ONE EGG

"I would like one egg."

"How would you like that cooked?"

"Fried, over easy."

"What else?"

"Nothing else. Just one egg."

"Toast?"

"No, thank you."

"We have really good raisin toast."

"Just one egg, please."

"Just one egg?"

"Yes, thank you."

"One egg." The waitress cocked her head to the side and smiled. "Alrighty, then, just one egg!"

I admit it. I'm at it again. Once again, trying to whittle away a little bit of my middle. (That sounds like something Dr. Seuss would say, no?)

Very early this morning before exercise class, I ate a toasted bagel, topped with crunchy peanut butter. I LOVE crunchy peanut butter...can eat it straight out of the jar with a spoon. Yum.

When I met my friend for coffee at the Huddle House later this morning, I really intended to just order coffee. But, after a vigorous step workout, my toasted bagel was ancient history and I was feeling quite hungry. So, I ordered an egg.

Just one egg.

Initially, the waitress looked at me like she was confused. I don't think she'd ever had an order for just one egg. When she headed toward the grill behind the serving counter, she laughed and called out to the cook, "I have an order here for just one egg!"

We Americans eat so much food. Absolutely, I could have put down two eggs, bacon, and a stack of pancakes. I've done it before.

That's why my boobs sit right on top of my belly roll.

Which sits right on top of my thighs.

Just like one of those colorful ring-stacking toys for babies.

Red - my head. Orange - boobs. Yellow - belly. Green - thighs.
Well, you get the idea....

All of this to say, I have some power tools in my toolbox this go 'round:

Power tool Number 1 - I now know for a fact that it is possible to eat smaller portions, even in a breakfast diner where the air is thick with the intoxicating incense of waffles and pancake syrup. If I get hungry again later, I can eat another small portion. Makes much more sense than "tanking up" ahead of time, on the off-chance that I might get hungry later. Which I will. So my strategy is eat a little now of whatever I want, and then eat a little bit more later when I get hungry - instead of eat a lot now, and then a little more later when I get hungry. I'll let you know how it goes...

Power tool Number 2:  The awesome support of the ladies at ADBC Fitness, particularly Caroline and Melissa, who challenge me to work harder and to make healthy choices, one small change at a time.

Power tool Number 3:  A cool free on-line program called MyFitnessPal. I know from personal experience that I will not keep a food journal, or count calories, or eliminate carbs, or give up Helen's amazing brownies, or drink aloe-avocado-green tea smoothies. It's just not going to happen. MyFitnessPal lets me set goals, and then helps me see how my food choices and daily exercise contribute to reaching those goals. (MyFitnessPal even helps folks who want to gain weight, which I think is totally awesome.)

So, here's to not giving up, to failing and then trying again, to eternal-springing hope...

Anyone else up for a game of ring toss?!

ENCHILADAS AT MIDNIGHT

Sounds like the title of a really bad country song, right?

"Mom, I don't think that's a good idea." Martha sat at the bar watching me heat a plate of enchiladas in the microwave. It was late - 11:00? - too late for dinner, but I'd just gotten in from my shift at Wally World and was hungry. "I don't think you should eat that," she continued. "You're going to have weird dreams tonight."

I ate the enchiladas, read the Daily Messenger, then headed to bed just before midnight. I don't remember any weird dreams last night...only that the alarm went off much too soon this morning, waaaaaay before I was done sleeping. 6:10. Time to start a new day. Did you know that it's possible to take a shower while you're still asleep?

Enchiladas at midnight. Sleep walking. All part of the new norm.

And memory lapses. Sunday morning, I sat at the breakfast table and wrote out my little tithe check. Later, as we were heading out the door, I could not find that check any where. Not in my pocket, where I would have normally put it. Not in my Bible or my Sunday school book. Not on the table or the kitchen counter or my bedroom dresser. Not anywhere. I remembered sitting at the table, writing it out...then blank. I had absolutely no idea what I'd done next.

When we got home from church just after noon, I searched the house once more. Finally found the check - in the trash. Go figure!

Then another morning, I was making breakfast. Needed two eggs, but only had one left in the bin in the kitchen refrigerator. Well, I grabbed that one egg, then went to the laundry room frig to get another carton of eggs. Back in the kitchen, I opened the carton, placed an egg on the counter, then put the carton away. But then I couldn't find that first egg, the one I'd gotten out of the kitchen frig in the first place. Looked everywhere, growing a bit exasperated at my absent-mindedness. How do you lose an egg?!

Finally found that first egg. It was still in my hand. I'd been holding it the entire time. Duh!

Think we can make this into a Top Ten country hit?

Up before dawn, stumble to my feet
Standing in the shower still half asleep
Strong black coffee, pour myself a cup
Glow in the east says the sun's coming up

Sleep walking, sappy talking,
Rock the baby, stir the gravy.
Another cup of coffee then it's time to clock in.
Knock it out, clock out
Sleep fast and then
Buck up and do it all again

Driving home in moonlight
Enchiladas at midnight

Help me here, folks - what's the next line?

READY FOR SWIMSUIT SEASON?

I can't believe I haven't been on the blog in over two weeks. Well, actually, yes, I can believe it. Between music recitals and taking the cat to the vet and trying to clean at least some small part of my house EVERY SINGLE DAY (whose crazy idea was this 30 Day Challenge?!) and planting trees and working hard on Book #3, I simply have not had time to play - which is what writing here at the blog is for me. The Hurricane Report is the treat I give myself when I've been a good girl and put in a full day's work. Lately, though, the days have been TOO full.

Today is going to be full and crazy busy, too, but I decided that I need to take a play break anyway, whether I get everything done on my list or not. (We may be having pizza for supper tonight, guys.)

So, what shall I write about today...?

First, how about an update on the Just One Egg weight loss program:  I told you I would check back in after the holidays, and we are definitely past Thanksgiving and Christmas now. This has been a s-l-o-w, drawn out, very gradual effort. I have had good days and bad days. (I really need for Helen to swear that she will never again make her fabulous wedding cake cupcakes. Ever.) Still, after five months, I am SUPER THRILLED to announce that I have lost right at 20 pounds!!!! If you do the math, that is an average of less than a pound a week - hard to stay committed and motivated when the results are so slow in coming. But, all in all, I think we can count the One Egg weight loss program a success.

Soooooo......

Helen and I were at a local outlet store last week, and they had new swimsuits on the display racks. Since I am significantly smaller than last summer, I decided I probably should check out the new swimsuits. This is probably the first time in fifteen years that I've had the opportunity to reasonably expect to need a smaller size. Shopping for a swimsuit after losing a little weight should be fun, right?

Wrong.

For a couple of reasons.

First, when you are 50-something, and you have over the course of your life given birth to seven children (one of whom weighed 10+ pounds), and you have just lost a significant amount of weight....how to put this delicately, hmmm....everything sags. Everything. So, while that cute bathing suit with the white polka dots might inspire thoughts of looking all trim and perky at the pool this summer, your fantasy will disappear in a puff of smoke when you step into the dressing room and begin to tuck all your lose folds and droopy bits into said bathing suit. The effect is something kind of like rice in a pair of pantyhose. Nothing perky happening there!

And if that slap of reality wasn't enough of a downer, I discovered that I had blue legs. You know, blue, splotchy skin, like special effects make-up for a Zombie movie. Or like I was Morticia's long-lost great aunt. The realization that my legs were now officially and undeniably "old lady legs" was more than I could take. I dressed and skulked out of the changing room. NO MORE TRYING ON BATHING SUITS FOR ME.

The good news is....

Even though the package is a bit saggy, I am still super excited that the number on the bathroom scale has dropped. Loose skin is not going to ruin that party!

And my legs, well...

That evening when I was showering before bed, I noticed that the soap foam running into the drain was a light shade of blue. That's odd, I thought. It didn't take long to figure out that my "blue legs" were caused by the blue dye from the pair of jeans I had been wearing that day. Yes, my legs were still blotchy, but at least they were not blue. I was greatly comforted.

Still, I don't plan on shopping for a bathing suit again any time soon. It's going to take me a while to recover from the trauma of that last shopping trip.

I CAN'T FIND THE BASEBOARDS

The general philosophy of cleaning around here seems to be:  Neaten the piles.  Piles on the kitchen counters, piles on the bookshelves, piles on the washing machine and dryer, piles under the beds, piles against the walls, piles in the closets.  Cleaning the house equates to shrinking, reorganizing, and straightening the piles, but definitely NOT eliminating them!

Way back in my younger days, I was a Neaty.  You know, one of those people who keeps their closets organized and who polishes their bathroom faucets every day.  Yes, in my deepest, most secret heart of hearts, I love counter tops that are (gasp!) empty - except for maybe a small vase of flowers or a bowl of fruit.  I like to put my feet up on the ottoman without having to first relocate all the books, papers, and sweaters that collect there.  I like to actually be able to see the baseboards.  I like to be able to open a closet door without flinching and throwing up an arm in self-defense.

Truth be told, many of the piles around the house are mine.  The stack of books I'm reading for various writing projects.  The egg cartons I'm saving for when egg production bumps up in the summer.  Lesson plans and school-related paperwork.  Yes, I am no longer the extreme Neaty I once was.

I soothe my frustrated inner Neaty by telling myself that one day (One Day - hahaha!) I will get around to cleaning out the closets.  One day, somewhere far in the future, I will empty the attic.  One day, I will clean out jackets and sweaters that no one uses.  I will reorganize the filing cabinet, so that I can actually put some of these loose papers away.

But today is not that day.  For now, I'd really just like to get the floors swept and mopped before Saturday's Ladies' Brunch.  That will be no small feat, because first, the floors have to be excavated.

Notice to my children:  I'll be recruiting you for heavy labor this evening and tomorrow.  Hard hats and boots optional. 

RE-SET

Why is it that it takes me an entire year of consistent exercise and mindful eating to lose 20 pounds, and less than one month of hectic, distracted living to gain 5 pounds back?!! That just doesn't seem right!!

Right or not, it is the reality I have to live with. So, I am taking a deep breath, forcing a pause in the chaos, and resolving to hit the Re-Set button. Back to the One Egg plan:  I only ate two of Helen's fantabulous chocolate chip cookies yesterday afternoon, when what I really wanted was to mow through the entire plate.

Maintaining a healthy weight ("healthy" as in "my pants are no longer so tight that they restrict my breathing") is not technically difficult - no complicated menus or grocery shopping lists; no cooking one dinner for the family and another for myself; no gnarly low carb, high protein, gluten free, free range, organic, restrictions; no pink drinks, expensive smoothie mixes, or fresh tarantula milk. It's as easy as eating one chocolate chip cookie and then pausing to think whether or not I really want another before eating the second, instead of eating half a dozen and then thinking, "Dang! I didn't mean to do that!"

The thing that is hard about this is not that it is technically difficult, but that it requires me to think and to be consistent day after day after day. Why is keeping my mind turned "On" such a challenge?!!

On another note...

A couple of weeks ago, Caroline asked at the beginning of our morning exercise class, "Have you ever had one of those days that was just silver?"

Caroline went on to explain that the day before had gotten off to a bumpy start when her printer malfunctioned, and then her day had just gone downhill from there. She concluded, "Most days are gold, but every now and then you have a day that's just silver. That's what my day was yesterday."

I don't know about you, but I tend to putter along through my days and weeks with more of a wood-stubble-&-hay mentality. Not too infrequently, I'll have a "silver" day. But a "gold" day? Those only come along once in a blue moon!

This is not to say that Caroline lives an easier life than I do, or that her days always go according to plan, or that she rarely encounters frustration or disappointment. No, our circumstances are probably not that very different. What is different is our attitudes.

Caroline unknowingly challenged me that morning to endeavor to live each day with eyes that are looking for "gold" - to see and enjoy and celebrate what is good about each day - instead of focusing on what is less-than-gold.

I want to be the kind of person who can say, like Caroline, "Most days are gold, but every now and then you have a day that's just silver."

My jeans are too tight this morning, but that's okay...it's motivated me to hit the Re-Set button.

Today is a new day...and I really do believe it is going to be golden.

FIVE WEEKS LATER...

Just over a month ago, I wrote about my renewed determination to do something about my stacking-ring physique. If you're curious, you can read that post HERE. When I first shared my intentions here at the blog, I thought, "Hmmm, I'll check back in after a month with an update, to see how this new strategy is working."

Well, December 12 came and went, and I did not post an update. I was preoccupied with welcoming my brand new granddaughter into the world!

But now, a week late, here is the update:

Drum roll...

Over the course of five weeks, I've lost 9 pounds, and the stacking rings have shrunk by a combined total of three inches. Yep, I'm pretty psyched!

I want to let y'all in on a few secrets I've learned...

I did not radically change my diet, just opted for smaller portions. Yes, I ate Helen's brownies, and Grammy's cornbread dressing (those five weeks included Thanksgiving weekend), and fried fish and onion rings at Boyette's.

I had "good" days, when I stuck to my smaller-portions strategy. I had "bad" days, when I became a human locust and mowed through more food than a teenage boy.

In the MyFitnessPal food diary for one particular evening, I recorded the following snacks: a bowl of Lay's potato chips, a bowl of ice cream, an apple, a bowl of Cheerios, two pieces of Dove dark chocolate... This was in addition to the substantial dinner I had just consumed. (Must've been the day before I started my period, huh?)

I'm sharing this because I want to encourage others who, like me, are struggling with maintaining a healthy weight. Guess what I've learned over the past five weeks? I don't have to, in the strictest sense of the word, be always on a diet. I don't have to ban carbs or desserts or greasy french fries. I don't have to feel like a failure because I ate my body weight in fried chicken and mashed potatoes at the family reunion. I overindulged last night - so what? Today is a new day, and today I can make healthier choices. Seeing the results of a few days of healthy choices has motivated me to make those healthy choices more consistently. And knowing that chocolate chip cookies are not on the taboo list has kept them from becoming a type of irresistible forbidden fruit.

So, what about exercise? I try to work out at the fitness studio in Troy four or five days a week. This is not CrossFit, people - it's a class of mostly middle-aged women, who have knee problems and back problems and balance problems. If I'm correct, all but three of the group are grandmas. I've learned that I don't have to do a Ninja workout to notice a difference in how I feel - I just need to do something, even if it's low-intensity - every day, if possible.

In the past five weeks, we've been through the Thanksgiving holidays. I missed several days at the studio, but I managed to take walks on the farm most (not all) of those days. I missed over a week of exercise at Caroline's when the baby came, but, again, I did get out for a few short walks in the fresh air. (Mind you, I was walking with an extremely pregnant daughter, so they were not power walks!)

Again, the point is, I've learned that I don't have to do something impossibly difficult or intense, just something that gets me moving.

What else have I learned?

Well, I've learned to not be discouraged by what I see in the mirror. I've lost nine pounds, but I still have a jelly roll around my belly and the waistband on my jeans is still snug. It would be tempting to think, "What's the point? This isn't making a difference!" But Caroline explained to me that we lose weight from the top down. You notice it first in your face and neck. Then in your arms and chest. Then in your middle.

Yes, I may still be lacking a waist, but the Octo-boob is in retreat. (You know, all those "extra" boobs that hang out the top and sides and back of your bra.) My neck is thinner, and a bra with only two cups is finally sufficient - I call that progress, folks, and I am encouraged!

I have learned the value of having a wonderful support team. Helen is my number one cheerleader, and Caroline is running close second. Neither of them nag or reprove me for occasionally pigging out or skipping exercise, but both consistently encourage me and celebrate every success. "Great workout this morning, Mom!" is SO much more motivating than, "You know, you really shouldn't eat that."

I've also learned that this is a slow process. Nine pounds in five weeks - that's less than two pounds a week, folks. You know those magazines in the check-out line at Wal-Mart, with covers that promise you can lose 20 pounds before Christmas, which is next week? Ummm, I don't think that is really possible, at least not without amputating a significant body part.

If the number on the bathroom scale doesn't change this week or next, that's not failure - that's a plateau. And with patience and perseverance, you can move past the plateau. This is a marathon, not a sprint.

I have learned a little bit about the importance of being honest with myself. That day when I personally cleaned out the kitchen pantry (nom, nom, nom)? When I sat down to fill in my food diary on MyFitnessPal that evening, I fudged the data. Yep. Pretty ridiculous. Two butter cookies...hmmm...well, they were actually both pretty small, so I'll just enter one. No one was going to see that entry but me, and I knew better. I was flat out lying to myself. What the heck was that about? I thought, as I corrected the entry. I decided that evening, whether my new strategy worked or not, I needed to at least be honest with myself.

Finally, I've learned that some of the people I most expected to care about and notice the changes I've made - haven't. Haven't noticed. Haven't cared. And that's okay. They are not the ones who have to cram their booties into my size 14 jeans or who have to walk around on my stiff knees. I am. And I have noticed a positive difference in how I feel and how my jeans fit, and that's enough for me.

Christmas is less than a week away. That means parties and food and missed exercise classes and lots of celebrating. I'll check back in after the holidays and let you know how the "One Egg" fitness plan is going!

GUYS IN THE KITCHEN

With a little extra free time on their hands this past weekend, the guys decided they wanted to make a lemon pie. Reuben rolled out the crust and baked it. Here, Tom cooks the lemon filling on the stove. Stir, stir, stir, Tom!

Reuben whisked up a meringue by hand. Not too bad for a first try!

Nathaniel served as general supervisor and provided background music and comedic entertainment while the others mixed, stirred, and baked. I finally got to hear "I've Got the Magic in Me" and can now say I approve of Tom's current favorite tune. (Well, it's one of Tom's current favorites!)

Voila - the finished product! Deeee-licious!

LEMON MERINGUE PIE

1 9-inch pie shell, baked

1 and 1/4 c. sugar

1/3 c. flour

pinch of salt

juice of 2 lemons

3 eggs, separated

1 c. boiling water

1 Tbsp. butter

Beat yolks in top of double boiler. Add sugar, beat; add flour, beat. Add lemon juice and grated peel of one lemon. Mix well. Add boiling water, and cook in top of double boiler over hot water until thick. Add butter. Cool before pouring into crust. Top with meringue and bake until lightly browned.

MERINGUE

3 egg whites

6 Tbsp. sugar

1/4 tsp. cream of tartar

1 tsp. vanilla (optional)

All ingredients should be at room temperature. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form; gradually add cream of tartar, then sugar, and last vanilla. Beat until stiff peaks form. Spread meringue over pie, being careful to seal to edges of crust. Bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes, or until lightly browned.

TITUS 2-SDAY - COMPOST BOX

Want to cut down your garbage production AND improve your garden soil at the same time? Start composting! I wanted a compost box for many years before I actually got one. While waiting, I did a lot of research. All those pamphlets and garden books made composting look a little more complicated than I had anticipated.

Well, a working compost box or pile is NOT difficult to construct. The very simplest way to compost is to pick an out-of-the-way location in your yard and start dumping your lawn and vegetable trash in that spot. It's that simple. If you want something a little fancier, you can actually build a box to contain the compost. A friend built his rectangular compost box out of cinder blocks, stacked about three blocks high, with a wire mesh lid to keep varmints from digging through the contents. My compost box is constructed of four wooden pallets, wired together at the corners. (You can catch a glimpse of my fancy-shmancy compost box in the photos below.) I've also seen compost bins made of a length of steel fence wire fastened end-to-end in a circle/cylinder. Materials, construction, and size are entirely up to you.

What goes into the compost box/pile? Lawn litter - grass clippings, leaves, etc. Also, uncooked vegetable waste - potato peels, melon rinds, apple cores, corn shucks...you get the idea. Coffee grounds, tea leaves, and egg shells make great compost, too. I keep a gallon ice-cream bucket in the kitchen, into which I dump vegetable waste. This is taken out and dumped in the compost box each day during evening chores. This year, I've started adding shredded paper from Steve's office files as well. Ben adds his own special ingredient - chicken manure - when he cleans out the hen house. DO NOT add scraps of cooked foods or anything with fat,grease, or meat scraps in it. Blech!

Here is a picture of "compost" going INTO our box:

Let's see...eggplant peels, egg shells, shredded paper, grass clippings, asparagus stems, tea leaves. Looks delicious!

Contrary to the claims of most instruction manuals, you do NOT have to turn/stir, aerate, or water the compost (unless you live in a desert, perhaps), although doing these things will help the compost break down more quickly. But who's in a hurry, right? Really, given time this stuff will break down on its own. By the end of summer, my hip-high box is full to the brim with garden and yard litter. By the next spring, when I'm ready to come out of winter hibernation and start working in the yard and garden, everything has broken down into a relatively small pile of rich, black compost.

Here's a picture of compost coming OUT of the box:

This stuff is black gold. Any time I plant new flowers or trees or shrubs, I always work some compost into the soil at the planting site first. I dump a shovel full of compost into each hole when I'm planting tomatoes. The kids help me spread compost on the ground around established plants to give them a nutrition boost, too. The compost adds nutrients to the soil and helps loosen the soil for better water absorption and root development.

Here, Reuben has dumped a shovelful of compost at the base of one of our tomato plants. He'll probably give each plant a couple more "doses" throughout the growing season. Then in the fall, the tomato plants themselves will be pulled up and hauled to the compost box, where they will begin transforming into fertilizer for next year's garden.

We eat a lot of fresh produce in the summer - corn on the cob, canteloupe, green beans, peas, cucumbers, squash. That means we make a lot of vegetable trash - shucks and rinds and peels. We also generate a good deal of yard and garden litter, from mowing the grass, pulling up spent bean vines, etc. By toting these items to the compost box, we greatly reduce the amount of garbage that must be bagged and hauled to the bin (& eventually to the landfill). We transform something bad - garbage that must be trucked to the dump - into something good - rich compost for the garden and yard.

A few final thoughts: some folks have asked if compost smells bad. We don't want a stinky pile of rotting garbage in the back yard, now do we? Well, my experience has been that compost does NOT smell bad. Maybe because there are no oil or fat or animal products in the mix - nothing to turn rancid and smell rotten. When you walk through the woods in late fall and kick through the decomposing leaves, you notice an earthy smell. Well, that's compost, and that's what compost smells like.

Also, wouldn't compost attract vermin? I mentioned my friend's compost box, which he constructed with a wire lid for keeping critters out of the compost. If you're concerned about attracting raccoons or such, a lid might be a good idea. We live out in the boonies, and haven't had any problem with animals getting into the compost box, maybe because they have so much room and food at their disposal out on the farm! The chickens will occasionally hop into the box if they spy something tasty between the slats, but I don't begrudge them that privilege since they make their own contribution to the compost.

Composting is extremely easy. It's earth friendly. And, it's fun. Well, maybe not fun, but I sure get excited about the black gold I've collected come spring planting time! Got any questions? Send me a note. Otherwise, go get started on your compost box!

MER

Simply being there is the best thing ever.

My Grandmother Stricklin did not often buy me toys or clothes, and she didn't take me on weekly shopping trips to Dollar Tree or dinner dates to McDonald's. (In fact, I don't think Dollar Tree and McDonald's had been invented yet when I was a young child, maybe not until I was almost a teenager. At any rate, they certainly hadn't made it to my remote corner of the world!)

Mer didn't buy a separate TV "for the kids" and she didn't stock an arsenal of Disney movies or subscribe to Nickelodeon. She didn't have LeapFrog, Baby Einstein, video games or the latest kid-friendly smart-phone apps. (In fact, I don't think VCRs or Nickelodeon had been invented yet, back when I was a kid. The only games I distinctly remember playing at Mer's house were Chinese checkers and rummy.)

What Mer DID have was...

Herself.

I would wad a change of clothes into a satchel and walk the few miles from my parents' house to my grandmother's most Friday afternoons after I got home from school. Mer must have been looking for me, because she usually had a glass of lemonade or sweet tea ready for me when I climbed that last enormous hill to her house. (That hill is not so enormous now.)

We played rummy or Chinese checkers or just sat together on the couch reading. Mer worked the crossword in the newspaper, and I sat beside her and did the word search puzzle. Saturday mornings, I helped her clean house. Then, we drove to town - the great bustling metropolis of Troy, Tennessee - and Mer had her hair teased for Sunday and we stopped by Scott's for a few groceries.

Saturday nights were the best. After supper, we snuggled together on the couch (Mer was so warm and soft and squishy!) and we watched TV:  Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett. Carol Burnett was my favorite - I wanted to be Carol Burnett when I grew up. After the 10:00 news, we watched Johnny Carson's opening monologue on The Tonight Show, and then it was time for bed.

On very rare occasions, we would watch a late movie. I fell love with Jimmy Stewart and Charlton Heston. Commercial breaks featured ads for exotic fast-food restaurants that were "Open Late!" - places like McDonald's and Hardee's and Burger King. Mer and I would drool through the commercials, wishing we could make a late-night run for a hamburger or fried chicken. Too bad Memphis was two hours away!

I remember one movie in which Jimmy Stewart stopped at a street vendor in one scene and bought a cup of coffee and a boiled egg. Mer and I looked at each other and beamed. Finally! Here was something we could have! During the next commercial break, Mer raced to the kitchen and cranked up the stove. We finished watching that movie sitting on the couch, eating boiled eggs and passing a shaker of salt between us.

Mer made the best coconut cake - from scratch, with freshly grated coconut. Cracking the coconut was an annual holiday event. And she made the best fudge. And the best cornbread. And the best squirrel gravy. (You'll have to ask my brother David about squirrel gravy.)

Although Mer was always on a diet, she kept cookies (usually pecan sandies or those super cool orange sugar wafers) and frozen ice milk ("it has fewer calories than regular ice cream") and Pepperidge Farm pound cake on hand, "just in case we want something sweet."

Mer smelled like rose water and Ponds cold cream. Her dentures clacked sometimes, and she fussed if I dropped her blue Efferdent tablets in the toilet to watch them fizz. Mer had a cupboard in her guest room (the room with the blue satin comforter fit for a movie star), and it was filled with fancy hats and gloves and scarves. I loved to sit on the pew next to Mer on Sunday morning, so I could stroke the silky fur of her mink stole. (She frequently had M&M's candies or Zebra Stripe gum in her purse on Sunday mornings, too.)

Mer (Earline Elizabeth Cunningham Stricklin) is the second from the right. Her sister, my Great Aunt Evelyn, is the young woman on the far left.

This is how I remember Mer! She loved the color blue. This is Mer with her oldest son, my Uncle John. The fellow in the background on the right is my Uncle Tom. And the young girl looking over Mer's shoulder is my little sister, Suzanne (also known as "little Mer.")

Mer is gone, and now I am the grandmother. I don't have all the latest kid-friendly technological gadgets, and, honestly, I don't want them. I don't own any Disney princess movies, or have a battery-operated Barbie car. But I do like to dig in the dirt and take walks on the farm and eat popsicles on the porch swing. I hope that will be enough.

I hope the little children I love so much today will look back 40 or 50 years from now and think of me with as much fond affection as I feel when I remember my Mer.

SIGNS OF SPRING

While taking the dogs for their "long" walk Sunday afternoon, we stopped at the Robin Hood Tree so that three of the kids could practice their climbing. The Robin Hood Tree is a HUGE sycamore with great spreading branches perfectly spaced for climbing halfway to heaven. While Steve and I rested in the sunshine, I noticed unopened buds at the ends of the sycamore twigs. Buds! I mentioned The Greening in an earlier blog - but there are other signs that "Aslan is on the move" and winter is finally melting into spring. At our house, I've noticed....

Egg production is up in the henhouse. Ben's hens are laying over twice as many eggs as they were laying just a month ago. Egg salad sandwiches for lunch today - yum!

Everything with fur is shedding. The dogs are shedding all over the house - yuck. Martha says when she brushes Little John, she has to pause often to clean wads of winter hair out of the bristles.

Green things are poking out of the ground! I've found little green bumps at the base of last summer's dead hydrangea stems, and the irises and daylilies are pushing shoots up toward the sun.

The neighbor's bull was in our field again this morning. Have you ever heard an amorous bull, stalking the neighboring bull's herd? It sounds something like the low, rolling, prolonged thunder of a lion roaring out on the savanna. Scary, really, if you didn't know what it was. That's what I woke up to this morning. In the Bible, the phrase "it was the time of year when men went to war" is used to refer to spring. On the farm, we could say, "It was the time of year when bulls jump/knock down fences."

We are counting down lessons in our school work, racing to the back cover of the book. My fifth-grader has taped a poster to the wall showing the number of math lessons left in her book, and every day she marks a square off. This is more fun than watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve!

The countdown to turkey season has also started - poor Nate, I don't think he's shot anything in over a month. Ben is working on a paper mache turkey decoy, which now occupies one corner of the living room, and various other "turkey gear" is beginning to appear around the house.

I'm hearing more and more talk about possible summer jobs - funny how teenagers seem to be so interested in making money.

I have a growing urge to go outside and dig in the dirt.

Flip flops in Wal-Mart!

What about you? Any signs of spring in your neck of the woods?

SIGNS OF SPRING

Time flies! The fifth-grader in this post - my last homeschool student - graduates from high school in three weeks!

SIGNS OF SPRING
(from March 5, 2010)

While taking the dogs for their "long" walk Sunday afternoon, we stopped at the Robin Hood Tree so that three of the kids could practice their climbing. The Robin Hood Tree is a HUGE sycamore with great spreading branches perfectly spaced for climbing halfway to heaven. While Steve and I rested in the sunshine, I noticed unopened buds at the ends of the sycamore twigs. Buds! I mentioned The Greening in an earlier blog - but there are other signs that "Aslan is on the move" and winter is finally melting into spring. At our house, I've noticed....

Egg production is up in the henhouse. Ben's hens are laying over twice as many eggs as they were laying just a month ago. Egg salad sandwiches for lunch today - yum!

Everything with fur is shedding. The dogs are shedding all over the house - yuck. Martha says when she brushes Little John, she has to pause often to clean wads of winter hair out of the bristles.

Green things are poking out of the ground! I've found little green bumps at the base of last summer's dead hydrangea stems, and the irises and daylilies are pushing shoots up toward the sun.

The neighbor's bull was in our field again this morning. Have you ever heard an amorous bull, stalking the neighboring bull's herd? It sounds something like the low, rolling, prolonged thunder of a lion roaring out on the savanna. Scary, really, if you didn't know what it was. That's what I woke up to this morning. In the Bible, the phrase "it was the time of year when men went to war" is used to refer to spring. On the farm, we could say, "It was the time of year when bulls jump/knock down fences."

We are counting down lessons in our school work, racing to the back cover of the book. My fifth-grader has taped a poster to the wall showing the number of math lessons left in her book, and every day she marks a square off. This is more fun than watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve!

The countdown to turkey season has also started - poor Nate, I don't think he's shot anything in over a month. Ben is working on a paper mache turkey decoy, which now occupies one corner of the living room, and various other turkey gear is beginning to appear around the house.

I'm hearing more and more talk about possible summer jobs - funny how teenagers seem to be so interested in making money.

I have a growing urge to go outside and dig in the dirt.

Flip flops in Wal-Mart!

What about you? Any signs of spring in your neck of the woods?

IS IT BECAUSE THEY'RE BLONDE?

"I think maybe the chickens are finally laying eggs!"

New little peep!

We've had these chickens since mid-spring, when they arrived via U.S. Mail, tiny balls of yellow peeping fluff delivered in a cardboard box.  Ben's flock of Rhode Island Reds had long been extinct, save one precious pet who eluded the foxes and raccoons and who we liked too much to convert to stew.  This spring, I decided to order my very own flock of chickens, and Ben has been teaching me the ins and outs of chicken farming.

Buff Orpingtons.  They are simply beautiful.  So fluffy that they look like they are wearing frilly bloomers.  And they are congenial - even the roosters are pleasant.

But these are the stupidest chickens I have ever met.  They don't put themselves to bed at night until after dark, when the owls are already out hunting dinner.  They startle and run at the silliest things.  They have an entire hayfield in which to graze...but they prefer to strip the rose bushes of all their petals.

Gorgeous George

 The roosters try to put on an air of manliness on occasion - but give one a stern look and he'll trot off to hide under the chicken house.  No, they're not very smart or very brave - but, man, are they good looking.  Reuben has dubbed the fanciest rooster "Gorgeous George"  - all glam and no substance.  The other rooster, we call Larry.  Leaning Larry.  Everything about him is kind of "sideways" - his tail, his gait, his stance, his way of looking at you.  Again, definitely not the sharpest tack in the box.

I've been getting very frustrated at tending my extraordinarily stupid chickens - but have persevered in the hopes that they will soon redeem themselves by laying eggs for breakfast.  Apparently, Buff Orpingtons begin to lay later than other breeds....still no eggs.  So, Helen's announcement this morning was the cause of great excitement.  Uproarious cackling - a sure sign of egg production - had me all excited.  I walked outside - no chickens anywhere in the yard.  "Helen, I think you may be right!  I think they've all headed back to the hen house!  Maybe they've decided it's time to lay some eggs!"

(Now, why on earth would I think the idea would occur to my silly chickens to lay eggs in their nesting boxes?  Hmmm?)

It wasn't twenty minutes later that Ben looked out the window and asked, "Mom, why are the chickens all over at Grammy's?"

No, the chickens were not in the hen house laying eggs.  Rather, they had decided today was a lovely day for a road trip.  They had hiked all the way over to Grammy's, for who-knows-what reason.

Errrrrgh!  I ran into the yard and called across the hay field:  "Chick!  Chick!  Chick!  Heeeeeeere, chick, chick!"  Gorgeous George raised his head and looked at me.  The hens perked up and trotted a few steps down Grammy's driveway.  After 20 minutes of calling, I gave up.  All they did was stand at stare at me.

Thankfully, Helen agreed to help round up my wayward flock. By the time we had hiked over to Grammy's, there were no chickens to be seen anywhere.  Not in the yard.  Not in the road back to the cow pasture.  Not in the calf lot.  So we headed out to the barn.  Finally!  I found George and 5 hens chilling out under the tractor.  Where were the other 12?  Nowhere.

I began herding George and his tiny flock across the pasture toward our house.  Herding chickens is about like herding cats - if you want to develop patience, here's a good way to practice!  We reached the tree-line behind our house.  Under the canopy of trees, I found several other hens.  Then, further up the hill, more chickens.  Grrrrr!  "Come on, Chick-chick, back to the hen house!"

The entire flock is now safely back in our yard.  My legs are scratched from crawling through the underbrush, and I'm waiting for the poison ivy and chigger bites on my ankles to start itching.  We still have no fresh eggs.

But, as Helen cheerfully observed, at least I something to blog about!

What happened to October?

I woke up this morning and discovered that it is now November. Was that blur on the horizon October whizzing by? Since I haven't posted a single thing in an entire month, here's a quick update from my neck of the woods.

GRACE COMMUNITY CHURCH
I felt a faint butterfly tickle in my belly a few weeks ago. "Hmmmmm, is that the hiccup of a tiny new life?" I called my OB/GYN to schedule an appointment. Within a matter of days, I was sitting on the chilly exam table of a tiny room at the Women's Clinic.

"Exciting news!" the doctor beamed. "You're pregnant!"

"Really?" My mouth fell open in stunned disbelief. "You're kidding!"

The doctor laughed and nodded. "Absolutely positive!"

It took me a few minutes to process this startling bit of information. "I had no idea....I mean, I really didn't think....this can't be possible!" I fumbled for words while my doctor stood grinning like a monkey. "Well," I inhaled deeply, "Any idea of a due date?"

The doctor flashed an impish grin and pointed to a calendar hanging on the wall. "Next week!"

* * * * *

Okay, okay, everbody calm down! Truth be told, this forty-something-year-old is closer to dementia than to giving birth. The above illustration is simply to give you an idea of the remarkable development of a Reformed church plant in our area. Less than two months ago, God very suddenly drew together a community of believers committed to the authority of Scripture and to proclaiming the sovereignty of God and His salvation of His people by grace alone. Grace Community Church is currently meeting in an unused Jewish community center (doesn't God have a delightful sense of humor?); and, for many of us, we are still amazed by the working of God's providence in forming and building this new body. In mid-September, a small handful of saints gathered to discuss the possibility of forming a Reformed church plant in the Obion County area. In less than a week from that first meeting, we had secured a place to meet and were having our first worship service. (Did I mention how suddenly this all happened?) God has provided a strong core of about a dozen committed Christian men to oversee this fledgling church, including four ordained pastors. He has added new faces to our assembly each week, to the point that we are already outgrowing our present meeting space. Members are excited by the doctrines of grace, and are eager to read, study, and discuss Scripture together. We have been meeting now for six weeks, and are overjoyed and astounded at the work God is doing from week to week among us. Soli Deo Gloria!

* * * * *

EXTREME BIBLE DRILL

On Wednesday nights at Grace Community, I have the delight of working with eight (more this next week?!) very enthusiastic, wiggly 6-9-year-olds. Using Bibles loaned to us by First Presbyterian Church, Dyersburg, we have a kind of home-made Bible Drill every week, and are learning the books of the Bible, the location of key passages (ie., Where do you find the Ten Commandments?), and memory verses. In the short time that we've been meeting, we have learned the names and locations of the books of the Bible from Genesis to the Song of Solomon. A favorite study method with the class is reciting the names of the books as we take turns skipping rope. Last week, one of the young boys suggested we recite them while we did push-ups - I suppose that seemed a more manly approach to our study! Anyway, everyone sprawled in the floor and began doing push-ups. "Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, ...." For those of you who don't know, I am in my mid-40's, overweight, and have given birth to seven children. Yes, I DID do twenty-two push-ups on the hard linoleum, thank you very much, although I must admit that I was puffing pretty hard by the time I finally gasped out "...Song of Solomon!" By Thursday evening, my arms were so sore that I couldn't even lift them over my head. (Okay, Dalton, why don't we try jumping jacks next week?)

* * * * *

PAPAL BULLS, INDULGENCES, AND TRANSUBSTANTIATION...

(For complete lyrics, Google The Reformation Polka, by Paul Gebel.)

Brothers and sisters from Grace Community and FPC Dyersburg, along with a few neighbors from our rural community, joined us here at Kendallville for the annual Reformation Party this past Wednesday evening. About a hundred folks celebrated with fellowship, music, games, good food, and a bonfire that was probably visible from space. Some of my favorite highlights: the caramel apple eating contest (Oh, I'm sorry, were those caramel onions? Shame on you, Gaye Lynn!); watching Julie and Melissa compete in the banana race (Yes, ladies, we have this on video!); singing I'll Fly Away, with Mr. Ed and Billy playing guitars; and visiting with old friends and new friends while getting toasty around the fire. Several people thought the traditional singing of The Reformation Polka would've been more fun - more authentic? - if we'd had steins of German beer on hand. Maybe next year....

* * * * *

AND IN OTHER NEWS...

I am enjoying the mild weather we've had this past week. Monday's freeze has brought the color out in the trees around our hay-field yard, but the grass is still emerald green. Gorgeous contrast. Ben's beautiful Rhode Island Reds are giving us 15+ eggs a day now. Ben supplies the family egg demand, and sells or gifts away the rest. That's a nice chunk out of our grocery bill - thanks, Ben! Nate harvested his first deer of the season last Saturday ("Looks like meat's back on the menu!"), and is pleased to have a jumpstart on the trapping season with two prime coyote pelts in the deep freeze. Martha has successfully put a saddle on Little John - he was perfectly acquiescent and didn't protest an iota. I tell you, that horse is in love with his girl! Thomas seems to be pulling out of the moody teen thing, and has been a hard, cheerful, willing worker of late. He has such a fun personality and often has the entire family in stitches. He and his brothers fired a blackpowder, Civil War-era replica pistol this afternoon, and now he wants to try out the blackpowder rifle - the ghost of Daniel Boone walks! Helen has been busy in her room all afternoon working on Christmas presents for her siblings (I think Martha has been teaching her how to knit.) She and Martha have also been practicing cosmetology on one another - we've seen some wild hairdos over the past couple of days! Reuben, Emily, and Dennis are plugging their way through fall semester classes at UTM, and we are counting down the weeks until winter break with them. Reuben is sacked out on the couch at present, catching up on some much-needed sleep....guess that means he studies really hard during the week, right?! Well, I've been officially notified that my husband and children are in danger of starving to death any minute, so I'd better post and head to the kitchen. Hope I'll be back before another month slips by!

DINNERTIME

I don't have to be at Wal-mart until 7:00 tonight, which means I get to be home for dinner. Yay! On tonight's menu:

Meatloaf - the Pritzel recipe: ground beef (we use deer), hot sausage, bread crumbs, egg, and Heinz 57 sauce. Yum.

Green bean casserole - Thomas's asked particularly for this for Thanksgiving, but it wasn't part of the holiday meal. I'm making this just for you, Tom.

Mashed potatoes - because if you have meatloaf, you have to have mashed potatoes.

One of the things I strongly dislike about working away from home is having to frequently miss our family's evening meal. Two, three times a week, I leave before dinner. Sure, the kids and I have breakfast and lunch together, but dinner is different. Dad is most often home, bringing news from the outside world. There is a kind of settling together, a conversational processing of the day. Not infrequently, there is a serving of silliness, too.

Something else happens over a leisurely, routine family dinner, something I can't quite describe. Something about learning who we are as individuals, as a family, as a society. Something that gives cohesion and strength. Sort of like calcium being knit together to form strong bones.

No, I don't like missing the evening meal. I will be glad when this particular sacrifice is no longer necessary. And, I am so grateful that Steve and the kids keep this tradition going, even on nights when I have to be away. They set the table, cook the meal, and sit down together, whether I'm here or not.

Last night, I rolled back home at 10:30. Martha had saved me a plate of dinner, which I reheated in the microwave. As I sat at the bar eating, all of the kids filtered downstairs and gathered in the kitchen, telling me about the evening's activities, news from friends on Facebook, classes at Martin, etc. Someone pulled the bucket of ice cream out of the freezer and dished up bowls for everyone. I guess it was kind of like my own personal "second" family supper. I'm grateful for that, too...that even when I have to be away, the circle is expanded to keep me inside.

A LONGING DEFERRED

I am out of tea. I'm sitting here waiting for inspiration to strike, and all I can think is, "Man, there is nothing I'd like more right now than a glass of tea!" Okay, you can call me a caffeine addict, and you may be partially right. But just now, even a tall, cold glass of decaf sounds pretty good. I don't think it's the caffeine - I think it's the fact that, well, I can't have it. At least not until tomorrow when I can get out and make a grocery run.

Tell me I won't be able to have a fried egg until tomorrow, and I'm fine. No time to start cleaning those nasty kitchen cabinets today? So not a problem. No chocolate in the house? Well, that's okay, at least for now (but I'd better make sure I have some on hand before next week!) Today, I want TEA.

Which has started me thinking...Why is it that not being able to have something we want often makes us desire it even more? What's one thing you crave madly when it isn't available?

SUNSHINE ON A CLOUDY DAY

Right this moment, the sun is shining.

I'm grateful for that.

Helen asked me, "So, what are your 'sunny' thoughts right now?"

"Ummm, I'm not having many sunny thoughts right now."

I went to let the chickens out of the coop this morning. The wind was so blustery and cold that it raced right up my jeans legs and numbed my tookus. Brrrr! I'm not fond of cold.

I bent over to do some chore while I was outside, and - crunch! - smashed one of the eggs I had collected and stashed in my sweater pocket. The pocket with my phone in it.

So, I blow back into the house, shivering and chattering. Wash the three remaining eggs and put them away. Clean my gooey phone. Wad my sweater into the washing machine.

And discover I have a big globs of chicken poo on my shoes. Yuck! Why couldn't I have discovered that when I first came in the back door?

I've been looking online at mother-of-the-bride dresses. Apparently, manufacturers think Barbie has given birth to children and that she is now old enough for said children to be of marriageable age. Sigh. The models all look like Audrey Hepburn - rail thin and fresh-faced - and the dresses all look beautiful on them. This is not reality. I know better.

I tried on several beautiful dresses - potential mother-of-the-bride dresses - passed to me by friends. I did not look like Barbie. Or like Audrey Hepburn. I looked like the ballerina hippo from Disney's Fantasia. Without the beautiful music playing in the background.

Cold wind. Smashed egg. Chicken poo. Frothy, sparkly, beautiful, too-tight dresses. Nope, not many sunny thoughts happening.

"What about the white-faced calf?" Helen asked.

I smiled.

This little bugger is a joy to watch frolicking on the hill behind the house. He is easy to spot in the field - his bright, white face stands out like a flashing billboard against his silky black coat and against the gray of the frozen pasture.

He dances like a fairy on his short, spindly legs, chasing the other calves or running circles around his momma. Up the hill! Down the hill! Charge!

I don't think I have ever seen such a lively calf. I've been calling him Rocket.

Maybe, just for today, I'll call him Sunshine.