Life is Still Full

Do you worry? My mother did. If people could be paid for worrying, my mother would’ve been filthy rich. 

Since the pandemic situation interrupted our normal routines, I’ve found myself thinking of Mom and, to be honest, feeling somewhat relieved that she didn’t have to deal with it all. For starters, she had severe COPD. For years we avoided visits with her if anyone had so much as a sniffle. This coronavirus would have killed her, no doubt. Plus worrying about social distancing and toilet paper and money problems and the health of all her grandkids— well, all that worrying would’ve done her in just as quickly as old COVID-19.

You know, even if you’re not normally a worrier, the current situation is enough to make you feel unwell. We’re all of us a little topsy-turvy. Even homeschoolers like me who are used to being home with the kids have had to change routines. My children are bemoaning a lack of new library books while I am missing gathering together with my church family each Sunday. My husband, a pastor, has been scrambling to figure out the best way to shepherd his congregation. 

Yes, these times are more difficult for most of us, and worry comes too easily. We have been told that worry cannot add a single hour to our lives, and I know it is true. Otherwise, my anxious mother would still be alive. But she is not.

But we are alive, and that, my friends, is important. If you open your front door tomorrow morning, the birds will tell you all about it, if you’ll listen. So will those spring peepers (if you’re more of an evening person). Listen to them.

Turn off the television, the smart phone, the radio, and the computer, and listen right now. What do you hear? Do you hear your children laughing or maybe whining or perhaps jumping on your bed despite the fact they’ve been warned three times already? Life.

Or maybe you hear your husband turning the pages of his newspaper or making your morning coffee? Life.

Maybe you hear the cat sitting on the ledge outside your kitchen window meowing for some food? Life.

Even the faucet dripping, the toilet flushing, and the dishes clinking in the dishwasher are all sounds that accompany life.

Right now we have an opportunity to be still and listen. We have enough time in a way we’ve never had it before. There are no meetings, no school, no sports practices or games. 

In a time when we feel helpless to help, try listening. Listen on the phone to your friend tell the same story for the third time. Listen to your child or grandchild read from a book or recite the times tables. Listen to your spouse sing in the shower or chop up vegetables for supper. Listen to your dog snore on the rug in the evening.

Be still and soak up all the wonderful sounds of life until you are full, so full of the joy of it all that there’s no room left for useless worry.

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Speaking of joy and life and an end to all need for worry— Easter is approaching, and Easter means eggs. At our last church potluck, I had the supreme joy of tasting smoked deviled eggs for the first time. If you have a smoker and like deviled eggs, you simply must make these for your Easter dinner. No arguments; make these!

That being said, I haven’t made them myself, so I don’t have a tried-and-true recipe to share with you. However, my friend who made those lovely eggs told me how she did it (she doesn’t use a recipe), and that is what I can share with you. My directions assume you know how to hard-boil and make deviled eggs.*

Smoked Deviled Eggs

First, hard-boil eggs. Next, peel the hard-boiled eggs. Then smoke the peeled eggs in your smoker on the lowest setting for half an hour to an hour. They will be a light shade of brown.

After eggs are smoked, follow your normal recipe for deviled eggs. I don’t follow an exact recipe for the egg yolk mixture, but I do add mayonnaise, mustard, and a little of something sour like vinegar or pickle relish. My friend adds some horseradish. And don’t forget to sprinkle paprika on top; my family says it’s not really deviled eggs without the paprika on top!

*If you’ve never made hard-boiled eggs or deviled eggs, you should be able to find a basic recipe in most cookbooks or online. Or you can send me an email, and I’ll walk you through it.

**This column was printed in the April 1, 2020, issue of the Hancock News.

Gratitude List 2019

I need an attitude adjustment. The holiday season begins this week, and instead of facing it with a pumpkin spice latte in one hand and a frosted sugar cookie in the other, I’m dreading the whole thing. You see, my mother passed away in September.

Those of you who have lost a mother will likely understand the difficulty of putting into words how I’ve felt since then. It’s an actual physical ache somewhere near my heart that only goes away fully with sleep. Who would have guessed that every last thing in the world reminds me of my mother and my loss and my sorrow?

But that’s not what Thanksgiving is about. Enter my old and neglected friend, my yearly gratitude list. Maybe a little gratitude can change my attitude. I’ll give it a try for 2019.

I’m grateful that my daughter thinks it is disgusting when people bite their toenails. That my son thinks technology is interesting and fun; you should see the the digital doohickeys he creates for my online shop. That another son attempts to keep me on track at the Friday night auctions so I don’t do something stupid like accidentally bid on rusty old c-clamps. 

I’m grateful for little boys who whisper big dreams of playing in the NFL before drifting off to sleep. I think I’m thankful that diaper days are over. And for my “baby” who at the age of four can do so many big-girl things on her own but who still wants me to help her sometimes. Being needed feels good.

I’m thankful when people apologize to those they hurt, even when the hurt was accidental. Sincere apologies do make a difference.

I’m grateful for Jane Austen’s novels that I binge-read this summer; if I had read them in junior high, I would’ve ditched New Kids on the Block for Mr. Darcy and Mr. Knightley. Also I’m grateful for my lovely oldest daughter who encourages me to watch movies based on Austen’s novels.

I’m grateful for my mother-in-law’s homemade tomato soup which she continues to make for others despite the fact that eating tomato products puts blisters in her mouth. For dark chocolate, for Earl Grey tea, for freshly ground coffee, and for any friend (or stranger) who supplies me with these indulgences.

I am thankful for emu oil and arch supports because arthritic feet are no fun.

The organist at our church has considerable skills; you should hear her play on Reformation Sunday! I’m thankful God gifted our congregation with her talents. And I’m thankful for my son’s beautiful singing voice; his strength of both voice and spirit lifted me up in some of my darkest hours.  Also for my youngest children who flock to me when I cry; how can concerned, loving little faces attached to hugging arms not bring joy?

For my sisters, I give thanks. Without them I’d feel so alone because only they understand my sadness completely. For Daddy who cared for my mother’s needs so well as her health failed. And for my mother because she taught us all how to love each other.

I’m thankful for the man who organizes all my messes, who entertains the children by playing video games when I need a nap, and who doesn’t flinch when I wipe my tears and my nose on his shirt. And babies! My niece is having one tomorrow, and I’m ecstatically thankful; every mourning family should have a new baby.

Mostly I’m thankful for a loving Father from whom all of these blessings flow. I sincerely wish for you all a happy Thanksgiving.

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My Thanksgiving rolls are rising!

That gratitude list was long overdue. This recipe is years overdue; it’s been hanging on my kitchen cupboard since the last time I wrote a newspaper column. My friend from church shared it with me, and it is a versatile one—suitable for any holiday get-together. 

Quick Fruit Dessert

1 cup butter or margarine

1 1/2 cups sugar

4 eggs

1 tsp. almond extract

2 cups all purpose flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1 can fruit filling

Cream together the butter and sugar. Add eggs and beat until light and fluffy. Mix in the almond extract. Next mix in the flour and baking powder.

Butter a 9 x 13 inch cake pan and pour or turn mixture into pan. Spoon in the pie filling in 6 to 16 spots on top of mixture. 

Bake at 350℉ for 30 to 35 minutes or when none of the flour mixture comes out when you insert a toothpick. You may top this dessert with powdered sugar.

Recipe note: You may use only 2 eggs if that’s all you have, and either homemade or store-bought fruit filling will work. You may also add more flour if the consistency seems off.

**This column was printed in the November 27, 2019, issue of the Hancock News.

Grateful 2017

What happened to Thanksgiving this year? It seemed that one day I was starting school back in September and the next I was trying to figure out what to do with all the turkey leftovers. I have been busy, but at least thankfulness doesn’t have an expiration date. That means it’s time for me to write down this year’s gratitude list.

I’m thankful that swallowing pennies isn’t normally fatal. Same goes for tiny Legos.

I’m thankful that we’ll soon be able to move into the new addition at our home. I’m also thankful for getting to know the guys who made it happen. 

I’ll bet I’m not the only one in this community who gives thanks for Loaves & Fishes, all the cool treasures on their shelves, and the dedicated people who make it nice for the rest of us. I’m also thankful for our library, the treasures on its shelves, and for Lisa, Ruth Ann, and Pam, who make it nice for the rest of us.

I’m grateful our garden produced so many delicious green beans this year. I wish my bean-hating son could say the same.

Just like her mommy, my toddler giggles with excitement at nap time; I’m thankful for that.

There’s nothing like fresh eggs at breakfast. I’m so glad I’m able to eat them frequently thanks to our guineas and my friend’s chickens.

I’m thankful for my daughters who are teaching me to appreciate the pretty things in life.

I’m thankful for my sons who don’t know the difference between tights and leggings and who still think all of the pretty trappings of girls are dumb. I am begrudgingly thankful for their growth spurts even if that means I now have to look up to my oldest.

Pinterest and Krumpe’s Do-Nuts deserve a spot on this year’s list. Ditto for the occasional coffee.

Words cannot fully express the depth of my gratitude for potty-trained little boys.

I’m thankful that my parents still call to check on me if I don’t call them often enough. It makes me think they still love me a good bit.

I’m thankful for my hearing. I love sitting in church on Sunday and hearing my children’s sweet voices sing my favorite hymns and my husband’s strong voice preach about the Bible and the promises it holds for me. And, of course, I am most thankful to God, Who created all the beautiful words and music in this good, good life.

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I’m also thankful that some foods taste better than they look. Last night we had split pea soup, and, man, does that stuff look disgusting! We tried every trick in the book to get the 4-year-old to try it. He was eventually slurping it straight from the bowl (even after the required four bites). If you’ve shied away from split pea soup because of the looks, this cold weather is the perfect time to change your ways and enjoy a tasty treat. 

Split Pea Soup

16 oz. split peas 

3 quarts water

1 small ham shank

1 large onion, finely chopped

½ tsp. garlic powder

½ tsp. oregano leaves

½ tsp. ground pepper

1 bay leaf

1 ½ cups thinly-sliced carrots

1 cup finely-chopped celery

Rinse and pick any rocks out of the split peas. Put the peas, water, ham, onion, garlic powder, oregano, pepper, and bay leaves into a big pot. Simmer, uncovered, for 1 ½ hours. Remove the ham shank and dice the ham. Add the ham bits, carrots, and celery to the pot and simmer, uncovered, for 2- 2 ½ hours. Remove the bay leaf and serve.

*This column ran in the Hancock News on December 6, 2017.

The Heat Game & Perfect Pumpkin Bread

In college, one of my roommates made up games. These games weren’t like your regular board or card games. Instead she’d challenge herself to games I call “How Long Can I?” games. Once she decided to stop eating to see how long it was until she felt truly hungry. Another time she wondered how long she could go without showering before she couldn’t handle her own stink. I don’t recall how long she held out, but I think she showered sooner than she ate.

Some of my roomie’s spirit must have rubbed off on me because for the last several years I’ve challenged myself to what I call the Heat Game. The rules of the Heat Game are easy:  when the leaves fall and the mornings are crisp, don’t turn on the heat.

I’m not trying to save money or even the environment by using less fuel oil. What I am trying to do is beat my record from two years ago-- November 23rd.

My husband and kids are good sports and play along with me. When the mercury drops, the kids lug pumpkins upstairs from the basement where we’ve stored them. My husband wields our biggest knife to cut open the pumpkins. Then we scrape out the seeds, and the pumpkins go into a hot oven to cook. That heat makes all the difference; a steady stream of roasting pumpkins helps warm the house. Baking bread, pies, or pizza is a good choice if you don’t have a few dozen pumpkins in your basement. 

When the heat from the oven isn’t enough, we pull out the flannel sheets and my favorite blanket which I have not-so-creatively named “Mr. Woolly.” Socks, slippers, and throw blankets become mainstays in the house. Hot tea with spicy flavors of fall become the beverage of choice. Despite a little chill in the air, my Heat Game time is a cozy time.

But eventually all this coziness comes to an end. One night last week I’d just turned off the oven after pulling out two loaves of pumpkin bread, and I noticed the air was still chilly. Worse yet, my nose was cold. I can layer socks and blankets on all other body parts, but I’ve yet to find a cure for a cold nose that doesn’t involve turning on the heat. 

So at 11 p. m., on November 10, I turned on the furnace; my Heat Game 2017 ended. The next morning my daughter reported that frost was on the ground and the guinea’s water had frozen over. It would seem I lost the game right on time. I may not have set a personal record, but I’m still happy because my nose is warm and there’s always next year.

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We harvested more than 50 pumpkins and winter squash from our garden this year, so I’ve been looking for new pumpkin recipes. In the past I’ve been unhappy with pumpkin bread recipes I’ve tried because they seemed way too sweet to my taste. I searched the internet and came up with this alternative which uses only honey and maple syrup. 

While I might increase the spices next time, this is the pumpkin bread recipe I was looking for-- a bread I won’t feel so guilty feeding my kids for breakfast. I was also surprised by how soft and moist it was. 

Honey Maple Pumpkin Bread

3/4 cup honey

3/4 cup maple syrup

1 cup butter or coconut oil, melted

1 tsp. vanilla extract

4 eggs

2 cups pumpkin puree

3 cups whole wheat flour

2 Tbsp. pumpkin pie spice

2 tsp. baking soda

Preheat oven to 350℉ and grease two 9 x 5 loaf pans. In a large bowl, mix honey, syrup, oil/butter, vanilla, and eggs together. Mix in the pumpkin puree. 

In a different bowl, combine all dry ingredients. Stir the dry ingredients into the wet mixture just until everything is incorporated. Divide the batter between the two loaf pans, and bake for 50-65 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool pans for 10 minutes before turning bread out onto wire rack to cool. 

*This column was printed in the November 22, 2017, issue of the Hancock News.

Wisdom, Stinkbugs, & Salsa

I’m convinced that being quiet is the key to wisdom. Quiet folks can observe more of the world around them without being distracted by the words coming out of their own mouths.

Likely I’ll never be wise because I like to talk too much. But lately, I’ve had reason to be less talkative; my voice is hoarse and nearly gone. In quieting myself more than usual, I have noticed smaller things in the world around me.

Mostly I’ve noticed stinkbugs. Those ugly little creatures are everywhere. They hang out on the doors waiting to come in when somebody goes in or out. The daredevil ones make their way inside through my stove vent, but that’s not so smart because several have landed right on a hot cast iron skillet.

Once inside, the bugs crawl around walls and ceiling, just out of my reach, until they decide in which light fixture they should take up permanent residence. Sometimes the disgusting insects think it necessary to dive-bomb an unsuspecting little girl, thereby instigating much noise and chaos in our home. 

Let’s not even discuss the massive numbers of the stinkers that find their way into our van.

It’s fair to say that I hate stinkbugs. What’s more, I hate that the sight of a stinkbug crawling on my bathroom mirror or even on my body no longer gives me the heebie-jeebies. It bothers me that my toddler can say “stinka-bug” as clearly as “Mama.” I can’t stand that I no longer feel like fighting the good fight against the brown marmorated stinkbug.

I guess it takes a wise person to admit defeat. Then again, maybe a wise person would fake defeat and then plan a sneak attack with a vacuum hose.

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One of my friends says that the invading stinkbugs have ruined cilantro for her because its smell is so similar to the stinkbug smell. In fact, my children have renamed cilantro “stinkbug weed.” Surprisingly, I still like the green herb. I even grow it in my garden.

A friend from my husband’s seminary years shared her recipe for salsa with me all those years ago, and it is a good one--especially when garden tomatoes are no longer available fresh. It calls for chicken bouillon, but I’ve made it without, too. 

Quick and Easy Salsa

1- 16 oz. can whole peeled tomatoes

1/2 onion, chopped

1 jalapeno pepper, chopped (optional)

1 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. chicken bouillon (granules)

juice from 1/2 lemon

1/2 bunch cilantro, chopped

In a food processor, pulse all ingredients until you like the consistency. 

*This column ran in the Hancock News October 25, 2017. 

*All pictures are of stinkbugs invading the new addition to our home as it was being built. 

Dottie

September kicks off a month of seasons-- football season, hunting season, and the obvious fall weather season. For me, September brings the opening of birthday season. Three of our children were born in the last half of September. On top of that, six aunts, uncles, and cousins have birthdays that require phone calls or cards.

But one birthday we’d been looking forward to will be bittersweet. Our friend Dottie was to turn 99 this week, but instead of eating a little cake with me and the kids, she’ll be partying at the greatest feast ever. You see, Dottie died last week, and while she’s in a better place, I’m still sad.

Dottie made me feel good about myself. Every time I visited, she told me repeatedly how much she loved me, how wonderful I was, how good my husband was, and how beautiful my children were. It didn’t matter that her eyes couldn’t see so well or that she never saw me at my worst; Dottle repeated those words of love so many times, I couldn’t help but believe them a little bit.

Dottie stroked my ego, but that’s not why I’ll miss her so much. When I visited with Dottie, she out-talked me. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she’d say, “but I am a talker, and I just love people. I can’t help it; that’s the way I am.” I didn’t need to forgive her because I adored her for it; I understood her because that’s exactly the way I am, too. I think we must have been kindred spirits.

Every time we left Dottie’s house, she’d stand on her front porch or, when she became too unsteady on her feet, just inside her front door and wave and throw kisses until we were out of sight. That’s special.

Visiting Dottie

I might not be able to throw her a birthday party this year, but I can celebrate her life. I can celebrate by throwing kisses and hugs and loving words of every kind all over the place. Who knows? Maybe it’ll make somebody around me feel half as warm and fuzzy as Dottie made me feel. 

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In our house, September is also applesauce season. My husband makes quarts and quarts of it. Dottie ate applesauce nearly every day, so we usually took some to her when we visited. I’ll miss that.

While applesauce is good on its own, it’s also delicious in baked goods. These applesauce muffins are just the thing to pair with your favorite coffee or hot tea on a chilly September morning.

Applesauce Oatmeal Muffins

Muffins:

1 1/2 cups oats, uncooked

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp. baking powder

3/4 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 cup applesauce

1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar

3 Tbsp. oil

1 egg

Topping:

1/4 cups oats, uncooked

1 Tbsp. firmly packed brown sugar

1 Tbsp. butter, melted

1/8 tsp. ground cinnamon

Heat oven to 400℉. Prepare muffins pans (enough for 12 muffins) by lining with paper cups or by greasing pan. In a small bowl combine topping ingredients, mix well, and set aside. 

For muffins, combine oats, flour, baking powder, baking soda and cinnamon in a large bowl; mix well. In another bowl, combine applesauce, milk, sugar, oil, and egg; blend well. Add to dry ingredients and stir just until dry ingredients are moistened.  (Do not over-mix.) Fill muffin cups almost full. Sprinkle with reserved topping, patting gently. Bake 20-22 minutes or until deep golden brown. Cool muffins in pan on wire rack 5 minutes. Remove from pan and serve warm.

*This column ran in the Hancock News September 20, 2017. 

Craving Routine & Cucumber Salad

Over the course of my tenure as a mother, I’ve learned that I crave normal. Routine is easier on me and on the children. Same old, same old. I just can’t get enough of boring.

Of course, life around here is never boring. This summer brought chaos to our house, even more chaos than our seven children normally produce. For the last month or so, each morning before 7 a. m., we hear air compressors, nail guns, hammers, saws, or a machine (whose name I don’t know) that knocks holes in bricks. A backhoe now lives in our backyard, and my clothesline is temporarily dismantled.

The kids couldn’t be more thrilled. I’m fairly certain they couldn’t be more underfoot, but the carpenters take it all in stride, giving even the little ones important jobs along with a smile or two. So far my children have chipped way at mortar on bricks, held boards and chalk lines, carried wood and nails, and operated a forklift-crane sort of machine on a delivery truck. They also make sure to set out a water cooler and cups each day for the workers.

And despite the fact that their mother keeps trying to pull them away from the action to do their chores, the kids can (and do) tell you about each step of the building process so far. Their questions about what what comes next are endless, and every other sentence out of their mouths is about their new heroes, the men working on the new addition to the parsonage. 

The names of the workers fall from the lips of the children so often that you’d think they are family; they’re so nice to us that I wouldn’t mind if they were family, especially since, thanks to their skills and hard work, we’ll soon have some extra room in our home. 

This is the kind of chaos I can live with.

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The garden is in full swing around here. Cucumbers, beans, zucchini, peppers, and even the blighted tomatoes are daily on our table. My husband’s favorite garden delight this summer is cucumber salad. I make a sour cream dressing that’s simple and soothing in the summertime heat. Simply peel and slice your cucumbers (and tomatoes and onions if you have some) and pour this dressing over the top, give it a quick stir, and you have summer in a bowl. My grandmother also used this dressing over lettuce.

Sour Cream Dressing for Cucumber Salad

1/2 cup sour cream

1/2 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp. pepper

2Tbsp. sugar

2 Tbsp.  cider vinegar

Mix all ingredients and pour over cukes.

*This column ran in the Hancock News on August 24, 2017. (The pictures were not in the newspaper.)

A Need to Connect & Peachy German Pancakes

I have a problem; I love talking too much. I go on and on, and when I wear out the ears of those who know and put up with me, I move on to strangers.

Yes, I’m one of those people who can’t seem to keep her mouth shut in a doctor’s office or in the line at the bank. I have no idea why I feel compelled to open my mouth and start rambling on. I know some people consider it rude, but I just can’t stop myself. I guess I have a need to connect with people.

Recently my talking-to-strangers problem has taken a turn for the worse. Now I’m feeling the urge to write letters to strangers. I have a mental list of unsolicited letters I want to write, and the list keeps growing.

Some of the people are actually companies. For example, quite a while ago we bought a giant-sized jar of Nutella at one of those club stores. It was a treat for sure, but the design of the jar made it nearly impossible to get all the chocolate-hazelnut goodness scraped out.  For years I’ve wanted to write a letter and suggest redesigning the shape of the jar, but I’ve managed to keep silent.

Sometimes I want to write thank you letters to strangers, but most of those would be undeliverable:  “Dear sympathetic-looking lady behind me in the grocery check-out line-- Thank you for smiling in what I took to be an encouraging way when my children were fighting over who got to put the frozen peas on the conveyor belt. It made life a little easier.”

And while I’m not normally hung up on celebrities, I might actually write a letter to Ree Drummond, a blogger and television cooking show host better known as Pioneer Woman. You see, I watch her show on Saturday mornings, and occasionally some of the children stick around after cartoons to watch with me. But my little Molly always watches with me; she loves Pioneer Woman.

Last fall on vacation, we happened to be driving through Pioneer Woman’s part of Oklahoma when her new store was opening, so we planned a quick stop. However, when we drove into town, the line for the store was blocks long. With road-weary, tired, and hungry kids in the van, I settled for taking pictures out the window as we drove past. But my normally jolly and easy-going Molly cried tears of bitter disappointment for a long time, and my heart broke.

Long line

Another long line

I’m hoping that if I write a letter and ask, Pioneer Woman might send Molly a birthday card this year, thus assuaging my guilt over causing my little girl to shed so many tears.

The other kind of letter I write looks more like a column in a newspaper. I don’t start it out with, “Dear Reader,” but those of you who take the time to read my ramblings are dear to me. Thank you for reading the words I feel the need, for some inexplicable reason, to write to strangers.

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It’s been peachy around our house since we took a trip to an orchard last week. We didn’t buy enough peaches to can or dry, but I did freeze a few. Mostly we’ve just been eating them fresh; they were especially nice atop this German pancake at breakfast. If you don’t have peaches, top the pie-like slices of pancake with other fresh fruit, cooked apples, or syrup.

This recipe doubles (or, for my family, quadruples) easily. Just increase the size of the skillet you use; you may also need to adjust the baking times accordingly.

German Pancake

1/2 cup flour

3 eggs

1/2 cup milk

1/4 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. sugar

2 Tbsp. butter

Preheat oven to 425℉ and warm the iron skillet in the oven while making the pancake batter.

Beat together flour, eggs, milk, salt, and sugar either by hand or with a mixer. A few lumps are okay. 

Remove the skillet from the oven and add the butter to the hot skillet. When the butter is melted, pour the pancake batter into the skillet. Bake for 12-18 minutes or until the pancake is set in the middle. Cut into slices and serve with your favorite topping.


*This column ran in the Hancock News on July 26, 2017 (without pictures and captions).
**This post has been shared at Strangers & Pilgrims on Earth for The Art of Home-Making Mondays.