Love Letters

I found this packet of letters so sweetly tied with a pink ribbon and buried in a box of my parents' "keepsakes." As a young bride my mother had written on the top: "Let your conscience be your guide. This is the personal property of _____." I haven't read them (so far ...)  There are plenty of others to read as my parents saved many letters. Hundreds from my grandparents. Any time I want to step back in time, I'll have an easy way to do that.

Connecting to How Sweet the Sound for Pink Saturday!

Keep 'em Raised

I've learned if you raise your eyebrows, a lot of the sagging around your eyes goes away. That is, as long as you can keep them up. When a co-worker had her eyelids "done," I started looking at my own. Oh well.

The other day I was at a large department store. I looked around somewhat overwhelmed at where to start seeking that needed garment. Suddenly a young beautiful blonde came around the corner, clothes glued to her skin, and make-up perfect.  She came right up as if she was looking for me. I'm a little confused at what she said as she approached, but for the briefest of delirious moments I thought she was there just to assist me in finding what I needed. (LOL. Wouldn't that be nice?!)

Alas, she was not. But her sweet personality just warmed my heart. Initially, that is. "I would love to give you a five-minute make over. You just need to bring this coupon downstairs." She pressed a coupon into my hands and I think she saw the change come over my countenance. The encounter was very brief as I had no intention of spending my precious time having a make-over/sales pitch. As she walked away she said, "I think we could help you do something to make your sagging eyes look better." Or something to that effect. It reminds me of another time I was at that same mall. A young woman walked up to me, thrusting a hand cream sample at me, "Your hands are terribly dry, try this." I'm laughing and wondering, is this sales approach just geared to women over fifty? At least I'm laughing!

the staff of life

The recent news about the high level of sodium in bread got me in the mood for a little bread baking. We love oatmeal bread, so that's what I made. I'm still searching for my mother's recipe, but until I find it, this will do! The 1/2 cup of molasses gave it the dark color. A hearty bread full of flavor.

1 cup uncooked oats
2 C scalded milk
1 pckg yeast in 1/2 C warm water
1/2 C molasses
2 t (or less!) salt
1 T shortening
4 1/2 C flour
Let the oats sit in the hot milk until lukewarm. Then stir in the rest, knead, let rise in warm place, punch down, divide into two loaves (I made one loaf and 12 dinner rolls) and let rise again. Bake at 425 for 15 minutes, reduce temperature to 350 for another 30 minutes. You can oil the top of the loaf for a softer crust, or leave it crusty. Good toasted!

healthy drinking

"Drinking a daily cup of tea will surely starve the apothecary."

(an old Chinese proverb)

do they text from heaven?

The Gardener must have read my recent post about not wanting expensive fresh flowers, because he gave me some. Well, from a budget grocery store. When I came home he was gone and obviously had been in a hurry leaving as they were stuck in a water glass, still wrapped up, and very much dying. But the gorgeous color of yellow drew me to them and I got to work (yellow roses are special to me.) Amazingly when I took off the dying petals and trimmed them up they came to life and are so beautiful. We are enjoying them. I'm sure there is a life lesson here, like "never give up on something ..."







The day after Valentine's as I was driving, my phone beeped with a text. I read it at the next red light. My eyes popped out a bit. Obviously this must have been sent to a wrong number, but for a brief time I let it seem like my dad had really texted me from heaven. It's what I would have wanted to read.

The only thing a little in question is his last statement, "See you soon." Of course time has no measure in heaven, so hopefully this isn't literal on our time frame. :-)

What We Give Away

My grandmother was quite a writer, and when I found this recently in her handwriting, 

I was pretty sure she wrote it herself. Either way, it was nice to find, 

and make into a valentine card.

 "In this is love, not that we have loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son ..."  

 Happy Valentine's Day!

from the heart (s)

(Just playing with p-cn-k on its way out of town).

Have one!

Joining Mary's Little Red House for Monday Mosaics!

sweetness

I always think of Valentine's Day as more of a girlie kind of day than something little boys would like. Maybe it's all the pink and hearts and flowers ...  I can't see the Gardener getting too excited about being given a bouquet of cut flowers, but he would love a flowering plant in the ground (as a matter of fact, he just bought me one for Valentine's.)

Quite frankly the reason he got us me a flowering plant is because he knows me well.  I have a hard time seeing too much money spent flowers that fade so quickly. That's just my little hang-up. (I think it's partly due to my Dutch background, but also the years I lived in Africa.)

But back to little girls ... after raising boys, I'm enjoying the plethora of little girls in our extended family, not to mention our own "Little One" ... and it's fun to do little bits of sweetness for them. I've been spending a good deal of time in doctors' waiting rooms with my mother of late, and have enjoyed the captive time to crochet while we talk.

 I originally started with little hearts for hair "bows,"(inspiration here) but after "Little One" vetoed them, I switched to the more substantial flowers, and tied in the little hearts! Whether or not they will be worn, I surely had fun making them!

Connecting to Pink Saturday at Beverly's blog.

Speaking of Cookbooks

Speaking of cookbooks, one of my favorites is the More With Less Cookbook. I took this with me to Africa years ago and have used it ever since. It's my most worn cookbook. I have my favorites, but I feel like there is so much more yet to explore in the book.


It's more of a practical cookbook, giving recipes that allow you to live "close to the land" and cook economically. Lots of international recipes are included. It's sort of a humble cookbook that emphasizes seasonal, organic cooking, and did so long before such cooking was so popular. 

A Christmas Snoopy marks my most used recipe, which I really don't need directions for. I recommend it and there's not a kid I've served it to who hasn't loved it. I always use small chunks of chicken I've pre-cooked, and add a few beef buillon cubes which makes the sauce richer. You can't skip the step of separately cooking the peanut butter in oil, and do so by stirring slowly but constantly, as it tends to burn.



There is a 2011 updated edition to this book with current statistics and nutritional information. I've also learned about yet another book by this live-close-to-the-land concious group called Simply in Season. It shows which fruits and vegetables are in season when, with recipes to match. There is a colorful kids' cookbook by the same or similar title that looks like great fun. Do a G. search for it and you'll find the titles easily.


And that's it for cooking today. Friends we knew in Africa years ago have come to town and are taking us out to eat. Otherwise I'd cook the recipe above for them, for old times' sake. It's been a busy day, so I'll welcome a restaurant and the time to focus just on them!

Neglected

Quite a few years ago our now deceased but much beloved dog ate a chunk out of the Betty Crocker cookbook I received at my wedding shower. I mourned. For me, she is the premier of cookbooks, the stable one to go to. I eventually found another worn copy at a used book shop.

But strangely I've been feeling a bit sorry for my cookbooks, lined up quietly like soldiers waiting to be called to duty. It's become so easy to grab a recipe from the computer, or pull out a scribbled "how to" written down at a friend's delicious dinner party. Or just to pull ingredients out of the frig and cook whatever comes together.

There's a few things I always pull Betty out for, one is an apple pie. 

Old friends are coming for dinner tonight. It will be a simple table, and a simple fare,

 with concentration on just enjoying being together on a rainy night. 

There are friends like this––as comfortable as "old shoes." Friends that we're blessed to 

grow old older with. We'll sit around, maybe listen to some of the "oldies," have conversation, put the 

coffee pot on, and lace the pie with a little vanilla ice cream, per the Gardener's request. 

It should be fun.

the unwrapping

 I felt like I was in a scene from Pride and Prejudice. That scene where the sisters pour over a letter, examining the penmanship, and looking for other clues to tell about the sender of the letter. A package from Pondside arrived in the mail this week. I had just come home from a busy 12-hour shift. Such a welcome surprise to find it waiting for me. I didn't rip it open; for awhile I just looked at it. It had come such a long distance across the country. The address was beautifully written and a heart or two here and there decorated the brown wrapping paper. Lots of tape. Just the way I send a package. I took it with me to my office, but then decided I should bring it downstairs so the Gardener could join in the fun of opening it.

 I don't often participate in blog "giveaways" and have only won one other that I can remember--an Elizabeth Goudge book from  In a Garden (she had two copies of the book; you can see one on her sidebar). But when I saw that my blogfriend Pondside was having a giveaway of a sweet counted cross stitch she had done, along with some tea...I just had to toss my name in. I used to be an avid counted cross stitcher...and I love tea...and I feel a kinship with Pondside as we share a few things (at least) in common. For one, the Gardener and I celebrated our 25th on the island where she lives. And last summer Pondside kindly helped us figure out what to do with our fireplace by searching and sending us our inspiration picture. So when I added my name I just so KNEW I would win.

 Her shoebox opened to reveal beautifully wrapped little packages, along with a sweet note in a graciously flowing handwriting (still in the Austin mode here). Three boxes of tea (each one individually wrapped and tied with a pink ribbon ... isn't the unwrapping half of the suspenseful fun?) A tea strainer with the tiniest teapot attached to keep the little chain out side the pot where it belongs, and her beautiful handwork! Thank you my creative friend! Your blog always inspires me!

Bordering on the Magnificent

"My mother has been lately adding to her possessions in plate, a whole Dessert-spoon 

and six whole Teaspoons––which makes our sideboard border on the magnificent. 

They were mostly the produce of old, or useless silver."

 Written in a letter from Jane Austen to her sister, Cassandra, Dec. 27, 1808.

It sounds like Jane Austen's mother also went thrifting. 

I too enjoy finding an occasional treasure in a teaspoon ...

... or using pieces of my mother's that "take me right back" ...

For instance, sliced tomatoes in the summer were served with this round serving spoon.

Such a merry group!

Connecting to Mary's Little Red House for Monday Mosaics.

"sweet nothings"

The man was tall and wearing an overcoat while holding a hat in his hand. His snowy white hair was perfectly groomed. He had to bend slightly to talk to the pretty woman as they leaned against the wall near the door. She clasped his hand, gazing up at him with shining eyes filled with love and just a touch of shyness. After what seemed a lifetime of marriage, they now lived apart and a public hall was where they said their goodbyes. When the time came that she needed the care provided there, he came along and lived with her while she got used to the place. Once she settled in, he went back home to live. After 60 or more years of marriage, their life together was now fragmented into his visits.

For a minute I was back at the main hall downstairs at our college girls' dorm. It was near curfew and couples were lined up along the walls, whispering those "sweet nothings" that people in love whisper to each other, sneaking kisses, lingering for those last minutes before time to part.

Back to the present. The love in their eyes; his tenderness towards her--caused my eyes to turn away from their private moment. I remembered the year before my dad died and my own parents had to be separated in the same way. It was heart-wrenching but necessary, and there was some relief in that. It's just unimaginable to me that such a thing might happen to the Gardener and me. But as I've watched people grow older at the retirement community where my parents have lived for the past 20 years, I've learned the slogan I hear them repeat often: "Old age isn't for sissies." I am amazed at how they take what comes with courage, live how they need to for what health issues they face, and do it all with grace and a good dose of humor. Deep and abiding faith and love glows through their circumstances.

I hope that if such a time comes to me that I will have even an ounce of the amazing contentment, gratitude and grace that my mother––and this sweet couple––show me each day.

Photo: My parents

Afternoon Tea

Henry James wrote, "There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."

Stopping during the day for a cup of tea is good for the body and is good for the soul.

 It's especially good in solitude, and it's especially good when shared with friends.

One of tea's best features is that it allows us to   s  l  o  w   down.

There is the beauty factor ... tea seems even better poured from 

a pretty pot into a pretty cup!

Connecting to Rose Chintz Cottage in celebration of her two years of sharing tea times!

spud boats

So my mom and I were waiting for her bloodwork in a crowded waiting room. 

We were forced to found it amusing to watch a segment of RR 

cooking something my mother has made as long as I can remember. 

RR called them "fully loaded baked potatoes in another form."

 My mom calls them "potato boats."

Apparently influenced, that very night I found myself making potato boats 

to go along with our salmon. First you bake them to not quite done.

Over the years I've learned to boil some water in a pot where I will mash the

 potatoes, mainly to get the pan heated up, leaving just a tad of the water at the bottom of the pan.

Carefully slice the potatoes in half and  c a r e f u l l y  scoop the 

potato into the pot, leaving the skins intact.

Mash them with salt, pepper, butter, sour cream, whatever you want. RR 

added sharp white cheddar cheese and horseradish! My word! So under the power 

of influence, I added some grated cheese to the mix.

Fill the potato skins with the mashed potato. (Hint: I sometimes bake a small
extra potato so the "boats" can be a bit full ... they are prettier that way. My mother always 

sprinkled with paprika after adding a slice of cheese on the top. 

Bake 'til heated through. RR added another step--she wrapped the boats in
bacon x 2 and baked them on a rack! That's a bit over the top in the
cholesterol department, but I think it was for super bowl or something festive.

Life!

The King's Kids, in all shapes and sizes, gathered at the front of our church this past Sunday, standing tall or sitting straight, while waiting expectantly for the music to begin. When it did, their faces spread into huge smiles and their hands began to expressively sign the words of "Glorious Day." One after another came to the front of the group to take his or her turn to "solo" sign portions of the song. Graceful hands. Loving eyes. Shining young faces raised in joy-filled worship.

One January Sunday each year our church especially salutes Life. This year it chose to have our special needs Sunday school class lead the congregation in worship. When I could pull back from the worship for a moment, I thought about how the parents of these young adults had chosen life, and how these kids had brought––yes, many challenges––but also much joy and gladness. No hang-ups, no pride, no prejudice ... just pure and selfless love comes from the hearts of these wonderful kids––love for others, and love for their Heavenly Father.

As tears poured from my eyes, I couldn't help but notice others wiping their eyes as we watched the King's Kids' delight in worship. A standing "O" saluted their work as they high-fived each other and headed off the platform, each one accompanied by a caring adult mentor.

I'm so proud of our church's care for families with special needs' children. It's called "His Abilities."

Photo of some of my Lakeshore Block Play People. I love how this company includes diversity and little doll figures with special needs. My young nieces gifted me with a small collection as they know I'm not too old to play!

scrapping in the thirties

Scrapbooking has been around a very long time apparently. My cousin recently sent me this crumbling scrapbook of his mom's, given to her by her grandfather, who apparently did all the cutting and pasting. My great grandfather was a very busy man with a successful building business, many rental properties, a family ministry ... yet he found time to do something like this for his granddaugthers? (since they were twins I'm guessing he made two books). The most interesting picture is the one of the woman in pants (this was the early 30s) looking in on the little girl having a tea party with her doll. I'd love to know the story behind this pic. I'm wondering why my great grandfather did this --no one seems to remember. I think I'd have picked many of the same pictures he did, but I guess that shouldn't be too much of a surprise.  :-)

Connecting to Little Red House for Monday Mosaics.

comfort in a bowl

The older I get the more I enjoy a cold, cloudy, rainy day. I always think, "This is an English kind of day," and remember our visits there. Maybe it's because I always long to slow down and it's much easier to stay home in bad weather. I'm all for coziness, too, which comes more easily on such days. And then there's soup. Always better on a day like today with cold rain and even some sleet earlier on. Love it! Tonight I started our soup with a tuscan white bean soup from a package and then added all kinds of things. I was intrigued by what was written on the label of the package, and I must credit the brand: *lessi. It said, among other beautiful comments about soup, "There is a saying in Southern Italy that ... translates to 'Soup does seven things. It relieves your hunger, quenches your thirst, fills your stomach, cleans your teeth, makes you sleep, helps you digest, and colors your cheeks.'" And I'll add that it's a great decongestant, and, for some reason just brings one comfort!


Reposted from four years ago this month. 

spin cycle

Part of my laundry routine used to be to throw my weight across our little too-full apartment-sized washer during the spin cycle. It decreased the banging and clanging and rocking. Otherwise I thought the shaking floor would bring our elderly landlady flying up the stairs to check out the clatter. To me such a set-up was better than carting everything to a laundry mat. When we lived in Africa, I learned how to wash clothes in a bucket or agitate them with my feet in a bathtub, or, far more easy, push each item of clothing or cloth diaper through the wringer into a rinse tub with my spanking brand-new, but old-fashioned wringer washer. Then they were hung on a line in the sun and hopefully dried before the afternoon rains. It seems however I did the laundry all those early years of married life, it left a lot to be desired, at least in my mind

For 12 years now I've gratefully enjoyed a small laundry room on the main floor of our house. It's really painless to use. But I  do    l  o  v  e    laundry rooms --- looking at state of the art ones in magazines or on blogs. I think to myself: wouldn't it be wonderful to have a sink next to the machines? A folding table? A place for the ironing board? Maybe some extra cupboards for storage or space to do do extra food preparation or craft projects? How about a hanging chandelier?

These thoughts attacked ...  and that's all I wrote to this post awhile ago. Where was I going with this? If only the spin cycle in my active mind would remember. LOL. But meanwhile we interrupt this post to tell a sweet story, sort of on the subject of laundry.

Little One was visiting earlier today and saw a clothespin on the table. It was immediately called into action as a princess--with a napkin ring being the tiara. I asked her if she knew about clothespins. Remembering how as a child I loved to play with my grandmother's colorful plastic clothespins, I grabbed more pins, some dishcloths, and a little piece of rope. We hung up a clothesline and began to hang out the laundry. The cloths quickly became different colored princess dresses, and before long we were packing them in my little red suitcase and boarding a train and collecting tickets and unpacking our dirty clothes into a laundry basket to be washed and dried on the line.

I had explained to Little One that sometimes instead of using a dryer we hang clothes outside on a line to dry in the sun. I think she got the concept. Suddenly I heard her singing "Sing a Song of Sixpence..." I thought she was just happily singing a song as she hung out the "clothes." But when she got to "the maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes..." I realized her active little mind had made a connection.

Her baby brother was simply enthralled with all the activity.