put off till tomorrow what I can do the day after. 

Because I’m finding that Work expands to fill the time available for its completion, as anyone who has experienced Parkinson’s Law knows. (Switching to the Work theme now…)

If, as Bertrand Russell says, One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important, then I am showing no sign of a nervous breakdown. Thank God for that.

Nothing is particularly hard if you divide it into small jobs, said Henry Ford, and I know I DO believe that. Since my job description consists of about a thousand large and small tasks already, the small jobs I completed today must count for something. I made an important phone call, threw away lots of junk mail, figured out what to have for dinner and read some poems. Before that I walked two miles and thought a lot about some things I was reading while walking. I prayed a little, and did at least a hundred other little things. So how could I think I’m having a nonproductive day?

It’s probably because my list of tasks, which has gotten longer and longer as it also got buried while I was traveling and living in the Bright Reality of Pascha – Christ is risen! by the way – is just too daunting, not having been divided into enough small tasks that in turn could be assigned to more days.

He that despiseth small things will perish little by little, said Emerson. So I resolve to appreciate these little accomplishments, not to mention the huge things God does, such as, today He gave me life and breath and the ability to get out of bed.

I was talking on the phone to a friend who is very ill; she told me that some days she can’t walk very well. She also has trouble speaking. I was telling her about lying in the grass on the hilltop last week, and she started to cry out of compassion for people who don’t get to see the kind of beauty I was describing.

That reminded me of the movie I watched last night, about Mother Teresa, and how she emphasized the importance of love, and smiling. When destitute, crippled and dying people look into the smiling faces of the Sisters of Charity, they see a beautiful thing indeed, and feel the love. With all the kitschy smiley face stuff going around for decades now, it wasn’t until last night that I fully appreciated the power of a smile.

The smiles of the sisters in the movie were so obviously genuine, and flowing from the love of God, I couldn’t help laughing and crying all through the movie. A smile is another small thing I could accomplish today. My dear husband will be home soon, and I think I will give him one.

So, it has indeed helped me to write this blog post. As Henry Ford also said, Before everything else, getting ready is the secret of success.