where I've found the poetry this week

Since Andrew has been laid up inside all week, the boys and I have been living outside. With the exquisite weather, it's hard to complain (although, with a sick hubby, I do and I have - sorry, honey). So, in addition to making these awesome cookies that I just can't get enough of, here's what we've been occupied with instead...


:: Remastering the scooter, the bike and the popping lawnmower (for those of us who have not yet mastered contraptions with wheels).


:: Contemplating next steps for an evergreen-free landscape.


:: Noticing that more than just bushes need a trim.


:: Stopping to smell the flowers.


:: Looking cute as a button.

grandma's chicken salad

In my mind, there are some recipes, although I don't know where they originated, that belong exclusively to my grandma Gaye. Just a bite of one of these dishes transports me and yet I never asked her for any of her recipes, even my favorites. I guess I figured they wouldn't be nearly as satisfying or happy-inducing if I made them myself. Today I no longer have the woman, but I do have access to the recipes. And so I'm making them. Her chicken salad was a crowd pleaser. We'd pile it on our plates at baby showers or family potlucks, right next to the homemade bread and fresh-pressed applesauce. Serious happy overload. Gaye must have enjoyed the salad, too, as the recipe appears in her box three times. I made it Saturday morning and have eaten it for nearly every meal since. It's delicious and good for you. For that reason alone, I don't think she'd mind me sharing it.

Grandma Gaye's Chicken Salad

3-4 cups cooked chicken (she roasted her own bird, I cheated and bought a pre-cooked rotisserie version)
2-3 cups cooked brown rice
1/2 cup chopped celery
4-5 chopped green onions
1/2 cup mayo
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1 T fresh lemon juice
1 t. honey
1 t. salt

Mix last five ingredients (the dressing) and combine in a big bowl with the first four. Serve room temperature or refrigerate and serve cold. Really good either way.

Note: I imagine that this recipe would also be good spiced up with a little curry or dill. However, my kids will eat it just the way it is, which feels like a major feat. I don't plan on ever altering it, but please let me know how it turns out if you do.

trashcraft for earth day

Today we heeded the advice of my friend Liita and spent Earth Day upcycling our garbage. I salvaged the cereal and cracker boxes headed for recycling and unearthed the big pile of Ranger Rick magazines I scored through Freecycle last year. With a little Mod Podge and a pair of scissors, I transformed an empty box of O's into a very cool-looking "under the sea" gift box.


Martha Stewart posted a similar idea today, with cereal box organizers. These could be Mod Podged, too - using pretty papers, wallpaper samples, magazine cuttings, whatever. Once you get going with this kind of thing, the possibilities - like the garbage - are endless.

Liam wasn't interested in following my lead (what a surprise) and decided to create his own craft. He wrapped one box in construction paper with about 30 feet of gift wrap tape. Not sure how earth friendly that was. Then he fashioned a set of "3D binoculars" by cutting the ends off a cracker box and attaching a loop of yarn at one end and plastic wrap at the other. With a marker he colored one half of the plastic wrap red and the other blue - 3D-glasses style. (All 100% his creation. I was so engrossed in my cereal box, I didn't even pay attention to what he was doing.) The way he wore those binocular around his neck all day, stopping every few feet to investigate a tree or a pile of dirt, you'd have thought he'd just uncovered the world's greatest invention.


There's nothing better than making something fun and useful out of nothing, especially when the nothing is trash. We're already making plans for the oatmeal and the Shredded Wheat boxes. Pretty soon every day will be Earth Day around here. Better late than never, I guess. Thank you, Liita.

speaking of books

This week I had the unique experience of telling my story to a group of women at my aunt's church. It was both an honor and something I felt incredibly unqualified for. Thank goodness God is a great distiller, and hopefully he sifted all the chaff from what I said so people walked away remembering something meaningful.

A question came up about what I've read that had an impact on me and, of course, I blanked. So, for the last day and a half I have been mulling over this question and here's what I've come up with. In addition to everything I've ever read by William Shakespeare, William Faulkner, Flannery O'Conner and C.S. Lewis, these are the books that have inspired, changed and never left me (in no particular order):

:: Teaching a Stone to Talk by Annie Dillard
:: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger
:: Telling Secrets by Frederick Buechner
:: Expecting Adam by Martha Beck
:: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
:: Sinners Welcome by Mary Karr
:: The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
:: Amazing Grace by Kathleen Norris
:: The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
:: The Gold Cell by Sharon Olds
:: Walking on Water by Madeline L'Engle
:: Paula by Isabel Allende
:: Charlotte's Web by E.B. White
:: A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken
:: The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
:: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
:: A Room with a View by E.M. Forester

The list is heavy on recent titles because even after 36 hours of serious pondering, my memory is sorely lacking. What's on your list?

reading together

I believe it was C.S. Lewis who said that we read so we know we're not alone. After three rich days at one of my all-time favorite events, The Festival of Faith and Writing, I also believe that we read for hope and possibilities and to remember things we thought we'd forgotten. I believe we read to connect, to find a break in our loneliness, to hold our collective breath as authors and poets and characters swim through pain to beauty and survive.

Reading together has become as essential as teeth brushing in this house. Last night as we closed the cover on the last book in the Magic Treehouse series, I sat in awe that I have read Liam nearly 50 chapter books in the past year. Although I longed for a read-aloud bedtime ritual long before I had someone to read to, I think I underestimated how much I would crave this time. It's one thing to have a warm little body snuggled next to you, but to hear him gasp or laugh as you bring language to life elevates the moment to something holy.

There's a poignant NY Times essay about a father and daughter who kept up their reading together for years and years without a lost night, until the streak came to a reluctant yet necessary end. I admit it, I welled up at the end of this piece. The idea of not reading together now that we're into it seems unimaginable. I like to envision a lifetime of nights snuggled in bed sharing sword fights and secret gardens and talking mice. But some day I know it will end.

The beautiful part is that the reading never does. Liam will forever know where to go so he knows he's not alone. He'll know where to find hope and possibilities and how to remember things that didn't seem important to remember. When he experiences heartache, as he inevitably will, he'll find that story can show him what to do with it.

I've been thinking lately that it's no surprise Jesus is called "the Word made flesh." It seems pretty obvious to me that God comes to us as a living story. After all, he is where we come to connect, to find a break in our loneliness, to swim through pain to beauty and survive.

And, so, of all the things I wish for my son, it's that he will always turn to story, to mystery and wonder and hope and possibilities; that in darker times, he will move from captivity to restoration like all great characters do; that he will find the Word made flesh wherever he tucks his bookmark; and that someday he'll have a warm little body snuggled next to him eager to listen as he, too, passes on this awesome gift.

the way you hope a boy will be

About a month into the school year, Liam began bringing home crumpled drawings that, to his mother's trained eye, were clearly not crayoned by him. Eventually I discovered that the drawings, usually two stick people, a dog and a bunch of hearts, were given to Liam by Sarah, a girl in his class. Over a period of several weeks, Liam reciprocated now and then, making his own stick people under an awning of hearts to send back to Sarah. Then, one day, he stopped.

When I inquired about what happened to Sarah, Liam just shrugged. Sometimes on a walk home, I'd ask about school and then slide in the, "How was Sarah today?" question. I'd either get a quizzical expression or a simple, "Fine." If there ever was a spark, it was gone.

One day a few months ago, when Liam bluntly stated that he didn't want girls at his birthday party, I felt compelled to ask him if he was still kind to Sarah. I was worried that she had overwhelmed him with her notes and attention and the cootie phase had begun.

"You know," I said. "Even if you don't like Sarah as much as she likes you, it's important that you always be kind to her. Okay?"

He stared at me like I was nuts and then shook his head.

"Mom, me and Sarah are getting married someday."

Ah, the secrets of the male heart. No wonder girls are so confused all the time.

Walking home from school today, I asked Liam my basic questions.

Me: "What did you do in school today."
Liam: "Nothing."
Me: "How was Mrs. McCloud?"
Liam: "Good.

Then, suddenly, Liam piped up, "Sarah's dog died today."

Me: "Was she in school?"
Liam: "Yeah."
Me: "Was she sad?"
Liam: "Not really. Sometimes. I don't know."

Once home, we rushed off to a chiropractor appointment and then piano lessons. Before we hopped in the car, Liam implored me to bring white paper and markers. He made it clear that he just had to have them. I had three markers in the car and snagged a sheet of copy paper from the receptionist at the chiropractor's office. I was busy with Elliott, and although I noticed that Liam had the paper folded in his back pocket at his piano lesson, I never really gave it a second thought.

But when he took a bath tonight, I pulled the paper out of his pocket and this is what I found. Two stick people under an awning of hearts with a simple message of love and sympathy: I am sorry that your dog died.

The mystery and wonder and sincerity of boys - writing a love note when it really matters. I still can't get over it.

lest we all forget

Haiti is off the front page, but the stories of loss and unimaginable pain are still incredibly real for the Haitian people. So are the stories of hope. If you read anything today, read these two stories - Emmanuel and Alleluia - both about boys named Emmanuel.

I was especially touched by the fact that Emmanuel means "God with us." Or as Mother Theresa would say, each one of them is Jesus in disguise. So when you pray for the precious people of Haiti, please pray, too, for the amazing, giving people who are working so tirelessly to help them. I am humbled and awed by all the love in the midst of this tragedy.

It is easy to get discouraged that we can't help the whole world. But we can help one person. Who is your Emmanuel today?

some things I learned today

:: Naturally dyed Easter eggs are almost too beautiful to eat. Unless you turn them into deviled eggs. Then it's hard not to eat them all.

:: Taking 20 minutes to sweep and wash the floors is time well spent. As is putting away the laundry immediately after folding it and not leaving the dishes on the counter after dinner. For the first time in a long time, my house looks kind of clean.

:: Having laryngitis makes me a kinder, more patient mom. I did not yell or raise my voice once today. I couldn't. But Liam listened when I whispered. It was weird, and eye opening.

:: Shredded wheat bars are the perfect tea time treat. I would like to have one every day. And now it's your lucky day, because here's the recipe.

Shredded Wheat Bars

1 stick butter
1/3 c brown sugar
1/4 c honey
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 c peanuts
1 c raisins
1 c chocolate chips
9 shredded wheat biscuits

Melt butter. Mix in sugar and honey and egg. In separate bowl, crush shredded wheat biscuits well (I use my hands) and stir in the butter mixture. Mix until well coated. Stir in peanuts (best if roughly chopped), raisins and chips. Press into a greased 9 x 13 pan. Bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes.

::

This is the only sweet dessert I remember my grandma making. My cousins and I would be hoping for them whenever we visited. I never got the recipe from her because I figured they just wouldn't be the same if I made them. Luckily, in her recipe box, I found a list of ingredients and deduced the directions. They taste as wonderful as I remember. If you have homemade applesauce to eat with them, you will be especially happy. Enjoy!

mom's new blankie

This weekend I sewed up my patchwork sweater blanket and it's already been hijacked. Who can blame him? It's soft and cuddly and just right for cool mornings on the sun porch.

Most of the sweaters were collected at Good Will and rummage sales. A couple were mine, nibbled on by moths, but too special to toss. All of them were washed and cut into 12" squares. It was so rewarding - and quick - to put this blanket together. For anyone wanting to try this, here are a couple of things I learned while doing:

:: All sweaters have a right side and a wrong side. One square accidentally was sewn on wrong side out. Although, I'll probably be the only one who ever notices.

:: Choose sweaters that have at least some wool or cashmere in them.

:: When sewing a seam, put the shorter square on top so you can stretch it a little to match the longer square. (Technically all squares should be equal, but my measuring was kind of lax, I guess.) All sides being equal, sew the seam with the stretchier sweater fabric on the bottom.

:: Sew squares into rows. Then, when sewing rows together, align and pin the cross seams so they will match up.

I'm still not sure how to back this blanket. Any suggestions? In the meantime, we'll just be enjoying it without one.

the not-so-rosy side of life

Recently someone close to me noted that my blog usually portrays the rosier side of life. It wasn't meant as a criticism, just an observation. For the most part, I purposely write about the things that make me happy or contemplative, things that have a positive spin. I like to look for the poetry. I need to look for it. But don't be fooled if you think that somehow my family is more put together, more creative, or even happier than most. I just don't usually write about what's getting me down. But I decided that in honor of that someone close to me, I will share the not-so-rosy side of life.

My woes start with spring. What's not rosy about spring, you ask? Well, it's spring that gets me down. Don't get me wrong. I love the warmer, longer days. I love seeing the sun for more than 10 minutes in 24 hours. But I hate what this season amplifies: how much there is to do.

The windows come open and the screens are filthy. Dust flies off the mini-blinds. I can write my name on every surface in my house and, with the "beautiful" late afternoon sunlight that streams in the windows, read it. Piles of too-small clothes are arranged in small towers on the floor of the boys' closet waiting to be sorted, while I rummage through plastic bins of summer clothes in the attic to find short sleeves for an unexpected week in the 70s. Hats and gloves and scarves that were once essential are taking up precious space in the cubbies and boots are getting kicked around the kitchen. I can hardly even bear to enter the basement playroom anymore. In the winter the mess was cozy. In the spring I have an urge to throw every toy away. And then, there's the yard.

Every year (except the two times I was eight months pregnant and in crazy nesting mode throughout April), early spring leaves me panicky and paralyzed. I don't know how or where to begin. I just want to close my eyes and wake up to a clean, organized house and a gorgeous, landscaped yard. I want to sew and bake and read on the sun porch. But I can't stop thinking about how much there is to do. And so I can't do anything.

This afternoon, my husband is out cleaning the garage. I am not sure what came over him and I don't dare ask. Having someone else clean gives me a little encouragement. I shouldn't need much. I spent my summers throughout college and most of high school as a camp housekeeper, so I know I have it in me. I just need to get started.

When Elliott wakes up, I'm going to tackle the clothes piles. I'm going sort and clean and organize that one little closet and room. I know it will bolster me. It will help me take the next step. It will make life a little rosier again.

And now that I have a plan, I'm going to go bake something.