A Girl's Guide To Mowing

As a new homeowner, I'm learning lots about handling a household on my own. Allow me, then, to share with you my Girl's Guide To Mowing. It just may save your life...

Mowing Preparation

Go out and get yourself a brand new, electric start, self-propelled lawnmower. Do not borrow your neighbor's. (We are girls, after all. We take help where we can get it but do things right the first time.) When they deliver the mower in a box, call Jo to help you get it out and Sam to oil it up and pour in the gas. There. Now you are ready.

Rethink The (Lawnmower) Wheel

We do not mow as guys mow. Oh no. We are multi-taskers. Queens of doing five things at once. Therefore, make your mowing time matter. Think of it as an opportunity to fit in a little spa time. Assemble the following products: teeth whitening strips, sunscreen, foot lotion, anti-cellulite cream, heat-activated hair conditioner, and hand moisturizer. Before heading out, apply teeth whitening strips. Apply moisturizer to hair, comb, and tuck under baseball cap. Rub in anti-cellulite cream before sliding into jeans. Apply foot lotion and cover with heavy cotton socks and rubber boots. Apply cuticle cream and hand moisturizer and put on gloves. Stand back. Gloat that by the time the yard is neatly mowed, your teeth will be whiter, your body and hair softer and your thighs less cellulite-y. Ha. Let's see a guy think of this.

Start Your Engine

Approach lawnmower. Engage your abdominals (like that brunette on your pilates video). Remember you forgot the lawnmower key. Disengage, run inside, return with key. Start lawnmower. Activate self-propelled feature and wince as it nearly jerks both shoulders from their sockets. Hang on, girl. (And engage those abdominals.)

The Art of Mowing

Lawnmowers are violent, ruthless machines by nature, therefore don't think about it when you run over crickets. Also, try to avoid sticks and bricks. And rocks. Decide that, once upon a time, your yard must have been a stone quarry. Or a Civil War era rock garden. As such, it's okay to yelp and scream when the mower hits and flings rocks, just make sure no one's watching and remember to ease off the self-propelled feature. And... oh... that. That was just the grass cover-thingy. It's okay. It falls off all the time, I think.

Troubleshooting

Or maybe it was important. When the lawnmower dies, don't freak out. It's okay. Reattach grass guard thing and try to start mower. Hmmm. Realize mower's probably out of gas and run to get your cute gas jug. Carefully unscrew gas can and stare with disbelief when you realize it still has gas. Try to start mower again. When it makes that little PUFF sound as you turn the key, begin to mutter under your breath. Rock mower back and forth to dislodge whatever's under there. When that doesn't work, pull it around awhile and try to start it again. Speak clearly and sternly to it. (You won't put up with this, after all. It's a new mower.) When that doesn't work, take off your sweaty/lotion-y gloves and ... go inside.

Phone a friend.

Repair and Maintenance

When friend asks if something's caught in the blade, act as though you'd thought of that already. Turn mower over. Don't sound surprised when something is, in fact, caught in the blade. Politely hang up and find a stick. Poke at the clumped-up mass. When it doesn't budge, poke harder. DO NOT dwell on the fact that one false poke could leave you without your right hand for life. Take off glove, wipe stupid lotioned-and-creamed-hand onto your dirty jeans, and poke harder. When it doesn't move, cry out in frustration.

Being a Team Player

When the guy working on the home next door hears you scream, don't be surprised when he runs over. Smile and politely explain your dilemma. When he stares at you, keep smiling. When he says, "What in the world kind of get-up is that?", and gestures to your "get-up", continue to smile as you explain that it's a little something called spa mowing. Don't expect him to understand.

When he tips the lawnmower over, don't panic. When he frees the blade, thank him profusely. Remind him that you are new to mowing and will soon have all this down. Be extra nice to him when he restarts the lawnmower and stares at you again. (And don't tell him, when he asks, that the strong peppermint/caffeine smell is anti-cellulite cream.)

Resume mowing.

Completing Your Yard

Finish mowing, stopping only to readjust teeth whitening strips, to re-readjust teeth whitening strips, and to finally remove teeth whitening strips and fling them in the grass. (And okay, you can stop once for a Diet Coke with lime.) When yard is completed, stop to admire. Tell yourself that next time it won't look as though a drunk person did it.

Storing Your Equipment

Start to wheel mower back to starting position and realize it's hard to push once the motor is off. Tug/pull it halfway across the yard and decide to leave it and start there next time. Find your phone and Diet Coke and go inside.

Finishing The Job

Once inside, remove every nasty article of clothing. Consider burning them, then decide to wash them - twice - in really hot water and bleach. (Think Dr. Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Examiner.) Go to the bath. Go immediately to the bath. Do not pass the kitchen and do not collect another Diet Coke. When you get to the bath, scrub. When you close your eyes to rinse your newly-conditioned hair, try not to think of all the hopping crickets you massacred.

Now then. The yard is mowed and you are a brand new creature. (Girls are so clever.) Pat yourself on the back for mowing the yard all by yourself, and wonder why guys always gripe about mowing. Realize that they must not know how to do it effectively. Decide to write a guide for other mowing girls to share your newly-acquired knowledge.

Write the guide. Publish it on your blog. Remember why your blog is called My Messy, Thrilling Life. Now go outside. For heaven's sake, go outside and enjoy that newly-mown lawn....

The Connor Library

I have always imagined that Paradise

will be a kind of library.

-Jorge Luis Borges

The Freeman House library. My dark, heavy-furnitured, European-salon, cigar-and-newspapers-surrounded-by-walls-and-walls-of-books sort of library is on its way. It should be completed soon save the restoration to the enormous fireplace. Still trying to find someone to take that on.

Anyhow, the library. It's called the "Connor Library" in honor of the family who owned the home at the turn of the century. The large room is to your right once you're standing in the entry hall of Freeman House. The room... it's square, has three doors and four enormous windows, and faces east. Beautiful morning light. It all sits about 5 feet off the ground, so peering out of the thick, wavy-glassed windows you glimpse hydrangeas and various tangles of green things below.

The room has nooks and wide baseboards and creaky doors. The enormous fireplace is anchored directly across from you as you enter the room. Although it takes a bit of imagination, I can already see it sparking and crackling with dancing flames and a heavily-laid table before it. Perhaps it's a winter night and we're having roast tenderloin and mashed potatoes and chocolate tart. After dinner, you can climb the ladder and pull down a book or pick up a paper as I sit at the piano and play Beethoven. When the fire dies and the old room grows quiet and dark, we'll trudge off to quilted beds, heavy as we are with home-cooked food and a treasury of words and sounds.

It's painted rather darkly, isn't it? I wanted it that way. I wanted us to think of a Jane Austen movie or an ancient English library when we entered: big, dark wood... dusty volumes... old maps. No fairies and girly flowers in here. Amber arrived Saturday like a knight in a shining bra (which she is), and together we dusted and swept and coughed and painted. She's a hero, that girl. Soon, I promised her as she left. Soon it will be done and we can waste away hours in here.

Oh, and we will. Many of us will. This beautiful room has been revived to see yet another generation of wandering feet and dreaming minds. It almost makes me cry to think of it: another family stretching out before the fire and catching up on each other's lives. Another decade of stockings hung beneath the chimney with care. Another series of meals and laughs and games going on as before....

Just like heaven will be. I'll admit: I, too, have always imagined heaven as a bit of a library. A shiny, noisy, joyful library.

Your library is your paradise.
-Desiderius Erasmus

Stillness of Heart...

Stillness of heart met wandering hooves...

... and watchful eyes...

...and nearing thunder...

... just then, two miles from Freeman House.

Never have I lived such a moment as the meeting of those three:
the horses, a storm, and my still, still heart.

Monday Moment: Peace- Given and Left

Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you.

I do not give to you as the world gives.

Do not let your hearts be troubled

and do not be afraid.

-John 14:27

Peace. It's a bone-filling, soul-soothing, breath-within-me-that-wasn't-mine sort of a feeling. Peace. It's real. Let me tell you how I know:

It was back in April. Months ago, I know, but I suppose I'm just now getting around to making sense of it. It was a particularly difficult week. It was a time of grief. A time of searching. It was one of those times you recognize - even in the midst of it - as a turning point. Either you'd be okay or you wouldn't. Either you would beat it or it would beat you. Perhaps you've been there? I was. This was one of those times.

I'd hung laundry on the clothesline. An entire load. I'd shuffled about, pinning and praying.

Lord, I need... I need...

When I couldn't even finish my prayer, I tearfully shrugged at the sky.

I can't... God, I don't even know....

Sobs ripped through me but wouldn't come out. I wasn't making a bit of sense. Frustrated - hopelessly exasperated by my inability to string together words for the most basic of prayers - I flung a clothespin to the ground and cried out.

Flutterflutterflutter

I froze. I froze and stared. I stared because there, just beyond my feet, sat a white dove. A perfect white dove. A dove at my clothesline.


My breath left me, but the moment it did, something else was there. It was warm ... like chicken broth going down. Only this started within. It was... full... as though I had breath without inhaling... as though I had somehow breathed underwater. It was electric... like a fuse blowing and sparking, yet at the same time it was calming... like watching a sunset while wrapped in a quilt. It was amazing and it washed inside and over me like a wave.

I cried. The dove listened.

And it stayed. Even when I went in to get my camera, it stayed. It stayed as I cried and prayed and questioned. It stayed as I took its picture and got close. And as the sun began to set, it flew to the fence and perched there as I said goodbye.


The next morning, I hurried out. It was still there. So, too, was that feeling. I ran and got my neighbor. "Do you see that?" I cried.

"Yes," she said, slowly. "What's a dove doing here?"

It was gone by lunch. The warm, electric, breath-that's-not-my-own feeling stayed.

Neighbors, upon hearing that Freeman House was visited by a white dove, reasoned that it must have been part of the wedding the previous afternoon at the Methodist church. It had obviously gotten lost and had to land somewhere on its journey out of town.

I don't know. To this day the entire experience is more than I make complete sense of. All I can say for certain is that day, this child of God needed Him. Needed to see and talk to her Creator. And there, when she least expected it and most required it, was a dove. A dove, and the most inexplicable, awe-inspiring aura I've ever felt. Peace. Peace....

It was peace - given and left. It is there, and it's ours for the taking. Peace. Real peace. Just as He promised. Just exactly as He promised.

Monday Moment is a devotional to help kick-start your week. See you again next Monday!

Thirteen Rolls

Well, I mean, bread, I mean...

I've got to have bread to live.

-Anthony Quinn

I can walk away from homemade pie. I can politely decline a hot-from-the-oven cookie. A slice of cake. I don't have a sweet tooth. But the bread basket? Fugeddaboutit. I now avoid Panera Bread and Cheesecake Factory and Olive Garden - three of my very favorites - because once that napkin-covered basket passes, I'm a goner.

I love fresh-baked bread. But bread and I ... we have a decidedly love/hate relationship: it loves my thighs and I hate working to keep it off them. That's why Monday - the day I baked FOUR test batches of rolls for my cookbook - was probably the most difficult day of my young life. [Grin]

Anyway, Monday aside, I thought I'd sneak you my family's all time favorite roll recipe from my upcoming cookbook. (Don't tell.) If you've never made homemade rolls, this is for you. If you're terrified to try, this recipe is for you. Just mix, dump, cut, and bake... and try not to eat five before dinner.

Texas Farmhouse Rolls

1 pkg. (1/4 oz. / 7 g) rapid rise yeast
1 c. warm water
3 T. sugar
3 T. vegetable oil
1 ½ t. salt
2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour

In a large bowl, sprinkle yeast and sugar over the surface of warm water. (If you’re Alton Brown, that’s 110-115 degrees F. If you’re me, you test by taking a teaspoon full of warm water and touching it to your chin or wrist. If it’s warm – like a baby’s bottle – it’s perfect for dissolving yeast.) Let sit 2-3 minutes. Nicely swirl in vegetable oil. Add salt and flour and stir until combined.

Cover with clean towel and place in a warm, draft-free place and let rise at least one hour or until doubled in size. (If your room is cold – less than 75 degrees – it may take longer. If it’s a rainy day… and therefore the barometric pressure is low… your dough may proof much faster.) Your mixture, after several moments, will look a bit frothy and soupy, like this:

Turn dough onto floured board or counter. Adding flour as necessary to prevent sticking, knead dough 1-2 minutes. Lightly roll or flatten dough back onto floured surface. Using a knife, cut dough into pieces. (I typically get 13 rolls – a baker’s dozen – out of this recipe. You may choose to cut smaller or larger rolls depending on the crowd you’re feeding.)

Place rolls – seam side down – on a baking stone. (Or Pyrex dish... whatever.)

Cover again with towel and let rise 30-45 minutes.

Bake rolls in 350 degree F oven for 10-13 minutes, depending on desired doneness. Best served – hot from the oven – with butter, honey, jam, or gravy.

Yum! This is our go-to roll recipe, and my cookbook will feature three quick variations that will turn this simple dough into Pesto Rolls, Brown Sugar Cinnamon Rolls, and Bacon Cheddar Rolls with the addition of just a few extra ingredients. But to be sure, these are the best rolls I've ever had. Hands down. Brothers and boyfriends fight over them. Can't beat 'em.

So there you go. Thirteen rolls for your Friday the 13th. Hope you have a wonderful, safe, and homemade-rolls-and-love kind of a weekend. -Brin

Napkins and Headbands

Think where mans glory most begins and ends,

and say my glory was I had such friends.

-William Butler Yeats

I was looking out the front windows yesterday afternoon, worrying about more rain, when I noticed it: an inconspicuous little package tucked under the porch eaves. Way under. No label. I approached it hesitantly, wondering if I'd made anyone mad recently. Ha! It was a present. From Cherie. From Cherie... a lady I've never met yet who reads this blog and shops my etsy site. What a surprise! I opened it and out tumbled perfectly folded squares of fabric, a notepad, a pink notebook, and the nicest note anyone could think to write.

(Cherie, again I thank you. I'm sure I did nothing to deserve this, so that makes you one of the most sweet and generous gals ever. And I love your taste in fabric!)

Anyway, after a happy suggestion and three seconds of smoke-pouring-from-the-ears thinking, a project plan was born. Today, my dears, it's all about napkins and headbands.

Napkins from Bend the Rules Sewing by Amy Karol

I have one set of cloth napkins. Purchased years ago from Pier One, they are the most delicate shade of vanilla-y cream. They are perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I refuse to let anyone - especially those with gaudy Texas lipstick - near them. Even my "nice" dinners feature paper napkins. And it just won't do. Not anymore. I shudder to think what the neighbors have been saying about my paper napkin household. Therefore, by the end of the day, I will have perfect 14" x 10 1/2" cloth napkins made from Cherie's fabric and the instructions in Amy Karol's new Bend the Rules Sewing. And the new napkin set will undoubtedly be added to the Freeman House tour. As in, "now here we have the cloth napkins. No... they're not historic. What? No... they weren't Miss Freeman's. They are mine. I. made. them. Just look at the pretty napkins, won't you?"

Eh-hem.Right. My second project for the day consists of Heather Bailey's handmade headbands. I'm not sure why, but lately I've become quite the headband queen. Probably because my hair is the longest it's been since I was in kindergarten and I'm not about to cut it in the middle of summer. That or I'm using bright headbands to distract you from noticing the new AGE SPOT under my right eye. Either way, headbands rule the day.

Wow. Isn't it wonderful how blogs beget friends? How blogs connect a girl in Texas to a generous lady in Salt Lake City and suddenly napkins and headbands are born? I think it's marvelous. I think you friends are my only glory. Cherie, thanks again. And to everyone else, thanks. Thanks for being here and commenting and encouraging. I'm glad we found each other, and I hope happy finds you wherever you are today. -Brin

My Library in Your Livingroom

Dear Posterity,

When I die, I'd like the following three things buried with me: Dolly Lolly, certain carved-out splinters from a bridge in Brown County, and Falling Cloudberries. Everything else can be donated or kept, but these three things are going in the ground with me.

Yours Ever So Seriously,
Brin

Seriously. Seriously! Have you seen a copy of Falling Cloudberries? I am enthralled by this book. Every night for the past month I've gone to sleep with this book on my bed. It's so beautiful I want to cry. It's so yummy I want to clap. I love this book. Love it.

Someone stopped by Freeman House last week and said they just wanted to glance about the library... see what I was reading and which cookbooks I like. Of course, following countless book reports (by me) and yawning (by them), they asked where I buy my books. "Amazon," I said immediately, bewildered. "Doesn't everyone?"

Really. I'm the girl who, after college, neglected to pay her phone bill because - my gosh! - I finally lived in a city with a two story Barnes and Noble. My bill paying and self discipline is much better now, so I walk the aisles of book stores punching the title of books into my cell phone before running home and finding them - much cheaper! - on Amazon.

Anyway, last week's book visit got me thinking. So starting today, the Freeman House Book Shop - powered by Amazon.com - is open online to give everyone a chance to see what's being read and cooked from at Freeman House. Wow. We can read together. Try out recipes together. Discuss plots and songs and carrot cake together....

What fun! The link to the shop - along with my summer reading list - can be found on the right. Hope you enjoy! Since I can't welcome you all to the Freeman House library, perhaps this way I can bring the library to you. Happy reading! -Brin

Ordinary Magic (Or, Blackberry, Blackberry, Blackberry)

Such tenderness,

those afternoons and evenings,

saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

-Robert Hass

I wiggled out of bed Saturday morning just after the sun rose. After pulling on clothes, pulling back my hair, and pulling a $20 bill from my purse, I jumped in the Jeep and rumbled and bounced my way down to the local berry farm.

Glossy gloriousness. I'm sure I entered another world as my swinging pail and I sauntered into rows and rows of perfectly-manicured blackberries under that brilliant, painted sky.

I lost myself in those leafy, bejeweled vines. My pail and I wandered forever, snatching glossy berries the size of a thimble... no, bigger... and dropping them one by one in the bucket.

You should have held one too. I'd never seen blackberries so juicy. Or so enormous. I could only cradle three at a time without losing one to the soggy ground.
I know I speak often of magical days, but truly, it was. Dew glistened and dripped. Soft grass mushed underfoot. Plump berries tumbled into pails. The sun shone. And butterflies fluttered about me and landed everywhere - on my shoe, in the wagon, atop my buckets.
Next time you'll have to come with me. We'll make a day of it, you see, and eat a picnic lunch under the blue, blue sky and count the butterflies winging by....
... And of course, have a picking contest. Although really, on a day like this, the destination is secondary to the journey.

Blackberry, blackberry, blackberry. Now you close your eyes and say it. No... you have to say it like you're there with me... among the berries and breeze and butterflies. Yep... see? Ordinary magic, isn't it?

(My Blackberry Crumble recipe coming soon!)

Monday Moment: The Sparrow

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground
apart from the will of your Father...
So don't be afraid;
you are worth more than many sparrows.
-Matthew 10: 29, 31

There are days I feel very small. Insignificant. You know too, right? Those moments when overwhelming hurts or ever-present troubles pile in front of you like Everest. When sorrows and fallen hopes bear down on you like clouds. When heavy prayers - instead of soaring upward - seem to fall to our feet like stones.

There are other days when my life feels like an exercise in futility. A flesh and blood example of chasing after the wind. A smart man I know says every person needs one of two things: to belong or to matter. Some days, we are sure we're neither: we don't belong and we don't matter. Not really. We get up. We work. We try to be happy or fight off the realization we're not. We go to bed. The next day, we do it all again. Sure, places and people and purchases break up the monotony... occasionally. But most days, we feel small. Insignificant. We're a lonely sparrow under a boundless sky.

I love the illustration Jesus gave His disciples in Matthew 10. While preparing the men to head out on their journeys, Jesus is coaching them on how to deal with trouble. How to handle rejection. And in the middle of it all, comes this: the sparrow story. Look, Jesus seems to say. You can run down to the market and buy two sparrows for a penny. To us, they're cheap eats. Chump change. They're nothing. But to your heavenly Father, they are priceless. Not one falls to the ground without His knowledge, planning, or care. So don't worry. Don't. Stop. Because if God pays this much attention to the sparrow, how much more is He paying to you? If God invests this much time and care in a sparrow, how much more does He invest in watching and caring for you?

Life gets away from us sometimes, doesn't it? And after it trails our feelings. Do I matter? Does He care? Is any of this worth it? we wonder. And to that, Jesus has already answered you: yes, yes, and yes. Your silent prayers are heard. Your desperate hopes are noted. And your life... the life you're living this very moment... isn't going unnoticed. He knows you. He sees you. He hears you.

He is, after all, the One who watches the boundless sky and counts each lonely sparrow. And you... well... you are worth all the sparrows in all the skies under His watchful eye.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear, And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears; Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see; His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. -Civilla D. Martin, 1905

Monday Moment is a little devotional to help kick-start your week. See you again next Monday!

Happiness... Unpursued

Happiness is a butterfly,

which when pursued,

is always just beyond your grasp,

but which, if you will sit down quietly,

may alight upon you.

-Nathaniel Hawthorne

Well, what do you know. They found me today: sunshine...

... sunflowers...

... a butterfly...

... and happiness. Yellow, fluttery happiness. It alighted on me today.

What price would you put on contentedness - would you put on these golden moments - if you could put a price on it all? Me? Well... I'm not sure. But I know I wouldn't give all the money in the world for a day like today. A day when the summer sun, a sunflower, and a butterfly met me along my way.

Everyone, meet happiness... unpursued.

Rain, Ruin, and Rice Paddies

Texas is going under - one rain gauge at a time. Have you heard of the flooding here? The National Weather Service says my county has gotten measurable rainfall every day since May 23rd. No surprise there. Every morning you wake up, it's raining. Every night you go to sleep, it's raining. Every time you fix your hair and dash out to the car, it's raining. I have been Miss Princess Fuzzy Head with wet pant hems for a month and a half. No hair or pants... however well cared for... can stand up to this soggy mess.

No garden can either. Which is why, after watching my pumpkins, squash, zucchini, potatoes, beans, spinach, blueberries, and heirloom tomatoes rot and dissolve into puddly-heaps, I gave up and went to the Farmer's Market. I was assured this is locally grown produce. Forgive my skepticism, but it seems to me that the only thing Texas could produce this year is rice. If I had any brains I would be outside now - in the downpour - seeding rice paddies and googling recipes for homemade soy sauce.

Sniff.

Yep, I'm fairly brokenhearted about my overly-planned and heavily-planted garden. Such promise. Such hopes I had! But hey, the farmer's market is fun. And those peaches! Wouldn't they sit well in a homemade Peach Cobbler? Especially with Caramel Honey ice cream on top....

Oooooh... and look at the corn! I didn't plant corn. Wouldn't this be great grilled and topped with dill butter? Or chipotle butter? Or wouldn't it make the best Bacon Cheddar Corn Chowder ever? (I'm thinking that's a yes, yes, and... yes.)

So okay. The floods got us this year. The rain drove us to buying veggies on the side of the road. But you can't keep a good (or bad, for that matter) Texan down. Yee-haw. Next year our gardens will be back - bigger, better, and cornier than ever.

Meanwhile, I'm off to make peach salsa and corn chowder to put up for winter. If you need me this weekend, I'll be the girl behind the foggy kitchen windows just above the murky, deep (rice-strewn?) puddles. Happy weekend! -Brin

Words for Independence Day

Rain,

Helping hand,

Warm gales,

Red.

Basket,

Cherries,

Sky,

and land.

Water,

Laughter,

Umbrella,

Band-

Music,

Freedom,

Bare toes -

and sand.

Hope your fourth was wonderful. -Brin

Just a Trifle, Really

All the great things are simple,

and many can be expressed in a single word:

freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.

-Winston Churchill

Happy July Fourth! I have a little something for you. Just a trifle, really....

I call this beautifully cool dish my Banana Berry Trifle. A variation of the recipe was presented to me this spring by my loving Aunt K who carefully took down the recipe from my Grandmother's sister, Maxine. I was unbelievably excited to have such a winner of a recipe from Great Aunt Maxine, considering I've adored her since I was young. (We share the same passions, being pianists and readers alike. I'm still devastatingly envious of Great Aunt Maxine's Nancy Drew collection, which features all of the original 1950-ish titles.)

Anyway. Before I post or publish a recipe, I always try to do a little checking and background hunting. After all, you want to be absolutely sure your secret family recipe isn't one copied directly from an Ina Garten cookbook or something. And as these things go, this moistly-crumbed, cool custard-y dish was a copy. (Gasp) I found an exact reproduction here. It's a Paula Deen.

So my best to Aunt K, Great Aunt Maxine, and accent queen Paula Deen. But my version's even better. It's packed with antioxidant-rich berries, a touch of nutmeg and vanilla, and is especially great for those who never, ever cook. I mean, never ever cook. This is simple, fast and summery and altogether perfect for the days you're required to show up with something fabulous and can't bring yourself to turn on the oven.

BANANA BERRY TRIFLE

1 (5 oz.) box instant vanilla pudding
2 cups cold milk
1 (8 oz.) package cream cheese, softened
1 (12 oz.) can sweetened condensed milk
1 t. vanilla
¼ t. grated nutmeg
1 (8 oz.) carton Cool Whip, thawed
1 pint fresh blueberries, sorted and rinsed
1 pint fresh raspberries, sorted and rinsed
3 bananas, sliced
1 bag Pepperidge Farm Chessman cookies

In a large bowl, combine pudding mix and milk and beat according to package directions. In a separate bowl, whip together room temperature cream cheese and sweetened condensed milk. Stir in vanilla and nutmeg. Add cream cheese mixture to pudding and carefully fold in thawed Cool Whip.

Using any dish of your choice, (I used a glass Pyrex bowl yesterday but at home I have a Trifle Bowl for these concoctions), spoon a ladle full of pudding mixture into the bottom of the dish. Layer cookies over the thin layer of pudding and top with a layer of pudding. Cover with half of the banana slices, blueberries and raspberries. Top with layer of pudding. Repeat. Finish with a layer of pudding topped with fruit. Garnish with additional Cool Whip or whipped cream and a dash of nutmeg, if desired.

Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate several hours or until ready to serve. Keeps for a weekend in the refrigerator if you can hide all the spoons in the house and padlock the refrigerator.

(By the way, I traditionally make my version of this trifle with homemade vanilla bean pudding, but as I'm at a friend's this weekend I used boxed pudding mix. Still delicious. Oh. And I made this trifle with skim milk and fat free everything, save the cookies. Now I can sit on the couch all afternoon watching movies and not feel a bit guilty.)

Churchill was right, you know: all the great things are simple. Like bananas and berries. And our freedom. Especially our freedom. It's no trifle of a thing. May we all quickly awaken to the consequences of taking both for granted.

Happy Independence Day! -Brin

Happy Fourth!

Patriotism is not

short, frenzied outbursts of emotion,

but the tranquil and steady

dedication of a lifetime.

Adlai E. Stevenson

I'm all packed and ready to celebrate another year of independence. But before I go, my thanks go out today to all the people who've loved liberty more than life. Who've placed country above comfort and patriotism above pride. I find solace in the freedom so many have fought and died to establish and protect. I'm thankful to be a citizen of this great land that I love.

May God forgive, heal, and bless our America.

Wishing you a safe and magical Independence Day with someone you love. -Brin

House Workin'...

Just working on Freeman House today before I head out of town to celebrate the Fourth. I'm trying to get my mind off polka-dot bathing suits and picnic baskets and fireworks and get excited about finishing up this room. You know, kinda like those girls on Extreme Makeover who are always excited about completing their projects. But the truth is I have tedious trim painting to tackle in the sitting room off the Irvin Room and I'd rather wax my underarms than paint trim.

Just saying. But hey... the holiday is almost here! And this will be a lovely space once it's painted and sanded and decorated. My little garden sitting room....

I just have to hang in there today....

Monday Moment: The Hammock

My grace is enough; it's all you need.

- 2 Corinthians 12:9, The Message

I never really understood why some people love hammocks. Not really. As a kid, I was skeptical that a little string suspended between two trees would be enough to hold me. I'm too squirmy. Too accident-prone. Too feet-on-solid-ground type of a girl. As friends piled in a hammock and the rope stretched and groaned, I sat on my very comfortable blanket, thank you very much, waiting for a loud SNAP and falling bodies. Oddly enough, it never came.

On my recent hideaway vacation at Holly Hill, I stumbled upon a hammock. Huh. Looked so peaceful. So restful. Maybe it was time to attempt it. I sneaked up to it and rehearsed my hammock-mount in my mind. I could do this. I tried easing on. Ha. I tried rolling in. Ha. Finally, I dove onto the rope. Well, whatdaya know. All this time I thought hammocks weren't strong enough... stable enough... sure enough... to easily accommodate a questioning, callow klutz like myself. I was wrong, and I'd been missing out.

Sometimes I wonder if we don't view God's grace - His unmerited favor, love, and mercy - the same way I viewed the hammock. I mean, we know it's there... God's grace. And we know its purpose is to hold us up... to cradle us as we give ourselves over to its support. We understand the concept of grace, we just don't see how it will work for us. Besides, in the face of who we know ourselves to be... in the full knowledge of our faults, our weaknesses and our habits... we look at the idea of God's grace - the "rope" strung between our feet and God's - and back away. No way that's going to work, we think. No way that barely-there stuff can hold me.

And so we hang off to the side. Don't we? We sit on blankets of our own strength (our medicines, our muscles, our money, our minds) and watch as others enjoy the benefits of God's grace. And we wait. We wait for God's grace to snap and the silly people suspended on nothing but God's goodness to fall. But... it doesn't. They don't. And the strange thing is, the more people who climb on, the farther God's grace stretches.

Point here is this: you may think you've built a reasonably solid life on your own. And you probably have. But one day you'll come face-to-face with the possibility of resting in God's grace. One day you'll have a choice between sitting where you're comfortable or resting in God's almighty hand. Maybe you'll be sick. Maybe you'll experience loss. Maybe your world will crumble around you. Or maybe you'll just feel a little hopeless. A tiny bit alone. And although the concept of the hammock... of God's grace... looks a little iffy, you might one day decide to give it a try. And know what you'll find? That God's favor... His love... and His mercy is strong enough... stable enough... and sure enough... to easily accommodate a questioning, callow klutz like yourself.

How can I be so sure? Because it's been true in my life - God's promise that His grace is enough. Wherever you are and whatever you face, He promises His grace is enough. And I'll bet you He's right.

I'll bet you a swing on a hammock.

My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness." Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. - 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Monday Moment is a devotional to help kick-start your week. See you again next Monday!