Tuesday, August 31, 2010

A Banner Day!

Every now and then I get the itch to renovate.  It often strikes at very inopportune times and when it does - watch out!  My family knows that nothing is safe when I decide to start tossing things out or moving things around and they better get on board or get out of the way!

Next week I will show the before pics of my current decorating project and show you the progress along the way.

One of the easiest redos is replacing wall art.  For years I had a simple string on the wall in the kitchen with little clothespins attached.  It displayed a rotating collection of the children's artwork, snapshots, Valentines cards or whatever struck my fancy.  I took it down a while ago and replaced it with a large framed picture but I'm missing my little clothesline and I think I need to put it back again.

One of the latest trends in home decor is banners which is basically a redo of my little clothesline.  So, I have decided to show you a few cute items pulled from my shop that would make great banners and sweet additions to your home decor.  If you want to duplicate the banner look, I am happy to add a banner  kit, including vintage thumbtacks, twine and clothespins, to any purchase. 

So, take a peek and see if you can find something you like to spruce up your home sweet home!

I have always loved the look of vintage botanicals.  This is a collection of  Redoute botanical postcards.
 There are two different sets available, with eight in each set, perfect for a banner or for framing.  The best thing about these beautiful flowers is they never need watering!


I love typography and numbers (don't ask me why.)  These BINGO cards would look great marching across the border of a boys room.  These better sell fast (only $6, am I crazy?) or I will keep them myself!  There are other pieces of yellow ephemera plus some cute Raggedy Ann and Andy prints that would make cute banners in a child's room.  Think of the possibilities!

Banners are cute, but some things deserve a frame.  I recently discovered these adorable vintage children's prints.  This is one in a set of four.
They need a sweet frame to do them justice.  I know you have a Wal-Mart or Ikea in your neighborhood.  For less than $10 you can frame almost anything!  You can buy them individually, or buy the set.  They are from the 1960's and have a sweetness and innocence about them.

Whoa... this is bizarre!  I posted the picture above and thought, "why does that baby look so familiar?  Well, I was at a picnic on Friday and I took a photograph.  This was the photo that I took.

This is Maddison.  She is Cheryl and Josh's baby girl and, yes, she IS the cutest baby currently on the planet.  The resemblance to the baby in the picture from the 1960's is kind of spooky.  But Maddison is definitely cuter - and she is real - and she smells good - and has a very nice mommy and daddy.

She is mesmerizing me with her blue eyes and now I have nothing left to say.

Friday, August 27, 2010

She Said "Yes" to the Dress!

We went wedding dress shopping last night. 

My girl is getting married next year and wedding preparations are starting to kick into high gear.  Of course, high on the list of have-tos is finding that perfect dress.  But, between working very long hours and being out of town on business trips, Ashley has had a hard time fitting it into her schedule.  We finally managed it last night.  Grandma joined us and so did her sister Rachel.  It was just "us girls."  The three generations out for a night of shopping.  What could be better than that?

It's quite a personal thing, wedding dress shopping, and finding that perfect dress can raise the anxiety level of even the most cool-headed bride.  Ashley figured this would be a trial run, just to get a lay of the land and see what is out there in wedding dress world.  She really didn't have a concrete idea of what she wanted so she thought she would take a peek and try on a few things before she made any commitments.  She did know what she didn't want - nothing too flouncy or frou frou.  She is tall, like her sister and I, hovering around the six foot mark and doesn't want to add a lot of lace and fluff.  She likes to keep things simple. 

So, here we are, waiting for Ashley to come out of the dressing room in that white gown, in breathless anticipation.

When Ashley was a little girl there was nothing she liked more than looking at herself in the mirror.  She especially liked store mirrors, where she could see herself from all sides.  As soon as we would enter a store, she would beeline for the dressing rooms and twirl around, singing at the top of her lungs. 

When we walked into the bridal store changing room last night,  the mirrors reflected into each other to infinity, plus they had risers, for that inner superstar!  Rachel said, "Ashley, this would have been your dream come true when you were five years old!"

Well, my girl is no longer five years old.  She is a beautiful young lady preparing for her wedding day and when she walked out of that dressing room door in a white dress, it was a little bit hard to take in.  I didn't cry, I wasn't even very emotional.  It was a bit surreal.  I'm not really believing this yet.  It's going to take me a while to really absorb the fact that she is moving into another phase of her life.  I am really more excited for her than I am sad for me. 


It has been easy welcoming Daniel into our hearts.  He is easy to like, with his infectious smile and his teasing, middle-child ways (fist-bump for the middle child.)  He clearly loves our daughter and loves the Lord.  Ashley's face lights up when he walks into the room.  She is head over heels in love.  What more could parents ask for?

So...back to the dress.  After trying on a few, not-so-flattering, four-sizes-too-big dresses (what were those sales ladies thinking?) and one very cute, almost-there dress Ashley opened the dressing room door and came out in "the One"!  As soon as she turned around and looked at herself in the mirror the biggest smile spread across her face.  She could not stop grinning.  This was IT.  There was no reason to keep looking, or to try on another dress.  We were done.

As Ashley put it so succinctly,  "I can picture myself walking down the aisle in this dress and feeling beautiful."  What more do you need than that?

Well, here's a glimpse from last night. 

This was the "dress that almost was."  It's just a teaser and all you're going to get for now.  You'll have to wait until next June to get the real thing.

In the meantime, this mama is happy, because nothing makes me happier than seeing my kids smile!

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

 "Age is not a particularly interesting subject.  Anyone can get old.  All you have to do is live long enough."
  ~Groucho Marx

My body is falling victim to some terrifying vandalism and the latest body part to fall prey is my hands.  I don't know when it happened, but one night "they" came, crept in while I was sleeping and took my beautiful, youthful long-fingered soft-skinned hands and left me with these (I have another one that matches).


I hadn't really paid a lot of attention to my hands until I downloaded some pictures and realized I had inadvertently snapped a picture of my hand - there was the evidence.  It was really quite shocking, like the first time I realized Mick Jagger was old enough to get the senior's discount at Denny's (not that Mick is heading there for a Grand Slam breakfast any time soon.)  I don't know who these hands belonged to before, but they look like my grandmother's hands, not mine.  While the rest of my body is getting a little more... well...rounded, these hands are almost skeletal, with veins popping out, scaly skin and spots appearing everywhere.

I'm alarmed.  I don't know who "they" are, the perpetrators of this horrible crime, running around willy-nilly wreaking havoc in the night, but I can't imagine what body part they're going to take next and who they are switching parts with.  All I know is some dear old lady is sitting in her chair admiring a pair of beautiful velvet-skinned hands at this very minute, wondering where on earth they came from.

Now, I live in California, land of sun, surf, and surgery - cosmetic surgery that is.  You may find this hard to believe, but one of the latest trends in cosmetic surgery is hand rejuvenation treatment.  Yes, it's true.  Just when we thought there wasn't a single inch of our bodies left that someone hadn't nipped, tucked, plumped or tweezed, the caring physicians in the field of cosmetic surgery took it upon themselves to show us how critical it is to our health and well-being to take care of yet one more flawed body part.

I became aware of this vital information recently while purchasing tacos.  Yes,  I do all my heavy reading while sitting on a bench waiting in line on Taco Tuesday.  Our illustrious Orange County magazines are jam-packed with ads for cosmetic surgeons ready to nip and tuck you within an inch of your life and apparently, the latest part of our bodies that should bring us mortal shame is our hands.  So, for a mere $300-$3,000 (I guess they need to see them first) they can "restore a youthful appearance" to my hands.


As I am sitting here writing about this, the dots are starting to connect.  Be patient with me, sometimes I'm a slow learner.  I suppose it's no coincidence that on Taco Tuesday I stared at a magazine with several ads for hand rejuvenation, shaking my head at the vanity of some women while admiring the gorgeous hands in the magazine.

Less than a week later the fateful picture was taken and I saw my own hands in a way I had never seen them before, as the hands of an old woman  - "my grandmother's hands."  

Now I'm starting to wonder, what is wrong with my grandmother's hands?  I love my grandmothers.  I named this blog after both of them.  They were powerful women of faith and integrity that raised their children to love God.  What I wouldn't do for the chance to sit beside either one of them for one more hour holding their precious hands.

A lot of hard work went into getting my hands to look this way.  These hands have changed diapers, washed dishes, pulled weeds, done the wave at baseball games, applauded at countless recitals and award ceremonies, been folded in prayer, been caressed, washed dishes, dried tears, grabbed the remote, brought comfort, built sandcastles, pet the dog, did I mention wash dishes (?) and been held by my husband twice while he placed rings on my finger - on my wedding day and on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

Every line tells a story, every wrinkle is a part of my history, every freckle has been earned.  I guess I figured out who the body snatchers are and they are not prying a dollar out of these beautiful hands!  They are mine and I'm keeping them.

"Grow old along with me!  The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made.
  Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; 
  Trust God:  See all, nor be afraid!'"
  ~Robert Browning

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Confessions of Faith

I have a confession to make.  
I was hesitant about making this confession publicly but here it goes.
I feel good.
I know it's been a while since you've heard anyone reveal something quite as shocking so I will give you a moment to let that sink in.
Now that you've had time to absorb it, you're probably thinking, why would you hesitate to confess something like that?  It's good news, right?

It's been a long time since I've felt good.  It has been a long time, years actually, since I've felt good physically.  I've shared my story with you here about my long battle with chronic pain and the ups and downs that I have experienced.

So, why not jump up and down and shout it from the rooftops?
I'm hesitant for a couple of reasons.
1.  It's kind of hard to believe.  I'm sitting here taking a body inventory and there isn't a single area of my body screaming at me for attention.  Just a week and a half ago I was back at the doctor's office asking for a referral to a pain management doctor and now I'm wondering where that pain went.
I am on the other side of forty, sliding towards fifty, so there are a few body parts that are grumpy and groaning, but I think, at my age, that's to be expected.  Compared to what I've been dealing with for the past several years it feels positively exhilarating.
2.  I hate to admit this, but I'm afraid it won't last.  This is, I fear. at the crux of the matter.  My faith is weak.  
I have become accustomed to pain.  I am not used to living without it.  It's become familiar.  It's what I know.
The reason I'm going out on a limb and confessing this to you today is because I don't want to live with the familiar.  I don't want to live a life without faith.  I don't want to live a life with pain and I don't want to be afraid of feeling good.  
 There is a story in the Bible that speaks to me so vividly.  It is the story of the ten lepers.
  "Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee.  As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us!"   When he saw them, he said, "Go, show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were cleansed.
  One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice.  He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.
  Jesus asked, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?  Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?"  Then he said to him, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."
Luke 17:11-19

All ten men were healed.  Only one returned to give thanks, "praising God in a loud voice."  Did the other nine doubt their healing?  Had they become accustomed to the pain, to being social outcasts?  The Scriptures don't tell us.  But we do know there was one who returned.

Today, I am standing with the one who returned.  I am throwing myself at Jesus' feet and publicly thanking him for the healing that is taking place in my body.  I am thanking Him for another restful night's sleep and another day without pain or pain medication. 

I am excited about tomorrow and filled with wonder at all that God has done and all that he has in store for me and my family. 

He is birthing something new in me and continues to fill my heart with compassion for the broken, the poor, the lonely and the disenfranchised.  I may not know where is is leading, but I pray that I will, be found faithful.

  God is gracious—it is he who makes things right,
      our most compassionate God.
   God takes the side of the helpless;
      when I was at the end of my rope, he saved me.

 I said to myself, "Relax and rest.
      God has showered you with blessings.
      Soul, you've been rescued from death;
      Eye, you've been rescued from tears;
      And you, Foot, were kept from stumbling."

 I'm striding in the presence of God,
      alive in the land of the living!
   I stayed faithful, though bedeviled,
      and despite a ton of bad luck,
   Despite giving up on the human race,
      saying, "They're all liars and cheats."

 What can I give back to God
      for the blessings he's poured out on me?
   I'll lift high the cup of salvation—a toast to God!
      I'll pray in the name of God;
   I'll complete what I promised God I'd do,
      and I'll do it together with his people.
   When they arrive at the gates of death,
      God welcomes those who love him.
   Oh, God, here I am, your servant,
      your faithful servant: set me free for your service!
   I'm ready to offer the thanksgiving sacrifice
      and pray in the name of God.
   I'll complete what I promised God I'd do,
      and I'll do it in company with his people,
   In the place of worship, in God's house,
      in Jerusalem, God's city.
   Hallelujah! 

Psalm 116 (MSG)



Monday, August 23, 2010

Market Monday - Heirloom Finds

My baby started junior high today.  He was looking forward to it until last week when somebody (Sam would not reveal who) told him he that everyone would be way bigger than he was, he would probably get "jumped" the first day and the principal would send him home from school because his hair was too long.  My husband and I couldn't figure out why he had a sudden interest in weight-lifting over the past week.  As it turns out, he was building up his muscles to fend off any would-be attackers.

After much reassurance by his sister, who just survived two years of junior high unscathed and a long talk with dad last night, our boy seemed to be a bit calmer this morning.  He had a smile on his face as he headed out the door and dad said he was happy to see his friends once he arrived at school.  Mom isn't doing so well, feeling a wee bit melancholy about how quickly her boy is growing up.  I'm sure both Sam and I will feel better in a few days!

Fall is a time of new beginnings, as the kids head back to school and the easy-going days of summer give way to the regimented days of fall.  I always have a sense of anticipating the new in September and I attempt to reorganize the house and schedule my time, the kid's calendars and all of the various family activities.

Over the summer months I neglected my little etsy shops, so I'm listing some of my sweet vintage finds and today I'm bringing you Market Monday,  highlighting some of my unique treasures.

I always wanted to learn how to knit or crochet.  When I was a little girl one of my great aunts very patiently attempted to teach me how to knit.  Her attempts were in vain, but I still had visions of chunky knit sweaters and colorful scarves that I would someday create.  Years later, as a married woman, my mother-in-law took on the daunting task of teaching me once again and I patiently sat down with the knitting needles in my hands and began knitting a sweater for my new husband.

Ten years passed and I finally asked my sweet Aunt Hope to finish that sweater (finishing meaning taking it apart and making it all over again.)  I finally admitted to myself that knitting is not my thing.  When a dear friend tried to show me how to crochet just a few years ago, I got that sparkle in my eye once again.  Within a few short hours I realized, that like knitting, crocheting requires patience.  Unless I wanted to devote the next ten years to the project, I figured I better quit while I was ahead.

I admire the patience required and the beauty involved in the art of crocheting and I recently acquired a stash of lovely vintage crocheting threads along with other vintage sewing supplies.   I know the true craftsperson will be delighted with these special finds.  I will be listing more over the next week.

So,  now I've demonstrated my lack of domestic skills in the areas of knitting, crocheting and pie baking!  After last week's pie fiasco, I couldn't resist showing you this beautiful pie plate.  I love the gorgeous fall colors of rust gold, brown and blue.




I may not know how to bake a pie, but my mother bakes the best apple pie, hands down!    I have ordered apple pie in restaurants time and time again when I smell one baking.  I can't resist that tantalizing smell of cinnamon and apple mixed together, but I'm always a bit disappointed.  It's never quite as good as mom's!  She mixes in just the right amount of cinnamon and can roll out one mean pie crust - tender and flaky.

This beautiful pie plate would be the perfect reward for the pie maker in your life!


There is also a lovely matching casserole dish, perfect for a green bean casserole or those sweet potatoes topped with crispy browned marshmallows that everybody loves to eat at Thanksgiving (well, at least I love to eat at Thanksgiving.)

I have a kitchen utensil drawer, jam-packed with so many knives, choppers, sifters, graters, peelers, mashers and more.  It is so full that I can barely close it.  In fact I think my utensils breed at night.  There are things in there that I'm sure I've never used and other things that I don't even know how to use.  Besides that, I have a big basket sitting right beside the oven containing all the spoons and spatulas that I use most often.

For Depression-era cooks, every single kitchen item was treasured.  Nothing was taken for granted.  Everything was used and there was no such thing as waste.  It is hard for us to even conceive of in our high consumption world. 

This pair of 1930's kitchen utensils have survived the years.  Imagine the stories they could tell.  Seventy years of being used in the kitchen while families cooked, laughed, fought, cried, ate, prayed and lived together through lean years and plenty.


I love the apple green paint on wooden handle of this tin crinkle cutter and stainless steel Ace chopper.  They would make a great addition to a country kitchen or a great gift for a collector!

These are a few of things I have waiting for you in my etsy shop.  Remember, I'm posting new items weekly and Christmas is just around the corner!

Friday, August 20, 2010

What I Like Doing Best Is Nothing

"How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh,  after he has wondered for a long time.
"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're gong off to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh, nothing, and then you go and do it."
"O, I see," said Pooh.
"This is a nothing sort of thing that we're doing now."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh again.
"It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

I'm feeling nostalgic.

My two youngest are heading off to junior  high and high school next week.  The years of doing Nothing are behind us, even our summers are filled with doing Something, now.    It seems like yesterday that summers stretched out endlessly with lazy days spent doing...well, Nothing.

I'm not one to get caught up in sentimentality, but Winnie the Pooh was my son's favorite character from the time he was an infant and "The House At Pooh Corner" is, in my mind one of the sweetest pieces of literature ever written.  There is something about summer drawing to a close and school beginning that always reminds me of the tender words between Pooh and Christopher Robin at the end of this heartwarming book.

Christopher has spent his childhood deeply absorbed in the world of Pooh, Tigger, Piglet and his other friends in the Hundred Acre Wood.  Now the time has come for him to leave for school and enter the world of "Kings and Queens and something called Factors, and a place called Europe, and an island in the middle of the sea where no ships came, and how you make a Suction Pump (if you want to), and when Knights were Knighted, and what comes from Brazil."

Pooh Bear begins to feel left out, being a Bear of Very Little Brain, as he realizes that Christopher Robin will eventually leave him behind to enter this strange new world where he does not belong.

Every time I read this, my heart beats a little faster and I feel like shouting, "Don't go, Christopher Robin!  Stay.  Live in the Hundred Acre Wood forever."  But I know that he can't - and he shouldn't.    This is the tug and pull of growing up.

We have already been through this with our oldest child.  We survived and so did she, the growing pains of adolescence.  She is now an  adult and a beautiful young lady.  She is excited about the future looking to get married next year and start her own family.  If our children never left the Hundred Acre Wood, if they stayed with Tigger and Pooh forever, they would never grow to be mature, healthy adults.

Yet, there is something so sweet, so innocent about those days of childhood, that we long for our children to cling to them as long as they can, knowing that they will grow up soon enough.  Those early years of childhood have now passed for my precious three and oh, how I cherished every minute.  I glance back with a smile but look forward with great hope, knowing their future is bright as they place it in the Lord's hands.

The final paragraphs of Pooh and Christopher Robin's story expresses the tug of a child's heart but I think we hear more the heart of the parent/author A.A. Milne, as Christopher's childhood wanes and adolescence begins.

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out "Pooh!"
"Yes?" said Pooh.
"When I'm-when--Pooh!"
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"
"I'm not going to do Nothing any  more."
"Never again?"
"Well, not so much.  They don't let you."
Pooh waited for him to go  on, but he was silent again.
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"said Pooh Helpfully.
"Pooh, when I'm-you know-when I'm not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?"
"Just Me?"
"Yes, Pooh."
"Will you be here too?"
"Yes, Pooh, I will be really. I promise I will be, Pooh."
"That's good," said Pooh.
"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever.  Not even when I'm a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw.
"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I-if I'm not quite--"he stopped and tried again-"Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"
"Understand what?"
"Oh, nothing."  He laughed and jumped to his feet.  "Come on!"
"Where?" said Pooh.
"Anywhere," said Christopher Robin.
So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way,  in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 10

Last night I learned a lesson from a beagle. 


I couldn't sleep and lay in bed for hours before I finally decided to get up and read.  While I was sitting in the chair, our dog Casey came into the room and whimpered to be let out. 


Some time later I called to her to come back in.  Getting no response, I stepped outside and called again.  I called repeatedly and went to the side of the house where I discovered the gate was wide open.  I quickly threw on my shoes, grabbed my keys and headed out to find her, knowing her chances of survival through the night in our neighborhood were slim, with coyotes on the prowl. 


I cruised up and down the streets for over half an hour with visions of my twelve-year-old son's tearful face floating in my mind as I told him that his beloved dog was lost forever.  I finally returned home, discouraged and praying that someone would find her and call the phone number on her tag.  I trudged down the hallway heading to bed, but as I turned to enter our bedroom I heard the familiar tinkling of dog tags.  Turning my head I saw Casey look up at me from the end of Sam's bed where she had been calmly laying all along.  Apparently, I had been absorbed in my reading and hadn't noticed as she slipped back in the door.  I had seen the open gate and assumed the worst.


So, where does the lesson come in?


This little incident with our dog reminded me of the way I treat my relationship with God.  I am so absorbed with myself, with what I'm doing and with the busyness of life.  Finally, I take the time to stop and be with him.  If I don't find him exactly where I expect to see him, I wonder if he's gone.  I begin, in a panic to race around physically or mentally, when all I really need to do is "Be still and know that HE is God" (Ps. 46:10).


And to think, a sofa-scratching, hair-shedding beagle could be used to remind me of this.  Amazing.

Well, here we are at Chapter 10.    (For chapters 1-9 of My Story, The Gift of Pain, click on the link at right.)  When I started chronicling this, a few months ago, I expected this story would take two to three chapters and a couple of weeks to tell, but it has taken me more time and energy than I imagined.  I have had to dig deep into the past and recall times that I would just as soon forget.

"Why bother?"  You may ask.  In the words of the author Brennan Manning, "grace and healing are communicated through the vulnerability of men and women who have been fractured and heartbroken by life.  In Love's service, only wounded soldiers can serve."

I am simply a wounded soldier in the service of the One who first loved me.

This is this chapter where the cure is found, the problems are solved and everyone rides off into the sunset.  This story, however is real life -  my life.  Like I said from the beginning, there isn't a neat ending, in fact, there isn't really an ending.

I completed the pain management program and received so much incredible help and invaluable information.  I have been able to slowly wean myself off of all but the most basic of pain medications and for that I praise God.  That was an experience I do not want to revisit.

The fact remains that I am still dealing with chronic pain and the ongoing effects of my injury.  I have good days and bad days.  But, I'm glad to say, the good days outnumber the bad.  I am debating what steps to take next.  Having tried a myriad of treatments I'm not sure how to proceed and I'm hesitant to let them operate, since this injury was inflicted during surgery, so I'm moving cautiously and weighing my options.

I entitled my story The Gift of Pain.  There have been times, over these past several weeks when the use of this title seemed more like folly or hubris, but as I have come to the end of this story I realize that it is true - the pain that I have suffered has been a gift, and one that I would never wish to return.

These past several years have changed me forever.  My relationship with my husband has grown deeper.  I have developed a compassion for others that I never had before.  I have grown personally, emotionally and spiritually and continue to grow every day as I learn to "define myself radically as one beloved by God."

I conclude my story, for now, with these beautiful words by Brennan Manning in his book Abba's Child.

"there have been times...

when the felt presence of God was more real to me
than the chair I am sitting on;
     when the Word richocheted like broken-backed
lightning in every corner of my soul;
    when a storm of desire carried me to places I had
never visited.
    And there have been other times...
    when I identified with the words of Mae West: "I
used to be Snow White---but I drifted";
    when the Word was as stale as old ice cream and
as bland as tame sausage;
    when the fire in my belly flickered and died;
    when I mistook dried-up enthusiasm for gray-haired
wisdom;
    when I dismissed youthful idealism as mere
naivete;
    when I preferred cheap slivers of glass to the pearl
of great price."


"The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it."
Matthew 13:45,46

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Curdled Cream, Nick Nacks and Lemon Meringue Pie

This post was, by far, the most time-consuming post I have ever composed.  In fact, I am fairly certain that it is the most time-consuming post in the history of the blogosphere.  I meant to post yesterday but I couldn't get it completed in time.  Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.  The lighting was bad.  I didn't follow directions.  The cream for my coffee was curdled.  I could go on, but I will spare you all the ugly details.

I would feel marginally better if this post were about quantum physics or how to solve the HIV/AIDS pandemic but it is about pie.  That's it - pie.  It's really good pie, but it is just pie.  You can decide if it was worth all the effort.

This recipe is from one of my best friends ever.

I have known Lisa since we were both fifteen.  That is more than a few years ago, to put it mildly.

When I first met Lisa, she was like a human energy field.  She was the quintessential beautiful blond California girl.  Guys were drawn to her like moths to a flame.  Girls wanted to be around her because, well, we wanted to be like her.  She was cute and nice and fun and very funny.  Fun and funny were vital to me when I was fifteen.

Plus, Lisa was loud.

That was very important too because I needed somebody that could match my decibel level.  When we entered a room together, you knew we were there.  Lisa and I were generally in the company of our good friends Tam or Laurie or some combination thereof.  We were a force to be reckoned with.

Lisa and I were also really smart.  Let me tell you how smart we were.  Our youth group had a rent-a-kid auction where people in the church could rent some of the youth for the day, to do chores.  The money raised was going toward our upcoming trip.  Dennis, our youth pastor, was reading off the different chores available and mentioned the need for two people for "light housekeeping."  Lisa and I jumped up, eager to grab the easiest task on the list.  "See you later suckas!"  we yelled as we raced out the door. 

We came to a bungalow on a tidy street and met a sweet little lady who escorted us into her spotless home.  We grinned at each other, gloating over our good fortune.  We figured we would be in and out of there in no time and tanning by the pool while everyone else was slaving away painting or hauling trash.  She walked us into her living room and...there it was.  A wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling collection of every kind of figurine, ornament and tchotchke ever created.

Our task for the day was to remove them all, one by one, dust them, dust the shelf and return them to their exact location.  We slaved away for hours, carefully dusting and replacing every little nick nack.  Needless to say,  we were the last ones to arrive at the pool party and Lisa and I developed a terrible phobia of dusting.


A few years after we met, my cousin Steve came to live with us.  He met Lisa and...kapow!  Game over!  He fell head over heels for this California girl.  They've been married for quite some time now and have three gorgeous kids that (thankfully) take after Lisa.  They are good-looking, sweet, smart and funny, just like their mom - okay, just a bit like their dad too. 

Lisa is also a gracious hostess and a great cook.  Whenever we get together for family events we beg her to bring dessert - either her trifle or this amazing, sweet and tart lemon meringue pie, made with lemons from her own backyard.  I asked her to share the recipe and she kindly obliged.  If you aren't blessed with lemons growing in your backyard, you can buy them in your grocery store.  This is, I promise, the best lemon pie you have ever tasted, from one of the sweetest (and smartest) people I know!

"A sweet friendship refreshes the soul."
Proverbs 27:9 (MSG)


Lisa's Lemon Meringue Pie

Filling
8 tbsp corn starch
2 tbsp flour
1 3/4 c sugar
2 c boiling water
4 egg yolks beaten
2 lemon rinds grated
1 tbsp butter
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 c unstrained lemon juice

1. Combine the flour, corn starch and sugar.

2. Whisk in the water and sugar.  I like the word whisk, say it again, "whisk".  I think it's an onomatopoeia. - whisk.  It sounds like what we're doing, we're whisking.  Okay, I'm distracted, move along.

3. Stir until smooth.  Is this an onomatopoeia too?  Smooth.  Another good word.  I'm hung up on the sound of words today.  Smooth.  Say it with me.  Smooooooth.

4. Cook until it thickens.
Okay, I ignored Lisa here.  She said "Don't bother with a double boiler, just do it directly on the stovetop."  But, I know better because I have baked this pie exactly 0 times and Lisa has baked this pie 974 times.  Listen to Lisa and don't use a double boiler.

5. Beat 4 egg yolks.


6. Temper the yolks with the hot mixture so the eggs don't cook.  Temper means put in a little itty bit so you don't get cooked eggs.  Just drizzle a little in.   Stir,  drizzle a little more, stir, drizzle, stir...you get the idea.  Until it's all mixed together.

7. Stir in the lemon rinds, butter, salt and lemon juice.

8. Keep stirring until smooth and thick.  There's that word again.  Smoooth.  That sounds like a 70's word - bow-chicka-bow-wow - smoooth!



"until smooth and thick."  I have no idea exactly how long that will take because, again, I ignored Lisa's advice and used a double boiler, so...it takes somewhere between 5 minutes and 5 hours.  I'm really not sure.   But the picture above shows the color and thickness before and the below picture shows the color and thickness after.



9. Pour into prepared crust.

You are welcome to get all Martha Stewart on me and bake your own crust.  I just bought the freezer crust, popped that baby in the oven and- voila!  Martha would freak!


Meringue



Let me just say here - I just L-O-V-E meringue.  Meringue is divine.  It looks like little angel clouds.

5 egg whites
5 tbsp sugar
1/4 tsp cream of tartar (may substitute 1/4 tsp lemon juice)
pinch of salt


1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees F.

2. Beat egg whites until stiff.  It is best if they are at room temperature.

Beat these little puppies until they have peaks.  Nice light peaks but not dry.

Don't skimp on this part.  You can use an electric mixer or, if you need to relieve some aggression, do it by hand and think about that guy that cut you off in traffic yesterday or the lady in line at Starbucks who couldn't make up her flipping mind and pretend you're beating the every-living daylights out of them.  It's way better than therapy.


3. Add sugar, cream of tartar and salt.  Mix but do not over-beat.  Now it should look nice and glossy.
Whoa!  Okay, back off now.  The beating part is over.  If you still feel like beating something or someone you may need therapy.  That's okay.  We all need it eventually.

4. Cover filled pie while warm but not hot.

5. Bake for 20 minutes at 300 degrees or until top is golden brown.  

Do not, I repeat, do not walk away and go into the office chitty-chatting on Facebook for an hour and a half, uploading pictures and working on your blog until you hear the smoke alarm in your kitchen screeching, only to return to your smoke-filled kitchen where you find a burnt meringue, which you scrape off and replace with another meringue, leaving the pie tasting a little bit charred but edible nonetheless.

That would be stupid.


6. Allow to cool before cutting.
 Dang!  That looks good.

Or, if you are reckless and impatient like me, cut it the minute you are done and let the chips fall where they may!


If you have ever wondered what that expression means, "Let the chips fall where they may", it means, if you cut into your pie before Lisa says you should, you will be eating lemon meringue soup instead of lemon meringue pie.


It was so good, we went back for seconds!


I learned a lot from this post.

1.  I am not becoming a food blogger at any point in the foreseeable future.

2.  I really hate being in the kitchen.

3.  I am impatient and don't follow directions well.

4.  I'm glad I have a husband that cooks.  I wish he liked to bake.

5.  I love homemade pie.

6.  I love people who bake me pie.

If you want a copy of this recipe, without all my inane chatter (it's really good if you follow the directions) click on the link at the right......

Monday, August 16, 2010

A letter to Facebook

Dear Facebook,

I love you.  These are the reasons why

~ It is really nice staying connected to childhood friends and reminiscing now and then.

~ Who doesn't like getting dozens of birthday greetings?

~ If you wasn't for you, I wouldn't be able to keep in touch with my in-laws.  You know I'm a terrible correspondent.  I wouldn't have pictures of my nieces and nephews.  I wouldn't be able to spy on their daily lives or send them quick hellos.

~ Because of you, dear Facebook, my kids can see how cool their grandparents really are.

~ I love you because I can chat with my husband and kids and send them sweet little notes and somehow it means more when it's posted on their wall for the whole wide world to see.

~ I miss my extended family and you help me feel connected to the people I'm related to. 

I love seeing pictures and hearing the details of all the weddings and celebrations.


If you weren't around my in-laws and second cousins and once-removeds wouldn't even know who I am.  It's nice to put faces to names.

~ Facebook, I really love you, because you reconfirmed what I already knew.  My sister really is quite crazy.  She proved this to me when she posted that indecipherable status on her wall sending everyone into a frenzy.


Dear Facebook,

I hate you.  Here are the reasons why

~ You are a mind-numbing waste of time!  You suck me in to your web of 'friend-ing', 'like-ing' 'poke-ing' 'chat-ting' mayhem until I've wasted hours of my life - and for what?

~ I hate you for the days it seems like everybody's life is way more fun than mine.  I'm stuck at home and everyone, I mean everyone has posted a status about their trip to Rome/Bali/Dubai/Africa/Australia/Hong Kong/Paris.   Puhleeze.  It was a struggle for me to get to the hardware store for pantry moth traps and everybody's posting  pictures of  themselves beside one of the Seven Wonders of the World.  It's so not fair.

~ If it wasn't for you Facebook, 505 of my closest friends would never have seen that embarrassing picture of me from my awkward phase.

~ I would never have married my husband if I had known he wanted to be a farmer.  Now he wastes his time on you, Facebook, begging people to help him plant lima beans and tomatoes!
Okay Facebook.  I can forgive you for all of the above things based on this one single video.

It's the video that brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it.  This is a video is of my nephew Caleb.  He is twelve years old and he is autistic.  Until a few weeks ago he hated water.  He couldn't stand to have it splashed in his eyes but this summer he learned to swim all on his own.  I couldn't be there, but when this video was posted on Facebook I watched it over and over and over.  It's really short, but it's oh, so sweet.

I love you Facebook.






I love you Caleb.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 9


To read Chapters 1-8 of My Story - The Gift of Pain, click on the links at right.


This past week I had a friend suffer an incredible loss. I watched her stand firm in her faith, assured that the God that she serves is the same God in her grieving that he was in her joy.

I also reconnected with a very special friend from my past. He is in the advanced stages of incurable cancer. I called him, expecting to comfort him in his sickness and instead was encouraged and comforted by him. He is suffering incredible pain, as the cancer is ravaging his body. But he shared, with joy in his voice, how God has become so very real in his life. He is learning, in a way that I cannot imagine “to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

The pain these precious friends are suffering makes my pain look like a paper cut in comparison. 



Yet, we all have our own crosses to bear – our own journeys of suffering and pain. We can travel through these journeys and allow them to shape us in different ways. We can carry the pain deep within, allowing it to scar our spirits, embitter our minds, halt our growth and block relationships or we can take that pain and use it.

When we share the experiences of our pain with others we have a common ground. We are not ‘better than’. The pain has a purpose. The enemy of our souls doesn’t have the victory, but God gets the glory. So, with that in mind, I continue my story, hoping it will encourage your spirit in some small way.




I was still in a great deal of pain, but the Lord had spoken words of healing to my heart. The doctor had given me a referral to the Chronic Pain Management program.

The referral I received was a godsend. The people I discovered there were compassionate, knowledgeable, and informed. The program was comprehensive and covered every aspect of pain management – food and nutrition, the physiology of pain, managing medications, alternative therapies, physical therapy and a myriad of other topics.

I know that the healthcare system gets a bad rap these days, and deservedly so. I have seen my fair share of the dark side of health care, but I have to say, my experience with our health provider Kaiser has been top-notch, particularly through this incredible program. They were ‘healers’ in every sense of the word, caring and concerned about the mental, emotional, spiritual and physical health of every one of their patients.

We met in a small group setting twice a week for three hours and then one-on-one with therapists and doctors. It was a very comprehensive program. I also began undergoing intense physical therapy.

They made regular adjustments to my pain medications, trying to make the pain manageable and reduce the side effects of these heavy meds. One of the worst side effects I experienced was sensory hallucinations. I woke up in the middle of the night experiencing a variety of sensory experiences. One night I awakened Steve, convinced that the house was burning down as I could smell fire. Another time I had the sensation that all of my teeth had fallen out and I had nothing left in my mouth but gums!

The doctors continued to monitor my condition and make the necessary adjustments and slowly my pain became more manageable.

The small group that I met with weekly was comprised of a group of approximately fourteen people. They varied in age from mid-20’s to mid-70’s. These sweet people had all suffered from chronic pain for a minimum of several years. One gentleman had suffered with terrible pain for the majority of his 60+ years of life. Lupus, slipped discs, botched surgeries, cancer and other causes had brought all of us together in this small room, looking for relief from our pain.


Many of those that came had to be driven there. Some could not sit throughout the sessions but had to stand or lie down on a mat.

I have never been surrounded by such a courageous group of people.

The first week or two things were pretty quiet. Nobody had much to say. Everyone was surrounded by their own cloud of pain. But before long we found that common ground and our sessions were filled with laughter, teasing, and a camaraderie that only the wounded can share.

You can’t begin to imagine the hundreds of ways that pain and the accompanying medications affect your body – physiological, emotional, sexual, spiritual. The incredible doctors and therapists shared with us weekly a vast array of information and knowledge that encouraged us and gave us hope.

Much of the information was very technical and took a lot of time to understand, but some of the most helpful information I received was the simplest. The one thing that I think helped me the most was this.

Breathe.

Duh, right? Okay, I know you're thinking, Karen, you didn't know that before? This is the thing. When you are hurt, or tense or uptight, you stop breathing. Think of a time when you were scared. You tensed up and held your breath, right? When the threat passed, you took a deep breath. Well, people with chronic pain tend to be in a continual state of 'holding their breath' or 'short breathing'. This does not allow proper oxygen flow to the brain and without that oxygen flow healing can't take place.

So obvious and so simple. It was an absolute 'aha!' moment for me.

So, sit up straight in your chair right now. Put your shoulders back. Place your hand on your stomach. Take a deep breath. Push out your diaphragm. Hold that breath and then slooooowly release it. Repeat it several times.

When you feel tense or you are in pain, practice this deep breathing technique. It will NOT make all your troubles go away, but it will aid in healing.

Let the healing begin!


"Watch this: I'm bringing the breath of life to you and you'll come to life. I'll attach sinews to you, put meat on your bones, cover you with skin, and breathe life into you. You'll come alive and you'll realize that I am God!"
Ezekiel 37:5-6 (MSG)

Friday, August 13, 2010

Major Crisis!

We had a crisis in our home this morning.  This was a crisis of major proportions.  Let me show you.


Don't let the label on the canister fool you.  There was no "Happiness" in our house this morning.  That lovely little canister is where the coffee is usually held, and this morning it was empty.  This was a particularly critical morning since I am suffering from a debilitating case of BH.  I'm sure you've all suffered from it before.  Some of you may be suffering from it now. and you have most likely suffered from it this summer - yes.  BH is also known as Beach Hangover. 

My girlfriends and I spent the day at Newport Beach yesterday with the kids and this morning I'm suffering from serious symptoms of BH.

-red skin from those spots where  I missed with the SPF 50.

-bloating from too much sodium (Chex Mix and Cheeseburger Flavored Doritos -really!)

-major sand rash

-sugar crash from the Sprinkles cupcakes on the way home (I know, we should have quit while we were ahead)

-parched, dry skin

-sluggishness from oversleeping this morning 'cause I just couldn't get my body to move

Okay, now I know you're not feeling sorry for me, you're just annoyed.  I'm kind of feeling the same way. It looks like I had a bit too much of a good thing in one day.  I'm not going to apologize for it.  A day filled with friends, kids, sand, sunshine, Doritos, cupcakes and fun does not come along every day and the sweet days of summer are quickly winding down.  So, this post is short.  My next chapter about My Story will have to wait. 

The back of my legs are burnt. 

I can't sit in this chair much longer. 

I'm going to get some aloe - and a cup of coffee.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

I Wanna Be On Soul Train!

What did you want to be when you grew up?  Or, for that matter, what do you want to be when you grow up?

I had a list of things I wanted to do and be. Yesterday, driving in the car with Steve I mentioned the fact that I had never learned to whistle - LOUD!  My mom had a friend who could split your ears when she whistled and I vowed that when I was a grown up, I would whistle just like Elsie.  I can barely get a tweet out.  It's really quite disappointing.

Following, is a list of things I really wanted to do.  I don't know if they were the typical dreams of suburban California girls in the 70's, but they were my dreams.



~ I really wanted to be a race car driver.  My first car was a stick shift.  My dad taught me how to drive it.  He even taught me how to burn rubber, then had the nerve to get mad at me after I peeled out of the church parking lot in front of the whole congregation following church one Sunday morning.

Parents are so inconsistent!

~ I wanted to, no I needed to meet Peter Frampton,

because, I knew, once he got a look at me in my sweet ride...

it would be game over.  He would be happy with nobody else but me.  I was not deterred by the fact that he was four inches shorter than me.  After all, this was the 70's.  He could wear platform shoes!

~ This leads to my next big dream - being the lead singer in a girl band.  I had the hair.  I had the Chemin de Fer bell bottom jeans.  I have no idea why this never happened.

~ Now, don't laugh out loud when you read this one.  When I was in high school I really wanted to be a Soul Train dancer.  Forget American Bandstand.  On Saturday mornings, my friend Tamara and I would race to the television to watch the Soul Train dancers and try to imitate their moves.  Remember, Sharon?  Plus, nobody was cooler than Don Cornelius.  I lived in the Central Valley at the time and we plotted ways we could get to LA for our big chance at Soul Train fame.

For those of you who didn't have the pleasure of growing up with this epic show, here's a short clip.




Now that you have had a taste of this amazing program that shaped my youth, you may be asking these questions.  "Who did she think she was back then - the girl with the big 'fro or the styling lady in pink doing the splits?"

Yes, I'm afraid I was clearly suffering from delusions of funk.

Okay, so it is a little embarrassing that none of my dreams involved solving the world hunger crisis, meeting Mother Theresa or obtaining a PhD, but I'm just keeping it real here.

Clearly I did not achieve these childhood dreams, but I'm okay with that.  I dance around the house, sing loudly and often and have my Stephen instead of Peter.  I have been known to race now and then, but have curbed my inclinations in that area to a great degree.

There is one thing, however that still bugs me.  I want to learn to whistle!  I would love to be at the beach. see my kids half a mile away and just split the air with a noise that sends them running.  I don't know if it's possible to learn, but I'm going to try.  And when I succeed, you will be the first to know!

BTW,
Last night we discovered a new dance show on Hulu called The LXD.  It's filmed in a narrative style with a story line from one episode to the next.  The dancing is off the hook.  The music is great and the production quality is top-notch.  We sat with the kids and watched all nine episodes.  If you love music or dancing I highly recommend it.  It's suitable for all ages. maybe a bit intense for younger kids.  Perhaps it will inspire your dream to dance! 

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

My Friends Are My Estate

Today's post is dedicated to three of the best friends a woman could have.  Kelly, Kathy and Cheryl (plus Madison) thanks for knowing exactly what I needed yesterday and being there for me!

"Friendship isn't a luxury, it's a necessity."
 - Karen Rutledge



To you and all the other dear friends that carry me through each day, may I be half the friend to you, that you are to me!

Here are some of the best quotes I have found, celebrating the gift of friendship - in all of it's beautiful forms - young and old, vintage and new!

"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. 
Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours."
- Ludwig van Beethoven 



"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson  




"My friends are my estate."
 - Emily Dickinson


"Ah, how good it feels...the hand of an old friend."
- Mary Englebright


"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."
- Mother Teresa 


"I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends."
- William Shakespeare 


"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than 
walking alone in the light."
- Helen Keller
  
"Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being."
-Goethe