After Dinner Gardening

Many things we enjoyed doing with our sons when they were growing up are being revisited as we have fun with granddaughters.  One project with almost endless possibilities is "after dinner gardening."  Yes, we can grow pineapples in our own back yard here on the Gulf Coast of South Texas.  Once the pineapple top has been sliced off before paring and slicing the fruit for eating, it can be placed into soil mixed with a few coffee grounds.  Kept moist, it will root and make a new pineapple plant.  We have sprouted avocado seeds, apple, peach, and grapefruit seeds, also lemon and orange.  Celery root ends kept in a shallow dish with water will grow new celery leaves, and carrot tops done the same way are wonderful little ferns to use in a fairy garden.  We have successfully grown ginger from ginger root and garlic from garlic pods.  Of course, potato eyes can be fun to plant and grow, too.  Another part of this project is becoming seed savers which leads to sharing seeds, just like my grandmother did.

I think we are also growing gardeners!

The Buttermilk Glass

I am a keeper, but not a collector.  A collector might find this lovely glass and purchase it to add to a shelf with other depression glass treasures. That person would probably know whether this is called pink or peach, the name of the pattern, and just how much it is worth.  I know none of those things.  I only know I love to hold the glass, and use it for a "feel better" boost by filling it with iced tea or lemonade when I need to feel a little pampered.  I have only one other piece of a similar color and vintage, a cracked candy bowl, which was once owned by the person who gave the footed tumbler.   I don't even think depression glass when I take it out of the china cabinet.  This was my grandmother's favorite buttermilk glass!  So that is what I call it - the buttermilk glass.  She liked to fill it with cold buttermilk and sometimes crumbled cornbread in to eat with a spoon.  It has been mine for many years now.  I wonder if one of my granddaughters will one day call it "the lemonade glass?"   For more story about Grandma Terrell -

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Most of my garden photographs get posted in my blog www.stonesandfeathers.wordpress.com . Most of my kitchen stories and recipes get told at www.kitchenkeepers.wordpress.com .   But this blue pea vine that blooms so profusely at my kitchen window reminds me why I love vines so much: they are quite alot like families.  There is something magical about a climbing vine in a garden. Vines seem to have a mind of their own and grow here and there in many directions - but they need something to cling to or climb on, a support.  Like morning glories and moonflowers, they reach for the strength of a trellis or rail and hang on, blooming and blooming some more.

Families can be like that too. Especially in our marriages,  I think sometimes we are branches of  the vine and at other times we need to be the trellis, offering support for each other's growth and change. As I age, my children help me do things I once could do for myself or for them. So last night, as the blue pea vine peeked in my kitchen window, I cooked a pot of seafood gumbo with my granddaughter's good help while my son hung curtain rods for me and my daughter in law stood on a ladder to change light bulbs. I am thankful for my trellis and glad I can still bloom.  They loved the gumbo.

Goodbye Summer, Hello Fall!

One of the great advantages of living on the South Texas Gulf Coast is that we have two growing seasons!  It is true that Spring gardens often get burned with summer heat that comes on fast, but Fall gardens can be so rewarding.  I planted new tomato plants about a month ago in containers that were shaded part of the day.  Now that cooler temperatures have arrived, they are setting fruit.  Squash and cucumbers went in a few weeks ago as well.  This weekend, I will plant some Kale, collards, bok choy, and lettuces.  If we have a typical mild winter, they will still be thriving until next Spring.  One year we had an unusual snow day early in December and I have photos of the greens frosted with snow which only seemed to give them second wind!  I love planting seeds.  When my granddaughters are here, they like to plant their own rows.  Our garden may be small, but it adds so much pleasure and of course, good nutritious food for our table.  I will add a plug for Baker Creek Heirloom seeeds, my favorite seed catalog.  www.rareseeds.com

Remembering a Step and a Leap

It is mid morning on September 13, 2012 and I am in my Sugar Land, Texas kitchen -  but I am brimming with tears as I hear bagpipes and later,  a husky voice singing “Fly Me to the Moon.”  I vividly recall the late night of July 20, 1969 in our friends' living room in San Antonio, Texas.  What these times have in common is a television screen and a man named Neal Armstrong.  Today's newsworthy event on the screen is at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. - a memorial service for the man who filled the screen on that hot night in 1969 as he stepped from the lunar module of Apollo 11 onto the moon saying “That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

 

In 1969, Joe and I had a tiny unreliable television set, so we were invited to the home of friends from church where we set the stroller and propped our first son, Sean, so that he could watch, too.  He was barely 18 months old.  Today he is 44 years old, and if he sees any of this final tribute to Neal Armstrong, it will be on his lunch hour with his iPhone, watching streaming video from the internet!  There have been many small steps for men as well as giant leaps for mankind since those words.were spoken, but one thing remains the same.  America still needs more men like Neal Armstrong.

 

Post Script:  I thought I would spend some time stargazing and moon watching for remembrance tonight but clouds shroud the moon light, which I receive as another farewell.  

 

To Market, To Market

We grow a few vegetables and have pomengranate, Meyer Lemon, Fig, and Satsuma trees, with starter Avocado and Olive trees. The past two years, we have purchased a CSA share which means we have local organic produce and eggs during their delivery seasons.  But today, I am thankful for the abundance of Farmers Markets that are new to our area.  At the site of the old Imperial Sugar plant in Sugar Land, every Saturday local gardeners, bakers, chefs, and craftsmen are there with fresh vegetables like sweet Japanese eggplant, colorful peppers, squash, okra, tomatoes, peaches, fresh bread and pastries, Texas Wagyu beef, freshly made pastas, olive oils, and a variety of condiments.  It is satisfying to support local efforts, and the results are tasty when I bring our bounty home to cook.  I have another reason to be happy - tomorrow morning is supposed to be in the 60's, so I don't even have to brave the blistering Texas heat to shop. 

Tribute to Friends and Family

"From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same the Lord's name is to be praised."    ~ Psalm 113: 3

This week started with end of summer and start of school stuff.  It is hurricane season here and there was a storm brewing, Monday was the beginning of school for our 4th grade granddaughter, and Tuesday the first day for our first grader. Both my recently planted tomatoes and I were wilting in the heat and grateful for long cold drinks of water.  Joe was busy with work and medical appointments. By the end of the day on Monday, my cool pillow was the only place I thought I was headed.  Suddenly, everything changed.  We were on the way to the hospital instead of to bed.  Joe, who has had so many surgeries on his left knee, was literally brought to his knees by that joint collapsing and dislocating.  We found ourselves in a swirl of pain and prayers. Calls to our doctor and our son, who came to help resulted in emergency hospital admission and on to the operating room where the out of place pieces were put in place and snugly encased in a thigh to toe cast.  It is going to be a painful, challenging recovery but he is addressing it with his typical courage and good spirits
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All this to say, I am so grateful for God's provision for our peace in the middle of this storm, which felt like the pounding confusion of hurricane winds to us. 

Isn't it good that we know we are not alone in dealing with this?  We are grateful for access to medical care, and most of all so thankful for our family and the friends who help us and love us in so many ways.  Our sons gave us their time and strong arms to lean on.  Ben made our dinner when we came home from the hospital.  He even remembered his Dad had said mac and cheese sounded good. Our son who does not live here was connected and encouraging by phone.  All 3 daughters in law responded with loving attention.  And I am overwhelmed with appreciation by the emails and Facebook messaging as well as phone calls from our friends.  So it was natural that when I thought about a blog post for today that I wanted to give the spotlight to all of you who love us so well and help us so much.  As the photo of a note I received many years ago declares "Hope your day starts and ends on a beautiful note!."  I might add ...you certainly make the notes in my day a symphony!


Postscript:     The note I mention was the last letter I received from Doris Nutt,  a longtime friend and mentor on October 22, 2001 although I got a birthday card a few weeks later which she mailed before she died.  She taught me at church when I was growing into and out of my teens, and was so important to me as a friend and mentor that I (along with other women who had the same blessing of knowing her) called her Mamma Nutt.  Her faithfulness, loyalty, and unselfish giving of herself remain an example to me when I think of friends.  When she passed away, friends found her with her Bible open in her lap.  All those years ago, her encouragement and teaching helped to equip me for the storms of today.  I am thankful for family and friends, then and now.

Biscuits, Butter, and Beyond

No, I didn't confuse which blog I was writing for!  I guess I could have titled this Kitchen Tools or Grandma Terrell's Keepsakes.  It was just that I started thinking about the top one when I used it the other day.  Its companion is missing a handle and wears the stains of its years, but it has a place of honor on the granite strip at my kitchen window behind the sink that holds reminders of my faith and family. 

One of the popular apps on FaceBook these days is the posting of an antique object or vintage find and asking you to check like if you remember something or if you ever used it.  So think about it!  Did (or do) you ever use either one of these objects?  Do you remember what they are?  Both were handed down to me by my mother who received them from her mother.  The rectangular wooden box is a butter mold.  Of course, the cow had to be milked and the milk had to be churned to make the butter before it was placed in the mold to harden in a cool place. 

The top round is not so different from today's cookie cutters except I don't have any with wooden handles.  This one doubled as a donut cutter due to its center, which can be twisted to remove.  I remember Grandma making biscuits - folding the soft dough and rolling it out to a sheet on which this biscuit cutter was used to deftly punch out dozens of creamy soft rounds which rose to golden,  flaky rounds in her wood stove.  Mother used it as well, eventually beginning to use the "new" biscuit mix, Bisquick,  to make her dough.  I now use it not only for biscuits (my favorite, angel biscuits have yeast as an igredient) and cookies, but tea sandwiches  and other goodies.  Recently, 6 year old Maddie and her Daddy helped me use it to cut circles from corn tortillas, which we placed in the iron skillet with an egg in the middle - a variation of the "toad in a hole" that my boys liked when they were little.  We saved the tortilla rounds to make mini tacos!

I don't churn and have never really used the butter mold.  But it reminds me daily of family heritage, hard work, and how my life is shaped and molded with love and intention.

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Beating Heart, Blooming Rose: A Story of Friendship

                                                         
                                                           

I love growing antique roses. Every time I tend mine or bring bouquets in to grace our kitchen table, I am reminded of the dear friend who first introduced me to “old roses.” I had never been much inspired to grow roses, appreciating the beauty of long stemmed hybrids, but avoiding their need for pampering. Marcia told me about robust roses that are so hardy they grow on old tumbled down homesites and along fences. Once I realized that each one had its own unique story and fragrance, I was hooked. I pored over catalogs, and planted Sombreuil, Mutabulis, Maggie, and Crepescule. My rose friends’ stories blend now with my friend Marcia’s story, and that of her husband, Bob.

Bob was crazy about Marcia. Marcia adored Bob. Her nickname was Moose, and she fancied cats and roses. The cats were a pair of vocal chocolate point Siamese named Mikhail and Nikita and were Bob and Marcia’s babies, but the roses were their passion.

Marcia had picked out her wedding dress and envisioned a wedding long before she found Bob when she was in her mid-thirties. During their pre-marital counseling sessions with Marcia’s pastor, Bob was asked what one thing he would change about her if he could. He said he would give her a healthy heart since she was born with a hole in her heart and developed Eisenmenger’s syndrome which meant her heart and lungs were unable to provide her with enough oxygen. That didn’t keep her from her photography business but it made keeping up with physical activity hard for her. It also didn’t keep her from loving Bob and planning a life with him.

After Bob heard Marcia say she always wanted a rose garden, he bought 80 acres of fertile South Texas Gulf Coast land to plant neither rice nor cotton, but thousands of rose bushes. They drew up plans, pored over catalogs, and began choosing roses. When the first 2000 rose plants arrived, Marcia directed the planting from her hospital bed. A group of us who called her friend went out to plant the roses with Bob’s help.

Two pacemakers later, she was placed on a heart transplant list. Finally, Bob and Marcia and the cats moved to Nashville, TN to be near Vanderbilt University Hospital while she waited what they thought would bea few months to receive a heart and lungs. I went out to their rose farm a few times to help pot cuttings as their plans to open a shop and nursery were postponed. Many of their family and friends did what they could to help maintain the plantings. Time dragged on over 2 years, with Marcia in and out of the hospital as her need became greater. Because the need for organs so far outweighs donors, Marcia once said “There’s just no ordering from the Land’s End catalogue.” That may have been a quip, but certainly not a joke. In order to increase awareness for organ donation, she allowed a reporter and photographer to follow her for 4 ½ months in the hospital, a story later published in the Nashville newspaper. In the series of articles, Marcia and Bob's love for each other and their deep faith dominated the story of their courage.

Bob worked from her hospital room and their apartment on his computer and was her chief encourager. One day he filled every pitcher, Styrofoam cup, and container he could find in her hospital room with Texas roses which he had flown to Tennessee. He brought Mikhail and Nikita for visits because she missed them so much. Her Dr. OK'd this when he found out how much it helped her.

The day came for Marcia's rare heart and double lung transplants in April 1999. Recovering, she returned to Texas with pink cheeks, a grin, and enough air to play her flute as well as honor a promise to a friend to be in her June wedding. In her absence, friends and family had planted, rooted, and tended endless cuttings and rose beds. Bob built her a house. Early on they had planned a gift shop, tea room, and wedding chapel for their antique rose nursery and display gardens named The Vintage Rosery. Together, now they worked side by side, nurturing roses, increasing public awareness of organ donation and organic gardening, and kept all the commitments involved in maintaining Marcia's health. Together, they prayed and played, keeping the dreams alive, celebrating the opening of their gardens only 2 years after her transplants. For the next 5 they grew their garden and introduced customers to roses.

On a brilliant fall day, a line of cars miles long drove through the arches at the Vintage Rosery past masses of climbing yellow Lady Banks and fragrant Madame Alfred Carriere drifts, along the beds of multicolored Mutabulis, Maggie and pink Duchesse de Brabant next to rows of Souvenir de La Malmaison. They passed by the stream with its covered bridge and saw a tiny chapel. As people got out of their cars, they walked by a charming yellow house with a kitchen garden and fragrant herbs lining paths. By the lakeside, they gathered to honor Marcia and celebrate her life.

The following month, a “For Sale” sign hung on the gate. Bob held a moving sale. Marcia’s mom helped him. I went, weeping as I bought some of Marcia’s herb and antique rose books. As friends and strangers walked through the house and gardens, they saw “Rose Bushes - $10.00 each”, “Garden Books - $5 each”, “Gardening Tools -$15”, “Cutting Baskets - $7” I miss my friend. But I see her when I walk among my roses.

Bookkeeping

I am a bookkeeper.  To be more I accurate I am a book keeper.  Although it is true that I managed the accounting portion of Parker Geophysical Inc. and Parker Consulting, Inc., companies which Joe and I owned during the past 20 years, that is not the books which are in this story of keeping.  A few weeks ago, in a cleaning and clearing out project I undertook, I handled every book on the shelves in our library.  I rearranged the shelves to make more space and resolved to put fewer books back after I cleaned the shelves.  That is alwas a difficult thing for me.  As I said in the beginning, I am a book keeper!

Apparently, Mother was a keeper of books as well because I still have several of my childhood books in addition to books that belonged to her and her brothers nearly 100 years ago.  The bindings are frayed, the colors faded, and the pages yellowed, but oh my, what a rich legacy these are!  Not because they are valuable in terms of dollars, but because they tell a story far beyond the printed words on their pages. 

Beyond the edges of the pages in these children's books is a narrative of family choices and values that is dear to me.  Neither my grandparents nor my parents were well educated or wealthy. "Times were hard." is an expression I heard often when they spoke of past years.  The fact that books were important speaks volumes about family standards and values. I cannot hold these books and finger their fragile pages without thinking of being read to when I was little, and remembering that my mother had the same advantage.  It was natural that reading to my own children was always one of my favorite things to do.  It is sweet to see that tradition carried on as my sons have their own little ones who share bedtime prayers and bedtime stories.  

So these books won't go back on the shelf, at least not my shelf.  I will offer them to my children who can decide if they want to be book keepers.  In this age of going paperless and storing everything digitally, there are some things that can't be saved in a document or picture file.  There are still stories that defy having The End on the last page.

Happy Birthday Joe!

Planning birthday celebrations has always been fun at our house. From the first year of our marriage, Joe has loved to have me bake an unusual cake called "Cheap Cream Cake" for his birthday cake. When our sons were little, we had such good times thinking how each one would be a special occasion for the birthday boy!  Jeremy had a frog birthday when he was four complete with a frog cake baked in a bowl and turned upside down with green frosting and a homemade pin the fly on the frog's tongue instead of a tail on the donkey.  Sean had a birthday scavenger hunt one year, Ben's 6th birthday was a bicycle parade around the block.  We have had parties where everyone came dressed in stripes, bake your own cake parties with paper chef hats, and those where we made our own banana splits or ice cream sundaes or pizzas.  The year Joe turned 40, the boys and I made him a huge poster with 40 things we wished for him for his birthday and gave him a Baskin Robbins cake shaped like a train with frosting that said "Keep on Chugging, Honey, You're Not over the Hill yet!"
I have enjoyed asking family members each year "What would you like for your birthday dinner?"  That has produced Italian meals more than once, Indonesian and Mexican food often.  We have had a murder mystery game dinner, a luau, and cookouts. 

So I was not surprised recently when Joe said "I have decided what I want to do for my birthday!"  "A dinner," he said -with our family.  Here.  (at home) And I want violin music!"  So of course, that is exactly what we had this past weekend. For Joe's 75th birthday he finally did not have "Cheap Cream Cake."  He had lasagne and all the trimmings, tiny cupcakes, family, and unspeakably beautiful violin music.  Aija Isaacs, who teaches music to several family members, brought her family and violin and gave us an enchanted evening. 

My birthday present to Joe is in the photo below, a collage of a great many of the tickets to events, musicals, and theatre  we have enjoyed through our nearly 50 years together.  I can say without hesitation that his birthday evening of violin music was the best of all by the expression on his face.  Many thanks to Aija, to our children for all their help with the evening, and to our friend Tommy Gay Dawson for her lasagne!

Summering

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it. ~Russel Baker

We had two weeks of very unusual weather for July - two weeks of rain every day, heavy rain on a number of days and darkly overcast skies with thunderheads even on the dry days!  This was not associated with a tropical storm or hurricane and was so very much in contrast with last summer, one all remember as a brutal drought.  Many areas north and east of the Houston area received more than 14 inches of rain and experienced flooding.  We were thankful for our 6 to 7 inches and most of all, for the drop in temperatures.  This morning, although there is still a chance of some showers this afternoon, the sun is up early and burning brightly. Hot!  As I was clipping blooms from our leggy basil plants and cutting some of its bounty to hang up and dry,  I was thinking how herbs hate to have wet feet and could almost see soggy soil baking.  It is going to be a true to Texas summer day!

There are many reasons on the Texas Gulf Coast to experience the power of summer.  Flooding rains, blistering heat, the challenges of helping animals and plants survive, getting into an oven everytime I need to drive the truck, fire ants, mosquitoes, electric and water bills, sunglasses sliding down my nose along with perspiration - these are among the ways we spend our summertime.

At the same time, we experience the refreshment of cooling showers, sunshine on our shoulders, singing cicadadas, ripening figs and berries , the flourishing of fragrant herbs, air conditioning, iced tea, cold watermelon,  and a healthy dose of Vitamin D!   "summertime, and the living is easy....fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high!"  Papa doesn't have to be rich, and Mama may not be good lookin', but "hush, little baby, don't you cry!"

Touch- Me- Not

We planted Impatiens Balsaminas this week!  One of our favorite local garden centers grew a few to see what interest their customers might have and were almost sold out when we went to get ours.  For years now, this little known member of the same family as the lavender and coral shade loving impatiens has gone unnoticed. It was popular in Victorian times and a favorite of Thomas Jefferson. I think it is one of those lovely, old fashioned flowers that just fell out of favor.  Mother always grew them in our front flower beds by the screened front porch.  Grandma grew them by the back door.  One of my earliest gardening delights was touching the touch- me- nots!  You see, when their seed pods are "ready", the seeds jump right out - surely producing little girl giggles!  They are heat resistant, don't require nearly as much water as other impatiens, and grow vigorously up to 3 feet high. Best of all, because of their robust reseeding, you usually only have to plant them once, they will come back and come back and come back!

Called by other names, such as Jumping Betty, Lady Slipper, and Rose Balsam, these plants also have a history of medicinal use,  having the reputation of a remedy for snake bite poison ivy rash among others.

I have had fun this week remembering long ago flower beds and being glad for ancestors who loved tending flowers.
I can't wait to touch the first seed pod by my back porch and wait for the resulsts next Spring!

A Fairy Garden

My granddaughters and I have been creating small fairy gardens in several places in our garden. Every garden needs a little whimsy!  Here, a kitty sits ready to serve a tiny tea in a pot of English Thyme!

Letters

When was the last time you got a letter? To be honest, I can't remember - and that makes me sad.  I sort the mailbox harvest, in order of preference:  hand addressed envelopes, bills and other items with first class postage, then the junk mail which goes promptly into the recycle container in my kitchen.  I love getting holiday cards, announcements and invitations, and thoughtfully penned notes saying thank you or be well.  But it has been a very long time since a long newsy letter arrived except those of annual Christmas Letter variety.  I miss getting letters. I miss writing them.

I exchange email correspondence and Facebook messages.  I always have my cell phone with me.  I stay connected with my family in those ways although I have stopped short of texting and tweeting.  I savor engagement in these ways but I can't help but remember the difference in sitting down to write a letter and getting to settled to enjoy reading one.  Our electronic communications are immediate, instant gratification but briefer, to the point, with less feeling apparent.  Somehow posting a smiley face says so much less than a few sentences about feeling happy.

I have used the same expression most do in referring to mailbox content as "snail mail" - of course it is slower!  Just like many others, I now do my banking and much of my shopping online.  I love the internet tools available for researching, writing, and communication.  I am not suggesting we go back, only that we consider what may be lost in the progress and that we become more intentional in retrieving engagement and intimacy in our communications.  Maybe that is one of the reasons I choose to post weekly on my three blogs.

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.   ~ Phyllis Theroux

P. S.  The photograph above is a letter I wrote to my parents in 1963 while I was planning my wedding (December 28, 1963).  I found it recently when I was going through one of the many boxes belonging to her I have sorted and filed since her death in 2006.  I wonder if there will be any letters for my granddaughters to read in 50 years.  Somehow, printed emails don't seem to be keepers. Who knows?  They may keep digital scrapbooks which have a file for their children's letters.  I just hope the messages of the heart will be in them.

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Being Thankful for Chores

A maid service which advertises with bulk mail in our town reprimands "Life is too short to clean your own house."  The number of meals which families eat out, prepared and cleaned up by someone else,  is an astronomical part of family budgets.  I even saw a newsclip last week touting the introduction of a Swedish invention which is a bed that makes itself!  It seems that we spend an inordinate amount of energy and resources to get someone else to do our homework!Now approaching 72, and learning to accept more help these days, I appreciate occasional assistance with cleaning and gardening. But I prefer doing most of it myself.

I grew up having chores - housekeeping and kitchen chores I was allowed to be responsible for. At times I helped when Daddy fed the cows or drug a trailer behind a tractor to pick watermelons.  I don’t remember this as a negative, just something that was done because I was told to, most of the time feeling good about it. I may have not always begged to dust or take care of my little sister, but I loved helping in the kitchen. Cleaning up afterward was just part of the process. The summer  I was twelve, I helped behind the counter of the small cafe my parents owned. I had part time jobs as a teenager. That was work, not a chore, right?  When I graduated high school at seventeen, entered college, and became solely responsible for getting myself up and off to 7 a.m. classes and to my on campus job, I was given a book with a quotation by Charles Kingsley which still comes to mind when I hear anyone bemoaning “having” to do something.

 “Thank God–every morning when you get up–that you have something to do which must be done, whether you like it or not. Being forced to work, and forced to do your best, will breed in you a hundred virtues which the idle never know.”

I wouldn’t have labeled it so at the time, but I was learning the value of discipline. I also learned that something I accomplish has a great deal of meaning that involves something I am. Beginning all those years ago, I began to understand how I could find deeper meaning in my daily tasks required to care for my home and family.   I found great creative energy in gardening, planning and cooking meals, finding ways to make our home beautiful with art and music, encouraging our boys with good books, and offering hospitality to our friends and family. But the weeding, cleaning, mopping, potscrubbing, endless laundry (3 boys certainly makes for lots of washing and ironing) and keeping up with all the practices and games they were involved in could have easily overwhelmed me except for my belief that what I was doing was more than a job that would likely be necessary to repeat soon.

 I could pray for the man who would wear the shirt I was ironing. I could be intent on loving the little boy from whose jean pocket I had just fished out a frog. I could focus on blessing the messes as well as taking pride in the delicious meals. For many years, I have kept a small framed poem. It has peeped from beneath the stacks of paperwork on my desk, perched by the detergent in the utility room, and for a long time now has rested on the side of my kitchen sink.

Teach me, my God and King

In all things Thee to see

And what I do in anything,

To  do it as for Thee.

   ~ George Herbert

 Kathleen Norris, in her little book, The Quotidian Mysteries, discusses this process of the deeper meaning in our chores.

“…all serve to ground us in the world, and they need not grind us down. Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated.”

We may do well to consider any differences with which we approach work (in the sense of a job for which we are paid) and chores, the necessary tasks which order our daily lives and the life of our family. 

Sign of Home

For many years we traveled a great deal, particularly during the years we lived in Indonesia.  The past 7 years we have traveled very little due to Joe's many hospitalizations and surgeries.  Occasionally I am asked if I miss traveling.  My answer can be surprising.  Other than wanting to spend more time with family members who don't live near us, I honestly do not miss "being away."   I love being at home.  I may go to Tuscany and back in an afternoon by reading Frances Mayes' lovely books.  I feel like I have been to the south of France or back to the island of Bali by preparing an Indonesian or French meal, but I am in my own garden by the time we have eaten! 

In various places in our home, there are little reminders of this feeling for me, as well as the hospitality I want to extend to our guests.  One of my favorites is this little placard which I have hanging under a large picture which is a print of work done by artist  David Arms.  This photo doesn't allow a good look, but above the birds and nest there is a line (dictionary style) defining home as a place of refuge and rest, highlighted with a couple of feathers.

         
                     Yes, home is a place of comfort, refuge, and rest for me.  Come for a visit.  Welcome home!

How Many Hats Do You Wear?

Even with today's disdain of hats for either women or men for normal dressup occasions, most of us still have a few hats hanging around.  Mine are all garden hats.  Jordann wears one here, but there are plenty for all of us.  Joe has a few golf hats and baseball caps.  When I was growing up, my mother wore hats to church, weddings, and funerals, and Daddy always wore a felt Fedora. We see glamourous hats worn at the Kentucky Derby or Fascinators perched on the side of British heads at formal functions.  When I attend estate sales I sometimes see entire walls of hats and veils of every style that some matron kept for years, probably in the hope they would "come back."  I have attended teas where ladies were asked to wear a hat, Easter functions where we were asked to make one, and the dressup box here has several.  Somehow, if you change nothing else about what you are wearing, putting on a hat suddenly says something about who you are, or what you want to imagine being. 

Maybe that is one of the reasons for the expression which arose in the mid 1900's which alluded to wearing more than one hat, (functioning in a different or more than one capacity or position). This metaphoric expression alludes to headgear worn for different occupations or occasions.

 We all wear more than one hat whether we have one on our head or not!  Multi tasking is not really new, is it?

Yea for Summer!

Officially, Summer does not arrive for almost another month!.  But a number of indicators say it is already here in every way except the calendar date. In order of arrival, but not importance, these are 1) the weather - already mid nineties and sticky with humidity, 2) the Texas size mosquitoes that seem to thrive in the heat, and 3) the end of another school year, which makes possible the joy of extra time spent with us by our grandchildren.  Next week, Maddie and Jordann arrive to spend a week.  But this week, Skye and I have three days of fun together. 

I did not set out to spend three days unplugged, but we have had little time for television or smaller electronics!  Often, necessity is the mother of invention, so yesterday one of our first projects was homemade mosquito repellent.  I had tried the mixture last week, so Skye made her own spray bottle to take home with her.  The recipe is a simple mix of alcohol, oil, and essential oils:

2 Tablespoons rubbing alcohol
2 Tablespoons almond oil (or olive oil)
50 drops of eucalyptus essential oil
15 drops each of peppermint, lavender, and lemongrass essential oils

Mix, pour into small spray bottle and shake before each use.

We tried it  - it works!  It isn't quite the same as baking cookies together, but still fun.

We also made fresh sugar water to refill the hummingird feeders after we cleaned them, and did some painting of toenails and fingernails.  Skye is very fond of mermaids right now, so she wanted blue and turquoise nails with fish scales.  I opted for plain pearl.

Today we mixed up some moss paint and painted some garden pots and statuary with what we hope grows into lovely mounds of real moss.  Results to be posted later!  Tomorrow we are making hanging basket fairy gardens.

The biggest project will take us awhile.  The Victorian dollhouse and most of its furniture is in dire need of repair.  We plan to work on this when we can, and solicit help from the handymen in the family! 

Don't you think we earned the hour we spent  on the couch reading?   

I love Summer!

Lemons!

Our Meyer lemon tree is loaded with baby lemons like these. Lemon blossoms have one of the lovliest fragrances in the garden.  One reason may be the promise of all this lovely fruit.  We love watcing the little nubbins grow, rounding out, and staying this rich green until chartreuse tinges the growing globes and eventually turns well, lemon color!  This takes ahwile, so we have to be patient.  But I already am pulling out all my Meyer lemon recipes and anticipating the delicious outcome!

Garden Ladies

Each Spring there are certain rituals we like to observe.  Just as we remember that Valentine's Day is the best time to prune the roses,  make trips to our favorite garden center to see what varieties of tomatoes we want to purchase, and sit with seed catalogs to inspire us for clearing out and preparing flower and herb beds, we love an annual celebration of good bugs!  Here, our grand-lady Skye is releasing 2000 ladybugs in the garden.  She was happy, and they were hungry!  The few aphids that had dared to perch on nearby rosebuds were not around long.

We enjoy this celebration of freedom for these little red garden ladies, even though it means finding a few in our hair or riding on our shoulder for awhile.  Don't try this if you spray your yard with harmful pesticides or chemicals.  We are organic gardeners, so the ladybugs can go about their work of eliminating aphids, the most common garden pest,  without getting eliminated themselves.

Ladybugs are one of the insects we have in our gardens today that are popular all over the world.  In ancient times, ladybugs were considered a sign of good fortune and a bountiful harvest. 

This one little ladybug is capable of eliminating 1000 aphids per day!  Good job, Garden Ladies!

Books and Lobster Shells!

“Books... are like lobster shells, we surround ourselves with 'em, then we grow out of 'em and leave 'em behind, as evidence of our earlier stages of development.”
― Dorothy L. Sayers

With a nod to Sayers' wit, I confess I have the surrounding myself with books thing down.  That has never been a problem.  I do seem to trip over growing out of them and definitely have a problem with leaving them behind!  In an effort to balance this, plus reducing the load on library shelves and most other flat surfaces in the house,  I have been sorting books to leave behind.  I have donated books to the local library,  put out books for Purple Heart pickup, and am practicing giving books away rather than loaning them – in particular, cookbooks!  I confess this has barely made a dent in the book population here.

The problem for me is, a book doesn't just become a temporary acquisition or a brief part of me.  Not that the occasional book doesn't merit tossing after a single read – but there are those volumes I read that intrigue or entertain or illumine, that somehow stay with me as a changed piece of my heart.  Even the little yellowed children's books that I show my grandchildren saying, “this storybook was mine when I was a little girl,”  are me, like my brown eyes and freckles.  Many books in my library become part of me in different ways when I reread them in later years. I know I need to shed alot more shells, er..books.

Yes, I will still work on leaving behind the outgrown lobster shells.  But I will keep and treasure the books that have grown with me which I do not outgrow.  When I no longer need them, perhaps my granddaughters will pick them up and say “this book was Granmary's”.   In the meantime, I think this is a good afternoon to finish Frances Mayes' Every Day in Tuscany - a trip to Italy this afternoon- and still be back to make dinner!

Thank You for Planting This Tree!

When we planted a Vitex tree in our back yard, we had no idea how much the whole family would enjoy it.  It is an old fashioned tree which will soon be covered with spikes of purple blooms.  When it is in full bloom, it looks like a cloud of purple smoke is hovering over the garden.  But a few weeks ago, Skye, Maddie, and Jordann just enjoyed its low spreading limbs for climbing!  The limbs are small, but so are the girls, so all three could get up in it at one time.  I loved hearing them laughing and talking and having fun.  Just before I went to get my camera,  Skye looked up, saw me on the porch and called out, "Thank you!   Thank you for planting this tree!"  It reminded me of her Daddy, who once told us he wanted an apple tree he could climb.  We planted apple trees in the yards of more than one home but we always moved before they got big enough to climb.   I, too, am thankful for this tree, for its blooms and its shade,  with limbs low enough for little girls to clamber up and strong enough to give them a perch.