Sending Wishes...

Simply having a wonderful Christmas time... as the moments at Freeman House fall in my lap like tree ornaments - golden and warm and twinkly.

A professional designer would have a heart attack/laughing-fit in my house. In Freeman House. Fancy ornaments share branches with wooden angels I bought for my very first Christmas tree. Those are still my favorite... the angels with stars over their heads. The other ornaments, while beautiful, don't hold as much meaning. But there they hang, next to golden netting...

...which actually isn't golden netting at all. It's plastic produce bags, cut in strips. You know, the kind of plastic mesh bags that hold onions at the grocery store. But that's me... and that's this house: trash and treasure sharing the same space. Even at Christmas. Those fancy pants designers can have their boring old decor and stuffy houses.

When I think of it, that's a little of how this year has shaped up: a lot of trash, a little bit of treasure. A lot of hard times, a little bit of magic. But as Christmas draws near and the year winds down, I'm left with a deep, tender appreciation for everything I do have... for everyone I hold so, so dear... and for the person God is patiently, daily creating anew in the midst of one messy, thrilling life.

And for the Christmas record: I'm thankful for you, too. I hope you know that. I hope you get up from your computer in a little while knowing that you're prayed for and counted on and loved up. Even if it's just by one girl with an angel-and-onion-bag Christmas tree in Texas...

Sending wishes of comfort and joy to you this Christmas.

Warmly,
Brin

Cranberry Christmas Cookie

For somehow, not only at Christmas,

but all the long year through,

the joy you give to others is the joy

that comes back to you.

-John Greenleaf Whittier

If we can't give joy, perhaps we can give cookies. Or cookie makings. Hmm. Perhaps it's all the same.

As it turns out, there's no time for jam... not with all the hall decking and fa-la-la-la-la-ing going on around here. Oh well. We'll do Cranberry Christmas Cookie bowls instead. I spent part of the morning carefully (ha!) measuring and layering ingredients into these awesome kitchen workhorses, tossing in recipe cards and tying it all with ornaments and bows. They're for my two sweet Jo's... Jolene and JoAnne... neither of which I could (would) ever do without....

CRANBERRY CHRISTMAS COOKIES

Preheat oven to 375°F.
Stir together until combined:

½ c. granulated sugar
¾ c. sweetened dried cranberries
½ c. white or semi-sweet chocolate chips
¾ c. packed brown sugar
1½ c. flour
½ t. baking powder
½ t. baking soda
¼ t. salt
1 c. quick or old-fashioned oats
½ c. chopped pecans (or walnuts... macadamias... whatever)

In a separate bowl, mix together:

¾ c. (1½ sticks) butter, softened
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla

Add contents of cranberry bowl to the butter bowl. Stir until well mixed. Drop well-rounded spoonfuls onto parchment lined (or non-stick) baking sheet. Lightly flatten dough with the back of a spoon. Bake 12 to 15 minutes or until edges are golden brown.

(I toast the pecans or walnuts… whatever I have on hand… before mixing them into the batter. Do as you wish. If you plan, as I did, to give this as a gift mix, layer the first list of ingredients (in order listed) into a pretty jar or bowl and include instructions for adding the butter, eggs, and vanilla and baking. Recipe inspiration courtesy of Pampered Chef.)

The Pear Tree

Several years ago, my Mom and I went on the holiday Parade of Homes in Jefferson, Texas. One of the historic mansions put on The Twelve Days of Christmas... each room taking on one of the days. As long as I live I'll never forget it: seven perfect little pastry swans a'swimming in pools of chocolate atop gold-rimmed plates. And in the hall, an actual pear tree had bows... and a partridge, of course... and took up the entire width of the hallway. I was spellbound.

Since that year, I've wanted to do the same. Only I don't have the money... or the desire... to go buy a thousand crystal pears. So we'll make do. We'll hoard plastic pears throughout the year, and then make a quick trip to Michael's for glitter and glue from the Martha Stewart Crafts collection. And when the table is cleared after Thanksgiving, everyone will glue and glitter until memories and pears are made and beautiful....

I was giving myself severe arthritis trying to be-ribbon the pears and get them on the tree before Christmas, never mind the partridge. But since I've learned that the Twelve Days of Christmas don't actually begin until Christmas, I'm taking it a bit slower....

Besides, they're so pretty just sitting here. Hmm. Maybe I'll do a partridge on a pear table, instead...

Oh No, Oh No, Oh No... Followed By 'Be Still and Know'

I'll never catch up. Even if I pull out a 24 hour ball-hanging, popcorn-stringing, jam-making, Christmas-wishing marathon, I'll still never get it all done.

Guess that's the trouble with traveling for a living and then having THREE DAYS to do Christmas. Merry and bright turns into messy and blurry....

Oh, hang it all. We girls can only do so much. Scoot those ornaments off on the floor. I'm going to the kitchen to make cocoa....

Let's just forget it all and settle in and be still and know....

Dreaming of Jam Baskets...

Remember these? My homegrown bounty is in the deep freeze at Freeman House, and I'm thinking that these...

... plus these...

... and this...

... will make one swell batch of my Bumbleberry Jam. The plan is to fill several baskets with jam and biscuits and honey butter and deliver them Christmas Eve morning. Yum. Merry Christmas to us!

Until then, I'm on the road. Long drive home and all. See you at Freeman House! Can't wait to show you what's waiting there.... -Brin

Tumbleweed Alley

Stopped yesterday and took a few more pictures for my cookbook, which will be wrapped up - finally! - after Christmas. I'm so excited. I wrote it in four parts - one for each season - and the recipes and stories and photographs follow along that line. Just looking at a few printed out pages makes me want to live in that cookbook world: it's so friendly and warm and comforting and homey. (Sigh)

Anyway, I loved these pictures. The barbed-wire fence, above, has a heart at the top. It made me smile....

And this I've come to know, these past two months, as Tumbleweed Alley. It's off a long-forgotten county road between Liberal, Kansas and Lipscomb, Texas. Where the tumbleweeds and snow come to hide. It's the craziest thing I've ever seen: you're driving along, listening to Sarah Mclachlan, and a spindly-branched tumbleweed comes sailing through the air straight for you. They bounce and blow along roads... down streets... across the prairie. I wondered where they all went until I noticed them forming clubs and hanging out alongside fence lines, where the wind can tumble them no further. And there they sit - dozens of them - taking in the sun and wind and snow in equal measure.

If I ever have a child, I'll put her in boots and a hat and bring her here. As the sunset streams pink and orange light across the plains, we'll count the tumbleweeds and chase and kick and stack them. Maybe we'll even take one home and name it Pete and keep it in a stall in the barn. And at night, when she's too excited to sleep, we'll lean back into her fluffy, rosy bed and shut our eyes tight and count the tumbleweeds sailing by....

Monday Moment: O Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep

their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars together, proclaim the holy birth,

And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth!

How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n;
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!

Phillips Brooks, 1867

(Had you ever just read the words to this old hymn? I did, today, after passing this snow-sprinkled, abandoned little cottage and stopping to snap its picture. It reminded me, somehow, of what I've always pictured when I heard the carol O Little Town of Bethlehem. Such a powerful, sweetly-worded carol, isn't it, and an apt prayer this Christmas advent.)

Aliens in the Snow

A happy life is simply the sum

of many small, happy moments.

-Penny Krugman

The overnight forecast called for 3 inches of snow, and the view outside my bedroom window this morning did not disappoint. I layered clothes underneath the roomiest wind suit I have and dashed outdoors. One of my roommates followed. "Let's make snow angels!" I yelled, running for the snow-strewn yard.

"Um... why don't you?" she said.

So I did. I fell - buttocks first - into a couple of inches of snow and positioned myself to begin angel-ing. Visions of perfectly-skirted, halo-crowned snow angels danced in my head as I began twitching and flapping about like a recovering addict. Ouch. Ouch! The sensation was similar to that of scraping my bare hands and body over cold, crushed glass. "Ooowwwww!" I howled. "Owwwwwwwwww!..."

My roommate nearly dropped her camera in the snow she was laughing so hard. "Oh. Ha. Stinkin'. Ha," I retorted, trying to get up carefully so I didn't disturb my Best Ever Angel in the History of Snow Angels. As I dusted snow off my backside, the roommate took a few more pictures. And as I turned to survey my halo-crowned angel, she said:

"It looks like an alien."

It was the grass, I told her. I'll make one on the sidewalk and it'll be beautiful. You'll see....

...

"Nope," she said. "Still looks like an alien."

A bell bottom-wearing, small-headed alien, who was booted off the snow UFO and landed, buttocks first, in our backyard.

Oh how we laughed. I laughed until it hurt. I laughed until it was either laugh or drink my Peppermint Christmas coffee, and then I had to quit laughing to gulp my coffee. Which made me laugh even harder.

It's true. It's so totally, completely, assuredly, 100%-edly, guaranteed true: a happy life is the sum of many happy moments, lumped together and added up to equal a life that is, day by day, truly happy. I like that. That I can do....

...Even if I do make aliens in the snow.

Rejoicing...

In the depth of winter I finally learned

that there within me lay an invincible summer.

-Albert Camus

Strange how the bitterness of winter can fan flames of hope in the coldest of hearts. Rejoicing in the eternal summer I've found in the depth of my winter, and wishing the same for you....

Comfort and joy this December weekend,
Brin

Thoughts On a Cold and Disagreeable Morning

The morning was cold and disagreeable...

- Meriwether Lewis

I've always wanted to keep a journal that featured sentences like that: "the morning was cold and disagreeable". It just sounds so raw and romantic - like something from Wuthering Heights or a Jane Austen film.

Anyway, still here, counting the days until I go home (8), and the days until Christmas (13). Can't wait. The mornings here, although beautiful in their own, frozen way, are cold and disagreeable. I miss Freeman House, and I miss that I'm missing Christmas. Everything is always a bit surreal when you're on the road.

But enough about me. How in the world are you? Really, we should all find a central meeting place and bring our recipes and our projects and our pets and sit and chat for a day. Or a weekend. Wouldn't that be lovely? Nothing cold or disagreeable about that at all....

Debbie Sue's Christmas Crockpot Candy

For Christmas this year, I've bought myself the Pilates Powerhouse Collection. This is entirely due to my new friend Debbie Sue. Debbie Sue and her Christmas Crockpot Candy. After getting her permission, I'm printing her sweets-to-break-a-trucker's-heart, peanut butter candy recipe here. But I'm warning you: make this ONLY if you want to be the most popular person at work or home. Then, and only then, should you make:

Debbie Sue's Crockpot Candy

1 (16 oz.) jar unsalted peanuts

1 (16 oz.) jar salted peanuts

1 (12 oz.) bag semi-sweet chocolate chips

1 (12 oz.) bag milk chocolate chips

2 (12 oz.) bags peanut butter chips

2 (1 lb.) packages White Almond Bark, broken in pieces

(You'll sometimes find this called Vanilla Candy Coating)

Layer ingredients, in order listed, into (4 quart or larger) crockpot. Turn the pot on low, cover it with a lid, and walk away for two hours. After two hours, remove lid and stir to combine. Replace lid and walk away for another 30 minutes. Check to see if almond bark is melted, and if so, stir and spoon mixture onto wax paper. (Decorate, if you wish, with holiday sprinkles or additional chopped peanuts.) Allow to harden - 1 hour or so - before enjoying. Then hide it until ready to serve and go order yourself the Pilates Powerhouse Collection. You'll need it, trust me.

Thanks, Debbie Sue, for the recipe. It's my new favorite and it's keeping my thighs warm! :D

Y'all enjoy! -Brin

Icicle Winter Wand

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world,
and behold, everything is... more beautiful.
-Norman Vincent Peale

As a girl, I imagined icicles were magic winter wands. So, too, were frozen, fallen tree twigs. I recall reading The Call of the Wild, which I hated, and deciding to change it up entirely: instead of being a beast dog, Buck would be transformed into Lovable Winter Dog King through the use of my magic icicle wand, and together we would travel the Yukon in a sleigh made of ice cubes.

I hadn't thought about lovable Buck or ice cube sleighs or icicle wands in forever. Until today, that is. (Fancying myself a winter fairy, I've been taking a lot of winter walks... snapping pictures, listening to the snow crunch... breathing in the frigid wind. It cleans one out, somehow... that wind. It sweeps away a lot of balled-up bitterness as it blows straight through.) Anyway, I felt it again yesterday as I walked, and as I ducked behind some trees, hoping for a wind break, I heard the icy cracks and scrapes of the trees' frozen fingers and looked up... up... up.....

I found my icicle winter wand today. Turns out, it's been there all along. I was just too grown-up to notice. And although my dreams for Buck and ice cube sleighs have melted away, one dream remains frozen in time....

Gosh, I love Christmas. I love winter.

Monday Moment: From Manger to Cross to Home

If you're a Christian, there's something powerfully sweet and deeply meaningful about this time of year. Sure, you can enjoy the Christmas lights... the sweet delights... the silent nights... but there's something about that manger - something about the Baby wrapped in swaddling clothes- that speaks to your heart and settles your soul and leaves you pining for home.

Ever noticed how Christmas - unlike any other holiday - seems to revolve around home? I mean, what do we sing? How about: I'll be home for Christmas. And: Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays. And not only do we sing about home, but we trim them, too. We invite people to them. We buy tickets and gas to get back to them. Home. Home....

It makes sense if you think about it. Christmas is a story that ultimately deals with home. It speaks of how a loving Father looked down on a lost and hopeless world and decided that He - through His precious Son - would leave His heavenly home and come here... here... to seek and to save us. And He did. After securing a stable and roping a star and calling a census, God put Mary and Joseph on a path leading away from home toward Bethlehem. A path that ultimately led baby Jesus from a manger to a ministry to a cross.

And He did it all... well, He did it all... so you and I could one day be at home with Him. And to think it all began at Christmas. The manger led to the cross, and the cross led home.

If you're a Christian, there's something powerfully sweet and deeply meaningful about home this time of year, wouldn't you say?

I must needs go home by the way of the cross,

There’s no other way but this;

I shall ne’er get sight of the gates of light,

If the way of the cross I miss.
The way of the cross leads home,

The way of the cross leads home,

It is sweet to know as I onward go,

The way of the cross leads home.

-Jessie B. Pounds, 1906

[You've probably heard about them already, but the crosses pictured in this post are the work of Texas artist Barbara Clopton and are available through her shop, Crossations. Barbara is still accepting custom orders for the holidays (I know because I just got a GORGEOUS one... and am about to order another). You can reach Barbara and view her creations by clicking here.]

Winter Skin

We put on our winter skin... our winter skin... and walk....

... and we watch the snow fall.

You can come, too, on our Saturday winter walk. Turn up the volume... close your eyes... smell the snow and pine... put on your winter skin.... and walk....

Happy snowy Saturday! -Brin

Happy, Happy Christmas (Fall On Me)

Happy, happy Christmas:
We're so glad you're here.

Deliver snow and mistletoe -
Send your warmth and cheer.

Grant us joy,
Supply your grace -

Bring warmth and hope
To every place...

... And when you've done
Just these things three -

Fall on me.
Fall on me.

On Roaming and Blogging...

There's a magical tie to the land of our home,

which the heart cannot break,

though the footsteps may roam.

-Eliza Cook

I'm roaming, folks. It's the nature of my job and sometimes what I do. Let's talk about it today, because from the sound of it some of us are getting frustrated and downright mean.

This is the town I'm currently working in. Kid you not. It doesn't matter, really, where it is or where I stay, and I prefer to afford myself a bit of privacy, you understand, since you never really know who's reading. I will tell you the town has nine streets, a closed-up bank, a little white church, a saloon, a saddle maker, a post office, an abandoned salon, a cafe and a courthouse. That's where I visit most... the courthouse.

In my day job, I'm in the oil and gas business. I'll spare you the details of my job description, but suffice to say that oil companies hire me to go into areas they want to drill new oil or gas wells. It's my duty to find out who owns the land, and more importantly - the minerals underneath - and get everything ready, legally, for the company to move a drilling rig on site and drill for oil. Or gas. Whatever it is they suspect they'll hit.

This job found me. Really. I never thought I'd be doing this sort of work. I'd wanted to be the next old-school reporter/anchor... you know, the Walter or Peter or Dan who braved the front lines and retired, all crusty and bitter, to a news desk somewhere. My plans changed for me one Tuesday in 2004; I was packed up and moved to a little town in east Texas, where my mother's sister lived, by Friday. I didn't work... at all... for a few months. Then I got a call explaining this oil and gas job and asking, would I be interested? I was, and I'm glad.

This business is tricky at times and competitive at all times. The days are long and demanding and I do a lot of driving and stressing. My cell phone roams constantly and doesn't work a lot out here -perhaps you can see why- and I go without internet for days at a time sometimes. It's not that I'm avoiding calls or skipping out on my blogging friends. It's just that on the road I'm more likely to miss messages, not get voice mails, or not have an internet network. And as my dear, sweet friend Sondra says, the church won't take up love offerings to pay a single woman's way. So here I am.

These jobs last anywhere from a few weeks to a few years, depending on how much oil and gas they happen upon. I was told yesterday that this will, in fact, be a quick project. I suspected as much going in, and was glad to hear it. But I like to work these projects and I like the distance and privacy these jobs afford to write, when I can, and work on the book. And sight see. Although that doesn't take long up here.

Short of going into a full on, Alica Paulson-esque Why I Blog, I wanted to say that I adore blogging for many reasons, and delight in the opportunity we all have to meet here and say what we like, when we like. I get to my blog when I can with what I can, but certainly assume no further obligation or indebtedness to this forum than that. Blogs are meant to be enjoyable. To tickle us and educate us and inspire us. Blogs are not supposed to morph... nor must they be allowed to... into another job. Lord knows we have enough of that already. Well, here... Alicia said it best: All of us want, I think, to be able to respond to everyone's comments and questions, to check-in on our friends, to give help and advice when its needed. But the reality is that there is only so much time in a day — especially at this time of year — and only so many . . . relationships . . . one can do well. The nagging feeling that certain things, people, and opportunities have fallen through the cracks can be frustrating but . . . inevitable? I made a promise to myself early on in blogging that I would give what I could, when I could, because the important thing was to find a way to keep doing it — happily, without it feeling like a burden or another bundle of expectations to be dealt with.

I know you understand. I know you do. And I know that you know that I know that magical ties do pin our hearts to home, and although we may roam, our footsteps will land us home again soon enough. After the oil dries up and the words stop flowing. After the adventure is over....

Thanks for hanging in.

Christmas is Coming

Today I want to be here, in a glitter-roofed, church-turned-cottage with a pink gingham fence and one lonely tree. From my church-turned-cottage, tucked deep inside a countryside of silver-blue quilted hills and gingerbread-smelling dales, I'll be bundled 'neath fluffy white covers, watching snow fall to the ground. And just before I go to sleep, as the winter fire slowly dies, I'll hear it whispered in the candy cane wind: Christmas is coming. Christmas is coming.

When I awake, I'll wander the silver-blue quilted hills with my puppy, Sugar Plum. When our noses turn pink, we'll scamper home for wide mugs of hot chocolate with fluffy marshmallows topped with sprinkles and cream. After warming our feet by the fire, Sugar Plum will nap as I spin pink and white candy canes from lumps of glittered sugar. And while I work, over the sounds of boiling candy and warm, puppy sighs, I'll softly hum and gently sing: Christmas is coming... Christmas is coming...

As the sun yawns and begins droop, Sugar Plum and I will climb the wooden stairs to the church-turned-cottage's Tower of Christmas. There, amidst boxes and bows, we'll find twinkle lights and lolly pops and shiny, ribboned balls. Together we'll trudge down the stairs, climb high atop our candy cane ladder, and trim our lonely tree. And as darkness falls over the silver-blue quilted hills and gingerbread-smelling dales, the twinkling tree and shiny, ribboned ornaments will sweetly bear the sign: Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming!

And soon it will be dark again... the starry, childhood kind of dark that has you lighting long, twisty candles in each window and settling deep, deep into a ragged, old chair. And as the stars shine down and the Christmas moon watches, Sugar Plum and I will sit here - here in our glitter-roofed, candles-in-the-windows, church-turned-cottage, and fill our Christmas stockings and say our Christmas prayers.

You can come too, you know, to the hill and dale countryside and its church-turned-cottage with a pink gingham fence and one lonely tree. Sugar Plum and I have your mug and bed and candle and chair by the fire right here. But please do hurry....

...Christmas is coming. Christmas is coming!

Out of Sorts and Sort of Out

Please pardon the unexcused absence. I've been out of sorts and sort of out the past few days following a grotesque accident with this. I'll spare you the details, seeing as how you've probably eaten recently or plan to soon. Let's just say that I'm missing some finger on my left hand and I'll never cut up carrots again. Ever.

Got out yesterday, though. A new friend and I loaded up and drove a few hours to Amarillo. Amarillo by morning, baby. I'd never been. It was beautiful. By the time I got around to taking pictures it was late afternoon so the ice had melted from the cactus, leaving the landscape looking burned and bored. But it wasn't. It was cold and crunchy.

My Monday Moments haven't even been a consideration for us the past two weeks, have they? I'm sorry. I blame that partly on my schedule and partly on the book of devotionals I'm compiling, to be entitled: Pulling Heaven Down. (No release date set as of yet, but if you'd be interested in a copy, I'm sure the publisher would be interested to see your comment here.) Not that my excuses will fly with y'all, I know, but I thought I'd offer up a few anyway. But I know. I miss meeting here and devoting on Mondays, too.

So how are you? Hope you're well. I'm looking forward to talking Christmas this week and showing you my knitted Peppermint Tote (made from strips of Target bags!) and dishing on Christmas card lists. Here's to tomorrow!

And here's to you. Thanks, as always, for hanging in with me on the messy side of my thrilling life....