Let Us Give Thanks!!

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good,

For His lovingkindness is everlasting….

Who gives food to all flesh,

For His lovingkindness is everlasting.

~Psalm 136:1;25

Our camera’s days are numbered, despite this I thought I’d share a few blurred photos of our day.

First was preparation!

We have a long-held tradition of relish trays.

Yes, we have turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie too. But the relish tray is just as vital in our traditional celebration of Thanksgiving as any of these.

What’s this I see? MORE pies?!

We give thanks for family….

…and new friends!!

The guys watched football and joked around.

Ok, I’ll admit my ds H and I were in that group as well.

While the adults had a jolly good time visiting in the next room.

To hear all the stories and reminiscing…now that’s something special!

Nothing like side-splitting laughter after a side-splitting meal! =)

Our centerpiece. Plan, but we like it that way…leaves more room for the food. =)

The tableware.

Not only appropriate, but also makes for an easy clean up.

The puppies had a good time as well.

Aww…how sweet! They’re hugging….with their teeth…*wince*

How ’bout a nice, rousing game of ‘Chase the Boomer’?

I think he got away…that time.

Meanwhile, some hardworking people took the opportunity to take naps.

Eventually we all made it into the living room to watch the Cowboys.

What a blessed day!

And after the company left the day was finished off with a puzzle, pumpkin pie and peanut butter chocolate truffles, and a viewing of The Patriot.

The rest of the weekend was relaxed. But as I’ve said before, our camera is on its way out, so there are no pictures to share of that.  There was some Christmas decorating, intense puzzle building, and on Saturday our collage football team played their rival. It was an amazing and dynamic game, we could hardly contain ourselves! And to top it off our team won! Yes, it was a good weekend.

I hope yours was as blessed and happy as ours was, wherever you where!

 

A Dozen Autumn Blessings

I thought I’d share  my top twelve favorite things about Autumn in a short post.

So, here they are, in no particular order.

Turning leaves

Crisp air

Golden fields

Walks, with friends and animal companions

Pumpkins

Road trips with girl friends and family

Camping adventures

Mud-splashing

Football….High-school and Collage…

Cider

Scented candles

Thanksgiving

And so I’ll leave you with one of my favorite fall photos…..Happy Thanksgiving!

 

I Confess…

….I am not Mrs. Beeton or Martha Stewart.

If I were, then the title of this post would be something like “How to make and apply Milk-paint.” But since I am not it would warrant a title more like “What NOT to do on a Saturday”. I do not stay at home because I’m some domestic goddess. I stay home to learn the so-called “easy” secrets to homemaking and educating. Almost three years of it might make you think I have it covered, but I don’t.  As my grandmother once said, “If there’s [anything] to trip on around, you’d be the one to find it.” (and no, she did not tell me this when I was a tot, or a clumsy adolescent, but just two months ago.).

So, let me enlighten you on last weekends “Milk-paint Project.”

I’ve had four crates which I have been meaning to paint and use. I heard of a milk-paint recipe which is supposedly cheaper and more eco-friendly. And really, how could I pass up the opportunity of making my own paint? Martha wouldn’t.

And so, I purchase the colors and the milk. And the Friday night before last I set the milk out to sour, step one. A bit of lemon juice was to help with this task. It was imperative that it be used within a twenty-four hour period, so I was unable to go four hours south with my sister to pick up her new “kids”.

The next step was to “strain the curdles from the whey”  (Immediately I was reminded of Miss Muffet….I’ve never seen ‘curdles’ or ‘whey’ before)

Ok, so I strained it through. Where are the curdles? Where’s Martha when you need her? A sudden thought, it probably doesn’t matter, so just skip that step….on to the paint mixing.

Step 3: stir in a few drops of color pigment, or acrylic paint (where we live pigment isn’t found)

I chose yellow, a nice sunny color for the winter.

“Drops” of acrylic paint, she said? Try over half a tube. Still not too yellowish, but it’ll do.

Next comes applying the paint.

Smells sour, but go figure…it’s sour milk.

It went on thinner than I anticipated. Time to do it my own way and just apply the acrylic straight to the crate.

And then, while it the first coat dries, I decided that a little art on the side of it would be just the thing.

So I head inside to check on stencils.

Then there’s the last step, step five: Poison your brother’s dog.

See that little bugger? You’ve heard of him from this post, his name is Strider.

Dark and mysterious, he also is the head honcho as of July. And that means he gets first dibs on everything.

So, I come out of the house from looking for stencils (none to be found, by-the-way) to find him finishing up my milk. That is, my milk paint. Though there was a thick layer of acrylic on the bottom of the bucket (no wonder it wasn’t that yellow!).

I called Mom and of course her advice is to call Dad and the vet. I called Dad, who confirmed that I had, indeed, poisoned the dog. On my way to call the vet I broke the news to my brother.
He took it surprisingly well…all things considered…

No vet would answer (super!) and that dog just ran around, extremely pleased with himself. I began to doubt he’d die, I mean, just like him to spite us all and live. But then the guilt set in, just over a year ago my brother paid big bucks to keep that dog alive.

And so I did what any normal, nervous home-maker-want-to-be would do. I began chopping up supper. With a big knife..not very therapeutic.  Then our vet student came to our (and to the dinner’s) rescue , and called us. He told us what to do, much to my relief.

And so that was it with the painting. I got one thin coat on ONE of my crates and fed the rest to the dog. I could kill him for all the time it took….then again, I almost DID kill him.

Why can’t I manage to get those “simple” things done right?

And just in case you didn’t catch it, the dog is fine and well. The cheeky little blighter!

 

This week I’ve been thinking…not that thinking is unusual.
But I’ve been thinking about the fundamentals, the core of who I am becoming and what I believe. And I realize it’s so interlaced together that if I pulled one stick from the wood pile the rest would come tumbling down. Let me change that, not just any stick, but a fundamental stick. A log.
I am seeing that so much of what I do, and the important choices I make, are based in my core belief of God, His Word, and His will. For no normal person would it make any sense to do what I do. And what I do is completely pointless if there is no God and His Word isn’t true.

All my stakes are on that. It sounds pretty high risk, but it’s the only risk worth taking.

The main complaint I hear about Christians is that they are pretty much like the rest of the world, nothing so special about them… But, if the main accusation against Christians is that they are like anyone else and therefore their faith is invalid, would not living life differently, according to God’s Word, make it valid?

 

All this just to let you know why I’m weird. Why what I do seems bizarre, crazy. And I would agree that what I do would be crazy…if not for God.

I do not believe what I believe because of what I do. I do what I do because of what I believe.

 

Yes, it’s just as simple as that.

 

“”Even so faith, if it has no works, is dead, being by itself.”

James 2:17

 

Everyone Should Have One

See her?

This is my cat, Joyce. Take a closer look, you’ve seen her before.

Unbeknowst to her, her life is about to be disrupted. But I’ll leave that for a different post.

~*~*~

It’s been about a year. A year of grace.

You see, almost a year to the date I had to bring her into the vet. Because a she had broken her leg. Big deal, you say. Yes it was, I say.

She was 16 1/2 years of age. That’s pretty old for a cat, especially an outside cat. Though I’ll admit, it’s not like she hunts much. And why should she? She’s retired.                                                                                                                                                          This break looked petty bad to me. Going into the vet I had to determine beforehand how much I would or would not pay. That was pretty difficult, but I knew if I didn’t I would spend my last dime trying to fix her. I was also nervous because I was bringing her to a new vet (who is AMAZING by the way!). The vet did her thing and we found out that the break was, indeed, a bad break. Not only was it in a place nigh impossible to set, but being an old cat (as said before) the healing would be slow at best. And her leg could rot off if left in the cast too long…..Did I mention this is PG? Sorry ’bout that if you suddenly had to make a mad dash from your screens.

The amazing vet decided we’d give it a try anyway and, as soon as possible, had Joyce in a cute blue cast. Super cute, I mean I thought about keeping it for an Accessory. =) In this cast my Joyce stomped around like a peg-leg pirate. Defying our expectations and getting herself to wherever she need or wanted. Have you ever seen a three-legged ancient cat claw her way up a rather tall bed? I did. She’s pretty amazing if I do say so myself.

I understand how this all might seem like small potatoes, but believe me when I say it wasn’t. It was in January that she had her second cast removed…permanently.  And she’s been doing fine ever since. Though I do hear her leg creak from time to time. The vet said she’d have to be an indoor cat for the rest of her life, and shouldn’t do any climbing. I’ve done my best to keep her from climbing, which isn’t much since she mainly sleeps anyway. As for “an indoor cat”, that went out the window when summer came. As the days get colder she has found refuge in the house, but she doesn’t have great bladder control. For going on 18 (which might as well be 84+) she’s doing pretty well. I mean, she’s half deaf and half blind, but she’s loved. Which makes her a necessity.

So looking back to last winter all I can see is God’s grace.

I know she’s just a cat, but she’s my cat.

“To some blind souls all cats are much alike. To a cat lover every cat from the beginning of time has been utterly and amazingly unique.”

~Jenny De Vries

 

Standing Out Against the Gray

“Therefore, COME OUT FROM THEIR MIDST AND BE SEPARATE,” says the Lord.

“And ‘Do not touch what is unclean’; And I WILL WELCOME YOU.

And I will be a father to you, And you shall be sons and daughters to Me,”

Says the Lord Almighty.

~ 2 Corinthians 6:17-18

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Gray – 1. Of or relating to an achromatic color of any lightness between the extremes of black and white.

2. prosaically ordinary.
3. having an intermediate and often vaguely defined position, condition, or character.

 

No more gray, no more sitting on fences. You decide what you believe and what you do not. You decide who you are going to be….I hope you decide to stand out against the gray.

 

 

Every Year…

“November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year.” said Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the frost-bitten garden.

“That’s the reason I was born in it,” observed Jo pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose. ~ Little Women

 

 

During the few days before turning a significant age some people, sane and philosophical people, sit in Barnes and Noble, drinking coffee (or coke zero,- your choice) whilst writing deep words of thought on their blogs.

And then others of us forget what day our birthday is on, forget to order their special birthday dinner, and then run off a gravel road while going 40 mph in a 40 mph speed limit area (We don’t care about our age….well, yes we do.). We do this because there are only a few more days left in our lifetime in which this type of behavior can be forgiven. After all, e are just adolescents. But hit Twenty-One and oh-no! You forget that date, you run off the road, and  you are charged with becoming senile (it all goes down hill from here…).  So, right now, I’ll claim the responsibility. Hey, I knew I should have slowed down! But I won’t claim insanity….wait, maybe I should…

What’s really funny, but not that funny, is that hardly any of those “others of us” has the joy of, when calling home for a  brother (as in not brotherS), being rescued by the brother and three others. Making it three guys to do that hard muscle work and say “Hey, how’d ya park it like that?” when you know that you’re taking up their morning hours. To who you can say “I told you I could fly”, and they don’t, even if they’re thinking it, say “Look what you’ve done, stupid!” Three brothers, who are totally awesome. And a sister there to say, “You didn’t try getting it out by yourself, did you?” and give a hug if an emotional brake-down is on the agenda.

If you ever find yourself in a situation where you are about to fishtail off the road, take your foot off the accelerator. And DO not apply the brakes. Above all, don’t go over 30 mph on a gravel road under any circumstance, I don’t care if you’re about to be late for the President’s Birthday Party. Those are my few, well seasoned, words of advice.

One sure-fire way to prove to your parents that you are a responsible, level-headed adult? Show them how you can fishtail and park the car on the OTHER side of the ditch.

“The Lord’s lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; Great is YOUR faithfulness.” ~Lamentations 3:22-23

 

Word for October

Thought I had forgotten, eh? Or perhaps you were hoping I had forgotten…or better yet YOU were the one who had forgotten. But alas, I have not. And if you have, well then, I’ve just reminded you. You can’t escape it, hah! It makes me feel so powerful….powerfully illiterate. And slightly depressed that you could use a vast number of words inappropriately and no one would catch on….or the few that actually do don’t catch the humor in it.  Trust me, laughing solo isn’t so much fun. Though it can be pretty funny to the onlookers. Enough with that, here is (drumroll, please) our WORD!

Facetious - 1.Joking or jesting often inappropriately : waggish
2 : meant to be humorous or funny : not serious, as in “a facetious remark”.                                           3. lacking serious intent; concerned with something nonessential, amusing, or frivolous: a facetious person.

Have a great weekend! Good-bye October!

 

Oatmeal and Milk? No, It’s Not Breakfast!

I’m taking a cue from Christine and going to post something that involves hands-on activity….

Alright, it’s actually a documentary of an hands-on activity.

Oatmilk Face Wash

In the blender -…because our food processor come to an untimely demise several months ago. A particular someone (who shall remain nameless) went to process something and found a spider in the bowl. Spider, bowl, and blade went whizzing through the air, powered by the terrified scream emitted by the particular nameless someone. The spider and blade survived being dashed to the ground, but the bowl did not…- (did my rabbit-trail confuse you?) combine the ingredients.

“Ingredients” being oatmeal and milk, in 1:1 proportions. Blend it, or process it, until it is fairly smooth. It’s supposed to help exfoliate, not scrape off your face, so make sure that the oatmeal pieces are small enough. I hear other people add other things as well, like certain herbs and flaxseed. But I didn’t want to be to fancy….or run to the supermarket.

Find a nice jar to put it all in. Make sure it’s big enough (or small enough!) and clean (Really, does it make sense to put face wash in a dirty jar, anyone? It’s not soap, it’s not going to clean the jar.).  Use a one-size-too-small funnel to pour the oatmilk face wash into the clean jar. After shaking it and giving it a serious talking to, change method of input…

I found a homemade paper funnel very satisfactory….just make sure it’s clean. Do NOT however, attempt to wash it… that’s never panned out well for me.

My goodness! Who made this mess? I suppose I just have a knack for it….it creates the illusion that I’m more involved in whatever I’m doing. Plus, it’s like a billboard…”KATTYRAE WAS HERE”.

Once you have poured the contents of the blender into your jar, just seal it and viola!

You have your very own Oatmilk face wash, at your service! To use pour a little bit onto your palm and add a few drops of water until is reaches desired consistency (hey, sounds like a real recipe or something). Then rub on your face like any other normal face wash and rinse. Not hard at all. Plus it’ll save you loads of money…I hear that the cosmetics industry is into the billions….kinda lets you know what people value these days. I’ve only started using this face wash this week, so I’ll let you know how it works out for me.

 

And They Were Two

A Week’s Worth of Thought

For the past few months I have been calling them the gaunt girls, but they weren’t always gaunt.  Gauntness came with time and, as with everything, so did age.  Minnie and Ruby are their names.

These two, out of the six horses who live on our farm, get fed two to three times a day.

And when you whistle their song all six pairs of ears perk up. The two girls have certainly grown mild with age, now they gently walk towards you instead of rushing upon you with a dramatic and fearful effect. Once their strength was intimidating, now they are led like lambs.

They really were different once,…once they seemed invulnerable, a constant equine presence.

Minnie’s name wasn’t really Minnie…I think it was Mary at first. My Uncle, who played polo, got her from friend of his who also played polo. Then she had problems, I don’t know what. All I know is that roughly ten years ago we picked her up from the vet school so that she could live in retirement with us. I remember the gross gruel like substance we had to feed her, and the pills we had to crush up for her.

But the first horse to come to our farm was Ruby.

She came from my uncle’s polo stable, she had to retire due to an injury to her right eye which pretty much rendered her  blind in that optic. But before her days as a polo horse she was a race horse, and did she love to run!

Our Uncle had brought her to us before Christmas. But it wasn’t until Christmas morning, when we found a shining saddle in our living room, that I knew she was ours to keep. She was soon joined by a horse of our very own, one we bought, and then her friend from the polo stable, Minnie.

I don’t remember when, but one week my elder brother and Dad went out-of-town and they let me feed the horses while they were away. I loved that job, it was the most exciting part of my day, and they let me continue to do it after several more trips. I can’t remember how long, if it was just for the summer or for a few years, but in my memory it was longer. Long enough that certain smells and sights stir up those memories. Long enough to form habits with the horses, and for them to form habits with me.

When you brushed Ruby’s hair you didn’t want to stop because it shined, it blazed. One of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever seen is the moment when the horses would be released from the corral into the open pasture just as the sun was hitting those few golden minutes before setting. They would run out in full glory. Ruby’s coat would catch light, and like fire she would blaze across the pasture. I always planned to get a photo of that some day… But now she’s faded, still some of that old glory lingers in her red main. Some what like old dreams. They fade, but their memories still linger in an old glory. My brothers are the caretakers for the horses now, but this past week I went back to my old habit. I went out in the cold to feed them, and what I thought I would find hard came back easily…like an old habit.

The other day, I brushed out her coat, put on the halter that I got for my birthday -when I was a little girl and dreamed of being a cowgirl-, and brought her out into the yard for some of that greener grass on the other side. First two days of this and she loved it, on the second day she actually came running up to me, I was optimistic. But by third day she didn’t eat anything, perhaps this grass was not so green after all.  And then, that magical time before sunset came. Through the barn shot shafts of golden light and for a little while old, worn-out Ruby was once more a burning ruby.

When I led her out of the corral and released her, she didn’t run, she didn’t blaze. She just stood still, benign and tired, waiting for life to pass her by.

There, in the pasture, she was a faded Ruby, while the sun blazed alone.

*This post has been a week in the making, sorry for the delay. And now, since Monday 19th of October, it is in memory of Ruby.