Merry Christmas!

Family photo from 1994

too busy...

It seems the holiday preparations have made me too busy to write; perhaps you are too busy to read. I hate that feeling, it is a feeling of being out of control. It is about this time each year I decide some of the sewing just won't get done and I wrap up the fabric with a coupon (just this week I sewed a skirt that I gave a coupon and fabric for to my daughter last year). Many years ago a friend shared this quote with me, which I now share with you:

"Let not our hearts be busy inns that have no room for Him."

sneak peek

When I was young I discovered one of my “talents” is the ability to open gifts without damaging the paper/ribbons, etc. This skill came in quite handy during my teenage years when holiday secrets became just too much to handle. I could open a gift for a sneak peek and restore the wrappings to their original condition with no one else the wiser for it. There was one year that I knew what was in every package under the tree. I was very good…

One year I was babysitting while my parents were away for the evening so enlisted my 4-yr. old brother, Jared, in the “fun activity” to pass the time. We talked about how exciting it would be, how to keep it a secret, all those things a criminal stresses to an accomplice. He was in, so I let him choose the first one. We opened only a few, since we expected my parents wouldn’t be gone too long. The gifts were back under the tree looking pristine when my parents got home. I winked and smiled at Jared as a way to remind him not to fold. But he just fell apart. He spilled the beans about the whole thing; my parents could hardly understand him through his sobbing.

Well, the truth was out and oddly, there was no fallout. My parents weren’t upset by what we had done, they figured it was OK with them if I wanted to ruin the surprise for myself… I comforted Jared and asked what had happened. Apparently he couldn’t handle the guilt any more than I could handle the anticipation. I was sorry I’d wounded his tender spirit.

Somehow the experience cured me of the anticipation woes and since then I haven’t had trouble keeping my anticipation in check. I rarely use those skills anymore, unless I forget to take a tag off or include a gift receipt; and then I don’t feel much excitement, I just think to myself, “Oh, bother; I should have used a gift bag.”

silent night

The earliest Christmas I remember was when I was five. We lived in Baltimore where my father was attending school. We lived in a row house on Pimlico Street, near the race track. The bedrooms were upstairs, mine was the one in the middle and had a skylight. How I loved that skylight! It seemed to be a window into the heavens and most nights I counted stars as I drifted into happy dreams. But not on that Christmas eve. I was very sick with an ear infection. Wisps of hair, damp with sweat, curled about my fevered face and if I drifted off to sleep it was only momentarily as pain roused me awake again. I stayed still and quiet so as not to wake the others sleeping in the next rooms. The hours dragged and I wondered if morning would ever come. The skylight was my friend and comfort during those quiet, ‘though not peaceful, hours. I studied the stars more carefully that night and let myself be carried away in my imagination to that “night of nights” when the Baby Jesus was born. Was I looking at His star through my skylight? Which one would it be? Certainly His would stand out; certainly His would be the brightest. It would be special enough for the wise men to notice and know that it was finally time to begin that long-awaited journey of a lifetime. I pondered the glorious multitude of angels whose music was most surely the finest human ears had ever heard. Did I get to hear it; could it be that I was singing with them? I thought of the humble shepherds, bewildered by it all but worthy of that distinct honor of being the first to meet their Savior. Would I be worthy? And then I thought of Mary and Joseph, so carefully chosen for their most important roles. What were they like; was there a special role in His kingdom for me?

Morning came and my fever broke. Although weak, I joined my family to open gifts and managed to eat a little, a rather anticlimactic day to follow the “silent, holy night” I had been privileged to experience. I don’t wish anyone illness during the holiday season, neither would I deny such an experience to you; perhaps there is a way to have one without the other. One silent, sleepless night to enjoy and forever remember the wonder that is our Savior’s birth. He is the reason we celebrate, but more than that, He makes living worth it, giving everything we do purpose and meaning, and making everything we are matter immensely.

part IV

Christmas Eve came. The whole family helped prepare a special supper, not as fancy as their traditional one, but so delicious. They played “name that Christmas tune” while cleaning up the kitchen together. There was barely enough time to read the Christmas story in Luke before phoning Jack. It was SO GOOD to hear his voice. He was happy, they would be baptizing a family of seven tomorrow! His excitement was contagious, “And they are SO golden!” Marcella enjoyed most of all hearing the things each of the children told Jack. They were all so happy to talk to him and share the special things going on in their lives. Jacob told him, “This is the best Christmas ever!” They said their “good-bye”s and “I-love-you”s and then a bit of sadness set in that their visit was over. The twins played some piano duets to cheer things up again and Jacob suggested they drive around to look at the lights, “Let’s go to some
new neighborhoods this year.” They even made a few surprise visits to those they knew would be alone that night. Snow started falling, a thick, fluffy snow that excited Jacob, “Hey, let’s build a huge snowman tomorrow!” At home, each opened the traditional gift of new jammies; no one seemed to care that Marcella hadn’t sewn them herself this year.
Marcella was surprised at what she felt inside. She couldn’t remember a Christmas Eve so, well, peaceful! She couldn’t remember a Christmas Eve that there wasn’t something keeping her busy until the wee hours. She took down the schedule from each door and threw them all away. As she and Jeff crawled into bed she smiled, “It sure was nice to talk with Jack tonight. I miss him so much, but he is doing well, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is, but we always knew he would be a fine missionary, he loves the gospel about as much as you love Christmas. You DO still love Christmas, don’t you?”
Marcy smiled and thought carefully before answering. “Yes, yes I do love Christmas just as much. I think I love it differently, I hope I love it in a better way. Jacob said something tonight, that this was the best Christmas ever. Did you hear that?”
Jeff did hear, and nodded, “Why do you think he said that?”
Tears welled up, “Because it HAS been the best Christmas we’ve ever had. Even though Jack is away and we didn’t even follow the schedule that supposedly guarantees a perfect Christmas, this one has been the best. Do you know why?”
“I think I do, do you?” He hugged her close.
“It has to do with what the angel said to the shepherds about peace and good will. They really do go together, but all these years I had their relationship mixed up. I thought that peace came from good will and that doing good things would bring me the peace of Christmas. I did more and more, I organized it on the schedule, I packed every minute of every day. But I had it all wrong.”
“How so?”
“Peace isn’t just a result, peace is the cause, the cause of true and lasting good will toward men. When I read the visiting teaching message I finally understood it, it was that scripture in John.”
“Which scripture?”
“From John 14 where it says, ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
“And?” he prodded her to continue.
“I finally realized I could never have peace by being organized; the drive to be organized and make things ‘work’ was only troubling my heart. I was trying to do things the world’s way and it was crowding out the only true source of peace, the Savior. I’ve had to change my whole way of thinking. I’ve had to let peace, His peace, enter my heart. Instead of sticking to the schedule, I have let Christ guide me through the season this year.”
Jeff broke in, “He did a very good job; I hope you’ll let Him do it again next year!”
“I think I’ve learned my lesson. But I feel as though I have wasted the past twenty years. I’ve cheated everybody. I’ve even promoted those false notions of a ‘perfect Christmas’ to the sisters in Relief Society!”
Jeff laughed, “Don’t forget what happened at the ward party! They’re catching on, just like you did, and you helped them do it! Next summer you can teach a mini-class called ‘Having Peace During the Holidays’ or ‘A Christ-centered Christmas’, you’ll be a big hit, especially among the husbands; I know for a fact it has made a big difference to them this year.” Jeff got serious, “Our Christmases have always been ‘perfect’ but this year has been truly wonderful, peaceful! I love you!”
Marcy melted, “I love you, too. This really has been the best Christmas ever. And we have one glorious day left to enjoy. Tomorrow after we open gifts and build our snowman, let’s all go sledding on Bird Hill!”

part III

Sunday morning at PEC meeting Jeff learned that what Marcy had was part of an epidemic, seemingly spread by the visiting teachers. Fully half the sisters in the ward were infected. The bishop was quite concerned when he heard that Sister Simmons had it, “What about her schedule? Do we need to rally the Relief Society sisters?”
“I think the best thing is to just let it run its course.” Jeff had been a medic in the army and spoke with authority if not so much expertise.
“I agree,” piped up Sam. “My wife has it, too, and, well, uh,” he hesitated and glanced at Jeff before continuing, “it’s really not half bad.”
The bishop couldn’t see any sense in that; the sisters were dropping like flies. He was considering banning visiting teaching for the rest of the month. He tried to get to the bottom of things, “What exactly are the symptoms?”
Jeff paused before answering, trying to think of exactly the right words. Sam piped up again, “My Ellie is calm.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jeff nodded, “calm… and happy!”
“Those are the symptoms?”
“Among others, but like I say, it’s really not BAD.”
Ed leaned over to the bishop and asked, “Would it be inappropriate for me to schedule an appointment for the visiting teachers to come see my wife?”
The bishop answered, “I think I’ll do that, too.” He made an announcement in sacrament meeting that day stressing the importance of visiting teaching, encouraging the sisters to get out early this month.
The ward party was different than any they’d ever had before. It was quit apparent which sisters had been visit-taught already, they were the calm, happy ones. Several of them were on the food committee which decided to go with a standard, no-stress pot-luck. The decorations committee was split. The “calm and happy” ones wanted to go the simple route, the others were pushing for bigger and better than the ward had ever seen before. Things were beginning to get heated when Ellie threw her arms around Sue and said, “I love you SO much, I want you to be happy. We can do it your way if it is really important to you, I don’t mind one bit!” That took Sue aback. Stunned she quickly calmed, then responded, “No… I think we should try your way this year.” And so the plain white table cloths were adorned with a simple sprig of pine and one shiny red Christmas ball. Even some of the men appreciated the result (especially Sue’s husband who was head of the clean-up committee).

part II

Marcy took it easy the next few days. She began each day listening to Christmas music while enjoying a hot bath. Some days she didn’t dress until noon, others she stayed in her robe all day. Tuesday she was in her robe taking some trash out when Marge from across the street ran over to her. “I heard you were sick, you don’t worry a bit about the neighbors, I already explained to them we won’t be getting our fruitcake this year; Edie even has last year’s still in the freezer. You just take care of yourself; we’d hate to lose the best neighbor we’ve ever had!” That was easy, Marcella thought to herself.
The few days stretched into many. She spent a lot of time reading. She began reading Jesus the Christ. She had read it in college and thought to herself then that she should read it every December. That was before the schedule. She puttered a little and put out a few decorations, just the really special ones. She cooked the kids’ favorite meals and made after-school treats. “Yes, they’re for you!” she happily declared, their faces so hopeful. One morning she spent at the temple; one afternoon she spent at the piano, playing every carol in every book of Christmas music she owned. That wasn’t on the schedule anywhere, but it brought back such memories of happy times, all long ago. One day she phoned old friends and neighbors, some she hadn’t heard from in years.
One afternoon ten-year-old Jacob invited her to go sledding down Bird Hill. He thought sure she would say no, Bird Hill was steep and high, his mother had quit sledding on it when she broke her leg there as a teenager. But she agreed and they had a marvelous time. They built a fire when they got home and had just toast and hot chocolate for supper. Jeff and the girls didn’t complain, it was such a treat to see Marcy so happy.
One evening Marianne, her fourteen-year-old, glanced at the schedule to see that Marcella was supposed to be wrapping gifts. Since she wasn’t, Marianne asked her if she’d like to hear the poem she wrote for school. It was a beautiful poem about the fire at girls’ camp. Marcella had no idea Marianne was so talented and creative. Marianne shared other things she’d written and Marcella shared some of her own writings from her high school days. They laughed, and cried, and hugged a lot.
Day after day her sewing machine lay idle; she never gave the schedule a second thought, it was as if she really didn’t care about it at all.

The Christmas Epidemic

Dear readers, I enjoyed a nice vacation over Thanksgiving and now, along with all of you, am in the throes of Christmas preparations with sewing to do, candies to make and lots of errands. For the next few days I will share a story with you in the hopes it will help you slow down enough to have a happy season!

Part I (of IV)

Marcella first noticed something different when she didn’t feel her usual thrill at the first sight of Christmas decorations at the mall. Not only was she missing her usual thrill, but she felt annoyed. For her, that feeling had never been associated with Christmas, which surprised her. She dismissed it as a natural result of the mall breaking the unwritten rule of holiday décor that prohibited the display of decorations for holidays still two celebrations away. It was the middle of October.
Marcella had Christmas all figured out, she was the quintessential expert. She had it so figured out that she had earned such nicknames as “The Queen of Christmas” and “Holiday Guru”. It wasn’t just that she loved Christmas more than anyone else, it was that she had it down to a science. She knew exactly what to do when, each day of December, to make the celebration perfect. And it had been perfect the last twenty years. Her detailed (and quite lengthy) schedule fit in everything anyone could possibly want in a Christmas season, from caroling to gingerbread houses, fruitcake to hand-made gifts. Her schedule reflected the best streets in which neighborhoods to see the Christmas decorations. She knew which sales would be when and the regular Salvation Army bell-ringers knew her by name.
By Thanksgiving Marcella was usually well-doused in Christmas spirit, but not a drop had landed on her this year. She dismissed it as missing her oldest, Jack, who was serving a mission in Panama. It was his first holiday season away. She reassured herself, “I’ll be all right with that first snowfall and carol on the radio.” Snow came, it was depressing. “What kind of name is Wenceslas, anyway?” she caught herself muttering to the radio.
She posted her laminated copies of the schedule on the back of every door in the house; she found it helpful for the family to know what she was up to (they found it helpful to know when to stay clear of her). “I must be coming down with something,” she thought to herself as she struggled for energy for the morning’s errands. Visiting teaching was that afternoon, hers were coming at one, she’d meet her partner and visit their four sisters after that. She glanced at the message, “Finding Peace Through Christ”. Peace, she thought, as she grabbed the keys and dropped for quarters in her pocket for the bell-ringer outside of Wal-mart. But as she walked toward the entrance, the sound of that blasted bell, which always before had been music to her ears, made something snap within her. She froze for a moment as sheer dread welled up inside and overcame her. Then she heard herself say out loud, “I can’t do it.” She went home to bed. She didn’t sleep, but thought, a lot, about a lot of things. She read the visiting teaching message again. She studied the scriptures, she read the rest of the Ensign.
Her husband, Jeff, came home for lunch expecting the smell of gingerbread. He glanced at the schedule, yes, he should be smelling gingerbread. He found Marcella in bed and ran a hot bath for her, then ventured to ask the question troubling his mind, “Marcy, honey, what about your schedule?”
“I just can’t do it,” she explained matter-of-factly. “I can’t explain it, I just can’t do it.”
“That’s OK,” he reassured her.
Visiting teachers found her in her robe. It was very uncharacteristic of Marcella to be sick, especially during the holidays. Their first question was, “What about your schedule?” The whole ward knew about it, half of them used her version of it or one similar. She had taught a mini-class on it at July enrichment meeting every other year for the past ten years. She called it “Countdown to a Perfect Christmas”. Marcella explained to the visiting teachers what happened, as best as she understood it herself. They volunteered to do her visiting teaching for her that afternoon. Word of Marcella’s “condition” spread quickly, by evening half the ward knew that Marcella Simmons was sick, with something… Several others were beginning to feel symptoms, too.
The three girls and Jacob were surprised to find their mother in her robe when they got home from school. They were surprised nothing was ready for the “scheduled” Family Home Evening activity of making gingerbread houses. No one said anything about it. Instead, after supper Marcella shared with the family the visiting teaching message on peace and they gathered around the piano to sing carols, even though it wasn’t scheduled until the following week. She’ll snap out of it soon, they all thought.

Give Thanks

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when
our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” Thornton Wilder


100 Things I’m Thankful For:

Agency, Atonement, Ancestors, Anticipation,
Babies, Books, Baths, Beaches,
Children, Colors, Chapstick, Celebrations, Christ,
Dawn, Dreams, Dancing, Democracy,
Emotions, Energy, Enthusiasm, Electricity,
Faith, Family, Friends, Feelings, Flowers, Food
Gardens, Grass, Goodness, Grace, God,
Hands, Home, Health,
Inspiration, Insights, Ideas,
Joy, Justice, Journeys,
Kindness, Kisses, Keepsakes,
Love, Laughter, Learning, Light, Libraries, Language,
Music, Memories, Mercy,
Nature, Naps, our Nation,
Order, Opportunities, Options,
Possibilities, Posterity, Prayer, Passion,
Quiet, Quality, Questions,
Rain, Romance, Relatives, Repentance,
Senses, Sunshine, Seasons, Smiles, Sunsets, Scripture,
Time, Talents, Truth, Tools, Tomorrows, Teachers, Trees.
Understanding, Uniqueness, Unity,
Vision, Virtue, Values, Voice,
Walks, Words, Wisdom,
X-citement, X-pression, X-periences,
Youth, Yearnings, Yesteryears
Zeal.

"...just the way you are."

My earliest memories include watching Romper Room and later Captain Kangaroo each morning; I still love to sing one of the songs from his show, “Playmate, Come out and Play with Me”. I was so sad when he finally went off the air, he was a dear friend. I had never been much of a fan of Mr. Rogers; his show seemed a little too calm, even sugary sweet for my tastes (although I DID appreciate his proper use of the English language). So when I had children of my own, we were drawn to the more lively Sesame Street which became a regular part of our daily routine. Occasionally, if we happened to catch him, we would also watch Mr. Rogers, but really it was only because it was on, and we were there.

One day the children were off playing in another room and I sat down to fold laundry just as Mr. Rogers sang his closing number. Then he looked right at me and said, “I like you just the way you are.” I had heard him say it a hundred times before, but that day I knew he was talking to me, and it was exactly what I needed to hear. I don’t think anyone had ever said that to me before, but it spoke volumes to me and I finally understood why it is such a precious thing for children to hear, for all of us to hear. He was telling me that my identity is not just a list of my weaknesses, my mistakes, my daily challenges and the way I get frustrated; or that only as I overcome these things “someday” will I be acceptable. He was telling me that I am important, good, worthy, worthwhile, valuable, accepted and even loved, now. Not because he doesn’t know all of those things about me, not even in spite of all of those things. He saw each one of us as a whole package, a whole wonderful package at this very moment in time. That was his magic; not catchy songs or cute characters. It was his Christ-like eyes, through which he saw this world, everyone and everything in it as truly marvelous. Oh that we all could be more that way…

Thank-you, dear friend.

feasting favorites

I hope you are getting excited about your Thanksgiving feast and sharing that special time with family and friends. Here are a few of my favorite recipes if you need something to make that meal “perfect”!

CRANBERRY SALAD
2 Cups ground, raw cranberries
1 orange, ground (peel included)
2 Cups sugar
2 small packages lemon Jell-O
1 C water, 3 Cups water
1 Cup diced celery
1 Cup chopped walnuts
Cut the orange in pieces and grind along with the cranberries in the blender with 1 cup of water. Combine with sugar in a bowl and let sit while making Jell-O according to package directions (using 2 cups of boiling water to dissolve, then one cup of cold water). Refrigerate until Jell-O has thickened, but is not set. Stir in orange/cranberry mixture, the celery and nuts. Refrigerate until completely set. Serve on individual salad plates on a lettuce leaf.



CANDIED SWEET POTATOES WITH PECAN TOPPING
SWEET POTATOES:
3 cups mashed sweet potatoes
1 C sugar
1/2 tsp salt
2 beaten eggs
1/4 C butter
1/4 C milk
1 tsp vanilla
*Mix all ingredients together and pour into baking dish.
TOPPING:
1 C brown sugar
1 C chopped pecans
1/2 C butter, melted
1/2 C flour
*Mix and spread over sweet potatoes.
Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Let sit 5 minutes before serving. Cover leftovers when re-heating.

CORNBREAD
1 1/4 Cup flour
1 Cup milk
3/4 Cup cornmeal
1/4 Cup oil
1/3 Cup sugar
2 eggs
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
*Mix the dry ingredients together. Mix the liquid ingredients together then add to the dry ingredients mixing until just blended. Bake in greased 9x9 pan or 12 muffin tins at 400 degrees until golden. Serve hot.


POTATO ROLLS
Put in a mixing bowl:
1 Cup warm milk
5 tsp. yeast
*Let stand 5 minutes, then add:
½ Cup melted butter
½ Cup sugar
1 Cup warm mashed potatoes
1 ½ tsp. salt
½ Cup flour
2 eggs
*Beat thoroughly, then cover and let rise until light. Add about 4 more cups of flour, mixing well. Knead a minute or two. Put into an oiled bowl, cover with a damp cloth and let rise until doubled. Form into rolls, let rise, then bake at 425 until golden. *NOTE: this dough makes great cinnamon rolls and fabulous donuts. It keeps (covered in plastic) in the refrigerator well, so you can use part of the dough for dinner rolls and have some leftover for yummy donuts in the morning! (hint: it is easier to cut out donuts if the dough has been chilled).

An invitation...

You are cordially invited to a Very Special Christmas Season. I invite you to share these ideas with your family and friends, then individually or as a family choose one of the options and then watch the magic of Christ bless your holidays!


Random acts of Kindness
Each morning in December, prayerfully offer yourself to the Savior as His servant for the day. During the day watch for opportunities, and listen for His promptings, of things you can do to brighten another’s day and help them feel the love of the Savior.

Love is a Verb
Prayerfully select someone toward whom you have difficulty showing Christ-like love. Each day in December, ask for the Lord’s help and guidance in making your thoughts, words, and deeds toward that person like those of the Savior.

Stand as a Witness
Each morning in December, pray for a missionary experience that day. Be sensitive to the Spirit and be prepared when it guides you to share a message of the Savior.

Learn of Me
Prayerfully choose a book about the Savior to read during December. Read 10 minutes each day (in addition to your scriptures).

Give a Gift from the Heart
Prayerfully consider the many gifts and talents the Lord has given especially to you, especially to bless the lives of those around you. Use one or more of those gifts to prepare and give a Christmas gift that is uniquely you. Be creative and let the Spirit help you know what the “perfect” gift is.

Give a Gift to the Savior
Christmas gifts celebrate the greatest gift of all, The Savior. One of the greatest things you can give Him in return is your obedience. Choose a commandment that is difficult for you at this time. Each day in December, prayerfully ask for the Lord’s help to strengthen you in living that commandment more fully and acceptable to the Lord.

waste some time today

"Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted" John Lennon

little miracles

My grandchildren were visiting yesterday when we heard a thunk! I recognized the sound as that of a bird flying into our picture window. It happens occasionally; they see the sky reflected in the glass and don’t realize until it is too late. Sometimes it kills the bird instantly, sometimes it just stuns it momentarily. So, fearing the worst, I rushed out to find a sparrow with blood dripping from his beak, alive, yet on his last leg. I took him inside for the children to see. They were so sad for the bird, each wanted a turn to hold him and offer sweet words of comfort; it was all very touching. I said a silent prayer that this wouldn’t be a traumatic experience for them. The bird didn’t die in their hands, but fearing their jostling was making his anxiety worse, I made a little bed for him in a small box and set it on the table where the children could keep an eye on him, speak sweetly to him, but not touch. Twenty minutes later he jumped to his feet! We were delighted and after another 10 minutes I carefully lifted him to the window sill outside. He stayed there another 10 minutes or so, then flew to a nearby rose bush, then farther to the lilac. He would be all right. I was SO relieved, and grateful that my silent prayer was answered with this little miracle. Then 4-yr. old Dallin, so thrilled with the wonder of it all, said, “I hope another little bird bashes into the window!”

"... far above rubies..."

This little verse was published in the fall 2008 issue of “Legacy”, the Daughters of Utah Pioneers newsletter. I thought it worth sharing…

A woman has strengths that amaze,
She can handle trouble; carry heavy burdens.
She holds happiness, love, opinions.
She smiles when she feels like screaming.
She sings when she feels like crying.
Cries when she’s happy, laughs when she’s afraid.
Her love is unconditional.
There is only one thing wrong with her---
She forgets what she is worth.

ballot blues

Today is election day. I hope you have/will vote in this very important election. We are suffering much anxiety along with our excitement this time around; having been involved in the whole process more than ever before. We attended the caucus meetings, served as delegates, walked a precinct to encourage voter registration, and it is daughter Hannah’s first election. She is excited about this opportunity to vote and has been studying the issues and candidates on her own (I’ve tried not to influence her). Last Halloween she dressed as the scariest thing she could think of, Hillary Clinton; this year she took a lighter side and dressed as “Joe the Plumber”. We have enjoyed the Saturday Night Live sketches and political cartoons in the paper, but remind ourselves that this really is serious stuff, our nation hangs in the balance.

bee friend

I watched the grandchildren a couple of days last week. When I opened their living room drapes first thing one morning I found a dead bee on the window sill. I thought Dallin (4 years old) might like to see it. He was SO thrilled, apparently he had been wishing for a new friend and he knew that this bee was it. He put it in a treasure box and carried it with him wherever he went. He checked on it periodically, giving me status reports. When I came back the next day he asked me to help him find another one (so the first one wouldn’t be lonely). We spent the morning checking all the window sills in the house, then we went outside to check spider webs and leaf piles. We found a few dead moths, but he thinks they are too “creepy”, a dead beetle and two live beetles. He kept the dead one and one of the live ones for his “collection”. I remembered when I was a little girl and found a cockroach trapped in an empty soda bottle. I was SO thrilled to have a pet! It is easy to forget (or take for granted), as we get older and busier, the beauties of this marvelous world, great and small. The fall leaves in their gorgeous colors are just too beautiful not to notice and appreciate (Dallin has a leaf collection, too). Take time today to see this world with child-like eyes and be delighted with the wonder of it all!

what God permits

“Do not suppose that God willfully causes that, which for His own purposes, he permits. When you know the plan and purpose of it all, even these things will manifest a loving Father in Heaven.” Boyd K. Packer from “The Play and the Plan”

pumpkin pie cake

Pumpkin Pie Cake

Crust:
1 package yellow cake mix (less one cup) 1 stick butter (softened)
1 egg
Mix well and spread in greased 9x13 pan.

Filling:
1 large can pumpkin (enough for 2 pies)
1/2 C brown sugar
1/4 C sugar
3 eggs
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/3 C milk
Mix well and pour over crust.

Topping:
1 C. cake mix
1/4 C butter, softened
1/2 C sugar
1/2 C chopped nuts
Mix and sprinkle over filling.
Bake at 350 degrees for 50 min. or until knife comes out clean. Serve warm or cold with whipped cream.

pumpkin rolls

1 C warm water
1 pkg dry yeast
¾ C sugar
5 Tbsp. oil
1 C cooked pumpkin
1 egg
2 tsp. salt
½ C instant dry milk
5 C flour (about)

In a mixing bowl combine water, sugar and yeast. Let stand 5 minutes. Then add the rest of the ingredients and mix together well. Knead 10 minutes. Put into greased bowl, cover and let rise until doubled. Punch down and form into desired rolls. Arrange in greased pans. Let rise until doubled. Bake at 400 degrees for 15-20 minutes. Makes 3-4 dozen rolls.

pumpkin bread

preheat oven to 350

Mix together well:
1 1/3 C vegetable oil
5 eggs
1 16oz can of pumpkin

Sift together:
2 C flour
2 C sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp baking soda

Add to the pumpkin mixture and mix until blended.

Then add:
2 3oz pkgs. Vanilla pudding, regular or instant
1 C chopped nuts

Pour into 2 greased large loaf pans. Bake 1 hour (or until toothpick comes out clean). From the Lion House Christmas cookbook

pumpkin muffins

Stir together, then set aside:

1 3/4 C self-rising flour
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp ground cloves

Mix together:
1 egg, beaten
1/3 C buttermilk
2/3 C packed light brown sugar
2 T. melted butter

Stir in 1/2 C canned pumpkin.

Add the liquid mixture to the dry ingredients, mixing only enough to moisten. Pour into greased muffin tins and bake at 350 20-25 min.

pumpkin patch

pumpkin patch

It is that time of year for harvesting and enjoying that great vegetable, the pumpkin. It is very versatile and for the next few days I will share some recipes with you. It is very convenient to use canned pumpkin in recipes, but it can be a fun family project to start with a real pumpkin and turn it into something delicious. To prepare a pumpkin for recipes I cut it in half horizontally, clean out the seeds and stringy part, then place the cut side down on a greased cookie sheet and bake it in a 350 degree oven for an hour or so until it is tender. Let it cool then scoop out the inside portions and puree. Spoon the pureed pumpkin into sealable containers in 2 cup portions and freeze until needed. (the puree can be very juicy, so you may need to drain off some of the liquid).

Pumpkin pancakes

2 eggs, separated
1 ¼ C buttermilk
4 Tbsp melted butter
3 Tbsp canned pumpkin
¼ C sugar
¼ tsp salt
1 ¼ C flour
½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
¼ tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp allspice

Mix dry ingredients together, then add the buttermilk, butter, pumpkin, and egg yolks and mix well (add more buttermilk for desired consistency). Beat the egg whites until stiff and fold into the batter. Cook on a hot griddle and serve with butter and syrup.

an omen

I am not a superstitious person, although I do check my horoscope most mornings (just for a good laugh). But occasionally things happen that make me just want to read something into it. I remember driving to our new apartment many years ago to sign the lease, and seeing a huge rainbow breaking out over our road ahead. Surely, we thought, we have chosen the right place to live and we would be happy in our new home.

Then there are things so out of the ordinary as to give one pause to wonder, is this the twilight zone?!? One such thing happened recently while my mother and I were looking after my sister’s children. We knew that our last two days there would be our most challenging since it was the weekend and the children would be out of school. We woke that morning with heightened anxiety of what was in store for us. I suggested we start the day with fried eggs (a nice breakfast would give us a good energy boost). I cracked the first egg into the hot frying pan and was surprised it was a double yolk! I cracked the second egg and it, too, was a double yolk! Yes, we decided, this was an omen, the heavens were smiling on us and we were in for two very nice days with the children (after all, two yolks, two days, right?). I hard-boiled 5 more eggs for us to have in sandwiches at lunch and do you believe that when I opened each of those eggs, they were all with double yolks! We were totally amazed, what are the odds? I checked the carton to see if they were marketed as double yolks, but it wasn’t anywhere on the package. We were very sure it was an omen, then. And our two last days WERE very nice with the children.

I tried not to think about the possibility that the eggs came from chickens that had been fed some kind of hormones that in five years will be found to be dangerous to humans…

to be a child again...

This morning we are getting the new carpet in our basement, the next-to-the-next-to-the-last step in getting life back to normal. So late last night my children realized that it would be their last chance to re-live a childhood memory, sliding down the stairs on a sleeping bag. Yes, it was a favorite pastime many years ago until they got too big/rough, and we realized it was taking a terrible toll on the carpet, reluctantly banning the activity (the children admitted that for a while they still did it when we were away). But now, with the carpet being replaced anyway, they could do it freely. They are older now, 14 and 18, and what before was a spontaneous activity now became a scientific project. They gathered all the sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets they could find (even braving the spiders in the shed) to set up the proper conditions for the superior sliding experience. They consulted with one another, made trial runs, adjusted and re-adjusted the “equipment” until things were declared perfect. A few runs of bliss and it was all over, time to put everything away. I don’t think it was quite as fun as it used to be. Part of it may be that they are taller now so the ride is much shorter. Perhaps part of it is the fact that it wasn’t a forbidden activity done behind our backs. I do hope it made a good memory for them, or at least that it brought to mind the fond memories of a fun childhood. We all need that!

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to my treasure, my wonderfully awesome daughter, Hannah, who is 18 today!

magic

Many years ago, when Isaac was about 4 years old, we visited my brother, Kirby. As well as being the quintessential teller of tall tales, Kirby is somewhat of a magician, specializing in card tricks. Naturally, my children, fascinated by his skills, gathered around to see his latest trick which used two decks of cards, a magic deck and an imaginary deck. The trick was that, as a member of the audience did something to the imaginary deck, the exact same thing would happen to the magic deck. Kirby demonstrated several times until the children were appropriately and totally amazed! Kirby was delighted with their reverence and awe and as a gesture of good will gave the magic deck to one of the older children (later teaching him how to do the trick himself) and gave the imaginary deck to Isaac. Isaac was beside himself with excitement and slipped it into the pocket of his shorts for safe keeping. It was promptly forgotten, or so I thought.

A few months later and back at home, I was folding laundry one day and Isaac came looking for a pair of shorts, putting on the very pair he was wearing that day at Kirby’s. He stuck his hands in the pockets, then a look of shock and dismay came over his face. I watched, puzzled, as he pulled out his hand, stared at the open, “empty” palm and said, “Oh no! I still have Uncle Kirby’s invisible cards!” My delight at his “discovery” had to be kept in check for the moment as we discussed the what-to-do of the situation. Not only had we kept them longer than was polite, they had been through the wash, probably more than once! We examined them carefully, but, having quite limited experience with “invisible” things, we couldn’t really tell if there had been any damage, or how severe it was (for all we knew, they were rendered impotent). We decided the appropriate thing to do would be to send them back to Uncle Kirby. We composed the perfect letter of apology, explaining the whole situation and expressing our profound feelings of regret that we may have ruined them. We enclosed it in an envelope with the cards and mailed it off that very day.

Weren’t we relieved to find out that the cards weren’t ruined at all, and Uncle Kirby was so great about it he just laughed and laughed… and laughed.

we need...

"Women of God can never be like women of the world. The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith. We have enough greed; we need more goodness. We have enough vanity; we need more virtue. We have enough popularity; we need more purity."- Margaret D. Nadauld, "The Joy of Womanhood," Ensign, Nov. 2000, 14

The Fork Incident

When I was twelve my mother remarried and three children became six with the addition of two step-brothers and a step-sister. They lived with their mother during the school year but came to stay with us during the summers and some holidays. During one visit, when my step-brother, Mike, and I were both 13, something happened that came to be known as “The Fork Incident”. This happened 45 years ago, but deserves the re-telling of my first-hand version, for over the years the incident has gained the status of folklore and the truth of it all has been lost to the effects of time…

One night for dinner my mother served pork chops, a very rare treat, indeed. Somehow as we all consumed the last bites of our share of this delicacy, we simultaneously noticed that there was one last, extra chop on the platter. It never occurred to most of us that there was the slightest possibility we would get some of it, but Mike, not one to ever be left out of a good thing, poised his fork, ready for a chance to go for it. His dad saw the greediness in his eyes and readied his own fork to go for it. There was a brief moment of stand-off with their eyes, the rest of us watching, wide-eyed with anticipation, we’d never seen an actual “duel to the death” before. Then, in an instant, forks flew, Mike stabbing the chop and Dad stabbing Mike’s hand!

This is where things get fuzzy; some story-tellers say that the fork didn’t even break the skin, others insist that Mike bled profusely. As I recall, of course I could be wrong, the fork punctured the skin and a few drops of blood came to the surface and oozed out. There are no scars, physically anyway, on Mike and no one seems to remember what happened to the chop; I daresay no one wanted it after that…

So if you hear a story of “The Fork Incident”, and there are many (even the half-brother and sisters born after the fact have their own versions), take it with a grain of salt. Kirby, the family’s quintessential teller of tall tales, has embellished his version so much over the years that no one can top his story in which Mike dies…

love that math!

I’m reading a fascinating book about math! It may seem strange to some of you that the words “math” and “fascinating” are used in the same sentence. But it is such a great book that I am recommending it to you.

A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO CONSTRUCTING THE UNIVERSE
The Mathematical Archetypes of Nature, Art, and Science
a voyage from 1 to 10
by Michael S. Schneider

I get many of my books at thrift stores but also like this great site:
AbeBooks.com Check it out!

it will all work out

“It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don’t worry.
I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us… If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him,
if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers.”

Gordon B. Hinckley, Ensign, Oct. 2000 p.73

name-in-lace

for Maggie in the UK

silverware drawer

When my fourth baby was born, my mother and little sister came for a visit. I was totally overwhelmed with the responsibilities of my growing little family and was grateful for their help, although I was a very diligent homemaker and had managed to keep on top of everything. Everything that is, except the silverware drawer. It had been a wreck for months, I felt glad I could even keep the dishes clean. My teenage sister took it upon herself to organize my silverware drawer for me, sorting the utensils into their proper places. It was beautiful. It stayed that way while she was there to help, but within two days after she left, it was back to chaos in there. A year or so later I managed to get on top of things enough to keep that place in order, too.

I’ve thought of that drawer many times over the years. It was a symbol of the threshold of my capabilities, the limit of what I could cope with. At the time I felt bad about my inability to keep it in order. But I’ve come to think of it as a symbol of my priorities. It was OK for me to let the silverware drawer go, for it meant I was on top of something else, lots of things actually, far more important. We read the scriptures together as a family every morning, I sewed clothes, cut hair, washed dishes, changed diapers, folded laundry, bathed bodies, brushed teeth, made bread, sang songs, read stories, nurtured and taught precious little spirits, prepared fabulous meals every day and kept our home clean and orderly, a place where the Spirit was comfortable. I worked hard! Yes, I like order, who doesn’t? But when it is more than we can comfortably handle, when it interferes instead of contributes, it really is OK to just “let it go” for a time.

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to our granddaughter, Avey Elaine, who is one year old today!

the wish of my heart

Our family has been asked to provide a special musical number for church services this morning. We have chosen to sing a double quartet of a familiar number based on these words of the prophet, Alma, “Oh that I were an angel, and could have the wish of my heart…” Our rehearsing has caused me to ponder, can angels have the wish of their hearts? What is the wish of my heart? Alma’s wish was to go forth and speak with the trump of God, a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people! His desire was that all men would hear and understand the great plan of redemption, repent, and come unto God; that there would be no more sorrow upon all the face of the earth. Alma then realizes the boldness of his wish and thinks of it as sinful, for “I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me.” Oh Alma, if you only knew then how your words would touch millions! Your wish has been granted a thousand fold.

As for me, my simple wish this morning is that we do justice to his words.

snow day

The spring Isaac turned 10 he got a new bike. He was very excited to ride it to school on Friday. But Thursday night we had one of our famous late spring snow storms. Aaron shoveled our walks and driveway before early-morning seminary, but the rest of the neighborhood was covered in 6”. Isaac was devastated when we told him he couldn’t ride his bike to school that morning. We became the enemy and had to endure the rantings of a very frustrated and disappointed 10-year-old that escalated as departure time drew nearer. Then I offered a suggestion: we could let him ride to the corner and if HE felt like he could get all the way to school without too much trouble, he could go on; but if the going was too rough, he could come home for a ride in the car. That was agreeable to all parties and he took off. I watched from the window as he went along fine until he hit the neighbor’s walk and immediately went down. He picked himself up, turned around and rode home. He came into the house and calmly announced, “I’d better ride in the car.” He realized that we weren’t the enemy, it was just the reality of the situation that gave him no other choice. I told him how sorry I was and that I understood his disappointment. I did not give him an “I told you so” or “See why I’m the Mom” or “You should have listened to me.” (Sparing him some of my own importance?!?) Consequently there was no resentment on his part, and, having come to the decision on his own, no feeling of, “I wanted to ride my bike but my mean parents wouldn’t let me.”

Although we often know more than our children, sometimes it is important to let them come to their own understanding about things. Then our role as parents becomes to be patient and compassionate, especially when “understanding” the truth about things is painful…

Jesse's adventure

Dear Friends,
I am back in my home, well, half of it. My computer is the only thing in the basement, just because we can't live without it. It will be a while before life is normal again. My son, Jesse, sent me an e-mail about this wild adventure, and I thought you would enjoy it, too...

You know it's been an exciting day when you can compare it to an episode of The Office. Here it goes: I was sitting up on the 2^nd floor of the Community building showing a resident more art techniques (actually the same techniques), and he saw what he thought was a bird over by the stairs. I looked and, with my vast knowledge of the animal kingdom, realized that it was not a bird. Upon closer inspection, I instantly realized that the erratic flight patterns were that of a bat (in the order Chiroptera).

We immediately coerced it into the hallway on the East side of the 2^nd floor of the CB and promptly shut the door. We then searched everywhere for some kind of net we could use to catch the bat. After being thwarted in our search, we settled on a trash bag. I geared up with some heavy gloves and a ninja outfit (well, I imagined the outfit anyway) and hurried up to the hallway. I was brilliant (if I do say so myself). If you want an idea of how heroic I was, watch The Office Season 3, the episode called "Business School," and multiply Dwight by 20. That's me.

Actually, I went in the hall and couldn't find the bat. I kept expecting it to fly out of nowhere and latch onto my face (which would have been pretty funny to an onlooker, but I imagine I would have been less than thrilled). Luckily, that did not happen. I looked for about five minutes until, fearing defeat; I started to head back to the hallway door. That's when it happened. I looked down slowly (like they do in those horror movies when something really bad –like a bat latching onto somebody's face- is about to happen) and there it was. I saw the hate in its eyes (even though it probably couldn't see me because most bats are blind) and the thirst for blood emanating from its teeth. Putting all my years of training to work, I gently placed the trash bag over it and nudged it onto the side of the bag until I could safely close it. I then danced around like a little girl and let out a blood-curdling scream of triumph. Or maybe it was a dance of triumph and a girly scream. Well, whatever it was, I had won. I stood supreme. We eventually let it go outside as a sign of good sportsmanship.

And THAT is why I think the mascot should have something to do with bats.

-Jesse R

PS: If anybody is missing a pet bat, I don't know where it is.

we did it!

It is our (my mother is here with me) last day as surrogate parents!  We are astounded and amazed at how smoothly everything has gone for us.  Well, if you don't count the fact that what I thought was de-tangling spray was actually mega-hold hair spray (poor little Elise, she has the worst bed-head I've ever seen, and, needless to say, hair spray is the LAST thing it needed).  Fortunately I discovered my mistake on the third day...  

Anyway, I finally figured out (had Maddi show me) how to get on the internet and thought I'd better check in since my access to a computer will be hit and miss for awhile.  The day before I left on my trip we had a flood in the basement back home.  There wasn't much water, but there was a lot of damage and at present the basement is totally emptied while contractors replace wall boards, base boards, carpet, etc.  So as much of an adventure as this past week has been, I think I have an even bigger one waiting for me when I get home tomorrow!

I will post updates as I can, in the meantime, you know how to reach me!

cross-stitch

for Summer in Washington

Black Narcissus

One of my favorite movie lines is from Black Narcissus. The conversation goes like this:

Mother Dorothea: Give her responsibility, Sister. She badly wants importance. Sister Clodagh: Do you think it's a good thing to let her feel important? Mother Dorothea: Spare her some of your own importance... if you can.

It is a mark of greatness to spare others some of our own importance. We do that when we let others tell the story we could tell better; when we rejoice when another receives a privilege/honor we wanted for ourselves; when we resist the urge to take over when others “don’t measure up”. Sparing someone some of our own importance is not giving offense, it is not taking offense; it is humbly letting something go. It is listening when we have much to say. It is sparing some of “our valuable time” to perform random acts of kindness; it IS a random act of kindness. Letting others feel important is a way to value them, and valuing others is the key to healthy human relations.

Thank-you, dear readers, friends, for helping me feel important. You are very special to me. I am leaving early tomorrow and will be away for a while, staying with my sister’s children while she and her husband have a much-needed vacation. Call my cell if you’d like to chat!

may we never forget...

In this year of election, many political problems and ideas are discussed and argued. We all have opinions, and in this nation of freedom, we can argue and discuss openly. Whatever our views on social or political issues, none of them matters without the security of our nation and its freedoms.
May we never forget the price that has been paid for our freedom; let us ever be vigilant in our efforts to maintain our national security.

garden woes

September is my favorite month. School starts, the weather tempers, the leaves turn, and the garden gives us its very best. This year our garden makes me think that Mother Nature is a jokester, for instead of my seeds growing where I carefully placed them in the spring, it looks as though I sowed them by flinging them in the air on a windy day! I have carrots in the asparagus, a tomato plant in the middle of the carrots, and a lovely acorn squash at home among the beets. I’d say only 10% of the corn came up and it certainly wasn’t knee-high by the 4th of July (Nebraska’s standard for a successful corn crop). Although this year’s garden is peculiar, it doesn’t really bother me, for I am still happy with whatever the garden is producing and I am happy that my plants are filling the measure of their creation, wherever they grow.
But there is another strange thing going on. The tomato plants are producing nicely, or so it would appear. But just as the tomatoes get ripe enough to “pick tomorrow”, they disappear before “tomorrow” comes. The neighbors report sightings of a pair of very large raccoons in the neighborhood. They come out at night and invade our yards and, I suspect, gardens. Early in the summer I would wake about 3:00 every morning when our dog dashed outside to scare something away. Hmmm. It isn’t happening anymore. I suspect that our dog, who is always on top of any invading mice, birds and squirrels, is too intimidated by those raccoons the same size as she is. And so she cowers inside, letting them have their way with our produce. Mother Nature may be a jokester, but I have a trick or two up my sleeve, too. From now on I’m not waiting until “tomorrow” to pick the tomatoes, I am picking “today”!

wise words

Heber J. Grant loved this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson:
“That which we persist in doing becomes easier for us to do; not that the nature of the thing itself is changed, but that our power to do is increased.”

Heber J. Grant believed this with all his heart and proved it many times over through persistence and hard work. Ralph Waldo Emerson was indeed a very wise man. Here are some of his other gems of wisdom:



“Whatever you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising which tempt you to believe that your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires courage.”

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children… to leave the world a better place… to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”

Have a successful day today, dear friends!

"cat"-napped

I have kept pretty good journals over the years, particularly of the doings of my young children (I wanted documentation). Although I didn’t get down everything noteworthy, I am very glad for what I did write, it is an important insight into the workings of developing individuals. Jesse’s journal has been a source of great delight to the whole family; there have been times when his siblings would be blue or bored and suggest, “Let’s read Jesse’s journals!” In no time they’d be rolling on the floor laughing so hard at the antics of that boy. There was the time he kicked a greenie Elder in the shin with his cowboy boots just because “He was looking at me funny.” And the time he went right up to a stranger smoking outside the library and told him, “You are going to die.” (Thankfully, the man took no offense, but agreed that smoking is very bad and cautioned him never to start). By the time Jesse was nine, we thought (hoped) he was growing out of some of his impulsiveness. But then we had a wild summer full of unusual adventures, culminating with the incident known as the “kidnapping”.

Neighbors down the street came knocking one day, looking for their missing cat; had we seen it? No, hadn’t seen it. The next day they came again, “Are you sure you haven’t seen it? We think Jesse might have it.” No, still hadn’t seen it. I thought it was peculiar that they thought Jesse had it, I didn’t know where he would have it; but then Jesse got blamed for a lot of things. The next day they came again, “We really think Jesse has our cat; we think he kidnapped it.” By this time I was getting a little perturbed and the Momma Bear began to emerge. “Jesse doesn’t have your cat! How in the world could Jesse kidnap your cat? The cat can jump over the fence; the cat can crawl under the gate. What makes you think Jesse has your cat?” My husband overheard the exchange and came to the door. In his mind was the thought, “If anyone could kidnap a cat, Jesse could… if anyone would kidnap a cat, it would be Jesse.” He told the neighbor children he’d check into it. He approached Aaron, Jesse’s younger brother and likely partner in crime. Aaron was at that lovely innocent age when lying is still a foreign concept. “Oh, yes, Jesse has a cat. He has him in a cage made of wood scraps, hidden in the alley up the street a ways. He’s had him for three days and has been taking him food and water. Wanna see it?” Jesse returned the cat to its rightful owners, wrote a heartfelt apology letter, and worked hard all afternoon making homemade cinnamon rolls as a peace offering.

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, children have a way of opening your eyes a little wider…

divine direction

“It is said that the very hairs of your head are all numbered; is it not to teach us that nothing, not the smallest things imaginable, happen to us by chance? But if the smallest things we can conceive of are declared to be under the divine direction, need we, or can we, be more plainly taught that the greatest things of life, such as the manner of our coming into the world, our parents, the time, and other circumstances of our birth and condition, are all according to the eternal purposes, direction, and appointment of divine Providence?” (A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life, William Law, Sovereign Grace Publishers, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1971.)

as American as...

It is time to be thinking about the fall apple crop. Nearly 30 years ago, a friend told me about this recipe for home-processed apple pie filling but said she had tried it and it turned out horribly so she was reluctant to share it with me. I talked her into giving it to me anyway and I have used it all these years with wonderful results. I make several batches each year to have plenty on hand. It is wonderful for a quick, easy dessert; many claim it is the best apple pie they’ve ever had. Make it with the traditional double crust (I’ve included my own recipe for pie crust) or try it with the Apple Crumb topping in place of the top crust (that’s the way my family likes it). A jar of the filling makes a beautiful gift, too.


BOTTLED APPLE PIE FILLING
Mix together in a large pot:
4 ½ Cups sugar
1 Cup cornstarch
2 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. salt
Add 10 Cups water and cook over medium heat until bubbly.
Add 3 Tbsp. lemon juice. Remove from heat.
Prepare 7 quarts of apples*, peeled, and thinly sliced. Pour syrup over apples, using a skewer to work out air pockets. Fill bottles to ½” from top. Cap and process in a cold water bath or steamer for 20 minutes.
*I use either golden delicious or granny smith, but any tart apple works well.


APPLE CRUMB PIE
Empty one jar apple pie filling (see previous recipe) into unbaked pie shell.
In a small bowl combine:
¾ Cup flour
½ Cup sugar
With a pastry blender, cut in 1/3 Cup butter until mixture resembles cornmeal. Sprinkle over apples.
Bake 40 minutes at 400 .


PIE CRUST
2 Cups flour
½ tsp. salt
10 Tbsp. butter
3 Tbsp. shortening
¼ Cup ice water
Mix four and salt. Cut shortening and butter in until mixture resembles cornmeal. Stir in water slowly, adding a little more if needed just until mixture will stick to itself. Makes enough for two crusts. *Roll out scraps, cut into squares, sprinkle with cinnamon sugar and bake for a delicious pie crust cookie.

school

It’s that time of year, the days turn ever so slightly shorter, the mornings are just a touch cooler, and school supplies fill the store shelves. I love this time of year, I love the exciting anticipation of school starting. I loved school, learning new and wonderful things, opening new books, sharpening new pencils (I used to name my two number twos and took care to help them last all school year). Clean white paper just cried out for words and numbers to be written on it. Perhaps that is why I wanted to be a teacher.

Now my excitement is in watching my children return to school. And all six of them have. Nate teaches history to 8th-graders by day and teaches a college history class at night. Eli is in a masters program (psychology) at UCCS. Jesse is in his last quarter at BYU (psychology) and Aaron is a junior there (speech pathology). Hannah and Isaac are both in high school, she is a senior and he is a freshman. One of my daughters-in-law is even a part-time substitute teacher!

I do my learning from books these days, finding great volumes at thrift stores. But I have an urge to buy my own school supplies; I could use some brand new number twos!

totally cool

Two weeks ago my 14-yr old son, Isaac, announced he was going “swimming” up in the mountains with his scouting friends and their leader. They came to pick him up and I asked if I needed to sign a trip permit of some kind. No, it was just an informal activity. As it turns out, they went cliff-diving! He had a fabulous time jumping off 40-foot cliffs into a pool too deep to even touch bottom. The only mishap was when he neglected to keep his arms tight against his body on one jump, smacking his forearm pretty hard. I was glad he had the adventure, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I was also glad I didn’t know about it ahead of time, you know how mothers can worry…
Then just this weekend my nearly-18-year-old daughter went to the shooting range with her older brothers. She got to try out Eli’s 40 caliber Glock handgun. She was totally into it, that fierce stance, arms outstretched, “Make my day” written all over her face. Thirteen shots emptied the clip, then she reloaded in a heartbeat, emptying 5 clips. She was so excited about the whole experience, she said she felt like Jason Bourne. She and Eli have a date to the gun show next weekend; she wants a 9mm Glock for Christmas this year…
I am so proud of my children!

Do good anyway

"People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous,
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world your best and it may never be enough;
Give the world your best anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway."

Mother Teresa

"Whodat"

One Saturday morning a while back, I went on my walk and ran into a lady looking around frantically and calling “Whodat, Whodat”. My first inclination was that she was a tad mad, but in actuality, Whodat was her pet yorky. She asked if I had seen it, but I hadn’t. I asked where she lived and told her I would keep my eye out. She lives one street over and a block down from us. A couple hours later, my husband left for the store running into (actually over) Whodat just down our street. The dog was killed instantly. He had darted out suddenly and my husband didn’t even see him. He heard the thunk as he rolled over the poor thing and thought he’d hit a squirrel. When he stopped to retrieve the dead squirrel (to take home for Penny, our dog) he discovered it was a dog. Witnesses saw the whole thing and pronounced my husband completely innocent of any culpability. The dog had no collar or tags, so he left his phone number at the home nearest the scene of the accident and lifted the corpse onto the grass under a tree. He phoned me to tell me about it. I actually wasn’t sure it was Whodat, seeing as how neither of us were quite sure what a yorky looks like. So when Hannah (our resident dog expert) got home, we visited the scene and she confirmed my suspicions, yorky all right. The three of us walked to the lady’s house and I began by asking if she had found her dog yet (I still had hopes). Then my husband interrupted me (cut me off from disclosing the true circumstances of his demise) to say, “We think he was hit by a car. He’s dead.” Way to fess up… We told her where to find him then we came home. She retrieved the body and obviously the phone number, for we got a call from her asking about the circumstances. My husband was very apologetic at first, but as the lady got more upset, he got more defensive and before we knew it threats were flying back and forth between the two of them and Hannah and I were beginning to wonder if he was GLAD he’d killed her dog. She never did make the connection that the kind people who told her about the dog were the same people who had caused its death. But perhaps it is better that way; some people don’t know that “vengeance is mine, saith the Lord”.

Jane Ann

Jane Ann is my Dad's sister, younger by almost two years. My middle name is Jane, after her. My daughter and grand-daughter also share that middle name. My first memory of her is attending a stage production of South Pacific where she had the starring role of Nellie. I was very young. I think we were seated in the balcony. I remember trying so hard to stay awake, but finally falling asleep sometime after she washed that man right out of her hair. I am so glad I have that memory, for she died Sunday. She was in her early seventies. Her life had been hard and now she has relief. I will always think of her young, glamorous, beautiful. I will remember her singing. I imagine she is singing once again.

fifty states

To celebrate Independence Day this year my children and I decided to honor our nation throughout the year by having a "state" dinner each Monday night. We draw the name of a state randomly from a jar then have a meal featuring foods and traditional dishes from that state. It has been great fun researching the states, their foods and history (so much of the food culture is tied up in the history). We are amazed at the diversity of our great nation from the Mexican influence of the southwest (we had chile rellenos and refried beans for New Mexico) to prairie fair (we had rabbit stew and cornbread for Oklahoma but not to worry, the neighborhood rabbits are alive and well, we got our rabbit from a meat market). Tonight we celebrate Michigan, birthplace of the coney dog! Pass along suggestions/recipes from your state; we'd love to hear from you!

jammin'

The fall fruit is on and it’s the perfect time to make some jam. My family’s favorite is this peach jam. I make several batches every fall to share as Thanksgiving gifts and make sure we have enough to last until the next season.

PEACH JAM

5 Cups ground peaches (peel, then mash with potato masher)

5 Cups sugar

1 Cup crushed pineapple

12 maraschino cherries, diced

Mix together, boil 15 minutes. Turn off stove and stir in 1 sm. Pkg. orange Jell-O. Stir 5 minutes. Pour into hot jars and cap. Do not process; jars will seal as they cool.

*VARIATION: for PLUM jam: omit cherries, use raspberry Jell-O.

A clerk at Albertsons shared this rhubarb version with me. It’s past the rhubarb season here, but perhaps it’s still growing where you are!

RHUBARB JAM

5 Cups fresh rhubarb, cut in ½” pieces

1 C. crushed pineapple, drained

3 C. sugar

3 oz. pkg. Jell-O (raspberry, strawberry, or cherry)

In large, heavy pot mix rhubarb and sugar, let stand 10 minutes. Add pineapple and stir. Bring to a boil and boil 12 minutes, stirring frequently. Remove from heat, add Jell-O and mix well. Put in hot jars and cap. Do not process; jars will seal as they cool.

*to heat jars and lids, simmer in hot water for a few minutes.

"Our deepest fear..."

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous" Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so other people won't feel insecure around you. We are born to manifest God's glory within us. It's not in just some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." Nelson Mandela (inaugural speech)

Israeli Salad

Don't let the summer pass by without trying this fabulously easy and delicious salad. Now, with the gardens giving us their fresh produce, is the perfect time.

ISRAELI SALAD

Mix together:

2 tomatoes, chopped

1 cucumber, peeled & chopped

4 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley

½ tsp. salt

¼ tsp. pepper

1 Tbsp. olive oil

1 1/2 Tbsp. lemon juice

Serve immediately.

in a nutshell

This is the fifty-fifth day! I am sad for this adventure to come to an end, although it never really ends, for as long as life continues there are lessons to be learned. I’ll continue to share thoughts from time to time as well as favorite quotes and movie lines, recipes, ideas, and just the day to day happenings in the life of a middle-aged woman… For today, I share highlights of the lessons life has taught me…

*Life is good! Feast upon it. Make the most of it. Live life as a total body experience.

*Be real! Be passionate! Discover who you are then become your best self.

*Respect your feelings. Nurture your soul with beautiful things, music, art, nature.

*Do the best you can with what you have. Be patient with others, they’re trying to do that, too.

*God knows the end from the beginning, trust Him. He answers prayers; we are important to Him.

*Things could be worse; things could be better… Make things better.

*Everything happens for a reason; there is an answer to every question.

*Duty is a great motivator, but love is a better one.

*The conviction that we are loved is the supreme happiness of life; the reverse is also true. Love truly, love deeply, love purely, and love passionately.

*Never give up on your dreams; anything and everything is possible!

*Respect your needs. You can never have enough of what you don’t need, for that which you don’t need can never satisfy.

*Be grateful! Appreciate what you have, take good care of it, use it to do good.

*Death is only the gateway to the next life.

*Let the light and energy of the universe fill your soul, and then pass it on.

*Lighten up! Never sacrifice what is good for the sake of what is right.

*Your mind is your most powerful tool, use it wisely. Let your learning lead to understanding. Remember that you don’t know everything (neither does anyone else).

*Look at the big picture, consider consequences, avoid choices that will cause regrets.

*Follow your heart. Follow the promptings of the Spirit. Follow the map!

*When in doubt: check a mirror; dress “up”, not “down”; keep your mouth shut; assume nothing; get a second opinion; ASK.

*Treasure friends and have many; treasure children, all of them.

*Never give unsolicited advice; take any unsolicited advice with a grain of salt.

*Don’t burn any bridges; take the high road; be kind, always be kind…

promptings

When we were newly married we lived in a little town in Germany called Asperg. Our apartment was the main floor of a quaint house at #1 Monrepostrasse. An Englishman had the basement apartment and our landlady and landlord lived upstairs with their grown son. It was a lovely place. I liked to walk across the bridge over the train tracks next to our house and browse the shops downtown. One morning when I was out on a stroll I had the sense that something wasn’t quite right, that I was being followed. I casually glanced at my surroundings and noticed a man across the street. I paid close attention to him and noticed that he walked at the same pace as I, the same direction as I, and when I stopped to look at a window display, he would also stop to look at a window display. When I changed direction, he, too, changed direction. He was following me. I casually headed for home and he followed. What was I to do; how was I going to get out of this? When I saw the bridge the answer came to me. As soon as I crested the bridge I took off running. He was just far enough behind me that by the time he crested the bridge I was safe in my apartment. I watched from my window as he came over the bridge and looked around for me, wondering where I’d gone. He stood at the intersection, searching each direction for several minutes, but I had vanished!

I can only imagine what might have happened without the promptings that tuned me in to the situation and then helped me out of it. We all receive promptings every day; they are sometimes almost afterthoughts: I’d better grab the keys, check the lock, make sure the stove is off… Sometimes the promptings don’t make sense: take a different route home, go check on so-and-so, bring such-and-such with you. Sometimes they nag at you with an urgency that won’t let you rest until you’ve listened and followed. Sometimes they are given in a clear voice, sometimes they are only impressions, but they should never be dismissed. Far too often I have neglected a prompting and later caught myself saying, “I knew I should have…” “I thought about it, but…” “If only I’d…” “Why didn’t I listen?” Promptings are guidance from above and I, for one, am mighty grateful for it.

the derby

We moved here just before Jesse turned eight and joined the cub scouts. The following spring was his first pinewood derby. Being as Jesse was our third son, we had had much experience with the inner workings of making the cars and the derby itself. Jesse had done a very nice job on his car, for a beginner. He won his first race! He won the first 2 out of 3, securing for himself the trophy in his age group. But the crowd favored another boy and the cub master bent to their cries for the boys to keep on racing, best out of five. Jesse won that, too, but the crowd cried for best of seven… They kept on racing until finally the other boy came out on top and was declared the winner. Jesse was very disappointed, angry; he’d been robbed. His was the only age group that raced more than three races, it had been very apparent that they didn’t want the new boy to win. I was angry, too. That night I stayed up late to craft a letter to the cub master, letting him know of my disappointment in the way he had handled things and of Jesse’s crushed feelings. It wasn’t a scathing letter, and although it was honest, I regret sending it. I have since developed a wonderful friendship with that cub master. He really is a kind and tender spirit. I’ve come to realize that he wasn’t responsible for what happened; he, too, was probably saddened by the turn of events, that’s the kind of guy he is. Although we’ve never discussed the derby or my letter, I am very sorry that I misjudged him; I am so grateful that he didn’t take offense at a letter written in anger and mailed in haste. It would have cost me a dear friend. Now I consider carefully the way I respond to perceived injustice. I take the high road (the highest I can muster, anyway), and remind myself that regret is a difficult burden to carry.

healing tree

When we moved into our home nearly 16 years ago, the yard was quite overgrown. Over the next few months we took out fifteen trees, bushes, and stumps. We put on quite a show for the neighbors with all the action going on, even inspiring a few of them to do a little fix-up. There was a large tree in the back yard, that was mostly dead. Rather than take it out, we decided to build a tree house in/around it. I had wanted a tree house ever since I saw Swiss Family Robinson as a girl. We cut wedges out of the trunk for steps; then designed and built a big tree house six feet off the ground, complete with a three-foot railing around, a slide and trap door, pulley system for hauling things up and down, a knotted rope to climb up to the highest branches, and even a Jolly Roger. It shaded a swing and sand box underneath. It wasn’t as grand as the Robinsons’, but it was mighty grand!

It has been great fun for the children and their friends over the years. Nate even rigged up a movie night for his friends in it one summer evening. And an interesting thing has happened to the tree. It came to life. It sprouted new growth in the branches, and the bark healed over part of the steps cut into the trunk. This tree which we thought was dead is now very much alive. It has continued to grow over the years, even surviving a severe snow storm one October two years ago (it lost one of its two major limbs). We have rebuilt the tree house once, and it is due for another rebuild next spring, to accommodate the growing tree. Watching the change that has taken place in the tree has made me think that what it needed to survive was the energy and vitality of the active children. Their life gave life to the tree; they gave it purpose. I’ve wondered, too, about what the tree has given to my children, and to me. I have named it the “Healing Tree”.

I have named other trees too, about a dozen that I pass every day on my daily walk. There is my “Courage” tree, my “Grace” tree, “Mercy”, “Friendship”, “Faith” , “Hope”, and “Freedom”, among others. My “Giving” tree is a peach tree that drops a fresh peach on the sidewalk for me every morning in late summer and fall, that is, until a good pruning this year cut back the branches that hung over the fence. Being that everything in the universe is connected, that everything is energy, I touch my trees as I pass them, I let my energy flow to the universe through them, I let the energy of the universe come to me as I reach high and brush my hands through their leaves. It is a happy thing to do, a healing thing.

tatted baby bonnet

Custom order for Ruth in Florida

mothering

Mothers Day is a difficult day for many mothers. All the efforts to honor motherhood seem to fall short of capturing the challenges mothers face and the sacrifices they make for their children. There truly is no way to adequately honor them on a single day. But we try. Since it falls on a Sunday, the meetings at church focus on motherhood. I am always grateful when the talks aren’t too sappy. Traditionally, each mother receives a small token of appreciation, perhaps a plant for her garden, assuming she has a garden. This year we each received a chrysanthemum stem (I was glad it didn’t wilt by the time meetings were through and we got it home into some water). This year they also decided to include all the girls twelve years old and up, honoring them as future mothers. I thought that was nice. But afterwards an older gentleman approached me for my “take” on that, complaining that it was inappropriate to honor women/girls who weren’t even mothers; according to him, there should even be some sort of standard for women who are mothers, for, in his words, bad mothers shouldn’t receive a flower/recognition at all!

I chuckled to myself, it’s just a flower after all, but he was serious, so I shared with him my thoughts on the matter. Mothers day isn’t about mothers, it is about “motherers” and “mothering”. I think back on my own daughter when, at age three and a half, her little brother was born. Having that little baby in our home brought out a mothering side to her. She became protective, nurturing, tender at times, stern at others. She was comforting, encouraging, she delighted in his accomplishments and his cuteness. When he learned to do somersaults she’d count for him as he’d somersault back and forth across the living room floor in a flurry of tumbles, sometimes a hundred at a time. Then she’d giggle and catch him when dizziness overtook him. She plays games with him, she takes him places, she manages his tennis team. She reminds him to brush his teeth and do his homework. She is, well, his other mother, and it does my heart good to see their relationship. She comes by it honestly, I was that way with my little brothers and sisters, and I have seen it in other big sisters, aunts, teachers, and neighbors, as well as mothers. It is something in-born in girls and it was ever thus.

And so, on Mothers Day this year, she and I put our mums together in the same vase, mother and future mother, two motherers. Mothering is hard work, but we are doing a good job!

Christmas tree

An important tradition of Christmas is the tree. My children have always made ours an interactive tree, using it as the stage for their play, be it army men, action figures, or the ornaments themselves. It tipped over a few times over the years before I finally rigged a way to tie it to the wall…

The Christmas I was 11, my mother had remarried and our new dad had moved us to Iowa. We were far away from extended family, with new dad, home and school, but we counted on the Christmas season to make everything right with the world. Then our step-dad announced that there would be no Christmas. He matter-of-factly told us there was no money for such things. Surely we could have a tree? No, not even a tree, and that was that.

My brothers and I were brave, we had learned not to complain, but inside we were crushed. Money had been tight when my mother was alone, but somehow she had always managed a very happy Christmas celebration. We had expected her remarriage would make things better, but instead, we were losing even Christmas.

I was in sixth grade at Olmstead Elementary, my teacher was Mrs. Hoss. We had a beautiful, full-sized real tree in our classroom, decorated with ornaments we had made in class. I reassured myself that it would be enough. Every day we rehearsed our Christmas play, re-enacting the Christmas story (those were the days when we could do that sort of thing); I was the creative consultant. The last day before vacation we presented our play to invited guests, then retrieved our ornaments and got ready to leave for the holiday break. Mrs. Hoss announced that if anyone wanted to take home the tree, they were welcome to have it. My heart skipped a beat, could it be we would have a tree after all? I hesitated, in case someone else wanted it, but no one did, and I got it! I can still feel the thrill and excitement of dragging it home, the excitement of my mother and brothers when they saw it. One phone call and we had a stand and ornaments, borrowed from a friend.

Mrs. Hoss never knew how much that tree meant to us. But God knew, I think He had a hand in providing it for us, another tender mercy. It was our Christmas, and all was right with the world.