Of Friends and Coffee

Have you ever thought about all the similarities between coffee and friendships?

• Warm
• Comforting
• Stimulating
• Refreshing
•  
•  
•    
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...please add your own ideas. I left room for you...

Quality Coffee, Quality Friends

Quality Coffee begins with a good beans.  You can't make a quality product, if the base material is lacking.  This is true in every area of life.  Quality quilts are not made with Wal-Mart fabric and ratty thread.  Quality flooring is not made from oil.  While the quilt you make from Wal-Mart fabric may be fine, it probably won't last long enough to become an heirloom, and synthetic flooring will never be lovingly lifted from one home, transported across country and relaid in another home like hard wood flooring or a 80 year old wool carpet would.

The same is true with friends.  The type of person they are matters.  Choose wisely.

The next factor in good coffee is the roasting process.  It doesn't matter how good the beans are to begin with, if they are poorly roasted, the final product won't taste very good.

If you are a coffee snob, like me, then you know what type of roast you prefer, and what companies do the best job.  My favorite coffee comes from a little shop referred to locally as Jack's, because Jack owns it.  It is located in an old house.  When you walk in the brightly painted front door you are greeted with the smell of fresh coffee, his two large dogs and conversation.  Sitting on burlap bags of green bean you will find customers chatting.   The roaster sits in an open area where one can watch the beans turn a shiny black and hear the popping sound as they reach perfection.

This is such a contrast to the stories I have heard about how Folgers coffee is roasted -- in old tires, along the edge of the paved roads in Ecuador, stirred by young boys with hoes who walk barefoot up and down in the heat. No wonder there is a taste difference!

Now to friends... think about it... If someone is 'green', what can one do with them?  How many of your close friends lack experience, have never suffered loss or down times?  It takes the hard times to find out what a person is really made from.  Do they stand up to the heat, or do they flake out?

"Women are like teabags. We don't know our true strength until we are in hot water!"  --Eleanor Roosevelt

My closest friends have a wide range of experiences.  They have been through different things, they have lived different lives and they have made different choices -- all of which I can learn from.

Next, in good coffee, comes the brewing process.  Today, most of us just dump some grounds in a filter, fill the reservoir and push the button, all with our eyes half closed and our brains still in sleep mode, but have you ever had coffee made on a wood cook stove or over a campfire?  Slowly brewed to perfection?

There is an art in it.  The following recipe comes from The Original Fannie Farmer 1896 Cook Book, which begins with instructions on how to properly operate your wood cook stove.

Boiled Coffee

• 1 cup coffee grounds
• 1 egg
• 1 cup cup boiling water
• 6 cups boiling water

Scald a granite-ware coffee-pot.  Wash egg, break and beat slightly.  Dilute with one-half the cold water, add crushed shell, and mix with coffee.  Turn into the coffee-pot, pour on boiling water and stir thoroughly.  Place on the front of range, and boil three minutes.  If not boiled, coffee is cloudy; if boiled too long, too much tannic acid is developed.  The spout of the pot should be covered or stuffed with soft paper to prevent escape of fragrant aroma.  Stir and pour some in a cup to be sure that spout is free from grounds.  Return to coffee-pot and repeat.  Add remaining cold water, which perfects clearing.  Cold water, being heavier than hot water sinks to the bottom, carrying grounds with it.  Place on back of the range for ten minutes, where coffee will not boil.  Serve at once.  If any is left over, drain from grounds and reserve for making of jelly or other dessert.

Do you see how even the process of making good coffee is much like how lasting friendships develop?   It starts with mixing the ingredients.  Then things are hot for a while!  It is fun.  Exciting. (boiling)  But then it takes work.  (clearing the spout) and finally, there is that long wait on the back burner, before it can be served.

Personally, I would like it if friendships could always be at the boiling stage, but then one could never really enjoy the full strength of the it.  I hate the stirring and pouring parts -- change scares me, and being put on the back burner or putting someone on the back burner is never fun... but it is needed for that perfect flavor.

Of course, there was the guy who told me, "I like my friends like I like my coffee. Ground and in the freeze." Gosh -- I sure hope he was joking!

It was never between you and them...

Found written on the wall in Mother Teresa's home for children in Calcutta:

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. 

Forgive them anyway. 

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. 

Be kind anyway. 

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. 

Succeed anyway. 

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. 

Be honest and sincere anyway. 

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. 

Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.

Be happy anyway. 

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. 

Do good anyway. 

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. 

Give your best anyway. 

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. 

It was never between you and them anyway.

What Needs To Be

I know what needs to be done, but I don't want to do it.

I need to focus.
Focus on what is most important.
Focus on the things that really matter.
Focus on using my time wisely.

I want to focus on writing, crafting and creating,
But those are not the important things right now.
Those are the me things...
And they don't grow little boys into men.

I keep reminding myself, they will only be little once.
This chance isn't going to come again.
Time.  It can't be saved in a bottle.
And children won't wait for tomorrow.

There are so many things I want to teach them,
And time won't wait.
They learn from what I do.
I've always known this to be true...

“You can't save time. You can only spend it, but you can spend it wisely or foolishly.”

― Benjamin Hoff

a bit o' rambling

Yesterday I had a great post all thought out, complete with a song that really went with it--not just tacked on the end, because I like music...  I knew just what I wanted to say and how to say it.  Then I sat down... and my mind went as blank as the screen in front of me. 

I sat and stared and sat and tried to remember what in the world it was I was so happy to be writing about.  When nothing came to mind, I tried to recall the song that went so perfectly with it.  Again, nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I have no idea where my thoughts went.

The more I tried to recall what it was I wanted to write the more I thought about the book I am reading to my boys:  Freckles, by Gene Stratton-Porter.

Copyright, 1904, by

Doubleday, Page & Company

TO

ALL GOOD IRISHMEN

IN GENERAL

AND ONE

CHARLES DARWIN PORTER

IN PARTICULAR

Anybody who knows me knows that Gene Stratton-Porter is one of my all time favorite authors.  I find her ability to tell a story  incredible.  Freckles was perhaps the first love story I ever heard.  My mom read it to us when I was in the fourth grade, and it instantly became my favorite book.  At the time, I hardly understood what the story was about.  The descriptions of the forest, the birds and flowers were enough to set my imagination afire and send me longing for a beautiful bit of nature... plus there was that great fight scene, where the one-handed Freckles beats the day-lights out of his opponent.

Years later, I bought a copy  of the book and read it again.  That time the love story stood out very vividly to me.  This time through, the character of the boy, Freckles, has completely grabbed my attention.  It makes me wonder what type of man her husband was, since the book is obviously dedicated to him.

I love how Freckle's heart is still soft and giving, despite what he has been through.  And his boss--it never before hit me what the man was doing in adopting Freckles or naming him after his father, and how much that meant to Freckles.  How much it would mean to anyone craving love.


I'm loving watching my boys react to the story.  One is fascinated by the snakes.  One by the guns, and another is dreaming of finding his own Angel.

Upcycling

Do you ever look around your home and start jumping up and down, clapping, because everything is coming together?  Yeah.  Me neither.  That's why I'm writing about.  It wouldn't have occurred to me, if I hadn't done it.

This afternoon I began painting some of the upper cupboards from the kitchen, for the laundry room.  Now, painting these cupboards is something I have wanted to do since we moved into this house (nine years ago).  But Manny didn't like the idea.  Didn't think I could do a good job.  Blah, blah blah!  Whatever.  Now that they are coming down, nobody cares!  And that suits me fine.


Recycle what you can.
But of course!
Why throw out something that you can use?
Maybe so you don't become a pack-rat?
But this is not recycling.

Cuggles , helping me paint the base coat.

This is upcycling.
This is taking something I never liked, and turning it into something that makes me smile!
This is art.
This is making a house a home.

I've done that before...
Made a house a home...
But it always resulted in moving.
I'm not sure what the connection is, but every time I have felt at home in a place, we have ended up moving within a few months.  Okay, so some homes I didn't live in for more than a few months, but that is another story.

My four year old, Cuggles, left off watching cartoons on YouTube, to help me paint!  He is so happy to be helping me make the house beautiful.  (You know, having a floor that you don't care about is really convenient sometimes...  That's why I'm getting as many of these projects done now, before completing the kitchen.)

We put on a base coat of white, because I want to give these an aged look:

A base coat of white paint.

Then I painted them an aqua color, that almost matches the paint chip on my idea board:

I only painted the parts of the cupboard that are really going to show.  Since the inside is all laminate, it will only get scuffed with use... if I want something different, there is contact paper.

This aqua is made up of the left over ceiling paint, a bit of sky blue paint and some white.  I was afraid that if I just used what I had left over from the ceiling, I would run out before I was done.  These still need another coat or two of paint, but that will have to wait for morning.

And this? We've been on the topic of great looking things, haven't we?  How about something great sounding?




And James is so damn sexy...

 Of course, there is also Kirk.

If

"I know it's hard to keep an open heart,
When even friends seem out to harm you,
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you?"  --November Rain, Guns N' Roses

I'd like to say something witty or intelligent about this, but what more needs to be said?
One reaps what they sow.
What one gives, they get, multiplied.



November Rain by Guns N' Roses
Written by 

When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
We've been through this
Such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain
yeah..
But lovers always come
And lovers always go
And no one's really sure
Who's lettin' go today
Walking away
If we could take the time
To lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine
All mine
So if you want to love me
Then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin'
In the cold November rain

Do you need some time
On your own
Do you need some time
All alone
Everybody needs some time
On their own
Don't you know you need some time
All alone

I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you

Sometimes I need some time
On my own
Sometimes I need some time
All alone
Everybody needs some time
On their own
Don't you know you need some time
All alone

And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain

Don't ya think that you
Need somebody
Don't ya think that you
Need someone
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one
You're not the only one

Don't ya think that you
Need somebody
Don't ya think that you
Need someone
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one
You're not the only one

Don't ya think that you
Need somebody
Don't ya think that you
Need someone
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one
You're not the only one

Don't ya think that you
Need somebody
Don't ya think that you
Need someone
Everybody needs somebody

Puddles

Smells can do so many things to a person.  They can warn of danger, make one hungry, or bring back memories.

Today was a bright October day.  Crisp and clear, with cotton ball clouds in the sky and snow on the mountain peaks.  A perfect day for washing windows, cutting down holly-hocks and living life.

In the back of my mind, I knew today was the anniversary of my grandma's death.  But it wasn't until I was applying a heavy duty lotion to my hands that it hit me.  The cream I was using smelled just like some hair detangler my grandma had in a jar under the bathroom sink. 

Instantly, it brought back memories of being at her house.  Staying there for a week with my brother, when one of my sisters was born.  Holidays with the whole family.  Her blue gingham plates.  The green wallpaper in the kitchen.  Picking strawberries and asparagus.  Nails painted red.  Aunt Sharon's cigarettes and the ash-tray she carried in her purse.  Staying overnight with the cousins.  Too many sleeping bags in the living room and the boys sleeping under the dining room table.  Arguing.  There was always arguing at grandma's house, as ideas where discussed in depth -- except on the Fourth of July, when there would be peonies floating in water on the kitchen table, smelling like a fresh can of Copenhagen.  It is amazing to me how that smell can keep people calm.  Is it any wonder peonies are my favorite flower?

Speaking of flowers, the hand lotion also brought back memories of the passive-aggressive relationship my grandmother and I always had.  We rarely saw eye to eye on anything, which resulted in her labeling me 'a thorny child'.

My dad, who usually had similar ideas to grandma (though he was the son-in-law), picked up where grandma left off and told me I was a prickly pear cactus.  "Beautiful to look at, dangerous to handle."  He told me they were prettier and hardier than roses, reminding me how mowing them over only helped to multiply them.

That was my family.  Honest.  Real.  Loud.  In your face.  And grandma was easily the center of it, telling everyone, but me, where to go and what to do.  She claimed, time and again, she was leaving me for God to deal with.  It always made me smile, though I knew it was her way of throwing in the towel.  I never meant to be difficult, but I always refused to roll my eyes behind someones back, when I could say something to their face.  (And I wonder where my kids get it from...)

Last year, when she died, my husband had just taken leave of work for a shoulder injury.  What was suppose to take three weeks of rest to heal resulted in eight months of therapy and a surgery before he was able to return.  These last four months, he has been running his own business, and doing well.  So, of course, all of that came flooding back this afternoon...  How far we have come.  How far we have to go.  The time my grandmother came to visit us, and the arguments we had then.  I still have to laugh when I remember how pissed she got at one daycare child when he wouldn't listen to her.  The first few days she was here, she was blinded by his cuteness... but eventually his stubborn streak got to her.

And then the trip to her funeral.  Driving the ten hours to my sisters.  Sleeping on the floor of her old house, touring the yard, checking out the foot prints left by the bob cat and the cougar that live on their few acres. Then the drive to the funeral with my sister, listening to Death Magnetic the entire way and wondering if we were being sacrilegious... but we knew grandma wouldn't care.

Cuggles, climbing.

Her funeral wasn't a sad time for anyone.  It was a celebration of her life and her home going.  That's why I couldn't believe the tears that fell today, as I remembered.

I'm wearing blue jeans, my sister, who I stayed with is in the purple
dress and my brother is in the white shirt.

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And on a side note, this is something I really want to make!

The idea is to gather a variety of sky colored yarns and then knit a row or two every day of the year, in colors that reflect the sky that day.

I love the simple stripes, but I don't care for flat scarves, so I would probably use a rib stitch to work it up.  I'm thinking it would be best made out of either wool or silk.  Probably wool, since sock yarn is plenty available. Now, I just need to get to a yarn store before grey days set in.

Traveling Again

About three weeks ago, I made one of the most important 'discoveries' of my life, which completely changed my outlook on so many things.  Suddenly, I knew that the first leg of my journey was over!  It was like the relief one feels when it seems that the road is going to go on forever and ever, then suddenly, a hill is topped and the night's stop glows out of the darkness.

However, while a night's rest is nice, so is moving forward again.

Over the past few weeks, I have had time to sort through my thoughts and readjust my thinking to reality.  It has been a pleasant time, but I am ready to be going again.  I'm tired of waiting!  I want more out of life.  And you know what?  I'll get it too.

This is one of the many things I have realized in the last few weeks.  I get what I go after.  Maybe not right away, and maybe the finished product doesn't look just like the original thought, but I do get what I go after.  I always have.

The problem is, I really haven't gone after anything--in the time I have been married--until this last year.  That's right.  My husband had been the last thing I had really set my sights on, up until this last April, when I sat here wondering if I had what it would take to change my life.*

And God has shown me that I do.  He has shown me that I can trust my intuition and that I don't need permission to be the mom I want to be.  My kiddos may not be the happiest with it, but they will adjust, and so far, they have been happy with most of the changes I have made.

*Please don't take this to mean I hadn't done anything... Because I have done lots of things, but they have all been experiments--just to see if I could.  They never held the weight of something I wanted. 
To put this in traveling terms, they were Sunday drives in country -vs- a trip with passport and suitcase in hand.

Real Beauty

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.
People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; Never throw out anybody.
Remember, If you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.
The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.
The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

Authored by Sam Levenson, quoted often by Audrey Hepburn.

A-door-able and Doable

If you have children, or can remember your childhood, then you know that a room with two doorways leading into the same room is a place to run in circles.  My kitchen is like that, or was.  It was worse before I remodeled, with only a three foot section of wall to run 'round and 'round.   Now the circle goes through three rooms, but that doesn't slow them down much.  So, I want to put a door in one doorway -- the one that allows everyone coming in the front door to see the sink.*

My first thought was a dutch door.

http://amydmorris.com/amydmorris.entry.1.html

http://www.countryhome.com/projects/decorating/dutchdoor_1.html

http://donnas-art.blogspot.com/2010/11/dutch-door.html

 I love the way they look, and thought the whimsy of it would be great.  But then, I got thinking about boys... How they love to throw things over a wall or building, and I could just imagine all sorts of stuffed animals and trucks flying into the kitchen.  Then too, they love to climb -- they'll climb anything!  Even walls:

So a half door would only make a game of 'round and 'round more fun, right?

So what to put there?  I don't want to eliminate the doorway and I want to be able to see out...
Then I saw this:

http://www.countryliving.com/homes/how-to-get-the-look/ultimate-guide-kitchens-1008

I love screen doors!  Always have... I just never considered putting one indoors, and in this area, they all get taken off in the winter... so what is the point in having one?

But inside?  It meets every critera I have!  I can see out of the kitchen to the front door, and if the lower half is solid, those at the front door can't see into the kitchen.  I can hear what is going on.  It allows light it in, and it keeps boys out!

http://www.noaccountingfortaste.com/?cat=15

It looks good.

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/screen-door-handle-julie-dant.html

http://www.thewoodworksinc.com/woodworking/screen_door.shtml

The whimsy potential is unlimited.

And if I build it myself, I can get just what I want!  I am seeing something in black, with chicken wire instead of storm screening and a funky door handle.  Something unexpected, yet it goes so well...



*Who's idea was that anyway?!?

...then it comes to me...

Some days, it seems as though everything is falling apart.  Other times, it all comes together.  

For the past five years I have wanted a leather jacket.  I had one when I was in my early teens, and I loved how warm and weather proof it was.  I wore it all the time, until I out grew it.  Then, it was passed along to my sisters, until they too outgrew it... With any luck, it is still being passed along.

So, the other day, when I was in Jackson, I stopped by the Boot Barn to pick up a new pair of jeans.  And there I found my leather jacket.  No fringe and a subtle zipper.  Corset lacing.  I tried it on, and it fit perfectly!

Cripple Creek leather Jacket

I was ready to buy it, when Mr.Muscles said, "I like the cross on the back!"

There's a cross on the back?  I took it off and turned it around.  Yep.  There is a big ol' cross on the back.  I wondered how I had managed to miss it when looking in the three-way mirror, so I put it back on and looked again.  Ha!  My hair had covered it up.

But now I had a decision to make.  I try to avoid clothing with obvious emblems on them... Horse shoes, yin-yangs, skulls, crosses, etc... I tend to find things like that tacky.  But I liked everything else about it so much.  Then I realized that with the lacing, the cross could go goth as easily as it could be a religious symbol.  And besides, I usually wear my hair down!  So now it is mine. 

From the Boot Barn, we walked over to the ReStore.  I wanted to see if they had any black tile I could use in remodeling the main bathroom.  They didn't, but they did have a boy-proof couch (with matching chair and ottoman!), like I had been praying to find:

It was clean, smelled good, and all the cushions are removable so it would be easy to recover.  I knew my husband wouldn't be thrilled with the fabric, but I figured it would go with my house just fine.  I felt so lucky!  I had planned to go to a furniture store next (sorry Ken), but for a fraction of the cost, found a new living-room set. 

The old couch, I wanted to get rid of, but it now setting on the back porch:

We've got the real red-neck look going on!  Oh well, the doggy is happy.  Manny says he might bar-be-que all winter, if he can figure out a way to close the porch in.  I have a feeling it will be plastic wrapped before the snow begins to fly.

And finally, there is the pantry I built on Saturday:

Floor to ceiling kitchen pantry, built of pine.

It still needs a face frame and doors, but I won't be adding those until the new floor is in.  I built it in the same manner as my mom's pantry was built, more than 100 years ago:

Construction details of my pantry cupboard, October 1, 2011.

Construction details of the built-in pantry cupboard in a 1910 homestead (farm) house.

I have always loved antique furnishings, and am glad to duplicate this in my house.  Move over Norm.  'This Old House' ain't got nothing on me!

Encouraging Words

As I have eluded to before, my home is not what I want it to be.  My relationship with the children has been rocky for years and I am striving to change that, each and everyday.  How?  Through doing, through being pleasant, through encouragement and by learning from others.

A few weeks ago I picked up a book from the library called Simplicity Parenting, by Kim John Payne.  I haven't read very much, because every few pages I find something that makes stop and ponder.  The first day, it was this:

"Even if some of the details were unrealistic, your dreams about your family had truth to them.  They had meaning, and still do.  They show what you valued most when you began this huge undertaking, this family-building.  What inspired you then can inspire you still.  It has to; families need fresh infusions of hope and imagination. ..." (pg 15)

That paragraph gave me the freedom to dream again. And not just to dream, but to begin implementing those dreams.  Striving for their reality.

Between remodeling and implementing, I didn't take time to read more than a paragraph or two at a time until the other day when I was sitting in a waiting room...  I love waiting rooms.  It is okay to take time for anything quiet -- even if it is browsing a woman's magazine,  because the soul purpose for being there is to wait!

The next thing that really stood out to me was this:

"In terms of areas to change I usually see two categories: what is important, and what is doable.  What seems the most important is usually not; what is most doable is the place to begin.  If you do enough that is doable, you will get to the important, and your motivation will be fueled by your success." (pg 18)

Maybe it is just because he is speaking my language: do, create, begin, success, know, and it echoes what I have been living; or maybe it is because it confirmation that what I am doing is best, this caused me to relax.  Everywhere I turn, there is someone to tell me what is 'important'.  Some of it I can agree with, but most of it just seems like business to me.  And I hate to be busy!  Doing is one thing.  Busy is another.  Doing, in my mind equates creating, whether it is an atmosphere or an object.  Busy equates stress and objects over people.  I won't live like that.

"Somehow parents know where to begin to create the necessary space--in their intentions and their lives--for a transformation." (pg 19)

This reminded me of the Dragon Scroll in Kung Fu Panda.  It was blank.  The 'secret ingredient' was nothing.  Nothing.  There is no secret.  Somehow... Parents... Know...

"So, with a few large baskets, we had culled Marie's toys way down.  The remaining toys were a mix of favorites, the simpler the better: dolls, building toys, cherished bedtime toys, some kitchen things and balls.
...
We didn't just take away toys, we carefully added some.  In one of the baskets we put a stack of brightly colored fabric pieces, some rope, and clothespins.  We also made sure Marie had a table her size, a large drawing pad, and a box of crayons."  (pg 21)

Simplifying is not just about getting rid of things, it is about getting what inspires.  It is a balance.  With that, my sons dentist appointment was over, and it was time to move on.

Our next stop was a sporting good store, where Mr.Muscles wanted to buy some weights.  He says ten pounds in each hand just isn't enough...  Go figure.  The layout of the store had changed since the last time we were there, leaving us to circle the whole thing.  As we were nearing the shoe section (no, I didn't buy anything), I saw a thin lady jogging up and down the isle.  I thought, 'Wow.  She must be serious about her running.'

As we passed by, she stopped me.  "Five boys?  How do you do it?  My two are in the car with their Grandma, so I could shop in peace.  I need running shoes to keep up with them.  I've had so many breakdowns, because they just won't listen to me. What do you do?"

I have to tell you, at that moment, I felt like the worst person on earth to be giving advise.  I have been nit-picking the problems in my family... It never occurred to me that five boys walking calmly through a store could be encouraging to someone.  ...but I told her what I have been doing, which is practicing the behavior and attitudes I want with the children everyday.  Encouraging them and loving them for who they are.

As we walked away, Goose said to me, "I thought we were the worst behaved kids on the planet!" *snickering* "And her kids are worst!"  *self satisfied grin*

I am so glad my kiddos don't know what 'bad' is -- they might just try to achieve it!

When we were done shopping, we went to visit Manny, out at the Moose Visitor Center, where he has been working.  He wanted to show us the heating system that he has been wiring, and I have to say that it is really something!  It is amazing what computer controls and technology can do for efficiency.  We made quite a scene -- five kids and their momma, in hard-hats, trooping around a construction site -- which generated a number of wistful looks.  I knew many of the men were from out of town, so I didn't think too much about it, until Manny came home that evening.

He came in, gathered the boys in his arms, and said, "I realized today that not only do I have one of the best jobs out there, I have the best family.  Most of those men you met today have been divorced three times.  Their children are in different states, and mine are all right here, with me.  I get to enjoy each and everyone of you when I come home.  I also have the prettiest wife."

I jokingly asked him if he had met all of their wives.  He responded, "Most of them are divorced and don't plan to ever marry again.  You've been with me through it all."

...it is good to realize how blessed we are...

The Grand Tetons, as seen from the Moose Visitor Center.

Going Blue

A couple years ago, my sister and her husband found a house in their area that had sat empty for 20 years.  It was a 1928 kit home, in nearly original condition.  Sure, sitting empty for 20 years hadn't helped the roof, so there was some damage, but overall, one could see what it had been.  The rich colors of paint on the walls, the quirky flooring, the porch swing, the woodwork... it was all intact.  

The original screen door of a 1928 kit home.

This pastel robin's egg blue screen door set the tone for what was to come.  A very classic color, soothing and inviting.

When I began my remodel, I decided that this color must be used somewhere.  One of my goals in remodeling is to bring in an old country farm house feel...

Something reminisce of the home described in Farmer Boy, or the 1850's mansion I was in, in Bala Cynwyd,  Pennsylvania, or the Victorian style farm house I grew up in (before my grandma and her hammer tried to modernize it by beating off all of the trim!  Damn the '60s.)

I remember when my dad was doing some remodeling, finding the original rose embossed wallpaper in the kitchen, and thinking it was just the most beautiful stuff ever.

Now, I can't quite imagine pink roses all over my kitchen, but then, I'm a little afraid of wallpaper in the kitchen.  With all the canning I do, I have a feeling all the steam would cause it to fall right off.

But back to the blue...  I had to find just the right place to use it, where it wouldn't be too much and where it wouldn't get lost in the shuffle.  I finally decided my kitchen ceiling would be the best place.

My new blue ceiling!

Blue ceilings have long intrigued me.  From what I have read, blue was the first color of paint to be used on ceilings, mimicking the sky.  And I think there is a reason the sky is blue on a clear day.  A reason beyond particles and wave lengths.  A reason that involves happiness, just like sunshine on clear day.

So, yesterday I took left-over paint samples a friend had given me and mixed and mixed, until I had just what I wanted.  *ahem*  Those cupboards and the dark blue walls are going to go.  Their time is up.

Willing to Lose

They say you can't steal second, with your foot on first, and of course, they are right.  But lately I have been wondering if one can do anything without risking something.  Just think about it for a moment.  When you walk, what must you do to go forward?  That's right, you have to get off balance and then you have to fall.  If you are never off balance, you will only shuffle along, and unless you are dancing, who wants to shuffle?

For the past 10 months, I have been working at making some major changes in my life.  At first, it was a sorting process.  Deciding what to keep and what to let go of.  Then it became a question of, what do I really want?  What is worth fighting for and what is not?  But answering those questions was not enough.

I finally had to face the crux.  What is most important?  If I only accomplish one thing in this life, what do I want it to be?  And then, I made the hardest decision of my life.  I chose my children over my marriage.

Growing up, all through college and for the first dozen years of my marriage, I swore I would never be one of those women who put her children above her husband.  But when I looked at what was most important in life, I saw that the well being of these little people who depended on me mattered more than anything else I could do.  The men they grew to be was more important my happiness.

It was in March when I realized this.  And it took me about another month to decide I was willing to move forward.  A month of wondering, 'If I do what I think is best, will I destroy my marriage?'

I had spent 12 years doing my best to follow my husband's leading, but it had left me more lost than ever.  It had left him lost too.  One evening in April, he came to me and said, "I've been married to you for a dozen years, and what do I have to show for it?  Our lives are a mess.  Our children are a mess.  Our home is a mess.  What are we doing?  We can't go on like this."

It was then I realized that if I didn't do something, my marriage and my children would be lost.  So I stepped out.  Not in a bad way, but in a bold way.  I told him up front that I was going to do things my way and that I did not want his input, furthermore, I was going to revert to the ideals I had at 17--at least back then I knew what I wanted out of life!

He, of course, wasn't too sure about all of this.  We had met when I was 17, and was a bit of a wild child--for his taste.  But I did my best to recall that girl I use to be, and to move on with the knowledge I had once had of child raising and being small.

The next month was one of the best months I had ever had.  I accomplished things without criticism.  I interacted with my children the way I had longed to for years.  My confidence grew with each string I tied with my children.  I felt like our home was finally going to be the happy place I longed for it to be.  Procrastination and fear were ever present--they had been my companions for year, and old habits are hard to shake--but things were improving. 

Then, shortly after our thirteenth anniversary, in May, it all came crashing down.  I made the mistake of telling my husband how happy I was.  His response?  "I've been biting my tongue for a month, and you're finally happy?"

Ouch.

It wasn't meant to be an insult.  Just a progress report.  The fight went from bad to worse, until I felt like the most worthless human being on the face of this planet. 

That night, I talked to a friend online.  He is older and divorced.  He kept insisting, "You don't love your husband.  I know what you are going through.  I was in the same place you are when I was your age."

I kept insisting that he was wrong, that I did love my husband.  I didn't know what else to do.  My marriage was (and is) the most important relationship in my life, but I also knew I was willing to give it up for the sake of my children, if that is what it took to grow them into productive adults.  I had to wonder if he was right...

This song, Same Old Lang Syne, made me wonder more...

"She would have liked to say she loved the man, but she didn't like to lie."

 It really weighed on me.  Was I just fooling myself, when I said I loved him?  Was it simply habit or sentiment that made me think that way?

After our fight, he went back to biting his tongue and I went on with my scheme, wondering if we were going to make it or not.  After a couple more months, I had a very vivid day dream that put everything in perspective for me.

It was of our family on a mountain road, heading for Pinedale.  My husband was running ahead, exploring every side trail.  I was following along, herding the children along the path.  Every now and then, my husband would reappear, to tell me of things that were ahead.  He would make all kinds of suggestions of 'fun things' I could do with the kids... but doing them was never fun.
There were lots of bad attitudes amongst the children, and my attitude was one of drudgery.  I don't mind mountain trails, with my love, but I do mind walking them alone, or worse yet, with five grumpy children.  I hated setting up camp every evening, knowing that it would just be torn down the next morning, just to do the same thing over again.  I kept thinking of the vehicle parked at the trail head, and my well marked map showing the route to Pinedale.
Finally, enough was enough.  I told hubby, "You have fun taking this route, and don't worry about us.  We'll meet you there."  Then I left him the supplies he would need and took the children back to the vehicle.  I pulled out my map and made my plans, then took off driving.   Traveling a road I was confident in.

I knew my husband and I had the same goals a dreams when we got married, but somehow we had gotten terribly off track.  He said I was impossible to lead.  I said he was impossible to follow.  Traveling the way each of us knew best made sense to me.  So we may not always be together?  It wasn't like we were together before.  And his concern for the children was as great as mine.

The question of love still bothered me though.  So what if we could give our children a great life, if we really didn't love each other?

As I was contemplating this, a song from Fiddler on the Roof came to mind:



Tevye asks his wife if she loves him.  She answers very practically.

"Do I love you?
For twenty-five years I've washed your clothes
Cooked your meals, cleaned your house
Given you children, milked the cow
After twenty-five years, why talk about love right now?
. . .
Do I love him?
For twenty-five years I've lived with him
Fought him, starved with him
Twenty-five years my bed is his
If that's not love, what is?"

I realized that arranged marriages did and do work, because there was a commitment to treat the other person right.  And I knew my husband and I had that commitment.   

Maybe we weren't in love.  Maybe things weren't perfect.  It didn't mean we couldn't make the most of what we had.  It had been several months since our fight that left me feeling worthless, and in that time I had been able to observe that though we had problems, we had good things too.  I decided right then and there to make the good things great, make the mediocre things good and ignore the rest for as long as possible.  So what if we couldn't carry on a normal conversation.  Is talking really that important?

And you know what?  It made a difference.  As I worked to make the good things great, he fell more and more in love with me.   His feelings changed, and with it, his outlook.

With every step I have accomplished in remodeling the kitchen, he has realized how little he understood me.  Even with pictures torn form magazines, drawings and dimensional plans, he hadn't caught the vision.  What I have produced (which is exactly what I wanted) was not at all what he had envisioned.  Furthermore, he loves what I am doing.  For months, before I began, he did his best to convince me that I would hate the finished product and tried to talk me into giving the idea up.  Now he is glad I didn't.

Things are not perfect, and they never will be, but as of now, I'm standing on second.  I had to let go of first in order to gain it.  For a while, I thought I might lose it all, but with this gain, I have realized that doing nothing is like planning to lose.  You can't win a game while playing it safe.  With every move you make, you have to be willing to give up stability in order to move forward.  And falling doesn't mean failing.  Sometimes, it is just motion.  When I clung to my marriage with everything I had, I almost destroyed it.  When I let go and let be, things came together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As I was writing this up, hubby came to tell me goodnight.  He said, "I love you.  I am so glad you are getting the confidence you need."

And you know what?  Those weren't empty words.  And I love him too.

Something White an' Fluffy

I hate it when I have a picture in my mind of what something I want, but can't find anywhere (at least not for sale).  So, when I went looking for a little fitted white cardigan, I should have known no one would be selling them... even if I was willing to compromise on the exact style.  Which led to plan B. 

Make it.

Sure. 
Why not. 
I know what I want. 
I know how to knit. 
Now, to find a pattern I like... or not...
Plan C. 
Make the pattern and the cardigan. 
So, inch by inch, row by row, I'm watching my sweater grow. 

Left front, right front and back are complete.  Two sleeves to go... then finishing touches.  So far, it is just what I had envisioned.  Hopefully, when completed, it fits right.

Progress...

My kitchen counter is finally getting done!  Seeing as I have been without a kitchen sink for two weeks, this is very exciting.

Why two weeks?  Because I am slow.  I do something, step back, look at it, and decide if it what I want before moving on.  Then, there was one error in my planning.  An error of 3/4", that put my sink off center... until I changed the plans, which meant redesigning one cupboard. 

My friend Heather says I think too much.  She comes up with an idea and does it.  One morning she decided to pain her laundry room.  She pulled out her swatches, found a color she likes and 15 minutes later was on her way to the store.  An hour later she was home and painting.  That afternoon, while the paint dried, she made a stencil of a picket fence and that evening stenciled it.  When she moved out two years later, behind the door still was not painted and the edges still where not trimmed, but she had picket fence with flowers.

Yeah.  The perfectionist in me would have screamed bloody murder over that, had it been my house.  I would have chose my color, bought a sample and lived with it for at least two weeks, to make sure it was what I wanted.  That's why her house was prettier--just don't look behind the door!

So, my sink will be perfectly centered under the window and every inch of my cupboards tailor made for my home, even if it did take me ten days longer than it should have!  In fact, if I go now, I should be able to have Hubby help me set in the sink tonight and hook up all the plumbing... if it doesn't happen tonight, it will be Saturday before he has time.

Change is Good

Says it feels right this time,
Turned it 'round and found the right line.  --No Leaf Clover

Sometimes, finding the right words to describe something changes everything.  Understanding.

This happened to me recently.  I found a way to describe my behavior in certain relationships--ones that were not going well--that made everything clear to me.  It also instantly gave me the tools I needed to make those relationships what I wanted them to be... Or rather to see that they were already what I wanted them to be.

What were those magical words?  For me, they were, "You're relating like a roger."
...and I am a clark.

I know.  That doesn't make a lot of sense does it?  A month or so ago, it wouldn't have made any sense to me either, but God brought some people into my life who have created a personality system known as the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers).

I didn't pay any attention the first time I saw it, so God brought it to me a second time, through another route.  He is good.  His ways are mysterious, and He will use anyone or anything to teach us what we need to know.

What those words told me is this:

• I was approaching the relationships emotionally, not practically. 
• I was seeking rules to make them work, instead of going with the flow.  

You see, rogers are herd creatures, but a herd of two does not work.
Being a farm-girl, I have seen this first hand, many times.  One must have at least three horses to have a herd.  Two horses fight--constantly.  It may be very subtly, but there is always tension.  Plus, two horses can not handle there being any distance between them.  They will be grazing side by side, and one will begin to wander away.  The other horse will run to catch up as soon as they notice the distance.  Three or more horses, on the other hand, will graze over a wide area, content to be part of the group.

While it is comical to watch, it is not fun to be a part of.  If you listen to people, rogers are the ones who will talk of their 'circle of friends' and assume that everyone has a 'circle'.

I don't have 'circles'.  I have friends.  Some of my friends know each other.  Some of my friends like each other.  We still don't have a circle.  Neither do we have a pack--that would be scotts.

So, when I approached the friendship like a roger, I acted like a horse (or maybe a jack-ass).  I couldn't stand for there to be any distance, since there was only two of us in my little 'herd'.   I fought to keep up and always be in alignment (agreement) with the other person.

Eww.  Yuck.  I'd have trouble with me too.

And to make matters worse, I had three different friendships/relationships I was approaching this way...
Once I realized what I was doing, I was able to step back and see how my behavior was causing most of the problems I have been striving to solve for the better part of a year.
The problem (the distance I felt) was not in the relationships, but in me.  Things are just fine--in fact some relationships are better than I ever imagined they could be, but I needed a dose of reality to see that.

I am at peace.  The first leg of my journey has been completed.   

. . .

“Remember there's no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.”  --Scott Adams

Dreaming Again

I have this dream of what homeschooling will be like.

• I see children gathered around a dining room table, fully engaged in what they are learning.  I see each one working or observing to the fullest of their ability.
• I hear lots of discussion when there is a hands-on project at hand and silence when their is individual work to be done.
• I see children striving for excellence in their work, who are proud of what they have accomplished.

I want our days to be full of many activities, so that they get to experience many things.  I want to give them a taste for many things while they are young and help them to expand their horizons... because how do you know if you like something if you have never tried it?

I want most of our school to be hands-on, while not neglecting the necessary subjects.

Most of all, I want a warm, loving environment, where each child knows they are valued for who they are.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While dreaming of what I wanted most to see in our home, I came across this article, which I found very encouraging:  http://www.joshharris.com/2011/09/homeschool_blindspots.php 

Picture from:  http://education.more4kids.info/78/children-and-the-arts/

I.

"Get that rope back inside and shut the window!"

Hope

But the night fades away,
And gives way to the day,
For what else is,
The night to do?

Night time cannot last forever.  No matter how dark the moment seems, there is always hope.



Dreams We Conceive by Tran-Siberian Orchestra
Written by

In a city
After midnight
Neath the halo
Of a street light
Where the dreams die
As the blood dries
On the wounds we keep hidden from
View

In the safety
Of this darkness
As it hides all
Time has tarnished
The forbidden
Unforgiven
Are we secure here where no-one
Pursues

But the night fades away
And gives way to the day
For what else is the night to do
As the dark steps aside
With the hopes we confide
And never believes
That the dreams we conceived
Would ever
Not ever come true

Is life different
After midnight
With its new dawn
And its new light
Inconsistent
And indifferent
To the things
We were so sure we knew

As you stood there
In the night air
With such beauty
That the stars stared
From their distance
You were different
Like a dream
That no-one could refuse

But the night fades away
And gives way to the day
For what else is
The night to do
As the dark steps aside
With the hopes we confide
And never believes
That the dreams we conceived
Would ever
Not ever come true

As you stand all
Alone at your station
What if God doesn't
Know where you are
As you send out your
Prayers for salvation
But afraid that
They don't go that far

So you wait all
Alone in your darkness
There's a train that drives on
Through the night
And if everyone's
On it except us
Would it return for
That single life

In a city
After midnight
Neath the halo
Of a street light

1

One is a message...

And today I received a message I had been waiting for. 

Beginnings...

Yesterday was the worst day of school ever!  It was only our second day, and all of my high hopes came crashing down around me.

I had hoped the kids could pick up where they left off last year, that very little was forgotten over the summer... And they did--attitude wise.  Within moments of pulling out the school books there was fussing and crying, bickering and fighting.

At first, I tried to remain calm, thinking that if my attitude was correct, theirs would follow.  But after an hour or two, I lost it.  Broke down crying.  I was at a total loss and didn't know what else to do.  This got the kids attention, and my oldest came crying to apologize.  The others looked on, a bit lost themselves, at my outburst.

When my husband came home, I told him how the day had gone, and he said the words I had been dreading.  "Maybe public school would be better for them, even for a short while."

I know he may be right.  I was thinking the same thing all day.  The way my children are behaving is one of the things I greatly dislike about homeschooling:  Because Mom is the teacher, it is 'okay' to pout, whine and fuss whenever you are told to do something you don't want to do.  There is none of the peer pressure to conform or hold up emotionally.  They don't like something?  They throw a fit.

I know my children are not alone in this.  It is one of the inherent problems of homeschooling.

So, what to do?  I prayed, and talked to each of my children individually.  We talked about attitude, and how it controls the way one views life.  How the most fun things can be boring, if one is bent on complaining, and how trying times can be fun, if one faces them with a good attitude.

Consequently, today was much better!  The kids are loving Animal Farm and are filled with questions as to the why of things.

• Why are the pigs taking the best things for themselves?
• What happened to the puppies?
• What does this have to do with government?

When it came time for book learning, they started to pout, but then remembered our talks and forced smiles.  The little ones, who have never been in school before, couldn't wait to have their first reading lesson (which they had been denied yesterday), so I had Mr.Muscles teach Goose how to divide while iBoy worked independently and I taught them.

Cuggles and BakerBoy

They were so excited to learn that after tackling the letter A we went on to learn the letter T.  Cuggles was a bit overwhelmed at that point, but refused to quit.  Meanwhile, BakerBoy was begging for more, which he got, in the form of workbooks!

Thank God for a better day!!!  
To go forward as we had been or to send them to public school--both choices just felt wrong.*

I am praying for an equally good day tomorrow, and the next day and the next... for the rest of the year.



*This is not intended as a put-down towards public education.  The public schools in my area are excellent, with many wonderful teachers.

Those Who Wander

"Not all who wander are lost." --J.R.R. Tolkien

Life is a Highway by Chris Ledoux
Written by

Life's like a road that you travel on
When there's one day here and the next day gone
Sometimes you bend, sometimes you stand
Sometimes you turn your back to the wind
There's a world outside every darkened door
Where blues won't haunt you anymore
Where the brave are free and lovers soar
Come ride with me to the distant shore
We won't hesitate, break down the garden gate
There's not much time left today

CHORUS:
Life is a highway
I want to ride it all night long
If you're going my way
I want to drive it all night long

Through all these cities and all these towns
It's in my blood and it's all around
I love you now like I loved you then
This is the road and these are the hands
From Tennessee to those L.A nights
San Anton to the Vegas lights
Knock me down get back up again
You're in my blood I'm not a lonely man

There's no load I can't hold
Road so rough, this I know
I'll be there when the lights comes in
Tell 'em we're survivors

CHORUS x2

There was a distance between you and I
A misunderstanding once but now
We look it in the eye

There's no load I can't hold
Road so rough this I know
I'll be there when the light comes in
Tell 'em we're survivors

CHORUS x3

Snake River Canyon Mudslide

May 21, 2011

The last mudslide in this canyon was 14 years ago.  One year before I moved to this area.

I have always loved watching big machines work.  Even more, I love how the earth dwarfs them.

The task ahead is massive.

Even with the machines.  Can you imagine what cleaning up something like this would be like, without machines?  Perhaps this photo will give you a better idea:

Other sights of the day:

Rafters watch the clean up process from below the mudslide.

As the snow melted, the guard rail sunk down below the level of the road.

The road is closed!  Skip! Skip! Skip!

And one more thing you normally can't do!

It is funny how a natural disaster can provide such a fun family outing and allow one to meet neighbors they are normally too busy for.

. . .

 "Weeping may endure for a night,
         But joy comes in the morning."  --Psalm 30:5b

bluebirds

There is something magical in their bright blue feathers.

T

Some power that captures the imagination.

Some beauty that reminds me, 'It will all be okay. Everything will turn out right.' And that is magic, indeed.

. . .

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." --Jeremiah 29:11

Waiting, Weighting, Waiting...

I have spent two hours so far today, not writing this post.  Waiting.

Waiting for the perfect words.
Waiting for the perfect thoughts.
Waiting to feel just right about it all.
Waiting, waiting, waiting...

But the waiting must end.  It is time to move. To do. To be.

A few weeks ago I realized that patience in me was not a virtue.  It was a vice.  It was a way of avoiding all the things I am unsure of.  It was a way of not making decisions.  For example, I wouldn't throw out catalogs, because they might have something in them that someone in my family might want.  They pile up on the counter.  They clutter surfaces, because I am waiting.  Waiting, to make sure everyone has their chance to look.  To want... but I know deep down I will not be ordering anything.  No one needs anything those catalogs have to offer.  No one wants anything from them.  But I am waiting!

And waiting has lead to weight gain.

I am an active person and I eat healthy.  My weight had never been an issue, so, when with working out and regular exercise, I began gaining inches around the waist, I was concerned.  I looked for physical reasons, but found none.  Still, my waist increased.  In a matter of weeks, I gained three inches. Three inches is bad anytime, but it is especially bad when half of the exercises you are doing are aimed at reducing the waist line!

Knowing that the acne I fight with constantly is a result of not speaking my mind, I sought a non-physical reason for the weight gain.  It took a few days of working through different ideas, before the right one hit, but it fit:  Waiting had resulted in 'weighting'.

When the thought hit, I immediately knew it was right.  I am guilty of always waiting.  Waiting for the laundry to be done.  Waiting for the oven to pre-heat.  Waiting for the kids to do their school work.  Waiting for someone to write me back.  Waiting for a phone call.  Waiting for the sun to shine.  Waiting for the next song on the radio.

It doesn't seem to matter what it is, I can wait for it.  And while I wait, I procrastinate.  I do nothing of importance.  It has disturbed me for sometime, and I have taken steps in the past to cut down on the time I will wait.

I use to always wait for the next big thing.  Things that were months away, but when I did that, I always had lists of things I wanted to accomplish before that big thing came, so I was busy.  My mind may have been far away, but my hands were active.  There was lots to accomplish before that big thing could really be enjoyed. 

In the mean time, I enjoyed nothing.  And I hated anything that was not planned.

My whole life revolved around some future point in time.  A time that may never come.  I told myself, "No more of this!  Live in the now!"  And it has been my goal, for more than a year, to live in the now.  It is something I have practiced day in and day out.  It has not been easy, and my body tells me I have not been successful.

Before, I was honest with myself about what I was doing.  Now, my body reveals that I have been lying to myself.  I had turned 'living in the moment' into a method of waiting for every little thing.  In so doing, I had lost sight of the big picture.  I had no long term goal or purpose.  A check list made no sense, as accomplishing it was always dependent on circumstances.  I saw each and every item as a something to wait for.

This needs to change, and I have decided to face it head on.  When I find myself waiting, identify what I am waiting for, then either do it or do something else that needs to be done, if it is something that I cannot control, like hearing back from someone.

I have only been at this for a few days, and, as you can see from my opening line, am still struggling to make the needed progress.  Recognizing when I am waiting is the biggest issue, then, deciding not to procrastinate.  It may not seem like much, but in the few days I have been practicing this my waist line had receded one inch.

If you have any tips, I would love to hear them!