Dixie Land Delight

I was very surprised to see that the last time I blogged was almost a month ago!  I've thought about blogging but just haven't been able to actually sit down and pound out some words on the keyboard.  After the 4th of July, my summer (usually the epitome of relaxation) became very busy.  My sister went to the hospital one night in excruciating pain with severe nausea and vomiting...medically speaking, it is called "intractable nausea and vomiting," which means it just doesn't stop.  She was there 8 days before they decided to discharge her without a definitive diagnosis.  In the meantime, her kids, ages 6 and 7, were being farmed out to various neighbors and church friends, passed back and forth based on the availability of the kind and helpful people who reached out to them.  After some discussion and prayer, we felt it would be good for me to fly to Virginia to stay with the kids and hopefully help my sister through her convalescence stage.  We booked my trip---a red-eye flight---for just two days later.  I worked hard the next day getting my life in order and my family ready for my abscence.  The next day after that I packed, and then we headed into Portland to attend a wedding rehearsal, which ended just in time for me to catch the 10 p.m. flight to Virginia.

It was just a few months ago that I flew on an all-night trip to Brazil, so I had my gear and knew the routine.  I selected a window seat so I could have something to lean my pillow against (rather than my neighbor's shoulder!).  I pulled out my special travel blanket with wings (ha ha!) and snuggled into it, then blew up my special curved pillow, and waited for the lights in the cabin to be lowered.  Well, they were lowered but only during take-off.  As soon as we reached cruising altitude, lights began popping on all over the plane.  Laptops came out and iPads started playing movies.  What?  Why wasn't everyone going to sleep?


"This is an all-night flight, people!" I felt like saying out loud.


I had neglected to bring my mask and ear plugs because I really didn't think I would need them, since I remembered how dark and quiet the flight to Brazil was.  I certainly needed them on this flight.  It seemed no one was interested in sleeping but me!

Needless to say, I arrived in Charlotte at 3 a.m. my time (6 a.m. east coast time) feeling like I was in a dream as I walked the brightly lit airport corridors to catch my next flight.  All I remember about Charlotte is the white wooden rocking chairs scattered throughout the airport.  Charming, really.  It made me wish I could see the city.  Maybe I'll go back one day!  I found my gate and then ducked into the restroom to wash my face, brush my teeth and reapply my make-up so I'd look and smell okay when I landed in Richmond.

Richmond was expectedly humid, but even when expected somehow it still surprises me.  My brother-in-law was there to meet me and we loaded my carry-on and work bag into the car (I was so proud of myself for packing carry-on only for this trip; I've never managed to accomplish it before!).  We wound through the Virginia roads lined with thick trees on either side.  There are no hills, just long stretches of trees, trees, trees.  It's very pretty and lush, but kind of claustrophobic as you can never see a vista.  It always feels to me as if we are driving through a corn maze, only instead of corn stalks it is tall trees.  We arrived at my sister's house with two very excited kids waiting for me.  I haven't seen my niece and nephew since they were very small, so I was just as excited as they were.  My sister met us at the door looking pale but happy, and we settled in for a visit as well as a time of show-and-tell with the kids, who couldn't wait to share with me their favorite toys, drawings, books and games.  Then I had my own show-and-tell, bringing my suitcase into the family room to pull out the presents I had brought from home and from Grammy.

Our days went smoothly.  I cooked and cleaned for my sister and played with the kids.  Then one evening the pain and nausea returned, so off to emergency she went again.  Now I was on my own.  The kids were hilarious, telling me where to find things and how to do it.  Everything I did seemed to be punctuated with, "Mommy doesn't do it like that."  "Mommy puts that here."  "Mommy says we can do this."  "Mommy says..."  I forgot about the days when your kids actually cared about what you thought and how you liked things done!  I told them that Mommy would have to go on a treasure hunt after I left because I was going to put things in the wrong place many times while I was there!

The days were long, and I wanted to keep the kids busy.  My inclination was to head outside and go to the playground or on a walk through the beautiful trail system surrounding my sister's subdivision.  But it was so darn hot and humid!  We started each day early...breakfast and then out the door, trying to beat the heat, but the heat always won.  It just never seemed to cool down there, not even at night.  And the humidity made it almost unbearable.  But we had fun tromping through the woods down to the reservoir, catching frogs and climbing over logs and taking lots of pictures (after spraying ourselves against the ticks and mosquitoes that were thick in that subtropical climate).  We always arrived home exhausted and very sweaty.  So a long drink of a water and splashing in the kiddie pool were next on the agenda.  Then lunch, then a project to work on for the afternoon or an excursion, like the library, Wal-Mart, and frozen yogurt.  Then it was dinner and some TV time, and finally my favorite part of the day...reading before bed.  I did this with all of my kids for years and enjoyed it just as much as they did.  I was sad when those days were over, but here I was years later with two kids tucked cozily into bed while I sat in the comfy chair beside them and read out loud by the soft evening light.

One night as I read, I just kept sweating.  I wondered why it seemed as though I had never cooled down after our long walk that morning.  Then my nephew complained, "Auntie Karyn, I am so hot!"  "Really?" I said.  "So am I.  We'd better check the air conditioning."  Sure enough, it was 79 degrees in the house.  We figured out how to "re-boot" the air conditioning system and that was good enough to cool us to sleep, but I woke around 5 a.m. sweating in my bed and I knew we were in trouble.  My brother-in-law came home later that day and worked on it for over an hour to no avail.  By now the house was really cooking after another full day without air conditioning in 100-degree weather.  So my brother-in-law told us to pack up because we were going to a hotel.  We stopped at the hospital on our way to visit my sister, and she was looking so much better!  It was good to see her with color in her cheeks.  Then the kids and I got settled in our beautiful hotel room while my brother-in-law returned to the hospital to sleep in the recliner in my sister's room.  He promised me he found it quite comfortable, but I felt a little twinge of guilt in our spacious hotel room with all the amenities!

The next day we had breakfast in the lobby and then walked next door to Starbucks for two kids' hot chocolates and a latte for me, then went to the pool where we hung out for the next few hours, splashing away the hot day and having a wonderful time.  I honestly don't remember the last time I "played" in the pool!  How fun to dive for items on the bottom and do handstands in the water.  I even tried a backflip underwater, which I accomplished, but felt incredibly dizzy and disoriented doing it!  Too old!

When we returned from the hotel, my sister arrived home shortly after.  She was so much better!  They'd had found the cause of her pain, which was what they called "a rare and severe allergic reaction" to a new medication she had just started.  They took her off the offending drug and started her on a different one, and she quickly returned to near normal by the time I left. 

We squeezed in some quality time in our last 24 hours together before I was to leave.  We drove out to the country to Jimer's frozen custard stand, a little red-and-white striped stand that served up sweet and delicious Georgia Peach frozen custard, the perfect southern treat!  Then we went to this fun district called Carytown and shopped and had treats and ate lunch and toured beautiful Monument Street and had a wonderful time laughing and enjoying each other.

And then it was airport time.  The best part about leaving was that I could say, "See you next month!" because they had already planned a trip to see us in Oregon before all this had taken place.

Once the good-bye hugs and kisses were over and I was through security, all I wanted then was just to be home.  The first part of the trip to Dallas was uneventful, but when we landed my whole weekend changed.  Apparently, we had just missed some very violent storms that had caused the airport to close for a few hours.  You'd never guess it by looking outside...the sun was shining fiercely and it was 105 degrees!  But there were 70 planes sitting on the tarmac waiting to unload their passengers, and we were one of them.  We waited for an hour in the plane that grew increasingly hot and stuffy, until finally we were able to get off...and then I found out that my connecting flight to Portland had been cancelled.  Thus began the l-o-n-g night.

Dallas is a huge airport, so I boarded the sky train and rode to the other side of the terminal.  There I stood in line until 11 p.m. waiting to get a new flight home.  Well, that one didn't leave until the next day and wouldn't arrive in Portland until 11 the next night, after a 6-hour lay-over in Houston!  I took it only because I had to, then wearily pulled my luggage behind me as I headed back to the sky train, because my new gate was on the other side of the airport where I had first arrived.  By the time I arrived at my gate it was close to midnight.  They were handing out red blankets and cots because there were literally thousands of people stranded there for the night.  Later my mom told me the news said 200 flights were cancelled and 140,000 people were stranded or delayed.  That is the population of a good-size city!  I spent the next hour trying to nab myself a cot.  First they were over at that gate, then over at that gate...no, that gate!  I ended up back at the original gate and saw a stack of them loaded onto an airport motorized cart with people swarming it.  I was just about to lift one off when someone called, "Don't take those! They are going to another part of the terminal."  I wanted to shout, "But I need one here!!"  But I kept my cool and asked, "Well, could you bring me one because I have been looking everywhere for one."  Others weren't so cool.  People were hot, tired and frustrated...and desperate for those cots!  I felt like I was at a refugee camp!  Everywhere you looked were bodies....in chairs, on the floor, on cots, wrapped in red blankets, trying to sleep in that very bright and noisy airport.  I picked the least-lit corner I could find and set up my cot.  Then I wrapped myself in my travel blanket, blew up my travel pillow, tucked my luggage between my cot and the window, put my blanket over my eyes and tried to fall asleep.  I couldn't.  That cot was nothing more than a piece of mesh stretched tightly across a metal frame that kept me off the dirty floor but did nothing for comfort.  It was hard and unyielding and the bars pressed into my knees.  Then the air conditioning finally kicked in as darkness helped cool the building, and I froze as the the chilly air circulated through the mesh, surrounding me on all sides.  All I could hear was the TV to my right blaring on and on and on through the night the grim news of the Colorado massacre.  I curled up in the fetal position and wrapped my whole head in my blanket and tried to get warm enough to fall asleep, but it never happened.  Finally, dawn came.  I was never so glad to see a pink sky before.  I folded up my cot and stumbled to the bathroom to make myself presentable.  I was so thankful that I had packed in a carry-on, otherwise I'd have no access to my luggage and therefore no clean clothes or toiletries.  Looking brighter and better (other than red eyes), I walked down to Starbucks and ordered a Perfect Oatmeal and a latte, and then plunked myself down in the chair nearest the counter at my gate, plugged in my laptop, and ate my breakfast while reading the news, waiting for the first sign of an attendant at my gate so I could check out my chances of flying stand-by on a direct flight to Portland at 10.  Every attendant I talked to had no hope to offer me, but I kept my seat and asked over and over.  Well, that plane was also delayed.  We waited and waited and waited, getting to know each other as everyone had a story to tell and wanted to share it (or vent it!).  Finally at noon they boarded the plane.  I was way down the stand-by list...of course.  There were only 200 of us displaced and all wanting on that flight!  I texted my family and told them to pray.  Texts came flying back..."Praying!"  My name bumped up to 7.  I texted "7" to everyone and they texted back, "Praying!"  My name jumped to 4.  I texted, "4!" and they texted, "Praying!"  My name jumped to #1!  But then they stopped calling names.  Instead they finished the long boarding process.  I kept saying, "Please let me on that plane, Lord.  Please!"  The flight was done boarding.  The group of stand-bys stood there forlornly, attempting to cheer each other up.  Then, "Karyn Wells" was called from the desk!  I was on!!  I almost ran onto that plane!  How exciting to text everyone that I had made it!  Then I settled in for a wonderful 3-1/2-hour flight...wonderful because I was flying and not stuck for another 11 hours in the airport.  I arrived home exhausted but giddy with relief at being in beautiful Oregon where the air is sweet and the breeze is fresh and fruit grows freely right in my neighborhood.  My shower never felt so luxurious...and my bed, well, you know how incredible it is to sleep in your own bed when you have been gone a long time!  I had texted Jeff to put clean sheets on before I arrived, and he had, so I snuggled deep into crisp, cool sheets and pulled my fluffy duvet right up under my chin and drifted into a sweet and restful sleep...

...and awoke the next morning just in time for church, a 6-mile hike to waterfalls, and company arriving from Canada!

A Change of Culture

I love traveling to different countries because I thoroughly enjoy experiencing different cultures...the food, the language, the music, the architecture, the clothing, the people...the whole atmosphere.
But sometimes you don't have to go very far to experience a culture change...sometimes driving just 10 miles from home can take you to a whole new world.

Last night Jeff and I and all four kids (which was culture shock in itself---that all four kids would actually be home and want to go somewhere with us!!) celebrated the 4th of July in a whole new way...at a rodeo.

We live just a few miles away from the bustling town of St. Paul, Oregon, population 425.  But this tiny town is host to one of the largest rodeos in America, which takes place every 4th of July.  And even though it's practically in my backyard, I've never attended.

This year we thought we'd do something different to celebrate the holiday...we'd try out the rodeo!  What I didn't realize is that the rodeo wouldn't be just a change of activity but a change in culture.  There was a whole new world just down the road that I never knew existed!

We all wore some form of red, white or blue.  The boys were very subtle...they never want to stand out.  We girls were a little more unabashed...Anna wore a t-shirt that was the American flag, Kate wore a white top, blue jeans, and a big red bow in her hair, and I wore a red sweater with the American flag knitted on the front and my stars and stripes flip-flops and painted my toenails red, white and blue.

Okay, so we stuck out a little.

We had been wearing shorts earlier in the day when we barbequed at my mom's place, but we changed into jeans before leaving, anticipating a change to cooler temperatures by the time the fireworks started later that night.  I didn't realize until about halfway there that Anna had also changed her shirt and shoes...to a denim shirt and cowboy boots.  Out of our whole family, she was the only one who had ever attended the rodeo, and obviously she was "in the know."

I knew there would be cowboy boots, cowboy hats, bandanas, plaid shirts and Wrangler jeans, I just didn't think they'd be on everybody.  Even the teenage girls, who were definitely out to lassoo themselves a cowboy, had "westernized" their skimpy attire from short-shorts, spaghetti-strap tops and flip-flops to denim cut-off shorts, plaid spaghetti strap tops and cowboy boots.  Toddlers wore pint-sized cowboy hats, and all the men had big belt buckles to hold up their jeans under their beer bellies.  Jeff's plaid bermuda shorts and sandals looked a little odd (but at least he wasn't as bright as me in my fireworks-red sweater!).

We arrived just in time for the singing of the American anthem, complete with horse and rider carrying the American flag, running around the corral.  We paid our respects and then climbed the bleachers to our seats.

Then a very enthusiastic announcer started chattering, the music started blasting, and "BANG" the gate opened and a bronco burst into the arena.  Wow!  That was more exciting than we thought!  We looked at each other in pleasant surprise, picking up the excitement of those around us.  BANG!  Another gate swung open and dust flew as the next horse and rider kicked their way into view.  But after about three riders, we started to notice there was a lull in the action.  It took quite awhile for each rider to mount the wild-eyed bronco squeezed between the walls of the stall, get situated in the special saddle, get the reins wrapped around his hand just so, and then give the signal to go.  In between each ride, the announcer would cheerily make random comments and natter to the crowd or the silly clown running around the arena.  The music played and the people seemed entranced, but our interest was quickly waning.  Jeff leaned over and told me he was having trouble breathing.  I asked Tyler how he was doing and he said he too was tightening up.  Both of them have allergies, and this arena was the mother of all allergens!  Hay, dust, animals, clover, old covered wooden bandstand built in the early 1900s, cigarette smoke...all swirling around us like an invisible tornado.  But we held our seats and our tongues and kept watching.

The announcer became more enthusiastic the longer the delays in between riders and events.  He made all kinds of red-neck jokes...not about red-necks, for red-necks!  In other words, he was making fun of people like us...city slickers, democrats (even though I'm not one, I sure felt like one!), and people who don't know how to ride a horse or wear a hat.  Then he moved on to jokes about the president, Indians and gays...and everyone cheered.  I have never been to a public event that large where someone openly and publically bashed politically-protected groups in a very non politically-correct manner.  We looked at each other uneasily, feeling like we must have "Portland People" stamped across our foreheads.  That was when I realized I had entered a totally foreign culture.  Some of the things the announcer said I might have even agreed with, but not in that openly mocking manner.  I wished I had a cowboy hat to pull down over my city-girl hair and red lipstick.

I do have to confess that I laughed at one point...it was a spoof, a little skit to divert everyone while they prepared for the next event.  When the punch line of the 10-minute skit was delivered, I was surprised at how a seemingly silly and meaningless little play came together with a 1-2 punch that left everyone over the age of 40 bustin' a gut.  Now my kids looked at me like I had been looking at everyone else:  "Are you kidding, Mom?  You actually think this is funny?  Where are you from?"  I tried three times to explain it to them, but they just didn't get it.  All I could say in my defense was, "That was really funny."

When the show was almost over, we left to beat the crowd to the fireworks.  We walked into the fresh night air and the guys tried to breathe deep enough to clear away the dust and dander tickling their throats and tormenting their lungs.  We hit the midway.  The smell was intoxicating...I stopped between three booths, which happened to be all my fair favorites---curly fries, kettle corn and elephant ears---and just sniffed.  If it wasn't so late at night and I hadn't pigged out on a big 4th of July barbeque earlier that evening, I would have splurged.  But then Kate, the only one in the family with money, bought a huge sugar-cinnamon elephant ear, and we all tore that thing apart with our greedy little hands and devoured it just standing there in the middle of the lane.  When we were done, we licked our sticky fingers and wiped them on our jeans, cowboy style!  Then we waded into the stream of people flowing towards the fireworks and headed back to the clover field where we had parked the car.  We would have just watched the show from there, but we had to get the boys out of the dirt and weeds and onto some city pavement, so we drove across the street to the high school parking lot and parked there.  We huddled together in the cooling night air, which felt cooler than it should have because we had started out so hot and sticky in the trapped heat of the bandstand on a warm July day.  Then the fireworks started and it finally felt like the 4th of July...sort of.  They only shot one firework at a time, and then not even very big ones.  We stood there longer than we should have, waiting for it to get better, but it didn't.  Finally, the boys managed to pull us into the car and we hit the highway and headed home, under a very full and brilliant yellow moon...more stunning than any of the fireworks.  We laughed, talked and reminisced all the way back to the big city of Newberg, population 25,000, which for the first time ever, felt quite civilized and modern!

So we ate the food, spoke the language, listened to the music, laughed at the inside jokes, and tried for a night to assimilate into another culture.  We may have rolled our eyes a few times (and had a few eyes rolled at us!), but I think when we look back on various 4th of Julys through the years, we will always remember this one!

Time to Get Cookin'!

I am going to be super efficient today...

I need to create some make-ahead meals for summer company, I haven't blogged since last week, and I haven't blogged about cooking or included a recipe for a very long time, sooooo

I am going to blog about whipping up some make-ahead meals while I'm whipping up the make-ahead meals!

We always have TONS of company every summer...I mean, we are almost a regular Bed & Breakfast!

The first two summers we moved here we had non-stop company for the entire months of July and August, with only 4 days without guests the first summer and only 3 days without guests the second summer, and some of those visitors' stays actually overlapped!  It was a frenzied time of changing sheets, making beds, filling guest baskets, planning meals, shopping for meals, cooking meals, driving to the falls and the beach and downtown Portland and then doing that over and over and over again!  There were times our guests arrived before the sheets were even finished washing from the last guests!  There were nights when we threw a bunch of guys in a tent in our backyard so we could free up more bedroom space for adults.  There were times I had to borrow towels from my mother because we had 30 teenagers on every inch of floor in our house and I just didn't have enough to go around.  I'm sure we must have spent a couple thousand dollars on food, entertainment, gas, and the water bill and lost a lot of wages taking time off work!  But through it all, we had a blast and made some really great memories (and I've got a ton of pictures at Silver Creek Falls to prove it!).  I also gained a lot of experience and picked up some tricks along the way, and one thing I learned was how to cook smart.

So, to get ready for the summer guests of 2012, I thought I'd make a couple favorites and share one of my tried-and-true dishes with you (but I have to admit that I'm a little afraid one of my regular blog readers is going to recognize the Italian strata when she comes to visit me!)

Today I made strata two ways....one a savory dish, Italian Strata, and the other a sweet dish, Baked French Toast.  Both freeze beautifully and both taste great.  Both are worthy of company when served with fresh local fruit and excellent coffee.

If you don't know it, a strata is an egg-milk-and-bread dish with endless variations.  It is served hot, usually for breakfast/brunch but when combined with a salad it can be lunch, a light supper, or even dessert!

The Base
a great loaf of bread, 8 eggs and 3 cups of milk

The Seasonings
for savory add Italian seasoning, a dash of tobasco sauce, dry mustard, red pepper flakes...
for sweet, add vanilla, cinnamon, orange zest, nutmeg...

The Add-In's
for savory try pre-cooked sausage, bacon or ham, sauteed onions and peppers, spinach, sundried tomato, pre-cooked broccoli or asparagus tips, crab or shrimp, 2 cups of cheese (cheddar, swiss, jack, feta, mozza)
for sweet try diced apple, raisins, berries, cream cheese

The Toppings
for savory toss on some fresh tomato, a sprinkle of parmesan, fresh herbs, guacamole
for sweet drizzle on some warm maple syrup, add a dollop of vanilla yogurt, scatter some toasted nuts, sprinkle on some granola...if dessert, try caramel sauce and ice cream!

Now watch how easy this is:

1.  Grab a 9 x 13 baking dish.  Either butter it for flavor or spritz it with olive oil for health.



Use the wrapper from the cube of butter!
Works great and no waste

I love my oil spritzer!

2.  Slice or tear your bread.  Be sure to buy excellent quality, artisan bread.  Day-old is actually better, so often you can get it for a good price.  For my baked french toast I used challah bread.  This is a wonderful bread, very soft and slightly sweet.  Also delicious is a loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread.  I sliced the bread and arranged the slices in the baking dish "shingle" style.  For the Italian strata, I used a loaf of artisan French bread and tore it by hand into rough, bite-sized chunks.  An Italian loaf or pugliese or even cheese bread is also a yummy choice.  Don't use ciabatta, as it's pretty chewy.  Don't use the crusts if they are tough.  And only use sourdough if you really, really like the taste.

3.  Mix the batter.  So simple, just beat 8 eggs and add 3 cups of milk.  If you're making the baked French toast or a dessert strata (very much like bread pudding), you can swap the milk out and use half-n-half, if you prefer a richer taste and texture.

Brown eggs or white?  Just a matter of what kind of
feed the chicken eats!

4.  Add the seasonings.  For my Italian strata I added a couple dashes of tobasco sauce, a teaspoon of dry mustard, and a tablespoon of Italian seasoning.  For the French toast I added a tablespoon of vanilla, real cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg.  Give the batter another beating to incorporate the seasonings.

5.  Sprinkle on the add-ins.  For the Italian strata I sauteed onions, peppers, garlic scapes and sweet Italian sausage (I used chicken, a little bit healthier than pork!).  Then I added shredded colby-jack cheese.  For the French toast, I simply scattered some golden raisins across the bread.

This I love...it's olive oil infused with garlic,
great for lightly sauteeing veggies (and I
have a friend who likes to pop popcorn with it
and then sprinkle on butter and parmesan cheese)

Betcha don't know what this is!
Garlic scapes...my new discovery.  They are the tops of garlic
cloves (sort of like the green of a green onion).  They have a
mild garlic flavor that is perfect when you want just a hint of flavor.

6.  Pour on the batter and soak.  Pour slowly so the bread can absorb the batter, otherwise you might end up with a spill-over!  Once all the batter is poured, cover the dish with foil and refrigerate 8 hours (all day if you make it in the morning or overnight if you make it at night).  Then transfer it to the freezer.  Tip:  Take a Sharpie and write on top of the foil what the dish is and baking instructions, so when you go to the freezer when you're company comes you'll know what you're taking out and what to do with it!

7.  Top It!  When it's time to serve the dish, take it out of the freezer the night before and let it thaw in the oven.  Set your oven for timed bake, so it will come on automatically and you can sleep an extra half an hour!  It takes an hour and a half to bake and another 15 minutes to "set," so you'll have plenty of time to slice some fruit, make coffee, and set the table nicely.  When it comes out of the oven, you can add toppings, if you like.  To my Italian strata, I will top it with a sprinkle of grated parmesan, fresh tomato slices and fresh-cracked pepper.  For my baked French toast, I will sprinkle on some toasted pecans and a little homemade granola and then I'll drizzle it with warm maple syrup.  Tip:  For amazing syrup, use grade B real maple syrup.  It's darker and richer and more flavorful.  Then add 4 tablespoons of butter and heat it up.  Pour it all over the French toast.

And that's it!  Two great dishes ready to go.  And now here are some delicious variations for you to try, and hopefully these ideas will stimulate your imagination to create your own yummy combinations!

Classic - diced ham, broccoli and cheddar
Greek - sundried tomato, artichoke hearts, black olives, spinach, feta cheese
Lorraine - crumbled bacon, sauteed onion, swiss cheese
Country - diced baby reds (pre-cooked), colby cheese, crumbled breakfast sausage
BLT - bacon, leek and fresh tomato, mozza cheese
Mexican - ground beef w/taco seasoning, cheddar or cotija cheese, onion and top with pico de gallo and avocado
Seafood - shrimp or crab, swiss cheese, green onion
Veggie - sauteed zucchini, asparagus, peppers, onion, spinach and pepper-jack cheese, top with fresh tomato
Berries and Cream - fresh berries and little cubes of cream cheese, serve with berry syrup
Apple-Cinnamon - dice tart apples and sautee in butter.  Add cinnamon and brown sugar and then mix with bread cubes.
Decadent Dessert - Try using apple fritters or cinnamon rolls in place of plain bread, then top with warm caramel sauce and ice cream

Add caption

Messy is the New Clean

I was reading the new issue of "Real Simple" magazine when I came across this ad for Clorox:

I don't know about you, but to me Clorox is synonymous with clean.  And when I think of clean, I don't just think "germ free," I think, "pristine," "immaculate," "in order," and "perfect."  So when I saw this ad, I noticed immediately that the towels were rumpled and obviously used, there were toys and kleenex stacked on the back of the toilet, the toilet lid was up, there were toys and loose toilet paper on the floor, and yet this bathroom is being modeled as Clorox-clean.  How can this be?  Am I missing something?  Like, a generation or two?

In my day, we were taught not only to sanitize the toilet, but to hang the towels straight, pick up the toys from the floor and put the toilet lid down.  But that just isn't in style anymore.  I must be getting old, because I am constantly surprised when I look at pictures on Facebook of young 20- or 30-somethings in their homes, which are a merry mess with clutter and a general untidy look that doesn't seem to phase them a bit.  When I take a picture I make sure that my house is clean before I snap the shutter.  If it isn't, either I don't take the picture or I'll reposition my subject to a more tidy location.  I would be completely ashamed if that picture of the bathroom in Real Simple was mine.  But obviously, the times they are a changin'.

When I was a kid, this scenario was a common occurrence in our home:  My brother, sister and I would be contentedly watching TV, reading, doing homework or playing Barbies on the floor when suddenly we'd hear a car pull into the driveway.  My mom would come rushing out of the kitchen to peer out the window to see who it was.  If it was a salesman, everything remained calm...but if it was someone we knew she would hiss, "Kids!  Get up!  Put your toys away!  Grab those newspapers!  Get your jackets and backpacks and take them upstairs!  Take your glasses into the kitchen!  Run!  It's So-and-So!  Hurry!  And TURN OFF THE TV!!!"  And, boy, you should have seen us fly!  We practically ran into each other in our haste to turn our living room into a proper parlor.  By the time So-and-So had got out of the car, walked up to the front door and rang the bell, we would have made everything in that room perfect...including plumping up the throw pillows and lighting a candle.  Then we'd be sitting quietly on the couch as the door opened, with my mother's "surprised" voice welcoming So-and-So into the house..."Well, hello!  What a surprise!  How nice to see you!  Come in, come in!"  I always wondered what people thought when they saw that spotless living room and three children sitting empty-handed and silent on the couch staring at a blank TV screen!

But that training stuck with me into my own adult life.  I downplayed the perfection a bit by allowing my kids to keep out one toy each so they would at least look like they were busy and halfway normal when someone walked into our home.  But it wasn't just my mom and I who were clean-freaks.  I remember complaining to my mother-in-law once about the problem with not having a dishwasher was how just as soon as I finished the dishes, someone would pour a drink or eat a snack and there would be dishes in the sink again.  She gave me this sage advice:  "Oh, I always kept a dishpan in the sink and all the dirty dishes that accumulated between dishwashing would go in there.  Then, if someone came over unexpectedly, I would just pick up the dishpan full of dishes and put it in the oven!"  I thought that was about the smartest trick ever, and quickly added it to my good-housekeeping arsenal.

If anyone challenged me on my obsessive-compulsive cleaning frenzy, I'd staunchly defend myself by saying that no one ever had to write a book on how to mess up your house in 10 easy steps, but there were certainly whole shelves devoted to cleaning and organizing it.  And, of course, I had Martha Stewart to back me up.  Her magazine was full of gorgeous, picture-perfect, even staged rooms...nothing out of place and every item visible had a purpose, even if that purpose was just to look stunning.  For my generation, she was the Golden Standard.

But then came my daughters's generation.

I first noticed the subtle differences in the catalogs of their favorite stores....the mismatched, slightly rumpled clothes and the tousled bed-head hairstyles, bedrooms that were ultra-casual with jewelry draped over the dresser mirror, throw pillows scattered across an unmade bed, clothes draped over a chair, an eclectic combination of old and new furniture, and wall colors that clashed with the curtains.  Then on new movies, it was suddenly cool to have personal products spread out over the bathroom counter, and working girls switched from neat little purses to big bags that contained half their apartment.  This new trend quickly took hold in our house, and it seemed I was forever telling them to clean their rooms...or at least shut their closet doors and dresser drawers!  But it's a losing battle, because not only are they not ashamed when someone sees their messy room, they are actually comfortable...and so is the friend who is visiting!

And so I face a losing battle, not just against my kids but against the whole "messy" movement.  Grunge clothes, messy hair, rumpled beds and dirty bathrooms have replaced matching clothes, sleek hairstyles, crisp bedding and sparkling fixtures.

And now even Clorox is against me!

So if messy is the new clean, then it's time to let my hair down...or at least pin it up in a messy bun!  No more making my bed!  No more running through the house collecting everyone else's forgotten items.  No more fretting over footwear in the foyer!  I'm just going to sanitize my toilet and call it a day!

Sum- Sum- Summertime!

I love summer. I am a sun-worshipper, a tree-hugger, a fresh fruit-fanatic, a poolside-lounger, a morning walker, and a voracious novel-reader.

Only I never have time for any of that anymore...except for morning walks and lots of fresh fruit.


As soon as the weather started hinting of summer, I began experiencing brief but intense flashbacks to the summers of my youth, memories that brought with them both pleasure and pain---pleasure because those summers were luxuriously long and lovely, and pain because those summers seem to be lost to me forever.

Like many good, responsible adults, I am trapped at my desk with my wrists handcuffed to my computer (or so it feels that way!) for a number of hours every day. When it's time to clock out, that is just the signal that one job is done and another begins, for then I move on to the demands of my home, my family, the church, my yard, errands, and all the other miscellaneous mundane tasks that grown-ups do. Even when I decide I'll actually sit down and watch a movie in the evening, I'll haul out the ironing board and iron while I watch to justify two hours of inactivity. Most of the time, I don't mind...in fact, I prefer staying busy. But come summer I begin to long for something...a feeling that I vaguely remember. It defines summer for me, and every year I wish I could recapture it.

I don't know about you, but summer isn't just a season to me, it is a total-body experience. I feel summer, taste summer, smell summer, hear summer, see summer...even sixth-sense summer, if there is such a thing!

The summers of my teenage years were spent in Oregon where summer is hot and dry for a good 2-1/2 months straight (despite Oregon's reputation for rain, which occurs the other 9-1/2 months of the year!). I used to live in the country, up on Chehalem Mountain, and I was surrounded by strawberry fields and vineyards and orchards, which were both my playground and my workplace. For seven long years of my life, I spent every summer working in the strawberry fields. Yes, it was hard physical work and I came home sweaty and very dirty every day, but all my friends worked there too, so it was quite the social scene...if you could call a dozen dirty kids in stained jeans, tattered t-shirts, ponytails, no make-up and berry-stained fingers at 6:30 a.m. a social scene! But I have some pretty great memories of "lock and rock" (locking people inside the outhouse and then rocking it!), bagged lunches in the cool shade of the forest trees that bordered the hot fields, making up "hoeing" songs to serenade the weeds, berry fights, picking races, popcicle prizes, bus rides from field to field where the bus driver never made you sit straight and still like on the school bus, running through the cool water spraying from the irrigation pipes, zipping across dirt roads on an ATV before they were outlawed, hanging out with friends who came to visit when business was slow at the U-pick stand, taking care of the baby goat and rabbit who were part of the petting zoo at the farm, flirting with the shirtless boys who loaded the heavy crates of berries onto the trucks, and the berry-picking picnic at the end of the season where we'd play baseball and eat watermelon (everyone was tired of strawberries!).

But summer wasn't only about berries...once out of the field (and out of the shower!), real summer began! If I was at home, I'd throw a blanket on the grass, bring out my music and magazines, soak my hair in lemon juice, slather my skin in Hawaiian Tropic coconut oil (without any sunscreen!) and suntan until the sun lost its heat. Better yet was at a good friend's house (two of them had pools!). We'd have a beautiful cycle of tan-turn-tan, cool off in the pool, tan-turn-tan, cool off in the pool, while we talked about boys and criticized the models in Seventeen magazine. There were trips to the beach and to the mountains, floating on a raft on the local reservoir (my first car accident was on our way to Hagg Lake...I remember climbing out of the dented car still holding my beach towel), there were fireworks and festivals, horseback riding, camping trips, rodeos, road trips, even Disneyland once, family barbeques, activities with a huge group of friends, shopping with girlfriends, romantic dates (at least we thought they were romantic at the age of 17!), and the grand finale of summer camp. But honestly, all these years later what I long for most is the quiet afternoons to myself when I would have a really great novel, some really great sun and trees, a comfy spot to lie or sit, and a bowlful of fresh-from-the-tree cherries to nibble and a glass of iced suntea to sip. That was bliss.

I was a voracious reader when I was young, easily polishing off 400-page novels in a week (I read the epic novel, "Roots," while on a camping trip the summer I turned 12). I got in trouble at school for reading too much (I used to put my book inside my larger textbook so I could keep reading!). My friends would hide their books before I came to their houses because I'd get caught up in one and forget my friend was even there. My mother would have to call me at the top of her lungs for the third or fourth time because I couldn't hear when lost in another time and place in the story. I often read a book a day and began reading adult novels and classics when I was still in elementary school. My biggest disappointment was that I easily got carsick, so I had to waste all that travel time looking out the window instead of reading. But even that cloud had a silver lining, because as I looked out the window on long road trips, I'd take in the scenery and make up stories in my head as we drove...incorporating the countryside, the little towns, the big cities, and the people I observed into my story.

I read all the way up until my early 20's. I still kept reading when I got married. I still kept reading when I worked full-time (during lunches and train rides!). But I finally stopped reading when I had kids. Suddenly, there was only time for babies. The only books I read during those years were board books, nursery rhymes and my Bible. Then the kids went to school and I read with them all the books they were assigned to read in school so I could be informed of what they were reading and help them understand the books. And I read to the kids every night at bedtime...many of my favorite childhood classics as well as new novels to experience together. But the only time I got to read a novel for myself (and by myself) was on summer vacation. Before we left, we'd head to the library so the kids and I could check out a few books for the trip, and I'd also borrow a highly recommended book or two from a friend. Then we'd arrive in Oregon at my mom's house. There was nothing like that first free afternoon: My mom would have already filled the inflatable pool (pretty big for an inflatable!) and set up the lounge chairs, so all I'd have to do is grab my beach towel and a bowl of blueberries and a one of those freezable mugs of iced suntea, slather on the Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil, and read in the sun while the kids splashed in the pool and Jeff napped in the shade.

And this is where my story becomes sad. We've only had one vacation in the last five years, and on that one vacation I actually had to work while we traveled. So it's been six long years since I lounged in a chair in the sun with a good book. I think that's why I've been pining so for the last few weeks. And I think I'm going to rememdy that today. When my work shift is done tonight, I'm taking one of the 8 books I've got waiting on my shelf (4 of them started but never finished!) and I'm heading outside. It's the longest night of the year tonight and a balmy 78 degrees. I have fresh cherries from the farmer's market, a pitcher of tea, and a beautiful backyard full of trees. I'm going to make tonight the official start of summer...by reading, just like I've done since I was a little kid.

My Last School Lunch

Today I'm packing my last school lunch for Kate's last day of school.  That doesn't sound like such a big deal until you realize that I have been packing school lunches for my kids for 17 years straight.  That is almost half my life.  It should have been 18 years, but I was released a year early because Kate is going to be an exchange student in Sarajevo next year.  I don't know whether to be supremely happy or somewhat sad.  I'm a little bit in between.

Seventeen years ago Justin had his first day of school and I packed his lunch in his Batman lunchbox (the Bat Cave rotated to reveal the thermos!).  Then two years later came Anna, then Tyler and finally Kate...4 lunches for 7 years, and then they began to graduate...4, 3, 2 and now I'm back to 1 again.

When I was a kid, my mom made my lunch until I was in junior high.  I remember my lunch boxes fondly...my Barbie lunchbox made of vinyl with a matching thermos...a glass thermos that I remember on more than one occasion opening and pouring out juice mixed with glass shards because I had unknowingly broken it.  Then I got a Holly Hobbie lunchbox.  I still vividly remember the smell of my lunchbox...banana-scented vinyl.  In third grade I got my first metal lunchbox.  It was painted to look like blue denim and had a puppy coming out of the painted pocket.  My fondest memory of that lunchbox was whacking Craig Brockhall with it as hard as I could when he wanted to fight me after school one day.  Then in fourth grade I graduated to generic...no more cute characters, just plain blue and white gingham.  That was also the year they invented plastic-lined thermoses.  And then fifth grade...when being cool was so important.  No more lunchboxes...it was brown bags all the way.  For two more years my mom packed my lunch...always white bread spread with margarine and then filled with a rotation of peanut butter and jelly (before peanut allergies were discovered), bologna and processed cheese, tuna and soggy iceberg lettuce, and (the one I hated) plain processed cheese and mayo. Then there was the starch (almost always potato chips), a piece of fruit (usually a banana---hence, the smell), and dessert (classic `70s Twinkies, Ding-Dongs, Ho-Ho's, or Hostess fruit pies).  Yep, I was definitely a kid from the wonder years of processed food fanaticism!  And it didn't get better in junior high.  Now I was on my own.  My favorite lunch was an orange from home and a bag of peanut M&Ms from the school vending machine.

It was that memory that drove me to make my kids' lunches for so many years.

People told me regularly that I was spoiling them or making work for myself or not teaching them responsibility or I was being a martyr, etc., etc., etc.

But I had my own list of reasons:
1.  Streamlined mornings - Assembly-line lunches put together in a quick and organized fashion and always aware of what was in the cupboard and what needed to go on the grocery list.
2.  Easy clean-up - Only had to clean up after myself rather than four messy kids who didn't have time to clean up after themselves.
3.  Balanced meals - Remember the oranges and M&M's? 
4.  Love - The real reason I made my kids' lunches for 17 years was simply because I loved them.  I wanted them to have good food, made by me, every day.

Is that so wrong?

I have always been in the kitchen every morning of my kids' lives.  It's stability and security for them.  Once when Justin was little he woke up very early in the morning, but not being able to tell time he got up.  When he saw that no one else was up, he came looking for me in my bedroom and woke me up.  "Mommy!" he said, "Why aren't you in the kitchen?"

And I have always liked thinking up lunches that were different...good variety and good nutrition.  Kate tells me that to this day her lunch is the envy of all her friends.  We do yummy salads with fresh berries, feta cheese and shredded chicken, or wraps with pesto and sundried tomato.  There are bottled frappuccinos and Odwalla smoothies.  Yogurt parfaits with homemade granola.  Hummus, veggies and pita.  Good left-overs, like chili or gourmet sandwiches made of last night's marinated steak sliced thin and served with horseradish.  Occasionally homemade cookies or a sweet treat.  And for field trips or holidays, always something special.  For a few years in a row our summer vacation was at the end of August and we always returned home just in time for school the next morning.  I always had the kids' backpacks packed before we left---along with their lunches---so we would have a stress-free morning after the long trip home.  How do you pack a lunch two weeks ahead of time?  Instant noodles and a fruit cup and a granola bar.  Reminscent of my lunches from the `70's but worked like a charm!

Oh, sure, I confess there were days that I wished I didn't have to think up another lunch...and I sure enjoyed spring break and Christmas vacation!  And of course there were mornings where I was rushed and quickly slapped together a PBJ sandwich and threw an apple into a bag and called it lunch, and there were even those times where I shoved loose change into their hands as they ran out the door so they could buy hot lunch at school.  But most mornings it was by method and menu.  And one day, I hope they do the same for their own children!

So I'm about to make the last school lunch.  I asked Kate what she would like for her very last meal.  She couldn't decide if she wanted a classic peanut butter sandwich or something special.  We had barbequed chicken for dinner, so we settled on a BBQ chicken wrap with ranch dressing, lettuce and tomato, her favorite mandarin oranges, string cheese, and a bottle of HonesTea fresh-brewed organic tea and lemonade.

I'll put everything inside the brown bag, neatly fold down the top three times, and set it next to her backpack.  And for the last time, I'll put away the rest of the food, wipe the counter, wash my hands and hang up the towel...and experience the end of an era, just like that.

Misty Mountain Morning

I joined a new Lifegroup that started this week...it takes place on Chehalem Mountain, my favorite location in the world.  It is an hour of walking and an hour of Bible study and breakfast with some great girls.

And it starts at 6 a.m.

Yep.  And because I have to drive there, I have to be out the door at 5:40.  I was really excited about this new endeavor...until the night before!  The four days previous have been crazy-busy, even for me.  We had the three-day church yard sale, which got me up at 5 and kept me running on my feet for 10 hours each day only to rush home and go to work until 10:30 at night.  Then I had a wedding to coordinate and decorate for immediately after church on Sunday, and it was at the beach, so I had all the gear to load into the car, then the set up and take down, and hauling everything home.  I actually had a blast doing that, though, so no complaints.  But I have to say that by Sunday night I was pretty tired.  I was losing my voice and my eyes felt very heavy.  I wearily climbed into bed and fell fast asleep...for an hour, when Jeff came to bed.  Then I continued to wake almost every hour through the night because I was afraid I would over-sleep and miss the Lifegroup or be late to pick up my friends.  Finally, it was 5:30 and I hauled my stiff body out of bed and pulled on my running clothes.  The sky was a dismal, dreary gray and the morning quite cool, which made it that much harder to muster up some energy. Still, we kept up some lively girl-talk on the drive up the mountain and arrived in pretty good spirits.  Then it was time to run.

When I was a teenager, I lived up here and had a whole string of friends who lived on this stretch of country road.  We walked up and down the steep hill hundreds of times going to each other's houses, so I knew it was a pretty intense climb, but I figured I could jog it because I regularly run 2 to 3 miles a few times a week.  I underestimated.

I started at a very moderate pace, just slow and easy going straight up...and up....and up....and up.  It was so steep I was running on my tip-toes, sort of like climbing stairs.  I was huffing good and hard but staying steady.  Then I started feeling queasy...  Almost there, keep pushing.  A wave of nausea swept over my stomach, tightening my throat.  I pushed a little further and then felt totally sick and weak, even my arms.  I immediately dropped down to a walk.  Too much, too soon.  I was basically straight out of bed other than the 20-minute car ride, I hadn't eaten, I was exhausted from four days of intense activity and little sleep, and I started running straight up that very steep hill without any form of warm-up at all.  My mouth filled with saliva and I am ashamed to say I had to lean over the bushes on the side of the road and spit.  This is not how I pictured my new Lifegroup!

So I walked up the rest of the hill and then walked another smaller hill until I felt my stomach calm down.  Finally, I felt strong enough to finish jogging one last small hill and then turned and ran all the way back down to the bottom.  By then I was okay and could enjoy everything I love about the mountain...I love the very air there, pure and sweet and woodsy.  I love the view of other mountains beyond and valleys tucked in between, the orchards, vineyards and berry fields along the sides of the road, the gardens and flowers, the horses, deer and birds, the pretty houses perched on the tops of the hills and the tiny houses hidden deep in the tall, dark trees.  This place makes me feel alive!

By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, a few drops of rain began to fall.  Inside the barn was a little room prepared for us.  It used to be two horse stalls, but now there was sturdy rubber flooring and the walls were white-washed on one side and painted barn-red on the other.  There was a couch with cozy throw blankets and a wooden table in the middle of the room wearing a burlap tablecloth and bearing croissants and bowls of cherries, strawberries, bananas and oranges.  We gathered together, turned on the heat and draped the soft plaid blankets over our laps, and began our Bible study as the rain suddenly came down heavy on the barn's metal roof, beating out a beat in a soothing rhythm.  The horses neighed, the donkey brayed, and the ladies prayed!  What a beautiful time together.  What a great way to start the day!