Merry, Bright, Silent, and Holy

You and I both know that the Christmas season can be crazy. It's really easy to have a calendar page full of cheer-filled lunches, brunches, dinners, parties, gatherings, and outings.  I enjoy this aspect of the season and gear up for the exhausting coordination that goes hand-in-hand with it.  I bake the coffee cake on Tuesday for Thursday, make the pizza dough on Saturday for Wednesday, freeze the sausage balls this weekend for next, meet the farmer for fresh greens Friday for Christmas Eve's salad...and the to-do list goes on and the parties keep coming. Thankfully, I get along well with my immediate and extended families, so the occasions are a joy, albeit a bit numerous.  Truly, I couldn't ask for better holidays.

Lately I've been grasping for the silent and holy aspects of the season. I realize that it's not politically correct but I'm not ashamed to put in print that I'm a Christian.  Christmas may be a season of giving, a time of childlike awe and wonder, an occasion for charity and selflessness, but as far as I'm concerned it's not because Santa deems it so.  Christmas is the celebration of Jesus' birth -- the greatest gift to mankind.  It was commemorated by the luxurious offerings of the Magi and the breathless anticipation and rapturous jubilee of angels, shepherds, and all creation. It was a foreshadowing of the fulfillment of true love, ultimate sacrifice, and redemption made available for all.

THIS is Christmas.  A reason to be both speechless and to exuberantly rejoice, to be silent and to reverence the reality of this momentous event.  As difficult as it may be to wrap my mind around and as tear-filled as my eyes become, I intentionally contemplate the stillness of that divine night, the hushed expectancy of heaven and nature, and the bursting wonderment of all who witnessed that miracle.  And a miracle it was. Not only the immaculate conception or the paternal dreams, the humble birth in a stable, the angels' celestial song, or the guiding light of a new star, but first and foremost because Emmanuel had come -- God was now with us in human form.  The Creator had provided a way, the Way, for men to be called, drawn, and saved into relationship with Him as He intended.  This night was the moment that the Living Promise finally come to earth.  Joy to the World.

Modern Christmas is holly jolly and I'm okay with that to a degree, but the true reason for this season need not be displaced nor diminished under the jingle of sleighbells and Frosty's button nose.  In the coming weeks before beckoning in the New Year, I wish that your days be Merry and Bright, and that your Christmas be overshadowed by the splendor of that Silent and Holy Night. 

See you in 2013!

All the World's A Stage

Do you ever picture what people used to do with their spare time before there was a television in every home?  Remember with me a time when young and old, rich and poor would crowd together in a theater to witness the newly penned sonnets of Shakespeare or Marlowe.  Envision centuries earlier when masses of Greek citizens would fill the seats of an outdoor amphitheater to listen to oral histories, comedies, tragedies, and mythological feats of heroes and Olympians. Just as significant, consider the countless smaller gatherings since time immemorial when tribes, communities, and families would assemble to sing, play, and dance to the tunes and stories of their forefathers. In colonial and post-colonial America immigrants and slaves brought with them their fiddles and fifes, drums and guitars, rhythms and rhymes to ensure that their homeland was never too far away. These artistic threads have been woven into a fabric that can still be appreciated today.  But is it?  And what's the big deal anyway?

Shhh...I don't think pictures are allowed at the Symphony!

December 1st: Christmas Countdown

I've never been much of a Black Friday enthusiast.  Something about the traffic, lines, pressure, and aisle rage just doesn't appeal to me.  Until this year I didn't even know Small-Business Saturday or Cyber Monday existed.  When did they arrive on the scene?!?  It makes we wonder if names will be given to all the days after Thanksgiving -- Get It Before It's Gone 5th, Cuttin' It Close 20th, Last Ditch Effort 23rd.  Or worse...Forget-Giving-Thanks-Just-Shop Fourth Thursday of November.  Ugh, I sure hope not.  Call me a traditionalist, but I happen to think Thanksgiving should be digested before Christmas makes it on the scene.  I have a sister who's adamant (in her gentle way) that no Christmas music, decorations, or movies make an appearance until after Thanksgiving is properly acknowledged and celebrated with feasting, family, and actual Thanks-Giving.  Novel concept.  She doesn't have to convince me, I'm already game.  If I ruled the world, the only exception I'd make would be for craft-type stores who supply us homemade gift-givers with fuel for the fire.  I get hyped thinking about gifts for people throughout the entire year.  Ultimately, my husband and I decide together who gets what, but we always settle on some homemade, some experiences, some serendipitous finds at random places, and a few that were actually asked for. This year we came up with a dozen or so homemade ideas. One might think that these would be completed early on to get a jump on things...but nah, it's December 1st and I've got five yet to start!  If you're anything like me, you're counting down the days til Christmas, managing the calendar like a game of Tetris, clanging the pots and pans with a bit of Yuletide prep, and whirring at the craft table (amid all the other normal responsibilities of life). Before we arrive at Cuttin' It Close 20th, I thought I'd share one of my homemade gifts for little girls this season as a help to anyone else out there who's searching for the perfect thing.  It's A Cutesy Fleece Poncho.  So adorable -- I wish I had little models to wear them in the photos, but alas...that'd ruin the surprise!  

What's left of my Living Room...

Annie Get Your Gun

I'm not sure if it's a kid thing or I was just an odd child (perhaps both?), but I used to take the same books out of my elementary school library over and over and over again.  Granted I had a few dozen in the rotation, but for whatever reason stacks of gem and rock books, Native American and Ancient History books, and biographies always made it home with me...even if I'd read them and studied the illustrations countless times before.  Annie Oakley's dusty rose-covered life story was one of these favorites.  The black and white sketches would come to life for me as I envisioned her little 5-foot frame wielding a cumbersome firearm with deadly accuracy.  Gosh, was she cool!  In my neck of the northern woods I didn't know anybody but the police who owned a gun and I was in high school before I had an acquaintance who had been hunting.  Now that I'm living in the rural south I'm almost embarrassed to admit it!  These days I'm not exactly a pistol packin' mama, but I see the merit in getting cozy with some gun powder and lead.

Thankful: To "B" or Not To Be

There are two sides to every coin.  Good day, bad day.  Good season, bad season.  Good year, bad year.  I've found that life usually falls somewhere in between with a strong leaning to the good if we're willing to see it that way.  But we always have a choice...

The Skinny on Fat

Growing up we had a large pantry in the kitchen.  It wasn't a walk-in, but it was very deep and had lots of cubbies and shelves. The main level was knee high and when the shelves on it were rolled to one side I had the perfect nook in which to sit, hide, or snack -- and sometimes all of the above.  I remember one such occasion when I spied a large cylindrical tub with a blue label and a delicious-looking piece of yellow cake with white frosting on the front.  In childish wonder I pried open the plastic top to reveal the treasure within.  Frosting!  In plunged my pointer finger and out it curled with a delectable glob that headed toward my tongue without hesitation.  DISGUSTING!  Many of you probably realized a few sentences ago that this treasure chest would not contain frosting and was in fact a tub of vegetable shortening.  I repeat...Disgusting! This is my first memory involving the wonderful world of fats.  Jump to last Thursday morning in which I began the process of rendering lard -- yup, the forbidden fat of yesteryear.  I've got a simple step-by-step photo-filled guide posted below.  But first, I'd like to take a walk down a rather fatty memory lane to explore both how fats have fallen out of favor with the masses and why the right kinds of fats are actually a life-giving nutritional necessity.

A Pig's Tale

If goats make mischief, sheep induce serenity (and relieve the insomniac), and the hen house is full of clucking female banter, then the barnyard attribute I assign to the pig is pleasure.  When the acorns litter the ground, the leaves are aflame in a golden blaze, and the air is crisp and dry, there's no place like our wooded pig pastures for passing time and taking it easy.  I mean that for me as much as our herd.  I like to think it's the pigs' favorite time of year, too.  It's cool enough for them to stay comfortable and some of their favorite treats, nuts & acorns, are literally raining down on them.  On our farm, fall is the time for the pigs to shine!  I'm sure the fact that apples, sweet potatoes, and the bulk of autumnal fare often look to pork as a culinary foundation plays a part in my connection.  But for now, I'm talking less about the end product and more about the personality and "pig-ness" of a pig. I realize that the majority of American society would have a plethora of connotations for these fine swine that might include dirty, stinky, gross, and the like (I was in that camp a mere five years ago), but our pigs generate more smiles, chuckles, and good clean fun than any other species on our farm.  Whether giving a snort with each footfall, a barking run (yes, I mean bark like a dog), the smacking of chops that accompanies any morsel, a satisfying slump in which the belly paunch rests nimbly on the ground, or a nuzzle to be near any other companion, pigs are hilarious!  It seems to me that they have an acute propensity to enjoy their present activity...whatever it may be.  I can't help but watch them and find myself smirking or wanting to give a running commentary of their actions.  "Uh, hey guys. Whacha got there? Oh cool...what a weird root! Lemme see. Come on, Lemme see!"  Slumping to the ground. "Ok, fine. I'll just, uh, chill here til you're..." Jumping up with a jerk, Run, bark. Run, bark. Run, bark. "Uh, hey gals. Whacha got there? Mmmm...that looks good.  Scooch over so I can fit." Mash, squish, slump. "Awesome."


Pure Satisfaction

Testing My Limits

A few years ago I cut back on my daily ritual of putting on deodorant.  Shock of all shocks!  Horror of all horrors!  I know.  I don't enjoy the stench of B.O. any more than the next person, but there's quite a bit of discussion linking aluminum in antiperspirant-deodorants with some serious health concerns. Charged by this query, I thought it through and decided to attempt the unthinkable. Could I achieve this feat without being an affront to society's nostrils?  Let me back up and state that I've leaned more toward the glam side of femininity than the grunge, so this trial was a major step. Also for the record, within fifteen minutes of getting dressed every morning in high school I'd have embarrassing sweat circles in my armpits. (Can we say stressed?!?) Over the years I curbed my stress and the sweating, but I'll reiterate...this no-deodorant gig was a major step for me. Long story short, my body now self-regulates with nothing but bathing, healthy eating, and an occasional dab of natural, herbal deodorant. (Not that I didn't have a few stinky days initially while figuring all this out.) Voila! I'm not running anyone off with my stench and I've kicked a chemical-product habit. While I'm sure a post about my hygiene would spike my blog's readership overnight (or make a few spouses don clothespins on their noses and glare angrily in my direction), I'll burst your bubble and admit that this post is about testing my limits, not my underarms.

A Studly Spud

Inspired by two recent rendezvous with a loaded baked potato, I was craving to create my own delectable version last week.  Critics are raving!  Okay, okay, so the critics may be my husband and me, but still...this easy meatless meal was not only scrumptious, but healthful, filling, and the perfect dish for a crisp autumn day.  In my home we're getting better at conscientiously consuming starches and carbohydrates -- I'm Italian and married to an Irish man! -- however, I feel that because white potatoes are a natural tuber and nutrient rich, they should be thoroughly enjoyed, though irregularly on the menu.

Meet Me At The Fair

"The great difficulty in education is to get experience out of ideas."
- George Santayana, early 20th-century philosopher and writer

Well, folks, I just got back from a lovely trip, not along the Milky Way, but along the interstate.  For three whole days I gorged myself on all things sustainable living, do-it-yourself, homestead style, healthful habits, and renewable energy.  At the moment I'm literally stuffed to the gills with information.  Where did I run off to?  The Mother Earth News Fair in Seven Springs, Pennsylvania.

Home Sweet Home

When I was a little girl I dreamed I would grow up and live in a huge garage.  Wait.  What??  That can't be right.  But truth is stranger than fiction, no?  The truth is that as of a couple weeks ago I AM living in a huge garage.  I moved from my rented 1,300 square-foot brick home with a full basement, yard, shade trees and large garden plot to a 650 square-foot apartment that makes up 1/2 of a metal shop building complete with an over-sized garage door, OSB wooden sheet and metal walls, and unpainted concrete floors. There is no yard and very little southern exposure.  Despite what you may be thinking right now it was an easy decision to make.

BEFORE

AFTER...yes, these are labeled correctly

Because I can, can, can

Nothing says summer to me quite like the weekly, bi-weekly, or even twice-weekly process of transforming fresh-picked produce into a Technicolor glass menagerie.   Each winter I make a list of new recipes to try or gaps in the canning pantry I’m desperate to fill.  By spring I’m chomping at the bit to line up my Mason jars, wash up my canner, and break out new seals.  When spring’s mad rush of outdoor duties gives way to higher temperatures and a burgeoning garden, it’s the kitchen that once again takes center stage.  Lugging the garden’s bounty inside is merely the intro.  Then I rumple my hair like every good conductor and begin orchestrating the whoosh, plop, clang, sizzle, and hiss of utensils, pots, pans and jars.  I maintain this rhythm throughout May, June, July, and August in preparation for the coming year.  While it can be a formidable task and I don’t always look forward to it on the morning of a canning day, I know nothing will taste better on a cold February afternoon than a half-day’s work from last August.

A Bit of Berry Good Advice

After not having written in over a month, I'm attempting to get back in the good graces of my readers by solving an annual dilemma.  Cookout season has begun (and BERRY season along with it)...  You brought killer potato salad last year...and decadent jello salad the year before that...and strawberry spinach salad the year before that...   Now what?!?!?!?   I'm going to share a simple, gloriously delicious, seasonally friendly recipe that will have everyone smiling without knocking their teeth out with cavities.  I call it my Any-Kind-of-Fruit Crisp.

Keepin' It Real in the Kitchen

In my lifetime my mother has called me many things, but there's one description she's had in her arsenal since I was a kid that still makes me a little gooey in the middle every time it's used within my earshot.  She usually says something like, "I go into the fridge and see an old piece of bread, a half-empty jar of who-knows-what, some ketchup, and a pickle.  She (that's me) can go in that same fridge and come out with a gourmet sandwich."  Now,  I’m not sure that Julia Childs would concur on the gourmet status of my creations at the ripe age of 9, but needless to say the eaters were happy and that’s step one.  I've dedicated this post to one of my lifelong loves: FOOD.    (There's even a recipe at the end!) 

Life on the Line

My husband and I joke that there's a troll living in our basement.  We currently live in an older home built by his grandparents in 1960.  The underground lair is partially finished, damp, dimly lit, and generally "creepy" (as my younger sister, fifteen years my junior, calls it).  Thankfully, spiders don't bother me and the rare signs of a rodent don't send me screaming. Despite efforts at keeping it tidy, it's hard to make a place like this one inviting.  However, the utilitarian qualities of my basement are more than adequate to redeem it in my book.  There's a built-in set of pantry shelves for canned goods, an ancient and wonderfully reliable chest freezer, a nook with shelving for seasonal items, a room for storing orphaned extended family items, the wood stove et al, the recycling bins, the tools/hardware stash, and the washing machine/laundry/cleaning area complete with clothesline.  Yup, a clothesline.  I love it.

February Follies (...or Life Lessons Learned)

If "older and wiser" go together like "peas and carrots" then I couldn't be happier that it's finally March.  Here's my train of thought:  I'm older at the start of this month than last, so technically that means I'm wiser.  Right?  What a relief.

Seeds and Such

My first vegetable garden was perfect.  It was the image of every sketch I'd seen from Peter Rabbit to Rapunzel.  Granted, at the time I was only eight.

Confessions of a Modern Milkmaid

I do some of my best thinking while milking our cow.