Hats and H-U-G-S for the Homeless

Knitting not only relaxes me,

it also brings a feeling of being at home.

-Magdalena Neuner

I have been knitting a lot this summer. A LOT. Like my fingers are on fire. I knitted Alicia's bunny dress and a gorgeous cowl and, most recently, hats.

Hats, hats, hats. Big hats, baby hats, hunting hats, soft hats, and... 'homeless hats'.

You may remember a few years back when Renee, the homeless lady, moved in with me for a while. Since, I've had homeless friends who have shared their hearts and their concerns- safety, having enough, family, being wanted. (Turns out, we're all the same.) But you know one thing I keep hearing? That people need socks. Underwear. And with fall quickly approaching, hats and gloves.

I feel as though I need to do something. I need to do more.

If you're a knitter/crocheter and want to help, I know folks who will gladly accept your donations of handmade hats and gloves. Please get in touch if you're interested.

In the meantime, I'll be here knitting and feeling grateful for my home and praying for those who have none. Me, and my supervisor Maggie. 

*wink*  -Brin

Giraffes and Birthdays and Summer and I'm A Terrible Blogger

I know, I know. I'm a terrible blogger.

Later this week, I promise to come back and fill y'all in on my summer. It's been...- insert that one perfect word I can't come up with to describe this summer here-. Yeah boy.

In the meantime, please occupy yourself with beholding the giraffe I cobbled together from this pattern for our niece, Ella. She turned four on Sunday. When I asked what she wanted for her birthday, all I got was a long pause...and then something about "raffes".

Our other niece's birthday is in three weeks. She requested an elephant. Looks like felt and fabric pieces will continue to be swept under the couch for awhile.

See y'all soon. Honest. -Brin

Cool Cucumber Conundrum

It will not always be summer;

build barns.

-Hesiod

   

I'm here, under a pile of cucumbers. Hey there.

The cucs are going crazy this summer. Every day, I come in with my nightgown or shirt or basket (depending on the time of day) weighed down like too many kids on a saggy trampoline. My, do we have the Boston Pickling cucumbers. Cool cucumber conundrum, though, huh? So I did what any pioneering housewife would do: I made pickles...
 

 

...and I made pickles...

...and then I pickled more pickles. Spears and slices and whole cucumbers. If you even so much as looked my way this weekend, you got salted and pickled in vinegar and spices. 

 

Have I told you that I think war is coming? If one does, come to my house and we'll eat pickles and blow our pickle breath on anyone that gets too close. That's my strategy, anyway. We'll outlast everyone. You'll see.

Anyway. Have you ever made pickles before? I hadn't. I followed the super easy directions for Dill Spears in Put 'em Up! and was very pleased with the results. Quick and crunchy. If you like to can anything at all- or if you want to try- I can't recommend this book enough. It will help you turn your cool cucumber conundrums into... what-the-heck-do-I-do-with-all-these-pickles-would-you-like-a-jar-of-homemade-pickles-please-PLEASE? conundrums.

I'm here for you like that. ;) Happy pickling and canning this summer! -Brin

Monday Moment: These Earthly Bodies

 

This body that I live in decided to come down with bacterial tonsillitis. In June. The nerve! Super high fever in June in Texas= blahyucknasty. It also equals turning down the A/C to the mid-60s while sitting in front of a box fan hugging one of those frozen ice blocks you put in coolers to keep drinks cold. Yeah. I've left this view from my couch only to work, shove a few dishes in the dishwasher, keep the laundry going, and pet and feed dogs. 

These earthly bodies we're staying in, huh? They're incredible, perplexing, exasperating, beautiful things. I'm amazed at how age draws lines on our bodies. How injury and illness carve parting scars. How blood lines birth predispositions. I'm in awe of how vulnerable bodies are... how fragile breath seems, and yet how strong these bodies can be... how resistant to attack and how indomitable the spirit they house can remain.

I have a friend who believes war is coming. Hunger. Illness. Suffering unlike anything we've seen. I'm inclined to agree. Some days I give in to fear for my body... and those of the ones I love. So I drag my carved-fragile-resistant-indomitable body to the couch, sigh a sigh, and pray. And I read. And somehow, tonsillitis and threats from within and without and worry about these earthly bodies quiets and I am confident again...

So we are always confident, even though we know that as long as we live in these bodies 

we are not at home with the Lord. For we live by believing and not by seeing. 

Yes, we are fully confident, and we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, 

for then we will be at home with the Lord. 

So whether we are here in this body or away from this body, our goal is to please Him.

-2 Corinthians 5:6-10

 

The Unwritten Rule of Summer

It's the unwritten rule of summer: when it's warm and you're driving under a sky filled with lazy, puffy clouds, you must pull over at the country roadside stands. You must.

 

Especially when they sell strawberries you can pick yourself. And peaches they just picked themselves.

And especially when they have red new potatoes, still dusty from the soil. And jams they canned right there. And cold, bottled fizzy drinks from yesteryear. Then you really must stop. It's the rule.

If you're ever in Pittsburg, Texas, stop at Efurd Orchards. And when they offer you a free peach still warm from the tree, think of me.

No. Just...No.

Sauerkraut is tolerant, for it seems to be a well of contradictions.

-Julien Freund

Let me tell you about a well of contradictions. Because I can. Oh, can I!

First of all, sauerkraut is not tolerant. At all. Does it look pretty in the garden? Yes. Is it fun when you cut it open? Uh-huh. But I tried to make sauerkraut, y'all. I narrowed my eyes and cracked my knuckles and sharpened my knife and I tried. After carefully picking, washing and slicing my home-grown heads, I salted and pounded and cheese-cloth'd and waited and ... ... and...

 

...no. Just...no. Sauerkraut does not naturally happen like all those online recipes say. My batch sat for two weeks and never so much as changed color. Still green. Still crisp-ish. Still... odd. I threw it in the back compost before anyone discovered it and mercilessly teased me. Or, heaven forbid, ate it.

You know those girls who make their own poptarts and tea blends and such? You girls ridiculously rock. For me, some things are just better from the store.

Well of contradictions. Harrumph....

If We're Gonna Lose Our Skin...

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; 

perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; 

struck down, but not destroyed.  

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, 

so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.

-2 Corinthians 4:8-10

Awhile back, I planted onions. I started their lives in a dark, hostile environment and watched patiently as seed turned to tiny, weak wisps of green that would collapse every time it rained. I got down with them when it was time, pulling away weeds that would choke them... chasing off pests that would kill them... nurturing life and waiting, patiently, for them to respond and grow.

And then, you know what happened. Just as the onions appeared to be coming into their fullness, into their good place, the heat came. In Texas it comes early and hot. And the onions do what onions do- their proud, tall tops bend under the conditions and that beautiful green ends up in the dirt. All that growing, all that height, and it shrivels away. The dying begins. And you know what? That's when I know they're ready.

See, an onion is supposed to come to life. It's supposed to grow. But what's of use to me isn't really all the showy, green tops that everyone who's visited my little garden bed comments on. No, what's of use to me is the root. What I'm after is the deep stuff that's been tucked away where no one can see. And it's only after all the pretty/showy dies away that I know my onions are ready to really be used. That's when I know they're mature.

A lot like God does, I guess, with our lives.

The Gospel of Jesus is radical. It's hard. But our American culture has been sold the lie that a weepy-eyed Jesus is off in heaven just waiting to give everyone good lives if only they'll try hard and be great examples and not mess up their lives and raise good kids. But the Bible paints a different picture. The Bible paints an onion picture. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.

Come. And die.

I pulled onions this week and braided them into thick, gnarly braids so they can dry and I can use them. And the entire time, I thought of how my life, really, has been so much like those onions-- growing, getting wiped out by rain, growing again, bending in the heat, and finally learning to die.

Clarke's Commentary on 2 Corinthians 4 says that we are "every moment in danger of losing our lives in the cause of truth, as Jesus Christ was. We... are ready to offer up our lives for him. There is probably an allusion here to the marks, wounds, and bruises which the contenders in those games got, and continued to carry throughout life." It goes on to say that it's so the life of Jesus might be be made openly known, so "that in our preservation, the success of our ministry, we might be able to give the fullest demonstration that Jesus is risen again from the dead."

So we are living the life of an onion, we are struck down but not destroyed, we are bid to come and die, so that we may be poignant, air-permeating, bring-tears-to-eyes-strong demonstrations that Jesus died, but now He lives.

I don't know what you're going through. I don't know where you've been this past year. I don't know if you're seed... a thin, wispy bit of green... a top-flopped in the dirt... or a pulled-and-hung-on-display-to-die so that you can be used person. Gosh, I don't even know if you're an onion. But I do know that those who are have a 2 Corinthians 4 "so Jesus may be revealed in your body" moment coming, and that's spelled: immortal, heavenly and blessed.

So hey you. You take heart. You lift your weary head. You raise your voice and cry out to the Onion Maker that You hear His call, and that you will live a life and die a death worthy of the calling you have received. If we're gonna lose our skin, let's lose it well.

You have my heart and prayers, fellow onion.  -Brin

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

Monday Moment: Simple Like a Strawberry

There's a gal I really admire from afar that you have to meet.

Her name is Abbie Jean.

If you like my Monday Moments, you'll love her entire blog, Simple Like a Strawberry.  When I read this post, it made my heart happy. It also made me realize there's no way I could have said it any better.

So in lieu of Monday Moment, I'm sending you over to Abbie's. I hope you guys are blessed by her heart as much as I am.

Wildseed Farms

It is cold today. Cold and drizzly. In Texas. In May. It's crazy. I love it.

The weather is reminding me of a visit to Wildseed Farms. Last fall, I took a Texas tour and drove wherever I felt like. So much fun. We found this cafe that served the most amazing breakfast ever and went there three days in a row. We floated the River Walk in San Antonio and drank Dr. Pepper from the original bottling plant in Dublin and ate killer pizza in Dallas and stayed at The House of the Seasons in Jefferson, among many other things. Not bad for November, we thought.

One of the places I was hoping to visit- but really didn't think we'd have time- was Wildseed Farms outside of Fredericksburg, Texas. In my mind, we could load up on pumpkins for Thanksgiving... but most importantly, flower seeds. Seeds I could plant and then save so one day my grandkids could be picking flowers alongside an old farmhouse and tell stories about how Granny Brin planted the seeds and would you believe the flowers still bloom today... (and so on, etc.). At least, that's how I explained my two buggies full of seeds and pumpkins. Ahem.

If you're ever around Fredericksburg, make a trip out to this farm. It's gorgeous. Their seed store is so inspiring! 

If you can't make it down to the farm, you can always order online and plant a little piece of Texas no matter where you are.

I think I may go and plant some of my Wildseed seeds now while it isn't too hot. I promised myself a legacy garden, after all...

Happy Wednesday!

The Seed Law

There exists, in your life right now, a very unyielding and very powerful force... a force that we will, for today, call The Seed Law.

Never thought much about this force? Well, maybe you should. See, The Seed Law is stubborn. It's always at play. And because of Who designed it, it never misses a thing- not a word, not a deed, not anything.

It's The Seed Law, my friends.

The Seed Law is simply this: You reap what you sow. But hey, before you scoff and start scrolling, know that there's more to it than meets the eye.

I mean, what is a seed? The dictionary says it's "a flowering plant's unit of reproduction", meaning that it's how every flowering thing passes itself on, or ensures that it will leave life behind even after it dies. In other words, seeds are the beginning of something that continues to develop and grow. They are just the beginning. And they continue to GROW.

Take my British Wonder and Green Arrow peas, for example. I started back in February with just a few seeds- twenty, I think, of the British Wonder. The tiny, insignificant-seeming things were planted and then I went about my life. Then today, some three months later, I went out to find that those 20 seeds have now produced hundreds, possibly thousands, of its kind. That's a miracle of the Seed Maker and an important lesson of His Seed Law: you reap what you sow. But not in the same quantity. Heck no. Seeds multiply. They continue to develop and grow far beyond what you planted. Plant one, get back hundreds.

It's important to note here, also, that like seed produces like seed. I planted British Wonder seeds and got British Wonder peas. Therefore, you get exactly what you sow. If you sow good, you get good. But the reverse works, too: sow bad, and you definitely get bad.

It's The Seed Law. Sowing good= lots more good back. Sowing horrible= lots more horrible back.

So let's make this real. Because of The Seed Law, what you are doing and saying today MATTERS. These tiny, insignificant-seeming words that leave your mouth... the tiny, who-cares-or-sees things you do, they matter. They are seeds going into fertile ground, my friend. You sow vicious gossip and you'll reap heaps of vicious gossip back on yourself. Sow encouragement and you'll reap a bounty of encouragement back in your own life. Sow sin and you'll reap sin. Sow righteousness and you'll reap righteousness. How you live today matters.

I was reminded of The Seed Law as I picked peas this morning. I thought of that rude thing I said to someone this weekend. That phone call I keep letting go to voice mail. That gift I never "have time" to deliver to a friend in need. Ouch. How I'm living today matters.

God, give us the grace to remember Your natural laws, and help us produce good and lasting seed in our hearts and lives today!

Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. 

A man reaps what he sows. 

Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; 

whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life. 

-Galatians 6:7-8

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

I Made Blueberry Bars Again.

I don't know who was more excited- me, or the folks who are getting leftovers.  :)

I'm thinking of you all this Mother's Day, especially those those who've lost a mother, lost a child, or long to be a mother. Have a blessed and peaceful weekend.

Remembering Blueberry Hill

I'm growing blueberries in clay pots this year. As I search and pray for an old farm place to renovate, I find I'm impatient to start it all: berry patches, orchard, gardens- all of it. So blueberries in a pot will have to do. And you know what? They're doing just fine!

This is a Climax blueberry, which crosses with a Tiffblue blueberry, which is perfect for blazing, humid Texas summers. They're also perfect for muffins, cobblers, jam, ice cream sauce and salads. Heck yes.

Each day as I water them, I can't help thinking of Blueberries for Sal. Do you know this book? A teacher read it to me ages ago, and my older brain still projects images of the beautiful pictures of Blueberry Hill every time I glance at the blue-dotted bushes. In fact, I think I need to re-read it this week....

Wishing you a Blueberry Hill kind of day. Happy Tuesday!

Oh! My first job was on a blueberry farm. Read about it here. 

 And make my favorite Blueberry Breakfast Bars with this recipe.

What Can? Nothing.

 

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, 

neither angels nor demons, 

 neither the present nor the future, 

nor any powers, 

neither height nor depth,

 nor anything else in all creation, 

will be able to separate us from the love of God 

that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

-Romans 8:38-39

What, then, can separate you from His love? Can your illness? Can unpaid bills? Can quiet desperation? Can grief? Can failure? Can your loneliness?

What about your questions? Can they keep His love away? What about your past, your present, or your future? What in your life, today, can separate you from the love He's loving you with?

Nothing. Nothing can.

Nothing can.

Take heart. You, take heart. Because this thing you're facing- fighting through- working out- barely surviving- it ultimately is powerless over you or what matters. Because Jesus loves You, and He has made promises to You that He will keep.

He will keep.

What can separate you from Love Himself? Nothing.

Go in peace today.  

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

Meet Maggie

 

We had already been discussing another dog. After all, maybe Millie could do with a pal, right? I contacted a local rescue and considered a few dogs but none seemed right. Then we got a call. A relative was housing a wiggly Yorkie-mix puppy but could we please take her? 

Turns out, the puppy had been trotting up and down a nearby road, and when followed, she took off towards what appeared to be an abandoned house. But it wasn't. An old man lived there and yelled at the puppy rescuers to take the dog, I don't want it. So they did.

She had a broken back leg. She was cold. And she was severely malnourished. We took her on the spot. 

Meet Maggie.

Once home, Maggie slept by the food bowl. It took several days for her to realize that the food would be there, always, and she didn't have to eat herself to sleep. It was heartbreaking. I carried her around like a baby. And while Millie initially avoided her, Maggie didn't let it deter her. She followed Millie everywhere. Millie's begrudgingly come to accept that her little shadow is here to stay. 

The leg's doing better. It didn't require extensive surgery, for which we were relieved. The veterinary surgeon is pleased with the "function" of the leg and aside from it being crooked, you can't tell she was ever injured.

And boy, is she rambunctious. The silly thing loves to be outside. Yesterday, after letting her out and not hearing from her after 10 minutes, I went looking. She was in the yet-untouched part of our yard, digging.

Busted.

I just discovered this little rascal is the source of that mysterious pile of dirt we saw the night before. But how can I be mad at this?:
 

How, indeed?

Little dog, you've been given a second chance. Welcome home.

 Love animal stories? Read another and Meet Millie here.

This, The Other Typist

Y'all. Help.

Have you read this book? This, The Other Typist? This bewildering, infuriating, utterly fascinating novel?

It's been several weeks since I first heard of Suzanne Rindell's first (and thus far, only) book. I considered buying it but decided against it; don't I have more important things to read right now? But over my birthday weekend, I relented. I bought this... this...  I don't know. This, The Other Typist.

At first, you're sort of reading it and thinking about what you'll have for dinner. And that you really should paint your nails because, gaw, they look terrible. The next thing you know, you're flipping pages like you're searching for a number in a phone book. You're scowling at anyone/thing who dare interrupts. You care about the characters, but then again not really. You sympathize with them, but then not at all. You totally know what's coming, and then... what?!! Is my copy missing pages?! It's over LIKE THAT?!

I have never been so astonished-frustrated-delighted-taken with a book's conclusion in my life.

You should know, if you haven't ventured it yet, that The Other Typist is one of those unreliable narrator reads. Like The Lace Reader, which I adored. And apparently like Gone Girl, but I haven't gone there. To me, this book is Half Broken Things meets The Lace Reader. In other words, dark and perplexing and utterly stand-alone in a room full of books. If you like that sort of read.

And word is, Keira Knightley is producing and starring in the upcoming movie. It's been "in development" since January.

So... again: help. Have you read it? And what did you think? I have a theory, but I'll save it for the comments.

The Tater Tower

 

Awhile back, I read an article on Apartment Therapy titled How To Grow 100 Pounds of Potatoes in 4 Square Feet. Surrre, I snorted. As if.

Then I went out and got materials to build two of them. (Duh.)

First off, my days of planting long, gorgeous, scenic rows of potatoes are... on hold. I live in a cozy little house on an old street with a small, chain link-fenced back yard. The yard had a few existing beds, but this spring we added two more so that now the entire yard is bordered by deep beds. Our landlord isn't crazy about the idea of raised beds. We made do.

Enter the TATER TOWER, as I've come to call them.

It's a simple premise: you cut and screw wood together to make a square frame. Add one level, your potatoes, some soil/compost/whatever, and wait. When the potatoes emerge and grow above that layer, add another level of boards, some soil, eventually more potatoes... and repeat.

As you can see, our tower is on its third level and definitely needs another level, stat.

I was too slow to the feed store this year to buy seed potatoes. Down here in our extremely rural, economically depressed area, lots of people are growing their own food now. Feed and supply stores aren't keeping up with demand. So instead of missing out, I thickly peeled potatoes that were sprouting, leaving about a half-inch of potato attached to the skin. I let them hang out over night and then planted.

Hello, 100 pounds of potatoes. (I hope.)

Did you know you could do that? Plant thick potato peelings and get your own taters back? Cool, right? So cool.

But our grown-from-peels taters aren't alone. Our cabbage is already yummy:

 That was actually three weeks ago and it's nearly ready to harvest now. 

And check out my peas! I noticed the first pods yesterday and garden geeked out over them:

Ah yes. It just isn't spring until you see a little green. Don't throw out those sprouting potato peels this year!

Monday Moment: Those Beneath Their Loads

 The LORD helps the fallen and lifts those bent beneath their loads.

-Psalm 145:14

I wasn't one of the many today who waited for sunrise so I could see what was left of my house. Or town. Yesterday's storms boomed, flashed and wailed but ultimately raged over me, headed north to inflict damage and carve a path through someone else's life. The weight of my relief is offset by the weight of my horror at what others are facing this morning.

Sunrise today caused me to reflect on these past few years that have been so... deep... and deeply overwhelming... in my life. Realization has set in that all those circumstances were allowed so I would answer one question- so I would plumb the very depths of me and resolve this: Is God good?

It was necessary for me to answer that... to spend a few years with that question... before I was allowed to move on with my life. Something unseen, some things yet to happen, necessitated a response one way or the other. Come on, Brin: is God good? Do you really believe that God is here and He is good? In the midst of devastation and shaking and hunger and war and loss, will you be able to climb above it all and lift your hands and shout with conviction into the roaring chaos: 'Though the mountains be shaken, and the hills be removed, His unfailing love for us will never be shaken, and His covenant of peace will never be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on us'?

Time. It took time. But here I am, today, settled in my soul: God is good. Better than we know. And if He promises to help the fallen and lift up those bent beneath their loads, He will. He just will. Why? Because He is good and because He keeps His promises.

So to those who will never be the same after today, I'm climbing to the highest place I know and lifting my hands and shouting into your roaring chaos and heartbreak and loss: Although everything has shaken and so much has been removed, God's unfailing love for you is as steady as ever, and His peace and compassion for you will never be shaken.

While it might not seem so today, God is good. And He will help the fallen and lift you up when you're bent beneath your loads. He promised, and He will be faithful to do it.

You have our hearts and prayers today.  -Brin

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

The Super Food for a Super Supper

Omgoodness. What is it with so many of us coming down with cancer these days? Not cool. Not cool at all. Something must be done.

Enter Lacinto kale, otherwise known as one of the top "super foods", cancer fighters, and The Green Thing That Makes An Appearance Once A Day Now On Our Table. This stuff is delicious, quick to cook, and practically grows itself. Really. 

Wednesday evening, in lieu of... anything else, I harvested, blanched, and froze a bumper crop of kale. Took us a few hours, but with his superb chopping skills and my so-so washing-and-dunking-in-boiling-water-and-freezing skills, we were done. It was so worth it. Yesterday after a long day of work, I browned Italian turkey sausage, onions, celery, garlic and red pepper flakes in a big soup pot, and then added a few crushed tomatoes and chicken stock and herbs. I simmered that for 20 minutes and dumped in a few handfuls of our kale and some white beans... and woohoo! Supper!

While we're scanning real estate sites and hoping to buy a small country place soon, for now we're living in the city, about three blocks from the local college. Our little fenced yard already had deep existing flower beds, but we've added two more and are planting them full of food. And a few flowers and herbs. But mostly food. And honestly, they're quite pretty.

If you have the means, hop on over to Seed Savers and snag some seeds so you can be ready to plant in a few months. Or look for it in the store or farmer's market or CSA or wherever you find produce. I promise you'll be glad you did.

It's time we show this cancer nonsense who's boss, eh?

Happy weekend!  -Brin

Update: Oh! If you're looking for a good tutorial on how to deal with all your super kale, go here. This is how I learned to do it and the clearest I've seen it explained. Enjoy! 

How A Rose Became Evidence

When you see a building, you're seeing the mind of the architect built to form.
When you see a painting, you're glimpsing the artist's emotions rendered and displayed.
When you skim a page, you're reading the writer's thoughts printed out.
And when you pick a rose, you're beholding the Creator's beauty brought to life.

The Bible says creation is evidence of a Creator. Evidence. Proof. In fact, it says that God's divine attributes are on display from what's been made. And it makes sense. I mean, we eat something yummy at work and ask, Who made this?. We hear a good song and wonder, Who sings this?. We come in to a huge mess and we yell, WHO DID THIS?!. (Right?) So why can't we look at a rose and ask the same question we ask about everything else: Who is responsible for this?.

I've asked, and I'm confident in where I've landed. You are, Creator God. I'm pretty sure You are. And You did a breathtaking job.

Nice work on the roses. They seem especially beautiful this year. I love them. If I could, I would tuck one into your lapel and You could wear it all day and know I'm thinking of You.  -Brin

Millie, The Heart Catcher

What is it about dogs that completely catch our hearts and hold us captive? 
 

For the many who have asked, I want you to know that the Much Beloved Millie is doing well. She's still rounding up and catching hearts, giving a new meaning to the term dog catcher. The old girl is six now. Six in March. Ever the fan of riding in the back and trotting after tennis balls and trying to sneak things off kitchen counters.

She has me trained to give her string cheese on command. A week or two ago, I bought one of those jumbo packages of string cheese and shoved it towards the back of the fridge. Ha. They found it in no time. 

Me: [Looking intently in fridge]  Hey! Where in the world is all that string cheese we just bought?

Him: ... Well... it wasn't that much. But... uh... ask Millie. [Points toward the corner of the kitchen where she's sitting.]

[Millie wags her tail.]

She seems to be adjusting to all the changes fairly well. I say "all the changes" because back in February, we adopted Maggie, a tiny Yorkshire Terrier mix that was rescued off the street. She came to us severely malnourished, dehydrated and dangling a broken leg. We loved her instantly, even if Millie took a week or two to adjust.

So Millie and Maggie. Quite the pair. I'll round up the now-rambunctious Mags soon and introduce you. You'll adore her.

But first, Millie. I appreciate y'all asking about her. She sends her love but says she will keep your heart, thank you very much.