on cognitive dissonance

That's the fancy name for living in a way that is in conflict with your conscience.

It's like a permanent stone in your shoe, or a feeling that something is always just, well, off.

Some who live in a way that is not in alignment with our deepest beliefs experience depression, anxiety, and even physical ailments. I remember having this conversation with myself at different points in my life:

Me #1:

"I wish I knew why I am feeling this overwhelming sadness and having all these frightening, negative and critical thoughts"

Me #2:

"But you do know!"

Me #1:

"Do not!"

Me #2:

"Do so!"

(after several repeats)

Me #2:

"Look, there are these several things that you are doing that you know you really don't feel good about, and they are actually hurting you, spiritually, emotionally and physically." 

Me #1:

"But to stop any of it would mean major changes. It's too scary! I don't know what my life would be like! What if I will be lonely, or lose my friends?"

Me #2:

"It's true that there is an element of the unknown, but who's to say it would be a negative change? Maybe good things will happen. One thing is true, that at least you will be free of the burden that is eating you up on the inside!" 

Me #1:

 "Maybe I am just like this. Maybe I should just accept the way things are now. I can rearrange the furniture and put a new coat of paint. Maybe then I will feel better about everything. 

Me#2:

"That's pretty much what you have been doing, How's that working out?" 

Me#1:

"Okay, I know. I guess I really have known. Maybe it is harder to try to keep the plates all spinning than to hope for some peace. Maybe I will do one thing and see how that goes."

Me #2:

"Yup. And you will find that if you do the first thing, the next one will be easier."

I'm sure you have heard the saying, "Better to face the devil you know than the devil you don't."
Perhaps this is one rationalization we have for staying stuck in patterns in life that are holding us back. I would say that if the "devil we know" is the thing we are finding comfort in and the "devil we don't" is the thing we are afraid of on the other side of change, then, friends, the only devil is the real one who is whispering in your ear that you just can't do it.

For my part, changing my life was not something I did on my own. All I did was humbly admit that my own tactics of never confronting my fears or challenging my methods was definitely NOT WORKING. I knew deep down all along, that God was calling me to follow and trust Him, and all my efforts to do it _my way_ were only amounting to sadness and harm. I had several light bulb moments that pretty much woke me up to the fact that I had to do SOMETHING and soon.

The biggest thing I did was to simply allow God in. I considered what He had to say to me, and asked His help. For me, the turning point was the hardest part. Overcoming the fear was like the drop of oil that got the gears in motion. It wasn't all kittens and picnic lunches from there, but the huge relief that ensued from gradually resolving the cognitive dissonance was like being able to breathe again. It was one step at a time, and frankly, still is.

Cognitive dissonance, in the language of the Church, is simply conviction of sin. And it is a huge grace, not a negative, shaming thing at all. The only shame is in refusing His love and grace.

I think living the Christian life is one long, continual conversion, as we allow Him to conform us to His life for us. It is resolving cognitive dissonance one sliver at a time, towards ultimate peace. The Church provides the vehicle for us to ride upon, partaking of Christ in the Eucharist and the other sacraments that help care for us in this life, and assist us to the next.

It is a great gift and grace, to be able to lay our heads on our pillow at night, and be able to sleep in peace and security. We know that we are not perfect, but that we are on the road with Him, going where He leads, and not flailing around on our own.

I would ask your continued prayers for my family and for me.

Peace, 

Kelly

This is who I am

Here is what my son is busy doing.

And this.
He brought his drums upstairs to play music with friends for his 18th birthday. A modest request, in keeping with his personality. They had a nice day and evening. I am blessed with all my kids and love to see them happy.










 I am at a place in my life where I think I am finally comfortable being myself. I have not been able to say this for one reason or another since I was a kid. Oh, I don't blame anybody. In fact, I realize more and more just how blessed I am to have been able to emerge from many kinds of sin and adversity, able to live and love and bless God. To be able to get up each morning, strap on my brown scapular, look in the mirror and say, "This is who I am," without scores of qualifiers and apologies.

 I truly identify with the woman at the well. Though I still sin, I am not a slave to sin, and I have an ally in the sacrament of Reconciliation, by His grace in which I am always a work in progress.  I am not free of every fault, burden, or bad thought pattern, but I am free from the shackles of guilt, self loathing and shame. I can stand before my Father with trust that He has me in this place in my life and will uphold me as I cling to Him. 

 It is big for me to even utter those words: that I am free. Even if I sometimes have anxiety while driving, even when I agonize over the sad and scary choices of loved ones, even in all my many missteps and sins, I know this to be true. I don't have to be afraid -- of anything. As long as I am able to give God my 'yes,' (sometimes this is very easy, and other times, I have to renew my resolve hour by hour), I know I am in the palm of His hand. 

I am currently going through my twice yearly or so Marian Consecration. So much freedom comes, paradoxically, when I aspire to learn to give myself as Mary did, totally. As St. Augustine said: "It often happens, that the office of giving gives us the merit to receive." And what I so often receive is the gift of peace. You know when God is giving you a gift of peace when it is there in the midst of every kind of peace-killer, like: anything in the news, a child going through serious issues, another recovering from surgery, a friend who is battling cancer, an ill brother too far away, and various and sundry financial challenges. Lest you think by 'peace,' I mean that I float through every moment of every day on a cloud while strumming a stringed instrument and singing hymns of praise, I am not. By 'peace, I do mean a deep knowledge of God's presence and the help of the saints and angels, and trust in His love for me in each moment.

And the occasional feelings of consolation.

And definitely some singing. 

 http://www.theblaze.com/blog/2012/05/01/see-this-epic-clip-of-a-baby-singing-christian-worship-music/

                                                                                                                   

Sin, Steely Dan, and Bad People

I have been turning this post over in my mind for quite a while now, maybe even since I began this blog. It is not easy to write about, and also difficult to organize into coherency, but I am going to give it my best shot.

If you are a reader here, you may know some of my history, which includes abortion, abuse, divorce, bad choices and bad relationships.  Oooh, I sound like a real peach! (If you wish to get more background, you can do a keyword search on the sidebar). Thanks be to God, He rescued me from those things,  and each day brings another step towards healing.

about sin~

As much as I know I am a new person, there remain the consequences of my sins, scars, and the deeper roots that helped feed those sins. I think all of our lives contain a combination of response to our own (original) sin and response to the sins that the world and other people have visited upon us. Most times, we are not aware of all of this. Raising kids forces me to revisit my youth, and realize how clueless I was about the effects my choices would have on the rest of my life, and the people in it.  I know I have mentioned this before, but sometimes, I can trace the outcomes of a single action and see how it branches out in several directions, affecting people in major ways. Some of those actions reach right into the present, and demand that I tend to their effects.


There is no action, good or bad, that doesn't do this. Everything matters, and nothing we do is in a vacuum. There is no "victimless" sin.

The fact is, we all are sinners. We are hard wired to be that way. We also are all children of God. He created us, formed us in our mother's womb and knows every hair on our head. He knows and cares about every single minute of our lives. He offers the grace of His redemptive life, death and resurrection, so that we don't have to be slaves to that vein of sin that lives in us. In one sense, we do not have to feel ashamed that we are sinners, nor be shocked when we sin. We just have to keep acknowledging when we fall, and humbly go to Him in confession, and the grace will be there for us. Of course, the more we expose ourselves to Jesus, the more He fills us, and the less we want to sin, or do anything that does not return the love He gives us. We will not ever be completely sinless while living in this world, but we can stay in the shadow of His wings and allow Him to keep on forming us in His image. It is simple, but it is not easy.  The camel through the eye of the needle, etc.



Here's my little story about my own experience of being a Bad Person:



My early life consisted of a series of events, mixed with my own predilections, that resulted in getting myself in to those places where abortion, abuse and divorce took their toll. On me, and my kids. But I had lived in that poison atmosphere for so long, that  once I started climbing out, I was so broken, I just went in whatever direction seemed safest at the time.  Apparently, my choice-making apparatus got broken along the way. I take responsibility for everything I have done, but I also recognize that I was impaired. I try really hard to remember that when other people do things that are destructive.

 But back then, I couldn't see the forest for the trees. At the dissolution of a 13 year marriage, I felt as though I was falling off a cliff, so I reached for what felt like a safety line. I went directly to another relationship. The circumstances were extremely messy. The church I belonged to at that time was ready to help me with the separation, but once it became clear I was not going to listen to them in regards to this new relationship, it was all over folks. Not only that, but I was basically shunned, to borrow a term from the Amish. Or -- to borrow a term from Dwight on The Office.



 And, yeah, I can understand that, they even came to my house (yes, three of them) to confront me, citing this scripture:

Matthew 18:15

If your brother sins go and show him his fault in private; if he listens to you, you have won your brother.

But if he does not listen to you, take one or two more with you, so that by the mouth of two or three witnesses every fact may be confirmed.

If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if he refuses to listen even to the church, let him be to you as Gentile and a tax collector.

After some fifteen years now,  to many from that church and another one we belonged to previously, I am still a tax collector.  I will not list out the sins of my ex from that time, but suffice it to say -- there were some. One might even say, they were grave, and that, in part, those grave sins had a part to play in my own struggles from that point forward. That is all between him and God. But somehow, he did not get the tax collector treatment, at least not from them. I do not feel sorry for myself, I am blessed with a wonderful family and wonderful friends, a beautiful faith that I would not trade for anything.

"Then I will make up to you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten --" Joel 2:25

But at that time, before my conversion to Catholicism, this action by everyone who I had called my friends, everybody that knew about what I had been going through, and the church leaders I had looked up to -- felt as though God himself was shunning me. If this action was supposed to help me see the error of my ways, in my case, it just made me even more unsure God loved me. How could He not understand?  The result was that I turned to other sources of (what I thought was) comfort and safety. Reminds me of the lyrics of a Steely Dan song:

If I had my way
I would move to another lifetime
I'd quit my job
Ride the train through the misty nighttime
I'll be ready when my feet touch ground
Wherever I come down
And if the folks will have me
Then they'll have me
CHORUS:
Any world that I'm welcome to
Is better than the one I come from

Again, this experience helps me understand those that retreat to places where people are nice to them, and treat them like human beings. Not problems that need to be fixed before they are worthy to be acknowledged.

An aside -- one of the pitfalls of the non-Catholic Christian churches, is that they tend to micromanage the lives of the followers, asserting and inserting themselves into a situation with the authority of God, often mishandling and worse, misrepresenting Him. Not all, of course, but this was my experience in a number of evangelical churches. When I crawled into the Catholic church, I was not asked about the "sin in my life" -- only welcomed and allowed to present my mess  before the Real Presence of the Lord, who took me and did the straightening out in a way that actually stuck.


Ironically, guess what follows that scripture verse used for disciplining sinners?

 Matthew 18:16-22
 “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.
  “Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
 Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

I don't know the Catholic official teaching on this entire passage, but I do intend to look it up. I have a feeling the place it is embedded has a little something to do with it's meaning, and that in all likelihood, it is not meant to be taken as a stand-alone mandate.


Here is another Steely Dan song that illustrates (to me) the journey through the tough, crazy times, to the safety of the Church and the Blessed Mother. Being 'tied to the mast' reminds me of clinging to His cross. 







I know this super highway
This bright familiar sun
I guess that I'm the lucky one
Who wrote that tired sea song
Set on this peaceful shore
You think you've heard this one before

Well the danger on the rocks is surely past
Still I remain tied to the mast
Could it be that I have found my home at last
Home at last

She serves the smooth retsina
She keeps me safe and warm
It's just the calm before the storm
Call in my reservation
So long hey thanks my friend
I guess I'll try my luck again

Well the danger on the rocks is surely past
Still I remain tied to the mast
Could it be that I have found my home at last
Home at last

part two of the journey

Another link from my growing up years that paved the way for my eventual bouts with depression was my search for male attachment and my attempts to construct a "good" family. At least in the image I had.

To be clear -- I know that my parents loved me immensely and sacrificed to give me wonderful things such as music lessons, instruments, a pool in the back yard, and many other advantages lots of kids do not have, (my own for example,) so this is not a "my parents ruined my life" theme. It IS a "my parents' wounds and sins, compounded by my own wounds and sins had an effect on my life," kind of theme.

My father, whose personality I share, was reserved in the Vocal Praise and Lavish Affection department. What can I say, he was of German descent. But he was also known as the man who had the Patience of Job, and who would give the shirt off his back to help someone. Which is why he had very few shirts.  He had a very large heart as well. He just didn't wear it on his sleeve -- because again -- not a lot of shirts.

I was also my parent's only girl, born late-ish in their lives (mid-forties), so there was a generational gap between us. These factors played into a kind of uncomfortable distance relationally between he and I. I knew he loved me, but for instance, if I came downstairs ready for the prom, his reaction was usually --"yeah." It was like the grunt of approval. But I got it, and it was okay. But there was another part of me that I guess really wanted some input. I had a teacher/basketball coach in 7th grade that was a mentor and support. I think he picked up on some of the turbulence going on for me at home, through some of the things I said in class and on the court.

My mom, God rest her soul, was an alcoholic. And my eldest brother, also now deceased, was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and was also an alcoholic. This made for continual drama in the house; not the kind that is solely dramatic, but the kind that is driven by crises. Without going into any of the specific stories, my home life was punctuated by episodes of things that required calling the police.

I became extremely independent, and carried on with my life. I was loved, financially supported, but in some ways, not raised or guided. I figured out a lot of stuff myself, mainly by blundering through. That feeling of being rejected and abandoned, was intensified when my father passed away when I was 18, and my mother, when I was 23. In one sense, I was used to going it alone, and in another, was trying to create that family I craved. I had had an abortion at 18, was married and divorced, with my first child in tow, by the time I was 23.

At this point, I considered myself a Christian. I had prayed the prayer, given my life to Christ, knew, in part, right from wrong. But I lacked something. Partly, a human base of support, but in hindsight, I lacked the power to carry out the Christian life. More about that later.

 I didn't have the strength or foundation to find my way alone. I did work, but we lived in extreme poverty. The only reason we had a roof over our heads was the kindness of some good friends, and later, a landlord that did not throw us out for late or non-existent rent.

My points in sharing these things are a few:

1.  There is truth in generational sin. When parents have certain issues, for instance, alcoholism, that go unaddressed, the children receive the consequences. If there is coldness or distance, the children develop ways to fill the void, or deficiencies in forming healthy relationships. This can seem obvious, but things such as this can be passed down until someone breaks the pattern.

2. I was truly unconscious of how I was striving to make up for what I lacked. I remember telling someone along the way that I was definitely NOT that girl that sought male attention because of a lack of fatherly affection. Ugh, I did not want to be part of the predictable statistics. But that I was, in that way and others. I often deeply felt I was in the wrong life, and was even told that by the occasional teacher or employer.


 Finally, while mired in a destructive marriage that lasted 13 years, I began to fall into a depression. I didn't realize that yet, though there were others that recognized it. When the marriage came to it's end, I had been so indoctrinated by the anger and control problems (the unaddressed sins and wounds of my ex), that I was brought to the lowest point I had yet known. I believe I even was exposed to demonic activity. I could post about that aspect alone, but for now, suffice it to say, I was vulnerable and asea in the wake of those years. In my blindness, I grasped still, for human help and love. I made the single biggest mistake of my life (that's saying something. considering all I had already made), by allowing my kids to be split up between my ex and myself. So much evil and pain resulted as the sin and wounds spread now to my kids. I went fully into depression and had periods of being suicidal.


Here are a few pictures of me in high school.

Abundant Grace

I just realized something about how God deals with me when I sin. And I mean the big sins. For instance~

1. I had an abortion, and well before, mind you, I came to an understanding of just how sinful this was, He continued to bless me with healthy beautiful pregnancies and children. Eight more times! (I had one miscarriage).

2. I went through some really gnarly times during the first twenty-ish years of raising them. Not all of it was due to my personal sin, but some definitely was, especially towards the end of that period.  In making my way out of those rough years, I responded with some old patterns,  from kind of a broken soul.  He has given me lots and lots of grace, and many opportunities to be there to support the kids through their own healing, which in turn, you guessed it, furthers my own. Having been there, I get it when people take time to work their way out of deep holes. God has afforded me with enough time and resources ( not tons, I said enough) to be generous and give to the kids and sometimes their boyfriends, from what we have. A lot of the time, what we have is simply just to care, to feed them some dinner, or open our home as a place to hang out. I noted the other day, when I was feeling kind of overdone, that giving myself away always furthers my healing and the healing of my family. It is never wasted. Even if what I offer is flawed, God puts in in the bank. And as a result,things are better. Not all better, but better. I trust that He is not finished with us yet. When we still have troubles, I now know that He is at work. I feel the pain, but I have hope. I see that the Lord has offered us His hand to cling to, and His grace to sustain us.

He always knows what we need. He rarely gives us what we deserve.  Sometimes, He blesses us and trusts us with the very things in which we have failed.

Isaiah 61:3

  and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty  instead of ashes,
the oil of joy  instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
   instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
   a planting of the LORD
   for the display of his splendor.

offering our sufferings to God

While sitting at adoration this morning, besides all the other things that go rocketing around in my mind, I was contemplating the practice of offering our sufferings, mixed with thoughts of those who suffer from depression that often arrive with the winter weather and the Christmas season.

I am no expert when it comes to explaining the theology of offering our sufferings. One good way I think about it is from St.Therese of Lisieux, The Little Flower;

"I prefer the monotony of obscure sacrifice to all ecstasies. To pick up a pin for love can convert a soul." These are the words of Theresa of the Child Jesus, a Carmelite nun called the "Little Flower," who lived a cloistered life of obscurity in the convent of Lisieux, France. [In French-speaking areas, she is known as Thérèse of Lisieux.] And her preference for hidden sacrifice did indeed convert souls. Few saints of God are more popular than this young nun. Her autobiography, The Story of a Soul, is read and loved throughout the world. Thérèse Martin entered the convent at the age of 15 and died in 1897 at the age of 24.

When I am suffering, even in the smallest way, such as a pang of concern for one of my children (this happens roughly every seventeen minutes throughout the day), when I remember, I offer it to the Lord, Even if I have been part of the problem. Or if I encounter people that make me feel angry or agitated, or if I have to do something I don't like or feel like doing. All my sins and failings are somehow spiritual currency to the Lord. They can be offered for someone or some prayer request, or just for reparation for sin. what God does with all this, I don't know!  Of course, "big" sufferings, like sickness, pain and any event or trauma can and should be offered,too, but I am mainly thinking about the routine things. 

Depression is such a sneaky entity. It will circle around for a while, looking for a place to take root. If I have a certain worry, or a pet peeve that I allow to fester a little too much, I will start to notice myself feeling tired a lot, losing motivation for things I normally like to do, or even getting sick more frequently. I will have bouts of anxiety or angry outbursts. Essentially, what is happening is that I am not trusting God that where my life is, is entirely in His hands. If I am able to offer the stresses, the worries, the pain and fears to Him as they happen, not only does He make good use of them, but I am relieved of the burden and am reminded that He sees me and knows what is going on. Which is a huge comfort!

I know that Saints like the Little Flower, lived in such a way that she could ask to suffer and not want any consolations. (comforts from God). I am not there! I just ask for the ability to handle any suffering I must go through gracefully and to remember to lean on Him. I have often remarked to my husband that raising children is God's way of giving us built in penance. They help us shave off a little Purgatory. Of course they bring tons of joy, too, but the process of growing up is just naturally stressful. Especially at the latter teen years. It reminds me of the culmination of a long labor; how right before the birth there is the most pain, but the shortest, too.

I also want to encourage anyone who may be suffering with depression, to try and do these few things. They really do help. They should be done regularly. Commit to some schedule and stick to it.

1. Get up every day and go out of the house. Even if it is just for a short walk. The fresh air, the exercise, and the changing of your surroundings do wonders. Look around and absorb the world. Thank God for the beauty of the sky, for the fact that you are healthy enough to walk around, anything that comes to mind.

The key to helping yourself is getting out of your head, and focusing outward. If you can go to daily mass, that is the perfect thing to schedule each day. Adoration is even better. Pray, give your concerns to Him, and then, at least for that day, let it go. The late Elizabeth Elliot once said, to actually lift your hands to Him, full of your burdens, and imagine Him taking them. Even if you only envision it in your mind, it can be helpful.

2. Do something for someone else. Many times, we who suffer from depression, look for help from others quite a lot. It is the nature of the beast. But it is so good to remember that there are those less fortunate than ourselves and that to meet someone else's need helps free us from our own little box. The more we look outward and especially upward, the less we obsess about ourselves.

I am happy to say that my struggle with depression is almost completely in the past. But I do have to say almost, because depression can be a learned reaction to life's slings and arrows, so I still have to be vigilant. Plus, if you are one of those, as I am , who are on the sensitive side, you know it is both a blessing and a curse. But God has brought me this far, and I know He will not abandon me, nor will He, you.

Now here is one of today's small blessings. 

 

 

He or she has taken up residence among the bikes on our porch and the scrap lumber on the neighbor's porch. It is a bit of shelter, that I HAD planned to remove to the basement soon. Now of course I will feel badly. But I think the neighbor is putting out the lumber little by little each week in the trash. So I guess they will be moving on. As adorable as they are, I will not miss the mess they are leaving all over my porch.

Saint Lucy, pray for us!

 

those two days after Friday. you may know them as the "weekend"

 I am not able to sit very long today, as I need to catch up from the whirlwind weekend. I have found that there are times when the idea of the weekend does not hold the same thrill as it once did.  TGIM is more the right speed. This one was kind of a blur, but as best I can remember, it started out on Friday, with my work shift, as always. I drive to my job at 4:00 every Friday, while the rest of the world is streaming out of workplace doors, wildly anticipating a few days of calling some time their own.  

 I worked until midnight, then tried to get up the next morning and tackle the day's activities. I should mention here that my husband always comes to pick me up from work, so he is up late too, but he seems to be able to get up no matter what. It is some genetic thing. I also used to have it; mine went away. Something else that expired was my ability to be ready to walk out the door in 45 minutes from the time my feet hit the floor. I was kind of proud of that, so I guess I just answered my own question...
  We had breakfast, ran an errand,  attended a wedding mass, ran some more errands, took an hours' crash-nap ( a staple of my existence), made and ate dinner, then spent the evening with my mother in law for her birthday. There was cake. 

 Sunday; mass, breakfast, Columbus Day Parade in which two of the kids were marching. This involved lots of walking, and for the record my feet were not recovered from Friday's work shift, so...some pain. But lots of pride for my kids. Even if the band as a whole was not in it's finest hour, it didn't stop the formation of the  Parental Lump in the Throat Syndrome.

 Then, home and getting a birthday dinner and small family party ready for our youngest. It featured  birthday pie (her choice), churros, (also her choice) a kazoo band, and lots of silliness. It was fun. Exhausting fun.

So, Monday found me with some nice memories, sore  feet, thankfulness for my family, and a lot of leftover cake. The pie went.

                                                                   ~next day~

  It has taken me until Tuesday just to get this finished and posted. That alone speaks of the weekend recovery time I require. I also am still in my pj's, and it is just about time for Malaika to appear for lunch.

I do have a few things I want to write about soon, of course the promised story of how I met and married Bob; but also something I have been chewing on for some time, and that is the problem of hating "the world" in the biblical sense, but loving the people in it. I usually cringe when I hear the "hate the sin, love the sinner" phrase bandied about. Not because it is wrong, but because it is put out there with about as much effort as pushing a button or waving a wand. We who live in the world and do love "the people" as a whole, often are faced with specific people, that we in fact already love, who are, in fact, in disordered lifestyles or situations. What does our love for them, then look like? If you are reading this and have some ideas feel free to share! Please, pretty please, though, stay away from platitudes or phrases as the one I mentioned above, at least if it is without a more in depth explanation. I have been meaning to order and read "Reaching the Left from the Right", by Barbara Curtis, well known blogger of Mommy Life (featured on my blog roll).  I do have some thoughts already on the subject, but I will wait until I can do a thorough treatment.

As I was writing this, a funny smell wafted through the house. Now, I am used to this, because I live with six kids; I live in a row home, which affords us up close and personal  access to other peoples sounds and smells. This one was kind of like a cooking smell, again, not too unusual. I mentioned above that Malaika comes home for lunch...well, when I finally decided to go to the back door (via the kitchen) to see where the increasingly burning-like smell was coming from, I remembered. I had put on some eggs to hard boil--oh about an hour ago or so, then gotten into this posting again (amongst other stuff), and forgotten. Just as I approached the pot to turn it off.....POP...one of the eggs exploded. 

                                                                                                          

Suffice it to say that I now have two exhaust fans going, a steaming pot of rock hard eggs on my back patio (I can still see the smoke going rising past my window), and, no doubt, my neighbors are all wondering where the funny smell is coming from.