Friday, March 10, 2006
Inspired
I've been perusing some of the craft blogs, and I'm really feeling inspired. After looking at all of the very cute projects here (hat-tip to Randi!), and because of my affinity for vintage and thrift-store stuff, I very, very, very want to learn to sew. My machine is fixed, and I've spent the morning cleaning the basement craft room (though I'm not done. Not even close!), and I'd like to start making some cute dresses, dolls and quilts for my girls. I need curtains, and I just can't see buying new ones when I can find vintage ones, or at least fabric, to make my own.I have been waiting for quite a long time to find someone who could teach me to sew, and people have been kind enough to offer, but it never seems to gel. Now, I figure, I taught myself to knit from a book. I think it's time I tackle sewing.
Any suggestions for beginner's resources, books or projects, please share!
Special Guests!
Last week, I received an e-mail from a fellow blogger who, in passing, mentioned that she and her family would be visiting Ohio to pick up their new puppy and wondered if I might be familiar with the area they'd be visiting. The world keeps shrinking and shrinking. Not only am I familiar with the area...I live in it! AND I know the person from whom she acquired the newest member of her family!So, we arranged to meet here at my home, and around four o'clock on Tuesday, Firefly from Bioluminescence, her husband and their two LOVELY daughters joined us for some chatting and bunny-holding.
Firefly is one of my favorite bloggers. I love her photos and the beauty she adds to the world. When I discovered that she uses many of the same learning materials that we do and that she is a Charlotte Mason/Ambleside mama, I was even more drawn-in. There were so many things to talk about, but time was short, so we made our visit short but sweet.
Firefly, if you ever decide to reside in Ohio, please, please make me the first to know. I look forward to reading your blog for many, many years to come!
In the photo, you see, from left to right: Houdin, Bard, me (the shortest one in the photo), Bo, Mr. Firefly, Mrs. Firefly and the eldest Firefly Daughter (would she be a glow worm?). The other children, my three and her one, were off exploring, swinging on the swing and petting the horse.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Great Granola!
I've been searching for just the right granola recipe for years. I used to order granola by the five-pound box through our local co-op, but then the kind that I loved the bestest increased their quantity size. I don't think I could eat, nor afford, twenty-five pounds of Maple Almond Date (MAD). So I've been sampling commercial granolas here and there for the past several years, but, sadly, none could compare to my MAD.A couple of months ago at the homeschool women's luncheon, I was pleased to see that the fare included my favorite breakfast--vanilla yogurt and granola. I sprinkled my yogurt with the chunky concoction, which looked very promising, but I wasn't expecting too much. After all, I'd been on a search for The One for so long, I'd just about given up hope. I just started eating.
And then...
My taste buds sang a symphony! AAAAHHHH! It was the PERFECT granola! Chunky, nutty, sweet--but not too sweet--and generously laced with big flakes of coconut. I asked Beth, the woman who organized the event, where she bought the granola, and she told me that she MADE it! Immediately I insisted that she give me the recipe. Well, she said, she didn't really have a recipe, she said, but I wouldn't accept that. I. Must. Have. The. Recipe. She assured me she'd send it to me via e-mail.
And then, months passed.
I got desperate. I e-mailed Beth and asked for the recipe. No response. Thinking my e-mail may have been lost, I tried again. Nothing. I called and asked her husband to have her call me back with the recipe. Nada. In the meantime, I found another granola that was very yummy, but it was quite expensive. But I was so desperate, I bought it, even at $5.00 for 12 ounces. They do carry it at Sam's Club, if you don't have time to make your own, and they sell it on their website, too.
I started to wonder if I had offended Beth somehow, if she were withholding the recipe from me because I'd done something terribly wrong and not known it. Or, I thought, maybe she didn't really make the granola and just said she did, not realizing it would be so popular, and now was avoiding me and the rest of the homeschooling group, taking off for Nepal so that she wouldn't have to face the angry masses.
But then, last Friday at the homeschooling meeting, I saw her. At the earliest opportunity that didn't seem like complete granola-recipe-stalking, I grabbed a pen and a scrap piece of paper and hunted her down.
She was sorry. She was repentent. She'd been busy. I forgave her. She promised she would send me the recipe via e-mail as soon as possible. I believed her.
And she came through!
I made a batch faster than you can say rolled oats. Still warm from the oven like a big oatmeal cookie, my family, who doesn't have as deep of a love affair with granola as I do, descended upon the pans of sweet, crunchy goodness. Before night's end, an entire pan of granola was gone, gone, gone.
Yesterday I made another batch, which filled two jars. By the end of the evening, one jar was empty. By this afternoon, the second jar had been polished off, too.
I modified the recipe a bit, so I'll present it to you in its original state and with my substitutions/additions. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and, Beth, if you ever read this, you are AWESOME!
Beth's Granola
7 cups rolled oats (half old-fashioned and half quick, though it probably doesn't matter much)
2 cups of coconut, large unsweetened flakes
1 1/2 to 2 cups nuts (I used two cups of whole raw almonds and a half-cup of chopped pecans. Beth uses chopped walnuts)
I also added 1/2 cup of ground flax seed and 1 cup of toasted wheat germ.
Mix all of the above in a very large bowl.
Then, in a large microwavable bowl, mix:
1 cup canola oil
1/3 to 1/2 cup honey (I use the lesser amount. All of it makes it too sweet for me)
1 1/2 cup brown sugar (I used a bit less and added some maple syrup)
1/3 cup evaporated milk (I used regular milk. Again, evaporated made it too sweet, in my opinion)
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp maple flavoring (I omitted this)
Heat second mixture in microwave for about 40 seconds and stir. Pour over the dry ingredients and stir with big spoons until all ingredients are thoroughly mixed and wet. Bake in 2 9 x 13" pans, ungreased.
Bake for 25 minutes at 325
Switch pan positiions.
Bake another 25 minutes at 225, stir or flip half-way through this time.
Turn off oven and leave granola in for one hour. Take it out, cool, break into desired sized chunks, and store in an airtight container.
Then watch it GO!
You'd better grow, or else...
I sure would hate to be the runt of the rabbit litter. Apparently, if you don't grow quickly enough, your mother will eat you.
We're now down to twelve kits.
We're now down to twelve kits.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
::: just roll with it, baby :::
I hadn't been on roller skates in, like, fifteen years, and there we were, among a group of our peers, taking our children to skate, among a group of their peers. And our children had never been rolling skating.
"Quads, speed skates or in-lines?" asked the man behind the skate counter. I glanced around me. I couldn't believe how skating rinks had stayed virtually the same since I'd skated. Snack bar, video games, loud music.
"What's the difference?" I asked.
"Uh...well..."
"I mean, I know what quads are, I think. But what are speed skates? And in-lines? Are those the same as roller blades? And which should I get if I haven't been on skates in fifteen years?"
The nice man gave me a quick lesson on skate differences while The Baby pulled on my hand, eager to get onto the rink. Did she have any idea what she was in for?
The evening out was a result of an invitation from our homeschool support group. The rink had been reserved entirely for our group, so it was good to see friendly faces there. As I laced up my skates, one of the fathers chatted with Bo about skating. "Our daughter broke her leg here a couple of years ago." Great, I thought. That's wonderful. What was I thinking?
"Well, I haven't skated in fifteen years...since junior high school," I said, suddenly realizing that it's been more like twenty-five years. What WAS I thinking?
But it really wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. I mean, I actually stayed upright the entire time. And none of the kids complained about skating. Monet, always eager to try new things, roller bladed and fell many times, but kept getting up and trying again. Bard was greeted immediately by one of her homeschool group friends and they stuck close by each other through the evening. She, too, fell a few times, but she got right back up and tried again.
Even Sweetheart and The Baby put wheels on their feet and tried. And Bo, who seems to do well at everything he tries, braved the Limbo and actually made it through the first round.
Even though they were playing Petra and Steven Curtis Chapman, it reminded me of my pre-Christian junior high days. An evening wasn't complete without a couples skate, and there were always the ever-popular standards playing as I wheeled expertly around the rink--Hold On Loosely, Strange Magic, Caught Up in You, Working for the Weekend, Hold the Line, Hot Child in the City, Kiss You All Over, and Xanadu. Ahhhh...the excitement of Saturday Night Skating.
But I do recall one not-so-pleasant memory from my early skating experiences. My dad had taken me to a skate rink when I was about eleven, and he sat on a bench as I skated. The older boys were racing around the rink while I fumbled along, jerking backward and forward awkwardly. Plus, I was eleven, for pete's sake! That horrid age when you so very much want to be cool but are very much NOT, especially with your boyish just-out-of-the-seventies haircut and Holly Hobbie shirt, where all of the older boys are so very cute, but they wouldn't notice you unless you...
...unless you happened to skate a bit too slowly right in their speed-skating path. Unless they happened to receive a very big push from one of them as they race past you. Unless you know for a fact that they notice you, because you see them pointing and laughing as you swirl into helplessness. Unless your dad happens to see the whole thing.
And then, as a young girl, you find yourself sprawled on the floor of the skating rink, nothing bruised except maybe your pride (and possibly your butt), but still feeling a secret thrill that he TOUCHED you. Sigh.
Yep, that was me. Right up until I saw my dad reach across the kneewall that separated the seats from the rink and grab that kid, yank him up by his shirt, his skates dangling above the wooden floor, and scream nasty things into the boy's, face which included watching out for little girls on the rink. And I, the little girl, wished that the whole world would just open up and swallow me whole.
I can still remember stealing a glimpse of that boy as he continued around the rink, and I think that was the first time I ever saw anyone give a person the finger. I knew that it was a bad thing, because that kid was mad, and my dad just ignored it.
But I saw it. I see it, still. And it still makes me feel small and humiliated.
I know my dad meant well, but I think I would have been happier to have had him on the floor with me, and my mom and a few siblings would have been nice, too. And if someone knocked me to the floor? Well, he would have been out there to pick me up.
That's why it was so good to see Bo skate around the rink with Sweetheart and encourage The Baby to get her balance, to encourage her to skate into his arms.
And to have him hold my hand as we glided--okay, eased warily--around the rink.
Sew Blessed
When I received the phone call yesterday from an Amish neighbor who wanted a ride, I immediately said, "no." Just a few days before, this neighbor had asked me to take her and her husband to appointments in town. That day, when I had explained to her that I was very busy, I had asked her if there would be anywhere else she would need to go.
"Shopping?" I had asked.
"No. No shopping." She had responded
"Do you have to go anywhere else at all?" I had asked, knowing that sometimes when I've taken Amish "to the store," I'd ended up out all day, stopping to pick up a sister, drop off children, go to the fabric store, stop at the greenhouse...
"No. Nowhere else. My husband's appointment should be five to ten minutes. My appointment is only a half-hour. That's all."
When I picked her up, it turned out that I needed to pick up her husband at work, that the eye appointment was a half-hour long, that she did go to the grocery store, that her appointment was an hour and a half long, and that, after she came out of the doctor's office without apology, her husband asked if they could get a sandwich at Burger King. I could have said, "no," but I didn't. A quick run through the drive-through wouldn't hurt, I reasoned, my schedule was shot to heck anyway. Imagine my surprise when we pulled into the parking lot of the fast food place and they unbuckled their seatbelts. They wanted to go inside!
I know I didn't handle this well. I was steamed, but I didn't say a word. I felt that I was being taken advantage of, even though I do get paid for my time (not enough, in my opinion). Honestly, I felt like the horse. They didn't speak to me more than ten words the whole trip, and when they went in to get their food, they didn't ask me to join them, didn't offer to pick up something for me. So I just stewed while I waited, even though I would have refused the offer. I've given up most fast foods, except the occasional Wendy's chili or baked potato, or the very rare McDonald's salad.
Still, I feel like it wasn't really the Amish lady's fault. She didn't know that her appointment would go long, or her husband's. And she did get the groceries while he was in his appointment, so that really didn't take longer. But I was a bit perturbed that she knew I was on a schedule and didn't even apologize. Why did that bother me so? After all, I have no idea what her doctor's appointment was for! She may have just received terrible news! Why couldn't I be compassionate?
For some reason, I couldn't be. I just felt angry.
So when she called me yesterday and asked me if I had some time, I immediately said "no." After all, I had to get Bard to Algebra class, and we were expecting some very special company (which I'll tell you about later) in the afternoon.
But something niggled at me.
"Where do you need to go?" I asked.
"Just to drop off my sewing machine at Windy Ridge."
"Can we go right now?" I asked, since it was early and I could get it out of the way. Plus, it would give me plenty of time just in case something kept us longer.
"Yes, I suppose."
"And you have no other stops to make?"
"No, I don't," she answered.
I thought about the fact that I really needed a few extra dollars; I'm trying to save money for my kids and I to participate in an Irish Step Dancing class. I thought about my poor, broken sewing machine sitting in the fruit cellar, the machine I bought new last year and then promptly mangled by hitting a seam in a pair of jeans while attempting to make shorts.
"Okay," I said. "I can take you."
I threw all of the trash from the front seat of my husband's Jeep into the back seat. I put my Singer in the way-back. When I picked up my customer, she had two of her children with her. I hadn't planned for that. They'd have to sit on the trash in the back seat. I apologized for the mess. I always apologize for the mess. Even when it's my husband's work vehicle and it's not my mess. Even when it's my kid's bedroom and it's not my mess. Even when it's the cat's mess, who knocked over the plant in my bedroom, or the dog's mess, who chewed the head off of a kitten and left it on the porch. Still, I apologize for it.
"I'm sorry for the mess," I said. She responded forgivingly. I wondered what she was really thinking.
Windy Ridge Sewing is only about fifteen minutes from my house. I was very tempted to do a couple of things I needed to do while I was out, like stop at the bank and visit the new health food store, but I didn't. I didn't want to do the same thing to her that she'd done to me, even though I was sorely tempted. My vengeance likes to niggle at me. My morals almost always win.
When we got to the sewing shop, I pulled my machine from the back. It has a cool little handle on top that sticks out through the cover so I can just pick it up and carry it anywhere. The Amish woman's machine was large and cumbersome, stored in a cardboard box. She already had the machine in her arms when her younger daughter started fussing and refused to take another step. I was standing about fifty feet from them, holding the door open and trying to decide what I could do to help. Most Amish children do not care to be held by English (non-Amish) people and they don't, generally, understand English until they go to school, so it makes it hard to step in and help with the children. I couldn't carry the box, because I had my own machine in my hand. So I let the door go and stepped inside the shop.
"Hello!" I was greeted by a friendly employee, to whom I explained my machine's problem. She began filling out a service ticket, asking for my name, phone number, all of that basic stuff.
"What's the matter with the machine?" she asked. She had such a smiley face, such a pleasant voice.
"Well," I explained, "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with it, because I don't know what would be right. See, I was in a hurry while hemming some jeans and I hit a seam. It bent the needle, which I replaced, but now my bottom stitch is all loopy and the thread wraps around the bobbin, over and over and over. I'm pretty sure that's not right. But since I don't know how to sew, I don't know what's wrong."
She laughed. In that moment, something happened, something that's missing from most service industry and sales professions. Two human beings communicated, connected. She cared. And then, she set down her pen, pushed the service card aside, and began tinkering with my machine.
As she was evaluating the problem, she made comments about my machine. They sell Berninas. Mine's a Singer. I obviously didn't buy it from them; the bright red Stuff*Mart clearance tag was still stuck to the bottom. But the comments weren't insulting. Instead, they were along the line of, "Oh! You have a needle threader! That's nice! And a buttonholer. And a serging foot." This was all as a foreign to me as the Penn-Dutch that my fare's child was now speaking to her mother as the mother explained her problem to the other shop employee.
"I don't know how to sew," I admitted. "My mother never taught me, though she sewed all the time. We didn't have home-ec in school. I've been mostly relying on the kindness of people to tell me what they know. I know it's ridiculous that I live in this community and don't sew, but..."
"I'll show you how to use these things," she smiled as she kept tinkering with the thing.
By this time, my fare was finished filling out her service ticket. She was standing with her two daughters looking...well, looking ready to go. But my sewing machine was being toted to the back of the shop. I followed.
"This plate right here is catching the thread," the employee was telling the serviceman. "And I think this bobbin case is out of place, too." The serviceman pushed aside the machine he was working on and pulled mine in front of him. I ran my fingers along an old, metal-bodied Bernina in a beautiful emerald green color, wondering if it was someone's regular machine or someone's great-grandmother's antique.
Before I knew it, my machine was fixed. The tension was adjusted, the bobbin was replaced, and I was sitting at a table watching the employee as she instructed me on the use of my needle-threader, a quite cool feature, now that I know how it works. My fare had taken her daughters to the porch to run back and forth.
The employee explained all of my stitches and how to use them. She demonstrated the button-holer, the serger, and how to set the stitch lengths. She recommended a better thread, but other than that, she made no effort to sell me anything. And then she packed up my machine for me.
As I headed to the counter, I kind of feared what my bill would be. I hadn't expected to have to pay so soon. Last time I brought a machine in here, it had been weeks before it had been ready, and it cost me a LOT of money. But it had been an old machine and still hadn't worked after I'd brought it home.
"Are these things yours?" the employee asked me, referring to a couple of items on the counter as I pulled out my checkbook.
"No," I answered. "I'm not buying anything."
She paused for a moment, and said, "Then what are you doing?"
I was a bit taken aback, confused. "I'm paying for the service. What's my bill?"
"Just go," she said. "You don't owe anything."
I stammered. "Are...are you sure?"
"Yes, I am. And when we have a beginner's sewing class, I'll let you know."
I gushed my thanks and hauled my Singer out the door and to my car, where my fare was waiting with her children.
"I'm sorry for your wait," I said. "Thanks for your patience. I've had this machine in my fruit cellar for six months. I hit a seam and apparently knocked something out of place. But it's fixed now! And they didn't even charge me..."
Her eyes grew wide and she shouted, "What?!?"
I chuckled. "Yes! Isn't that amazing? So, thanks for calling me this morning."
I stepped into car, and in my excitement, I yammered most of the ride. When I gave her a moment to speak, she told me why she had taken her machine in to have it fixed. She'd been in a hurry, wasn't looking, and she'd hit a pin. Bent the needle. And now, the bottom stitch was making big loops and the thread was wrapping around the bobbin.
Oh, my, I thought. Just like mine.
And while she needed it right away, it wouldn't be done for weeks. She could have had them fix it today, she said, but it would have cost her another twenty-five dollars.
I was floored.
I only charged her five dollars for the twenty-dollar ride. She'd waited for me, after all, and I'd been given a gift. Spread the wealth, I guess.
When I got home, I told Bo all about my blessing. As I thought about it, I realized that it was very much undeserved. I had a bad attitude about going, was in a hurry, went purely for selfish reasons, and didn't help my fare when she was struggling with her daughter. Had I opened the door for her, she may have been served by the employee and I'd not have received a mini-lesson and a free repair.
"There's absolutely no moral lesson in there anywhere," my husband said.
But I think there is. It's called unmerited favor.
That's just grace.
And I can definitely use a bit of that once in a while.
"Shopping?" I had asked.
"No. No shopping." She had responded
"Do you have to go anywhere else at all?" I had asked, knowing that sometimes when I've taken Amish "to the store," I'd ended up out all day, stopping to pick up a sister, drop off children, go to the fabric store, stop at the greenhouse...
"No. Nowhere else. My husband's appointment should be five to ten minutes. My appointment is only a half-hour. That's all."
When I picked her up, it turned out that I needed to pick up her husband at work, that the eye appointment was a half-hour long, that she did go to the grocery store, that her appointment was an hour and a half long, and that, after she came out of the doctor's office without apology, her husband asked if they could get a sandwich at Burger King. I could have said, "no," but I didn't. A quick run through the drive-through wouldn't hurt, I reasoned, my schedule was shot to heck anyway. Imagine my surprise when we pulled into the parking lot of the fast food place and they unbuckled their seatbelts. They wanted to go inside!
I know I didn't handle this well. I was steamed, but I didn't say a word. I felt that I was being taken advantage of, even though I do get paid for my time (not enough, in my opinion). Honestly, I felt like the horse. They didn't speak to me more than ten words the whole trip, and when they went in to get their food, they didn't ask me to join them, didn't offer to pick up something for me. So I just stewed while I waited, even though I would have refused the offer. I've given up most fast foods, except the occasional Wendy's chili or baked potato, or the very rare McDonald's salad.
Still, I feel like it wasn't really the Amish lady's fault. She didn't know that her appointment would go long, or her husband's. And she did get the groceries while he was in his appointment, so that really didn't take longer. But I was a bit perturbed that she knew I was on a schedule and didn't even apologize. Why did that bother me so? After all, I have no idea what her doctor's appointment was for! She may have just received terrible news! Why couldn't I be compassionate?
For some reason, I couldn't be. I just felt angry.
So when she called me yesterday and asked me if I had some time, I immediately said "no." After all, I had to get Bard to Algebra class, and we were expecting some very special company (which I'll tell you about later) in the afternoon.
But something niggled at me.
"Where do you need to go?" I asked.
"Just to drop off my sewing machine at Windy Ridge."
"Can we go right now?" I asked, since it was early and I could get it out of the way. Plus, it would give me plenty of time just in case something kept us longer.
"Yes, I suppose."
"And you have no other stops to make?"
"No, I don't," she answered.
I thought about the fact that I really needed a few extra dollars; I'm trying to save money for my kids and I to participate in an Irish Step Dancing class. I thought about my poor, broken sewing machine sitting in the fruit cellar, the machine I bought new last year and then promptly mangled by hitting a seam in a pair of jeans while attempting to make shorts.
"Okay," I said. "I can take you."
I threw all of the trash from the front seat of my husband's Jeep into the back seat. I put my Singer in the way-back. When I picked up my customer, she had two of her children with her. I hadn't planned for that. They'd have to sit on the trash in the back seat. I apologized for the mess. I always apologize for the mess. Even when it's my husband's work vehicle and it's not my mess. Even when it's my kid's bedroom and it's not my mess. Even when it's the cat's mess, who knocked over the plant in my bedroom, or the dog's mess, who chewed the head off of a kitten and left it on the porch. Still, I apologize for it.
"I'm sorry for the mess," I said. She responded forgivingly. I wondered what she was really thinking.
Windy Ridge Sewing is only about fifteen minutes from my house. I was very tempted to do a couple of things I needed to do while I was out, like stop at the bank and visit the new health food store, but I didn't. I didn't want to do the same thing to her that she'd done to me, even though I was sorely tempted. My vengeance likes to niggle at me. My morals almost always win.
When we got to the sewing shop, I pulled my machine from the back. It has a cool little handle on top that sticks out through the cover so I can just pick it up and carry it anywhere. The Amish woman's machine was large and cumbersome, stored in a cardboard box. She already had the machine in her arms when her younger daughter started fussing and refused to take another step. I was standing about fifty feet from them, holding the door open and trying to decide what I could do to help. Most Amish children do not care to be held by English (non-Amish) people and they don't, generally, understand English until they go to school, so it makes it hard to step in and help with the children. I couldn't carry the box, because I had my own machine in my hand. So I let the door go and stepped inside the shop.
"Hello!" I was greeted by a friendly employee, to whom I explained my machine's problem. She began filling out a service ticket, asking for my name, phone number, all of that basic stuff.
"What's the matter with the machine?" she asked. She had such a smiley face, such a pleasant voice.
"Well," I explained, "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with it, because I don't know what would be right. See, I was in a hurry while hemming some jeans and I hit a seam. It bent the needle, which I replaced, but now my bottom stitch is all loopy and the thread wraps around the bobbin, over and over and over. I'm pretty sure that's not right. But since I don't know how to sew, I don't know what's wrong."
She laughed. In that moment, something happened, something that's missing from most service industry and sales professions. Two human beings communicated, connected. She cared. And then, she set down her pen, pushed the service card aside, and began tinkering with my machine.
As she was evaluating the problem, she made comments about my machine. They sell Berninas. Mine's a Singer. I obviously didn't buy it from them; the bright red Stuff*Mart clearance tag was still stuck to the bottom. But the comments weren't insulting. Instead, they were along the line of, "Oh! You have a needle threader! That's nice! And a buttonholer. And a serging foot." This was all as a foreign to me as the Penn-Dutch that my fare's child was now speaking to her mother as the mother explained her problem to the other shop employee.
"I don't know how to sew," I admitted. "My mother never taught me, though she sewed all the time. We didn't have home-ec in school. I've been mostly relying on the kindness of people to tell me what they know. I know it's ridiculous that I live in this community and don't sew, but..."
"I'll show you how to use these things," she smiled as she kept tinkering with the thing.
By this time, my fare was finished filling out her service ticket. She was standing with her two daughters looking...well, looking ready to go. But my sewing machine was being toted to the back of the shop. I followed.
"This plate right here is catching the thread," the employee was telling the serviceman. "And I think this bobbin case is out of place, too." The serviceman pushed aside the machine he was working on and pulled mine in front of him. I ran my fingers along an old, metal-bodied Bernina in a beautiful emerald green color, wondering if it was someone's regular machine or someone's great-grandmother's antique.
Before I knew it, my machine was fixed. The tension was adjusted, the bobbin was replaced, and I was sitting at a table watching the employee as she instructed me on the use of my needle-threader, a quite cool feature, now that I know how it works. My fare had taken her daughters to the porch to run back and forth.
The employee explained all of my stitches and how to use them. She demonstrated the button-holer, the serger, and how to set the stitch lengths. She recommended a better thread, but other than that, she made no effort to sell me anything. And then she packed up my machine for me.
As I headed to the counter, I kind of feared what my bill would be. I hadn't expected to have to pay so soon. Last time I brought a machine in here, it had been weeks before it had been ready, and it cost me a LOT of money. But it had been an old machine and still hadn't worked after I'd brought it home.
"Are these things yours?" the employee asked me, referring to a couple of items on the counter as I pulled out my checkbook.
"No," I answered. "I'm not buying anything."
She paused for a moment, and said, "Then what are you doing?"
I was a bit taken aback, confused. "I'm paying for the service. What's my bill?"
"Just go," she said. "You don't owe anything."
I stammered. "Are...are you sure?"
"Yes, I am. And when we have a beginner's sewing class, I'll let you know."
I gushed my thanks and hauled my Singer out the door and to my car, where my fare was waiting with her children.
"I'm sorry for your wait," I said. "Thanks for your patience. I've had this machine in my fruit cellar for six months. I hit a seam and apparently knocked something out of place. But it's fixed now! And they didn't even charge me..."
Her eyes grew wide and she shouted, "What?!?"
I chuckled. "Yes! Isn't that amazing? So, thanks for calling me this morning."
I stepped into car, and in my excitement, I yammered most of the ride. When I gave her a moment to speak, she told me why she had taken her machine in to have it fixed. She'd been in a hurry, wasn't looking, and she'd hit a pin. Bent the needle. And now, the bottom stitch was making big loops and the thread was wrapping around the bobbin.
Oh, my, I thought. Just like mine.
And while she needed it right away, it wouldn't be done for weeks. She could have had them fix it today, she said, but it would have cost her another twenty-five dollars.
I was floored.
I only charged her five dollars for the twenty-dollar ride. She'd waited for me, after all, and I'd been given a gift. Spread the wealth, I guess.
When I got home, I told Bo all about my blessing. As I thought about it, I realized that it was very much undeserved. I had a bad attitude about going, was in a hurry, went purely for selfish reasons, and didn't help my fare when she was struggling with her daughter. Had I opened the door for her, she may have been served by the employee and I'd not have received a mini-lesson and a free repair.
"There's absolutely no moral lesson in there anywhere," my husband said.
But I think there is. It's called unmerited favor.
That's just grace.
And I can definitely use a bit of that once in a while.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
A Nation of Homeschoolers
I received this note in my e-mail box this morning, and it just blessed my day. I've heard from many different sources about how the caller at Bard's dance was impressed with the group we had, about 100 people, and most of them homeschoolers. Sometimes it's obvious to me how well-behaved and impressive most homeschoolers are (there are always exceptions), but sometimes I'm so close to it that I can't be objective. Reading this from a non-homeschooler who works with a lot of people on a regular basis, I was encouraged.
A family. A working, caring, functional family. What a concept.
What an incredible nation that would be.
"A belated thank you for the check for the birthday dance. I thought you did a beautiful job of organizing the event, and your daughter handled the surprise with great poise. It is a treat for me to work with home schoolers. I wish the whole country were full of home schoolers, from families that care so much about them."Can you imagine it? A WHOLE COUNTRY full of homeschoolers from families who care so much about them? Wow! What an amazing thing that would be. A whole nation of parents who claim, who WANT, responsibility for their own children's education, who actually enjoy being with their children and learning new things together. Who don't blame someone else for their child's weaknesses but work with him to help him overcome and find his niche in life. Parents who provide the day's meals for the child, who actually know what kind of food is going into that child's body, helping to form his brain. Parents who literally oversee the child's learning as opposed to just trying to be sure that he finishes his homework and gets on the bus every day. Parents who care enough about their children that they actually stay home with them, converse with them, and get to know each other. Parents who actually protect their children from the violence, crassness, obsenity, ridicule and abuse that goes on in the public school setting. Children who actually know right from wrong and are free to use their day to learn instead of fighting through all of the distractions, fears, peer pressures, red tape, testing and requirements. Parents who can evaluate, daily, their children's progress and customize their education accordingly. Parents who are intimately aware of each day's activities and are always available to offer a hand, give advice, provide motivation, a pat on the back, or, better yet, a big hug when needed.
A family. A working, caring, functional family. What a concept.
What an incredible nation that would be.
Boring stuff about my day
Quick recap of the day:
Houdin was invited to do a magic show for a local care center for St. Pat's day. I offered to take him to the magic shop to restock his supplies, but he didn't follow daily instructions of cleaning his room and putting away his clothes (had a huge pile of clean clothes on the floor), so he lost that privilege.
We had choir today, so I dropped the older three off at their classes and the younger two accompanied me to the pet store, where we oohed and aahed over all the exotic animals, beautiful birds and tropical fish. We then treated ourselves to Chicago dogs at a downtown favorite, followed by very yummy ice cream. I was supposed to pick some things up for FreeCycle but couldn't find the item at the given location, so I gave up.
Then it was off to Sam's Club for staples--eggs, butter, milk, apples, washcloths, sour cream, cream cheese, mozzarella and oreos (for cheesecake crust)--and then back to pick up the kids. Lost my temper with Monet because he took so long to get to the van, just shuffling his feet along to leave the building.
It's such a great thing when you hear your daughter tell you something that you've done well. Sweetheart shared with me this evening that she sometimes feels jealous of other people who have nicer clothes or prettier hair than she does, but then she remembers the advice I gave her, "It's more important to have a beautiful heart that to be physically beautiful." She said that helps her a lot, and she's so glad she has a mom like me. Wow. That was a wonderful thing to hear.
Houdin is working on a speech to present this weekend for the speech and debate tournament. He'll be presenting the reasons why one should not eat fast food. I'll be sure to post it when he's done. It's pretty good, even though he's taking forever to get it done and hasn't memorized it yet. Yikes.
And, in closing (don't you hate it when people say, "in closing" because they don't know how else to close? Well, I'm doing it. So there.), Bo and I had a pretty intense conversation about money. Something along the lines of we don't have any and he feels responsible so he doesn't want to tell me not to buy this or that, and then I do, and then we have even less money, and then I feel like garbage and he feels stressed. As I've said before, money is a major pain. Trying to maintain an eight-member household on a modest single-income and my dad's pension is quite a challenge. It's almost overwhelming. I sometimes wonder what God meant, exactly, when he assured me that I would be dressed like the lilies of the field and eat like birds. I've always felt that He would provide for us if we were obedient to Him, and now I wonder if we were somehow disobedient, as the taxes are overdue, the cars are falling apart, and my weekly grocery budget just doesn't cut it. Sigh. I wish I could do something to help, but I just can't think of what.
And now, as morning approaches, I am feeling the weight of the day.
Goodnight, world.
Houdin was invited to do a magic show for a local care center for St. Pat's day. I offered to take him to the magic shop to restock his supplies, but he didn't follow daily instructions of cleaning his room and putting away his clothes (had a huge pile of clean clothes on the floor), so he lost that privilege.
We had choir today, so I dropped the older three off at their classes and the younger two accompanied me to the pet store, where we oohed and aahed over all the exotic animals, beautiful birds and tropical fish. We then treated ourselves to Chicago dogs at a downtown favorite, followed by very yummy ice cream. I was supposed to pick some things up for FreeCycle but couldn't find the item at the given location, so I gave up.
Then it was off to Sam's Club for staples--eggs, butter, milk, apples, washcloths, sour cream, cream cheese, mozzarella and oreos (for cheesecake crust)--and then back to pick up the kids. Lost my temper with Monet because he took so long to get to the van, just shuffling his feet along to leave the building.
It's such a great thing when you hear your daughter tell you something that you've done well. Sweetheart shared with me this evening that she sometimes feels jealous of other people who have nicer clothes or prettier hair than she does, but then she remembers the advice I gave her, "It's more important to have a beautiful heart that to be physically beautiful." She said that helps her a lot, and she's so glad she has a mom like me. Wow. That was a wonderful thing to hear.
Houdin is working on a speech to present this weekend for the speech and debate tournament. He'll be presenting the reasons why one should not eat fast food. I'll be sure to post it when he's done. It's pretty good, even though he's taking forever to get it done and hasn't memorized it yet. Yikes.
And, in closing (don't you hate it when people say, "in closing" because they don't know how else to close? Well, I'm doing it. So there.), Bo and I had a pretty intense conversation about money. Something along the lines of we don't have any and he feels responsible so he doesn't want to tell me not to buy this or that, and then I do, and then we have even less money, and then I feel like garbage and he feels stressed. As I've said before, money is a major pain. Trying to maintain an eight-member household on a modest single-income and my dad's pension is quite a challenge. It's almost overwhelming. I sometimes wonder what God meant, exactly, when he assured me that I would be dressed like the lilies of the field and eat like birds. I've always felt that He would provide for us if we were obedient to Him, and now I wonder if we were somehow disobedient, as the taxes are overdue, the cars are falling apart, and my weekly grocery budget just doesn't cut it. Sigh. I wish I could do something to help, but I just can't think of what.
And now, as morning approaches, I am feeling the weight of the day.
Goodnight, world.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
A Saturday Afternoon.
A glimpse into our afternoon yesterday. I actually got to see one of the Mama bunnies caring for her babies. It was the first time I'd seen her feed them. We lost two yesterday morning--the runts, I think, so now we're down to thirteen.Bard has been learning to play guitar under Bo's tutelage and is currently learning to play Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time.
Houdin was in my room working on his speech, which he is to give on Saturday and hasn't completed it! He presented it to friends yesterday and it was six minutes over time. He has a lot of editing to do!
In the evening, we attended a contra-dance about forty five minutes away, taking our new friend Em along with us. There were SO many people there, but still not enough guys. I wish guys would give it a try! The young men that are there are SO cool, and there were actually FOUR girls fighting to dance with one guy last night, literally pulling at his limbs! Real men of the world, rescue your maidens from despair...DANCE!
A Kitchen Meme
I was tagged by Bioluminescence to complete this kitchen meme. Here are my answers!
1. How many meals does most of your family eat at home each week? How many are in your family?
Just about every meal, we eat at home. Bo and I go out occasionally and eat dinner together, and we sometimes order pizza, but most food is eaten here.
2. How many cookbooks do you own?
Probably about twenty-five. I haven't counted, but I have three or four that I really use often.
3. How often do you refer to a cookbook each week?
Probably twice a week, but it goes in waves. Some weeks I refer to cookbooks more often, and much more often during holidays or when looking for meal inspiration. I have a lot of recipe cards I use, too.
4. Do you collect recipes from other sources? If so, what are some of your favorite sources (relatives, friends, magazines, advertisements, packages, the Internet, etc.)
Everything. Friends, internet, magazines, packages, whereever I can get them.
5. How do you store those recipes?
My favorites I've typed up with stories about the recipe and then laminated them. Printed out, they're 4x6 cards. I hope to do that with all of my favorite recipes. The others, along with owner's manuals for kitchen appliances, have their own drawer, though I may put them all in three-ring-binders, at the suggestion of a recent visitor.
6. When you cook, do you follow the recipe pretty closely, or do you use recipes primarily to give you ideas?
I follow them pretty closely.
7. Is there a particular ethnic style or flavor that predominates in your cooking? If so, what is it?
We make a lot of food, basically. :-) We like Italian foods, lots of fruits and veggies, and rice.
8. What's your favorite kitchen task related to meal planning and preparation? (eating the finished product does not count)
Looking through cookbooks for good recipes.
9. What's your least favorite part?
Doing the dishes.
10. Do you plan menus before you shop?
Sometimes I plan the whole menu, and sometimes I think of meals as I'm shopping. I try never to go into a grocery store without a list.
11. What are your three favorite kitchen tools or appliances?
My food processor, kitchenaid mixer and bread machine.
12. If you could buy one new thing for your kitchen, money was no object, and space not an issue, what would you most like to have?
Either a huge, huge fridge, a china cabinet or a really, really good dishwasher.
13. Since money and space probably are objects, what are you most likely to buy next?
A dishwasher.
14. Do you have a separate freezer for storage?
Our friends who rent from us store a freezer in our basement and we put things in there. We also have a second fridge that gets a lot of use.
15. Grocery shop alone or with others?
Usually alone or with Bo.
16. How many meatless main dish meals do you fix in a week?
Almost all of them.
17. If you have a decorating theme in your kitchen, what is it? Favorite kitchen colors?
Kitchen colors are hickory, forest green and the accents change depending on the season. Right now, it's mint green, red and white.
18. What's the first thing you ever learned to cook, and how old were you?
I don't remember what I first learned to cook as a child. My mother didn't really teach me domestic skills. I cooked my first meal from a Better Homes and Gardens cookbook while trying to woo my dear Bo. Chinese Pepper Steak and stuffed tomatoes, I believe.
19. How did you learn to cook?
Self-taught, inspired by the desire to feed my future beau. :-) We had no home-ec in my school.
20. Tag two other people to play.
Whoever wants to. Leave me a comment and I'll come see your blog. :-)
1. How many meals does most of your family eat at home each week? How many are in your family?
Just about every meal, we eat at home. Bo and I go out occasionally and eat dinner together, and we sometimes order pizza, but most food is eaten here.
2. How many cookbooks do you own?
Probably about twenty-five. I haven't counted, but I have three or four that I really use often.
3. How often do you refer to a cookbook each week?
Probably twice a week, but it goes in waves. Some weeks I refer to cookbooks more often, and much more often during holidays or when looking for meal inspiration. I have a lot of recipe cards I use, too.
4. Do you collect recipes from other sources? If so, what are some of your favorite sources (relatives, friends, magazines, advertisements, packages, the Internet, etc.)
Everything. Friends, internet, magazines, packages, whereever I can get them.
5. How do you store those recipes?
My favorites I've typed up with stories about the recipe and then laminated them. Printed out, they're 4x6 cards. I hope to do that with all of my favorite recipes. The others, along with owner's manuals for kitchen appliances, have their own drawer, though I may put them all in three-ring-binders, at the suggestion of a recent visitor.
6. When you cook, do you follow the recipe pretty closely, or do you use recipes primarily to give you ideas?
I follow them pretty closely.
7. Is there a particular ethnic style or flavor that predominates in your cooking? If so, what is it?
We make a lot of food, basically. :-) We like Italian foods, lots of fruits and veggies, and rice.
8. What's your favorite kitchen task related to meal planning and preparation? (eating the finished product does not count)
Looking through cookbooks for good recipes.
9. What's your least favorite part?
Doing the dishes.
10. Do you plan menus before you shop?
Sometimes I plan the whole menu, and sometimes I think of meals as I'm shopping. I try never to go into a grocery store without a list.
11. What are your three favorite kitchen tools or appliances?
My food processor, kitchenaid mixer and bread machine.
12. If you could buy one new thing for your kitchen, money was no object, and space not an issue, what would you most like to have?
Either a huge, huge fridge, a china cabinet or a really, really good dishwasher.
13. Since money and space probably are objects, what are you most likely to buy next?
A dishwasher.
14. Do you have a separate freezer for storage?
Our friends who rent from us store a freezer in our basement and we put things in there. We also have a second fridge that gets a lot of use.
15. Grocery shop alone or with others?
Usually alone or with Bo.
16. How many meatless main dish meals do you fix in a week?
Almost all of them.
17. If you have a decorating theme in your kitchen, what is it? Favorite kitchen colors?
Kitchen colors are hickory, forest green and the accents change depending on the season. Right now, it's mint green, red and white.
18. What's the first thing you ever learned to cook, and how old were you?
I don't remember what I first learned to cook as a child. My mother didn't really teach me domestic skills. I cooked my first meal from a Better Homes and Gardens cookbook while trying to woo my dear Bo. Chinese Pepper Steak and stuffed tomatoes, I believe.
19. How did you learn to cook?
Self-taught, inspired by the desire to feed my future beau. :-) We had no home-ec in my school.
20. Tag two other people to play.
Whoever wants to. Leave me a comment and I'll come see your blog. :-)
Friday, March 03, 2006
Bunnies! New photos.
Today is day four of the young bunnies' lives. Below, you'll see photos of the past two days. It's amazing how much fur they grew in one day! Tomorrow, I hope to name them all so that we can tell one from another and see exactly what color combinations we have.
Tonight we attended the homeschool group's Spring presentation. Several children played instruments, a couple recited written works and poetry. It was really fun to visit with the other families. The Baby and Sweetheart had an especially good time running, giggling, visiting and snacking.
Tomorrow night is the Contra-dance. Can't wait!
Tonight we attended the homeschool group's Spring presentation. Several children played instruments, a couple recited written works and poetry. It was really fun to visit with the other families. The Baby and Sweetheart had an especially good time running, giggling, visiting and snacking.
Tomorrow night is the Contra-dance. Can't wait!
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