Four Seasons in Rome

No, I'm not headed off to Rome for a year.

Anthony Doerr did, as part of a year-long artist fellowship he won. He, his wife and six month old twin boys traveled from their home in Idaho to an unknown apartment in an unknown city in an unknown culture speaking an unknown language (except the four hour crash course in Italian he took on a Saturday morning before they left). The journal he kept during that year became this book, Four Seasons in Rome.

"A good journal entry - like a good song, or sketch, or photograph - ought to break up the film that forms over the eye, the finger, the tongue, the heart. A good journal entry ought to be a love letter to the world."

The stories of their walk through the four seasons there, a few blocks from the Vatican, is subtitled, On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the World. Beyond recording the events, the adjustments, and the challenges, the book, for me, is a lesson in How-to-Journal.

"A journal entry is for its writer; it helps its writer refine, perceive, and process the world."

The five senses are recorded throughout - a means he uses to process his memories, and a vibrant way for the reader to be involved in the scenes he records. Sights, smells, tastes, touch, and sounds - all carefully, thoughtfully woven through his words. Standing shoulder to shoulder with mourners as the pope dies, and later, pushing their double stroller through the crowd of celebrants as the new pope is chosen. Describing to a baker, the rich bread smells around them, the focaccia bread he wants to order, misunderstanding the frustration, realizing later he was asking, in his broken Italian, for grapefruit sauce. Discovering new foods, making new friends, listening to the language, learning to understand it. Hunting down those vivid details, linking them together to build a sequence of thought, to "stay alert to the miracles of the world."

"A year is an infinity of perceptions: not just the shapes of starlings and the death of the pope and watching our sons learn to walk, but the smell of roasting meat in an alley, the dark brown eyes of a beggar on a church step, a single dandelion seed settling soundlessly onto the habit of a nun who is riding the train. This year has been composed of a trillion such moments; they flood the memory, spill over the edge of journal entries. What is it physicists tell us? Even in a finite volume, there are an infinite number of points."

In a way, this is discouraging. An infinite number of points? How could I ever catch them all? But that's not the point. Grab one. Grab two. Catch three. Record those vivid details, link together the sentences that help a reader (and me, the writer!) to see, smell, touch, taste and hear a world of beauty and miracles.

Anthony Doerr quotes Marilynne Robinson,

"There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient."

I think of Mary Oliver's poem,

"PAY ATTENTION
BE ASTONISHED
TELL ABOUT IT." 

Keeping a journal has been important to me for years. I have a box of old journals stashed in a closet. Never for publication, but for me to thumb back through if I am looking for notes, or find when something happened, or just for browsing. This book, Four Seasons in Rome, is not only an interesting read of their year as a family, as an artist, as an author, as part of a community, but also of the way he perceived and responded to the world around him, brilliant at capturing those images, and how he stayed alert to the miracles of the world. Now, when I write in my journal, I pay attention - not just recording feelings (as in emotions), but capturing a moment in time, using the senses as a means of paying attention, and searching for the right words.

I tried to find a good example of how he incorporates the senses in his sentences. It is an overall impression he leaves. I would call his journals, Impressionistic Journaling. Like the impressionist painters that paint in various dots and smudges and blends of color, but leave a distinct image on the canvas, he paints images with his words that leave a distinct image. Powerful, beautiful writing.

"Everything is radiant. Distant trees toss, faraway walls gleam. The mountains at the horizon have switched on like streetlights, stark and defined, giving way to more distant ranges.
Then everything goes dark again, the clouds knitted together, the mountains sucked back into silhouette, Rome sinking into shadow."

A Messy Thanksgiving

This short story is a re-post from three years ago

Monday

Sandy finished the Thanksgiving grocery shopping in the pet department, piling two ten pound bags of peanuts on the already overloaded grocery cart. She smiled. No one would be able to guess what I am going to do with these, she thought.

At home, she organized the food, checked off her lists. This Thanksgiving dinner for eighteen would appear effortless. But, of course, it wasn’t. The work happened now, before. She had separate lists, all organized and thought out, what preparations needed to be made in what order. Some of the family would be arriving late Wednesday night and she wanted to be ready, then.

With the wood floors swept, the furniture moved back against the walls, she turned her dining room table at an angle, assembled the two folding tables and pushed them end to end at an angle across her dining room and living room.

At three o’clock the stake bed truck pulled up out front. She met the two delivery guys at the door.

“Where do you want these bales, ma’am?”

“In here, by these tables.”

“Inside the house, ma’am?” His eyebrows disappeared under the hair hanging over his forehead.

“Yes, they will be the seats for our Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Inside. Really? You know these straw bales are dusty, dirty, messy, right?”

Sandy laughed. “Of course. Yes, bring them in here, please, four on this side, four on the other side. Thank you.”

“Okay, whatever you say. It’s your house.” The tough delivery guys looked at each other and shrugged.

As the bales were moved, wisps of straw floated around.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“No problem, that’s exactly what I want. Messy.”

“My wife would have a fit.”

Sandy laughed again. She wanted an unusual, a casual atmosphere. Unique. A memory. And they didn’t know about the peanut shells, broken open, scattered around. She felt like a giddy girl planning a surprise party for a special friend. A party where everyone has a good time and laughter echoes off the walls accompanied by the music of happy talk. Okay, she thought, maybe I am dreaming and being unrealistic. We haven’t had a peaceful family get together in quite awhile. Someone takes offense, someone irritates someone else, criticism flares. But, it is worth a try. I will do my part, and hope.

Everything would be white or canvas or gold. Enough color, just in the food. And the people.  The gold colored straw looked pretty scattered across the wood floor.  She pulled more pieces off the bales and scattered them around. Then, she covered the bales with canvas drop cloths, their edges tucked in underneath. They would be heavy enough to prevent straw poking seated bottoms. Another couple of longer drop cloths covered the tables, hanging down the sides. Gold spray painted gourds were placed randomly on the table.

 Oh, napkins. She forgot to buy white cloth napkins. Well, on Wednesday, when she picked up the flowers, she could go to the store and get the nicer, heavy, white paper ones. They would do. She added them to the list.

Tuesday

When Sandy walked down the hall into the living room Tuesday morning, she wondered what her husband, Jim would think of their house. He was away on a business trip until Wednesday afternoon. By then, she would have it all set up and messy beautiful. Her email invitations said, “Boots and jeans.” But would they imagine just how casual she meant it to be?  The floor needed more peanut shells, just like at their favorite pizza restaurant. In fact, she thought, that is where they should go for dinner Wednesday night. She would take Jim out to dinner. Get a few more ideas. Her son and his wife and the grandkiddos wouldn’t get in until late. She and Jim would have plenty of time to relax over dinner, talk about his trip, and enjoy some time together before the long weekend.

After her coffee and oatmeal, she spread the three lists out on the island, leaned on her elbows, her shirt sleeves rolled up, chin cupped in her hands. One list for what would bake in the oven. One for food that would be prepared and stored in the refrigerator.  One for menus, with added ideas for meals the rest of the weekend using leftovers. The tasks were already in order, prioritized by length of prep time and use of the oven. Normally she wasn’t quite so OCD, but she wanted this Thanksgiving to be easy breezy.  Certain people conflicts in the family had lightened up over the past year and she wanted, desperately, to be sure they stayed that way. But, not to worry. For now, start the pie crusts and mix the pumpkin bread. Turn on the oven.

Between tasks, waiting for the timer to ding, Sandy worked on the table. At each place setting she set out white plates. For place cards, she marked peanuts with a dark brown Sharpie, the letters of each person’s name. If the letters didn’t come out quite right, she smashed the shells and threw them on the floor. It wasn’t easy. She tried to make them fancy, ornate with swirly lines and flourishes. The bumpy shells were not a good writing surface, but she wanted to keep the theme. She decided that messy looked just as good, and it was better to fit each name on one peanut if she could. She experimented. Greg. Kendra. David. The longest name was Jessica. That took two peanuts. As she practiced and improved, the crunched, empty peanut shells deepened on the floor.

All day, the dishes rotated from island to sink full of soapy water and back again. Pie crusts baked. Pumpkin and cranberry breads ready to go in next. Sweet potatoes cooked, mixed, plopped into the baking pan, refrigerated until Thursday. Broccoli steamed, cheese sauce mixed, refrigerated in its glass baking pan. Water boiled, jello mixed with fruit, half of it chilled, then the other layer added and chilled. One by one, the items checked off her list. She wiped up flour and spills and splatters, then made more as she worked.

For a late lunch, she made a sandwich and sat in the big chair tucked into the corner to admire her decorations, absorb the yummy smells. Bake the pies, almost done. She relaxed, imagined the room full of happy, comfortable people. To her, this work, this weekend, was about reaching across the distance that was measured in more than miles.

As she was sliding the last pie shell full of liquid pumpkin on to the rack, her hand slipped, the pie tilted and spilled on the hot oven floor. It sizzled and smoked. Quickly, she set the pie on the counter and reached over to shut off the oven. That would have to cool before she could clean it out, then reheat it. She didn’t want the smell of burned pie overpowering the other wonderful aromas and interfere with baking the turkey Thanksgiving morning. She left the oven door open to cool faster. Well, it won’t take that long, she thought. She checked over her lists again. Almost done.  Not too bad, only one major mess to repair, then finish cleaning up the kitchen.

The cat came down the hall and stepped into the living room. She stopped and sat, looking around at the changes, unsure. She decided it was safe, took a few steps into the room. A peanut shell crunched under her foot. With the foot held in mid-air, she froze, like a dog at point, then turned and ran back to the bedroom. Sandy laughed at her. We won’t have to worry about her coming out here, she thought.

Wednesday

By noon, she felt ready. Almost. A few more tasks on her list, but everything was under control. She had cleaned the bathrooms, made up the guest beds, and swept off the porch, trimming some of the chrysanthemums that still bloomed. The day was cold and cloudy. At least I don’t have to sweep and wash the floors, she thought. She wiped down the front of the refrigerator and the stove and ran a dust cloth over the glass table top next to the couch. She looked forward to seeing the six grandkiddos all together. They hadn’t seen Greg’s twins since June. David, Becky and their two boys lived ten minutes away and they visited often. Jack and Kendra, with their two, Jessica and Ken, lived an hour away, not too far. Greg would be arriving tonight, the others in the morning. A houseful of noisy fun. She liked that.

Three o’clock. One last check of the lists. All crossed off. One trip out. She would stop at the florist to pick up the white osteospermum spoon daisies she ordered. And run into the grocery store to pick up the large white napkins she forgot to buy on Monday. She would tie them into a roll with a piece of twine. Easy and simple.

Later, as she stepped in the door, out of the pouring rain, arms full of flowers and a grocery bag, the phone rang. She set the things down on the table. Dropped her wet coat on a chair.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Hi Greg. I thought you would be on the road by now.”

“Mom. I am sorry. We are not coming.”

Silence. “You are kidding, right?”

“No, Mom, we are not coming.”

Silence. “Do I get an explanation?”

Greg answered in short, nervous, quick bursts. “Janet decided she wanted to have her own Thanksgiving. You know, in her own home, now that we have moved to this house, she changed her mind, said she wouldn’t come, wanted to stay home, keep the kids here, with her, on her time off from work, for the holiday.”

“Well, that is reasonable, except last minute. What can I say? Is this about not getting along with Kendra?”

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe, you know how they are together. She just said she wanted her own Thanksgiving. Mom, try to understand. I know you will understand. Please don’t be upset at me, or her.”

“I will really miss seeing the twins. I’m sure they have grown since we saw them last.” Sandy sighed. She tried to smile, at least with her words, but it was hard. Seemed these conflicts, lately, made family gatherings like walking on egg shells, afraid to offend, afraid to say the wrong thing, afraid, just afraid. She had wanted this to be different. And she thought it would be. Filled with laughter and fun and relaxed. Oh well, what could she do? Holidays could be messy. “Greg,” she said, “Say hello to the twins from me, and Janet, too, and have a wonderful holiday.” She didn’t mean it to sound sarcastic, but it came out that way, a little bit.

“You, too, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”

Sandy hung up the phone. She sat in the chair at the head of the table, looked down the length at the plates, already set, the golden gourds, the pile of flowers she had dumped at the other end. Four empty places. Should she rearrange? Wallow in disappointment? No, she thought, I’ll get the flowers in vases and water. No point in letting this ruin it for me, or for anyone else.

Outside, the rain pelted the windows and the wind whipped the tree limbs. Darkness fell early, the storm clouds wrapping a dark thick blanket over the sky. Again, the phone rang. Sandy looked at it, not wanting to answer. She heard her own voice, the cheerful message on the machine. Then, Jim’s voice.

“Sandy. Guess you are out shopping or something last minute. Our flight has been delayed…”

She grabbed the phone, interrupting his message. “Jim, I am here, sorry.”

“Oh, good, glad you are home. This storm is interfering with flights. I hope Greg will be fine on the road.”

“They are not coming. I’ll tell you later. When do you think you will get in?”

“They said about a two hour delay. I will call you when we board.”

“Okay. I want to take you out to dinner, to the pizza restaurant. I will meet you there, after you land.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you, soon, I hope.”

“Be careful.”

Someone knocked on the front door. Oh, now who could that be, thought Sandy. She opened the door and saw her neighbor, an older woman she rarely talked to. “Evelyn, come in.” She helped her take off her wet coat.

“I am so sorry to bother you. I know you are very busy.” Evelyn looked at the table. “That is, ah, interesting. Straw bales and peanuts?  Rustic. But the table is pretty. I am so sorry to bother you,” she said again.

“That’s okay. My husband just called to say he would be late. Come sit down.”

“Well, we just had a big tree branch fall on the back of our house. Broke through the patio cover, broke two windows on the back side.”

“Oh, I am sorry. Where is Fred, is he okay?”

“Yes, we were in the living room. I wondered if you have some tarp or something we can put up over the windows. Not too much rain is coming in, but the wind is bad. And the cold.”

“I think so, I will go look in the garage.” She stood up. “Evelyn. I just had a great idea. Our son and his family called to say they are not coming. We have extra beds, all made up, and room at the table, ready. Will you and Fred stay here tonight, and join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

“We couldn’t impose on you like that, don’t be silly.”

“It is not silly at all. Like I said, I have the beds all made, the places for you at the table. It will be much warmer here until you can get the windows fixed. Jim can help you, but with the holiday weekend, it may be a few days before they get fixed. Please, stay with us. That is, if you don’t mind a casual meal. And our kids and grandchildren. I thought the straw bales and peanuts would be fun, for a change. Comfortable.”

“I noticed. Wondered why you were doing that. Most people get all fancy.”

“I will get the tarp, then we’ll go over and ask Fred to come. Please, I want you to come. I know Jim won’t mind. He will be glad to help you fix the tarp when he gets home. Oh.”

“What is it?” asked Evelyn.

“Well, we were going to go out to dinner. I was going to meet him after his plane landed.”

“I have a chili in the crock pot at home. Fred and I could still eat that, and come here after you and Jim get home. I would appreciate it, being able to stay here. It will be cold at our house with that wind and the damp. You are very kind.”

“Actually, it helps me not feel so disappointed that our son isn’t coming. I am glad you can stay with us. Very glad. You can see we have plenty of room for you.” Sandy pointed at the table.

“We will be honored. I wasn’t going to fix anything this year. Too much work for just us. Our kids are all busy, or too far away. We will enjoy being with you, being with your family. Much better than sitting by ourselves. Thank you.”

The scattered straw and peanut shells are evidence of my messy life, but even the messes are worth celebrating and sharing, Sandy thought.  I will accept this. An opportunity to help a neighbor, maybe gain a friend. I can enjoy what we have, use what we have, and share Thanksgiving, thankfully, with family and friends.

Martina's Cornbread

New cookbooks are fun to browse and explore. Some recipes work, and some - well, they are not put in the repeat category. This new cookbook, by Martina McBride, Around the Table, gives an interesting insight into her family life, her home, her style, and, of course, how she cooks. The focus of the cookbook is on hospitality, on the events and occasions and just-because times she welcomes others into her home. Each section has decorating ideas, music playlists (of course - what else would you expect from a musician?), menus, recipes, gorgeous photos, and practical tips for welcoming others into your home and life. And we have several new recipes that are definite repeats.

Her recipe for cornbread has become a frequent staple here. I cut it in half, this is a party sized batch.

Cornbread With Green Chiles And Pepper Jack Cheese

5 tbsp unsalted, melted butter
2 tbsp butter for greasing the pan
1 1/2 c buttermilk
1 1/2 c milk
4 large eggs
2/3 c vegetable oil (I use olive oil)
3 c all purpose flour
1 c ground yellow cornmeal
2/3 c sugar
2 tbsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground pepper
1 4oz can diced green chiles
1 c shredded pepper jack cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Generously grease a 13 x 9 baking pan with 2 tbsp butter.

Combine the buttermilk, milk, eggs, oil and melted butter in a large bowl. Combine the flour, cornmeal, 2/3 c of sugar, baking powder, salt and pepper in a large bowl.

Add buttermilk mixture to the flour mixture, stirring until just combined. Stir in the green chiles and the pepper jack cheese. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. (She sprinkles an additional 2 tbsp sugar over the batter - I omit this).

Bake for 40 to 45 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

We're serving ours tonight with chicken enchiladas, Confetti Rice (also from her book) and salad.




This is my favorite of her songs. I have posted it before, but I think it is worth hearing again. And again. "Do It Anyway." A great theme song.

(Guess this cuts off just before the end - sorry. It's still worth the listen, just keep singing it in your head)

The Story of a Gift

On the radio, on one of those stations that plays all Christmas music this time of year (all music except the advertisements, of course), an ad caught my attention. I don't remember for sure what the ad was, but this line stood out.
"Every gift tells a story."

 Think about that - the stories that are told as we wrap and give our gifts.
I love you.
I appreciate you.
I'm so glad you are part of our family.
I watched you work in the kitchen and thought you needed this.
This would look pretty on you, and keep you warm.
This tool will help you build.
This book inspired me, I hope it will encourage you, too.
Have fun with this.
Here are tools to help you learn and grow.
I thought of you and wanted you to have this.
I bought this for you when we went to [that place] and bought it without you seeing me.

What other stories do you think of?

Enjoy your gift giving and story telling this Christmas!

Joy to the World, and All is Well

There is much catching up to do. But, for now, a quick thought to share. An inspiration in your holiday crazies.

Our son wandered around the house. I noticed he hummed, sang some words. Unusual for him. I paid attention. He sang, "Joy to the World, and All is Well." That phrase, over and over.

Not sure where he picked up that version, but I love it. Yes, All is Well. Hard to believe if you scan the news or drive on the roads or spend any time at a mall. I love the reminder, and now I hum it myself.

Next time you feel the holiday crazies humming around you, those moments of to-do-list panic, try singing, instead: Joy to the World, and All is Well." I am singing it with you. Let me know if you make up more lines to go with it.

Word Love Ornaments

Do you have any Scrabble lovers or word lovers on your gift list?

We picked up an old Scrabble set at the thrift store. It was missing an "i" and an "n," but that didn't matter for our project. We spread out the letters and made up as many words as we could related to Christmas. We had a set of the stands left over from a different craft project (coasters out of letters for another daughter). We divided them up, deciding how to fit them on the stands.

 I used hot glue to stick them on. You will see I am no expert with the glue gun. I quickly learned I had to work very fast to get the letters on straight.

Our son cut the stands on his scroll saw, then sprayed them with a varnish.
I attached the cord with the glue gun, making them into ornaments.
We will hang them on our tree, then let the kids pick which one they want to keep. (spoiler alert...)

Old Scrabble games are great to pick up at the thrift store - lots of uses for the wooden tiles. We will keep an eye out for more Scrabble sets whenever we are at the thrift store.  There are so many more good words we could use to tell stories of Christmas.

THOUGHT TAPESTRY

October was  rich month of reading and learning. Three books: The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brene Brown, a million little ways, by Emily Freeman, and  The Irrational Season, by Madeleine L'Engle. I ended up with random thoughts, notes scribbled on papers, un-tied connections, similar themes. I am a visual learner, part of the reason I write out notes and copy quotes. I needed something to pull it all together, to make sense out of it all, to connect the dots.

Mind-mapping. This tool helps me take a jumble of thoughts and weave them together into a thought tapestry, a way to "see" the thoughts in an ordered visual that makes sense to me.

First, I had to define one word that tied it all together. Well, I ended up with two words.

                                                  IMPERFECT GIFTS

This phrase took thoughts from all three books and gave me a center, a point to start from. After that, I browsed through the notes from the books, picking out main ideas and consistent themes from them. 

As I was writing out the sub-topics, they seemed to flow in a clockwise pattern.

• reflect the image of God
• rhythm of the Spirit of God
• vulnerability
• weakness
• wonder
• show up
• offer
• intuition
• confidence
• courage
• connection

The imperfect gifts I create and offer to others are a reflection of the art God has created in me. (Clarification: not that the gifts I receive from the Lord are imperfect - this is about what I do with His perfect gifts to me, in me)

I am looking for a quote from each book to include here. There are too many - like three whole books' worth. 

The Irrational Season is the third book in a series called The Crosswicks Journals. They are each written in a particular season of Madeleine L'Engle's life. For each, she picks one word as a theme. My theme word for this year is "quiet." Her words for her three books are: "Ontological, Ousia, and Anamnesis." And she doesn't consider herself an intellectual. In this last of the three books she thinks and writes through a full year of Christian celebrations with living memory - anamnesis - She writes, "...As I understand anamnesis in my writing, so I understand it in the Holy Mysteries. When we are truly remembering, when we know anamnesis, suddenly the mighty acts of God are present." (These are out of print, but are available on Amazon's used book lists)

Emily Freeman says, "[God] invites you to move with the rhythm of his Spirit. This is a mystery and wonder that is the gospel. He doesn't wait until we are conformed to a version of ourselves that we are pleased with. He comes in to transform us from the inside out."

My gifts, imperfect now, entrusted  to Him, offered as I show up and practice imperfection.

Brene Brown writes, "It reminds me that our imperfections are not inadequacies; they are reminders that we're all in this together. Imperfectly, but together."

My mind-map is not complete, not finished. Neither am I. More to learn, more to grow, more to understand. It was intriguing to me that "listen" showed up in three different places on the chart. A reminder to pay attention, to hear and see beyond my limited perspective. This tapestry of thoughts, these lessons, weave creatively into my heart, speaking to me of the Lord's love and extending into my days to give me confidence and courage to reach out.

I am linking with Emily's blog, Chatting At the Sky, sharing a piece of the art created in me this month.

300 Plus Ways to Make Your Wedding Your Own

Our daughter-in-law published her first book, a huge, 428 page resource of creative, fun, inexpensive and imaginative ideas for a wedding celebration that expresses the joy and individuality of the new couple. I had the privelege to help her with the edits, a project I very much enjoyed. It's exciting to see it come together in the printed book, bound with a cover of wedding photomosaics.

She writes in a tone that is casual, comfortable and come-alongside. She asks, "How can I help?" I don't think she'll mind if I tell you we edited out loads of exclamation points - it was her way of expressing her enthusiasm and passion for this topic, her ideas bubbling out, her heart for brides and helping them with the challenges they face. But too many exclamations can be exhausting! Victoria says, "I wanted to share all of these wonderful ideas with you so that you too could have the wedding you've always wanted. A wedding isn't just having all of the traditional items, like a dress, a cake, and flowers, and walking down the aisle of a church, in the right order, to meet your groom, and do things the way everyone has always done them for years. Sure, you could do it that way, and you'd still be married in the end. But your wedding should be about expressing yourselves, sharing all of your favorites with those you love, and celebrating the day you became one with your one true love."

The ideas I like may be different from yours. But that's the point. A wedding celebration should express who you are, you as an individual and you as a couple. There are black and white photos on almost every page, making it fun to browse and explore through the book. Her chapter titles, Photography, Wedding Venues, Stationery, Catering, Videography, Flowers, The Cake, Wedding Decor, and The Big Day cover all the basics. As a wedding planner, she knows a thing or two about putting together a creative wedding that doesn't send the couple spiraling into debt. A wise choice, yet she also enables them to have The Big Day express all they want about themselves.

I realize many of you who read this blog are married, that Big Day long behind us. Perhaps, though, we have daughters, nieces, granddaughters, young friends - or old friends for that matter - who would find this book useful and encouraging. It is available on Amazon (not an affiliate link for me).

Even with the best planning, things can go wrong. Victoria conveys the perspective to focus on each moment for what it is - to share the unique joy as the couple celebrates their love as they step forward into the future, together.

victoria.apieceofcake@gmail.com
www.apieceofcakeweddingdesign.com

A Summery Welcome

Welcome Summer

Come on in!

Our daughter put this wreath together this weekend - a bright and summery welcome for our front door.

The wreath is from an idea she saw on Pinterest - a dollar store swimming noodle held in a circle by duct tape.  Clever - I see many wreath possibilities in the future.

Makes me smile when I see the cheerful greeting at our door.

Thirty-Eight

A moment out of moments

of a life,

thirty-eight years together.

We still ask, "What do you want to do?"

More a time to be, be together,

than to do.

To look back to the hike that day

when he asked,

and I said, "Yes,"

thirty-eight years ago.

Today's hike,

plan, dream

wonder at life, together.

Still say, "Yes."

The scenery ahead,

mountain highs

valley lows

storms brewing

 turbulent waters

clear skies.

Wander through the next thirty-eight years,

together,

hand-in-hand.

scenery from our anniversary weekend at Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado

Cookies for Valentines

We made these heart shaped cookies for Valentine's Day (there may not be any left by Thursday).
Our favorite sugar cookie recipe:

Sour Cream Sugar Cookies
1/2 cup shortening
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 cup sour cream
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder
4 cups flour
Blend together shortening, sugar, eggs and sour cream. Add remaining ingredients. Refrigerate, covered, an hour or two. Roll out on floured surface, cut shapes. Bake 350 degrees, 8 - 10 minutes. Cool.

Have you seen the Gourmet Writing pens - food grade markers? Fun! We bought ours at Hobby Lobby. On the website, it looks like some Sears stores carry them. Amazon has them, also.
We made these cookies a few weeks ago and frosted them with buttercream frosting, but the frosting was too soft for the markers to work well. This time we used a recipe for Royal Icing, a frosting that dries smooth and firm. I looked up recipes on-line and used one that had cream of tartar, egg whites and powdered sugar.


Using small candy hearts as inspiration, we wrote and drew on the cookies.

Wish we could share some cookies with you!

What would you write or draw on your cookies?

The Day After Christmas

A Short Story

As Beth opened the door of the coffee shop, bells jangled from the handle. Caught between the inside air and the crisp wind outside, her ponytail blew around her face, her denim skirt twisted around her legs. She closed the door, pushed her hair and skirt back where they belonged and inhaled the sweet, bitter, cozy scent of coffee. Jess waved to her from her corner table. The door opened behind her, the wind grabbed her hair and skirt again. She stepped aside to make room as Cara stepped inside.

The two friends greeted and walked over to join Jess, waiting for them with three cups of pumpkin spice coffee.

“My favorite part of Christmas is when it’s finally over,” said Cara as she plopped into her chair and took a sip from her cup. “Thanks Jess, this is good.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Beth.

“You don’t have to survive my family,” said Cara. “The hateful glares between my mom and dad. My grandma lecturing my dad about all he should or shouldn’t have done while ‘Silent Night’ plays in the background. No, I am glad when the holidays are over.”

“Don’t you enjoy any of it? What about the music or the food or the decorations?” asked Beth.

“No, it all reminds me of what our family isn't. I can’t see past the animosity and resentment.”

Beth turned to Jess, “How was your Christmas?”

“You make me feel guilty, Cara. We all got together, had lots of presents and loads of food and lots of fun.”

“How about you, Beth?” asked Jess.

“After church, we each opened one gift, we had our big meal, read the Bible and sang hymns, each picking our favorite.  Later, we went to the convalescent home where my grandpa lives and my dad led a service for all the dozing old people. It was delightful.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled with Christmas, either,” said Jess.

“In my family, there is so much focus on what is right or Scriptural we forget to have fun.  We have to ‘do’ Christmas instead of having a relaxed, easy, happy, together Christmas.”

Jess leaned back in her chair. “There is such a huge build up before Christmas. Seems it starts earlier each year.”

“And drops harder when it is over, when all the disappointment and dissatisfaction hit. When you realize all you didn’t do or didn’t get or didn’t give. When the next three hundred and sixty-four days seem a relief,” added Cara. “I wonder if it is wrong to feel a sense of grief. Relief and grief, when finally, it is all over.”

“I don’t think it is wrong. Recognizing your feelings is a good thing. What you do with those feelings is what matters,” said Jess. “Acknowledge your feelings of sadness, regret." Jess paused, "Cara, can you think of three good things that did happen?”

“Three things?” She counted them off on her fingers. “Well, my dad did try to say something nice to my grandma instead of fighting back, even when she was hounding him. My brother and I had fun building a puzzle together.  The mashed potatoes turned out well even though I tried a new recipe.”

“There you go. Three things to appreciate and remember, with a smile and gratefulness. Does that change your perspective?”

“Yes, I guess it does,” said Cara. “Guess I could come up with more good things, too, if I tried.”

“Exactly. Isn’t that the message of Christmas?” asked Jess. “The gift of love, shared with us, right in the middle of our messy lives. Right where we are.”

“I can see what you are saying,” said Cara. “It would be hard to be angry and bitter if I think about loving, kind things.”

Beth added, “I can see that I need to work on my perspective, too. To see all I do have in my home and family, instead of thinking about all I think we don’t have. We do have some fun together, even if it isn’t exactly like I would like it to happen.”

“Look,” laughed Jess. “I am not trying to be a psychotherapist or something. But being grateful makes a huge difference. Focus on the negative, and that is what you will see. Focus on the good, even if it is just a little, and the little grows bigger.”

The three girls sipped their coffees, quiet with their own thoughts.

Cara said, “I came here to unload and complain to both of you, expecting you to sympathize with me. Instead, I see Christmas in a different light. A light, kind of like the Christmas star shining over everything.  Gratefulness, illuminating, shining light on the beautiful and on the ugly parts of life.”

“I like that,” said Beth. “The manger scene, the shepherds in the field, all lit up by the light of the Christmas star. Right where they all were, busy with their lives, their work. The light shining over all of it. And here, now, each of us with our own family challenges. The light shining over us, too.”

“Makes me almost look forward to next Christmas,” said Cara, and the three girls laughed.

Awake

December first, the Christmas season officially in stride. As if we didn't know that already.

Last week I mentioned my theme word for this season is AWAKE.

To not coast through the next few weeks, unmindful, unaware. I want to open my eyes. To see, what?

The beauty and peace of these days, as opposed to the overload of clutter and chaos.

Our son picked out a book at the library, Listen to the Silent Night, by Dandi Daley Mackall. A book that messed with my thinking about the classic image of the silent night. All the not-so-silent noises of that evening: the jostling crowds, the donkey plodding, Mary breathing heavy, restless, the sheep rustling in the grass, the soldiers barking commands, sandals flip-flopping across the dusty roads, Joseph asking for a place, the innkeeper speaking, "No," the cows and chickens bedding down in the straw, Mary struggling with the birth, the newborn Baby alive, catching His first breath, full of life, angels with their message to the shepherds, the shepherds running, shouting the news.

There is a lot of awake that night.

A night, a season to pay attention.
A season to listen.
A season to see spectacular sights.
A season to sing.
A season to laugh with joy.
A season to be grateful, so very grateful.
A season to be awake, watching.


Houses glowing, inviting, displaying light, welcoming, are one of my favorite Christmas decorations. Houses saying, "Life is here." Friendly. Happy. Bright. Like the old tradition of keeping a lighted candle in the window to welcome family arriving home, to direct their path through the dark night, Christmas lights are a way to say, "Welcome, come in, we greet the season, and you, too."





I want to be awake, to not miss the now. How will I do that?
By stopping what I am doing when our son asks me to read him a book (just did that, in case you are wondering).
By baking cookies with the guys.
By putting up our decorations (doing that this weekend).
By playing Christmas music, all day long, and singing along (sorry, guys, maybe I'll stick to humming).
By opening my eyes to find the joy around me, especially in the littlest things.
By smiling.
By simmering cinnamon and cloves and oranges and apple peels.
By going outside in the dark, in the cold, to gaze at the stars.
By connecting with others - family, friends, neighbors.
By displaying the Jesse Tree ornaments each day.
By dipping into the calm assurance of the Gift given to us, the Lord Jesus.
By being AWAKE.

And, in all the busy-ness and the doing and the bustling of Christmas, to take the time to look, to see, to enjoy the depth of the season. Like a deep pool of clear water, I can keep it stirred and murky with all the activity and must-be-dones. Or, I can allow the mud and murk to settle, allow the calm and peace to prevail, revealing the crystal clear beauty and peace of the true message. Awake to the gift of life.

Thanksgiving Notebooks

As our grown children began to leave home to join the military, to work away from home, or marry and move away, I wanted a way to send our holiday memories along with them. We compiled all our favorite recipes and our traditional concoctions and decorations into a notebook for each of the older ones. Just reading over our typical menu list brings smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, turkey and sweet potato baking, the sound of the mixer mashing the potatoes and the trays of food being carried out to the patio. Usually, here in Southern California, we can still eat our meal outside, enjoying the crisp, fresh fall air, the leaves drifting down from the trees. Our feast is a together time. Family members sign up for different dishes, everyone playing their part in getting it all on the table, ready to share.

 It took us a couple of weeks to make these notebooks. At that time, living in the Colorado mountains, we didn't have access to copiers or printers, so we hand copied all the recipes, the stencils and the artwork. Some of the kids were still pretty small, but they could color in stencils or add stickers. It was a fun, though lengthy project with colored papers, markers, colored pencils and some old photos used to create a simple record of  the memories we have shared, together.

I pull out my own copy each year for the holidays. With spouses, new places, they are willing to try new versions, new flavors. From home, they want the traditional, the usual, the familiar. Whenever I try to be creative, they remind me that they want the same old foods. That's fine, it keeps things simple for me, and keeps me focused on the family rather than a fancy display.

 I am grateful for that.

There are notes on the pages, doubled for a big crowd, or memories tied to the recipe. Did you notice on the Sally's Dip recipe, the note to not spend all afternoon eating it before Thanksgiving dinner? It is yummy, and the kids snacked so much they could barely touch their feast. After that Thanksgiving, we would use Sally's Dip (named for the aunt who prepared it) as an easy Sunday afternoon lunch, a full meal in itself.

                         Gobble Goodies are our favorite, edible table decoration.

Now, we are too spread out, with various jobs and responsibilities limiting the schedules to have everyone get together for the holidays. I'm grateful we took the time to compile these notebooks, full of memories and fun. I am grateful for the years, for the times together. It's been good.

To my family, I am grateful for each one of you.
To all of you, a happy, blessed Thanksgiving week.

Welcome Fall

Welcome to Fall

I enjoy the cluttery decorations of the fall season, now through Thanksgiving. Then, out comes all the Christmas clutter, with its fun memories, old and new. In January, all the stuff gets put away for a streamline, clean slate for the new year. But, for now, we can douse the shelves with fall stuff and enjoy it. I don't get into Halloweenish decorations, but anything for fall - the colors, leaves, flowers, candles, dried grasses, gourds and nuts and seedpods of fall are beautiful - inspired art to decorate and spread around the house.

How do you decorate for fall?