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♪♫ "I'm leavin' on a jet plane..." ♪♫
 

I've known for three weeks that I was going out of town tomorrow.

"Maybe I should just write up one post every few days and then I'll be covered."

As time moved on...

"Maybe I should just write up a post every day and then I'll be covered."

As time flew by...

"Maybe I should just write a few posts a day, and then I'll be covered."

As tomorrow approaches...

"If I don't pack or do laundry or go shopping and just write up a bunch of posts, I'll be covered."

Uum... if things get a little quiet around here, it's 'cause I decided it was more important to pack than to pre-write blog posts to cover my vacation.

I'm off to the East Coast tomorrow morning! I'll be back June 1st!

See ya then! (FYI: I probably won't have much access to computers, so I most likely won't be approving comments during that time, either).

The Farmy Sense of Time

When living in the big city, I used to think and plan in days, weeks, and occasionally in seasons.

"I'll come over tomorrow."

"How does Tuesday sound?"

"Let's get together next week."

"Why don't we plan that for the Fall?"


Now, I plan and think in terms of crops.

"After the hay is down sounds good."

"Let's wait until after baling."

"We'd better not start that until after cherry harvest."

"No, that's tomato canning season."

"During Huckleberry picking?? I don't think so!"

"Let's do that around applesauce time."

It's weird, granted, but I kind of like it.

Case of the Extra Cookies: Closed

Image source: Vibrant Health World

As a member of the Funeral Bakers Committee for our parish, I'm making oatmeal raisin cookies today. My recipe usually only makes two dozen giant cookies, but for some reason today it made four extra.

Did I make them smaller? No.

Did I add more oatmeal? No.

Miscount? No.

Am I on a low-carb diet and for the first time ever did I stay out of the dough? Oops. Bingo.

HELP! - Putting Together a Curriculum

Today was the last day of school for us. And before I've even got the schoolroom cleared out, I'm already planning for next year.

We've used Seton for the last two years, and while it's been a dream for me (the books in every subject are already picked out for me, the lesson plans are made, I just have to roll in autopilot), I don't think it's the best for my younger niece. The nothing-but-textbook style just isn't the best way for her to learn.

So I think I'm going to (for her at least) try to piece together my own curriculum. She is most definitely a right-brained learner. Art, colors, big pictures, stories, visual-oriented lessons are helpful... anything with lecture, multi-step processes, black and white text, etc. are just not going to cut it. 

Anybody out there with a right brain child? I'm looking for third and fourth grade curriculum resources in every subject. Hit me with your best stuff!

Delicate Skirty Question

As those who follow CWCL on Facebook know, I got some pretty new skirts this week.

Besides a brief jean skirt kick in college, a break for black slacks at work, and of course dresses for Mass, I've worn jeans daily since high school. So this ankle length frilly skirt thing on a Wednesday is a little new for me, but so far I really like it.

I have a major question for you skirt people, though.

WHAT THE BAZOOKIE DO YOU DO ON WINDY DAYS!?!

In my brief walk from my car to the library door, I felt like the skirt-plastered-into-every-crevice-from-waist-to-ankle look was precisely the opposite of the modest feminine look I was going for. I may as well have been sportin' lime green spandex! The headwind caused the skirt to Mod Podge itself to my body.

Do you live as a recluse when the weather hints of wind? Do you have to wear ultra-heavy skirts that aren't effected by gusts? Do tell!

Riddles, Mysteries, and Not so Subtle Hints

A magnet appeared on our mailbox a few years ago. It had my husband's name on it.

For a while, we were slightly weirded out. Where had it come from? Who was the mystery giver of the name-specific magnet?

Then a baseball cap appeared in the backseat of my car. It certainly didn't belong to us. My husband didn't own up to it.

Shortly after, another ballcap was spotted on the rear-view mirror of my car. Strange happenings!

I had no memory of buying or receiving these things and nobody in the extended family was fessing up.

I started to suspect myself of sleepwalker's kleptomania!!

And now, the oddest puzzle of them all.

Returning home, after having left the front door unlocked for a mere half hour, I came into the bathroom to find this:

What the??

It started out innocently enough with the magnet, but apparently somebody thinks I should either keep my hair under a cap or dye it blonde.

Raspberry Zinger in Haiku

 Image from: The Savvy Shopper

Hot tea. Burns. Hurts. Ick.
Illness. Sore throat. Pain. Rasp. Cough.
Lozenges don't work.

Hot tea brings healing.
Raspberry Tea with honey.
Throat says, "Thank you, tea."

*Polite golf clap.*

Slight bow.

I have a new appreciation for the stuff, I tell ya!

This Post Will Never Work

 Hope is not one of my stronger virtues.

I'm a pessimist, you see. Added to my perfectionism, it can be rather paralyzing at times.

As everyone knows, pessimists enjoy being pessimists because we are constantly in a win-win situation. We  suspect the worst will happen in any given situation. If the worst happens, we have the satisfaction of being right. If it doesn't, we have the joy of having things turn out well. Hedging our bets we live in the safe and cozy, though shallow and dim, world of doubt.

Almost three weeks ago I planted 72 green bean seeds. I know, because I counted them. The package said they should germinate within 5-14 days.

On day 2 I began declaring, "They'll never come up. I'm a failure as a gardener." I repeated this melancholic mutter each day as I went out to check their (lack of) progress.

My husband, the eternal optimist, would cheerfully and consistently respond, "Just wait, you'll see. They'll be fine."

Unconvinced, I would pout and shake my head, "I have a black thumb."

This morning, after 21 days of waiting, I went out and counted 71 beautiful spring green bean sprouts.

Success!

But I've deprived myself the joy of hope these last three weeks. Yes, I am happy now that they are up, but I wasted three weeks' opportunity for hope, trust, peace, patience, and joy... and we're only talking about green beans!

It has made me seriously reflect: is being a pessimist really a win-win?

Consider this...

With optimism:

(beans don't come up) three weeks hope + 1 day sadness = 21 days happiness.
(beans come up) three weeks hope + 1 day happiness = 22 days happiness.

With pessimism:

(beans don't come up) three weeks doubt + 1 day vindication = 1 day bitter joy.
(beans come up) three weeks doubt + 1 day surprise joy = 1 day surprise joy.

I'm no math major, but there appears to be a lot more happiness on the side of the optimist.

Being an optimist requires vulnerability. Your hope just might be in vain. You might be crushed. You could be setting yourself up for failure. But to live without bitterness, doubt, frumpiness? It just might be worth the risk.
 
There's one more seed that hasn't come up yet...

... it's probably a dud.

Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Do you think it's possible to change from one to the other? Would you want to?

Tis the Season...

One of the most expensive items my husband and I have ever bought (besides the pending piece of property, of course) was a four burner gas grill.

It cost us a whopping $179 +tax, but was paid for entirely by a thick stack of wedding gift cards. We hung onto those plastic cash-replacers for over a year before deciding exactly what we should purchase. I wanted lace curtains, he wanted a cordless drill. The gas grill was something we could both agree on.

It looks so pretty and it works so beautifully. We use it all the time.

Now that it's finally warm enough to walk outside barefoot without dancing on the frozen concrete, I've declared the grilling season to be OPEN!!

So far this week we've had grilled steaks, pork chops, pearl onions, zucchini, mushrooms, bell peppers and asparagus. Tonight I'm grilling chili lime marinated flank steaks, bell peppers, onions and jalapenos for some smoky fajitas. Cheese will not be necessary, and the first beer of the year is chilling in the fridge right now.

The best part is, every time I crank on the propane, I say a little prayer for the dozen or so generous wedding gifters who made this dinner possible.

Amen.

What's the best (tangible) gift you've ever received?

Our Love Story, Part XV

It's been a long time since the last Love Story installment. Now would be a great time to reread the other parts, or at least the last episode...

~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~
We retreated like whipped dogs to the wall. Mr. Amazing was shaking his head in disgust, and I was just trying to avoid eye contact. I did, however, staunchly refuse to bear the burden of the conversation. My mantra all along had been "if he doesn't pursue me, he's not worth having" and now, at last, came a moment of truth. What would he say?!

"Gosh darnit! Why did they go and play this song?" he grumbled.

"Hm... hardly Cyrano," I thought, "but it's a conversation starter."

"Oh, they have to. I suspect Cotton Eye Joe, the Chicken Dance, and the Electric Slide will be next," I said -- trying to appear well versed in the popular dance culture.

He nodded in resigned agreement, but didn't really look impressed. Drat.

Thinking back to all of the names of dances I knew and trying to deliver a cooth zinger, I backed myself into a sentence I couldn't get out of: "I wish we could dance a...," but in the heat of the moment I couldn't remember if it was "Fox Trot" or "Box Trot," so, after a pregnant pause, I finished, "...waltz."

I could feel the beads of perspiration forming on my forehead.

Again, I waited for him to resume the dialogue.

"Nice turnout tonight."

"Mm hm." "Oh no," I thought, "if the next topic is the weather we'll have nothing left to talk about!"

But the tune was droning its last insipid notes, thus ending our small talk as we nervously awaited the first tones of the next track.

Four clear saxophone notes rang out before the classic was recognized, but suddenly Mr. Amazing swooped down, did a fist pump and hollered "Yes!" Booming in surround sound was Glenn Miller's big band swing song, In the Mood.

He firmly grabbed my hand and back we went.

If you'll remember, I'd taken swing lessons for months and had been dreaming of this moment for a full year, since I'd seen him gliding effortlessly around the dance floor at Meg and Tim's wedding. This was going to be PERFECT, I tell you, PERFECT (by golly).

Right away I noticed something was wrong. We were out of sync. I tried to follow his lead but we were dancing at different tempos. Count four beats and try again. Still off. Wait another four beats. Nothin' doing. It took twenty beats for it to sink in -- he has NO RHYTHM!!

"Oh blast," I thought, "this is a really long song. I'll never make it through alive!

Of course at that moment I saw Meg and Miriam on the sidelines, Meg quietly beaming and Miriam all smiles and making wild "VICTORY!!" gestures.

Oh how I wished I could join them, but at the moment there was nothing I could do but concentrate on tactical maneuvers and try to figure out where and when he would strike step next.

Mr. Amazing is a full 10" taller than me, and has an Albatrossian wingspan, so when he leaned in and said "Wanna do the Pretzel?" I started praying an Act of Contrition.

I closed my eyes (which was a big mistake) and when I emerged from the 1st half of the twisting twirling dance move, I was missing my left shoe. "Be calm, act normal, keep dancing," I coached myself. "Deep breath!" We finished the second half and I went sailing out of the orbit -- we missed the last connection and I kept spinning (sans left shoe) toward the wall.

I was relieved to have a breather. "At least I can retrieve my shoe," I thought.

As I picked up my black pump I finally hollered over my shoulder, "You're not dancing to the BEAT!"

He smiled and shrugged, oblivious and unconcerned.

I braced myself for the next round and went back into the ring to be jostled and spun.

"This is actually kinda fun," I tried to convince myself.

In one of the song's many interludes I repeated, "You don't dance to the beat. I can't possibly follow you." But the man was in denial.

The song ended at last: the bell rang, the match was over. He tried to dip me dramatically, but I didn't trust him and stiffened my back. "Denied," I thought, and I fear my eyes betrayed as my willful eyebrows arched defiantly.

It was over.

We departed the dance floor laughing, but I've never been more relieved than when he didn't ask me for the next dance.

To be continued...

Monday Musings

Right now... I'm preparing study sheets for my nieces. It's intense.

This weekend... was quite productive.

My husband and I are sticking to a new resolution for a half hour of Adoration a day, and with God's grace I've kept my spiritual reading resolution. Daily Mass is back on the schedule as well. The Spring cleaning around the house has kick-started a spiritual Spring cleaning. Lotta cobwebs to get rid of there!

The garden is (mostly) planted and staked, and I (mostly) painted and reupholstered one of the four ugly chairs we own. It was the first time I've ever done anything like this, and the first time in about 8 or 10 years that I used my sewing machine. Once I quieted my inner perfectionist, it was really quite fun. Fear of failure has kept me from doing this since we first got the chairs almost three years ago, but more on that later this week.

Some plans for this week:  finish painting the chair. Plant some herbs and golden wax beans, and get my nieces prepared for their finals. Grind some grain and make whole wheat sandwich bread.

If I find some time for myself, I would like to... type up the next part of The Love Story. I got it written over the weekend but need to type and revise.

Prayer intentions for this week: for my baby nephew who is back in the hospital. For Miriam, in the hospital on bedrest in her 35th week of pregnancy. For my green beans to come up. It's been two weeks and they haven't peeped through the soil yet. I have a hard time with hope.

Something that makes me smile: My husband in his new shirt. Actually it's not new, I just found it during Spring cleaning. Both of these things make me smile.

Monday Musings are hosted at Patch O' Dirt Farm.

The Perils of Finals

We only have one more week of school here.

For my pupils, the anticipation is building, the adrenaline is rushing, and the excitement is bubbling over, but that makes the final push more agonizing than ever. Frankly, preparing students for finals is almost as rough as taking them myself (almost).

Consequently, this may or may not have happened today:

Image credit: William Edward Millner (1849-1895), The Afternoon Nap

Cream Puffs, Éclairs, and Profiteroles, Oh My!

I wanted a "wow" dessert for my husband for Easter week. But I didn't want to invest two days of my life for a few moments of eating (read: homemade puff pastry). Really, it looks like a barracuda feeding frenzy around here on the few occasions we have dessert -- several hours of work can be devoured in a few seconds.

So I set my bar a bit lower and decided on cream puffs. My Better Homes & Gardens cookbook claimed they could be made in about an hour. Perfect.

Then I learned, cream puffs, éclairs, and profiteroles all use the same pastry. Three desserts for the price of one!

What are the differences?

Cream Puffs:
Round (big or small). Filled with sweetened whipped cream and dusted with powdered sugar.

Éclairs:
Oblong (big or small). Filled with sweetened whipped cream or vanilla custard and top-coated with a chocolate glaze. My experimental variation: Filled with mocha cream cheese.

Profiteroles:
Round (big or small). Filled with ice cream (any flavor) and served with hot fudge sauce for drizzling.

As you can see, they don't need to be perfectly rounded, but they bake up beautifully.

To make the éclair shape, I squeezed them out of a quart sized ziplock with a 1/2 inch snip out of a bottom corner.

Now, for the good stuff...

Cream puffs.

Happy yum.

Eclairs. Why go the graham crackers, canned chocolate frosting, and vanilla instant pudding route when these bakery quality delights can be had for a little extra effort??

And you can even fill them with mocha (chocolate coffee) cream!

I thought it would be a bit too gluttonous (even for Easter week) to make profiteroles too, but imagine these babies with ice cream in them, drizzled with hot fudge sauce.

Actually I think I felt my middle jelly roll expand when I thought about that. Think broccoli thoughts instead.

Cream Puffs
Source: Better Homes and Gardens cookbook (David Lebovitz of  "The Perfect Scoop" fame has another recipe for them that someday I will try. It might be better, but for now these are delicious!).

1 cup water
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
1/8 tsp (pinch) salt
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 large eggs

1. Preheat oven to 400°. Grease a baking sheet (or use a Silpat). In a medium saucepan combine the water, butter, and salt. Bring to a boil. As soon as the butter melts, add flour all at once, stirring vigorously with a wooden spoon. Cook and stir until mixture forms a ball. Remove from heat. Cool for 10 minutes (seriously wait 10 minutes, set a timer). Add eggs 1 at a time, beating until smooth with a wooden spoon after each addition. (FCW note: this is the hardest part. The eggs don't exactly want to get friendly with the dough, but if you persist and show it who is boss, you'll get them to join the party and form a nice smooth shiny dough).

2. For cream puffs and profiteroles: Drop 12 heaping tablespoons of dough (for big rounds) or 30 rounded teaspoons (for mini puffs) onto prepared baking sheet. For éclairs: Pipe 12 (for large) or 24 (for mini) strips of dough 3 inches apart (about 4" long, 1" wide and 3/4" high) onto prepared baking sheet. Bake for 30 minutes, turn the oven off and leave them in for 5 more minutes (total of 35 minutes). The puffs should be golden brown and firm. Cool (doesn't take long).

3. Cut tops from puffs, fill with filling. Replace tops (it's easier to chocolate glaze the éclairs before you put the tops back on). If desired for cream puffs dust with powdered sugar and for éclairs coat with chocolate glaze.

These are definitely best eaten the day you make them, but they may be frozen (after being filled) for up to 2 months.

Fillings:

The sky is the limit. Butterscotch, chocolate, banana, coconut, vanilla or lemon pudding, homemade custard, any flavor of ice cream. You can even fill them with chicken or tuna salad for a dainty and elegant brunch, tea, or shower dish.

But I used....

CWCL's Fluffy Filling

1 can marshmallow creme
1 8 oz. package softened cream cheese
about 2 cups sweetened whipped cream (3/4 to 1 cup heavy cream, 3 Tbsp sugar, 1 tsp. vanilla, beat until stiff peaks form)

Mix marshmallow creme and softened cream cheese together. Fold in sweetened whipped cream.

Variations: to make mocha creme, add 1/2-1 tsp. instant coffee granules (careful, too much will make it really bitter) and a big tbsp. of chocolate glaze (see below).

Chocolate Glaze: (this recipe is okay, but if you have a chocolate glaze you like better, use it!)

4 oz. (about 1/2 cup) semisweet chocolate chips
3 Tbsp. butter
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
3 1/2 Tbsp. hot water

Melt chocolate and butter slowly in microwave, stirring after each 20 seconds until melted.
Beat in the rest of the ingredients and whip until smooth (add more hot water until you reach the consistency you want).

You're welcome.

Guest Post: Where Do I Sign Up?

I started to type up a post and my wrists wigged out. I'm two-finger typing this little intro, but am so grateful to KLB who is sharing her great story with us today. Please welcome her to CWCL!

---

The most common question I’ve been asked in the past year is a variation on, “What made you decide to become Catholic?” The tone has differed, depending on the asker. I’ve dealt with excitement, curiosity, hostility, confusion, warmth, happiness, surprise, and disrespect.

I’ve also asked the question of others. It’s not so surprising to hear the myriad conversion stories when you think about the universality of the Catholic Church, and sometimes I’ve been a little embarrassed that I didn’t have an exciting adventure of religious epiphany to relate. My answer to the question is, in short, “I went to Mass and I liked it.”

Of course it took a lot to get me to Mass in the first place.

When I was a freshman at one of the most Catholic colleges in the country, my brother and I were invited to sing with the choir at the United Methodist church in our hometown. We began to attend Sunday services regularly. By the time I was a senior, I had become a Sunday School teacher, I had been baptized in the Methodist Church, I was a member of the Pastor-Parishioner Relations Committee, a regular deliverer of children’s sermons, the new director of Vacation Bible School, and I shared Choir Director/Accompanist duties with my brother.

I took theology classes and had philosophical discussions at school, but I never went to Mass. I had respect for my Catholic friends’ beliefs, but I never went to Mass. It didn’t matter to me whether someone was Methodist or Presbyterian or Catholic or Russian Orthodox: we were all Christian, so what difference did it make?

That began to change. I don’t know when, exactly, but little niggling thoughts began to curl around the back of my mind. I spent most of my free time during my senior year with three very close friends. Suffice to say it’s hard to hang out with two seminarians and a young woman who lives her faith without entertaining a few Catholic thoughts. When my Sunday School students asked difficult questions, my answers usually came from my theology classes at school. When I had difficult questions, my Catholic friends always had an answer for me. I thought perhaps I’d raise my future children in The Church, even if I didn’t convert. Then when a friend from my Methodist church mentioned he’d once been Catholic, I thought to myself, “If you’re already Catholic, why would you leave?” This thought brought me up short. At that point, I thought perhaps I should go to Mass.

An opportunity arrived after my church purchased a projector. Methodists place a lot of emphasis on music as worship. John and Charles Wesley were two of the greatest hymnists in the world, and my brother and I were in charge of the music in our church. We took our jobs seriously. I was staunchly against the projector purchase, but I was in the minority. With the projector came a hookup for a laptop. With the laptop came poorly made youtube videos set to poorly written contemporary Christian music. Our traditional hymns and live music were summarily replaced.

I lamented to my three friends at lunch one day. Palm Sunday was the following weekend. “I don’t want projector music to ruin Palm Sunday,” I whined.

One of the guys, E., offered a solution. “Come to Mass with us,” he said.

I was nervous at first, but my friend T. sat with me and coached me through it. He explained what was going on when he could and he helped me follow along in the missal. And so it happened that after four years at a charismatic Catholic university without ever attending Mass, I found myself at the cathedral downtown. I went to Mass and I liked it.

I had been discouraged at my own church because with the projector music, no one knew the songs and no one was singing along. We were becoming passive observers in our own worship services. There was something participatory and together in the Mass. Even though I didn’t know the music or the words or the responses, I still felt included. I was fascinated by the Liturgy. I wanted to know what the priests were doing during the Liturgy of the Eucharist and why. I wanted to know why the Bishop took his miter off sometimes and why the bells were rung.

I couldn’t deny that the Catholic Church seemed to have the answers to all my nagging questions. They had the history, they had the crazy stories of Eucharistic miracles and incorruptible saints, they had the scripture references to back up their theology, they had freedom within their spirituality.

On Tuesday during Holy Week, I sent a facebook message to the three friends who’d gotten me to Mass. “I think I want to be Catholic.”

We met for lunch the next day. When I brought up my missive, T. and E., the future priests, smiled knowingly. T. said, “What are you doing tonight?” That night I skipped my night class and sat with T. for the Tenebrae service. Afterward, we left the church in silence as the choir sang Were You There. Outside, T. turned to me and said, “So what did you think?”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and replied, “Where do I sign up?”

“Let’s go talk to Father,” he said....

KLB came into the Catholic Church this Easter! She recently started a blog to chronicle her adventures as a new Catholic. You can read more of her beautiful conversion story, and her experiences about entering the Church at her new blog: Walking Shoes.

Planning a House: Square Footage?

Yesterday I went out to "The Property," the five acres we are in the process of buying. As we try to get various county tests done on it before signing the dotted line, it's becoming more and more apparent that we need to plan out (roughly) where the future house will be, how many bedrooms and bathrooms it will have, and how much square footage.

I grew up in a three (tiny) bedroom 1 1/2 bathroom house. There were six of us living (I thought) quite comfortably in the house and apart from a few years as a teenager longing for my own room, I never thought our house was very small. Now I realize it was so comfy because my parents had given up their master bedroom (with two closets and a bathroom) for three of us kids to share. Until planning my own house, I didn't realize how selfless and generous that was!

I bring this up because we're beginning to plot but I, at least, have no idea what I'm doing. Any advice on how many bedrooms and bathrooms would be ideal (if this is our "forever" house, not just a starter), how much square footage, floorplan features, general dos and don'ts? What is your house like, and do you like it? What would you change?

I don't want more house than we can handle (for cleaning and heating!), but I don't want to be ruing the day I thought we could live in tiny quarters, either. Sage advice in the planning stages would be grand.

Musings of a Monday in May

Right now...it is 4pm and I'm about to head out to our prospective property to take a look at a possible future homesite. Does it get any more tentative than that, and yet does it get any cooler? I can't wait!

This weekend... seriously? Divine Mercy Sunday. St. Thomas Sunday. Feast of St. Joseph. Second Sunday of Easter. White Sunday. Low Sunday. End of a 54 day Rosary novena. End of the Divine Mercy novena. The Month of Mary. Beatification of Pope John Paul the Great. Can you possibly get more grace cranked into one day? I submit that you cannot. I felt the graces all day and am still riding high on them.

Oh, on Friday I listened to a Prince Caspian Audiobook. Good gravy it was awesome. Now I want to hear the rest of them. Lynn Redgrave does an amazing job narrating (except her Aslan voice, which is a little creepy).


Some plans for the week: re-lose all of the weight I lost during Lent and promptly regained the first week of Easter. Oh, but the Octave of Easter was a merry one!

If I find some time for myself, I want to... finish planting green beans. I did all of the green ones, but I've been dreaming of golden wax beans for three years now and have never done it. This year, by golly, I'm going to try to grow them!

Special prayer intentions for this week: for mercy upon Osama bin Laden's soul. For my dear sister-in-law and her due-in-six-weeks little baby, as they try to postpone the grand debut at least a few more weeks. And for my hands/wrists, which are still acting really funny as soon as I start typing.

Something that makes me smile: my husband when he wears his orange shirt. Don't tell him, but he looks really sharp in it.

Monday Musings are hosted by Nadja at Patch O' Dirt Farm.