When I Grow Up...

I wanna be this lady.

Photo courtesy of Pioneer Woman Photography Contest

Just look at her and admit admiration. She inspires me to grow old the way she has.

When I’m her age I don’t want to be afraid of doughnuts either.

I hope I’ll have never said – "Just a teeny piece of cake for me." I hope I won’t be afraid of my gray hair and its old lady curls. I hope I’ll have more laugh lines than you can count and use them every day…ever other second.

I hope I’ll wear a purple stripe shirt too, and high heels. Unless I have bunions. And then I’ll order my orthopedic shoes in pink and walk in confidence.

Yes indeedy – this picture should be me…

And off to one side there’s a man sitting and smiling at me. You and I can’t see him from where we are, but I think he probably has skinny old man legs and a plump middle (that you can bet I haven’t grown tired of hugging!)

Maybe he’s waiting to take a treat home to our grandbabies – the only kind of multiplication I’ve learned to love. I hope our house is full of chatter and crayoned drawings. I hope our floors are never clean for long, and that I don’t ever get tired of hearing an infant cry…seeing their first steps…

Is it too much to believe that it’s all possible?

What if, in reality, we’re left short at the end of life, tired and worn from living? What if jubilance isn’t possible when your body begins to break down?

But do sunsets grow less glorious? Does spring ever stop surprising us each year? Do kisses grow less sweet? Do God’s graces ever run dry? Ever?

That’s why I’m going to be this lady someday. His mercies are new every morning and even with arthritis, wrinkles and saggy skin, I’ll be fountain of His Grace.

And I’ll be able to love doughnuts to the very end.


~Olivia

A Simple Joy...Boxed Puff Pastry!

The neighbours are away but I popped over to take a peek at a house detail...because I am always trying to decide how I want things finished in my house. Well I couldn't help but notice that there were some apple turnover looking things under the dome of their cake stand. *ahem* Suffice to say there is now one less than there was when I enter the house. Don't judge me, you know you would have done the same thing! ;) Who can resist apple turnovers, especially when me when I've been too lazy to make my own pastry lately. I know it isn't hard but the thought of it is and I really don't have a very ideal "rolling out" surface in my itty bitty kitchen. And besides, the turnovers would be stale by the time the neighbours get home anyway. Maybe I should go save the rest from such a fate...



Ok ok, relax, I didn't. Instead of being a regular thief I remembered I had some storebought puff pastry somewhere in the depths of my freezer. So I decided to take the "easy" route, instead of making my own fresh pastry I dug out the ancient package that had at one point been partially thawed and then thrown back in to meet a different fate at a different time (I refroze it! *gasp*), to make my own turnovers. (Following me still?)

When it was thawed enough I chopped apples in a bowl and threw in some sugar (brown and white because I couldn't decide which) cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger (I use whatever I feel like throwing in at the time) and stirred in all together. I rolled out the thawed pastry and cut it into appropriate sized squares. I added some filling, sealed them up, brushed the tops with cream and sprinkled with sugar. Add bake...

 

Don't tell me if you found these abandoned at my house you wouldn't help yourself to at least one. I hope you would! Easy Peezy but oh so GOOD!

Now I'd better get back to the rest of my day...which has been made a little brighter by a simple blessing like apple turnovers! Mmmm! :)

~Aimee

Many hands....

make light work.

Why we're so good lookin'. ;)

In honour of Mom and Dad's wedding anniversary this past week, I took them out and about for a little photoshoot. Here are just a few shots.

I was pretty pleased with the results.

Dad kept getting distracted by his beautiful wife.  And she didn't seem to mind. =)

 -Abigail

The Collection Game

I have a philosophy that says everyone needs a Collection. An obsessive, irrational and embarrassing attraction to one thing…plastic containers, wreaths, tea cups…you get the idea.

I confess to embracing this philosophy frequently *cough cough* and often find myself coming away from a store with certain things clutched in hand. Vases. Blue and white china. Old-fashioned tins. Milk glass. Antique quilts.

Oh yes…it’s bad.

There are of course, rules to the Collection game. Two, to be precise.

The first is that a collection can’t be too useful. The more decorative the better, the type of thing that is for beauty’s sake alone. It’s just cheating to collect pots and pans – except of course if they are rusty, antique or otherwise impractical.

The second rule is that it isn’t a true collection until you spend money on it. Dust balls under the bed or birthday cards you’ve been given don’t count! Having a collection is all about your heart skipping a beat at the yard sale/antique store/thrift shop, and clasping a find to your chest, money no object. You have to invest in these collections, guys. It’s all part of the game.

Unless…

you have a Mom who knows you better than you do yourself and finds amazing things as gifts. But that is the exception to the rule and I tell you in extreme confidence! Mum’s the word.

~Olivia

Lessons Learned from the Matriarch and Patriarch

Today is my parent’s thirty-second anniversary. In commemoration of that event, Dad shaved off his moustache of over thirty-two years! To date, it has not yet been decided whether or not his bald upper lip will remain. Meanwhile, everyone is dealing with the highly traumatic state of moustache withdrawal in which we stare at poor Dad’s face for long periods of time and begin to laugh for no reason at all.
Anyway, because of this auspicious occasion, (their anniversary, not the loss of the moustache) I thought I would discuss the lessons I’ve learned from my parents. The nice thing about these lessons is that not many of them were taught with words. Rather, I gained them from watching my parent’s actions and behaviour.

1. Giving of your time, treasures, and talents are imperative to being like Christ. Through the years, I have been amazed at the amount of money, time, and resources my parents have given to friends, family, and church. My parents aren’t rich, by any stretch of the word. And yet, they always seem to have enough to donate to those who really need it. Mom and Dad are busy people, both working full time, but they make time to help others, moving around their schedule if necessary. Whether it’s painting rooms, talking people through tough times, or opening their home to others, they always seem not only able, but willing to give these things.
2.  It’s okay to laugh at people, as long as you laugh at yourself as well. Well, okay, I took a liberty on that one. I’m not sure they would say that, exactly. But, I’ve often been astonished when, even in very tough times, they were able to laugh. Laugh off other people’s idiosyncrasies, yes. But, also at themselves. I think that it is a rarer gift than people think to be able to laugh at the ridiculous found in yourself, as well as in others. To laugh at the strange in people, but never the good.
3. Go to church, no matter what. Growing up, it was twice a Sunday to church, and NO EXCUSES. I may not have liked it at times, but I’m so grateful that that was nonnegotiable in our house. Now, I wouldn’t miss a church service for the world. I even went to church, at the age of fourteen, covered in chicken pox scars. Beat that, if you will! ;)
4. Expect nothing from others. Through the years of local church involvement, Mom and Dad reached out to a lot of people. Frankly, they often got hurt for their pains. I’ve learned that we shouldn’t necessarily expect the worst from others. But, in making ourselves necessarily vulnerable to others, we shouldn’t be surprised when we get burned. It happens, but that doesn’t stop us. Mom and Dad have been hurt. They’ve cried, they’ve prayed, but they have stayed faithful. They haven’t been daunted. Our family aren’t really high achievers, in a way. But, on the other hand, we know what’s important, and we go for it. Mom and Dad taught me the joyful art of plodding, slugging through the mud and general yuckiness of this life, and not to be afraid.
5. Your sister is your best friend. They said this so much when Olivia and I were younger, that they must have felt like a broken record. But, it paid off. Today, Liv and I are best friends, and I couldn’t ask for a better one: all because our parents didn’t treat sibling squabbles as an inevitability, but made us work through them.

My parents taught me how to think. I’m so grateful they chose to not leave it up to public schools to tell me what’s what. They taught me that two and two is four and, though postmodernists may disagree, it’s never five. They made me learn how to write, how to play the piano, and how to bake bread. They snapped me out of my early teenager moods by not treating me with kid gloves.
After almost eighteen years of living with my parents, I still get a kick out of hearing Dad compliment Mom and seeing her blush and giggle. It still makes feel happy and secure to see them spending every day together, talking, drinking coffee, and working in their office. After thirty-two years, they may not kiss as much as they did in their first year of marriage, but they’re a lot better friends.
- Millie

It's time for cobbler, folks!

Millie said the other day, and I think it’s true; that Summer is the season for lazing and Autumn the time for productivity.

Does cooler weather do that to you to? That goal setting, that bedroom cleaning, that leaping out of bed (at 9:30 –shhhh!) to go apple picking…

There is a million other things I could say I love about Fall, but I’ll spare you the winsome list that everyone writes, but no one cares about reading. Instead I’ll cut right to the heart of the matter and the core of this ‘busy-ness’. I’ll give you a hint to what we all really love about this season.

Hint: It happens in the kitchen.

Yes, yes…food of course. Good food. The fattening, sweet, fragrant kind. We’re all sick to death of salads, thank you!

Here is what I made the other day…with local pears. I feel so virtuous.

Gingerbread-Pear Cobbler

The Pear Layer:

12 medium pears, peeled and sliced
¾ cup white sugar
2 tbsp. Lemon juice
1 ½ tsp. Lemon zest
2 tbsp. Crystallized ginger, minced
1 ½ tbsp. Flour
2 tbsp. Butter, cubed

The Cobble:

2 cups flour
5 ½ tbsp. White sugar
1 tbsp. Ground ginger
2 ½ tsp. Baking powder
2 tsp. Cinnamon
¾ tsp. Cloves
½ tsp. Salt
¼ tsp. Baking soda
8 ½ tbsp. Butter or margarine
2 large eggs
6 tbsp. Milk
1/3 cup molasses
¾ tsp. Vanilla

The Sprinkle:

½ cup sliced almonds
2 tbsp. white sugar
Preheat oven to 400. Lightly butter 9 x 13 baking dish.
In a large bowl, toss sliced pears with sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, crystallized ginger and flour. Spread into prepared pan and dot with butter.
In a medium bowl, stir flour, sugar, ginger, baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, salt and baking soda with a fork. Work in butter until it resembles the size of small peas. Make a well in center of dry ingredients and pour in milk, eggs, molasses and vanilla. Stir until just blended. Dollop the batter by heaping tablespoonfuls onto the pears to create a cobbled effect, taking care to space the dollops about 1 inch apart. Don’t spread the dolloped cobbles out! (Say THAT three times fast – dolloped cobbles, dolloped cobbles…)
Sprinkle the whole shebang with nuts and sugar. Pop into oven. Bake until pears are tender and topping is golden, 35 to 40 minutes. Let rest at least 20 minutes before serving.

If you’re me, eat it with coffee cream poured on top OR you can serve warm with ice-cream and whipped cream. Yeah. Not much of decision, I know.

~Olivia