Snow days

I woke up expecting quite the Christmas 'gift,' but was strangely disappointed to find the long prophesied Blizzard was a bust, somewhat reminiscent of those ancient days wherein we anxiously watched the words scrolling across the bottom of the local news channel (one of our 3 channels!) and strained our ears to catch the first hint from the radio that school was in fact canceled, and when it wasn't I felt just the same.  But it was a weird day, it was quiet, as if all creation were holding its breath, waiting for something.  Everything was white with hoar frost and blurry with fog, there was no traffic, no hustle and bustle, coming or going; silence.  An eerie, expectant silence.  The hours ticked by, but nothing changed.  We made a merry meal within, but without, the world brooded, pensive and mysterious.  Then it began to snow.

Darkness crept in at an obscenely early hour, as it always does this time of year, and the wind with it. I no longer had to imagine how the pioneers and farmers of yore managed to get lost walking from the barn to the house, only to wander lost forever in the dark and cold, snow and wind, until death stayed their futile steps.  The wind howled, the snow was hurled about in its fury, and it seemed impenetrable night had descended upon us, isolating us from all other men, as if we were alone upon the whole face of the world.  Morning came, but the storm raged on for a few more hours, but now the digging out must begin.  Finally, days later, life can resume its normal rhythms.

It was late, but it came, and I must say, I was not disappointed in the least.  If you are going to have all the trouble, danger, and annoyance of winter weather, you might as well have something spectacular and grand, something to talk over for the balance of the current winter and to bore your kids and grandkids with in all the winters to come.  'You think this was bad, you should have seen the Christmas Blizzard of '16...'

On gifts for the kids in your life...

The parent in me rather dreads Christmas, with a house near to bursting with stuff, why do we need more?  But all our well meaning family and friends cannot fathom why another toy, especially of the obnoxious and electronic sort, would be unwelcome; obviously such devices did not exist when they or their children were small (or they'd understand) or they are enacting their own form of delighted revenge upon whom they may, having suffered in their own turn.  But all my pleas for books and blocks or contributions to his educational fund fall on deaf ears (perhaps the result of too many din inducing toys in their own turn?).  So it is I banish the less offensive to the basement and heartlessly yank out batteries from the most grievous offenders, if I do not banish them from the house entirely, Grinch that I am, but all have had thorough warning, even before our little bundle of joy (noisy enough in his own right) even came home.

But strangely, he doesn't seem to notice or care.  He is intrigued for a day or an hour, but soon enough, the device is relegated to obscurity and quickly forgotten as he returns to his favorite essentials: cars and tractors, animals (stuffed and plastic), blocks, a wagon, dining room chairs draped in a blanket (though you can buy a set of plastic connectable tubes out of a fancy catalog to achieve the same result, which seems rather silly when you already possess the means)...cheap, quiet, low tech, and endlessly entertaining when combined with an active imagination!  I will admit, we are raising him 'amish,' with little screen time save an occasional movie and skyping with the grandparents (which in itself has confused him about normal phone calls, he can't figure out why he can hear a voice without seeing a person!).  I'm not sure what normal, tech addicted kids find interesting or amusing, but my '80's throwback certainly prefers the mundane basics of many an ancient childhood and thrives thereupon.

Then again, our church's kid program hosts several dozen 'techy' kids every week, and they seem absolutely fascinated by the ever intriguing balloon (ages 3-12).  These fast paced, split second attention span, high tech kids are riveted to that red or green, air filled sphere, as if it were the newest iPhone, released two days early for their sole consumption.  Then there is the political correctness factor to be considered, guns being absolutely anathema for little boys in this enlightened day and age, but if I took away his lego 'gun' he'd simply use his hand or a stick or whatever, apparently people who think they can legislate or enforce such ideals have never been parents to little boys.  Neither can I convince him to put away the 'gun' and to play quietly with some acceptable, gender neutral toy, quite contrary to popular thought and trendy parenting, this little boy seems hardwired and very determined to be just that: loud, noisy, rambunctious, and joyfully so.

So what is to be done by the well meaning gift giver, in the age of 'the techy-ier' the better?  Forget about tech and go old school (be retro?).  Don't just buy them a book, read it to them.  Don't just give them blocks, build a castle with them.  Or forgo stuff altogether and rather go caroling with them to the local shut-ins, work at a soup kitchen together, shovel the neighbor's walk, make cookies, go see a good movie (or host your own), make Christmas dinner together...they'll love it and the memories will long outlast whatever techno gadget you thought they couldn't live without, that and you'll earn their parents' undying gratitude!

Caramel Fudge

I scoured the internet looking for a recipe for Caramel Fudge, but not finding anything too tempting, I tried a variation of my own, and it may be my best fudge recipe yet, though it is impossible to choose which type of fudge is my favorite flavor, it varies by the minute!

You'll need:

1/2 cup butter (one stick)
2/3 cup evaporated milk (5 oz)
1.5 cups brown sugar (darker the better)

2 cups mini marshmallows
1 cup white chocolate chips
1 cup soft caramels (Kraft are good, cut into pieces)

A greased 9x9 pan.

Melt butter in large microwave safe mixing bowl, stir in evaporated milk and brown sugar. Microwave on high until boiling, remove and stir.  Replace in microwave and boil on high for 7 minutes, stirring every 2-3 minutes. Remove and stir in marshmallows, white chocolate chips, and caramels and stir until smooth and creamy. Pour immediately into a greased 9x9 pan (it sets up quick!).

Enjoy!

Not a Hallmark Christmas

Obviously it need not be stated that everybody enjoys this strange, wonderful, wacky Holiday Season, whatever your worldview, religious beliefs, culture, traditions...there must be something about this time of year that warms the heart (however slightly) of even the most dour materialist or hardcore secular humanist, be it only a holiday bonus in their paycheck, an extra day off, excellent shopping deals, or the mysterious beauty of moonlight on fresh snow with that sharp, exquisite chill in the air of a starry winter night.  What is less widely known, is that everybody also loathes this season to some extent.  Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch easily come to mind as the ultimate holiday haters, but it isn't an actual loathing of the season itself and the weird transformation it seems to cause in otherwise mundane life and people.  There are many who would happily forgo the expense and stress and busyness of the season, but neither is this the cause of this deep-seated dread of the phrase, 'Happy Holidays.'  Nor yet is it those who royally dislike 'the Christmas story,' and all its associations, for this uneasiness afflicts many a staunch lover of that age old tale.

What scares us so much about this dreadful season?  Pain.  Longing.  Loneliness.  Unfulfilled hopes and longings, broken lives and relationships, shattered dreams.  We've lost a loved one or a relationship has crumbled or we feel we have no one to love or that no one loves us.  We desire a relationship, a life, a family, a home, a job...our health is imperiled or age presses heavily upon us.  We've lost our job or haven't reached the place in life we thought we should at this point or our family is broken, shattered, or scattered and we have no happy memories of the past nor a place to celebrate the present.  We are victims of abuse, violence, poverty, disease, neglect...  Whatever it is, we each carry something, perhaps several somethings, that cause us secret pain and agony with every thought of the looming season, when everyone else's joys seem on brightest display, our own disquiet night seems all the darker.

But the crazy thing is, no one's life is what social media portrays it to be.  Everyone is struggling with something, especially during this holiday season, but we are all so worried about ruining some else's joy that we forsake our own by wallowing alone in our unique sorrows and miseries rather than seeking love and encouragement from the equally broken people around us.  This season did not begin as a joyous frivolity for the unbroken folk all about us, there aren't any, we all have some sorrow, some regret, some longing or dream unfulfilled.  It began in poverty and fear, darkness and loneliness, amid social ostracism and political unrest, four hundred years since anyone had dared hope that a light might truly shine in the darkness.  The most important event in the history of the world began in very substandard housing, witnessed by the meanest folk society could then boast.

Listen to the Christmas hymns, no, not the modern secular variants giddily proclaiming silver bells and roasting chestnuts for all.  Rather listen to the timeless music, mysterious and haunting, reverent, sad, but joyous; actually read the verses, full of mystery, pain, longing, unmet hopes, and the answer thereto.  Advent is the season of longing, of centuries of desire and unmet promises coming to fulfillment.  You are not alone, nothing afflicts you that has not beset every human heart since the dawn of time.  There is a tinge of mystery in the tradition of Christmas, and certainly a little sadness, but also a joy the world can ill contain.  Your pain won't magically go away, but perhaps you can find strength to better bear it, and a hope beyond this world.

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high, 

And cheer us by your drawing nigh, 

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, 

And death's dark shadows put to flight. 

Oh, come, O Key of David, come, 

And open wide our heav'nly home; 

Make safe the way that leads on high, 

And close the path to misery.

Amen!

An excellent reminder that a clean house isn't the most important thing in life!

A First Step

While emotional abuse is finally starting to get a little recognition/street cred, there's apparently something even more insidious and invisible with which many people are struggling, and probably don't even know it: emotional neglect.  Here's a pretty good article introducing the subject; take a peek, it may just turn your world upside down, or rather be the first step in setting it right side up!

Hope and healing

Taking care of yourself isn't selfish, especially for those who don't think they're worth it.  This article hits the nail directly on the head!  Abuse is abuse, be it physical, sexual, or emotional.  There is hope!

The word that just might change the world

I was riding with a friend the other day and my son was along, she has a little girl a year younger and asked if she needed to spell the word 'cookie,' in my son's presence, as she must in her daughter's lest he throw a fit.  A day later I was shopping for a few small items to fill a shoebox to be sent to a child somewhere in need this Christmas, my son was along and insisted that he should have his share of the gifts in the cart, though he has a house full of toys, he still wanted more.  I firmly told him 'no,' and that was the end of the matter, explaining that he had no reason to doubt or worry that his parents and extended family would not take excellent care of him this Christmas, not that he even needs anything.

Both of these incidents were rather curious, not that they are out of the ordinary in either modern society or human nature, but the different approaches to parenting in the matter say much about our culture and us as individuals.  A child should be able to hear of some delightful or negative (in their mind, think nap) word and not fall to pieces when they do not immediately receive the former or are anticipating the latter.  They should also be able to peaceably complete a shopping excursion without being bribed into compliance with a new toy or a treat.  I fear we are buying momentary peace at the expense of our children's self-control and future happiness.  No wonder kids get to college and need to be 'protected' from everything from Shakespeare to world history to bad grades and poor athletic performance.  We never taught them to endure the word cookie without falling to pieces, how much less can they be expected to  handle the disappointments of the real world?  Do the world and your kids a favor: teach them the word 'no.'

No Knead Oatmeal Bread

I've wanted to try one of these 'no knead' recipes for awhile, I'm not sure what the results are supposed to be like, but it is something of a cross between a muffin and actual yeast bread, tasty but for all the putzing around, you might as well make a 'kneaded' bread!  I'll play with it some more and see what happens, maybe I'll turn it into a 'kneaded' recipe and throw it in the bread machine?

2 cups warm water
1 cup oatmeal
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 tsp salt
1/2 cup sweet sourdough starter (amish or herman)
1 tsp instant yeast
2 eggs
4-5 cups flour

Combine everything but the flour until well mixed, gradually mix in the flour until a firm but sticky dough is achieved.  Cover and let sit 2 hours, then shape into loaves and place in a greased pan or place in a greased muffin tin for buns (I used an ice cream scoop to work with the dough), allow to rise until double and bake at 375 until brown and sounds hollow.

The texture is course and crumbly, but the flavor is nice, makes good toast.

On modern zoo animals

I've seen the statistics, read the stories, but in my own peculiar parallel universe, it really hasn't sunk in, even though I've interacted with such people time and again.  It was the tourists that did it.  I've seen tourists in droves, I've been one myself, but you expect them on cruise ships and at airports and in tourist towns, but you really don't expect to see them at the sale barn.  For you city slickers, a 'sale barn' is the regional facility wherein livestock (pigs, cattle, horses, sheep, goats, and the occasional llama) are bought and sold.  I grew up in a farming family and eventually made it my career; 4-H and FFA were my preferred extracurricular activities (both youth agricultural organizations).  Though I found it a little strange that the state zoo now hosts an actual milking parlor and keeps a small herd of dairy cattle, I merely smiled at the incongruous thought and went about my business.  Then years later, I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork and wondering how long the sale is going to last when a couple approaches, asking after the daily schedule.  They had come merely to watch something that they've never before seen or encountered or even really considered.  Cattle sales are certainly interesting events, and a favorite gathering place for the locals, but I had never before considered one a spectator sport.

But it seems everyone is far more familiar with 'lions and tigers and bears,' than they are with domestic livestock.  Thanks to nature shows and zoos and such, these wild beauties are far more familiar than the ever so prosaic cow.  The majority of modern westerners live in urban areas, many with such animal parks, but very few have first hand experience with cattle or swine.  The tiger and panda are almost mundane, but the cow has become mysterious, exotic, and fascinating.  It was a perspective I had never truly considered.  Recently, there have been a series of stories in the news about folks trampled, gored, and mauled by animals at various national parks in an attempt to 'get close to nature' or get a picture with the animal.  I hardly understood how it could happen, but now it makes sense.  The dancing, singing, talking animals of the cinema are what people, personally unexposed to animals save perhaps the family dog or the lion at the zoo, unconsciously consider to be normal.  Of course the cute, shaggy bison wouldn't hurt anyone, why it looks just like grandma's pug!  They don't understand that the domestic cow is dangerous, let alone that its wild cousin is even more deadly to the unwary.

This summer I was at a national park and there were two signs posted in the restrooms alone, saying that bison are dangerous, keep your distance, now I understand why when I thought it was overkill and should be common sense!  It is certainly a strange world where wildlife is more familiar than our domestic species, farm animals are now an exotic attraction at the local zoo, and the average Joe thinks he innately has the skill of the 'dog whisperer' with even the most feral of animals because that's all he's seen on TV and at the movies since he was a kid.  'Old Yeller' and 'The Yearling,' are not what we think of any longer when it comes to classic animal movies, and this move away from realism, while cute and heartwarming, does have its consequences when it is our only conception of what animals are and aren't.  Maybe sales barn tourism has a future after all?

Slow learner

My son has two mommies: one by birth and one by adoption.  Now every adoption tale is different, but I am only just beginning to understand that word, though it has been nearly seven years since our own tale began.  My own childhood/family was tragic and I never understood either the word love, family, parent, or marriage until experience with my own taught me what my parents and sibling could not.  And only recently have I begun to understand what it means to be 'adopted as sons' into the family of God, what it is the Church is supposed to be, how it is we shall have 'mothers and father, brothers and sisters, children,' even though we perhaps have none on this earth.  I once mentally compared the relationship between 'birth relatives' and the adoptive family to the awkwardness found between divorce riddled relations, but I was wrong, utterly.  In my experience, it is much more like a marriage: bringing together two disparate clans, for better or for worse.  Each family has its own dynamics and character and experience, certainly, as each marriage is an individual entity, with no two alike, but you are uniting two family units, no matter if they choose to be close or estranged, friends or strangers.

Strangely, I did not just find a son, but have inherited a sister in his mother and a set of loving grandparents besides, all of us united by our love for this little boy and our determination to do what is best for him, rather than what seems most satisfying to ourselves at the time (the heart of good parenting and the very meaning of love).  It hasn't been easy, there have been struggles and certainly awkwardness over the years, but perseverance, patience, prayer, and persistence have paid off and everyone has benefited thereby, most especially said little boy, just like any marriage, or even relationship.  Each person must decide their own level of interest and involvement in such a circumstance, certainly, but hopefully such decisions are made for the benefit of the child rather than for more selfish or expedient motives.

And I've been adopted, I am as much a part of the Church (God's family) as this little boy, unrelated by blood, is an indelible part of our family.  And all those crazy, disparate, wonderful, broken people are my aunts and cousins and sisters and kids, just like in earthly families where you don't get to choose your relatives but must learn to live together peaceably.  Some will think me mad, that those not related by blood can share such a bond, save by 'romantic love,' but my blood relatives could care less about me and mine, but I've a whole host of 'spiritual' relatives that love me to pieces, my little boy's biological family included.  Adoption, like the Church and the world in general, is messy, hard, heartbreaking, and beautiful, but well worth the effort.

The true root of the 'mommy wars?'

Does the so-called 'mommy wars' exist outside of social media?  Are mothers truly at war with one another?  To stay at home or work, cloth or disposable diapers, breastfeeding versus formula, to homeschool or not, the anti vaccine crowd, spanking or not, helicopter versus free range…it goes on and on, but is all this angst and argument, controversy and shaming really accomplishing anything?  Or is it that we are so uncomfortable in our own skins and have too much idle time in which to mull over our uncertainty that we need to defend our way of doing things as the only right way, as if any other way of even thinking about raising one's kids is akin to neglect, if not outright abuse?

For most of history, mothers have been happy to put food on the table and keep their little ones clothed, it is a modern phenomenon that we argue over whether they should eat gluten or go non-gmo or organic.  This article asserts that it is a lack of the extended family, the loss of the so-called village and their support, that results in stay at home mothers feeling unfulfilled, helpless, and dull, which resulted in the feminist movement and the modern career women who likewise feel their careers are equally unfulfilling with all the added guilt of working outside the home.  I think the article has a point, a strong network of supportive friends, family, and community is vital to a family's wellbeing, but I am not sure the discontent results from a lack thereof.  I think it is only the discontent native to every mortal soul, a yearning after the home and life we've never known but for which we were designed.

I remember visiting with a friend who had just had her second child, a liberal feminist with her Master's degree now stuck at home doing laundry and breastfeeding and I felt a smothering sense of panic and claustrophobia settle around me, glad that I was not doomed to such a life; I could not imagine life imprisoned at home like that!  Fast forward ten years and I am a former career woman: sixty hour weeks, all times of day and night, every day of the year, leaving me stressed, frustrated, and dissatisfied.  I lost my job, we packed up and moved five hundred miles away and overnight I was suddenly a stay at home mom, but instead of the walls closing in around me, 'a hutch to trammel some wild thing in,' I find myself strangely content, satisfied, and eager to get out of bed each morning.  What happened?  I don't have a so-called full-time career anymore, but as a pastor's wife and working part time, I certainly keep busy enough, though I'm not exactly paid for my work, at least in cash or renown.  

The article above asserts that the 'stay-at-home' mom as we idealize her today is a rather recent phenomenon, peculiar especially to America after the second world war, previously, while most mothers were in the home, they were far from idle as the home was, 'a center of commerce.'  The Biblical book of Proverbs illustrates this lifestyle in the last chapter (31) and shows what a woman's life in a then 'upper middle class'  family might look like.  She's supervising the servants and household matters, investing in real estate, raising food, running a business (think etsy before the internet), besides for her role as mother and wife.  I think this might be a clue to the 'mommy wars' and our own discontent with ourselves and one another: idleness.  Few people in history have ever had the chance to develop ennui into an art form like modern westerners (there is a reason for the rise of social media, drug use, video games, netflix, and 24/7 TV channels), and when our diversions fail to divert us, we blame others for our discontent, failing to realize it is the disquiet within our own souls, rather than those 'horrid' formula feeders (or whatever) causing our angst.  If every single one of our 'enemies' vanished, we'd still be miserable.

I am not saying stay busy for busyness' sake, the overeager soccer mom and the workaholic career woman are no happier than the couch potato soap opera lover of '90's fame.  Rather, stay busy with a purpose (no, don't go out and volunteer until your ears fall off, that isn't the answer either).  Let the home again 'be a center of commerce.'  Do what you can to earn a little extra income: babysit, make and sell things on etsy or ebay, teach piano lessons, take stock photos, write, raise guinea pigs, whatever you enjoy and are good at and can do with your particular schedule and kids.  Even if you can't work from home, anyone can do things to improve their budget/cash flow: cut coupons, garden, learn to budget and control your finances, shop thrift stores and clearance racks, learn to cook and eat out less…  What about improving yourself?  When was the last time you read a 'good' book?  Take an online class, work on your degree, learn an instrument or a language, practice your writing or photography or knitting, plant a flower bed…  Finding 'a cause' outside the home is also a great way to break out of the prison of ennui and idleness, whether it is volunteering at a school, church, or community center, raising money for some good cause, or simply visiting and helping the shut ins in your neighborhood, helping others is never vain and getting your kids involved is not only fun but also gives them an early start on character development.  Don't forget to cultivate your soul and the virtues attendant thereunto, the only investment that will last beyond this life (besides your kids, of course).  

Rather than focusing on what everybody else is doing 'wrong,' life is far more productive (and happy) if we focus on our own faults, flaws, and shortcomings and do something to reverse them.  I am not a proponent of busyness for its own sake, but if we have enough time to focus on what everybody else is doing wrong, we are idle indeed!        

Only available here!

I have done the impossible: I have found a topic to write upon peculiar to this blog, found nowhere else on the internet, which means it will likely be of no interest to the vast majority of humanity, but to those few searching souls, you have found the answer at last.  No, not THAT answer, rather let us speak of guitars, specifically the Jackson-Guldan 'Chris-Adjustomatic.'  I acquired just such a specimen at a flea market for $2, thus beginning my acquaintance with guitars (note to you professional musicians, I am a complete novice and hack so I will probably offend your musical sensibilities no end, please forgive me and feel free to move along if this sort of thing gives you pain, as my practice sessions no doubt give my hearers).

The poor thing had only 3 strings but that was about all I could tell you about it.  Then began 'the search' for the history and healing of my vintage guitar.  I scoured google and ebay, for pictures and information, finding very little save a few pictures and a few sentences here and there.  The company went out of business in 1971 and was better known for their violins, the children's version of this guitar has a little value, but the full-size specimens not so much.  They were a cheaper, readily available 'parlor guitar' popular in the 1950's and 60's.  And thanks to one ebay ad, I discovered mine is missing a bridge (as are several of the guitars in the google picture search).  Peculiar to these guitars is a floating bridge and a tail piece instead of the combined bridge/peg apparatus of modern acoustic guitars.  I found the part on ebay for $35 but as that was more than the value of the guitar (whole and functional), I decided to experiment instead.  I found a rosewood floating bridge for a flattop guitar, and as it looked similar to the picture and was only $5, I gave it a shot.  I also ordered some nylon strings.

The bridge came, but it was too tall, though I could remove the actual bridge part and use just that and it fit pretty well (as far as I can tell in my ignorance).  For a total of $15 I had a hopefully functional guitar; at least it looks nice.  It sounded awful though, but after a few days and more tuning, it finally sounded like something other than a dying elk.  It is probably me that sounds horrid rather than the abused instrument.  It goes out of tune pretty readily (not uncommon with either nylon strings or a floating bridge I guess) but far better than I thought it would be.  I can't use it for my professional performances, but to learn on, it will be just fine, and since I won't be hitting the State Fair/Casino circuit for about a thousand years, I'll have plenty of time to get a nicer one.

So there you have it folks, the only (that I can find) account of how to replace a floating bridge on a Jackson Guldan Chris Adjustomatic guitar available anywhere on the internet.  File this right next to the latest sighting of Elvis or the Loch Ness Monster!  But I have actual photographic evidence.

In a jam and the making thereof

I always marvel at those little old ladies and their canning, they are so dedicated and fastidious and patient, none of which I am possessed.  Then I look at the economics and logistics of doing likewise myself, but as I don't have a vegetable garden, am not overly fond of most vegetables, and have no knowledge or equipment concerning the process, it really doesn't make much sense.  So I continue to gaze in wonder at their carefully stored, beautiful jars or jam and preserves, sauce and so forth, but never give into the affectation myself.  Then I saw the peaches.

My mother once made a peach freezer jam and it was delicious, and as it was kept in the freezer until needed, there was no canning necessary.  So I bought a half dozen of those beautiful peaches and thought I would give it a try.  Having neither knowledge nor pectin is a very dangerous thing, but that's what google is for, right?  I found a site that seemed to offer the ideal solution and there was no peeling involved (even better!), so I gave it a try.  They did mention not buying your fruit at the grocery store, but as I already owned the fruit, it was a little late, besides, they were so pretty, what could go wrong?

I followed the recipe on the site, save that I pureed the peaches before I began the process, and it was something of a disaster and the result tasted only of lemons.  Grocery store peaches indeed!

I tried again, with some mushy, ugly, half moldy fruit someone at church gave me, which at their prime had been beautiful, juicy, sweet things but now looked as if they should be moldering on the compost pile.  I did the exact same thing, except there was no peel in this batch as it was too nasty to include.  I'm not sure if the peel makes that much of a difference in cooking the jam, but it was a much milder boil this time around without molten droplets of sticky peach ooze spattering all over everything, including the stirrer.  Ugly or not, they were very nice peaches, as was the resulting jam.  So there you have it, how not to make jam like a professional.

Stone soup?

The old tale goes that the village had nothing to eat, but one ingenious fellow proposed making soup with nothing for a base but a rock.  He plopped it in the caldron and asked all his friends and neighbors to contribute a bit of this and a little of that, whatever they had.  So it was everyone added a little something and voila: a hearty meal!  Not much has changed to this day, the next time you have 'nothing in the house,' why not make stone soup?  A recipe you say?  Where is your sense of adventure?

First, assess what you do have, leftovers are perfect, also consider your frozen and canned inventory, even a boxed rice mix can be a starting point.  What you need:

A base: this is the liquid part of your soup.  Think 'cream of something' soup, tomato juice, leftover turkey gravy, bouillon, milk, cheese, potato water, whatever you have.

Protein: leftover hamburger, fajita meat, canned chicken or ham, cheese, a frozen chicken breast, beans…

A starch: think that two pounds of potatoes starting to get soft in the pantry, noodles, rice, barley…

Vegetables: a jar of salsa, canned or frozen whatever, leftover stir fry…

Spice it up: worchester sauce, chili sauce, herbs and spices...

Something to go with it: tortilla chips, crackers, biscuits, bread, hot dog buns broiled with cheese…

Toppers: cheese, sour cream, lettuce, crackers, nacho chips…

You are only limited by your sense of taste and your imagination, there is no wrong way to make a hearty, tasty concoction that may just become a family favorite!

Of cabbages and kings?

I don't really understand what the world loves about cruising, we just got back from a trip to Alaska's inside passage and it was beautiful, but having to share the experience with 3000 other people was a little crazy!  But then I'm something of an antisocial introvert so maybe my ideas are of fun are vastly different from those of the general public.  I love Alaska but can live without cruising, especially when your meal choices are either an insane buffet with the ambiance of a Chucky-Cheese or an upscale restaurant where snails are always on the menu.  Isn't there something in-between?  How about a nice family style sit-down restaurant that is neither circus nor gourmet?  Yes, it was fun to dress up and pretend to be fancy for one night, but night after night when you don't order the lobster or the $400 bottle of wine, it gets very old.  But besides for the cruise, it was a great trip!

Life lessons from an old guitar

I thought I could afford $5, but it only cost me two, so I took it home, smiling wryly and wondering just what sort of an adventure this would be.  I'm not musical, at least that's what I've always thought and believed, so what was I doing with an old guitar?  I found it sitting forlornly in a corner at a flea market and the lady was only too happy to be rid of it.  I know nothing of guitars, period.  I could tell it was missing a couple strings, but that is the extent of my knowledge of stringed instruments of any sort.  With the help of the internet, I discovered it was a mass produced but popular instrument from the middle of the last century without much value, but if I could make it functional it would be adequate to learn on.  Also with the help of the internet (there is strangely little information on this particular instrument for some reason, I can't imagine why, didn't they have google in 1963?) I discovered it is missing a bridge, but as its design is nothing like any other guitar, ancient or modern, it will be rather difficult to replace the piece, at least if I don't want to spend $50 on ebay for the original, which is quite a bit for a $2 guitar.  I found something on amazon designed for a jazz guitar, but it will hopefully suffice and it was only $4, thereby tripling the value of my find, if only it will be functional.  Now I know more about guitars than I ever thought possible, and I still don't have a clue how to play one.

How often do we stumble into these little side quests and adventures?  We find little bits of joy and interest strewn about like leaves in the autumn.  I really don't want to learn how to play the guitar, but neither did I want to take up piano or get up front and sing, but I just sort of stumbled into it, when there was no other choice, and next thing I know, I'm loving it and finding, much to my horror, that I may be just a tad bit musical.  But sometimes we get so busy, we don't have time or energy or focus to see these little gems when they crop up in our lives.  We'll get to it 'later,' but later never comes and eventually it is forgotten, if it is ever seen at all.  But it is these little adventures that lend all the color and interest to life: the darts that make the garment more than a shapeless bag.  It isn't that we need to be good at it or spend a ton of money or time on something, but rather just to try things, learn things, view life from another perspective, that is what living means: ever curious, ever discovering, eyes full of wonder and interest.  Otherwise we merely exist.  

Chicken Enchilada Bake

The taste of enchiladas without the messing around!  This recipe is easily modified for your taste and what you have on hand.

10 flour tortillas, each cut into eighths
1 can tomato soup
1 pound chicken, cooked and cut into bite size pieces, seasoned to taste
1/4 cup onion, chopped
1 cup mild taco sauce
8 oz frozen corn
Shredded cheese (Sharp cheddar and colby jack)
Nacho tortilla chips, crushed

In a skillet, combine soup, chicken, onion, taco sauce, and corn: heat through.

Grease a 9x13 cake pan, layer 1/3 of the tortilla triangles, top with 1/2 of sauce and top with 1/2 cup cheese.  Add another layer of tortillas and top with the rest of the sauce and the last third of the tortillas. Top generously with cheese and bake in a 375 degree oven until the cheese is melted, remove from the oven and top with the crushed chips and bake 5 minutes more, or until golden and bubbly.  Let stand 5-10 minutes before serving.

Bold as a naked emperor?

The last time my toes were this color, the nail fell off.  That's a cheery thought, but they aren't blue because they got stepped on, rather they've been painted, and not just a neutral, shy and safe pinkish color, but a metallic midnight blue, that mysterious color of the twilit sky right before it fades to black.  I haven't painted my nails (toe or otherwise) since I got married, and that was nigh on ten years ago, but I'm feeling a little bold and frivolous in my relative old age and when the opportunity came to paint my nails, I went for it (I don't even own nail polish).  The rest of my makeup is all neutral colors, very bland and unexciting, and worn exactly 5 times in my entire life.

I don't know a thing about fashion, I have even been termed 'amish' at times by those who've known me longest, though I'm historically more of the tennis shoe wearing Mennonite lady with the long, drab skirt sans the prayer cap and religious devotion inspiring my wardrobe.  I never dressed up or felt pretty because I wasn't, or at least thought I wasn't.  I joke that my feet are so bad I'd make a farrier faint or that wearing makeup or nice clothes for me is akin to the old saying about putting lipstick on a pig.  But then my son can wear camouflage footie pajamas with red rubber boots and still pull it off.  What am I missing?

I think it is all about attitude.  If you feel like you're nobody and that you look dreadful, even the best clothes will look frumpish on you but if you walk around like the storied emperor in naught but your skin, most of the peasants will gawk and gape at your fabulous ensemble, hardly even noticing you are naked (save glib little boys) and then the reactions of those about you feed back into your sense of awkwardness or pizzazz, reaffirming and snowballing your original attitude and beliefs.

I'm tired of being a frump, I'm not drop dead gorgeous but I'm no orc either.  I've got my unsightly bits and my not so unsightly parts, just like anyone else.  I can wear what I want, when I want, as I want, as long as I am happy with it and am obviously not offending whatever is left of the rules of modesty or the law.  I can wear blue nail polish and not stop traffic, if only I accept it as good and fun and okay, I'm the only one who can make a fool out of me.  I need to ignore the person that told me I'm homely and worthless and embarrassing and the voice she inspired in my own head with similar thoughts, rather I need to remember I am me, I'm unique and beautiful in my own quirky, wonderful way, and who cares what peasants or glib children have to say about it?  I need to be comfortable in my own skin, and once I am, whatever I wear, will look all the better!

On big hairy spiders

I'm not a coward, really, there is just something about uber fast creepy crawlies that I have never liked, that and the alien like limbs and eyes of a certain unnamed arachnid.  My small son discovered a rather impressive wolf spider (think half dollar with lots of hair) in the basement and we both went dashing for the stairs.  I don't mind ticks or domestic rats, snakes and I have a mutual understanding of allowing one another plenty of space, insects (except maybe the giant water bug) never bothered me, but ugh, spiders!  And those centipedes and camel crickets, which are just like spiders except for the leg thing.  I've been chased by disgruntled cattle and even an overly large pig, a horse once gave me a concussion, but it is still spiders I loath, though I've never even been bit by one, go figure!

A review of reviews

It seems that the peak of democratic society is the ability of each and every participant to 'vote' and not only vote, but to express their opinions on everything from movies to vaseline to vacation spots to tents, and even people if a certain new app has anything to say about it, and worse, we seem to hold our own particular view as 'the view' the world can't live without and that our opinion is somehow more important than merely a personal preference.  There is nothing wrong with reviewing products and services, in fact it can be quite helpful to your fellow consumers and even let the companies know what they could improve or what you like.  The danger comes when we assume our opinion about everything matters and is so important that life cannot possibly go on without it and that anyone who disagrees with our opinion is somehow maligning us, when they only had a different experience or have different taste than us.  We each want to be the world's foremost wine critic/restaurant reviewer/movie guru…we have neither the expertise nor the time to be an expert in everything nor is the world big enough for 1.5 million experts on baby shampoo.

Besides our personal hubris in our own rather mundane reviews, the other problem with 'the review' is that half the people leaving a review shouldn't be writing one because either they never actually used the product, they didn't read or misunderstood the instructions, or they had some freak experience (say with the shipping company) that they then blame on the product.  I love the recipe reviews on a certain site where the reviewer usually changes most of the recipe and then reviews their version rather than the original.  Or the people that are against a certain 'thing' who leave bad reviews for books about 'the thing' but have never actually read the book, they are against the subject not that particular book.  Or the dog that has an allergic reaction to something in a certain product, it isn't that the product is bad but rather that particular dog is sensitive to it, but as far as that particular owner is concerned, that product is deadly!  Or your boyfriend dumps you at a particular restaurant and now the whole chain is bad…the list goes on.  In reviewing a product, one should, well, review the product or service or recipe or whatever, not some aspect completely unrelated to the actual quality of the product in question.  If you change the recipe, messed up the assembly, are using it for a purpose for which it was not intended, never read the book or saw the movie, had shipping problems, ordered the wrong size…whatever, please don't use 'the reviews' to vent your frustration; that's what Facebook is for!

Unlikely heroes!

I loved this article!  At last, a certain unsung heroine has found her day!  Who knew casseroles were actually a form of super power?

Garlic Parmesan Twists with Pizza Dipping Sauce

This makes a fun meal or appetizer and is a nice 'twist' on pizza or breadsticks.

For Breadsticks:

Bread dough (use your favorite recipe and method and add 2 tsp italian seasoning to the dough or use frozen or store-bought dough and add the seasoning with the garlic, the amount depends on how many breadsticks you want, 4 cups of flour yielded enough to feed a family of three (as a meal) with plenty left over to freeze).

Roll the dough out into a great big rectangle (or several small rectangles) much as you would for cinnamon rolls, aim for about 1/4 inch thick or a little less.

Using your favorite oil, melted margarine or butter, cover the entire surface (don't be stingy).  Shake garlic, a little salt, and parmesan cheese (and the italian seasoning) on top of oil and allow to soak in for a minute or two.  Cut into 1 inch strips with a pizza cutter and cut each strip about 6 inches long.

For each strip, fold it over on itself to get a 3 inch strip with the oil sides together.  Press firmly together over entire length.  Then begin stretching the dough while twisting each end in opposite directions.  Once the twist is of the desired length and shape, place on a baking sheet (they tend to untwist a bit and may need to be repositioned).  Repeat with each twist.  Cover and let rise until double.  Bake in a 375 degree oven until puffed and barely golden.  Serve warm, place extra twists in freezer and reheat in the oven.

Sauce:

In a saucepan over low heat (or in a very small crockpot) place a layer of your favorite pizza, tomato, or spaghetti sauce.  Top with parmesan cheese, shredded pepperoni, etc., then cover with more sauce, top it all with a mixture of your favorite pizza type cheeses.  Don't stir, just heat slowly through (while the twists rise) until the sauce is warm and the cheese melts.  Serve directly from the pan.

Secular Head-scratchers

American society as a whole tends to scratch its head in wonder at the often quirky, sometimes batty, evangelical subculture, but they ain't seen nothin' yet!  Most of them have never been to an evangelical women's conference, then they'd really have something to gawk at.  I'm not saying there is anything wrong with such conferences, I've been to a few and they are a blessing to many, and it may be there is something wrong with me rather than the movement: I'm the geeky twenty something sister who's rather fond of but a little embarrassed by a gushing, emotional, flighty younger sister barely into her teens.  This article was a breath of fresh air!  In our culture it is so hard to differentiate our worth and dignity and value and identity in the church from 'identity politics,' we forget that it isn't Who or What we are, what our lot in the genetic lottery is, but rather Whose we are.  While it is fine to contemplate your role as a 'woman in Christ,' what is far more important is to think about Who Christ is and your identity in Him.  If you are a Christian, He is the be all and end all of your life, goals, hopes, fears, doubts, identity, and eternal future; He's not a flower you put in your hat to complement your dress.

As the old hymn puts it:

'Love so amazing, so Divine, demands my life, my soul, my all!"

In love and war

'All's fair in love and war,' but what about at the fair?  I've been entering stuff at the fair (baked goods, plants, flowers, photos…) for as long as I can remember, but I still think predicting the weather is a whole lot easier than determining how any given item will do any given year for any given person.  This year especially was a little weird, my now 4 year old actually had a few things to enter along with my usual junk.  I entered some of the best pictures I had ever taken, but came away with little to show for my efforts (versus last year where I did very well with less stellar photos) whereas somehow a certain small person walked away with a grand champion in the youth baking division, I feel rather bad for the twelve year old he bested, but then a 14 year old took grand champion in photography (in the adult division) so I guess I know how the kid feels!  I'm not sure what the answer is though, as we have so few entries that having more than 2 age divisions is about impossible but having a 4 year old compete against a twelve year old and a 14 year old compete against an octogenarian is a little silly, especially when it comes to giving the youngsters a little edge in each group, you can't do that without disappointing the oldsters a little, regardless of age, be they 12 or 78!

But then all should remember this is just for fun, we should laugh at the incongruities and at ourselves, and just do our best and be content in knowing we did a good job, and not really care what anyone else thinks, especially when it means some kid gets a big purple ribbon and a little pat on the back for a job well done, even if it wasn't quite as good as that other photo or flower or bread done by the person with decades of experience, but for their age and experience it was well done indeed!  That sort of bias I can live with, especially when it is little old ladies (read grandmas) who are doing all the work/judging, they just can't help themselves.  It is the political bias, basing the outcome on the name rather than the work, that really frustrates me.  The county fair in our previous county did that, I only entered one year, and after I discovered how things worked in that county, I didn't bother with it thereafter, it was too much work and all vain.  I don't mind losing if there are better competitors, or even younger competitors with a good (for their age) exhibit, but when the mediocre and pathetic are winning left and right because the person who entered the project has a certain name, then there is no point in us nobodies even trying.

It reminds me of that story out of the 'All Creatures Great and Small' books by James Herriot, when he is asked to judge the pet show at the county fair.  He talks to each exhibitor, looks at each animal, and then decides that a goldfish, owned by a little boy of no great name, is the winner because he knew all about fish keeping whereas the other children really hadn't a clue.  You can imagine how the parents reacted!  I guess not much has changed in the last hundred years, or even throughout all of human history, just look at how the parents react in any children's sporting event!

This week's lesson: happy in the here and now!

'Only if…' the words ring with angst and anguish and an uneasy hope down through the ages, afflicting every mortal soul, 'I'll be happy only if…'  When I'm married/have a child/finish my degree/own my own house/can afford to travel/get over this chronic health issue/find the right job…what's your 'only if?'  I've had several over the years, and none have really made me happy once achieved, for I'm always seeming to glance from the 'only if' just attained to the next lurking upon the horizon.  But this article hits it head on: I am falling into the trap of neglecting my present joy by regretting the future, whatever it is.  There is great wisdom in the saying, 'Godliness with contentment is great gain.'  It is certainly easy to fall into the pit of self-pity in a culture whose sole preoccupation seems to be 'keeping up with the Jones,'' especially with our social media addiction, wherein our real lives and selves are never displayed, only the happy, easy bits, making us feel that all the world but we ourselves is happy and untroubled.  Maybe minding my own P's and Q's is actually not such a bad thing after all, and therein lies true Joy, rather than skulking around some turn of an as yet untrod road!

Someone else's words

For all you hopeful and struggling folks on an adoption wait list, I found this article rather timely and encouraging; we are not alone!

Of Shakespeare and travel

I am a huge fan of staying home, not that I don't like to go places and see things and visit people, but the hassle that goes into traveling sometimes doesn't make a vacation much of, well, a vacation!  There's all the packing and planning that goes into it before your departure, not to mention dealing with the concerns of all that you are leaving behind (plants, dog, mail, kids…) and the little matters you need to make up at work or home or school for the time you will be gone.  Then you get there and settle in for a few days then pack up and go home and play catch up for all you missed, and the clean up and unpacking besides.  If I had minions to pack everything up, deal with all the mundanities of life, and then unpack when I get home, and maybe even do the driving, then maybe a vacation would actually be a vacation, but as the immortal bard puts it, most vacations are truly, 'much ado about nothing.'  Let's just stay home and watch Shakespeare on the small screen instead!

Coloring outside the lines

The letter is still on my desk, the note that says my child needs to be rescreened in the fall for the special preschool for children with learning issues because he just might qualify.  The screening actually went much better than I thought it would, I thought he would refuse entirely to cooperate, but only the poor hearing lady was so afflicted, the others he cooperated to some degree, but not enough to escape the label of a potential learning disability.  The little boy that can pitch balls to his father waiting with a bat or kick a ball with peculiar accuracy barely hit the wall with his bean bag, let alone the circle he was supposed to aim for.  He only jumped up and down on one foot once rather than for a full five seconds, though he spends his days in like exertion.  He could care less about counting and colors and actually said the wrong letter intentionally, smiling impishly all the while.  He couldn't identify an umbrella, we don't own one and as it rarely rains here, neither does anyone else.  When asked to twiddle his thumbs, he just looked at the lady wondering why she would ask him to do something so silly.  He didn't cut on the line as he'd much rather do it his own way.  He doesn't pronounce his words quite right, and when corrected he actually tries to convince you that it is your pronunciation that is lacking.

He can tell you about tractors and the various breeds of cattle and all types of construction equipment, but he really could care less about the ABC's.  He can ride his trike backwards and stop on a dime, just don't ask him to do something silly like jump on one foot.  He likes to color and draw and cut, just not inside the lines.  He hears just fine, but chooses what he actually listens to.  I don't worry about his brain, his ability to learn or concentrate, or even his grammar and pronunciation, I know he understands, that he is a quick learner, and a rather sharp little chap, at least in what he is interested in or thinks is worth his while.  He dots his t's and crosses his i's on purpose or refrains from doing anything at all, just because he feels like it.  But he doesn't fit into 'the box,' as it were; he doesn't score well on 'the test,' and therefore there must be a problem with him, rather than how they are measuring his capabilities.  But children are not computers that should perform to certain factory specifications, each one is different and unique.  His value and brightness are not assessed solely on his ability to 'compute' as the government or social scientists or whoever decides he must.  They are a hammer and he is a screw, but all they can see when they look at a child is that he ought to be a nail, not comprehending that there is more to his being than what is on their list.

I was thought a slow child, they stuck me in the bottom half of the kindergarten class that wasn't taught to read until a year later.  They threatened special education classes and I remember at least a year of summer school.  Years later I have my doctorate and over all the long years of school (21 in all) I was always in the top of my class (save in handwriting).  It wasn't that I was dumb or slow, I had had a wretched home life and had no social skills, I was shy and awkward and I had been told I was stupid so much I believed it, even later in life with straight A's; I also had a bit of an attitude akin to that of my son: if I thought something was dumb or stupid or not worth my while, I just didn't do it; they mistook won't for can't.  My little boy can be either very stubborn or shy when it comes to strangers, but once he warms up, he is the life of the party.  His is a happier home than ever mine was and he exudes a confidence I'm not sure I've ever possessed, but so too is his will a thing of iron.  He will excel in those things that interest him and disappoint in those areas that don't.  He too might wear the label of ignoramus, but it will be no more true in his case than it was in mine; he will learn what he must, even if it isn't in the time or order 'they' think he must.

I look at that letter and smile, for I don't care what 'the system' labels my son, for I know the truth, but it makes me wonder how many other kids are in a similar situation and lack an understanding advocate, who spend the entirety of their childhood thinking themselves stupid because their unique shape doesn't fit nicely in 'the box' and I wonder what the repercussions are for their self worth and their future lives.  Chilling thought indeed!

The modern cynical mother?

I used to peruse a popular and often humorous 'mommy blog,' where moms could share and laugh over their struggles and know they weren't alone on their strange and wonderful journey, but I have abandoned it in recent months, as it has descended into a cynical and snarky pit of criticism and negativity, wherein political fads push the agenda and all the writers seem to think motherhood is a tortuous form of trench warfare wherein martini drinking is the only solace from the barbarous heathens with whom they are forced to cohabitate for the next 18 years, bemoaning how it has ruined their looks and social lives and how they never 'signed up for this!'  They have forgotten how to laugh, nay, even to smile, and have resigned themselves to the gallows and hope to make the most of their self-imposed martyrdom.  I kept going back, hoping it wasn't so, but each hopeful check only revealed the sad truth that it was indeed the new modus operandi of the site and thus my flight and search for a more realistic alternative.  For what they knew as motherhood was an alien and hostile world to me, their very view of life tainted and twisted.  But all hope is not lost, at least if you stay off that site, I ran across this refreshing article on the truth about motherhood and modern culture.  Enjoy!

An artistic conundrum or a botanical disaster?

My blue flax has an orange mold problem (very possibly 'rust'), and besides for the contrasting color dilemma, it is wreaking havoc on one of my favorite plants.  I tried some nasty stuff in a can that the previous owner left in the shed but that didn't do a thing.  But pinterest assures me that a little baking soda in water will do the trick.  I've used it on my bathroom ceiling with good results, it is cheap and harmless, so why not?  I've been applying the 1/2 tsp/cup of water twice daily and the mold seems to be in retreat (the afflicted leaves are also dying off) but is it that the mold has run its course or that the magic concoction is working?  There are a few more newly affected stems, but not near so bad as it was at the start, of course the weather isn't half so moist either.  The scientist in me demands honesty, and honestly, I can't tell you if it's working or not, at least plants don't have the placebo effect to further complicate matters!  At least it makes me feel like I'm doing something…there must be some catchy name for that too or maybe I'm the one suffering from the placebo effect?  This is getting way more complicated than it should be!  I'd better go pull weeds or make bread or something otherwise violent and thoughtless…or spray some more mold...

Dandy lions!

Most people consider them weeds, I used to call them 'wildflowers' when I didn't want to weed the overgrown flowerbed, but part of me will always love dandelions.  How can you not love spring personified?  Sunshine on your lawn, a bright and shining contrast to the brilliantly green young grass!  The first flower a child ever gives his mother.  Weeds indeed!

Spaghetti Pie

I've heard various people rave about spaghetti pie being one of their favorite dishes, but so far I have been rather unimpressed with my own attempts, until yesterday; I think I finally got it right.  Now I can join that happy clan of spaghetti pie enthusiasts (I'm sure that's on your Bucket List too, right?).

Spray a 9x13 cake pan and a 9 inch round (or square) cake pan with nonstick cooking spray and preheat oven to 375.

8-10 oz spaghetti, cooked according to package directions, drain
2 eggs and 1/2 cup parmesan cheese
1 recipe bolognase sauce (or your favorite pasta sauce)
Cheese, lots of cheese

Combine eggs and parmesan cheese (add garlic, basil, celery salt, etc. if desired) and mix with hot noodles, stir until combined and divide between prepared pans, pressing firmly with spoon to form a 'crust.'  Top with warmed pasta sauce and copious amounts of cheese (yes, that is an exact measurement!).  Feel free to let your taste buds and imagination run wild with this recipe, the possibilities are endless.  Place in oven until cheese is melted and golden and bubbly, let sit 5 minutes before serving.  Check this one off your bucket list.

The warblers is coming

Yes, I know the title of this little post is a grammatical error, don't worry I have a poetic license…anywho, it is that time of year again, just when I can't stand winter any longer and the dull grey, cold world is about to convince me I need to migrate with the rest of the birds, Spring finally happens.  I don't get it.  We had about eight inches of snow last week and suddenly the tulips and plum tree are blooming, everything is green and warm and sunny and bright, and best of all, those pesky little fairies of the wildwood are again invading my green space, which is rather exciting in 'the land that trees forgot.'  I grew up along the Mississippi flyway and we had all sorts of wonderful little avian friends stopping by on their trip north, but out here we have far fewer of the woodland sort, though there is a wonderful variety of say, ducks and galliformes.  But I love warblers, though we don't have quite the variety out here, we still have them and I've seen two new species since our relocation.  Even better, they come to me rather than me having to go to them.  Since we have some foliage in our yard, I can actually watch (and photograph) them from the house.  Last night I was trying to photograph a rather elusive wilson's warbler, but there was a cheeky orange crowned fellow that I just couldn't help snapping a few shots of too.  It is probably one of the drabbest warbler species, but this shot was too perfect to miss!

  

Behold the mighty…stick?

My plants finally came in the mail, though we are currently in the middle of the biggest snow storm of the year, which isn't saying much, but I am thus stuck inside still waiting for spring.  We lost a big cottonwood tree to lightning a few years back and I wanted something to replace it, the nursery catalog had a Dawn Redwood tree that was supposed to grow well in all soils and climates and to grow 3-6' per year so I ordered one.  These trees are cousins of the sequoias of California fame and were thought extinct until someone ran across a small stand in China back in the 1940's.  They used to grow here, at least that's what the fossil guys say, we have plenty of petrified wood and much of it is supposed to come from this species, the only problem is they apparently don't like drought, which may be why they don't grow here any more.  This is very arid country in a normal year and I don't plan on watering this thing for the next fifty years so it won't be our new shade tree.  What I didn't expect was to get a stick.

I had found all the other plants I ordered but couldn't find the mighty dawn redwood in my order, but finally I found a stick with a label on it, yes a literal stick with a few roots and no branches or anything, just a stick.  I decided to try my hand at growing a bonsai again, I had dabbled with it back in high school, and as I have this interesting, otherwise useless, tree (or stick) why not?  So I stuck it in a pot, and it like me, is patiently awaiting the advent of spring when we can both get outside and hopefully become something more interesting than a stick.

The secret to a happy home

Have you ever noticed your home has an attitude, an ambiance, a feeling peculiar to itself?  It does, if you take the time to notice.  What does it say to those entering your door, to the inmates thereof?  What do you want it to say?  I grew up surrounded by dread and fear, disappointment, shame, anger, and despair; I hated going home, no one ever left the light on for me.  I had roommates, not a family.  But that is not what yours (or mine) has to be.

Yes, the decor and design have some effect, but any domicile be it hut or mansion, can be 'homey' with the right inhabitants and a little creativity.  It is not so much the stuff as the people, what is their attitude towards life, themselves, and others?  The ambiance of your surroundings can certainly influence your mood, reinforcing or soothing what is already there, but it is also your attitude that sets the mood of the home.  You can certainly brighten up a room with natural light or a bright paint color or a cheery print, but it is the heart of the dwellers that ultimately determines the ambiance of a home.

Have you ever just walked into a room and could literally, ''cut the tension with a knife," that is what I am talking about.  Is it a place of peace and joy, haven and rest, or is it chaotic or stressful or depressing or angry?  If it is the latter, new paint won't do much, it would be wiser to start by remodeling your heart.  If the principle dwellers in your house are angry or bitter or depressed in how they look at life, it will translate into the ambiance of the home.  So before you buy new drapes in hopes of brightening things up a bit, maybe pull back the shades of your heart and see how deep the dust is piled, it might be time for a little spring cleaning therein.  A happy home is very possible, but it all starts on the inside.

Refugee from civilization

I had a friend who received (and was charged for) a double order of diapers from the Red Big Box store, as her kids were about out of that size, she didn't need that many diapers.  She called the store and they said to just drop them off for a refund.  We live three hours from the nearest store of that sort, which obviously made that idea a little tricky.  When I tell people where we live, they wonder how we live at all.  I just spent the first part of the week in a major metro area with my husband at a conference, while he went to business meetings I got to shop.  It was a somewhat harrowing experience, and I likewise begin to wonder how these people live!

We don't have 24/7 shopping, but neither do I feel alone and isolated amidst a sea of strangers.  I was reminded very much of graduate school, which I accomplished in a major metro area, thankfully I was so busy with school I had little time to be lonely.  It is strange that you can be so alone among so many and so connected among so few.  I suppose it is that we can't get lost in a sea of stranger out here, outcasts from civilization as we are, your neighbors may be nosy and annoying, but they are also there when your world falls apart.  Whereas in the city, you could vanish and none would be the wiser or care if they were.

Spring, by mail!

I have a mid-winter birthday, so just as the festive Christmas joy is dying down and we have nothing to brighten the long, cold, dark days of winter while we await the all too slow advent of Spring, I get to get older too.  But I think I found the perfect present: Spring by mail.  I spent a good three weeks thumbing through the seed and nursery catalogs that start coming in February (sort of like Christmas sales in October!), which in itself banished the winter doldrums and gave me something to ponder and plan and wonder at.  Then I ordered my selections and could wait with anticipation, at least until I forgot about it, as they won't ship their plants to the tundra until April.

Well, it is April and I got a package the other day, completely flummoxed as to what it might be.  It was the first of my plant shipment, so I got to dig and plant a bit six weeks before I can do much of anything outside yet.  I can't wait for the rest to come, it is as close as you can get to Spring in a Box, and it is quite a nice be late birthday present.

Home at last

I thought I had it, my whole life growing up, but it was a lie, a mirage, a figment of my own imagining. Then I went to college and grad school and thought maybe then I had found it, but not so much.  Then I got married and had a career and still it was lacking.  Then we became parents, perhaps then?  Nope.  I had many places where I have lived, many a house as it were, but never a home.

Your physical circumstances, life stage, and relative amount of success and fortune have very little to do with the concept home.  Yes, you can have a very nice house, but it is still just a house, not a home, unless it abounds with life and laughter and love, whereas you can shack up in a cave or a condo or a tent and be completely at home.  Are you accepted and welcome?  Is there love there?  Is there peace and joy and hope?  Can you have fun or be quiet or cry or dance when you feel like it?  Can you be yourself?  Can you always go back?  Are you safe?  That is home, it has nothing to do with the quality or lack of walls about you.

My problem was I grew up with abuse and neglect and was taught that no one could ever love me, that I wasn't worth loving, that I deserved to be treated like dirt, therefore I could never find a home, at least until those destructive and dangerous lies were dealt with.  What is it in your own life that keeps you from coming home?  A destructive relationship?  Believing lies about yourself or others?  Focusing on things that don't really matter (career, social status, power, money…)?  Waiting for the 'right' circumstances (a romantic partner, kids, a house in the country, the perfect job…)?  It wasn't easy, but coming home was the best thing I ever did.  You won't be disappointed and you don't have to wait, the road might be long, difficult, and painful, but the light will be on when you finally get there!

On Musical Geniuses

I am not a musical genius, I spent 8 years in band and still put 5 beats in 4.  I had a whole year of piano when I was 12 (my sister was getting stickers for learning her songs and I wanted stickers too, an excellent reason to play the piano!).  If I know the song I can probably plunk out the treble cleft but the bass cleft is still a mystery, sort of like organic chemistry, and don't even think about having me play something I've never heard before because it will certainly sound like something you've never heard before.  In this I can truly say my left hand has no idea what my right is doing!

So one day I was sitting here staring at our Mac, wondering what all those strange little icons were (I grew up with a PC) and hit something that might have been a guitar.  Up pops a dude who wants to teach you chording on the guitar and piano.  I know nothing of guitars (for which most ears are grateful) but we inherited a piano with the house with which I have been dabbling.  There probably is a book called 'Piano for Dummies' but as usual, I had to go and figure it out the hard way, but I have decided there is hope for me, at least in a musical sense.  I still need to know the song before playing it, but I can actually produce something like music and use both hands in the process.

Dear Grandparents

Dear Grandparents,

This is an open letter from a parent to the grandparents of America.  I will begin by acknowledging that there is a strange and wonderful bond between you and your grandkids, and I would not dare encroach thereupon, but I fear American culture has twisted the role of modern grandparents into something which we parents oftentimes fear, and reasonably so.  While it is your job to have fun with, take joy in, and occasionally indulge said grandchildren, it must be done in such a way that will not bring misery and harm to the objects of your love.  In other words, you must not indulge your own selfish desires at the expense of your grandchild's mental and emotional wellbeing by undermining either their parents' authority or characters.  By all means, spoil the little buggers, but not in a way that they will suffer from when they return home.

• It is not your place to question or undermine the way I raise my kids (unless it is truly abusive) in front of them or worse, tell them directly that the way mommy does such and such is wrong or bad, etc., if you must confront me about it, do so privately and respect my opinion on the subject, you had your chance to parent, this is mine.
• Do not reinforce behavior that is generally not allowed at home (tantrums, screaming, whining, incessant demands for something, overt disobedience or disrespect) by either indulging it, rewarding them for the behavior by giving them a treat to shut them up, or laughing at it and saying fondly, 'kids will be kids.'
• The rules are the rules, even at grandma's house.  Kids thrive on regularity and predictability.  Staying up way past bedtime, skipping naps, neglecting usual daily expectations (putting on his own shoes or picking up her toys), too many treats, too much excitement (the zoo, the pool, the park, and a trip to the ice cream parlor all in one day), excessive praise for things that usually are not a big deal (taking a bite of food), and too much attention (in their face every minute, afraid you are going to miss something) can all lead to frustration, confusion, and a sense of being completely overwhelmed in their little brains, especially when they come home and things are so routine and mundane and the expectations are the same, but there is no grandpa to aid and abet in shirking the rules.
• Your job is not to fill them up on sugar, caffeine, excitement, and then send them home to let the parents deal with the consequences, because it is not just the parents that suffer for it.  It is not easy for your grandchild to readjust to normal life, they literally go through a withdrawal and readjustment period, and it is painful for all involved, most especially the confused and frustrated child.  You don't give them addictive drugs for obvious reasons, but to a kid, too little discipline and too much fun and treats is just as dangerous.
• Do not take out your frustration with any persons in their lives via the grandchildren with comments such as 'your father is so stupid,' or 'your mother's boyfriend is a real loser.'  If you must, confront the adults themselves and leave the kids out of it.  You will only confuse and traumatize them and undermine their respect for you and the other people in their lives.
• Never compare one child to another (even one that is grown up) or treat one child or set of children better than another; you'll only crush their souls.
• Try and listen when we come to you with suggestions or concerns, we are not attacking you but want what is best for everybody.
• Your first and foremost responsibility is to help these kids grow into happy, healthy adults and all your thoughts, words, and actions should be directed towards that goal rather than to indulge your own amusement in the short term.
• Let the child be himself, don't force your interests and agenda onto his shoulders.  If he doesn't like baseball, that's okay, maybe you could learn a little bit about Star Wars or anime so you could at least speak the same language.
• Becoming a grandparent does not absolve you of all responsibility in helping raise these dear children to be well-adjusted adults, and in this world of broken families and dysfunctional relationships, you might just be the difference between a broken life and success for that child.  It is a vital and heavy responsibility, but one for which life has well prepared you.
• And remember, we are on the same team here: we love these kids more than anything, and we are your kids too, and love you likewise.  This isn't a competition, we aren't vying against one another for their love but rather working together for their ultimate good, from which everybody inevitably benefits.

Sincerely,

A Mom.

Teriyaki Chicken for the Crock Pot

I've used this simple sauce as a marinade and on the stove top before but never in the crock pot, it came out absolutely fabulous.  Serve with rice or noodles.  I used chicken legs but you can probably use any chicken or even pork, etc.

 For 56 ounces of chicken legs (or whatever):

In a large crock pot mix together:

1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup vinegar
1.5 tsp garlic powder
celery salt and black pepper to taste

Add chicken legs and coat with marinade.  Cook on low for 6 hours.  Use the resulting liquid to flavor rice or noodles as a side dish.  That's it!

Bolognese Sauce, or not, but still good

I ran across a really great looking recipe in a magazine lately for Bolognese Sauce (a red sauce with ground meat and wine and milk, etc. for pasta) and thought I'd like to try it, except I don't have any wine and my stomach doth protest too much when I eat too much ground beef, pork, or sausage, so I made a few modifications.  The results might not be a true Bolognese Sauce but they are sure tasty.

In a large sauce pan with a little oil:

Saute onions, carrots, celery, sweet peppers, garlic (or your favorite combo of chopped, savory vegetables, about 1/2 cup each, except garlic).  I added ham and pepperoni at this point, about 3 oz each (try prosciutto or bacon) and cooked until crisp.

Add 1 24 oz jar of your favorite tomato pasta sauce and a 28 oz can of petite diced tomatoes, undrained.  Add 3/4 cup milk and either 1 cup beef broth or a bouillon cube.  Season as desired (basil, worchester sauce, a little sugar, garlic, black pepper, celery salt (obviously omit celery salt and garlic if you used them above), a dash of chili powder).  Bring to boil and simmer uncovered for 45 minutes or until thick and chunky (cook off extra liquid).  I added a bit of parmesan cheese at the very end.  For best flavor let sit in refrigerator over night.  Use for lasagna or over your favorite pasta!  Also makes a good deep dish pizza base: just pour over a prepared crust and top with cheese.

Batter to fry just about anything

I was in the mood for corn dogs but had no corn meal with which to make an attempt at making them, but what about a regular batter for frying hotdogs?  I searched the internet in vain, apparently it is a little studied art, thus had I a chance to add something to man's legacy via my theoretical genius.  What you are about to read is well nigh historic!  The movie rights are still up for grabs…

I have a recipe for sweet and sour chicken which is very much like the restaurant variety and thought that might make a nice starting place.  I replaced the water with buttermilk (or rather regular milk soured with vinegar) and added some baking soda, which should make for a lighter, crunchier coating.  I also spiced it up a bit with worchester sauce, garlic, celery salt, black pepper, and a dash of chili powder.  The first batch looked a little thick so I added a little water to thin it out, only to make it slide right off the hot dogs.  I added more flour so that it was the consistency of thick oatmeal and it not only stuck to the hot dogs beautifully but fried up light and crispy as well.  They also freeze and reheat well (in the oven).  I tried some mozzarella cheese, and while the results were delicious, it made quite a mess and you have to eat it right away, it would be quite a mess to reheat.  This would work well for just about anything if it will stick to a slippery hotdog, but if you want to deep fry something sweet, maybe leave out the spices and add some sugar?

How to Batter and Deep Fry Hotdogs:

Rules:

1. It will make a mess, deep frying anything usually does.
2. It is not all that healthy, but that isn't why we are doing this.
3. It tastes great!
4. It should be fun, you might as well make a big batch as the mess is the same anyway.

You will need:

Oil for frying (I used an old, small frying pan and canola oil, the larger the surface area of the pan, the more oil you will need/waste).

Something to fry: I used cheap hotdogs cut into quarters, but just about anything will work.

Batter:

3/4 cup flour
1 1/2 tsp corn starch
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp garlic powder, dash chili powder, 1/4 tsp celery salt and black pepper (change as desired)

Mix dry ingredients and then add 3/4 cup buttermilk and a tbsp worchester sauce (as desired), mix until smooth but should be rather thick.  Add hotdog chunks and stir to coat.  Add a few pieces at a time to hot oil, turn once and remove to wire rack to crisp/cool when golden brown.

The Cheater's Guide to Cross stitch

I had a picture that was okay, but nothing very interesting given to me by a relative when they cleaned out their office and switched jobs.  I would love to replace it but had nothing of a size to fit the mat/frame so it hung on the wall undisturbed until I found my cross stitch, with which I had had a dubious flirtation, to quote Spock, in my relative youth.  I had made one large piece (which had taken years) and gave it away in college to a beloved teacher, otherwise I had only dabbled in the art.  Going through a forgotten corner of a forgotten closet I came across a Monet, albeit not a painting but a barely begun stamped cross stitch aida clothe with one of his 'water lily' designs upon it.  About eight years ago I thought it would be fun to try it again, though I had never done a 'stamped' pattern before, I fell in love with the colors and the design and bought the kit, only to discover that the stamped one was even worse than the true 'counted' cross stitch as now I not only had to count little tiny boxes but most were an absurd kaleidoscope of colors which quickly induced a seizure, a migraine, or very possibly both.  So 7.5 years ago it got put in the box of unfinished cross-stitchy things and was soon forgotten.  There was also a partially finished Amish type sampler that will remain so indefinitely unless one of my kids gets a freak to finish it one day, but the Monet was still pretty, if barely stitched, it seemed a shame to let it molder in that box.

It also fit perfectly in that frame, with a little surgery on the mat, and yes I will call it surgery as I used a scalpel to cut the mat, one of these days I will invest in an exacto-knife.  I ironed my Monet (how many people can say they've done that?), enlarged the opening in the mat, and voila!  I now had a very pretty, pseudo embroidered picture.  You have to look really close to see that the whole thing isn't actually stitched.  So if you like the look of cross-stitch but haven't the knack, the patience, or the time, you can invest in a 'stamped' kit of your choosing, throw in a few stitches if you'd like, or just frame the picture and call it good, just don't enter it in any embroidery contests!

In-laws and Out-laws

When it comes to family, I'm still an amateur.  I grew up in a fractured, abusive home and had little conception of what a normal, healthy marriage or family looked like until I was in the middle of my own.  Enter the in-laws, a concept that has frustrated and confounded people since the Dawn of Time.  I always dread a visit either to their house or them to ours, but am still trying to figure out why.  Usually I love company, and they aren't bad people, but for some reason I dread the very thought of our next interlude.  I think I've finally figured out the mystery, at least in my own case, I'm afraid most everyone else will have to unravel their own enigma for themselves.

When they see my son, their only grandchild, they fall upon him like ancient pagans their god.  They wrest control from us, his parents, and place it lovingly at his feet.  Not only does this turn the social order of our house upside down, but it also nicely divides our little family into them and us.  We follow my son from room to room (and as a toddler, he is a perfect little dictator) as some sort of entourage, with them oohing and cooing adulation with every breath he takes.  We could sit in the living room by ourselves and let them do their thing, but that seems quite antisocial.  They were fine before the grandson came along, we could actually have a conversation and they took some interest in our lives, but now, he is the reason they live and any interference with that is met with complaints of how intolerant and insensitive we are to their feelings, how little they get to see him...

As an abused kid without a real family, I've come to adore quiet, happy family life, and I resent when other people come in and upset the proverbial apple cart.  Why can't they be part of our family, join the harmonious whole, rather than divide and conquer?  I lived my whole life with an 'us versus them' mentality when it came to family life and I hate seeing it take root anew in my own little nest, I feel a stranger in my own house.  Grandma went so far as to say that it is 'her right to coddle…'  Wait a second!  We are the parents, stop right there!  You have no rights save those we grant you.  I am unwittingly forfeiting control to her as much as they willingly forfeit it to the conquistador of their hearts and reason!  But he is not in charge, nor is she, I am!  Too bad you can't put the in-laws in time out…maybe things will be a little better once I figure out I'm not a doormat and my feelings matter too, albeit it must be done in a respectful and thoughtful manner so as not to hurt them or drive a wedge between us, but somebody needs to be the adult.

Who needs TV?

Modern folk often wonder how people survived before TV.  The answer is simple: they had kids.  You never know what your small tyke is going to say next, and usually it is pretty amusing, except when it is in public and then it's just embarrassing.  At least the plot lines were a whole lot more original!

Sympathizing with Super Man

"You're good at this," said the lady with a teasing smile, "did you go to school for it?"

I just hefted my garbage sack and threw in the soiled plates and cups, returned her smile, and went on to the next table wondering what they'd think if I told them I had a doctorate; they'd probably have a good chuckle at the irony, I know I do.

I love being an incognito doctor, posing as just another stay-at-home mom or the quiet little wife of a small town pastor.  For some reason people equate my career with my identity, as if I have no interests or personality outside of the office.  They can't fathom that I'd rather talk about anything else than their cat's chronic vomiting issues.  Do plumbers or engineers or brain surgeons have this problem?  It's not that I don't like cats, or my job, it's just that I have a life outside of work and would much rather talk about other things, like just about anybody else whose work is not their life and vice versa.  So I pretend to be a nobody, just another Joe-Smoe, completely uninteresting and dull.  But it is rather priceless to watch the surprise when someone discovers my secret, at which point I flee the room as they approach at the run to get my opinion on corn in dog food.

I completely understand why Super Man chose the unobtrusive Clark Kent as his alter ego.  He couldn't just be himself as the superhero, all they saw was the man in the cape, whereas Clark could actually have a life, relationships, and talk to people without them getting all weird.  I wonder if celebrities wish they could doff the fame and just be nobody for a while?  We're all trying to be celebrities on social media, to make our lives interesting or attractive to others, but why?  Who cares?  If you enjoy your life, isn't that enough?  Do you really want people to gawk and gape and stare as if you were some sort of sideshow attraction?  As for me, I'll just don my Clark Kent glasses and vanish happily into the milling crowd.  Are you done with that plate?

Mint Brownies

Use this as a topping on your favorite brownie recipe or to dress up a box mix; covers a 9x13 cake pan worth of brownies.  It is both pretty and delicious!

For mint cream:

Beat together 2 cups powdered sugar, 1/2 cup softened butter or margarine, 1 tbsp water, 1/2 tsp mint extract, and 3 drops of green food coloring.  Spread over cooled brownies.

For Chocolate topping:

In a microwave safe bowl melt 1 cup chocolate chips and 6 tbsp butter, stirring every 30 seconds until smooth.  Cool slightly and spread over mint topping.  Refrigerate until firm and store in the fridge.

Peanut Butter Fudge

I don't know where my mother found this recipe, but it is a family favorite for as long as I can remember, though I've made a few alterations for convenience and personal preference: namely leaving out the candied cherries and adapting it to the microwave.  It freezes well and makes a big pan.

2 1/2 cups white sugar
3/4 cup butter (use the real thing!)
2/3 cup evaporated milk
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 cup creamy peanut butter (I've had the best luck with Jif)
1 7oz jar marshmallow cream
1 tsp vanilla
1 12oz bag M&Ms

In a large microwave safe mixing bowl combine sugar, butter, milk, and salt.  Microwave on high for 8 1/2 minutes (may take more or less time depending on your microwave) stirring every 2-3 minutes, watching that it does not boil over.  Remove from the microwave (will be extremely hot, use oven mitts) and stir in peanut butter until melted, at this point it may or may not look really creamy and wonderful.  If it has a weird curdled texture, don't worry, it will still taste great, I think it is just that some of the oils separate from the peanut butter, which didn't happen with the Jif but I've seen it with other brands.  Stir in the marshmallow creme and the vanilla and mix until blended then add the M&Ms.  Pour into a 9x13 inch cake pan and allow to cool.  Cut into squares and serve or freeze.  I keep mine in the fridge so it is more firm when eaten.  If it doesn't set properly, increase the microwave time with the next batch, and stick this batch in the freezer to improve consistency.

Philosophical musings not worth the effort

The in-laws have left, the christmas paraphernalia is safely sequestered for another year, and there are no lurking holidays more dangerous than Groundhog's day to be dealt with in the near future so it must be time to hibernate.  Except that's not really an option, which seems a little speciest to me, just because I'm not a skunk doesn't mean I couldn't use a 'long winter's nap,' but that's a whole other post.  Everyone seems to be bracing for the cold front moving in, but it is January on the northern plains so I'm not sure what everyone is so excited about; this happens every year.  Yes it may get down to -14F one night and the windchill will dip to -30, but compared to other places I've lived, that is almost tropical (I've seen a three week period where the high was -14 with wind chills in the -50's).  Did I mention I walked to school in it, up hill both ways?  I'm not that old, at least I hope not, but then I predate the internet, wait, did the world even exist before the internet?  Maybe I'd best just stick to complaining about the weather...