Home Sweet Home

This is my home. There is something powerful, something sacred about the place that we call home. It is the place where my family gathers, the spot where my treasures are, the place where I can be myself at my most honest and vulnerable.  Home is a place of safe abandonment of all the baggage of society.

I was fortunate to have lived in the same home for the first 18 years of my life. It was great to have one place that was mine. I knew every tree, each fencepost and where everything belonged. When I went to camp and then off to college, I was driven to set up my "home" before I could do anything else. I needed to set my foundation. In my job I moved quite a bit, but I wasn't ready to work until my home was established and in order.

Long ago I disregarded the ideas of home fashion and trend. I  like what I like. If I like it, then I'm happy to have it surround me in my place of residence. I love color. I delight in re-purposing items. It is important to having plants and other living things around me.

When we moved into this home just over 2 years ago, we decided to paint the exterior in time for my daughter's graduation party. After flipping through a magazine I saw the colors I wanted for our house -- green with pink shutters.  I presented the idea to my husband, and bless his indulgent heart, he was all for it. The green went on with little comment from anyone. But when we began trying samples of the pink -- it concerned many. My kids cast two solid negative votes and asked me to pick something normal.  They can have normal later. I picked delightful! Each time I see my home, it makes me smile to be there.

A friend came over one day and looked around, then she paid me a great compliment. She said, "You house just has personality up the wazoo!"  It does! This is a place I can create to my heart's content.

Our home isn't supposed to be a show place, a mansion with more space than a small village could make use of -- but a sacred place to renew ourselves, to celebrate life, to be nurtured.

Any place can be a beautiful home, once your heart holds it sacred.

Today -- I Write

I love to write.  You can't really tell that I enjoy the writing process by my five month hiatus from this blog.  As much as I delight in creating a story, I cringe at the painful process of exposing those same words for someone else to read, see, judge, correct, disapprove of my writing ability , etc.  What it really comes down to is the fact that I need to write.  I feel all bottled up inside when I haven't written down the stories that continue to float around in my head.  Sometimes my stories are of personal experience that speaks of a lesson to be shared and other times my stories are completely made up, celebrating a well exercised imagination.

The first books I remember getting lost in, were Trixie Belden mysteries.  To this day, I'd rather read a mystery than anything else.  There's something about trying on the personality and skills of someone else -- even a blond teenager with freckles and a best friend named Honey -- and playing the written game of cat and mouse.  I love it when I can figure out the mystery before the author tells me, but I love it even more when I can't!

Writing and reading is an honest relationship of delight -- complete with ups and downs, frustration and exaltation.  I want to remember the reader that I was as a young girl that immersed herself in the story.  Those motives are pure and uncomplicated.  I want to write for the same pure and uncomplicated reasons -- out of love for the craft and the enjoyment of the creation.  Fear be damned!

It's a new day and today -- I write.  We really need to do what we love or we are less than ourselves.

Wonders of the World - 5

The ability to create and to appreciate art is the fifth of My Wonders of the World. In a previous post I shared with you that my word of inspiration for 2013 is Create, and the wonder of creativity is an important aspect of being human. 

My day isn't complete without some sort of creative expression, whether that's needlepointing the canvas that will become a pillow on my sofa, cooking a great dinner to be placed on a pleasingly decorated table or maybe I just decide to dress myself with a little more pizazz than usual.  It feels so good to create.  It is amazing what we have the ability to create.

When I walk into a museum, I turn into a human sponge.  I don't try to become a sponge, it just happens.  The evidence of human creativity causes a need to soak it all in.  On my most recent visit to the Detroit Institute of Arts, I felt like I had been a nomad wondering in the desert, dying for a drink of water.  My thirst to look upon examples of art was so great, that I drank it in with a sense of desperation.  As my thirst became quenched, I wanted to shed a tender tear at my state of satisfaction.

There are plenty of artists that I don't particularly enjoy and styles that I just don't resonate with. I visited the  Andy Warhol  museum, near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, even though I wasn't a fan.  I didn't want to miss out on an adventure.  There was a long narrow piece that I was drawn to -- it was metallic with Rorschach like designs all over it.  I studied it and pondered it.  When I finally read the adjoining description, I found out the variations in color were a result of the combinations of the metallic palate and his own urine as he dispensed it as was desired.  What a hoot.  What a wonder. I love art.

When one is in the midst of graduate school, one does not have much discretionary income. Even in that financial state, when I saw one of Paul Sawyier's works while walking through the mall in Lexington, Kentucky -- I fell in love.  I had to have it. I had to scrimp and save and do without a few necessities to get that limited edition, numbered print.  It was worth it! Sawyier was considered a great grandson to the great Impressionists.  I was moved by his subjects, his colors, the subtle nuances of his characters.  For over 25 years it has hung in a place of honor in every home I have lived in. It still moves me and now, it is just part of me. Art is like that.

One Perfect Word

A prominent book on my shelf this year.

The fresh slate enabled by the coming of a new year is a welcome reward after surviving yet another year.  It is good to turn the page, start a new chapter, or perhaps even close the book and begin something completely new.  Though I wouldn't consider myself a junkie, I am always on the look out for the next book or program that might inspire.  For the last two years, a sale table has provided such a book.

During the first week of 2013, I meandered my way down the aisles at T.J. Max, one of my favorite places to find hidden treasures.  I have enjoyed 2 or 3 of Debbie Macomber's novels and saw her name on a nonfiction hardback for only $3.  I used to think that cheap meant it was a dismal failure -- not true, just perhaps under appreciated.

The first novel of her massive collection of works I discovered was "Twenty Wishes," a tale of hope and excitement about the future I can highly recommend.  I wondered how her nonfiction would be.

Even with a 20 plus year background in Christian ministry, I find most religious self help books insulting, fluffy and downright useless.  I was afraid Macomber would go the same direction, but she surprised me with a powerful read.  She puts forth her Christian beliefs in a simple matter of fact manner that attracts and disarms rather than the usual "shoving it down one another's throat" approach.  Thank you Debbie.

The gist of this book is that you find a meaningful word that you can live closely with for a year.  You put the word places where you can see it daily, study it, use it, live with it, chew on it, needlepoint it -- discover the depth of its meaning for you in a profoundly intimate way that takes you further on your spiritual journey.  Macomber shared from a number of years of her experience with having one perfect word each year.

I am a word person.  The power of words is unarguable. The power of one word can be razor like.  The power of a word that one has been inspired to grow with can be life changing.

With endless possibilities before me I couldn't wait to find my word for all of 2013.  I pondered the words-- "family," "journey," "love," and a few more.  Much of what I hope to do this year requires me to create and to fully engage in that act.  My perfect word is CREATE.

My perfect word, placed gently in a nest, waiting to be hatched, ready to grow with me.

 So create I shall!  In a multitude of ways I will create.  Already I have begun to see those six letter penned everywhere.  I suddenly hear it in sentences with implications bearing forth that I'd never seen before.  I do love an adventure and there is one being created to last me more than a year.

Wrapped in Love Again and Again and Again

It has seen us through 9 homes, more pets than I can confidently count, hundreds of hours of snuggling, movie watching, sick days and afternoon naps.  The quilt made by Grandma Dot lasted 16 years longer than the marriage it was gifted for! It was a mainstay, a constant source of comfort for the growing up years of my two children, now 17 and 19.  Of all the afghans, quilts and blankets in the house, this was the one most sought after, for it brought with it the greatest comfort of both body and soul.

Grandma Dot came into my life while attending graduate school.  As part of a summer internship, I was given the opportunity to live with her for the season. She was recently widowed and for a variety of reasons, we both needed some looking after.  She made my meals and even did my laundry. I drove her to and from a handful of places and stood with her when she went to the cemetery. Dot, in her late 80's had the heart of one who is ageless, even besting me in a pillow fight.

This quilt she made of left over fabrics from around her home.  She didn't go out and purchase a new pallet of fabric as we often do today.  Making do with what she had, she created a treasure for me and mine.  Though my children never had the joy of meeting this precious woman, they always knew her by name and her ongoing gift.

It was a sad day when I realized the quilt now in tatters, way far beyond repair. Bits of stuffing hung out in an unflattering sort of way. Tears where there should be solid fabric gave way and just made an ugly mess.  One could no long wrap in the quilt, but only get tangled in its uneven shreds.

On a day when neither of my offspring could protest, I took scissors in hand and began to cut away the useless and salvage a piece here and there.   There was enough to place in a frame of remembrance and honor.  That will go on the wall, with a photograph of the one who was "Grandma Dot" to all who knew her. The rest of the pieces will go into several other quilts and Christmas tree ornaments -- keepsakes.  From one keepsake comes many more. She would be thrilled to know that her gift of love and handiwork is being recreated and will go one to be treasure for generations more.

Love is like that.  Once a gift is given, it's hard to stop it.  Once love is given, it can't be stopped.  That love might take some odd twists and turns and a circuitous route to land at home -- but it always keeps giving and loving.

You Just Never Know . . .

Overlooking the 50th Annual Ohio Gourd Show

There sat a beautifully ripened gourd -- the type you drill a hole so that a bird might take up residence. For only $4, I made the purchase for an older gentleman at the farmer's market.  I was immediately smitten with the world of gourds. A day or two later, I was in search of a mystery to read at the local book store.  Maggie Bruce's "The Gourdmother" caught my eye.  By the time I finished reading the book, I was desperate to attend the annual gourd festival in Ohio. I wanted to make my pilgrimage and learn more about this art.

I happen to have a willing husband, so Dave and I took off in search of gourd adventure. And there were people from all over the Midwest who grew gourds, sold them, carved them, burned designs on them, embellished them, painted them and more.  This was brand new territory for me. I was only familiar with the little gourds that I placed in my fall decorations and then tossed in the garbage as the season ended. There are gourds of all sizes and shapes -- from smaller than an egg to the size of a sitting golden retriever.  The flesh molds and rots, then has to be cleaned.  What is left is a hard wood-like material.  It can be used to made all sorts of decorations, musical instruments, and the aforementioned bird house.  They are especially known for use as purple martin houses.

It must have been 8 years ago when this adventure first began.  It all started with me saying "yes" to the beautiful green gourd from a farmer's garden.  I've been crafting and selling, teaching others and enjoying them all this time.  You just never know what might happen when you say "yes" to something new.


Gourds fresh from the garden



Me (left) receiving instruction on how to make the pins
pictured below.

Pins made from gourds

More gourd craft.

Beautiful musical instruments crafted from gourds

Hamburger Onion Pie -- a hand me down dish

My Grandma, my mom and me about 1980-82

"Comfort food" is the dish you delight in eating curled up in your pajamas, you go crazy and don't use a napkin and some how feel the comfort of home and the warmth of childhood.

For me, hamburger onion pie is one of the dishes that transports me to a place of less stress and general satisfaction. And -- it warms up the next day, or as a late night snack, tasting even better than it did at dinner.

This is a recipe that my mom included in my  first collection of recipes that I received as a girl in an adorable mouse recipe box (that I still own and plan to pass on to a grand daughter some day). The recipe came from my maternal grandmother and probably dates back to the depression era.  It uses Bisquick mix to make the crust and it first came on grocer's shelves in 1931.  It is a wonderful way to make a pound of hamburger stretch to feed a larger family.  I liken this to a pre-Hamburger Helper meal.

Here's my version of this delicious recipe:

First, put on your favorite apron and string of pearls. Next,

Craft a bottom crust from Bisquick following box instructions.  I like to add a teaspoon or so of paprika or other mild savory herb or spice just for color and a little adventure.  Roll it out and place in your pie plate. Crinkle or mold your outside crust to your desired appearance.

Thinly slice 1/2 to 1 whole onion -- depending on your like or your families tolerance for for flavorful onion.  Cook until translucent. Add your point of hamburger, cook completely.  Remove as much grease as you can.  Add 2 Tablespoon of Bisquick for thickening.  Add salt and pepper to taste. Pour into prepared pie crust.

Mix together 1-1/12 Cups of cottage cheese and mix with 2medium or 3 small eggs.  Once combined pour over burger and onion mixture.  No need to mix the two -- they will seep together perfectly.  Sprinkle paprika over the top.

Place in a 350 degree oven for 30-45 minutes.  The crust should be browned and the center should be firm.  My husband likes to add ketchup as did my dad, but I don't think it needs it.  Just a little salt and a glass of cold milk does the trick for me.

My Grandma Loy introduced me to a lifestyle that took me years to understand, even longer to embrace and finally appreciate. She had a life full of challenges I can barely fathom.  At a young age she lost her mother. She was later replaced by the exact stepmother and sisters that inspired the Cinderella story.  She worked hard and photos of her rarely sport a smile. Grandma was a mother to eight, but one died in childhood. When she still had three young children at home, my Grandpa died.  I'm right in the middle of more grandchildren and step-grandchildren and half-grandchildren than I can name.  My Grandma could name them all and inform you of their likes and dislikes.  She embraced and loved her family unconditionally.

Except for the men in the family, she would make all the gifts for each family member.  It took her the entire year. The kids would receive stuffed animals she'd sewn or one year, in the 1970's (of course) she made the teens macrame owls -- mine was yellow, because she knew that was my favorite color. Her daughters and daughters-in-law might receive nighties made of soft flannel or gingham aprons. 

Family groups would often receive food goodies that she had canned herself in her little kitchen.  Jam is the item I remember most and that is most dear to me.  I don't think I've ever sampled an unpleasant jam, but I did have a favorite.  Grandma never forgot it either.  Sometimes instead of a jar, she would send home a plastic margarine container of jam to be given to me --peach and pineapple. That jam was like ambrosia to me. If I really concentrate, I can still taste it -- and its been 27 years since I last tasted a piece of toast with Grandma's jam.  That is a long time to savor a flavor.

I've been making jams of all sorts this summer. It is so hard for me to make peach and pineapple because it just isn't good enough when I make it. Martha Stewart couldn't make it like Grandma did.  Yesterday the bread and butter pickles were completed. Today I'm wrapping up  too many jars of dill pickles--dilled green and wax beans are next on my list. It's a lot of work. My feet get tired, I get over-heated and I think I'll never get it all done. 

Finally, when I serve something to my family that I've made, and I see their enjoyment --- that's all I need to do it all over again. I love to put a package together for someone and give the gift of my time and energy.

Grandma's gifts weren't just the sewing and the crafting, the canning and  the baking. Grandma's gifts were the love that she included as she worked and created.  I learned that from her. I know it sounds a little bit corny, but "love"was a main ingredient in all that she did. I'm still learning that from her.