Feeling Pinterest-y

Pinterest is addictive. 

Pinterest is fun.

The snow is blowing and I need a plan. 

I know!

Chalkboards and Cinnamon Rolls.

(Not necessarily in that order)

Start with a frame and tape the edges that you don't want to be a chalkboard. 

Easy right? 

Spray with chalkboard paint. Do a light coat and do it about 2-3 times.

Then when that is dry, cover it up with newspaper and spray paint the frame part with 

whatever color you desire. I picked an aqua/tealish blue. 

Actually it was called "Blue Ocean Breeze"

I had to keep touching this up because I got blue on the chalkboard part,

then chalkboard on the blue part, then blue (again) on the chalkboard....

You get the idea. 

I thought it would be easy. 

 These are some of the other frames I took apart to paint and to give the chalkboard treatment. I figured out that doing it in the basement let me avoid the mysterious headache that occurred when I did this in my kitchen. Go figure. 

These are the frames to the above, newly sprayed glass, now chalkboards.

Aren't they pretty?

I love the detail on the edge of this one. 

It just makes me happy. 

To test them out, I used them at my Pampered Chef Get-Together. 

Ryan, using chalkboard ink, decorated this one. 

Oh, and I did mention Cinnamon Rolls, right? 

Another Pinterest inspiration because we all know that even though the thought should be inspiring, 

a picture really takes the cake, so to speak. 

 I haven't made Cinnamon Rolls for a very, very, very, very long time. 

Because it might not happen again for a very, very, very long time, 

I made sure that I made enough this time. 

Oh my. Mmmmmm.

Where's the coffee?

How many can I eat in a day?

 Love,

Dianne

My Little Dutch Beatle

Never, let me repeat, NEVER let a child less than 10 years of age in the bathroom for longer than is necessary to do one's business. There are too many temptations.
1. Water
2. Scissors
3. Hair products
4. Mirror

Last evening, as the little man was in there, supposedly doing his business, I let him be. I thought at first he was just trying to get out of doing the rest of his barn chores, so I knocked on the door.

"Are you okay in there?" You know, in case he fell in. He did once, when he was pretty little so it never hurts to check. Just in case.

"I'm fine."

"Okay...."

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, forty minutes...

WHAT is he doing in there???

The door latch clicks and I hear the door squeak slowly. I can imagine him slipping his face out as he  checks to see if the coast is clear. Then he runs out the hall into the kitchen. All appears to be normal. At first glance.

Then as I venture warily into the bathroom to check out the damage, I see two combs, a fingernail clipper, tweezers, lotion, numerous Q-tips and various puddles of water on the counter. AND soft wisps of hair that have floated to the sink bowl.

"RYAN!"

His tousled light brown head appears before me. Attached to his body of course. He looks up and I see a crooked path across his forehead with odd wisps of untouched bangs mocking me. Now, he really does need a haircut (he could pass for one of the Beatles) and the amount he took off really, in comparison, is not so bad. It's just that now he looks like the Little Dutch boy or Little Lord Fauntleroy.  Especially after I fixed it.

An appointment at Hair Raisers is in order.

The funny thing is, the desktop computer is on the fritz and he hasn't been able to do his activities that he enjoys on there. He has a horse farm and you know they all need fed, groomed, rode, etc every day. Well, they are being neglected for now and Ryan has had to find other means of play. Hence, all the paper airplanes in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway as well as using the bathroom as a source of creative play.

I guess that's one way of looking at. He was just being creative. It is just a little hair after all. It could have been worse, he could have cut someone else's hair. And it is better than the globs of red icing from a tube that I found in the bathroom a few evenings ago. I thought someone had a massive bloody nose.

Yep, the hair was a little nicer to find than that.

Love,
Dianne

One Husband, Cooked To Perfection

The conversation started with "sandwich spread". Years ago, my mom would make this connection of green tomatoes, onions, peppers and celery; then along with some flour, cornstarch, water and salad dressing, she would can it in a hot water bath. To prove that I wasn't making this up, and that we used to eat sandwiches with just this "sandwich spread" on it, I turned to the old Cherry Glade cookbook.

There on page 72 was the recipe. Then as I flipped through the cookbook, I came across a page that I had seen many times before, but had never really read.

Until now.

"HOW TO COOK A HUSBAND" (taken from "The Bible Friend" August 1979)

Oh my. Oh dear.

I began to read it aloud to my family. I understood the concept of equating "cooking" your husband, to "loving" him in a godly way, but when I got to the part that said "Like crabs and lobsters, husbands are cooked alive.", I lost it.

I laughed until I had tears. I could barely get out the next words.

"They sometimes fly out of the kettle and so become burned and crusty on the edges..." 

Really.

Of course, it did bring up some good points, such as whether I keep my man "constantly in hot water" or if I am freezing him out with "carelessness and indifference". I learned that I should "use no pepper or vinegar on any account", but that "a little sugar in the form of kisses" is certainly recommended.

Another interesting bit of advice was regarding the selecting of a husband. In comparing him to, umm, fish, the suggestion was to "be sure and select him yourself, as tastes differ." Hmmm, that kinda throws blind dates out of the boat, so to speak. Oh, and in the selection process, please remember "It is far better not to have one at all unless you will patiently learn how to cook him." 

Remember the burnt and crusty edges? Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Why didn't I read this before? Like back in 1988 when I got married. It could have saved my poor husband from "sputters".  (Really, I have no idea what that means.) Regardless, the lesson to be learned here is to treat him with kindness, respect, honor, warmth, cheerfulness, and love and he will be "cooked" to perfection. Or at least something like that.

Kinda like whipped cream and strawberries,
or bananas and peanut butter,
ice-cream and hot fudge
or even a baked potato with broccoli.

Different, yet they go so well together as they balance each other out. Delicious.
Maybe, just maybe there is something to this cooking the husband thing after all.

Love,
Dianne


PS. When a husband is not spoiled by mismanagement, he will serve a lifetime of happiness.

Someone Never Forgets My Name

The other day, I found this paper tucked into a pile of Ryan's school papers.

I pictured him, hunched over this paper, tongue tip out at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the task at hand. I bet he was glad we didn't name him Nathaniel, Sebastian, Alejandro, or even Leonardo. Four short letters...Ryan, and yet, he forgot to write them down on a school paper, a test no less. So in hopes of helping him remember, he got to write it twenty times.

Thinking about this, I am thankful, so thankful, that God remembers my name. Always. Even when I forget His, I am never forgotten. Humbled. Awed. Amazed. Sometimes I just need a reminder that in the midst of the cares of this life, big or small, that God is there, always speaking my name.

Not "Hey you" or just simply "You", but He speaks my name and if I am listening, I can hear it.
Sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I don't want to hear what He has to say. I don't want to be obedient in whatever He is asking me to do. I want to just live my life the way I want to live it.

But then, softly I hear, "Dianne". That's all, just my name. I shrug it off, like it was a harmless breeze, but then I hear it again. Just as soft, but somehow, it feels louder. I pause. I sigh. I wait.

Then we talk. Usually I do most of the talking because I feel like I need to catch up on things. As if He doesn't know already, right? But I think He likes to hear me tell Him, to just be open and honest before my God.

Peace, so much peace. The problems, the stresses, the life stuff hasn't gone away. The same worries haven't gone anywhere, but now, I am not alone. There is someone who hasn't forgotten my name.

Love,
Dianne

Answering A Few More

Once upon a time, a very, very, very long time ago, a few of you asked me some questions on Facebook. I haven't forgotten, really I haven't; I just saved them for a time such as this. I don't really know exactly what that time is, but here we go.

From Brenda T., "Where would you most like to visit?"

From Terrie S., "If I could travel to any time period, what would it be? Who would I like to meet?"

From Michelle M., "What is the one place that you would love to travel to and why?"

Since these questions are kinda related, I thought I'd lump them together, more or less. So, to start with, I would like to visit Europe (is that cheating to name an entire continent?), but more specifically Ireland, Scotland, Germany, and Italy. I have always liked history and to me, Europe is history. And I am pretty predictable in that I'd like to visit old chapels, castles, ruins, farmhouses and estates with a few gardens thrown in here and there. Oh, and some sidewalk cafe's with coffee and pastries.

For a time period to travel to, that would probably be the time period of 1890-1915 in the United States.   Newport, Rhode Island would be my destination. The Gilded Age into the Progressive Era. I enjoyed our vacation in Rhode Island a few years ago and our walk around Newport was one of the highlights for me. Seeing the architecture and breathing in the musty scent of history and even mystery that was there was intriguing to say the least. The little bits I had read about the time, the place, and the people make me want to know more, to experience what it was like for them.

I like that life seemed simpler back then too. Whether or not it truly was is up for debate; each time period in history brings its own set of problems and issues, but the romanticized version of it is very appealing. Think Downton Abbey or Anne of Green Gables and you'll know what I mean. I like the manners, the values and ideals that were held to the forefront and wish that life today was a bit more like what I imagine it was like back then.

And besides all that, I love the clothes and hair styles from that time period and would very much enjoy dressing like that for a while. At least until I missed my flannel PJ's or soft, faded jeans, that is.

Who would I like to meet on my travels? Hmmmm, seriously, I don't know for sure. I wouldn't mind meeting Beatrix Potter or Jane Austin. Or how about Rahab from the Bible? Ruth, again from the Bible, would be up there on my list too. I'd like to talk to some of my ancestors from way back when, like a great, great, great, great, great grandmother.

Now, it's 11:47pm and my house is quiet, except for the wind. (Or is that a time machine?) Daylight will be here before I know it and tomorrow is another day. I am off to sleep, maybe dreaming of being in a castle by the sea, sipping tea with Ms. Potter.

Good night,
Dianne

Saturday Smiles

Saturdays are made for sleeping in under rumpled quilts, 

wearing pajamas until noon,

while making French toast topped with fruit and a side of sausage. 

At least, that is what this Saturday was made for. 

Not every Saturday, or nothing would ever get done, but for today, I'm going with it.
Good? Oh yeah.



Trying to eat healthy-ish, I used ground turkey and seasoned it.
It felt like sausage. It smelled like sausage.
They all thought it tasted like sausage.
Winner!

From Taste of Home Comfort Food Diet Cookbook:
Breakfast Patties

2 lbs lean ground turkey     

1 1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp dried sage leaves

1 tsp pepper

1/2 tsp ground ginger

1/2 tsp cayenne pepper

(I added a little Italian seasoning too)                                        

                                                                                   

Crumble turkey in bowl; add seasonings. Shape into patties, whatever size you like! Cook over 

medium heat 4-6 min on each side until no longer pink. Unless you like raw meat. Then I would suggest howling at the moon too.                  

 Nutrition facts: Two 2 1/2 inch patties =85 cal, 5gm fat (1gm sat. fat), 45 mg cholesterol, 275 mg sodium, trace carbs, trace fiber, 10gm protein. Not too bad! 

French Toast a'la The Maust Family

1 loaf whole grain/whole wheat French bread

milk

eggs

creamer (I used some Bailey's White Silk and Spice-kinda had a chai tea taste to me-but I'll bet French Vanilla would taste good. Or Hazelnut. Or White Chocolate Mocha. Hey, I know, just skip the milk and use all creamer.) 

Soak the bread slices. Sizzle on the griddle til nicely browned and toasty. Once on your plate, cover with fruit (whatever you like!); we used peaches, bananas and mandarin oranges this morning. Drizzle on some real maple syrup. Lick your fingers. 

Then, since I used Heather's camera (my batteries were dead...AGAIN!) and I loaded her pictures onto the computer, I couldn't help but browse what all she had taken over the last year. I found a few favorites that just made me smile. 

So here are a few Saturday Smiles for you. I hope your day is blessed!!

Love, Dianne

My Favorite Wife...A Favorite Movie

Settling into the living room with pizza's and soda, I am blessed to be surrounded by my husband, children and a friend. The futon, laid out as a bed, is filled with five of them and the couch holds the rest of us. An old movie, My Favorite Wife (1940), starring Cary Grant and Irene Dunne is soon playing on the television and I am loving every minute of it.

I love old movies. The way they talked was dignified and elegant; not abbreviated and punctuated with like, you know, umm, all the unnecessary, like, words and stuff, ya know what I mean? Refined and polite, but funny, with acting that was good, really good. 

The way they dressed also was refined, with every detail important, but yet appearing effortless. The men wore suits, the ladies wore dresses, heels, and hats. Hats, be still my beating heart. Bedtime meant dressing gowns and robes, but I do have to ask:

Did they really sleep in two separate beds in real life? 
I hope not.

I love how the old movies played orchestrated music, so different from the soundtracks of today, but every bit as amazing. You knew the mood and you knew what you were supposed to feel. In this movie, I liked how when the hotel was paging a gentleman, the pageboy (yes, that was what he was called, and yes, that is what he did!) would walk throughout the rooms calling "paging Mr. Burket" and the music would echo the call exactly. It's funny, but I never really thought about what a pageboy was until tonight. Way better than sending an electronic page I would think.

And how about the hairstyles? Groomed and styled with care and precision. I like to wash and go; even as much as I enjoy that era of the 40's, I don't think I could have, or would have had the patience to get the curls and waves just exactly so. Nor could I don the the shower cap to protect the coiffure.

Ah, the classics. They just don't tell stories like that anymore, or rarely at any rate. Granted, some movies are better and they too are destined to be classics someday, but did you notice how old stories are always showing up in Hollywood? Les Miserables, The Great Gatsby, The Hobbit, Narnia, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women...and the list goes on.

Timeless. Classic. Classy.
Lights, Camera, Action...keep it rolling...

Giving it two thumbs up,
Dianne

Confessions of A Borderline Craftstore Junkie

I am desperately trying to feel as motivated as my daughter who is across the table from me looking up her next semester college books. She just ran up the steps singing "Hallelujah". Apparently she already has a book that is required.

Cha-ching. Money saved. $150.00 to be precise.

Money saved. What a lovely phrase.

For me though, it feels like a lovely dream and not reality. From mistakes and stupid judgement calls over the years, we are in debt. I know we aren't alone in this, but sometimes it feels like all the eyes are on me, making me feel like an idiot. An idiot with a checkbook and credit card.

In reality it is probably only my own eyes looking at me, telling me that. But, boy oh boy, do I ever listen! Let me be the first to say that it is not helpful. It is not encouraging. It is most definitely not inspiring.

For the past six months, I have been working two jobs, trying to get old bills paid off forever. I have made progress and I do have a few bills that are paid. YES!! Cha-ching. But...

There's always a "but" isn't there?

...but, then the car(s) break down, the teeth need fixed, and we don't have money set aside, just waiting to be used in moments such as this. It would be easy to get into a depressed state here, but...

But...
     ~today is a new day and I can save a dollar today.
     ~I do have bills that are paid forever and if they weren't, life would be a lot tougher.
     ~I am learning how to spend differently and better.
     ~I am now accountable to you who read this.

Accountability. Kind of a math-ish sounding word, so for me, a little intimidating. What does it mean, really? I guess by putting my debt issues out there for all to see, it is a motivation to keep working on it, to keep working towards my goals. When I know that someone else knows, and they see me at Michaels, loading up my cart, I will be reminded of my goal to be debt-free.

Speaking of Michaels (you know, the Arts and Crafts store), this store is an addiction. Scrapbook supplies, beads, paper, yarn, stamps, glue.....oh my. After a crazy night at work, or a stressful time anywhere, I get this irresistible urge to go shopping. JoAnn's is good too. Or Hobby Lobby. I think I could be a borderline shopping addict. Somehow, I think that buying a book, purchasing a CD, a new fabric or a new scrapbook supply will make it all better.

But it doesn't, at least not much and not for long.
Self-control is needed here. Not just that, but when I have an empty place that needs filled, I need to go to God, not a shopping cart. (And yes Dianne, that means the on-line carts too. Stop looking for loopholes.) 

My Today Resolution: Look to God to fill the emptiness, not things, or the pleasure in unearthing a great sale. Be accountable. Be open. Be vulnerable. Be real. 

Thank you, my friends, for listening. You are the best.
Maybe I'll go run up the stairs singing "Hallelujah".

Love,
Dianne

Pet Peeve, Pique, Bother and Bug

Pet Peeve. Really what is a "pet peeve"?
Here's what I think.
A pet is generally something you like and want to keep.
A peeve is, well, what exactly is a peeve?


Definition of PEEVE (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/peeve)
1: a feeling or mood of resentment
2: a particular grievance or source of aggravation

Synonyms: aggravate, annoy, bother, bug, burn (up), chafe, eat, exasperate, frost, gall, get, grate, gripe, hack (off), irk, itch, nark [British], nettle, irritate, persecute, pique, put out, rasp, rile, ruffle, spite, vex

So, what do you say to a pet irk, pet pique, or even a pet nettle? 
Really, a pet peeve then, would be something that annoys you just enough but yet you want to hang onto it because...why?

I think it is so we (I) have something to complain, gripe or vex about. So we (I) can feel justified somehow that life annoys me and I am allowed to be grumpy about it. For instance, here's just a few
pet narks of mine:

1.) People chewing too loud, too much, too hard, too close to me.
2.) When people, aka family members, dig when looking for something. Unless it is buried in the dirt, sand or snow, there is no reason to dig.
3.) People driving too slow when there is no obvious reason to be poking along.
4.) People driving too fast when there is no obvious reason to be breaking a sound barrier.

Now, as anyone can see, I have pet peeves. I sometimes like to complain about them. I treat them like little pets, giving them attention, feeding them so they become even larger.

"Hi, my name is Dianne and I am a pet peeve owner."

BUT, is this how I want to be remembered? As a person who complained about petty things? As a woman who couldn't just let it go? As a person who allowed her pet peeves to have her on a leash?
Amy and I were talking about it this evening. The idea of what we put on our tombstone someday came up. I would like mine to have something on it that represented who I was. Believe me when I say, the last thing I would want is for my epitaph to say, "Please, don't dig." I think the time has come for me to change my words. 


Ephesians 4:29
New International Version (NIV)
29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.


Philippians 2:14-16
New International Version (NIV)
14 Do everything without grumbling or arguing, 15 so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.”[a] Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky 16 as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain.



Love,
Dianne

Poetry in Lack of Motion

To be rescued five times in a week is quite humbling.

If only my car had not been so bumbling.

Not only Car 1, but Car 2 as well,

left me sitting and thus begins this sad tale.  

It all started with Scarlet, my lovely red Subaru,

seems she loves oil, not just in one quart, but two.

Or was that three or even four she was guzzling, 

that is, my friend, until this past Monday. 

That's when she sputtered and started to hack,

and left me stranded at the Cove Overlook.

Rescue number one was led by my mother

who took me to oil to fill up my poor Scarlet. 

We cranked up the engine, we whispered a prayer,

and Scarlet soon growled like a bear. 

Albeit how feeble was that mournful grumble,

I still took a chance and off we did rumble.

I was feeling quite hopeful, even a bit cheery,

but it wasn't too long 'til the situation turned dreary. 

I'd only gone eight miles you see

before Scarlet shuddered and I pulled the key.

My sister Roxie came to my rescue; 

(if you are counting, that's Rescue Number Two),

Letting me borrow her car to finish my quest 

Could I even begin to express how much I was blessed? 

Leo was called and to him I did whine

About the plight of myself and this poor car of mine. 

He came to my rescue with tools and a tow truck,

and hence my knight did rescue this damsel now stuck.

That was Rescue Number Three, and we headed for the home door,

when I got Car 2 backed up in a large drift of snow.

Leo came to my Rescue (remember this was Number Four),

with a shove from his tractor and a mighty heave-ho.

Then I zoomed off to work night shift, me and my old car;

"Morning Glory" as I call her would get the job done.

At least, so I thought, until morning arrived;

Her tire was flat and this was no fun.

Leo again was my hero, my handyman knight 

He pumped up my tire and oh, what a sight.

How resourceful, how manly, how unselfish and sweet.

Rescue Number Five now was complete. 

The moral of my tale, I really don't know,

except to keep your car oiled,

and your snowplow quite handy,

have a spare tire ready with the jack in the trunk,

and maybe join Triple A before your car goes clunk, clunk.

That's all Folks!

Love, Dianne 

PS: This is what happens when you don't sleep after night shift...poetry. Or such as it is. 

Christmas in The Cove Part II

Christmas with my family is over for another year. To that I say, "Onward and upward into 2013!"
Spending time with my parents and sisters on Sunday was a good way to end out a year and catapult me into the next. Here is a few reasons why:

1.) I (as we all did) ate too much of my mom's delicious, down-to-earth, honest-to-goodness Mennonite
      home cooking.
Goal for 2013: Exercise more, so I can eat more. Oh, it doesn't work that way? Well, it should. 

2.) We played games and it was actually fun. I had forgotten what playing games was like.
Goal for 2013: Take the time to play a game or two with my crew. All work and no play makes for a grouchy mother bear. We don't want to go there again. 

3.) Hearing my dad read from Luke 2...always a treasured memory. Also having him say the dinner
      blessing and praying for our family.
Goal for 2013: Don't stop with Luke 2. Keep reading. Keep praying, aloud with my own children.

4.) We slept on floors and couches, air mattresses and body pillows. We even survived.
Goal for 2013: Go camping, at least once, with all of us crammed into a tent, or a cabin with friendly little mice for company. Not that my parent's had mice or anything. 

And with that, here's just a few more pictures to share...

Leo, Amy and my sister Roxie before the great present unwrapping moments occurred.

My sister Valerie, her hubby Eric and Samuel along with the dog, Chloe.

Sister Kim, Mom, sister Roxie and Dad;
These are the ones that did not brave the hill on sled.
Next year...there's always next year.
Be afraid, very afraid,
and pray for rain.

Getting advice?

Personally, I think they were exchanging recipes.

My Mama, listening to my Dad read from the Bible, Luke 2

Ryan, my pajama boy, listening and waiting.

Amy

Aaron 'n Lisa-Anna (hiding her face).
She can hide, but I will get her later...

Gotcha!

Playing a European Travel by Train game (or something like that).
Amy won, I came in fourth.
Okay, okay it was completely last place, but "fourth" sounds better.

Onward and Upward 2013!
Love, Dianne