A Kitchen Table

The kitchen table. Just those three words brings am image to everyone's mind.

Our kitchen table growing up was a white rectangular oval with a chocolate brown border on which each corner (as if an oval can have a corner!) had an emblem of sorts. Very mid-century modern looking. I wonder where it is now?

As newlyweds in our Springs apartment, we used a table that had belonged to my parents. Again, it had the look of the 1970ies, straight lines with a laminate top. We didn't own kitchen chairs at first and we sat on two coolers, but it worked, and we didn't care. Once, as Leo was trying to impress me with a manly pose in the kitchen, he leaned on the table and the metal legs collapsed leaving my man in a pile on the floor. I will admit to laughing (somewhat hysterically), but only after making sure he was okay. Ah, the memories.

When we moved to the trailer with two small children, I think we had the oval, brown-edged table. When we redid the kitchen there, we put in a table/bar and the oval heirloom went...away...I still wish I knew where.

In Louisville, we had a kitchen table and a dining room table. The kitchen table was another throwback from the 1960-1970ies. What I remember about that table is the metal legs that were at such an angle that you were always catching your toes on them, Not just stubbing them, but STUBBING them with vengeance. There were a few choice words yelled at that table during the time we lived there! The dining room table was huge and could seat 600 easily. Well, okay 12-15 easily. It was heavy and wooden and had probably lived in the house at Bonnycastle Avenue since it was built. A lot of different people have eaten around that table and if it could talk, oh the stories it could tell!

Then we moved to the Farm. The first time I saw the house and got to go in, we sat around this oval, wooden kitchen table covered with a red checkered tablecloth and talked to the owner of the house. The table just fit the house, and I hoped that he would leave it for us to use.

Fifteen years later, that oval table is still in use at our house. Daily.
It is made to seat six, but we manage to get all 7 of us around it. A part of me wants a new table that seats eight, but I am reluctant to part with an old friend. Despite the wobbles, and the fact that it needs refinished, I love it; it. is a member of the family.

Lots of laughter and teasing have gone on around it's edges as well as arguments and a few tears.
Quite a few of us have laid our heads on its surface after a long day and fallen asleep.
Through the years, it has been used to eat on, do homework on, cut fabric for a pattern out on, paint, scrapbook and color on (not literally on the table, but you know what I mean!). Lately it has been a racetrack for Ryan and his Cars.

This is my table this morning. I could've cleared it off so it would look pretty, but that would've been cheating. So this is it. I am painting a desk so there is painting stuff on it, as well as Ryan's homework that he forgot to put in his backpack, other misc. papers, my Pampered Chef order, Heather's gym bag, and there is almost always a coat on the back of a chair or two.

For now, I'll keep the table. I know her and her quirks. Definitely not perfect, but a perfect fit for us.

Love,
Dianne

Hoot-who else is not a morning person?

I read somewhere that "Motivation is desire putting on work clothes." (Anonymous) Today is one of those days where I think I'd really rather stay in my PJ's. I have loads to do and my motivation level is needing a cup of coffee. Black coffee. And I don't even like it black.

I thought that with a week's vacation, I'd develop some sort of better sleep pattern. You know, early to bed, early to rise and all that. Somehow though, I am still late to bed, late to rise and it frustrates me. Why, oh why, wasn't I made to be a natural morning person? I'd feel like I could accomplish more in a day that way. Why is that, do you think?

Regardless, I am not a morning person. I do my best sleeping between 2:00am and 9:00 or 10:00am. I am productive after lunch (or in my case, breakfast since I get up so late) until I feel guilty making noise when everyone else in the house is trying to sleep. I think I am part-owl. Maybe not a wise owl, but an owl nonetheless.

...and I kinda look that way before my coffee....

I always feel bad when I read in Proverbs about the woman who gets up before her household and gets soooo much done, or the person who is a sluggard because they sleep in. I feel like there is a stamp on my forehead that says, "Lazy Night Owl".  Why can't I be the way I think I should be?

Or did God make me the way I am for a reason? Is this just a season for me? I am a nurse who works night shift. What if no one wanted to work that shift? Would the sick people just stop being sick for 12 hours or would the ER close down for the night? That's not to say that at 4:00 in the morning, when I am at work, that I don't long to be at home, in bed asleep. But, it does say that I am able to do it because my body is wired to be more of a night owl kind of person.

The day may come when I am able to get up early without having a truck roar through the bedroom to wake me up, but until then, I may just need to accept that I am who I am. I know that on the days that I don't accept that, I am grouchy because I feel guilty that I am not the perfect "up at the crack of dawn" woman. On those days, I do not behave at all like the Proverbs 31 woman. My children do not wish to "rise up and call me blessed".

That being said, it doesn't mean that I shouldn't try to change things that I'd like to change. Maybe, though I need to be okay that it doesn't happen all at once. And that the hours I keep aren't going to be what is remembered about me ( at least I hope not!) What matters is what I do with the time that I am awake. Whether it is 7am-10pm or 10am-2am.

Hoot Hoot,
Dianne

The Tale of a Kite

I know it's still January; at least for a couple more days. But this morning, the colors and the light outside felt like Spring. The air had just the smallest hint of March in it.

And I liked it. So did Ryan.

Maybe it was that tiny hint of March, but after lunch, he found the kite. He determined that he was going to fly it. So off he went outside into the wind. He looked a little bit like Christopher Robin and I was expecting Piglet and Pooh Bear to show up.

Try as he might to get the kite into the air, it just spun in circles, lots of circles. Apparently, the tail of the kite is important, so we tied more onto it to make it a proper tail. He tried again. And again.

Finally, the kite was airborne! I yelled a congratulations out the window and then decided to take some pictures. Just as I get outside and get the camera ready to capture the rainbow kite against the blue sky, it twisted and twirled like a tipsy ballerina and caught in the branches of a tree.

It was like it did it on purpose!

Ryan got the kite free and no sooner did he get it aloft, it again went into the tree. Not only did it catch in the branches, but it began it's crazy spinning again. This time is was really tangled in the branches. I thought for just a brief moment that I would have to climb up into the tree and execute a rescue of sorts. Then I began winding in the string and the branch began to bend towards me.

I stretched.
I stood on tippy-toes.
I jumped.
I caught the tip of the branch and unwound the kite.
We did it!!
But now the kite refused to get back up in the air. Even after we gently untangled the long lengths of tail from the string, it still refused.

By now, I have more than realized that it is still January and I am freezing. My fingers were feeling numb and even though it looked kinda warm outside, it most definitely was not.

The two of us, looking a little now like Kanga and Roo, went into the warm house. Maybe we'll try again in February. Maybe March, on another "blustery day".

Love,
 Dianne

Saturday, Then and Now

Saturday.

When I was a kid, that meant cartoons and cleaning house. My sisters and I would watch The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Pink Panther and Bugs Bunny. Later came The Smurfs. Once Mom was up, the dusting, sweeping, cleaning sinks and toilet, vacuuming and mopping began. This all took place throughout the day and then in the evening, it was bath time and time to watch "Hee-Haw".

Does anybody else remember "Hee-Haw"? The donkey at the end with his mouth wide open with the credits rolling? The corny jokes and hillbilly mentality? The women with the short shorts and low-cut blouses? The men in bib overalls? Watching it was a Saturday Tradition in the Bender household.

Today, Saturday's in my house don't quite follow the same traditions. For one thing, my work schedule doesn't allow for much consistency with weekends. The other reason is that I don't always like to save one day for housecleaning; my house needs it way before Saturday rolls around.

So what is a "typical" Saturday like? I have no idea. But, today...
Leo and Aaron are at a safety class of some kind for work.
Adrienne, Amy, and Heather and Ryan were up between 7-9AM. They were watching Curious George on PBS and checking out Facebook online.
I got up around 10AM and we all made brunch. Scrambled eggs, Chai Tea, Sour Cream Pancakes with either blueberry sauce, peanut butter or maple syrup.
We all did the dishes and straightened up the kitchen.

Now, I am writing this and drinking my coffee.
Heather is listening to music and looking up something for school.
Adrienne is cleaning out her "treasure box" of childhood keepsakes.
Amy and Ryan are watching Adrienne.

What's the rest of the day going to be like? I still have no idea. But, what I'd like to accomplish...
          Finish painting the dressers in Heather's room and get the wallpaper border up.
          Exercise.
          Laundry.
          Help Ryan clean up his pigsty, err, I mean bedroom. Oink.
       
My today resolution: Whatever I do, I need to do it with an attitude of gratefulness. I have been blessed with much.

" ...But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15


Enjoy your Saturday!
Dianne

       

I Love Rock 'n' Roll...

When I was younger I wanted to be a rock star.

I was a teenager in the decade of the 80ies and 'rock star' was cool to the utmost.
The hair
       The clothes
              The hair
                     The makeup
                            The hair
                                   The guitars

What was I thinking? A Mennonite girl who wasn't allowed to wear makeup, who wore my long uncut hair pretty much one way, who almost always wore a dress or skirt, and the music I listened to was a new Christian radio station in Grantsville (yes, it was WAIJ) that seemed to play a lot of Southern Gospel.

Hardly the stuff to make me rock-star quality.

But then my older sister Kim, got a record album by Mylon LeFevre and Broken Heart. Now they weren't like the other bands that I really wasn't supposed to be listening too; you know, Van Halen, The Police, and Aerosmith. This was a Christian Rock Band. Shocking, I know.

This is the cover of that album. 

The church youth group went to one of their concerts in 1985 (I think) and had the first few rows filled up. When the band came on with the smoke, the lights, and the guitars, it was AWESOME!  Later, at home, I'd practice their 'moves' in front of my mirror. That is, until my dad saw me through the window. Totally embarrassing.

So, that was my intro to the world of Contemporary Christian music. My friend loved the 'heavier' stuff by Stryper (as my son laughs insanely at what we called rock music)

Stryper in the 80ies
The hair!!!!

Yes, I wanted to be a rock star. I, like Joan Jett, 'loved Rock and Roll', and after all, 'girls just want to have fun' (Cyndi Lauper). At the Starlite Roller Rink in LaVale MD, I could 'Whip It' (Devo) with the best of 'em. 

But a rock star I was not destined to be....

I like to look back and remember, but I am happy where I am. And in those moments, when the rock star Dianne starts to surface, I always have those moments in my car or in the shower to let loose. 

Rock On!

Dianne

Color Me Bold

I really don't think that "coloring your hair" means to streak it with various shades of primer white, Chilled Wine, and Wild Geranium.

I am not a neat painter.
I get it on my hands.
I get it on my face.
I get it in my hair.
Here and there, I get it everywhere. I do not like green eggs and ham. (oops, wrong story)

Yesterday, I got the ceiling painted. Not sure I will ever do that again. Of course, after I was done I discovered that, yes, we do have one of those pole extender things so painting a ceiling is easier. Sigh.

 I got the bottom painted in the chilled wine color. The first coat was spent with me wondering what on earth I was thinking of when I picked the color. Bold, really bold, was the word that came to mind. It needed THREE coats to get good coverage. Whew.

First coat. Yikes!

Amy, Heather and I painted the top with Wild Geranium. Today I will attempt to color-wash with Keepsake Rose. It is all such a dramatic change from the whitish color it was before. I am hoping it will all pull together with the border, curtains, linens, and floor covering. Right now though, I'm second guessing myself.

This morning, before getting back at it...

Sometimes change is welcome. Sometimes it is scary. Sometimes you just have to be bold (like the color!) and step out in faith. In my life, change is usually of the scary variety, or at least I make it that way. Not all change is by choice either. My choice however is what I will do with the changes. Embrace it? Push it away? Trust that the God who does not change will walk me through it? 

Until that moment comes, I'm not sure what the answer will be. I wish I could say I always embrace change with a smile, a spirit of adventure and a British accent (you know, like Agent 007), when really, I usually just want to hide under the covers. Be that as it may, whatever I do, I will certainly do it with streaks of purples in my hair.

Love,

Dianne

So white....then add color!

Mission accomplished.

Heather's room is primed and ready for color. It is amazing really how much better her room looks even with just a coat of plain white primer. I would've said her walls were pretty much white before, but in comparison, they were not even a nice shade of off-white. Maybe more like the color of teeth left too long unbrushed.

Gross, I know.

The whole process makes me think about my life and how I may think I am "just fine" the way I am.
Why change?

But when I allow myself to see, to really see myself, I see the dingy, ugly parts of me.
         The negative thinking (I am a failure as a mom, as a wife, I am no good, etc...) ,
                     ...the way it is easy to think myself better than that other person,
                              ...the way I can get angry and all bent-out-of-shape over something
                                 that in 10years,
                                 5 years,
                                 1 year,
                                 even a week from now is not going to matter.
          And the list could go on...

Thank God that He sees me for who I am. The real me. And loves me anyhow.
That He loved me enough to give His life in place of mine, so that I can be primed; that I can become as white as newly fallen snow.

I can't wrap my mind around it.

 I can't comprehend how He loves me.

I just know that He does. 

He's real. 

Psalms 51 says so much more than I can say.
I took time this morning to read it, all of it, and to think about it. No, I didn't commit the sins David did, but I do sin. The writer of the Psalm wrote from his heart and it has touched mine.

"Purify me from my sins, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow." Psalms 51:7

Be cleansed, be primed and then, look out! Are you ready for color?!
Love,
Dianne

Procrastination Destination

It's 11:50AM and I should have the primer on Heather's walls.

But I don't.

I have been excited about this project and now I am procrastinating getting started. I think it is because my  paint "stuff" is not organized to my OCD specifications and I need to go down to the basement and look for a couple things to get started. So, I am avoiding it. Because I know when I go to the basement, I will feel the need to organize it. For an hour or more. I will also see the washing machine that is only working sometimes (something in the control panel), and all the laundry and that will be annoying. I will have to go check it out too.

 Sometimes my biggest frustration in life is myself.

Okay, take a deep breath. Take another deep breath. Say a prayer for God's direction on my day.

"My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor." Ecclesiastes 2:10


I need to just enjoy my day, my work. Not get caught up and stressed out over details that really aren't that important.

My today resolution: Put on some lively Celtic music, push everything away from Heather's walls and cover with old sheets, get the primer from the basement (wear a blindfold if I have to), and get it on the walls!

Note to self: Pause often to smile. Pause often to stretch. Definitely pause for a cup of coffee. Sing loudly with the music. Who cares who hears you? It's not like the milkman or the feed guy will be stopping in.

Love,
Dianne

Just being me

This week I love Monday. It's vacation week and I like having a week to just "be".

Just be a mom.

Just be a wife.

Just be able to focus on my family.

To just be.

I want to be able to go to a friend's house without feeling like I am rushed.

I want to be able to drink a cup of coffee without having to drink it in a travel mug on my way to work.

I want to be able to catch up on a project or two.

I want to be able to start a book that has been waiting to be enjoyed.

I want to be able to go to church for two Sundays in a row.

I am thankful today that I am alive. 

I am thankful for kids that make a lot of noise when they come home.

I am thankful for a sister, brother-in-law, and nephew that came to visit today.

I am thankful my husband is so good-looking. 

Yes, I went there.

I hope Tuesday is just as rewarding. Tomorrow the painting of Heather's room begins...

Here's to just "being".

Love,

Dianne

Sunday Siesta

There is nothing quite like a good foot rub and a nap on a Sunday afternoon.  Somehow, taking a Sunday siesta doesn't make you feel guilty like it would any other day of the week. Rather, it is almost a requirement.

When I was a kid though, I couldn't understand at all why my parents would want to sleep part of a perfectly good day away. Why not play outside, read a book, play a game?

Now, I understand.


Not that I take a snooze every Sunday. Sometimes I enjoy curling up with an intriguing book or good movie. In the summer I like to read out in the hammock. On a winter day, scrapbooking is a desirable pastime.  Spring and Fall are ideal for a walk through the woods or down along River Road. Occasionally, if the weather is right, I just can't help but to dig in the dirt, pull a few weeds, plant something. Maybe some would call that working on a Sunday, and not keeping one of the Ten Commandments, but to me, it's relaxing.

Right now, as I am typing this, I am kinda watching the Ravens vs. Patriots football game with Leo. Go Steelers! (Sorry, force of habit.)  I did doze off earlier for about 30 minutes. Amy and Heather are watching an episode of Psych, Adrienne is taking a nap, Ryan is drawing, and Aaron just got home from an overnight job. A relaxing, no-agenda, afternoon. Oh yeah...

Now, if this was years ago, my mom would be making ice-cream, the homemade pizza would be started, and later, the popcorn would be popped and we would eat after my dad got home from doing the farm chores.

For today, I'll just live the moment. Maybe I'll venture outside when Leo goes to the barn. Maybe I'll walk up the lane and back. Maybe I'll look through a gardening magazine. Maybe I'll just go make some popcorn. . .

Love,
Dianne

Friends For Life

Thinking about sled riding yesterday brings back other childhood memories, like the fun to be had at a sleepover. I don't think having a friend over, or going to a friend's house happened a lot for me growing up, so when it did, it was always a big deal.

My best friend growing up was Jencene Bender. We weren't just best friends, we were also first cousins. She was almost exactly 2 months older than me, which was great for her. You see, when we were getting into the whole boy thing, for those two months, she could say she was older than me.

 Jencene and Dianne. Pretty  much inseparable during our childhood. We were Apache Warriors. (Hey Jess, do you remember that? And the trail through the woods behind the church?)

Playing pirates: Isabella and  Josephina
(Hey Jencene, I remembered after I hung up!)

 I loved going to her house Sunday afternoons after church, or for that occasional sleepover. The refrigerator was always stocked with wrapped slices of Kraft American cheese which I loved but my family seldom had.

But that's not really the reason I loved being there.

Being with my friend for hours of talking, exploring by the creek, pretending to make cigars out of bamboo reeds, climbing up the trellis onto the roof, listening to The Hobbit on the record player, or sledding down their steep treacherous driveway...now, those were just a few of the reasons I loved being there.

You see, Jencene knew me, the real me, like no one else. And she still liked me! She knew my secrets, she understood my dreams. She was a true friend.

We grew up and although life changed, and we changed, we have stayed friends. I got married at age 18 and she went to college. Her oldest child is about a year older than my fourth child. Although we may have still been in the same book, we were in different chapters.

Our friendship, although different now as we are older, has remained a source of joy for me. We don't talk  or see each other as often, but when we do, it's like it had only been since yesterday. We share the love of gardening and the wish that fairies were real. We are co-conspirators of puppet scripts. She makes me laugh and understands the quirkiness and weirdness that sometimes makes us laugh together until we are crying.

She even forgave me (I think) when I laughed at her uncontrollably while she was trying to drive a stick-shift and the whole mailbox incident that occurred.

So today, call a friend. Thank them for being there. Let them know how much they are loved.
Thanks you Jencene for many, many good memories and laughs. Thank you too for sharing my tears. I love you!!

As Dr. Suess characters...Lala-Lee-Lou

"Ooooh, I'm drivin' my life away..."

As I sit to write this, the snow is starting to fall again outside; not heavy, but enough that it is in the air with the potential to be more. I am glad my vacation starts and I can be snowbound.

When I was a kid, winter's lasted a long time, and it was really awesome! My sisters and I loved playing in the snow and could spend hours outside digging snow tunnels, sled riding, throwing snowballs and playing fox and goose. We didn't have official "snow clothes" to wear. We just layered on long-johns, pants, another pair of pants, a couple of shirts or sweatshirts and a winter jacket. Oh, and don't forget the mittens, hats, scarves, and at least two pairs of socks. Getting ready to go outside was such a chore! Maybe that's why when we did go out, we would stay out for hours.

I don't remember my mom ever complaining about all the dripping, snow-encrusted clothing that we would hang up all over the utility/mudroom and kitchen. I would think about that when my children were all younger and spending time playing in the snow. I'm pretty sure I was not always so gracious when it came to the snow puddles on the floor and the piles of clothing on the radiators drying.

Beside the house I grew up in, out in The Cove, was "The Field". Long and hilly, it was perfect for sled riding. We would call the neighbor boy to come up and join us and then the fun would begin. First, we'd have to make a sufficient sled track. The best was when the snow was deep enough that you could work it into a winding groove down the hillside. This took time to get it done, but when it was complete....LOOK OUT! Sometimes we'd go down all connected like a train, other times we'd make a couple tracks and race.

And we would always sing an Eddie Rabbit country song, "Oooohhh, I'm drivin' my life away..."

The worst part was walking back up the slippery slope. It took 10 times as long to go up as it took to fly down. Where was the snowmobile when you needed it?

I remember one time it was all icy and you could see the grass trapped beneath this thick layer of clear ice.  Now that made for some fast (I think it was almost illegal, it was so fast!) sledding. Usually we didn't make it all the way to the bottom of the field where a fence separated it from the neighbor's yard, but that day we did. You couldn't stop yourself and had to lay flat or get caught in the barbed wire. Oh, it was fun!

Tomorrow is Saturday. Snowman making day? Sled-riding? (Of course sledding is a little boring when you live on Level Acres Lane.) Fox and Goose? It has been a long time since I just went out and played in the snow. Maybe tomorrow....

2 years ago

Me and Leo built this one down on the dock to the pond.

Ryan did this one without any help. I think they are both adorable!

Hats

 We all wear hats. Some of us never take them off. Others of us are constantly changing them. And there are those who would prefer to never put one on at all.

What hats do I wear?

First, I have a mommy, mother, mom, mama hat that I am very proud to wear.

I have a wife hat that I love wearing.

Sorry, I couldn't resist. 

Then there is the nurse hat (sorry, no pics...you know, HIPPA privacy blah blah).


I also have a creative hat wardrobe that includes scrapbooker hat, puppeteer and actress hat, seamstress and crafter hat,  home decorator and designer hat....etc etc.

And then I have sister, daughter and auntie hats that I do so enjoy putting on.
Another hat I own is a friend hat.

Me and Val

Me, Roxie, and Kimmy
Awwwwww....

Me and Sam (yep, he's got the nephew hat on)

A blast from the past...
Cousins and Friends
Jencene (Bender) Tice, Me, and Vicki (Yoder) Moyer

And last, but certainly not least, is the thinker, dreamer hat...

My kids are going to be getting off the bus soon. I guess I'll take off the blogger hat, put on the mom hat, and then in about 2 hrs, I'll put on the nurse hat (not literally, although I do have one!). Tomorrow is another day, what will I wear? 

Love,

 Dianne

Mom's Homemade Ice-Cream

Growing up with a father who was a dairy farmer, I drank whole raw milk.

Yes, that means (gasp!) unpasteurized. 
That also means that it was as un-skim as you could get it.

It was normal to get the Tupperware gallon jug from the refrigerator and have to shake it before pouring because all the thick rich cream had risen to the top. Now really, that makes no sense. The thick heavy cream rising to the top?? Leo, my ruggedly handsome dairy farmer, informs me that the water content in the milk is heavier than the cream and therefore the cream is lighter. But has more fat. A lot more fat.   Hmmm, interesting. Anyhow, to get back to shaking the jug...Even now, buying milk from the store, I shake the jug to mix it before pouring, and I don't have to. Old habits and all that.

My sisters and I didn't always leave the cream in the jug with the rest of the milk; sometimes we would let it rise to the top on purpose so that we could skim it off (hence, why skim milk is called skim milk) and save it. Then when we had enough, Mom would mix together a batch of homemade vanilla ice-cream. One of us would stand by the stove stirring the concoction of milk, sugar, flour and salt. You had to stir for forever it seemed, and you couldn't stop because it would burn or all of a sudden be very hot, rise to the top and overflow onto the burner. Not that that ever happened to me of course; I am sure it was always to Kimmy or Roxie.

When the custard was just the right thickness, you would add beaten eggs and vanilla. Then it had to cool.    When it was again just right, the cream was added and the whole batch was put into the ice-cream freezer and the process of freezing would begin. And no, it was not a hand-crank freezer, it was electric. How old do you think I am?

I can still hear the sound of that freezer as it worked, turning the canister filled with yummy (although technically not good-for-you) goodness, in the middle. That whirring, loud motor as it rotated caused the ice and rock-salt mixture to flow around that canister in such a way that, as if by magic, the runny custard turned into ice-cream. And it did really seem like magic. 

When the motor would make a whiny, slow groan like it just couldn't turn any more, you knew it was ready. Mom would quickly unplug it, and then....

...she would take the lid off and pull the dasher out of the middle. This she would always hold over a plate and then one of us girls would take it to Dad. Remember how, when you were a kid,  you would always like to lick the beaters when making cake or cookies? (Okay, I still do that!) This was like that, but it was ice-cream, and it was Dad's job to clean off the dasher. I don't think he minded.

The first scoops of vanilla ice-cream, to me, where always the best. Frozen, but soft and creamy. Really, it was like a Wendy's Frosty. Mom would let everyone have some, but then would put the lid back on and let it ripen while sitting in the salt and ice brine.  Later, when getting a spoonful, the ice-cream was now more frozen, harder. Still delicious.

Vanilla Ice Cream (cooked)
2 3/4 cups sugar                             6 eggs, beaten
6 T. flour                                        4 cups heavy cream (yeah baby)
1/4 tsp. salt                                      4 1/2 tsp. vanilla
5 cups milk, scalded


Scald milk. Combine sugar, flour, and salt. Add 1/2 cup milk to make a smooth paste. Add paste slowly to hot milk, stirring constantly (and I mean constantly!). When custard thickens, add a little to beaten eggs, stirring, to temper the eggs (no, you are not trying to make them angry, you are trying to prevent them from turning into scrambled eggs when you pour them into the custard). Then add egg mixture to the custard, stirring quickly (you almost need two people) and cook 1 min. longer. Remove from heat and put through blender (no one wants lumps in their ice-cream, unless it is cookies or chocolate!). Add vanilla. Cool. Add cream and pour into gallon ice-cream freezer and freeze according to your freezer directions. 

Organizing the organization

I picked my vacation time this morning.  Christmas week was still open, so I took it. Maybe Christmas in New York City?? I remember being in Louisville KY for Christmas and there is just something really neat about a city with Christmas lights and decorations.  I like that I have 11 months to plan too!

Planning....
       List-making...
               Organizing....

I like doing these things. Maybe a little too much actually. I saw a book today when I was at Lowe's and it was a week-by-week organizer with hints and ideas to get your household and life in order. I was drawn to it like a moth to flame. I ended up putting it back on the rack; after all, I already have a shelf full of books along the same vein of thought. Maybe I'll go alphabetize them....

I was at Lowe's picking out even more paint colors for Heather's room. You see, I ordered her wallpaper border and when it came, the colors we initially thought would match didn't.

New color scheme, in some way or another:

       Main color:

                     Chilled Wine

                     Wild Geranium    

                     Keepsake Rose

       Accent color:

                      Cavern Moss

                      Dark Sage

        2nd Accent color:

                      Stone Gray

                      Gravel

                      Stonington

We aren't using every one of these colors, but at least elements of them. I don't think I'm going to post the pictures of the actual colors yet...they will be revealed later....

Now, I think I'm going to go organize something...anything...

Til tomorrow

Dianne

                     

Time To Pick Vacation

I am next on the vacation schedule. Oooohhh, sounds ominous doesn't it?

At work, the vacation schedule comes out, usually in January, and then based on seniority everyone picks their desired weeks. Being about 2/3rd of the way to the bottom, sometimes I get the perfect week, sometimes I don't. Tonight when I go to work, I will pick my time.

Two years ago when I went to choose "the week" I ended up with August. I wasn't too sure about it because I'd always picked June before. This year was different though. We, as a family, were actually going to go on an honest-to-goodness vacation!

Vacations don't happen much when you have a farm. Those cows just seem to think they can't survive a week without the farmer. Not only do you have to be able to find someone who can milk the cows, but you need to be able to trust them, so when you are away, you aren't worrying too much abut the farm.

But....two years ago, in the Spring, we sold the milking herd and Leo was free to actually have a vacation! So, for the first time since we moved here (April 1, 1997), our family went somewhere where it didn't involve a family reunion, a wedding, or a funeral. We saved our money, we searched online for vacation houses, and we planned.


The Leonard Maust family was headed for ...

            Rhode Island!

I am not sure words can even capture what it felt like to do this. So much anticipation and excitement. So much craziness with all of us in a minivan again for hours. So many memories made...

Early mornings on the beach...

     Sand, shells, and stones...

          Cold waves and warm sunshine...

                Clam chowder and corn on the cob....

                       Reading a book for hours on the beach...

                              Eight mile Cliff Walk in Newport...

                                     Stinky Horseshoe Crab......

                                           Sunsets over fishing villages......

                                                 Quaint shops and antiques....

                                                       Point Judith Lighthouse...

                                                             Being Together....


Just a few random photos...

Too many hrs in the van!

Cliff Walk, Newport RI