13 on the 13th

* * *

How quickly you went from this

To this

From here

To here

Catapulting to 13 in no time!

(Simply amazing!)

HAPPY

13th Birthday

Rachel!



* * *

How short the days are long

How fast the days of slow go away

So I'm wading right in

Playing your games

And I'm running the full length . . .

By your side

© 2002 Mighty Grey Music/Lil' Yella House Music/

Dayspring Music, LLC (BMI)

Rooster Sledding.

After reading about my feelings for Bob, mom said I should show how ferocious this creature really is . . .

 . . . well, he is a pretty menacing creature, except towards Rachel.  Since Bob was a small chick (back when “her” name was “Bossy Britches”) Rachel would hold him and carry him around.  To this day, Bob puts up with being carted around to Rachel’s many activities; including sledding.

Elizabeth :) 

A Gift to Share

Once a year the piano students of "Miss Antoinette" gather for a Celebration of Music wherein each student brings something comestible to share as well as something musical. This year the students, families, and friends gathered in a historical mining landmark transformed to resemble a Parisienne cafe. The late 19th-century stone walls, constructed of recycled mining debris, danced in twinkle light as the musicians entertained in grande style. Rachel (age 11) brought a plate of her sister's famous Thumbelina cookies (jam-filled dainties) and this . . .

The Wind Beneath My Wings

words and music by

Larry Henley and Jeff Silbar

Thank you for sharing such a beautiful gift, Rachel.

Rachel and Antoinette Filanowska

Confession Time

Hello sweet friends. I’ve been away . . .   well, now isn’t that the dumbest thing I’ve ever written on this blog??? Any regular reader (if you’re still around, that is) knows that! And any new reader who has danced in can see that my last post landed here over three weeks ago. So, can we just dispense with the apologies and get right to the fun? I have a confession to make:

I’ve been having a ball lately. Spring has finally arrived and the garden flushes with roses, peonies, and all manner of fragrant blossoms -- some who remain nameless due to my hasty plucking and discarding of the annoying tag attached to the slender leafless stem . . . aaaah sweet mystery. I love it all!


Along with the garden meandering I have lately welcomed my sister and her husband for NINE WHOLE DAYS of fun, food, games, movies, late-night gab sessions, along with laughter that burned up every calorie we lavished ourselves with, culminating in a downpour of tears shed curbside at the departure terminal.

Life’s bliss rolls over me every time I think back on Ultimate SORRY game matches (our own twist on the Disney version of SORRY – brutally hilarious and frightfully addicting). How can I ever forget homemade ice cream dripping from chins as we laugh in unison at the umpteenth showing of Monsters, Inc? (Can I have a show of hands favoring this Pixar gem?). Did I mention the dining out? The dining in? The dining deckside? The dining . . . oh how I LOVE the dining! Whether ordering off hand-lettered menus or smooshing together into the kitchen to slather pizzas with delectibles like feta cheese, kalmata olives and roasted red peppers, or just good ol’ pepperoni and mozzarella –

I LOVE TO DINE!

I love it almost as much as I love to read.

(And I can’t even begin to describe the ecstasy

of reading about dining – oooooh la la!)

SO now you know . . . the mild-mannered woman who pens this blog with thoughtful posts about culturing her own crème fraiche and grinding her own grains for bread has an underbelly life and it dines sumptuously and richly and slowly and with great pleasure. Are you surprised? I thought not. That dollop of cream I post at the end of every sentence when I write about food gives me away, doesn't it? Looking back over nearly two years of posts betrays that some of my most-commented posts involve FOOD. (Imagine that.) So, it seems you, my dear readers, come quite often for the food – or at least it gives you something to comment about.

With that in mind, I've got a real treat for you! My darling youngest daughter, Rachel (who, at a mere 11 years of age, stands nearly eye-to-eye with me, a 5-foot, six-inch gal), has embarked upon an adventure in cooking that she wants to share with you all. In an effort to avoid battling with me each day when “essay writing” time rolls around (yes, our homeschooling routine involves an essay a day in the formative years), Rachel has decided to write a cookbook wherein she chronicles our family favorites, some borrowed from other sources (with proper notation despite our inevitable “tweaking” to taste) and others completely made up here in the kitchen at Wisteria Cottage.  These essays on cooking, food, and family traditions through the eyes of my 11-year-old may not peak the interest of Simon & Schuster, but I can hardly wait to place a bound-copy of this gem on my shelf of beloved food memoirs. 


The quixotic tastes and lifestyle of my delightful family will continue to flood the pages of this bloggy place, but Rachel has inspired me to offer take-away ideas and recipes for living the Good Life, or our version of it anyway. For today I will leave you an appetizing photo of last night’s simple fare.

This brisket bathed in a jar of spaghetti sauce (I chose Walnut Acres' Sweet Pepper and Onion) topped by sliced yellow onions and red peppers and about four cloves of garlic (diced) splashed with about a 1/2-cup of red wine and a 1/4-cup of balsamic vinegar cooked together for about 3 hours in my favorite le crueset dutch oven while I was away on a shopping expedition to Costco. The oven dutifully cooked and ceased with my automatic settings (I love that feature on my oven) while the kids studied, planted out the veggie seedlings, and went about their tasks. When I returned home I merely sliced the brisket, reduced the “sauce” a bit and added back the meat.

I then sautéed some fresh asparagus in olive oil and coarse salt,

tore off hunks of baguette

(the sauce is far too good to leave on the plate)

and sat down to dine with pleasure.

When I got to the end I stopped . . .

but my mind floated along on the pleasant memory of such good REAL food. Naturally, I rejoiced in knowing we would have to eat again tomorrow and the day after that and . . . Oh the ideas that my mind whips up! [Lips smack in anticipation . . . ]

I’ve gotta run just now. I bought some fresh cream yesterday that just begs to be made into crème fraiche so that I can try that chocolate cake I’ve been dreaming about. Oh, and maybe I should make some of that soured-cream ice cream I “discovered” when the cream aged a bit longer than I planned . . . Could you hear me mouth F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S as I licked the paddle discreetly? Where’s a pen and paper? Rachel’s gotta add that one to the book, too! ; D

Spring Is Here (by Rachel)

Spring has come and every flower is blooming.

The grape hyacinth is in clusters here and there,

and the wild buttercups give a sweet odor to the spring air.

Though the days can be dull and gray, the blossoms stay and do not wilt.

Picking a bouquet for the dining room table creates a beautiful scene.

A cup of tea and a book to read can make a cold, gray spring day quite pleasant.

If rain comes and stays till late afternoon, and then if the sun comes out at that time, the trees with their new leaves make the back yard look like a painting with a green light that makes it look like life has burst out all at once.

Very soon, the bleeding hearts will come and add more beauty to the front garden even though there is no evidence of it yet. Some things are not as they seem to be, like the roses; all leaves at the moment, but come summer they will be covered with white, pink, and red roses.

I love spring, because it is the time of year

when every thing has a new beginning.

Just for FUN!

Ever wonder what a 38-hour power outtage
looks like around Wisteria Cottage?

Rachel's claymation video aptly captures just about every emotion
I experienced during that little "holiday" last weekend.

ENJOY!

Ending the Year with a Good Dance

Another year draws to a close. Another year passes from reality to memory . . . the sweet, the savory, and the bitter all wrapped up in one calendar and stored away for the sake of remembering. As always, I sit by my twinkling tree, sip slowly of my morning’s tea, and chat with my Lord about all that has come upon me and all that waits.

Inevitably I ask myself, Was this a good year?”

Hmmmm . . . even in the early years as my writing gift began to blossom I learned (quite sternly from a teacher’s red pen) to strike “good” “nice” and “fun” from my vocabulary. These overused and vapid expressions carry no flavor, he argued. Better left unused . . . or so the grading one emphatically stated. BUT . . . I wonder as I recall:

Whatever is good . . .

It is good.

Could my long-ago mentor have been mistaken?
Does GOOD still mean something good?

Today, I retrieve “good” from my writer’s discard pile and venture to savor the flavor of the good in this past year. Memories of birthdays and holidays, achievements and acquisitions, losses and sorrows, changes and more changes fill my heart and mind to overflowing with all that the year contained. And so I wade back through . . .

Like Mary, my heart brims with material for pondering.

Why, just yesterday I received one of the truly “GOOD” gifts, surely one of those memorably great gifts one treasures the rest of their life – the kind of gift that overcomes us so completely we can only nod, choked with emotion, as we murmur, “It is good.”

Yesterday I received just such a gift as I stood by and observed my 11-year-old daughter falling in love.

Yesterday, quite unexpectedly and without warning her eyes danced as she began a relationship I hope will last a lifetime . . . she found HER piano.

After much research and a few trips to showrooms for introductions and debutant dances on the keyboard, she found Mr. Right. It turned out that the 100+ year-old Steinways beautifully restored with a richness of tone that we drove nearly three hours to meet did not hold the key to this 11-year-old pianists musical heart. Instead, a new Mason-Hamlin grandly sitting nearby in all its 6-foot 4-inch ebonied beauty would steal her heart. But we did not know that as we drove and arrived to meet three hand-selected Steinway & Sons pianos of impeccable reputation.

As she approached each piano formally, attired in a rich green velvet gown for the special meeting, she sat and set about the business of “small talk” with each potential mate. Scales and chords, Habanera dances and lyrical impressions laughed out from the two seated together while the rest of us busied ourselves in giving the shy musician her private space in this delicate minuet. Some pianos received but a mere glance, others a simple introduction followed by a polite “Thank you, but no . . .” Tears gathered in this mother’s eyes as I heard such beauty emanating from this pairing or that – the rich result of those hands upon those keys.

Style, age, and price mattered not to this child in search as she played a variety of pianos beyond the three that we had arranged to “meet.” She quickly discarded some fine suitors in favor of two contenders: a 103-year-old restored Hamburg Steinway and Sons, and a brand new Mason and Hamlin AA. Equally prestigious in the world of pianos, equally decorated amongst musicians, she danced back and forth between the two. The lingering dance paused for refreshment as we made our way to a small Italian restaurant to assuage our hunger and discuss the dancing partners. The impish pianist wistfully recounted how she loved one piano more than the other, but would settle for the second choice if that proved to be the necessary option. Both played beautifully, she noted with a smile.

[I must interject here that while the #2 choice had stretched the allotted funds to the limit, it rested within the budget, unlike the #1 choice which stood far-afield, considerably beyond the monetary maximum Dad felt the budget could accommodate.]

As we finished up a very satisfying lunch we all agreed that Rachel should meet still more partners. A quick flight to San Diego in the upcoming weeks and yet another Steinway specialist would greet the musical child with a host of new potential partners. And so we paid the trattoria tab and returned to thank the generous host at the current piano ball.

As we walked to the car from the restaurant I casually inquired of Rachel whether the “weathered” elements of piano #2 had influenced her feelings. She stopped, thought, and replied, “I hadn’t noticed any difference in appearance in the pianos. They all looked fine to me.” Puzzled, I wondered how she could have missed the scrolled beauty of this one, the deep ebony sheen of that one, and on and on my surface assessments rolled. She hadn’t even noticed color difference, it seemed! How could that be? Simple, she stated quite plainly, it is all about the sound and the feel – it’s the music . . . and no more.

We entered the piano shop wherein her father deftly engaged in small talk regarding the “to be continued” storyline in this quest for The right piano. As the men talked the young girl sat to play her favorites upon the favored ones just once more, storing up those melodious memories in her heart for future ponderings and comparisons when the inevitable choosing must take place. With her mother at her side she approached #2. Her mother queried about the differences in the two instruments and the child paused . . . “Well, I can’t exactly say, one just gives me what I want more than the other. When I play it answers just a bit clearer, sharper, brighter.” She shrugged, like a child, and began to play one of her favorite pieces entitled “Happy Heart.”

The rich “Hamburg” sound of this German-made Steinway from 1906 filled the room with a romantic beauty that stung my eyes to tears. The melody faded into a reverberating memory. I couldn’t speak for the lump that had developed in my throat. The pianist knew it was beautiful. She knew it was a beautiful instrument. She knew it would work well for a lifetime. She knew . . . but . . .

She then picked up her books and casually carried them to the Mason-Hamlin beauty, a full 6 inches bigger wearing a new set of keys held a mere ½ inch higher than the competition. The pianist had remarked about the height difference in the keyboards when explaining one of the “better” attributes of the first-place choice – astonished, her father verified her find, but wondered how it mattered, as the piano dealer offered casters to elevate the other to match. She didn’t need it changed for her sake, she shrugged, simply noting it in her playing and finding that ½-inch difference a noticeable benefit.

Close by her side, with closed eyes, her mom listened as the Happy Heart danced upon the keys of the first-choice piano. Beautiful, simply beautiful . . . and then she heard it! The rambling dance across the keys in a middle stanza floated high above with a clarity and brightness that wasn’t there a minute ago when she played the Steinway. Everyone in the presence of this shy little pianist heard it. The dance was flawless. She had met her piano.

As she gathered her books and prepared to walk back to the car, drive the long way home, and ready herself for yet another round of dances in yet another town with yet another set of potential suitors, her father looked at her mother and nodded . . . “It’s the one,” He said quietly. Mom held back the tears and nodded. The financial barrier crumbled as that father thanked the Lord for an unexpected financial dividend newly received and plunked into the bank for future security, which (need I add) bridged the gap with little to spare. It was done. It was good.

With the check passed across the desk and the delivery date secured for early January, I turned to the little pianist and saw my baby girl yawning and ready to go home after a long afternoon of dancing. The pianist with her faraway look and lovely dancing hands had retreated to await the arrival of her very special partner sometime in the freshness of the new year. Truly a good way to end the old year and an equally good way to begin the new one. My heart spilled over from all the goodness of the day as I tucked my child back in to the car, settled in next to her wonderful father, and raised my eyes to thank the Lord for going before it all. It was a very good day for dancing.

Happy New Year, Sweet Friends.

May 2010 bring you Good things to dance about.

Rachel's Here With More Entertainment

While Mom Is Away . . .

. . . Rachel will entertain you.

I'll Have Joy, Excitement, and Mystery . . . to go, please.

She walks into the kitchen,
As she does numerous times per day,
And notices the dirty glass on the counter.
Eager to preserve the tidiness she strives for endlessly each day,
She reaches for soiled glass to quickly swoop into the dishwasher.

But . . .
UGH!!!!
She recoils as soon as she sees the contents of the glass:

SNAILS!!!
YUCK!!!

Deep in her throat forms the strident call to her youngest,
For surely this collection of snails has her fingerprints all over it.
Of late, Rachel has been wandering the woods in search of Spring . . .
Always searching . . . always finding
the delights of her adventurous heart.

She found something alright.

"I simply cannot endure this!" She says to herself sharply.

But then she catches sight of a sweet sentiment,
Placed in the windowsill as a steady reminder
In just such a case as this:

God Makes All Things Beautiful in His Time

Placing glass of shells near the delightful promise,
She chooses to join Rachel's game of wonder
And believe there is beauty to come,
While encouraging her to secure these treasures in a safer place . . .
(With Dad's help).



She promptly leaves the kitchen
Returning at a later (and snail-free) time.

[Thanks Dad.]

* * * * *

If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder
without any such gift from the fairies,
he needs the companionship of at least one adult
who can share it,
rediscovering with him the
joy,
excitement,
and mystery
of the world we live in.

~~ Rachel Carson ~~

Life Without Wii

Without TV what will she see?

Without a view, what will she do?

Restricted games may make her odd

In a world given over to a remote and a nod.

Her parents sow such a curious lot --

Releasing the child to the world of thought.

Books and music, how sublime;

Odds and ends and lots of time.

The child sports a bloom

Negating predicted doom:

She thinks . . .

. . . Me thinks.

Paper and tape marionette

Sporting styrofoam eyeballs embedded with beaded pupils

That *B*L*I*N*K*

And teeth that gnash.

Happy kid . . . artist . . . inventor . . .
Despite lack of Wii.

(Imagine a world . . . )

P.S. I see from some of the comments that I gave the impression Rachel lost her Wii. She didn't . . . she never had one.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Saturday Snicker

[Rachel and Mom driving in the car to go marketing, while Dean Martin's classic tunes play out on the cd player.]

Rachel and Mom [singing] : "When the moon hits your eyes like a big pizza pie that's amore . . . that's amore . . ."

Mom: Do you know what "amore" means?

Rachel: Of course! It means love in Italian. There's just a bit of difference in French, "Amour" and Spanish "Amor."

[Mom beams with pride at daughter's knowledge and proper pronunciation.]

Rachel: There's just one thing I don't get . . . who decided to name an eel love? You know -- amore eel?

Mom [bursting into laughter]: That's a MORAY EEL, honey.

Rachel: Oh . . . [ Though she didn't add "Never mind" I distinctly heard it in my head . . . dating myself horribly.]

* * * * *

Happy *snicker* Saturday!

* * * * *

Is It Saturday Yet?

Rachel: What does disgruntled mean?

Me: Unhappy.

Rachel: Does gruntled mean happy?

Me: [*sigh* I need a cup of tea.]

A Friday Funny

Each night as the children retire to bed they take their latest book-friend with them and read a spell before turning out the lights. Many a childhood classic has shared the pillow with one who drifts off in the midst of a good tale.

Of late, Rachel has taken to reading the American Medical Association's Encyclopedia of Medicine. Daily we receive assurances that in the event of an emergency situation she stands at the ready -- the latest offer being to perform the delivery of a baby here at home. I smiled warmly and assured her that we would surely have no need for that. (She seemed unconvinced and remains vigilant.)

Last night as our family engaged in a rousing game of Phase 10, I made mention of a cauliflower ear and Rachel immediately piped up to inform me of the intricate process of developing just such an ailment. Smiling again, I thanked her for the detailed information and continued to play the game (albeit with an added bit of queasiness).

As the play intensified, Gary continually amused us with the furrowing of his brow as he studied his handful of cards and dithered over potential moves.

"Dad," gasped Elizabeth, "Don't do that, you're gonna need Botox if you keep it up."

I chimed in, "Your forehead may stick that way!"

The furrowing continued, as did the Botox banter.

"You're gonna have a Botox problem if you keep it up . . ."

Finally Lydia shouted out, "What's Botox?"

To which Rachel quietly murmured, "It's your bottom."

Laughter erupted and Rachel said, "What? I read about it . . . "

"That's buttocks, not Botox," we all chimed in amidst hearty laughter and a blush from our budding physician.

* * *

I believe it is time to get an updated medical encyclopedia . . . ours is from '89 and doesn't contain a single reference to Botox.

Something Special!

A package arrives . . .


. . . for Miss Rachel.


Words of encouragement pass from one artist to a younger


Bringing a glow of encouragement.


A treasure chest of possibility,


Fueled by a sprinkling of fairy dust,


Starts the creative wheels turning.

Thank you, Miss Suki-Poet.

Savoring a Spring-like Moment

We shall never pass through the same room twice.

For each one of us our today
Will tomorrow be that part of eternity
Which forever lies behind us.

It would be terrible to come out as one went in,

No richer for all the love that has been poured out on us.

~~Amy Carmichael~~

Whispers of His Power

All of the decorations have found their nest and settled in to await the awakening for next year's Christmas feast. The vacuum has hoovered the final bits and pieces that became litter in the final stages. Furnishings settle back into grooves worn deeper with the passing years as we hearken back to comfort for reading, chatting, napping, or knitting (the newest crafty event in our midst).

The misty skies and snowy landscapes have receded for the moment and our glorious California sunshine bids us come out and play in the temperate days. I wander the gardens with pruners in hand to tidy the snow-damaged branches and nip the frost-bitten buds. My flowering plum sustained the most damage, requiring a severe taking of all the lower branches yielding a "bobbed" one bursting with blooms. I gather the branches, gleaning twigs plump with buds, and fashion a bouquet of Springtime promise to tickle our fancy through the wintry days still afoot. My forced hyacinth bulbs still seek seclusion as they force white fronds upward in the dark. Soon they will join the sunlit buds, greening up before the explosion of color and scent that brings joy to my winterscaped windowsill.

Though our winter fleets in these parts compared to other climes, she can still dances with a fierce wind and chilling breath. Woolens and waterproofs lard the mud room (and hopefully the mud room contains the "mud" upon return . . . hopefully), but these few spring-like days found Rachel out of doors in her jammies and rubber clogs this morning, while I contemplated dragging out the bistro set for a cup of tea in the clear air. But, Rachel reminds me that this is the "fake" spring that teases us each January and that real winter will be back soon. I acknowledge the truth in what she speaks . . . but plan to cart out the table and chairs just the same. It will only take a minute to pack them up again when raindrops fall and I have a deliciously free afternoon stretching out before me . . .

This is the day which the Lord hath made;

[I] will rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Double Digits!!!

The Birthday Girl

A joyful heart makes a cheerful face

Proverbs 15:13a

God loves a cheerful giver

2 Corinthians 9:7b

* * * * *

I can hardly believe you have arrived at double digits already! How did 10 years fly by so quickly? You have been the sweetest surprise from the moment you entered into being. Your natural ebullience brings smiles to faces and joy to hearts. It should come as no surprise that you have chosen to spend your special day serving others as a junior hostess at our church's annual Christmas Tea. This year's theme, "Through the Eyes of a Child," lends extra special meaning as you host a "Birthday Party for Jesus" on your own birthday.

Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of [children]
Psalm 127:5a

When you arrived in the wee hours of that Sunday morn, the 13th of December in 1998, you not only filled our quiver, as child #5 -- you filled our car! Our favorite Christmas gift that year came wrapped in a pink blankie. You were loved by all instantly with your winning ways. Blessings have overflowed from your smile, your spunk, and your special view of the world. Your unique and wonderful gifts remind us that God does not use cookie cutters when He fills a family. Instead He crafted only one like you. We are so blessed to have received such a lovable and loving gift.

~~ Happy Birthday, Dear Rachel ~~

~~ Happy Birthday to You! ~~

Rachel to the Rescue

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

* * * * *

Lydia: "Mom, remember I need cookies or something to share tonight when we go caroling."

Mom: "Sure, I remember. What do you want to make?"

Lydia: "I don't especially like cooking . . ."

Rachel (enthusiastically): "I DO! I'll make something!"

And off she dashes to retrieve her favorite cookbook:

THE SPATULATTA COOKBOOK

by Isabella and Olivia Gerasole

Rachel quickly selects her favorite giftable goodie:

Just three simple ingredients (butter, sweetened condensed milk, and chocolate chips) and a few basic tools get this girl started on her way to sweet success.

First she selects a microwavable bowl, places 4 oz of butter in the bottom, adds a can of sweetened condensed milk,

. . . then pours in 1-1/2 bags of chocolate chips. (Rachel recommends the dark 60% cacao variety by Ghirardelli, but any chips will do -- be bold, experiment.)


Next she mixes with a wooden spoon,
. . . and microwaves the mixture on low (power 3) until melted, smooth and glossy. Rachel checks the consistency about every two minutes until it reaches that smooth fudgey stage.

Finally she pours the mixture into an 8 x 8 glass pan lined with plastic wrap,

. . . smooths the fudge into the pan,

. . . and sets it aside to cool.

When cooled, cut and enjoy.

* * * * *

A few hours later . . .

Rachel: Here's some fudge for your caroling event, Lydia.

Lydia: Thank you, Rachel. That looks so yummy! I'm glad we get to eat the extras!

Lydia: See you later!

* * * * *

Aaaaaahhhhh . . . another happy ending at day's end. (And remnants of fudge lying in a bowl on the counter -- where's my willpower? I know I had it here just a minute ago.) ; )