Thinking about it…

We arrived at the Eugene airport around midnight Tucson time last Monday, then drove the one and a half hours home through a deep dark fog, barely missing a large buck and two does.  It was good to be home, but already I missed the warm sunshine and spectacular sunsets of Arizona.  My husband’s family has a reunion each year, usually January or February, in Tucson where his parents and one of his brothers live.  It’s the perfect place to be when it’s cold or raining here.  The reunion this year included four generations.  My husband’s two daughters and their husband/fiance were there…along with little Mason.  The great-grandparents met six-month old Mason for the first time and fell in love with him. 

One day, we visited Tubac…a neat little Arizona town in the Santa Cruz River valley with high-end, quaint artisan shops, restaurants and scattered horse ranches.  I would love to have found a small house for sale in Tubac and decorated it with the handmade furniture I found in the shops there.  Just dreaming, of course, and then I would only spend time in my dream cottage during the winter!

We spent one fun day at my brother & sister-in-law’s ranch, located about an hour from Tucson, at about 5,000′ altitude in the mountains and about 50 miles from Mexico.  (I’ve never been to Mexico, so maybe next year, we’ll venture to Nogales.)   The views surrounding their house and barn are spectacular…mountains on all sides.  My sister-in-law had slow-cooked a large roast the night before, and she used the delicious pulled beef to make some outstanding beef enchiladas which we thoroughly enjoyed.  They have three horses there…one of which is a retired racing horse who is living out his days there on the ranch.  He is only “jockey-broke” and basically came with a disclaimer to ride at your own risk.  Needless to say, he is living peacefully…riderless.  It had been snowing for days before we arrived and was muddy, but I still ventured out to the barn.  Since it is always windy and cool on the ranch, we went prepared with jackets.   

a view from the ranch windows...

View of the back of the ranch house from the horse barn...using a zoom lens.

The brothers played cards several afternoons and we three girls (sisters-in-law) took advantage of that time to go shopping.  Tucson has great shopping choices!  One afternoon, I was feeling particularly tired of my hair and, on a whim, had it cut at the mall there.  My sister-in-law commented that I was so BRAVE to do that (read IMPULSIVE here)!   The next day, I decided the bottom layer wasn’t short enough and proceeded to trim it (with the macho logger tree farmer’s help)!  Then one day this past week, I had my hair dresser here straighten it all up and am now, officially, growing it out again!  And, no, I’m not going to post a picture of me with my too short hair.  Thank God, hair grows and mine grows fast.

It was a good vacation in Tucson, but I must say we missed my sister-in-law from Pennsylvania and Jim’s other brother.  She’s fighting cancer right now.  I’m praying earnestly that she wins this battle soon and that they can be there at the next reunion.  Jim’s parents are in their late eighties and not in good health, so each reunion is special.  We’ll look forward to next year when, hopefully, everyone can be there…

The morning will find us boarding a plane for the sunny skies of the Southwest. I never dreamed that I would like the desert, but I do. It is a unique, amazing place. I hope to return to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum for another look at the extraordinary sights and creatures there. The last time we were there, I got a firsthand look at a havelina family, but unfortunately did not have my camera with me! I will this time! 

My macho logger tree farmer grew up in Arizona and went to college there, so it’s very much coming home for him. His parents and brother still live there, so it is a great time for a family reunion.  His daughters and spouse/fiance will meet us there and, of course, beautiful blue-eyed Mason! 

Although I won’t have internet access while we’re there, it will be a fun ten days and I hope to return with lots of pictures and tales of Tucson…

I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee.  I’ve lived in the Midwest and now in the Pacific Northwest, but Memphis will always be home.  My roots are there. 

We were living in Memphis on April 4, 1968…the day Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated.  We were a young couple expecting our first child living in a small apartment on Jackson Avenue.  Little did we know that morning that evil lurked in the heart of a man in downtown Memphis.  Like many sheltered and protected young people, we had not seen, firsthand, such bare hatred and ugliness. 

Along with the rest of the nation, we were in shock when we heard the news…appalled…sickened.  There would be other times in years to come in this land that hatred and prejudice would show their ugly heads and lives would be ruthlessly taken, but that was later and this was here and now.  I close my eyes and try to remember that week.  Mostly, I remember the upheaval…the sadness…the tragedy of it all.  I remember it being a time of FEAR and discord for everyone, regardless of race.

On a recent trip to the Midwest, I had an enlightening experience.  I was on a small aircraft with one flight attendant and two distinct sections of the plane:  first class and coach.  I was in coach.  She made the announcement that if we (coach) NEEDED anything to let her know, otherwise there would not be a beverage service (for us) on that flight.  I was sitting on the second row of coach and had a “front row seat” for the show.  She totally catered to first class…warm towels, beverages, nice snacks, etc.  The lights were out in coach.  The gentleman sitting across the aisle from me remarked that he had never seen this before.  Neither had I and it made me mad.  It hurt my feelings.  I had paid the ridiculous airfare also!  The Holy Spirit used this for a teaching moment.  He reminded me of all those people who’d spent years at the back of the bus or subjected to even worse treatment.  He said this is how it felt.  It hit home.

Today is Martin Luther King Jr Day here in the United States as it is celebrated near the date of his birth (January 15).  I’ve listened to several of his speeches and am always moved.  My favorite is “I Have A Dream”.  I have to ask myself what I would have done if I’d been born in different circumstances.  

I don’t have all the answers…barely any…for how to eradicate prejudice. Prejudice is everywhere, and it isn’t always about race. I still have my moments, as everyone does, but I fight it. Personally, I think our Heavenly Father sees us through a very special lens…the blood of His Son. If we are believers, then we’re all the same color – whatever that is. It will be interesting to see when we get to Heaven…

Note: Remember to scroll down and PAUSE the blog playlist music before you listen to the speech.

He looked to be twenty at the most…tall, lean and physically fit.  Dressed in his army fatigues and boots, he was standing next to me on the tram in the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport.  The doors of the tram closed as the last of the passengers stepped aboard.  The two of us held on tightly to the same pole as the tram surged to move swiftly to the next concourse. 

He looked nervous or maybe it was anxious.  I smiled at him.  I’m the mother of one daughter and two sons, and my heart went out to him.  He said this was his first time to fly through Minneapolis, and he hoped he was on the right tram.  I asked him where he was going.  He said he was headed “home” to Oregon for a thirty day Christmas leave.  Somehow, I knew what he was going to say next, and my eyes began to fill.  I couldn’t help it.  “Iraq”, he said.  “I’m going to Iraq after the thirty days”.

I’m not a political expert.  I’m certainly no good at strategy or saving the world from demons or terrorists, but I will tell you this.  I wanted to hug that young man.  I really did.  I knew that, in thirty days, his life would be on the line somewhere in Iraq.  He and so many young women and men like him would be fighting my battle…yours and mine.  They would be doing whatever it took to bring a measure of peace to Iraq and the rest of the free world.

What’s your name, I asked.  “John”, he replied.  “My name is John”.

In that moment, the tram stopped at my destination and the doors opened.  I smiled at him and promised him that I would pray for him.  He smiled and thanked me.  The tram doors closed behind me and John moved on to his destination.

I spent Christmas in the Midwest with my family.  I thought of John from time to time, but felt good knowing he was with his family in Oregon.  For the past few days, John has been on my mind a lot.  The thirty days are over.  I pray for him as I promised him I would.  I pray for safety for him and his fellow soldiers.  I pray for rest and nourishment.  I pray that the time passes quickly for them.  Most of all, I pray that John doesn’t have to give that last full measure of devotion to his country and that he lives to return home to Oregon…

Note:  The photos above are public domain and are from this site.

My precious little Ethiopian grandson just turned one year old on January 12th.  With those tight little curls, big brown eyes and dimples, he captures hearts quickly.  My daughter says that everywhere they go, they quickly gather a crowd.  He is a happy baby and a beautiful addition to the family.  How blessed we are to have him!

You can follow along with all the excitement in the family on my daughter’s adoption blog… 

Fried apples have always ranked up there with fried green tomatoes, fried okra and Southern fried chicken.  Mention fried apples and the memories come flooding in…just can’t help it.  I remember the old days at the Cracker Barrel and ordering a side of fried apples to go with the turnip greens, pinto beans and hot corn bread.  It was one of our family favorites… 

My daughter makes the best fried apples.  This would be the beautiful daughter who was our little tomboy.  She loved the outdoors (still does).  She loved to run (still does), jump hurdles (was really good at it) and play basketball.  Although she certainly did her share of helping out, she couldn’t be bothered to spend much time in the kitchen.  She once said, “Mom, when the time is right, I’ll learn to cook” and that she did indeed. 

During a recent visit to my daughter’s in the Midwest, I was determined to learn how she made those delicious fried apples.  First of all, she got out the Pampered Chef apple peeler/corer/slicer which makes really thin sliced apples.  As I’ve mentioned in an earlier post, I’m usually too lazy to dig it out and wash it after I’m finished, so I usually just use a knife.  However, this might just be one of the secrets.  You can tell by the pic below that the chunks I’ve used are much too large.  Hmmm…maybe I should get out the thingamajig.

Next, she melts some butter in a large skillet (not enough for the apples to swim in it, of course, but enough that they don’t stick).  She layers those apples into the butter and then sprinkles sugar and the secret ingredient….

I have my doubts that I’ll be able to find this secret ingredient here in the Pacific Northwest but I will definitely look.  It’s Cinnamon Maple sprinkle by Tone’s, and it’s wonderful!  I’ve tried this dish with it and without it…and it’s so much better with it!  If you can’t find it locally, just click on the link and order it.  It’s also great on french toast, oatmeal and pork chops.  I brought some back with me from my last trip to the Midwest but will definitely order when I run out…it’s that good.

The handsome macho logger tree farmer and I were married in a Scottish wedding ceremony (complete with bagpipes) almost three years ago.  You’ve, no doubt, heard the expression “opposites attract”?  It’s true.  

After the wedding, I moved to this farmhouse, which sits in the midst of a conifer tree farm in the Callahan Mountains.  Although I had been living in the Midwest when we met, my roots are Southern.  Definitely Southern.

One of my daughter’s biggest concerns about the marriage, besides the fact that I was going to be so far away, was that I would be living “in another woman’s house”.  A house that Jim and his late wife had designed and built about eight years ago.  He was gracious, however, and encouraged me to make any changes that would make this house feel more like home to me.

In the beginning, I made only a few changes, definitely nothing major.  The 8′ wide front porch extends all the way across the house.  I thought that might be the perfect place to start with some Southern touches.  I removed the two lawn chairs.  I added pots of flowers, four white wood rocking chairs and a porch swing.  If you didn’t take the mountain view into consideration, the house now looked like it could be sitting in the Mississippi Delta.  It was a start.  

I purchased new bedding, bought Waverly fabric for new window treatments (I confess still works in progress) and found a new sleigh bed for the master bedroom to go with my Lexington Shaker bedroom furniture.  Slowly, the house began to feel a little more like home. 

Unfortunately, there were two objects standing in the way of any real progress.  They were very large and covered in a burgundy ultrasuede:   a Lazyboy “bigboy” recliner and a Lazyboy reclining “bigboy” sofa.  When I sat in either one and pushed my back against the back of the seat, my feet were at least 14″ from the floor.  If my feet touched the floor, then I was sitting on the edge of my seat, literally.  Granted, the furniture had been purchased for two people who were much taller than I am at 5′3″.  The “bigboy” recliner was a rocker, recliner, swivel chair and took up a lot of room.  If you happen to brush against it walking by, it spun.  That annoyed the heck out of me.  Regardless of what I tried to do to improve the room, the bigboy furniture remained.

Two and a half years later, the day finally came that we headed out to do some serious furniture shopping.  This was going to be fun.  The macho logger tree farmer got about 20′ inside the door of the first furniture store and said, “that one, that one and that one”.  Hmmm….this was not going to be easy.  It was obvious what he had in mind.  By the time we made it to the front door of the second furniture store, he was tired of shopping.  He made one quick trip around the periphery of the store and sat down in a comfortable chair by the front door.  I made the only rational decision I could at that point.  I took him home. 

I began to think about “the look” I wanted to accomplish and what things I should take into consideration.  For example, the house is situated in the mountains with all sorts of wildlife who venture out mostly at night (thankfully), including bear, lots of deer, occasional elk, cougar and bobcat.  There is a beautiful floor to cathedral ceiling stone fireplace which I like very much.  There is barnwood on one wall (not too crazy about) and a large antique which Jim converted to an entertainment center (my idea).  Look up and you’ll see built-in nooks holding an amazing antique dog sled (oh, the stories it could tell), antique skis, snow shoes and ice skates.  There are tapestries (his) on the wall which have grown on me.  There’s an antique wall-mounted telephone in one corner (I like).  The walls are painted a buttery cream color which changes with the rising and setting sun.  I decided I could definitely live with that.

Armed with a budget, I struck out on my decorating own.  First, I found two expensive, beautiful rugs at a reasonable price…one for the family room and one for the adjoining dining area.  They were worth every penny.  I loved the colors…deep sage green, rich blues, warm tan, deep paprika reds and shades of brown.

I ordered a Lane sofa in a bomber jacket brown with the burnished nailheads.  My feet actually almost  touched the floor as I sat in the very comfortable sofa and couldn’t wait to get it home.  Custom orders would take 8-12 weeks…hmmm. 

The bomber-jacket sofa above has pillows that match the Lodge recliner.  The pillow colors in the pic above are not true due to the dreary weather.  The colors are more like the photo below which was taken with a flash…

Next came a very big limb and I went out on it.  I ordered a Lane recliner for the macho logger tree farmer in a Northwoods lodge fabric.  I reasoned what better place than a room with a full-sized antique dog sled in it!  It had all the right colors.  A very comfortable chair…too large for me, of course, but definitely not a “bigboy” chair…a rather classy recliner.  Nonetheless, over the next few weeks, I would have occasional anxiety attacks over this very chair. 

And then, I found my chair.  It was a channel back club chair and it was amazingly comfortable.  I ordered it in a rich sage green…the exact color that was in the rug.  The fabric was a cross between the softest babywale corduroy and a denim.  I loved it.  I also ordered the ottoman to accompany it.   This would be the perfect place to read, knit or watch television. With the dreary weather, I had to use a flash for the picture above.  The throw is more the color of the red in the rug…

Just after Thanksgiving, the new furniture arrived.  I arranged and re-arranged and waited impatiently for the macho logger tree farmer to come home.  Would he like it?  Would he hate it?  He had told me over and over in the past few weeks that there was no way I would get all of this furniture in here.    The first thing he said when he walked in the sliding glass door in the dining room was, “I can’t believe it!  You did it!  You actually got the furniture in here and it looks good!”

He sat in his recliner, leaned back and stretched out.  He nodded his head slowly and said, “it’s comfortable”.  Then he got up and walked over to stand directly in front of the two chairs.  He looked at me and then looked at the chairs.  He looked back at me. 

“You do know I’m almost twice your size, right?”  he asked.  (not really)

What? 

“If I’m so much bigger than you are, then why is YOUR chair bigger than mine?!”  he asked.

Then I took a good long look at the two chairs…side by side…and he was right.  My chair was definitely bigger.  It struck me funny and I started laughing.  I’m still laughing…

Note:  I did offer to switch chairs with him but he insisted he wanted the recliner.  So, now I have the “biggirl” chair!

I discovered this little jewel of a recipe during our visit to the Midwest over Christmas.  It was given to me by a dear friend who had received it from a friend of hers.  I’ve never had it before.  If I had, I would not have forgotten it.

Ozark Mountain Apple Cake is now one of my favorites.  Besides being delicious, it’s also remarkably easy.  Well, if you don’t mind peeling a few apples.  I could have pulled out the Pampered Chef apple peeler thingamajig, but it’s just as easy to stand there and peel a few apples.  Sorry, Pampered Chef.

Today, I made my favorite Vegetable Beef Soup  (and  here) and served the Ozark Mountain Apple Cake for dessert.  Delicious.  Next time, I’ll be sure to have whipped cream on hand…

Ozark Mountain Apple Cake

2 cups sugar (very sweet cake – you could probably reduce sugar a little)

1/2 cup butter or margarine or vegetable oil

2 eggs, beaten

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1 pinch of salt

2 teaspoons of vanilla

2 cups flour

2 level teaspoons baking soda

4 cups peeled and diced apples (McIntosh or Rome Beauty) (I didn’t have those particular apples and it still turned out great!)

1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Yellow raisins (I used about 1 cup regular raisins)

Mix dry ingredients and wet ingredients separately.  Combine well and pour into greased and floured 13 x 9 pan.  Bake 350 degrees for about 40-45 minutes.  Serve warm or cold.  May refrigerate.  Great with whipped cream!

Aahh...love it...water comes out of every single hole here!

It takes so little to make me happy.  Something as simple as a nice, relaxing, easy shower.  That’s one thing that I enjoy that I’ve been missing for the past few years, until this past weekend.

This house is relatively new (about seven years old).  The builder who installed the showerhead must have been 6′5″+ tall.  No kidding.  The shower also has a corner seat in it which is fine if you’re 82 and need to sit while you shower, but, unfortunately, it cuts the “size” of the shower down considerably.  The previous showerhead had 2 inside rings and 2 outside rings.  They could not be used together.  The outside rings shot water out a distance apart…which meant you had to dance between the two rings, so to speak, to even get wet.  Terrible for trying to shampoo your hair.  The macho logger tree farmer preferred these and to have the shower head angled way out (he’s 6′ and I’m 5′3″).  So, EVERY single time I took a shower, I had to struggle to reach the showerhead and angle it back down for me and struggle to change it to the inside rings (more like a garden hose but at least I didn’t have to dance in the shower).

Just a small thing…a wonderful shower…so little to ask.  This past weekend we purchased a water pik RAIN showerhead…on sale at Lowe’s for a great price.  It angles downward, so no more struggling to change the showerhead.  Water comes out of every single hole, so no more dancing in the shower.  It takes so little to make me happy…

Over the past few weeks, the rooster had grown larger, increasingly domineering, territorial and downright MEAN.  If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know that the rooster and I have had an ongoing feud for quite some time.  He’d started out cute enough, but his mean spirit soon overshadowed his cuteness.

On more than one occasion, I’d marched into the house complaining that the rooster had spurred me on the leg or “stormed” at me when I was gathering the eggs.  What did I hear from the macho logger tree farmer?  Hmmm…let me think.  “He knows you’re scared of him, just kick him” OR “you can’t show fear” OR “you’re bigger than he is”.  Get the idea?

For the past few days, Jim has been gathering the eggs for me and, each day, has had his own battle with the rooster.  Yesterday, he stormed into the house saying, “that rooster has *&%@#! with me the last time” and stormed back out with the 22 rifle.  Evidently, the rooster had spurred him big time, literally clinging to his pants leg and pecking the daylights out of him.  Jim had shoved the possessed rooster off of him several times but the monster kept coming back and attacking him.  Hmmm… Aren’t you bigger than he is?  Were you showing fear?!  Sorry, I couldn’t help thinking it…even though I didn’t say it.

The next thing I heard were the quick pings of the 22 and then SILENCE.  The hens had scattered to the hen house and stayed there until Jim went out later with carrot and potato peelings…at which time they happily emerged. 

I honestly don’t like this part of farm life, but neither did I like being attacked by a demon rooster.  Amazing how much quieter things are on the farm now…