Apron Strings

It's all about apron strings today. I've set a goal: to have ten (count 'em: 10) new aprons in the Freeman House Etsy Shop this coming week. Ten. I have such cute fabric and buttons and ribbon to work with, too. Such fun.

Er... sort of. I'll confess: it's not all buttery light and cute prints and chocolate chip cookies here today. Earlier I watched in horror as my obstinate iron jumped over the side of the ironing board and landed - plate down - on an overturned can of spray starch. I'll never know how it managed that. (Grin) Suddenly I heard an angry hiss and jumped aside as the entire can blew up. Everywhere. Last week the gas can... this week the spray starch. (I can't believe I still have both my eyes. And eyebrows. I pity the guardian angel who has to watch over me. Really. I doubt the poor thing has sat down in 29 years. It probably applies for a transfer every day, hoping it will get reassigned to an old lady in Barbados who never stands ladders on top of beds or goes out alone at night in Istanbul or blows up cans of gasoline and spray starch. Maybe I should make it an apron.)

Or maybe I'll just make y'all one. Although the iron and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment, so it may be the middle of next week before they're all done.

But take a gander at those pretty, unsewn strings, would you? Apron strings are wonderful. Just saying "apron strings" makes you a little bit happy, doesn't it? Makes you think of pies and grandmas and summer evenings and speckled brown eggs and cut grass and country gravy, doesn't it? Makes my guardian angel groan but makes us a little bit happy. Apron strings. Apron strings...

Rather Have Roses...

I'd rather have roses on my table

than diamonds on my neck.

-Emma Goldman

The air is heavy this morning. So heavy it feels as if you could carry the sky on your back.

The roses pretend not to notice. Do you suppose it's their sweetness on stems that enables them to stand up to the weight of the world? I can't be sure. My pink plaid garden boots and I checked on them this morning, wondering. (I'm battling Black Spot. My organic remedy? Mix 1 teaspoon baking soda and 2 1/2 teaspoons vegetable oil in a gallon of warm water. Spray in the morning, so the leaves have the day to dry. Black Spot? What Black Spot?)

These roses, by the way, are lavender. Soft, stunning lavender. I think lavender roses are finally free of their Bed of Roses cliche, don't you? Seems that way to me when a bouquet of them catches my eye from a sink or table.

Hope you had a lovely week. Did you? And... what happened to April? I think it passed me by as I was in the garden...

Happy weekend. -Brin

(By the way: Vee, I'm calling you. Email me at brin@freemanhouse.org when you get a chance and I'll get your number and set up a time to chat. Thanks for all who commented earlier this week. We'll do this again soon!)

Let the Growing Game Begin...

Garden. Finally. Planted. The usual suspects this year: potatoes, onions, lettuce, squash, green beans, butter beans (speckled and white), kidney beans, crowder cream peas, purple hull peas, pumpkins, sweet corn and five varieties of tomatoes. Not to mention the flowers and herbs. Last night I came home and rested on the cool, soft soil and just breathed. The wind blew through the trees and the rustling shuffle of the leaves sounded like the sea. And I just lay there with my cheek pressed into the earth. There's such healing and growth in a garden.

Exciting things happening this week. Will check in (and call) someone tomorrow....

Thoughts On Earth Day

Hurt not the earth,

neither the sea, nor the trees....

-Revelation 7:3

It's because I'm a Christian that I care about our environment. Honestly. I got in a debate with someone about this the other day. Let the stupid Democrats "go green" if they're so concerned, they said. I blinked, then gasped. But you're a Christian! I argued. God created this world and then put man over its care. This is more a spiritual issue than a political one!

I feel very strongly about this. Otherwise I'd be too busy to recycle. To compost. To reuse. To try to save energy. To plant a garden. It's just that as a young girl, I was taught: the earth is the Lord's, and everything in it (Psalm 24:1). It's His creation. We're just caretakers. So take care of it.

Aerating compost. Yick.

So today's Earth Day. There are so many little things we can be doing to see to God's beautiful world. And surely it's important. Especially to Christians. Especially now.

(Check this out. It's so beautiful I cried.)

Monday Moment: He Walks Through Walls

I gave a little thought to walls while in Istanbul last month. It was hard not to considering the impossibly old ones that rise up around every corner to hedge you inside courtyards and continents.

If ever there was an expert at walls, it may be me. You'd think I'd have my little Freeman House done by now in light of how quickly I throw up walls. Not literal ones, of course... emotional ones. Spiritual ones. Walls that I think protect me. Walls that really hold me captive.

Let's all be real here, if only for a second. Anyone who's ever been hurt has become an amateur brick layer. I was reading this book yesterday and it talked about the 'Walking Wounded'. I decided that I'm more like the Walking Wall Woman. Sure, you're invited to join in my life; I have nothing to hide. Just don't forget to bring your repelling gear.

I have walls. I'll be the first to slink up my hand and admit it. And I thought these walls were serving me well. I've liked the distance and privacy they've afforded me to grieve and blame. To hide and gather myself and work on a new battle plan. Just look at the walls I carefully stacked: a wall of unforgiveness. A wall of cruelly-smashed dreams. A wall of one-horrible-marriage-is-enough. But the truth is that, even as a Christian, I've run behind my walls for comfort and safety instead of heading for the arms of the very One who died to save me.

I love John 20. If you haven't read it lately, I encourage you to. Jesus has just been buried. His disciples - the very ones He'd called to follow Him - had deserted Him. (Peter denied Him three times.) The men are hiding out together, the Bible says, behind "doors locked". Talk about walls. Can you imagine? There were literal ones, sure, but I'll bet they were each working on their individual barricades. Walls of doubt. Grief. Disbelief. Anger. Abandonment. Guilt. Sadness. Shame. And suddenly there's Jesus. Standing among them. The same Jesus they'd abandoned and denied. He found them. And I love what He says. I love it. To the very ones who sat waiting behind their walls, Jesus appears and says: Peace be with you.

Peace. Be with you. Not, What in the world have you done? Not, Thanks for leaving me alone to die. Oh. And for denying me. Good one. Not, We have a score to settle here. Nope. None of that. Jesus - the holy God who'd just given His life for a bunch of losers - walked into their broken-up, grief filled, devastated lives and said: Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, I am sending you. Not only did He seek them out... AGAIN... He forgave them. He accepted them despite their colossal sin. He gave them another shot.

He walks through walls. I know because He walked through one of my walls and found me yesterday. And things feel differently this morning without a wall to slink behind. I feel free. Amazingly free.

Not sure what your situation might be, but know this today: like the disciples - like me, even - your carefully constructed walls aren't doing you any favors. They're holding you captive. And they'll never be too old.. too established... too high... or too much for Jesus.

He walks through walls. Have you heard? He walks through walls.

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

Country Life

The town is man's world,

but this country life is of God.

-William Cowper

The stump grinding man is coming this morning. Just typing that makes me laugh. My friend Shelley and I were giggling yesterday about a recent shopping list we made before heading to "town" some 45 minutes away. To buy? Hot rollers, pea seed, coffee, hair dye, worm poop, garden stakes, etc. This country life is something.

I should warn you. Before abandoning your city life to seek out a Freeman House of your own, know this: there are days when you'll miss the hustling and bustling city terribly.

Those days are just very few and far between.

You should see the roses the grounds of Freeman House are coming out with this spring. So pretty I sat on my stone steps last night with a fistful (top picture) and cried sparkly, happy tears.

This country life could only be of God....

[Before someone asks, the small, heavenly pink rose in the above picture is a Elie Beauvillain. The rest are native, plated by Miss Freeman (I assume) and pre-dated my arrival. The next on my rose to-plant list is the Pioneer Spirit.]

A Freeman House Compromise

I still find each day too short for

all the thoughts I want to think,

all the walks I want to take,

all the books I want to read, and

all the friends I want to see.

-John Burroughs

... and all the rose-petal strewn, Sleep bubble baths I want to take. (sigh) I'm sure heaven isn't about us, but wouldn't it be divine if every now and then God would hand out free years up there? Maybe a whole year to just read? Or hang out with that loved one you desperately miss? Or take bubble baths? Or plant pumpkins? Or, heck... eat muffins or paint clouds or pick pink roses or pet dogs or ... sleep? Curl up on a feather bed somewhere and just dream, dream, dream? I hope heaven is restful. I have a feeling I'm gonna need it when I get there.

I have way, way too many things to do this weekend. And I'm still so far behind on the whole email answering thing. So maybe here's a compromise. For all of you who've emailed or commented with burning questions... or curious observations... or something cool to tell me, and haven't heard (or heard enough) back, here's the deal: comment on this post and next week I'll draw a winner. The winner will get a pre-arranged phone call from Freeman House and you can ask me about whatever you'd like. Canning? Knitting? Restoring an old house? Living in the country? Gardening? Judging by all the emails, I know you folks have a lot to ask. Have you been wanting a recipe? To talk or ask me about a book? Crafting? (Freeman House paint colors were big questions for awhile, as was recipe help/requests, questions about my faith, and discussion on Monday Moments.) Anything's fair game: tell me about your life or ask me about mine. Don't be shy. Here's your chance at some undivided Freeman House attention.

I really do find each day way too short to do all the lovely - and (eek!) necessary - things. I guess it's an issue we all share. I'm holding out all my hope for heaven. And if we ever do get free years, I'd like a fluffy white corner with a deep tub, pink roses, and sleep bubbles, please....

The Great Pumpkin, A Sorta Spring Story

Sure, April's the wrong time to be talking about Long Island Cheese Pumpkins. Unless you're a gardener, which I think I now officially am.

I found the above pumpkin - centerpiece of 2007's Freeman House Thanksgiving - in a grocery store in Perryton, Texas. I was on my way home for the holidays and spotted the pumpkins in a large cardboard display and decided they were the most magnificent pumpkins I'd ever seen. I've since learned the Long Island Cheese Pumpkin is superb for pies. I mean, superb.

After last year's turkey and pie fest, I couldn't bear to throw the thing in the trash. It was that beautiful. So I set it outside, right on top of the leaves, at the edge of the garden.

And there it sat. Through late fall rains and winter wind and that one snowfall, the pumpkin just sat there. And then a few weeks ago I noticed it was mysteriously GONE, and in its place were dozens of the tiny, healthy pumpkin plants pictured above.

... and the pumpkin's stem - a reminder of one heckuva Thanksgiving and one gorgeous table.

Yesterday I transplanted some of the smallest plants into the garden - right by the basil and down from the potatoes - and gently showered them with water. This weekend, the rest of the seedlings are going into biodegradable peat pots and will be trucked over to a nearby nursery. Turns out other Texas gardeners are interested in these beauties, too, and I'll turn a little pumpkin profit this year.

I'm excited to see how they turn out. Again, I know it's the wrong time to be talking pumpkins, but I'm already dreaming of silky smooth, lightly spiced pies and woolen sweaters and crackling fires and Dallas Cowboy football....

I'm an autumn girl caught in an admittedly beautiful, magical spring. What can I say? Of all the seasons in all the world, fall belongs to me. This spring I'll simply garden and dream....

Magical Apple Pie Filling

If you want to make an apple pie from scratch,

you must first create the universe.

-Dr. Carl Sagan

Okay, so I guess this apple pie filling isn't from scratch. But it's close. And if you use ripe, blushing apples and grate your own cinnamon and nutmeg, it almost tastes as if you could spin around and glimpse the Garden of Eden.

So here's the apple skinny: this project is perfect for new cooks and first-time canners. Really. If you follow this recipe, you'll end up with the equivalent of six heaping quart jars of apple pie filling. Make it with a friend and split the difference. Make it by yourself and hoard it for potlucks and July Fourth and pretty weekends. Give it as gifts. This stuff goes far, I'm telling you.

Besides, the benefits of pre-made pie filling are many. Convenience is one. This July when it's too hot to boil water? Simply dump your filling in a crust and bake. Brilliant. Plus, this smooth filling is pre-shrunk, meaning your pies will make lovely, towering slices which could even boast a lattice top or decorative, fluted pastry covers.

Here's what you do:

1. Take 20 apples - any varieties you like. I like Gala and Granny Smith because that's what I get down in Texas, but Jonagolds or Winesap or any local variety you love will likely work. Wash your apples and peel, core, and slice them. Dump the slices in a large bowl (or bowls) filled with water and a teaspoon or two of lemon juice to prevent them from browning.

2. Next, in a large saucepan, combine: 10 cups water, 5 cups sugar, 1 cup corn starch, 2 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1 teaspoon nutmeg, and 1 teaspoon salt. Bring to a boil and stir it until it makes a thick, caramel colored sauce that pours slowly from your spoon. (It takes about 12 minutes. Maybe 15 if your stove is cranky.) Remove pan from heat and stir in 3 tablespoons of lemon juice.

3. Spoon apple slices into sterilized quart canning jars until they almost reach the lip. Ladle your caramel sauce over the apples to about 1/2 inch of the jar top. Seal jar and process in a boiling water bath for about 20 minutes. (If you are new to canning, grab a copy of this book: Ball Blue Book Guide to Canning. It taught me how to can everything from apple pie filling to green beans to soup and is an invaluable resource for any home gardener or cook. Your local library or grocery store may even have a copy. You might also check out freshpreserving.com, a Ball-hosted website that boasts answers to any canning question and some fabulous recipes to boot.)

Of course, you don't have to can your filling. Use it right then, between homemade or ready-made pie crusts, to make six apples pies. (Or reduce the recipe to make just one.) You could try freezing your filling in quart-sized bags, but know that you'll likely need to cook your apples first, or plan to simmer them later, before you assemble your pie. However you choose to go about this, I promise you one delicious, straight-forward American apple pie. And truly, what could be better?

I'll admit: I love this recipe. The idea came from a MaryJane article I found a few years ago, and I've made it every year since. I love these apples spooned over ice cream. I love them baked under shortbread for a sort-of Apple Betty. I like to eat them straight out of a cold, refrigerated jar. In short, it's worth the effort.

Hope you enjoy, and of course, if anyone tries this please hurry on back and give us any tips or tricks you discovered to making or serving this! -Brin

Kindness and Stubbornness

Remember

there's no such thing as a small act of kindness.

Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.

-Scott Adams

A truly kind friend made me the most beautiful tea time lunch awhile back. Stilton cheese and everything. It was wonderful and meant so much. Those small, thoughtful things always do.

People... friends and strangers alike... continue to surprise me with kindness, generosity and... warmth. Cookies-from-the-oven warmth. I've been meaning to say thank you - to all of you - and of course I get behind and use that as an excuse and the thanks come later than they should.
For all who gave so generously and willingly to Boomer's family, thanks. As of Saturday they were in receipt of it all. You blew us away with your giving. It means so much.

For those of you who support my efforts at Freeman House... whether you read about it here or come by and help paint... I appreciate you. It's a huge, overwhelming, often frustrating project. Every sweet word and gesture keeps me hanging on around here for one more day.

And for the many of you who show up here to quietly read and bounce along with your day, thanks. My monitoring services say there are almost 12,000 hits from folks who stop in at some point during the day. Wow. I don't know who you all are, but I hope you feel welcome and know I'd relish the opportunity to have you here.

In my post yesterday, I mentioned my inclination to make this blog private. I mentioned that Blogger only allows 100 readers in such cases. Undoubtedly I have such a large family -and circle of awesome friends - that the readership invites would be spoken for lickety-split and would likely never be extended to people I don't personally know. Anyhow, it's not the readers or the commenters on this blog that are problem, surprisingly enough. But don't worry. I'm not going anywhere....

I'm telling you. Stressful several weeks. I've carefully negotiated oil and gas contracts with THREE new clients in the last 10 days. In the end I've had to walk away from all of them. Disheartening, to say the least. I called a colleague on the way home from the city last week and said, "I don't think I'm cut out for this business." To which he replied: "You're crazy to walk away from a $200,000 contract." To which I retorted: "What does it profit a girl if she gains the whole world but loses her soul?" To which he said: "You aren't losing your soul, Brin. You're making money. You're just not able to teach Sunday School or make apron things or write." To which I replied: "...said the man who's lost his soul."

We laughed but I was mostly serious. So now the question is: am I fearless enough in my faith to trust that God would provide for me outside the deep pockets of oil companies and the offers of greedy publishers? Do I dare leave a lucrative industry and try to make it on my own with nothing more than an unfortunate-looking house, a sewing machine, a few amazing recipes, a garden and a bunch of words?

In the meantime, this blog isn't going anywhere. I might starve or have to cut up my own clothes and sell them as aprons online, but Lord willing, you can count on the fact that Freeman House and I will be here. You might be hearing more ideas bounced around as a result .. and more... "do y'all think this would work?"... but I'll still be here.

Tomorrow, the magical apple pie filling recipe. I'm sharing it for free. Ha.

Blueberry Cake for the Frantic (Or, My Attempt at "Health Food")

Remember these blueberries from back in the summer? (Um... if you do, I'll be scared.) Well, I remembered them Saturday and set out on a kitchen mission to come up with the most perfect Blueberry Breakfast Cake ever.

The rule was simple: use organic products and get all of the following into a morning cake I'd actually waste calories on: whole grains, flax, blueberries, yogurt and almonds.

(Don't worry. There's also butter, whole eggs, and brown sugar in there for those of us who'd rather eat moldy cardboard than "health food".)

I'm still working on this recipe (so don't ask for it), but I think I've about come up with a winner:

'Course I want to tell you that it's good with fresh sweetened whipped cream... or maybe even a little Blue Bell... but this is healthy food, people, and I haven't gone there.

Yet.

[On another (non-blueberry) note, I made a decision over the weekend to take this blog private. As in, read by invitation only. This baby's getting way too big for me and, frankly, there are some crappy people out there. Then I learned that blogger only allows 100 readers per private blog. So now I'm back in Frustrated Land again. Anyone figured out a way around this?]

Simple Spring Saturday

Oh, Spring!

I want to go out and feel you....

-Emily Carr

It couldn't get more beautiful than here. You should hear the leafy breeze and feel the sunshine on your shoulders and smell these pillowy flowers. I'm about to tear myself away for a moment to go inside to bake a blueberry tart. The kitchen door's open. Consider yourself invited.

Today, With Puppy and Carrots

Today I woke up. I unpacked my bags, checked my email, drove to town, adopted a puppy, bought puppy food, and soothed puppy during puppy freak-out. Then I had to give puppy back, drove puppy back to town, cried, said a mean thing to the puppy keeper, came home, planted 10 tomato plants, and hung out laundry. I made envelopes of magazines, threw dead plants away, swept the house and went back outdoors. Then I caught the back yard on fire, called the fire department and ran for my brother, folded dry/smoky laundry and avoided calling my accountant. Then I came inside.

Now I'm making dinner. And suddenly I'm worn out. Worn out but calm. What is about my kitchen that soothes even my most frayed of nerves? Throw carrots and salt in a skillet and I'm fine.

If I could bottle the comfort and serenity of this place, I'd be a zillionaire....

Spring Reading (Or, The Sacred Ordinary)

Drove home today and I can't tell you how lush and green and heart-stoppingly gorgeous it is here. My eyes got all watery... from allergies, of course... but still. This scenery could convert the most hardened of city hearts into country-loving fools.

I wanted to get home and immediately run out to the back and read. I couldn't, but I wanted to. An enormous stack of books is waiting for me this spring and I can't wait to slow down and pay them all a little mind.

Guess who went out and wrote another book while we weren't looking? Our girl Leigh McLeroy, author of the much beloved A Beautiful Ache. (I think we talked about A Beautiful Ache back in July, and would you know I am still getting emails about how y'all are blown away by this gem? I know. I was too.) So I sneaked Leigh's latest masterpiece, The Sacred Ordinary, out during a Sonic stop on the way home. Are you as good as your predecessor? I asked it as I cracked open its spine. Forty-five minutes later I realized I was still sitting at Sonic and that, yes, The Sacred Ordinary is every bit as wonderful as I'd hoped. Leigh's done it again. (To read more about the book, visit the website by clicking here.)

So The Sacred Ordinary is at the top of my spring reading list. Matter of fact, I'm going to dive in on Monday, so if you want to find a copy of your own and join me, we can do a few open posts and discuss it. Maybe we'll even invite Leigh to stop by and answer a few of our questions/observations about the book, too.

I'm so glad it's spring. I'm so excited about spring reading time. Looks like I need to get candles back in my outdoor tree lanterns and head out soon for a good long read....

(Updated observation: Alicia posted her spring reading stuff today as well. Looks like we share a common spring read!)

April Project No. 1: Reuse

My Dad gets the biggest kick out of telling me I'm a cross between Al Gore and Monk. Gore because, and only because, I recycle. Fanatically. And compost. And am looking into solar panels for Freeman House. (And Monk because I greatly appreciate symmetry, books organized by size and color, and things just so. But that's beside the point.)

So April is Earth Month, huh? Love that. So for today's project, a little April reusing for you. We'll handle reduce, recycle, and renovate another day....

I don't know about you, but I love magazines. I get too many, actually. I recycle them, of course, but magazines are getting better each month and... come on!... some of those pictures are gorgeous. So today I did this: I used pretty magazine pictures to make note card envelopes.

It's simple. Tear out pictures and cut the image you like into a 6 x 6 inch square. Turn it over, right face down, and spin the picture diagonally with a corner pointing toward you. Fold that corner up, like so:

Now crease and fold in the right corner and then the left. Secure with a glue stick, being careful not to glue the envelope shut.

And there you have it. Pretty little envelopes to tuck scrappy bits of paper in. Embellish them, if you wish, with buttons, ribbon, glitter, stickers... whatever. Even unadorned, I use these little envelopes to stash gift cards, little "just because" notes, and little tags that accompany my flower cans. And boy, flower can season is rushing on toward us!

So, sure, it's a simple project. You can make a dozen in twenty minutes, easy. But I love little projects like this. I like reusing ordinary things to make my day - and maybe someone else's - just a little bit brighter and lovelier.

Hope you enjoy! -B

Birthday Purposes... (Not Wishes)

Great minds have purposes;

little minds have wishes....

....Little minds are subdued by misfortunes;
great minds rise above them.
-Washington Irving

The Occasion

Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

-Dustin Hoffman

in Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

My birthdays have always had two faces: significant and disappointing. Deeply so. Even as a child. With each passing year, I greet that April day with profound wonderment. Each is a gift. How blessed am I to have been given another year? I wake with this joy and then stumble into a regular day with a crummy cake and signed, pre-worded cards and think, I hate normal, unremarkable birthdays. They seem so... ungrateful, somehow. Why don't we truly celebrate our day more? And why don't we do more rejoicing in each other's days?

I can't say why, but sometimes I wonder if I don't have long here. My mother calls it morbid and scolds me, but there it is: sometimes I think I hear my clock ticking. It wasn't until college that I first recognized the sound. I've doubted - in frantic, terrifying moments- that my next birthday would even come. I'll spare you the melodramatic specifics and recounts of close calls. Suffice to say that I've rounded corners and nearly crashed into Death head-on. We eye each other and slowly back away, me triumphant and him burning with the knowledge that he can't touch me until it's time. And neither of us wears a watch.

Our lives are such occasions. Why don't we do more rising to them?

I was thinking tonight, before giving up on falling asleep, that I'm so torn between the world I see with my eyes and the world I see with my faith. As quickly as I'm ready to go, I'm also itching to stay. I close my eyes and think of my hands... the gardens they could plant and the instruments they could play. I think of my feet and the continents they could walk and the aid they could rush to. I imagine my voice and the songs it has yet to sing and the languages it has yet to speak. I think of my heart and the stories it has left to tell and the love it has yet to give. I think of my ears and the voices they have yet to recognize and the call they have yet to hear. I think of all this and I realize, once again, that these days add up to a glorious occasion and, whatever time I have left, I must hurry and greet it.

George Sanders. Remember him? The British man notable namely because he killed himself in 1972? Claimed on his suicide note that he was "bored". I truly can't imagine. Did he never pass a beautiful, unopened door? Did he never wonder what was behind it? Did no one ever tell him that his life wasn't an accident but an occasion? That he should rise to it?

I wonder, if we were to truly celebrate our birthdays - ours and those we love - how different our lives would be?

Have some exciting plans for mine this year. Silly, perhaps, but plans nonetheless. Because as it turns out, I'm in the middle of quite an extraordinary occasion and I must rise to meet it....

New On My Lap...

... this gorgeous knit and this gorgeous magazine. I discovered both in NYC a few weeks ago on my way home from Istanbul. And they say layovers are horrible.

Apparently I have a thing for a new scarf and hat every fall. This will be mine this year. (Getting a bit of a jump on things, huh?) I'm working it all up in Sublime's cashmere merino silk. sigh It's Shade 0006, which is actually a soft, creamy gray - not blue and stormy as it looks in these pictures.

And don't even get me started on Saveur. If I could make a food magazine, this is exactly what I would go for. The colors are deep and rich. The writing is fantastic. Last month's issue dealt with butter. This month is pasta. I love that simplicity. Of course, there are plenty of other recipes and articles in there, too, but I love the straightforward concept. This magazine is beautiful.

So that's what's on my lap this weekend. Planning on curling up here in the city (after a bit of a big birthday bash tonight) and settling in with friends, books and knitting.

Huh. I could have just said "friends". They're all the same. ...

Quick Email Note...

This weekend I'll be trying to get caught up returning your emails. As it stands now I'm running about a month behind and running behind bugs me. I appreciate your patience.

A quick note on the whole email correspondence thing: when writing, please be sure to put "blog" or "My Messy, Thrilling Life" or some similar notation in the subject line. Especially if I don't know you. "Hello", "hi", "I was wondering/have a question....", "Betty from California" or other vague/nondescript mail usually ends up in the spam folder. Or I think they're spam so I delete them. If you've written and haven't heard from me, this is likely why. So check those subject lines and try again. Thanks!

Cast Iron Skillet Cookies

I'm covered up in 10-hour work days. Not too happy about it, either. I'm not much of a "yes" girl. I'm really not an office girl. Desks and stapler-picker-outers and fat files and people in windowless rooms make me really, really nervous.

Nope. Not an office girl. What I am is a fast-talking, no-crap-taking, push me too far and I'll go home and bake skillet cookies girl. And my kind? We don't sit well in offices with normal people. Which is why I'm going crazy.

And why I'm baking skillet cookies. I like them because they, just like me, don't fit the mold. I mean, you bake them in a cast iron skillet. And for that reason, these cookies and I get each other.

Cast Iron Skillet Cookies

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 cup brown sugar

1 egg

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 tablespoon heavy cream (or milk, half and half...)

lots of chocolate chips

(I use semi-sweet, milk, and dark chocolate)

1. Preheat oven to 350 F.
2. In bowl, stir together flour, baking soda and salt
3. In separate bowl, mix butter and sugars until light and creamed together
4. Add egg, vanilla, and cream and stir to incorporate
5. Combine with flour mixture until well mixed
6. Stir in chocolate chips
7. Press lightly into cast iron skillet
8. Bake about 35-40 minutes or until edges are golden
Don't overbake! Cookies will continue to cook in skillet.

This, so you know, is my FAVORITE thing to make when it needs to look like I put forth effort but really... didn't. And the butter, cream and different kinds of chocolate? That's what makes it perfect. My birthday's in a few days and I plan to make these (with Turkish walnuts and espresso powder added) to serve topped with coffee-flavored ice cream. Yum.

Hope you get a chance to try these soon. If you do, let me know what you think. (And before someone asks, no - I don't know what would happen if you bake these in, say, a glass dish. Because for me the beauty is baking them up in cast iron. I'm not an office person, after all, and we don't like all the conventional, expected methods.)

Just sayin'. munch munch munch

(Additional thought: as long as you use a well-seasoned skillet, this baby will plop right out onto a plate. Decorate with icing, sprinkles, etc., and you have yourself an easy cookie cake.)

Waste Not, Want Not... Or, How Cleaning Your Closet Pays

Did you know that a recent study posted on MSN found most of us wear 20% of our clothes 80% of the time? Wow. That shocked me. I did some quick tabulating a few weeks ago and found that I own (gulp) 53 pairs of pants. Fifty-three. Yet I most always wear the same two pairs of jeans, the same gray and khaki slacks, and the same brown cargo pants. So for me I think it's more like I wear 10% of my clothes 99% of the time.

So I rounded up an armload of clothes I don't wear much. Half of them still had tags. I stuffed them in the car and drove about an hour away to a little consignment shop. Last week I got a call: they had a check ready for me. $214. Wow again. Not bad for stuff I'll hardly miss.

Because I'm nerdy like this, I did some quick figuring. I found that if I weed out my closet once a year and deposit that money in a regular old savings account, after 25 years I'd have roughly $10,000. Not bad. Plus think of all the closet space I'll free up in the meantime.

Of course, all my toss-out clothes won't be consigned. I have three projects worked up to show you this spring: 1) How to turn a shirt/skirt into a darling handbag; 2) How to work a blanket out of clothes you don't want to part with; and 3) How to dress up a few tired, old pieces so you'll fall in love with them again. (Or at least wear them.) Could be fun, right?

April's all about going green, so in the spirit of that, I say we apply our best Waste Not, Want Not principles to our closets first. Who knows what we'll turn up and how much we could save....

A Lasagna Story... and Rebuttal

I read Alicia's post on lasagna some weeks ago... before I went to Istanbul... and was horrified. Crunchy, rubbery noodles? I thought lasagna that tasted like spatulas meant it was bad. And ricotta cheese only? What? I suppose before her post I thought most everyone preferred lasagna the same way: meaty, cheesy, saucy, tender, and steamy.

I was wrong.

I'll never forget the first real lasagna I made. Slow-simmered sauce, hand-grated cheese, homemade noodles and everything. I was in college and skipped class to make it. (For a guy, of course. We'd been dating only a few weeks and I'd already turned out my best: fried chicken and pot roast. Lasagna was logically the next at bat.) So I worked on this lasagna all day and when we dug into it later I nearly fainted. It was that good. He, however, wasn't smitten. I'll have to get you my Mom's recipe for lasagna, he told me. Oh. Well. If my lasagna had to come in second runner-up, at least it fell behind an old family recipe. I understood and asked about said recipe's history. I think it's just the one on the back of the noodle box, he said.

Should have broken up with him right then.

Anyway, the guy might be history, but my love for lasagna is still going strong. I made it the night before I flew to Turkey, just in case it ended up being my last homecooked meal ever. It was a good choice. Meaty, cheesy, saucy, tender and steamy. Boy, do I ever like lasagna....

Brin's Second Runner-Up Lasagna

1 box lasagna, cooked to al dente
1 egg
2 cups small-curd cottage cheese
2 handfuls each: grated Romano, Parmesan, and Mozzarella cheese
1 pound ground meat (beef, sausage, veal, turkey – whatever)
1 small onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
5 cups tomato sauce
2 teaspoons each: oregano, thyme, parsley

Cook lasagna in boiling salted water until al dente. In small mixing bowl, stir together cottage cheese, egg, and about 2/3 of the grated cheese. Brown meat with onions. Stir in garlic and cook 1 minute more. Stir in tomato sauce. Add remaining herbs. Ladle enough sauce in bottom of baking dish to prevent noodles from sticking. Arrange noodles over sauce. Spread half of cheese/egg mixture over pasta. Cover cheese with sauce. Repeat until ingredients are gone. (I usually get two layers.) Cover with reserved cheese. Bake at 350 F for 45 minutes, or until bubbly and melted and you can’t stand it any longer.