Thursday, June 14, 2012

My Lamp has a Waist!

So what's a girl to do with a beautiful vintage accessory that fits the waist of a 20-year-old??
Say no to homemade peach ice cream? I don't think so!
Find a different way to show it off of course!

My Mom wore this belt back before I was a twinkle in her eye and thought I might like it.
As a matter of fact I do!


The thought of stuffing it into a closet seemed sinful.
So I began to look around the house for a creative way to display it...

Turns out my Nanny's old lamp has a perfectly sized waist! Who knew!?!


My lamp said she just felt like something was missing her whole life...
now she feels... complete! 

If only all of life's dilemma's were solved with a beautiful accessory!

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Fortress... in the Living Room

Nothing says... summer... like a fort in the living room!


Ingredients:
  • Every blanket/quilt in the house
  • Kitchen chairs (minimum 4)
  • Cushions from the couch (optional)
  • Clothespins or binder clips for holding blankets in place
  • A willing Mom and/or Dad
  • A little imagination 

Common Uses:
  • Reading Spot
  • Taking a nap
  • Imaginary castle... spaceship... covered wagon, etc...
  • Hiding
  • Whispering and Giggling
  • Daydreaming
  • Playing board games
  • Shadow puppets with flashlights
  • Hours of fun until the parents want their living room back!


Directions:
  • Gather Ingredients, Build, Enjoy!

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

The Games We Play

We are so blessed to live just down the street (literally) from so much of Husband's family!
This translates into lots of "get-togethers". 
(Get-together is just country for "party")

Our house is small, but that doesn't mean we limit our guest list!
People... conversation...  and activities spill into every room...
and then if we run out of rooms (or if it's a pretty day),
we just throw up a table in the yard.

If you come to one of our soirees you're likely going to get roped (not literally) into playing either
Chicken Foot... or Washers.

We love both games because men, women, children and livestock of all ages can compete!
(I was just kidding of course about livestock participation. This is strictly a human activity... even though it is named after a barnyard friend... I'll explain that momentarily.)
Chicken Foot
Chicken Foot is a domino game, played with double 9 dominoes. 
Yep... that means 9 dots on each end. 
When there's a REALLY big group we pull out the double 12's.
(You sometimes need a calculator to count the final score.)
The game is so named because when you play a "double" it must be "covered" with 3 matching dominoes... creating a sort of "chicken foot"... see the toes?

The reason niece has a pouty face is because she's holding the "double blank"... that baby is worth a whopping 50 points (and the goal of the game is to have the LEAST points).
With all those dots she's clearly going in the wrong direction.

When it gets too dark... or the mosquitoes begin snacking on us,
we just move the chicken feet to an inside table!

Trust me... you'll love it. Go buy some double 12's!

Washers
We discovered washers just last summer but apparently the game has been around... well... forever... and even though we're newbies, we're pretty much hooked. 
Since the discovery, the men in the family have built numerous and sundry variations of the board. 

This game is quite simple.

Each player gets 3 colored washers.
(Yes, actual washers from a hardware store, spray painted different colors in groups of 3)
The matching boards (with 3 holes cut into each) are placed 10 feet apart.


Players then toss their washers toward one board, while touching the other board with a foot.

There are different stances for "the toss"
Some rest one foot on the board (see Husband above)

Some stand completely on the board (see Little Brother)


Whatever your stance...
a washer in the top hole is worth 3 points,
one in the middle hole scores you 2 points,
and a sinker in bottom hole gives you 1 point

The first one to 21 wins!


There are apparently MANY "official" rules for this game, (do a google search)
but the way we figure it... as long as all the players agree, there's no RIGHT way.

Our family has put our own twist on things (shocking).
There are some special "tricks" to which we've assigned special names as follows:

GRANDPA
Three 3's in one toss!
(This is a grandpa because Grandpa Work was the first one to accomplish it)

FARMER's WIFE
Three 2's
(So named because yours truly was the first to hit this combination.)

PINE TREE
Three 1's

CIRCLING THE WAGONS
This is when you leave 3 washers on the board. Booo.

FLAT TIRE
Two 3's and a 2
(You were sooo close to a GRANDPA but flattened out on that last toss)

SNOW MAN
a 1, then a 2, then a 3

(We keep adding to the list of course)

You are welcome to adopt our lingo... or make up your own...
But whatever you do... talk a lot of smack... work on your technique...
practice, practice, practice...
and do some serious rejoicing when you win. 
My group certainly does!


Where can you get a Washer board?  We've found them at local flea-market-type-spots. 
(If you live in Dallas they have them at Trader's Village.) 
If you're the handy man (or woman) type you can find instructions on how to build your own on the internet.  (Is there anything you CAN'T find on the web?)

WARNING: This activity is addictive.  Do not be alarmed or surprised if your enthusiasm is contagious and you end up with more than one "set of boards" and/or corrupt your friends and family with Washer Fever. =)

Saturday, May 26, 2012

My Garden... the Time Machine

Any number of things can "take you back"... to a different time and place.
A song... a scent... a voice.
This past week... my garden caused the wrinkle in time. 
okra... yellow crook-neck squash... zucchini... tomatoes... black-eyed peas


I watched my "Nanny" (Colorado Dad's Mom) pull these same plump treasures from the ground, just a few miles South of where my little house sits. 


Followed behind as her apron pockets filled up and spilled over. 
I helped her hull black-eyed peas... our fingers forcing out the fresh green kernels.
Hers weathered and wise... mine small and nimble.



The thing that carried me away today were the sounds...
As I sat on my own porch hulling peas, I closed my eyes and listened.


I let my ears travel... tilted my head toward a different porch...  a different garden.
A two-story structure on Lee Street in Red Oak, Texas that my Nandaddy built.
Faintly at first... but the frequency quickly grew stronger.

...the aluminum screen door on the front porch ~ tension spring set just a little too tight ~ quickly popping closed with a hollow rattle... the drone of the window unit ~ the drip drip drip of condensation outside on the black soil... the scrape of the sliding glass door... the slowing down of a vehicle ~ tires changing surfaces from asphalt to gravel... the cuckoo clock ticking away seconds above the kitchen table... the internal whir right before the tiny door would click open and little bird would sing out... the startling ring of the baby blue rotary phone... the sound of The Price is Right on the television... her laughter... Nandaddy's voice from another room...
water running in the kitchen sink...

Do you have a place you'd like to visit again?  Close your eyes...
Listen.  Find the symphony where you thought there was only silence.

As sit on my front porch... pinching peas into one bowl... hulls and strings in another... I don't need my eyes to do this chore... my fingers work by touch alone...

I help Oldest Son study for his 7th-grade Texas History final...


I listen intently to this moment... the cadence of questions and answers... repetition of troublesome facts... wind blowing...

I hope he will remember the sounds of this day...
studying at a picnic table stacked with yellow and green...
dirt still clinging...
little brother popping in and out of doorway distracting...


the zipping by of an occasional hummingbird... his mother's voice asking and answering... wheat ready for harvest whispering sweet nothings in our ears.


Tuesday, April 24, 2012

My Belizean Heritage

There is a space inside my Mom that is full and empty.
Seeping through the edges are the
faces...
songs... 
stories...
scents...
humidity...
tears...
joy...
regret...
laughter...
music...
sacrifice...
grace...
and food...
of Belize!
She's an MK (missionary kid)...
She spent several years in Belize with her parents... brother and sister. 
They ministered, evangelized and sang!
They even cut two records!  Here's the cover of one of them.
Mom's in the pink dress... Little sister Sue in the white dress... and Mickey standing behind.
My Grandmom and Grandad are seated in the middle.


Mickey, Pat and Sue were (and still are) quite the trio. 
There is nothing like blood harmony.

I love this picture... it is so... classic.


I was helping Mom edit some of her memories and stories of Belize recently and this sentence sent me on a journey.
"Beans and rice were the most common and delicious food. Of course there were several types of bananas, breadfruit,and chicken fixed with Recado, a special blend of seasonings I still crave."
Surely Recado (aka Ricardo, Recardo) could be found online. 
So... I Googled... I found... I purchased!
If you're curious and want to order your own... www.bluefield-prod.com



For Easter Grandmom coached me through the preparation of...
Belizean style beans and rice... chicken "stew" with Recado... banana and cabbage slaw
 (I know... sounds weird but it was actually one of my favorite parts of the meal)...
 and fried plantains.

She's wearing plastic gloves because the red color of the Recado spice will stain your hands! So if you handle it... you've been warned.
You take the spice (it looks sort of like a bouillon block but softer) and mix it with a little vinegar (just until it is a thick paste).


Then you rub the chicken generously with the red Recado mixture and let it sit for at least 20 minutes before throwing it into the frying pan. 
(A cast iron skillet works best Grandmom says, but we didn't have one...
so Teflon did pretty well in a pinch.)

We even got husband into the kitchen for some moments of heavy lifting.
I just love a man with a hot pad!


So what does Recado taste like? 
It's not spicy... like you might imagine judging it by it's fiery red color. 
It is more smokey... maybe paprika in nature.  I did a little research and found that it is made from the annatto seed. 
Mom says it tasted like she remembered... so mission accomplished.
It was down home and rich and the combination of all the items we put on the table was at the same time familiar... and exotic.  I liked it.  I'll make it again.

The best part though, was cooking with Grandmom. 
Listening to the stories and memories...
Reminiscing while the kitchen filled up with fragrance from another life.
Belize is a ghost for me too, certainly not in the same way as it is for those who lived there... but I feel it sometimes.  Somewhere deep in my gut... is a mutated gene inherited from Mom.  It forms the shape of a small country.  It is a warm glowing seed that I don't fully understand. I visited once when I was in college.  One of the souls they loved there... the Other Brother Wright... picked me up and showed me around.  He took me through the rooms where the Wright Family had poured out ministry and song. 


Beautiful ebony faces sang to me as if I was a princess from another land... and I wept.
I was home... and yet I was not.
This is the ache Mom feels... multiplied eternally.
It was so strange... to return to a place I had never been before.  

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

It's Snowing!

Every year...
in April... sometimes May
it snows.

It isn't North Wind... or Jack Frost who brings the white...
It isn't chilly... or cold... or even wet.
But it is this great lady which blankets my lawn with her downy offspring. 

The Texas Cottonwood.



Husband gets grumpy.
Everyone starts sneezing.
It gums up the mower.
But I always smile when I see her first fluffy refugee flying across my yard.
She is majestic... and lovely.

At times it looks as if a giant pillow fight has taken place on the grass...
bits of her pollen filling in the low places...
rolling down the roof in tiny soundless avalanches of poof.
If you look closely here... you can see them flying... little white specks... orbs... dancing free.


Littering the lawn...
Tiny puffs poised in the sunlight...
Ready to take flight with the slightest motion.

I have a co-conspirator!
A compatriot who joys in her messy shedding... delights in the simplicity of it... her pirouettes of whimsy... flecking the air with melodies of movement. 
Her daughters harmonize with the laughter of my boy. 



I don't care what anyone says... I love that tree.
And now I am not the only one.
I have swayed a Cottonwood Rebel to my side!

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The "Dirt" on Husband

Husband has dirt in his blood.  He said he never would when we were dating.  He said he'd never be a farmer (although the "good story" he wrote when he was 8 hinted otherwise).
It hangs on our wall now... as it did on his grandparent's wall for many years. 
 

He "gets it honest"...
His daddy, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather all turned soil. 
Farming is a tough occupation. It's unpredictable.  Physically demanding. Financially risky. The weather is finicky.  Machinery breaks down.  The hours are long.  Injury is lurking...
And yet... it fills husband's cup. 


He comes home each night dirty and greasy... lovely and spent.  The cologne of soil... and grease... and earth cling to him... and I savor it.  His days are wrapped in sunshine... rain... mud... weather forecasts... planning and shifting plans... livestock that depend on him... sowing seeds... and harvesting their offspring... divided and multiplied.   

These are the "girls" I share him with...


Activities as old as time... souped up with a little John Deere Green horsepower and modern day technology. 


Tools lined up... everything in it's place.
(This would explain why my purse makes him nauseous!)


The cycling of the seasons has deeper meaning for us than for most...
a "chance of thunderstorms" hold weight much greater than whether my picnic will be spoiled or not.

In admiration I watch those perfectly straight rows of emerald sprouts look out upon this world and I am overwhelmed by the beauty of it... the field itself...
and the way it nourishes husband. 

Winter wheat morphs the field into a giant Chia pet!


The black ground is watered with his sweat... and sometimes blood and tears. 
Roots grow deep into this ancestral land.

Alongside the wheat and corn... grow faith and trust and patience and hope. 
God whispers in the wind... and shouts from the treetops.

All that dirty blood running through his veins... and light... and air. 
Cleansing and right.
He is more... and so am I.



I'm so glad he changed his mind about this farming thing.